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vaokses · 6 months ago

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I shall be (Pirtir, Ch.3)

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: After what you're certain has been the longest dinner you have ever endured, you prepare to retire for bed. You must face the consequence of a secret you once shared when there's a knock on the secret door of your apartments.

Word Count: 5.4k (sorry 😔)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff.

A/N: This makes a tad more sense if you've read the prologue on Aegon's PoV, "How long this love can hold its breath". I hope you enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Title is from "I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly", by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

After Helaena leaves you by your apartments, you enter and dismiss your handmaidens, unwilling to stand another moment of scrutiny, of performance. They have left the hearth lit and you set out to undo your hair slowly, trying not to remember the last time you stood in this room, sitting by this very hearth as your mother explained to you how you weren’t safe here anymore, how you had no choice but to leave.

It somehow makes the truth of what awaits you more real, that these are the rooms they have decided to assign to you. It makes all of this, the reality of what has happened and what will, more solid, more tangible.

Your thoughts are interrupted, as are your actions, by the faintest clicking sound, as if something is knocking quietly on glass.

You have only recently learned of the secrets of the Keep, after listening too many times to your mother and father reminisce about their encounters over the years, between Daemon’s exiles and wars and returns. You only recently learned of the hidden door in the middle glass window behind the bed, the one where someone is knocking softly right now.

With an impulse so stupid you would believe it beneath you, you approach the door, and quietly open it.

On the other side, the deserted ramparts of the Keep at his back, stands Aegon. When you open the door fully, he offers a small smile, somewhere between daring and apprehensive. A familiar smile.

Your eyes widen, and your next words leave your lips in a hiss, “What are you doing!?”

He shrugs, “I was knocking like an idiot here for a while, whe-…?”

Before he can finish his answer, you have reached for him, fingers grasping at the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him inside before anyone can see him standing at the hour of ghosts outside your rooms.

You step back, startled and confused -and, most of all perhaps, affronted at your own choice, at your own carelessness-, and for a few breaths you seem to merely stare at one another, perhaps equally surprised at finding yourselves here.

You find yourself uncertain on how to move, how to play. Any mask you might find useful to wear now wouldn’t have opened the damn door, wouldn’t have participated in this foolish risk by allowing Aegon to enter you rooms.

A reminder, perhaps to yourself and not him, and you voice, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I believe I should be saying that,” He comments, defiant glint in his eye, lips pressed into a thin line. “You traveled to every city but this one, visited the seat of every family but this one, in these past two years. I assumed you had decided you would only return to King’s Landing to lay waste to it.”

You aren’t sure why it is he feels he has any right to reproach you for not visiting, or why it is you feel the need to defend yourself, explain the reason behind your absence all these years.

“I traveled only to where I was welcomed.”

If he knows you’re lying, which you doubt, for you doubt he ever cared enough to ask if you were extended an invitation from the Keep, he makes no mention of it.

Silence lingers, and though you know you should ask him why he’s here, tell him to leave, summon the guards, you say nothing. Instead, for what feels like the first time since you arrived, you look at him.

Stupidly, the first thought that comes into your mind, and the one that lingers, that brings to the tip of your tongue questions you know better than to ask, that fills you with the reckless impulse to want to know the story behind it -and each story you’ve missed out on-, is that his hair is shorter.

“We are to be married,” Aegon says. You take a deep breath, and find that you cannot release it. You nod your head instead, wordless. “Have they told you why they agreed to it? My mother, my grandsire?”

“The King, no matter the…state of his body or spirit, can overrule his wife and his Hand.”

“You know it was not my father’s doing. As…happy he seems to be that you would dare resign yourself to a man like me, he didn’t arrange this.”

Years ago, you might have offered an apology he won’t hear from those he deserves it from, you might have crossed the distance between you, you might have offered comfort. Years ago, you might have not turned a blind eye, you might have not looked away.

You turn towards one of the shelves by the hearth -strange, how you still remember it is this wall that first illuminates when the sun rises-, and grab the napkin dragon Helaena gifted you from a nearby table and place it upon the shelf.

Turning back around, you answer the previous question, you offer a safe answer,

“No one tells me much of anything, so I’m afraid I don’t know their reasons. But I could venture a guess.”

A truer answer would be that love for a daughter doomed the Greens, while a daughter’s love granted victory to the Blacks. That in refusing to marry Helaena either to Aegon -to give him heirs, to secure his claim as your mother secured hers- or to someone else -a royal womb, a wife in exchange for an army, for another House sworn to their cause-, Alicent accepted defeat. That in betraying who you were -who you might have been- to allow for the most useful lie to wear your face as if truth, in chasing that safety you believed you would achieve by turning the Realm to your cause, you helped Rhaenyra win her war.

Aegon turns his head to look at the dimming flames of the hearth, a furrow between his brows.

“They refused before.”

“Helaena would have been sent to Driftmark were she to marry Jace, y-…”

“I don’t mean them,” He interrupts. He doesn’t look at you still, finding the dying embers apparently fascinating. His hands twitch, much like his sister’s did before, opening and closing, as if needing to release nervous energy. “I mean you and me. I asked, my mother refused.”

Your stomach does a strange flip, as it does when Vermithor makes a vertical ascent into the clouds. No, not quite like that. It feels more like when he just narrowly avoids a crash against a cliff face when speeding through the clouds over the Stormlands. It feels like that faint moment when Vermithor loses his footing on unstable ground and fails to land.

“What? When?”

“After you left,” He replies. He ventures to look at you, only briefly, and at your questioning look Aegon shrugs and explains, “You wanted to stay.”

That isn’t the explanation he seems to think it is, but doesn’t seem inclined to clarify any further. And you aren’t sure you want him to, because an echo of a promise you once made -when you were younger, and the world was smaller- is getting louder.

Instead of asking anything else, you remind him, and yourself, of the war that loomed over this family.

“When we left, Aemond didn’t have Vhagar, and my bond with Vermithor was too new. Now…there haven’t been so many grown dragons with riders since King Jaehaerys’ reign,” You point out. “Your mother understands now, as I hope the rest do, that if a war for the Iron Throne is to be waged, there will be naught but ash and charred stone to rule over once it’s won. Destruction is assured, mutual destruction.”

“And you are here as…what? A sacrificial lamb to prevent bloodshed?”

You look at him, and with more impulsivity than you should allow yourself, you answer plainly,

“Baaa,” Dumbfounded, Aegon blinks, once, twice, before a smile lights up his expression. His shoulders shake lightly with laughter, and you find yourself smiling in kind. And relentless, like a weed you couldn’t pull from its root and now regrows, is that impulse from your youth, that familiar warmth in your chest and in your cheeks at being the one to make him laugh. “I gather it depends on who you ask. I’m sure many would see me a herald of doom and not a sacrificial goat.”

“Lamb,” He corrects, pointlessly, aimlessly. Silence lingers, and a few breaths after, he presses, “Is that why you are here, then? For…for the future of the family? You didn’t want to leave in the first place. I thought…”

When it seems he cares not to continue his sentence, you clarify,

“It was once my home, it’s true, but I…no longer recognize it,” You admit, with more honesty than you should allow yourself, perhaps. From your window you can see the Dragonpit. When you were children you would go there so often, and though the trip had to be made on carriage, in between jests and games, or sleeping in your mother’s lap, it seemed such a quick trip, such a short distance. “It all seemed so much smaller, before. Easier.”

You shake yourself from this foolish nostalgia, and return your attention to the present, to the inside of this room. You return your attention, and your gaze, to Aegon, who still stands there, almost awkwardly, in the middle of the room.

“Wine?” He asks, faintly moving back and forth on the balls of his feet, a jarringly nervous, almost childish, gesture. You do not understand the part of you that finds it endearing.

“No, thank you.”

“I would like some.” He states, but makes no move to pour himself a glass. Instead, he merely looks at you, expectant, eyebrows raised and smile a taunt.

With a deep breath, refusing to let him anger you as easily as he would when you were younger, you acquiesce, and turn your back to pour him a cup of wine.

“I-…They told me you wanted me,” Aegon confesses, the last two words stumbling on an eager tongue. You keep your attention on pouring the wine, and keep your back turned to him, somehow knowing it is while you aren’t looking that he speaks freely. “I was told you chose me.”

You finish pouring a cup -and one for yourself, for you gather this won’t be an easy conversation-, and turn to face him. Aegon stands tall, head held high, and yet you look at him and think only of someone trying to hide, itching to curl in on themselves, make themselves smaller.

His expression struggles for the same control he demands from his body, eyes guarded, jaw set tight.

Not unlike the first time you approached Vermithor, you find yourself waiting for his next move, awaiting a signal to follow, an opening for you to act.

And yet he doesn’t move. You aren’t sure if he is expecting you to, but regardless, you follow his example and hold your ground. Extending your arm, you offer the drink, but he makes no move to accept it.

“Was it a lie?” Aegon asks, quietly.

Something within you is begging you to admit the truth, to say yes. A part of you wishes to risk ruin the very purpose you serve being here, bring forth further division if you must; if that means getting to start the life that begins once you marry with no lies, with your true face.

But you have been a liar far longer than you have been anything else. You weren’t allowed to train with a sword and shield, you have been sent to roam unfamiliar halls and live with unfamiliar faces, you have been parted from your protector as Vermithor retreats to the outskirts of the city. You are alone, with no weapon and no dragon.

You have nothing but teeth and nails and lies, and you have no choice but to put them to use.

“No, it was not a lie,” You tell him, and the surprise he doesn’t bother to hide, the flickering vulnerability you doubt he could hide even if he wanted, that part his lips for a breath and bring a momentary tremble to this brow; they make that part of you wish to offer an apology. The closest you can offer to one is a half-truth, “If I am to marry, I would have it be you I take as a husband.”

And in the blink of an eye, Aegon retreats, cautious again. It feels entirely too close to failure, to deficiency, to let him take from you your advantage like this, because you let a face you don’t wear any longer decide on the words to leave your lips.

Petulant, he corrects, “That isn’t what I asked.”

And now he does approach, taking the goblet from your outstretched hand and downing half the wine in one gulp. You follow him with your gaze as he walks past you to sit in one of the lounges by the hearth.

“Is it not enough?”

He answers with a smile, somewhere between bitter and resigned. The smile hasn’t yet fully curved at his lips when it has already fallen leaving in place an expression torn somewhere between uncertainty and a reckless kind of longing.

You are a Velaryon in name alone, this everyone knows. You are not salt and sea, but even you know the mightiest of vessels can be brought down to the depths by a single crack, a single leak -a single leak, that allows the ocean a way in, a way to reclaim what it deems hers-. Perhaps that is why it is so easy for you then, to take a step back, the beginnings of a frown furrowing at your brow, the faintest movement of your head as you deny his unspoken admission, as you refuse hearing the ever-louder echo of a past long gone.

You were barely more than children, with no understanding of the world or what it would ask of you -of either of you-, when you made the foolish promises you did. It was a folly of youth, and while nostalgia does often cloud your gaze and leaves a faint stinging in your eyes in its wake, you understand, as he should, as he must, that that is all it was.

But doubt creeps in, saltwater through a crack in the hull of a ship, for you understand now, that whatever you had and forsaken, whatever you have made yourself forget, Aegon has kept, and remembered.

How could he, after all this time? How dare he, after all that has and all that hasn’t happened?

You once were naïve enough to think love might prevail over war, but you knew nothing of either. Now, you know better, now you see things as they are, as they were.

And still, something like regret pulls at your chest, something like a dead hope digs under your skin. Foolish, reckless. You tell yourself to take another step back, but you cannot move.

But before you can forget yourself, before you let echoes guide your actions or your voice, Aegon turns away, a humorless and quiet chuckle leaving his lips, his gaze for a moment falling to the cup of wine in his hand before gazing upon the quiet flames of the hearth.

“It is preferable to the alternative, I suppose. My mother wouldn’t forgive me if they had to have my betrothed dragged to the Sept against her will.”

What is expected, what is needed to get the upper hand, is to offer comfort, empty if it must be, that no woman would have to be forced into a marriage with a Targaryen Prince such as him, that the mere idea of a woman not being delighted to be his wife seems impossible to you. A lie, a false promise, anything.

And yet you cannot speak, you cannot move. You will tell yourself later that you were observing, as Lady Mysaria so often reminds you to do while at court.

As if by instinct, an instinct older than your oldest one -you feel robbed of all you learned since you left this place, for a moment, stripped of every instinct your exile imposed upon you and every mask you learned to wear since leaving-, you recite a lesson,

“Betrothals are sacred, in the eyes of any of the Gods. Any daughter, any loyal daughter, would sooner die than dishonor one.”

A groan answers your words, mocking.

“Don’t you tire of it?” Aegon asks, drawing you away from your own thoughts that seem intent on chasing themselves in circles. His head tilts to the side as he considers you and your silence, before he answers his own question with a humorless scoff. “But there’s no reason you would, really. It has always come easy to you, you just-…it’s easy for you.”

“What is?”

“Perfection,” He blurts out, before shrugging one shoulder defensively. He takes yet another sip of wine, and seems to laugh at a joke only he hears before he says, “The Realm’s Delight’s first and only daughter, as Valyrian as the ones in the histories. Rider of a dragon second only to Vhagar. So famed for your grace and beauty you might as well be the Maiden herself.”

Your brow furrows and your eyes narrow.

“Is this your attempt at an insult?”

“In all these years, not one story about a mistake. Not once I heard about you stepping out of line.”

“Court gossip rarely cares about daughters. I was never relevant enough to be gossiped about.”

“You are your mother’s heir. If she ascends the throne, you are to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms after her,” He insists, lifting a finger off the goblet to aim it in your direction in accusation. At your answering silence, Aegon smiles, humorless and a tad mad, and after a sip from his drink starts again, “If she doesn’t, you still might be, now that you are to be my wife.”

“You speak of treas-…”

He interrupts you with an exasperated groan, letting his head lull backwards on the chair.

“Oh, don’t start. You shouldn’t take me seriously,” He advises, lifting the cup in a mock toast to his self-pity before adding, “No one does.”

“Yet many would have you and not my mother sit the Iron Throne.” You admit, not thinking twice about walking to the hearth and taking the seat by his.

In your mind lingers the thought, the reprimand, that you should know better than to do this, to say this. With lies and charm you’ve learned over time to loosen people’s defenses, to bring forth truth from them, and it does not surprise you that Aegon makes it frighteningly easy, still driven by a reckless kind of honestly -or a helpless one perhaps, truths escaping him like sand between his fingers-, still leaving himself exposed. And you should know better than to allow him to bring forth in you the same kind of carelessness.

You keep your attention on the flickering flames, and notice out of the corner of your eye that he has seemed to move closer and is watching you with some strange glint in his eyes. You turn your head to look at him, a question written in your own gaze.

He motions you closer, as if about to tell you a secret, and foolishly, you oblige.

“It’s because my cock is bigger than your mother’s.”

You lean back with a scoff that he only grins at. That, that is entirely becoming of the boy you remember from your youth.

“By the Gods.” You mutter, false disgust attempting to mask something childish, something like laughter. He leans back, stupidly proud at having caught you off-guard, and you furrow your lips to hide a smile.

“You still make the same face when you get ruffled.”

“I do not get ruffled,” You argue, “I am merely appalled at your…your vulgarity.”

He shrugs.

“You let me in.”

“I-…shut up.”

He laughs again, and you shake your head, looking away.

“Do you wish for me to leave?” He asks, and something gives you certainty that he will obey if you say you do. Which you should, for it is beyond inappropriate for a maiden to allow a man into her private apartments, not to mention unbecoming of your mother’s heir to wish for the company of the largest threat to her claim.

You cannot tell the truth, duty binds your lips with precise stitching; but you cannot lie, for in the quiet of it all the world seems smaller again, easier to handle.

And for those few breaths of silence, you think this is the most honest you’ve been tonight.

When you first arrived in Dragonstone, it was to you as wild and foreign as it must have been for your ancestors when they first reached the island; and like them, you too were escaping, fleeing from what you were promised was certain doom.

You were asked to call that place home, and yet you were not taught the layout of the castle or its surroundings, you were not taken sailing between Dragonstone and Driftmark by Laenor as your brothers were, you were not shown the path into the Dragonmont and into Vermithor’s lair, no. You were asked to call that place home, but Lady Mysaria sat with you on that balcony that looks in the direction of King’s Landing -on that same spot where you said goodbye to her a mere day ago-, and she told you that a home is a lie and a heart a shackle, and she promised to teach you to survive as a woman in a world of men.

You were taught to lie, to mask what you felt and what you thought, and to offer instead of the truth what was most agreeable, most useful. It was an easy lesson to assimilate, almost an instinct you were merely reminded of and not taught, and you dread to think of what that makes of you.

What was most useful then, what kept you safe then, what was needed from you then, was being a loyal daughter, with no ties to anywhere beyond her mother’s home, with no bond to anyone beyond the safety of her family. And so that is what you became.

You made yourself forget the world and the life that was before, the girl you adored and the boy that in another life you might have loved. More importantly, perhaps, you made yourself forget what could have been, what would never be.

You could not, not entirely, because there’s a box of dead bugs in your room that you meant to send to Helaena and yet you never did, and there’s a feeling you weren’t allowed to voice but you couldn’t swallow, and so some words remained stuck in your throat for over three years; but you tried.

You tried, you tried with everything that you are to forget about it all, to believe the tales you told others about the fickleness of youth, but now you’re back here and memories are not so easy to push away -and there’s a napkin dragon in your shelf and warmth in your chest as you sit beside Aegon-, and the words unsaid tighten your throat at each lie you attempt to tell, each mask you attempt to wear.

But there’s safety in the lies, in the masks. Anywhere in the world, be it Dragonstone or the seat of some House or another, you can wear a mask. Anywhere in the world, alone or surrounded, you can protect yourself with lies.

And you cling to them, even now, especially now.

“I-…you should leave,” You say, but then remind yourself that there is no room for mistakes. For half-truths, or half-lies. So you correct yourself, “I want you to leave.”

To your surprise, and to the dismay of a part of you the long night and the even longer absence make difficult to force down now, he obeys.

___

It is only you, the Queen, and her handmaidens in the room as you sit together for tea, and you are eyeing the window behind her as Alicent attempts to entertain you with talk about the wedding preparations. That the guests from the Reach are to arrive earlier than expected, that the Lord Hand has called for a septon from Oldtown to perform the rites, that the eldest son of Lord Tyrell has sent you a crate of hippocras as a betrothal gift.

You can only sit in silence and listen, listen and linger in the realization, horrifying and painful, that these celebrations are months in the planning. The realization that while you were travelling the realm in service of your House and your mother, foolishly believing you were free to choose a husband or not choose one at all, your choices were being stolen from you.

“I was younger than you when I married,” The Queen comments. “I would have never imagined you would remain unmarried for so long.”

You care not for polite conversation, nor any games. With a deep breath, you finally take your eyes off that window and blurt out,

“You advised me and Helaena, when we were children, that if the men were to ever come to take us away, we should ask our dragons to unleash dragonfire on them, or on ourselves,” There’s something quite close to horror in her expression, in her widened eyes and parted lips, when she looks upon you. “Does it truly surprise you, that we understand the…the gravity of marriage?”

The Queen is quiet for a few breaths, returning her attention to her plate and busying herself and her hands by cutting open a biscuit. The silence is starting to become uncomfortable when the Queen clears her throat and speaks again, voice tight, hoarse, “You remember.”

“Should I not, Your Grace?”

She scarred you, with her grief, her grief for two girls that weren’t yet dead, that hadn’t gotten yet a chance to be alive. She scarred you and in doing so she taught you; she taught you much more than your mother ever could.

Many times, Rhaenyra spoke with you about the life and death of her mother, and what fear she had for motherhood, how it was for many years a death sentence in her eyes. But her admissions were always followed by a soft, loving smile, by her hand grasping at yours, and the promise that her fears pale in the love she has for you and your brothers.

Alicent never made such promises, such assurances.

“I was…not myself. You needn’t heed the advice I gave that night.”

She was drunk, and tired, and angry; but neither of those things made her any less herself, nor her words any less honest. Of course, she won’t admit that.

You want to call her out on her lie, for you remember that night, and you remember well. You remember that when you told her you had no dragon, for Vermithor was still asleep and unknown to you and the egg placed in your cradle never hatched, Alicent merely looked at you with rage and sorrow over a decade old and replied, neither did I.

You were children, you were foolish and naïve children, and the next morning Helaena asked for you to accompany her to the Dragonpit, and tried to explain to Dreamfyre why she had to obey you if you ever came to her and commanded dracarys.

“It was advice I valued then and now.” You admit, finding her gaze and offering the faintest of smiles.

“It…gladdens me to hear that then, Princess.”

“Advice my aunt must value as well, for she remains unmarried.”

It is a provocation, and a careless one at that. You knew that before you voiced it, but you trusted the Queen not to falter. And she does not disappoint.

She drops the knife, and the noise of it hitting the plate rings in your ears. For a moment gone as quickly as it began, as if a compulsion she has tried to bury, the Queen lets her nails dig at the skin of her thumbs.

“I resented my husband, for many years, for allowing his daughter the liberties he did, for turning a blind eye the way he did,” She admits, and there’s that tone in her voice again, the tone of that night, tangled in anger and helplessness and regret. Now there’s shame, in the bow of her head, in the restless movements of her fingers. “And yet…my girl, I couldn’t-…”

“I would venture to guess many have vied for her hand in these passing years?”

“My father would have her married and shipped off somewhere far in exchange for an alliance, but…she wishes not to,” She looks at you then, lifts her warm gaze to yours. You’ve seen that look in your mother’s eyes before, you’ve seen it in Mysaria’s, in Rhaenys’. You realize now, with horrifying certainty, how fortunate you are that you haven’t seen that look in Baela’s or Rhaena’s eyes, or in Helaena’s. Alicent gestures with her hand aimlessly, to the nothing and the everything around you. “What use is there for all this, for any of it, if I cannot protect her?”

“I cannot speak on a mother’s duty or choices,” You say, and though you wish it would, it is not a mask like the one you presented to your grandsire last night, telling him what he wants to hear while you grit your teeth at what leaves your lips, no. It is the closest to truth you can offer. “But I am very glad to see her contented, happy even.”

The closest to truth you can offer, without revealing something wrong, something rotten. Like envy, like jealousy.

But you gather the Queen hears it regardless, for she sighs, and adds, “Which she achieved by remaining unmarried.”

You hear the words she doesn’t say, you see something like regret in her warm eyes, and stupidly, some part of you still the child that brought a sweet pastry to the Queen after finding her heaving panicked breaths and paler than a ghost, you want to reassure her, to accept the apology she doesn’t voice.

But Alicent starts again, composed again, distant again,

“You are a woman grown now. I trust in time you will learn to…handle Aegon, guide him. You must a-…”

You know where this is going. You just want one conversation where you aren’t asked to do something for someone, where you aren’t reminded of what is expected from you. One.

You stand from the table with a scoff, walking away and towards the window, “I am not a shepherd, and your son no sheep.”

“I only mean to help you.”

“I do not recall asking for help, Your Grace.”

The Queen joins her hands before her, head held high, back straight. A picture of a woman’s role, a woman’s duty. You look away and instead look out the window.

“You valued advice I gave before, and I ask you to do so again. I only mean to make this easier for you, child.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and knows better than to press for one. Instead she murmurs your title and your name as a goodbye, not waiting for a returned goodbye of Your Grace or a gesture of your own, before turning around and moving to leave the room.

“You lied to him,” You blurt out, an accusation you are risking much if it ends up being wrong. When the Queen turns to look at you, you force yourself to hold your place, force your hands to remain in place even when you want to cross your arms, force your eyes to look at her even though a part of you fears her. You push on, “You told Aegon I wanted to marry him.”

Alicent takes a breath, and says nothing for a few beats, expression carefully flat as she regards you.

“Did you admit to him that it was a lie?”

“No.”

The only give she allows is the slight widening of her eyes, surprise but not quite. A breath, two, and the Queen bows her head in goodbye again, though now at her lips curves a smile. Sad, as all her smiles are, but a little defiant also.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!

Though she admitted a little bit to what her stance in regards to the marriage is, the aspect of the lying and especially the lie about choosing him are still the point of this story, and will develop further in the upcoming chapters.

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Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #fics by me

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verbenaa · 26 days ago

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to eden | chapter ten

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: minor violence

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Astarion throws the knife aside, uncaring where it scatters itself as it clangs against stone with a sharp sound, before he cups her paling face within his palms.

“Rin!” It will do no good yelling in her face when she’s very much not conscious as she lays still on the ground; but he can’t seem to help it, running his thumb over her cheek as something inside him snaps with a painful twist.

It’s a very strange feeling, the one bubbling up in his chest and throat to pierce his unbeating heart through, only carnage left in its wake.

A part of him, one long forgotten about and buried deep into the forsaken corners of his mind, recognizes it for what it is.

Fear.

𝒶/𝓃: hello again! apologies it's taken me so long to get this out. I ended up having to split this chapter into 2 due to the length, so here is the first part! hopefully the other half (which will now be ch 11) won't take nearly as long since it's about 75% done. love you all sm and let me know what you think in the comments! kisses xoxoxo

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With blurring vision, Rin can see Karlach fell the last of them from her position on the ground as blood leaks out of her at a rate that she feels should probably be alarming, though she can’t quite find the energy to be all that concerned about it at the moment.

In hindsight, it was perhaps not the brightest idea she’s ever had to send herself leaping off a rock and into a horde of enemies in an attempt to distract them from the large, whirling portal that Halsin had disappeared into.

It was probably a very stupid idea.

It worked rather well in the end, though, so Rin will consider it a success in the long run; provided she doesn’t bleed to death on the cold, hard ground before they can celebrate their victory.

But fuck, if the consequences of her actions didn’t hurt.

This was far from Rin’s first time to be stabbed—that honor went to when she was a gawky and awkward teenager, hair chopped short and dressed in overlarge clothing; and had found herself cornered in an alleyway following a foiled escape attempt after snatching several gold pieces off a tavern tabletop.

She had earned herself a small, pocket-sized knife to the side, slid neatly between two of her ribs. The blade had been barely longer than her fingers, the metal of it brittle and cheap; and so while it had certainly hurt she can’t say it really compared to the one she’s presently dealing with.

It was a good thing, in Rin’s opinion, that she couldn’t move.

Because if she were able to look down and see the size of the dagger sticking out of her chest, she fears it might make the pain even worse. Some things were simply better not to know, and she’s convinced this has to be one of them.

She had been able to feel it as the blade had spiked through her leather armor before piercing into her skin; pain erupting in her chest and spreading through every inch of her body, so agonizing she could barely take a breath as she had staggered back.

She managed one last spell, a shockingly well-executed thunderwave towards a group of shades off to her side—she’ll need to be thanking Gale for helping her perfect her technique on that one, she reminds herself off-handedly—before she had sank to her knees and eventually down onto the bloody dirt.

She doubts anyone even noticed her defeat in the chaos of it all, but surely they’ll notice soon. They have to, don’t they? Wasn’t she their leader, or whatever it was they liked to call her?

In the near distance, she recognizes the booming of Halsin’s voice as it resonates through the air and though she can’t focus on his words she can make out the vague sentiment that it was done and that he had succeeded in his mission.

Rin manages a sigh of relief, the motion inordinately painful in this position. If she had more strength she would roll herself over or perhaps even call out for help, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort at a time like this.

Where was Shadowheart, anyway? She desperately needed the cleric and her healing touch, in the event she’s even closer to death than previously assumed, a fact that was looking more and more likely by the minute.

And what a truly awful place to die this would be, so dark and with nary a beam of sunlight to be found. Perhaps her companions would give her a nice burial somewhere, at least, were she to perish in the next few minutes.

At the pretend funeral Rin oversees in her mind, she imagines a lovely hillside with wildflowers of all colors blowing on a gentle breeze—but there aren’t any of those nearby thanks to the curse.

Utterly depressing.

She sighs again, sending another concerning stab of pain through her form, hands gripping on nothing but air as she suffers through it with a quiet, pained whimper.

Karlach, at least, would probably cry at her funeral; she was wonderfully soft-hearted like that. Gale, too, seemed like the sobbing type; the ones who always go all teary-eyed at weddings and funerals and baby celebrations.

Astarion would—well, actually, she doesn’t want to think about what he would do at her pretend funeral. She hopes he would mourn her in some way, but in the end he’s already lost plenty and she’s just another person and someone he hasn’t even know that long on top of that and—

An errant thought hits her, and oh, poor Astarion. Who else would he drink from were she to perish here? She’s certain none of their current companions would willingly offer up their necks (or any other parts, for that matter) to him.

There’s a quick pattering against the earth that reverberates against her head where it lays on the trampled and singed pine needles—footsteps, she realizes a bit too slowly for her liking—and it’s as if she’d summoned him with her thoughts as a familiar set of gloved hands turn her over with less finesse than she would expect from the rogue.

Rin bites back a sob at the motion as she finds herself settling in Astarion’s hold, her head tucked into the curve of his arm and the elf’s features carefully blank, though there’s something that looks curiously like panic sparking across his claret gaze as his eyes meet her own.

“Hardly the place to be on your back, darling,” He manages as his eyes hone in on her newest accessory, unfortunately still attached to her. Or inside her, more accurately.

Astarion’s voice is surprisingly smooth and soothing despite the increasingly frantic look in his eyes as they dart back and forth between her face and the dagger currently embedded deep in between the leather scales of her armor.

Rin likes the sound of it, she decides. He should speak to her in such a way more often, the dulcet tone of his words nothing short of lovely.

He could probably lull her to sleep if he were to keep talking, and she vaguely considers the idea. Astarion seemed to be decidedly opposed to the idea of them resting together in any other way, but maybe he’d allow it while she’s on her potential deathbed.

A pity that it had to be that way, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they?

“Apologies,” Rin winces as she speaks, another wave of pain cascading through her. “I shall try to die closer to your bedroll next time around.”

Astarion tsks, the sound of it wonderfully familiar and a hazy smile settles on her lips as she lets her lashes slowly drift shut, only for a moment.

“Oh, I think there’s life in you yet. You’re far too pretty to die, dearest.”

She’d blush if her blood weren’t busy elsewhere, namely flowing out from her chest.

Distantly, Rin notices that his words aren’t quite so soothing this time around, something that sounds an awful lot like concern tightening around the edges of them; but it’s good enough for her and will do just fine as the darkness behind her eyes begins to beckon with a siren song that she’s unsure she can resist for much longer.

She’s bleeding all over Astarion, and not in the way she knows he would prefer; the bright ruby of her blood falling in a steady stream from where the knife is buried deep in the skin below her collar, hilted into the soft flesh of her breast and mere inches from her blessedly still-beating heart.

Gods, she must look like a mess.

Rin settles further into the darkness as she finds the strength to turn her head towards Astarion’s chest, nose bumping the darkly spun armor he wears (and fits him rather beautifully, she thinks) as she takes a shuddering breath, the sound wet and heavy.

Strange, she didn’t think breathing was supposed to make that noise.

“No, no. No sleeping,” Astarion says sharply despite what she thinks must be his thumb running up and down her armor where he holds her, his touch calming even through all the layers between them. “You can rest later, but now’s not the time.”

But it was so tempting, what does he expect her to do? There’s a knife in her chest, her head feels funny, and he’s holding her so delicately in his arms. Going to sleep was the only logical solution at a time like this.

There’s more pounding of what Rin assumes must be footsteps and she somehow manages to catch pieces of Shadowheart and Halsin’s conversation from afar, their voices sounding far more distressed than they should be following success.

Not a great sign, all things considered.

“Hey Soldier, you doing alright?” Karlach bends down from several paces away, trying to get a good look at her as heat still steams off of her from the battle, sweat and blood beaded upon her fiery skin in equal measure before directing her words towards Astarion. “She’s not kicked the bucket yet, has she?”

“Still here. Sorry to disappoint.” She manages a weak smile Karlach’s way as she forces her heavy, tired eyes to open. “However, I think I could do with some healing.”

Karlach smiles at her and Rin is suddenly dizzy despite not being in motion, inky black clinging to the edges of her vision as she blinks slowly in an attempt to clear the troublesome vignette encroaching upon her, its presence yet another decidedly bad sign of the state of her health.

Rin isn’t exactly sure whether its minutes or seconds that pass as she lays in Astarion’s arms, something strange in his gaze as he looks at her, but finally she feels the vibration of a final set of feet making their way towards her.

She hears Shadowheart before she ever sees the cleric, her clear voice ringing out from beside Rin as she appears within her field of vision while she still lays tucked into Astarion’s chest. “Stay still so I can get a look at you.”

“How lucky for you that I can barely move,” Rin muses.

The cleric only responds to her with a familiar, wry look laced with a touch of warmth before turning her attention to meet Astarion’s hard gaze, his thumb still brushing in sweeps across her arm.

“We’ve got to get the blade out before we can heal her.” Rin isn’t quite sure why Shadowheart is addressing Astarion and not her, the injured person, but she’s not in the mood to entertain the reason. “And fast. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Astarion scoffs with a baleful roll of his eyes, tugging her infinitesimally closer to him and Rin doesn’t even mind the lance of pain because she realizes she can still smell him over the scent of battle—rosemary and brandy and earthy citrus far preferable to the fire and acrid brimstone of battle. “Did Shar herself teach you such sagely medical advice?”

“At least I have medical advice to give. Vampires aren’t known for their healing prowess last time I checked.” Shadowheart cuts an imperious look Astarion’s way, chin raised.

“Can someone please just do me the honor of removing it, then?” Rin interrupts with a heaving sigh, the effort required peculiarly difficult.

There’s a beat of silence that has her contemplating the merits of falling asleep again, and she’s fairly certain she’s willing to risk the ire of her companions for a cozy little nap at this point.

“Astarion, your hands are likely the steadiest. Can you remove it without doing extra damage?” Shadowheart queries, her tone far more serious now.

“Of course I can,” He snaps in reply before he redirects his glance back to Rin’s face, expression softening. “I’ll be gentle. Or as much as I can be.”

She would hope he would be.

Carefully, Astarion shifts her back onto the ground and Rin mourns the loss of his arms, and it’s a very unfair exchange in her opinion—she’d much rather die in the comfort of his hold than on the impersonal chill of the ground.

She whimpers when his fingers meet the handle protruding from her chest, the slight motion managing to jostle it, sending another cascade of agony through her.

“Ready, darling?” His grip on the dagger is sure as he swallows, unease swirling in his eyes as they meet her own. A terrific sign of her fate, on all accounts. “On the count of five.”

Rin manages a nod as she stares up at him with clouded, hazy eyes that she doesn’t realize only serve to alarm him even more before speaking softly, tasting blood on the syllables as they weakly leave her lips. “I trust you.”

He looks as though she’s gutted him with her words as his brow creases and eyes widen as if stricken, which is rather ironic considering she’s the one with a knife inside her and he is practically free of any sort of wounds aside from a bloodied lip and a darkened eye as far as she can tell, still just as handsome as ever.

“One, two, three–” Astarion takes a deep breath and pulls, and the last thing Rin remembers before darkness overtakes her is the look of genuine apology on Astarion’s face as a searing pain erupts in her chest, her very last thought that he’s a downright liar for not waiting until he reached the number five.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The first thing Astarion feels when Rin loses consciousness, the handle of the dagger that had just been buried in her chest now enclosed within his palm, is sheer, illogical panic.

It rings in his ears and sets his chest aflame, and if it weren’t for his terror that she was now dead and that he was the one who had accidentally killed her in his attempt to save her life instead, he would be concerned that something was awfully and horribly wrong with him instead.

Astarion himself was no stranger to pain or injury, having bled enough over the centuries to probably fill several fountains worth of his blood; and while her injury was undoubtedly quite pressing in the nature of its severity, the blade had thankfully avoided the important bits when it had imbedded itself into her skin.

If it hadn’t, she would have already been dead by the time he had reached her.

But the sight of it, the blood pouring from the wound in rather copious amounts, the look of agony etched across her features, and then her eyes falling shut and body going lax—it was all very dramatic of her.

A bard, indeed, if that performance was anything to go by.

Astarion throws the knife aside, uncaring where it scatters itself as it clangs against stone with a sharp sound, before he cups her paling face within his palms.

It’s a very strange feeling, the one bubbling up in his chest and throat to pierce his unbeating heart through, only carnage left in its wake.

A part of him, one long forgotten about and buried deep into the forsaken corners of his mind, recognizes it for what it is.

Fear.

Astarion has known fear, of course.

He’s spent so many years afraid, alone, and hurting—he still vividly remembers the potent fear of death as it had loomed over him and then struck all those decades ago, only for him to awaken six feet underground with a hunger he’d never known the likes of before in the pit of his stomach as he had clawed his way to what he thought was to be his freedom.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He remembers each and every moment of fear instilled in him by Cazador with an unfortunate, visceral clarity; every trembling ounce of it as he had waited for a punishment to be handed down, for the door to slam in his face to lock him away for Gods knew how long, for whatever other horror had been divined up for him—all of them perfectly designed to break body and soul and spirit.

But he’s not quite sure he’s ever felt fear like this for someone else before.

Astarion immediately hates the feeling with every fiber of his being.

“What’s happened to her?!” He demands at Shadowheart and there’s something frantic that shakes in his voice, the sound of which he’s wholly unfamiliar with as his eyes fixate on Rin’s face, looking as though she had simply fallen into a deep sleep, though the pained furrow of her brow tells a different story.

He hates that he hates the sight of it as his thumb continues to brush foolishly across her now pale cheeks, the freckles dotting her skin in familiar clusters standing out against the pallor of her face, as if the motion would coax her back awake and ease the pain causing it somehow.

“She just fainted, Astarion.” The cleric sends him a look that he does not appreciate, and he scowls back at her in response. “She’ll be fine so long as you let me focus.”

Karlach takes a step closer behind him, the heat emanating off of her hitting him like a wave. “Aw, did she pass out? Poor Rin.”

Normally, he wouldn’t mind the warmth from the infernal engine that churns inside her chest, but now all it does is make the cold sweat that’s beading on his skin that much more noticeable, sending an unshakable chill through him instead.

“Her pain tolerance leaves much to be desired, it seems,” Shadowheart drawls before she sighs, raising her hands in front of her and hovering them over Rin’s increasingly still body.

Too still for his liking, her chest moving up and down with only the slowest of motions. Much longer, and it would simply stop moving altogether.

Astarion ignores the way his throat tightens at the thought, unable to swallow down the rampant terror surging through his chest.

“Can you just heal her already? Insult her to her face when she’s awake.”

“I’m getting to it.” Shadowheart cuts a glare towards Astarion, though it doesn’t have half the bite the Sharran thinks it does.

“Te Curo.”

Slowly, waves of glowing blue begin to emanate from Shadowheart’s palms, enveloping Rin in a familiar, soft effervescence and Astarion can imagine the feeling of it—a cooling sensation followed by the telltale itch of skin reknitting itself, the feeling vaguely uncomfortable and slightly sickening.

He’s been healed enough times to know that Shadowheart’s spell should be enough to close the wound, but the strange panic slicing at his insides seems intent to not let up despite the spell’s conclusion, that icy cerulean haze slowly evaporating from the air like the clearing of mist.

“We need to get her out of this armor, I want to make sure the wound healed fully. Karlach, since we’re so close, can you carry her back to camp?” Shadowheart queries with a glance up.

For once, Astarion agrees with the cleric though he’s not about to admit it, and only gives out a murmured affirmation in response as he counts the breaths moving Rin’s chest.

The tiefling walks up behind him and he begrudgingly stands to move out of the way for her to take his place, and he once again hates the feeling that resonates through him at having to leave her side.

How tiring this all was beginning to be.

“Up ya go,” Karlach gathers her up as carefully as she can, and Rin looks pitifully small and slight in Karlach’s hold. “Ooh, light as a feather, isn’t she?”

“It’s because her head is mostly empty,” Astarion edges out. “It’s a wonder the worm even has anywhere to hide itself in that brain of hers.”

If she had a brain, she certainly hadn’t used it today. Her logic—provided there even was any at work—was infuriating, and anger threatens to intercede over the slowly lessening grip of fear that had taken ahold of him.

He considers allowing it.

Anger was a much more palatable emotion, after all. One that he understands.

Being angry was comfortable, easy; something that he knows all too well how to wear like an armor that he can summon up at will. He doesn’t like the way this newfound fear has settled over him, clawing up his throat to choke him and paralyze his heart even though it no longer beats.

Anger would be much preferred, in the end.

But the anger doesn’t yet come, not really—or at least not in the way he would expect.

He can feel it burning there, a slow simmer in the depths of his chest at the sheer stupidity, the idiocy of her forgetting that she was very much mortal and therefore quite liable to injury; but a foreign sort of relief intercedes over it, taking control of and transforming his anger into something else that he doesn’t quite understand or yet have a name for as he keeps his gaze trained upon where Rin rests near motionless in Karlach’s arms.

She might not be conscious, but she was very much alive.

And he’s damned to the hells and back for caring about that fact.

Part of him—the irritating part that seemed to be upset, of all things—wishes he were the one holding her instead.

But at the very least, out of everyone to get to carry her, Karlach was the next best option so Astarion shall allow it as he walks on beside them, his eyes on the lookout for any trouble heading their way despite the fact that they’d already walked back into the shimmering dome of Selûne’s light.

They’re bustling into Rin’s tent within minutes, Karlach settling her onto a still-unmade bedroll, the threadbare blanket kicked into a messy heap at the foot of it, yet to be pulled back up for the day.

“Right then,” Shadowheart says in a no-nonsense tone as she steps inside, briefly glancing around the tent before kneeling beside Rin’s still sleeping form. “Armor off.”

They set to work and no one mentions Astarion’s ease at undoing her armor or the way his now-ungloved fingers know exactly where the next buckle or tie is before discarding it to the side with practiced finesse.

Her shirt’s a bloody mess when they finally peel the scaled leathers and ruined gambeson off her form, now stained the deep, dark crimson of her own blood down the front in a ghastly splash, tainting the simple embroidery along the hem.

“Off with it.” Shadowheart gestures with a nod of her chin towards Astarion. “The shirt, I mean.”

“You want me to take off her shirt?” He narrows his eyes at her before lowering his gaze back down to the garment in question.

“Well, you certainly have the most practice at getting her out of her clothes, do you not?”

Astarion scoffs and rolls his eyes, but can’t exactly refute the fact.

Nor would he want to.

“Why, is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Shadowheart?”

It’s not escaped his knowledge that some of their companions had made their own invitations to her once upon a time—she herself had said so before she had chosen him, after all—and he can’t help the slight hint of gloating in his voice as he jeers at the cleric.

He’d never questioned Rin as to who had, exactly, professed their interest; but he knows how they all look at her. The sight of it has certainly annoyed him enough the past few weeks.

“You’re hearing things,” Shadowheart responds sharply as she glares his way. “Now, are you doing it or am I?”

“Oh, I’ll do it,” He grumbles in defeat, though he’s not certain there was ever any sort of actual debate on his answer.

As if he’d let anyone else undress her under his watch. Even if it was only for very valid medical reasons.

The tunic was undeniably wet with blood, sticking to her skin as it begins to dry. His eyes flit up to Rin’s face, brow blissfully uncreased as she still sleeps on, wholly unaware of his apparent inner turmoil.

The sight of it and the knowledge that she’s perhaps no longer in much pain sends a wave of relief through him that he didn’t realize he needed, and it’s yet another strange feeling that he’s not used to.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s even bothered to consider someone else’s well-being, and he’s unsure what to make of it.

Caring in such a manner is crossing a line he’s had drawn for centuries, and he fears once it’s been stepped across, there will be no turning back.

“Can’t you just…rip it off her? Like they do in the books?” Karlach queries from beside him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she sways from foot to foot, her non-broken horn mere inches from snagging on the canopy.

“I would have thought that was in your particular skill set, Astarion.” Shadowheart agrees, quite unhelpfully in Astarion’s opinion, from beside him.

He was very capable of tearing off clothes when inclined to do so, thank you very much.

“Even if it is—” Astarion cuts a sharp look towards Shadowheart before continuing. “She’d burn me alive if I ripped her shirt. Without her permission, at least.”

He knows he doesn’t need to add on the last part, but it felt necessary in order to preserve his image as a rakish, no good sort of man. Which he most definitely is, of course.

Astarion remembers the last time she threatened to burn down his tent (and him with it), and he has no intention of inciting another threatened ignis from her; or at least not for this,of all things. If he must be threatened in such a manner again, he’d rather it be for a much more enticing and scandalous reason, not because he was trying to do something as tedious as saving her damned life.

“Can you not just peek underneath it? Why must it be taken all the way off?” He demands, unable to pinpoint why, exactly, he’s so bothered by this.

It was just a shirt. And she was just another person, in the end.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s undressed others and undressed her—the contours of her form an image he could envision in his mind and conjure the feeling of against his fingers without a second thought.

He could do it easily. In seconds, probably, even with all the blood sticking to her skin.

It would be rather uncomfortable for her to stay in her tunic like that. He can imagine the stiffness of it, knows the feeling all too well firsthand, and he shifts uncomfortably with a frown as he stares at her.

“Fine,” He relents with a groan while Karlach just watches on amused, though he doesn’t understand what she seems to find so humorous about this entire debacle.

Astarion suddenly wishes the others weren’t here, that he wasn’t here and being forced to face the fact that she had practically died and that he seems to feel rather strongly about that fact, but he pushes the unhelpful and unnecessary chatter in his mind aside as he works her tunic off of her sleeping form instead.

It takes all of his dexterity to keep his motions soft and smooth, jostling her as little as possible until he’s finally pulled it up and over her head before bringing the fabric up to his face to examine the slash.

A clean cut through the weave and it’s really a wonder she managed to live through the battle at all. He’d have to mend it for her, later on. It wouldn’t take too long and with any luck he could return it before she’d even noticed it was gone in the first place.

The shirt may have been utterly drab and boring to the point of offense, but if he’s not careful, she’ll pick something worse next time around—Gods know the rags they’ve found so far on this journey have been downright awful.

Shadowheart leans in as he stashes the ruined tunic beside him and out of sight from the others, and she lets out a pleased hum as she checks the wound, poking at the reknitted skin with a gentle touch.

There’s a swish of fabric that has Astarion’s head swiveling towards the entrance of the tent, reflexes at the ready and hand reaching for one of the daggers at his side when none other than Gale, of all people, sticks his head inside.

“Is everything alright in here?” The wizard asks in a manner he likely thinks is helpful, when in reality it’s actually just plain irritating, at least in Astarion’s opinion. “Is anyone in need of my expertise?”

The wizard’s gaze peruses the interior of the tent, wandering from object to object as he takes in the space for what Astarion assumes must be the first time. His eyes stop, though, on the form lying in the middle of it all.

Gale of all people would not be seeing Rin’s nearly naked body if he has anything to do with it—and thankfully, he does!—so Astarion shoots a cold glare the wizard’s way as he maneuvers himself in front of her form, shielding her from the pair of wandering eyes.

“Out of here, mate. No one invited you,” Karlach sighs out at the same time as Shadowheart says cooly, “No, Gale. I seem to have things perfectly under control without your help.”

“Well, I didn’t realize this was an invite-only sort of thing. I simply wanted to check in on our fearless leader’s well-being and offer up some of my rather extensive knowledge, if needed. That’s all, nothing more.” He holds up his hands in mock-surrender, the gesture infinitely grating.

“Her well-being is very much already being taken care of,” Astarion snaps, words as cold as ice. “So go find something else to use all of your ‘expertise’ on.”

“And with that—” The wizard sends him a pointed look which Astarion merely glares back in response to. “—I shall go busy myself elsewhere. Good luck and goodbye!”

The wizard backs out of the tent as quickly as he had peeked his head in, gone in a flash of garish purple to go do whatever the hells it was that he did when not annoying someone else.

Good riddance.

Shadowheart releases an audible sigh as she moves to stand to her full height post unwanted interruption. “Well, she shall live another day. Once she wakes up, she’ll probably be back to her normal self and serenading us all drunk at the campfire by dinner. My work here is done.”

He looks at Rin’s sleeping face once more—still so dreamy, sweet, and unaware.

Defenseless as a fawn. Terribly mortal. The definition of an easy target.

“I can—” Astarion starts, back stiff. “I will watch over her.”

The two women turn to him, their expressions both far too intrigued by his words for his tastes.

“Well, then, Astarion.” Shadowheart says, brow raised in skepticism. “We’ll leave her in your…capable hands.”

Karlach affords him a genuine smile as she ambles towards the exit and he swears she lets out a noise that sounds an awful lot like an ‘aw’ to Shadowheart as she ducks between the flaps, though he will not be acknowledging that at this present moment.

The two of them share a final look—highly unnecessary, in his opinion—as they leave together, and the tent is rather abruptly very empty and very silent, the soft sound of Rin’s breathing the only noise.

He stands frozen, staring at her sleeping form—she looks so much more human in her sleep, so mortal and delicate without her sharp words to act as armor—as a barrage of thoughts hit him all at the same time, warring together against him.

He’s not even sure why he’s still here, why he even volunteered for such a thing, considering she was fine now.

More than fine, honestly.

She was alive, which is what matters. She doesn’t really need someone to just watch her sleep, for Gods sake.

But he’s compelled to stay by some unknown force that he relents to despite the blaring in his head telling him to leave and get out while he still could. Nothing good could come from being this near to her sleeping form, for who knows what that ever-present traitorous voice will tell him to do.

Likely something sweet—a sickening thought, as always.

Astarion shifts from foot to foot, unsure of what quite to do with himself. He’s never really been much of a caretaker, so to speak.

The opposite of one, really.

But Rin, for all her lack of consciousness, seems settled enough; her lovely face clear of any discomfort despite the speckles of drying blood scattered across her cheek and neck as her chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm.

With unsure hands, he reaches out and tugs the blanket at her feet, pulling it up until it rests underneath her chin, covering her nakedness and guarding her from the ever-present chill of the curse that hovers around them.

His bare hand brushes against her neck by accident, her skin soft but still just a touch too chilled and he’s quick to yank it back, flexing his fingers before balling them up into a fist as his stare becomes harder the longer he fixates on her sleeping face.

Astarion, unfortunately, remembers watching her go down in unnervingly stark detail.

He hadn’t seen her jump off that rock and into the chaos, otherwise he would have done more, done something at the very least, to cover her.

But he did see it when that dagger hit her, a warning immediately going off in his head as he had noted exactly where the blade had been directed. It was a kill shot, certainly, and frankly he’s surprised that the cultist who threw it had managed such precise aim.

In his mind, he could still hear the startled gasp that left her lips as the knife had hit and she had fallen to her knees, sending off a final spell before collapsing into the dirt.

It was the least he could do, in the end, to show the cultist what precise aim actually looked like.

An arrow to the throat, perfectly placed to cut through the windpipe, was all it took to down his new number one target and though he unfortunately did not get the opportunity to watch them suffocate—he had more important things to deal with—he knows that at the very least it was an appropriately miserable way to die.

He had feared the worst when he had finally reached her; fully expecting to turn her over and see those vibrant green eyes he liked so much staring blankly ahead, devoid of life, and her chest frozen on her final breath.

Discovering her still alive, though hurt, was a much better outcome.

Rin even still possessed the wherewithal to respond to him with some semblance of her usual irreverence and it had taken all of his self-control to not do something rash like profess his relief at the sound of her voice and the life still held within it.

Still, she managed to have the last laugh in the end, those damned words of hers clanging around in his head regardless whether he wishes them to or not.

‘I trust you.’

Gods. She may as well have staked him in the heart with that little sentence, for he doesn’t deserve her trust.

Not after the way he’s been playing her like a fool for weeks and months now—he forgets which it is sometimes, the days and nights of their exploring and killing blending into one another; the only moments that stand out to him those that feature her in the center of them recently, the number of which seem to be increasing by the day and if he’s not careful she will be the only thing on his mind, her name and face a constantly repeating banner in his thoughts.

Although at this point, he’s not so certain he isn’t actually playing himself as well.

He must be set on his own demise, clearly, to harbor such…feelings toward her, even if he doesn’t—and won’t—admit the existence of them to himself most of the time.

What is he supposed to do with such useless things, anyway? He indulges in her enough as it is, any more will only put him at a level of risk he can’t afford.

With a sigh, he steps away from her figure, blanket securely pulled up around her to preserve her warmth and preferred modesty, a quirk about her he finds to be so very entertaining with how quickly and with such great enthusiasm she seems to shed her clothing for him.

As it were, she wasn’t keen to show terribly much of her pretty skin—a loss for humanity at large, in his opinion, as she looks very lovely wearing very little; but a win for him, as he gets to enjoy the sight all on his own with no one else the wiser of the beauty she keeps hidden beneath those drab tunics of hers.

Comfortable, she calls them. He scoffs at the idea.

No wonder she never made much money as a bard. Perhaps if she indulged in some of the more risqué fashions he’d seen others don over the years, she would have been more successful at her art.

With little else to do he resigns himself to waiting, though he isn’t quite sure what for. For her to awaken from her slumber, perhaps? It would invite a rather awful amount of questions, though, were he to be present at such a moment.

Questions he is unwilling to answer.

So, Astarion doesn’t count the time as it passes and simply busies himself with a variety of other things instead. Time, he has found, can be quite strange when one finds themselves immortal and so he has gotten rather good, if he may say so himself, at filling the minutes and hours as they leisurely pass around him.

He pays half-attention to the errant thoughts that swirl in his head as he cleans the sharp edges of his many blades—though he avoids the ones that center too intensely around Rin, for now.

He looks at her makeshift vanity and at the only makeup she apparently possessed in an attempt to decipher why, precisely, he always seems to find her lips to be so enchanting— he finds a pretty rose colored balm that he knows can be used on both lips and cheeks, however the discovery does little to solve his mystery.

He uncorks the almost empty bottle of perfumed oil she uses to sniff at it for himself, another foray into his prior investigation—it smells so much better on her than it does in the bottle, but he isn’t quite sure why or how that is, and again leaves him with more questions than answers.

He stares at the single stalk of purple foxglove she had somehow procured and placed into a small decanter to act as the singular decoration in her tent and he counts every bell-shaped flower—he’s impressed she managed to find a living plant in a place so cursed, even if it is still poisonous in the end, but it adds a certain warmth to her tent that feels so very her he can barely stand it.

He’s flipping through one of the books she has stacked in a corner—The Druid Who Daredaccording to the worn and broken spine, the decidedly indecent contents on several dog-eared pages of which he will definitely not be forgetting about—when he comes across something hidden in between two thin pages.

It’s nothing unusual, especially in her tent, just an innocuous piece of parchment folded thrice.

The same way she happens to fold all of her letters.

Astarion’s brow quirks as he takes a glance back at Rin, still snuggled peacefully in her blanket and none the wiser.

He shouldn’t. He knows better.

Most people don’t read other people’s personal letters, especially when said person is something like a lover, even if their situation is somewhat complicated.

But Astarion considers himself to be infinitely worse than most people and can’t help the curiosity that fills him when he sees what looks an awful lot like his name written many times over in dark ink bleeding through the thin vellum.

He’s seconds from reaching into the book, intent on grabbing the slip of parchment to open and read it, careful and covert, when he hears the soft rustling of movement behind him.

Astarion slams the book shut as if it had grown teeth and threatened to eat him, setting it back onto the stack where he had found it lightning-quick as he turns back around, expecting to be heavily berated to when he inevitably meets what he assumes will be a very angry bard.

When he does turn, however, he’s greeted instead by the sight of Rin not yet fully awake, only just stirring with soft groan and her back arching in a stretch, head tossing to the side.

Luck, it appeared, is on his side today.

In more ways than one.

Despite his apparent good luck, however, he’s now faced with the issue of leaving. Because he certainly can’t be found in her tent standing over her like some guardian angel.

How could he possibly explain to her that he’s been watching over her like some nurse, caring for her like he has any right to—even if only by watching her from afar.

He doesn’t have the words to explain himself and so he will not.

But he doesn’t plan on being too far away tonight, either way. Someone needs to keep an eye on her in the event something happens. He doesn’t know what that something might be, but his point still stands. It may as well be him to take on the job.

And so, Astarion grabs his gloves along with her ripped, bloodied blouse and flees with every ounce of stealth at his disposal, sneaking out of her tent just as Rin’s eyes begin to flutter open.

#oh I wonder what will happen next time hmmmm #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x oc #astarion bg3 #astarion fics #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #verbenaa writes things!

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zqmbiescorpse · 2 years ago

Text

THE MORNING AFTER THE LAST

lottie matthews x female reader

a/n: i used the word 'homosexual' once and every time i see it i giggle a bit, so if it feels out of place for you it felt out of place for me too lmao

summary: you and lottie have always been suspiciously close for best friends. one night at a party, the feelings finally surface. the only thing left to complicate the situation is a plane crash and a possession.

warnings: alcohol, smoking, brief mentions of homophobia, kissing, sexual tension, suggestive themes, possession, minor depictions of violence (like once i think)

word count: 5.6k

(masterlist)

Your head pounded rhythmically, in time with the pulsating music blaring all around you; the consequence of partying in the middle of nowhere with an abundance of alcohol. By some miracle, you and your team had made it to nationals and were due to fly to Seattle the following morning, so naturally, every member of the Yellowjackets could be found here, either drunk or high - in hindsight, it was not the best idea, but you were teenagers, a lame excuse for the fact that you'd get up to some stupid shit.

If you'd had a mind of your own and had refused to succumb to the pressures of high school, you would most likely be at home now, snuggled up in the warm comfort of your own bed, attempting to fall asleep since tomorrow was going to be very busy for you. Without a doubt, as much sleep as possible would have prepared you for the day, even if you were kept awake for a little while due to an overwhelming anxiety and excitement gathering in the pit of your stomach, like butterflies were congregating to flutter around down there.

However, you were currently standing propped up against someone's car. You didn't know whose it was, just that it was oddly parked in the middle of the party, surrounded by towering trees and irresponsible youth. Either way, it provided you with something to lean on, eliminating the need to hold yourself up while you slumped against it - red plastic cup in hand, you occasionally sipped the cheap alcohol, the flavour reminiscent of metal, bitter and sour, burning the back of your throat as you slowly swallowed it until there was nothing left.

Why were you here then? You'd find yourself pondering that question every other moment of the night, each time, your brain would trigger a similar answer and you'd suddenly be fine with the atmosphere again. The social gathering was merely a non-suspicious justification to spend time with Lottie, who was off scrounging for more beer to supply the both of you with. It hadn't been long, a few minutes max, though, you still wished she'd hurry up and come back. You weren't really invested in conversing with any other members of your team, or anyone else here that attended your school for that matter - leaving you awkwardly awaiting Lottie's return.

This didn't automatically mean that you disliked the people you would play the sport with, you did like a large majority of them and they were your closest friends. You weren't a loner, despite your lack of socialising at that moment which suggested otherwise; everyone else seemed to be scattered about, maybe in pairs or threes, moseying around with their own designated companion. You'd even catch glimpses of some of the girls kissing random guys, undoubtedly sparking trouble and unwanted romantic drama. You didn't want to be part of it. Ultimately, you were quite content with reducing yourself to clinging to Lottie's side, as you typically did.

The girl was witty, and cleverly humorous despite the fact that she was more subtle than harsh, never getting in anyone’s face or poking unnecessary fun at an oblivious target. She wasn't mean, bearing no intent to harm or cause trouble. Aside from her stunning looks and adorably gorgeous face, her genuine friendliness, sarcastic nature, and intelligence only ever intensified your infatuation with her. In addition, Lottie was incredible at what she did, her footwork being the cleanest on the team - how could you not admire her?

At times, it frustrated you to no end, considering the world you lived in, people would avoid homosexuals like the plague, meaning you had precisely zero people to talk to about your troubles. You'd attempted to dismiss such feelings for your best friend, however, each instance proved useless.

Creating distance between the pair of you failed miserablely, for starters, the image of you and Lottie Matthews being miles apart caused eyebrows to raise immediately - purposely avoiding her made you feel deflated while it drastically upset her. It was inhumane to do that to someone, especially someone so special to you, therefore, that plan was scrapped within minutes. Besides, you played soccer together for your school, it was only a matter of time before you'd be attached at the hip again.

'Newbie' was not the correct term for you, regarding your experiences with the team, nevertheless, you couldn't help but question your own utility. Although you could never exactly pinpoint why you were valued so much, apparently everyone else thought you were a spectacular asset and essential if they had any hope of winning Nationals. You disagreed.

On the other hand, Lottie acted like she was your personal hype woman, constantly drowning you in praises throughout every second of every game. Those things got under your skin, in the best way possible. It was a miracle that your performance didn't waver when she'd encourage you with such charming words, blushing and fumbling after every compliment.

You watched the brunette make her way toward you, a new batch of murky liquid in her hands, your heart a flutter at the mere sight of her. Lottie stumbled across the bumpy terrain, careful of the mud to prevent a fall, yet, she didn't hesitate to raise an arm excitedly to greet you. You smiled, shyly returning the wave.

"Jesus Christ, what idiot chose here of all places to have a party!" Lottie giggled, slipping the new cup of alcohol into your old, empty one.

"I have no idea, we kinda just show up, no questions asked," Your response was nonchalant, "Oh, thank you, by the way, for the drink," You quickly added on, eager to show your gratitude, even if it was over something minor.

"What?" She stared, wide-eyed, struggling to hear you over the booming beats of whatever shitty song was playing.

"I was just saying thank you for the beer!" Somewhat slurring your words, you began to shout, ensuring that you wouldn't need to repeat yourself again.

"Yeah, of course! It's no problem!"

Neither of you was severely intoxicated, at best it was more of a faint buzz guiding your bodies closer. The proximity gradually narrowed - there was not much hesitation as you were too busy caught up in the pointless, drunken conversation flowing between you and her.

Equally giddy, you became progressively needy, hanging onto every word she spoke, whereas Lottie continuously rambled on about everything and nothing, informing you about insignificant details; a vast grin plastered to her face. Out of all the Yellowjackets, it was obvious that you and Lottie had consumed the most alcohol, the image of you together - fairly isolated from everyone else though still in view of anyone sober enough to care - her free hand lazily played with the ends of your hair and you gazed up at her wearing a toothy grin.

Although it was strange for her to publicly display physical affection for you, the action didn't linger on your mind due to the woozy atmosphere. The man-made peace surrounding you, created by the beer, was soon broken by a few incoherent voices quarrelling suddenly.

"You're a fucking sociopath!"

Lottie, instantly detecting where the commotion was coming from, followed the sound of arguing. You trailed behind her, also eager to see some excitement.

"That was Shauna, right?" You inquired, cracking up at the idea of Shauna of all people getting into it with someone else, she was definitely not the type to start trouble.

"Sounds like her," The taller girl delighted, "Look! There, with Taissa."

You and Lottie merged with the congregation of people intensely monitoring Shauna and Taissa as they bickered back and forth about an incident that had occurred prematurely. Van had evidently been tangled up in the crossfire, the poor girl trying her hardest to separate her agitated teammates. You momentarily realised the situation was because of the gruesome injury inflicted on Allie, having been present when her flesh was ripped off her leg and her kneecap smashed.

"I don't need you to defend me? Last time I checked you were totally fine with the whole 'freeze her out' strategy," Nat, feeling targeted, counted herself into the dispute, "I don't know why you two decided to come over here and just laugh when you were very much involved too?"

Her attention focused on you and Lottie, pointing fingers, exaggerating your amusement that had washed over with concern long before it had been mentioned, and hearing everyone shout at each other conveyed the seriousness of the situation plenty.

"Hey, what? We're not laughing?" Lottie defensively piped up, "I even said that I was unsure about it! How was I supposed to know that Tai would take it that far!"

Natalie shook her head, unimpressed with Lottie, instead, aggressively addressing you now. You hadn't spoken a single word, yet, the terror that shot through your veins was indescribable.

"What's your excuse? Apart from the fact that you go along with anything Lottie does," The blonde condescended.

"Fuck off Natalie, I didn't do anything. I didn't bust her leg and ruin her chances at playing sport," You quipped back at the unwanted blame, humiliated at whatever she was trying to hint at concerning Lottie.

"Bull. Shit."

Many negligible disagreements erupted violently inside the once collective dispute, drawing attention to you and your group. The volume was out of control, girls verbally attacking one another over nothing, arguing for argument's sake.

Due to the commotion, you started to attract bystanders, which in turn, alerted a very annoyed Jackie. She stopped what she was doing and promptly stomped over, disappointed and desperate to defuse the situation. Stern words from the girl with honey-coloured hair swiftly lead the fighting members of the Yellowjackets into a clearing, isolated from the party's intense atmosphere.

You suppressed a groan at the suggested team-bonding activity, not particularly thrilled to forcibly compliment them at Jackie's request. Originally mimicking a military lineup, everyone disassembled from the formation and awkwardly approached each other, mumbling positive affirmations.

You were fortunate enough to be right next to Lottie, the taller girl swivelling around to meet your smaller self. She was without a drink, likely thrown it away before arriving at the new destination - in its place was a freshly lit cigarette. The crisp air dancing across your bodies sobered you up a bit, although not completely, you still felt more capable of thinking straight.

There were millions of compliments you could've shower the beautiful brunette with, deciding what to actually say was a challenge. Taking drags of the cigarette and blowing the smoke in your general direction, because Lottie knew how it would make you blush, she peered down at you expectedly, awaiting an answer. Alternatively, she could've just taken the lead but didn't, for reasons you couldn't figure out.

"Jackie seriously couldn't think of anything better to fix our problems," You offered, seriously unsure about what to say to her. Lottie certainly wasn't going to let it go, yet the issue of accidentally being too forward and implying your romantic feelings for her was a looming threat that held you back.

"What is it, not got anything nice to say to me?" She mused, smirking.

"I admire your commitment to sport and…" You cut yourself off.

"And what?"

A strangled chuckle left your tightening throat, leaving Lottie amused.

"I don't know, well, I was gonna say something like…you're a really great friend to me."

For a millisecond, you considered coming out with the truth and telling her how pretty she was. Ultimately, you fumbled and quickly covered it up, though you couldn't shake the feeling that Lottie knew how awfully you were lying.

"Sure, you're a good friend to me too," she mocked, playfully jabbing her finger into your shoulder before returning the cigarette to her lips.

This your eyes followed, trailing up until you inevitably met hers. You didn't know if it was because you'd gained confidence after the alcohol you'd had throughout the evening, or if you had internally decided to be more bold - forward with her - but you didn't want to look away. You couldn't look away.

You noticed as Lottie's face changed from playful, to something more gentle, yet serious, like she had been suddenly whisked away in the same trance that had lured you into a daze. The ever-present background noise of the girls laughing and joking with each other danced happily around your ears, your subconscious pleased to hear your teammates having fun again. Though, you felt isolated from them, too focused on Lottie's plump lips and how they would part slightly, ready to say something, but freighted to do it.

Her tanned skin glistened under the shine of the moon, creating something other-worldly out of someone who was already beyond ravishing. The distance between you shortened with each second, Lottie's hands were itching to reach out and pull you closer - you craved it.

"Me and Shauna are gonna start heading back, get home safe!"

The lust-filled atmosphere concealing you and her from the rest of the world crumbled, the interruption from Jackie announcing her and Shauna's exit brutally snapped the pair of you back into reality. There were a few awkward glances shared while you casually backed off from her. Nothing really happened; the fear of rejection crept in nonetheless, wondering if you'd overstepped her boundaries.

Jackie and Shauana disappeared into a clearing, prompting many of the other girls to disperse and start to make their own way home.

"Are we leaving too?" You shyly asked, the tension from moments ago playing on your mind.

Lottie paused, considering her options thoroughly. She scanned the surrounding area, her face radiating an internal conflict so severe she couldn't have just been deciding whether she wanted to return home or stick around for a little longer.

“No. We’re staying.”

Her voice was fierce, a dangerous fire blazing in her eyes as she snatched your wrist and dragged you further within the trees, the taller girl guiding you to an unknown destination. You didn't complain nor protest. It was completely in the norm for her to do whatever she pleased with you trailing not too far behind. One could even say, you were totally whipped. She had your entire trust.

"Where are we going, Lottie?" You laughed nervously - that curious, giddy feeling back again.

"Away from everyone…just the two of us."

You couldn't determine her tone and you couldn't see her face. A silent blush tinted your cheeks. Was she messing with you? Was she purposely sounding so seductive? Did she know how hard your aching heart was pounding frantically against your chest?

The brunette came to a halt and you followed suit. Lottie finally spun around, meeting you face-to-face, her eyebrows were furrowed and her breath against your skin was unsteady, but it didn't stop her from grabbing your jaw and sloppily locking her lips with yours.

Tingles and hot flushes spread across your body due to the very sensation that was her mouth pressing bruisingly into your own. Any whimpers or whines you let slip as you reciprocated the passion she was gifting you, were shushed, Lottie taking the quickest of breaks from being attached to your lips to remind you to keep quiet made your insides melt - having the opposite effect, instead encouraging you to get more impatient.

She forcefully guided you backward until the rough bark of a tree was up against you, your hands clutched to her waist and your nails dug deeper because of this, earning a pleasured groan from the one who was basically on top of you. You could taste the liquor from earlier on her, she could taste it on you too. It didn't stop either of you from wildly exploring each other's mouths.

Desperate to somehow be even closer to you, Lottie's weight smothered you, her height compared to yours left you with no chance of gaining control, but that wasn't an issue at all. Unintentionally, she lifted a leg for reasons only justifiable because of the positions you were in and the circumstances of a limited area, causing her knee to press into a certain spot between your shaking thighs. A moan slipped from your throat, louder than expected.

"Oh, my," Lottie chortled, taking a step back, "Did you like that?"

"Shut up and keep kissing me…please."

She obliged, buzzing with delight, the kisses slower at first, filled with love, the pace gradually picking up until you found yourselves similarly to where you were before: heated, messy, and running out of air.

The weight from your foot cautiously stepping up the rickety rungs of the old ladder made quite a racket, the wood rotting, similarly to the entire foundation of the cabin. It was a surprise that the structure was even suitable to live inside. Your designated pillow and blanket were slung over your arm, consequently, you struggled to make it to the top - climbing a ladder one-handed was not on your bingo card for this summer. Then again, neither was surviving a plane crash and having to live in Canada's brutal wilderness for an insufferable amount of time.

"What are you doing?" Taissa, who must have heard your endeavour, leaned over the entrance of the attic, "Here, I've got you."

The athlete assisted you with ease, collecting your belongings for you and placing them to the side so they would no longer be an inconvenience.

"Thank you, Tai," You nodded, briskly moving to set out a place to sleep, busying yourself in an attempt to avoid any questions you knew were about to come your way.

"Why are you up here?"

"I just thought I'd support my friend, prove to everyone that there's nothing to be scared of and that the cabin isn't haunted…" You lied confidently.

"Right…If you were so sure, why did it take you this long to join me up here? I mean, I would appreciate it more if you displayed your so-called unity ten minutes ago? When I proposed the idea and got no response? You tryna make me look stupid?" Taissa quipped, mostly light-hearted, but you knew that she wasn't buying it - she was more bothered about getting the truth out of you than wasting time being annoyed.

You brushed it off with a laugh, kneeling down to fluff up your pillow and adjust the extremely thin blanket-crafted mattress. You relaxed yourself against it, now snuggled up on the floor. Taissa copied this, bringing herself to get comfortable next to you.

"So are you going to tell me the actual reason why you chose to come sleep in this creepy attic?" She was relentless, never shutting up unless your response was satisfactory. "Shouldn't you be down there, with Lottie?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" You choked, disappointed that she'd guessed part of your problem this early on.

"Oh c'mon, don't be like that, I'm only pointing out that it's unusual for you to be this far away from her. You and Lottie, not up each other's asses? That's unheard of," She smirked.

"Okay, shouldn't you be down there with Van, then?" You mimicked the suggestive question, turning the suspicious homoerotic friendship allegations onto her this time.

Taissa let out a sigh. Not because of you or anything that you'd said, rather, she missed her secret lover after mere minutes of separation.

"Van's too freaked out, she wanted to stay with the others," She spoke, deflated, the cheeky way of her words had disappeared, the reality of what you'd seen at the seance front and centre in her mind.

"I'm terrified," You bluntly admitted, "I'm way too scared to be near her and I know how selfish it sounds but I can't do it. Lottie…she, well, she was fucking possessed!"

After the party, you and her never spoke about the kiss. Things carried on between you as they normally would, thankfully, yet the memories of that night corrupted your every thought. You assumed that the plethora of alcohol you shared caused her to forget, which was still strange since you remembered it perfectly, but ignored it anyway. If she genuinely had no memory of it, that would probably be for the best; you'd hate to ruin your already-established friendship.

However, over the past week subsequent to the crash, there was a minor difference in her that made it so the pair of you were somehow closer than before, this including physical closeness to one another. Hence, you were under the impression that she simply refused to mention the kiss due to reasons unknown. Possibly some variation of fear.

Then, as her way of 'pulling her weight' to help the group adapt to their new life, Jackie cooks up an amazing idea to host a seance that, in turn, offers Lottie up to any available demons, her body becoming a vessel for the supernatural.

It was horrifying. The delicate flicker of the candles had blown themselves out, ripping away any source of light; the room was filled with disorientated screams and panicked suggestions to make Lottie stop chanting - your 'sort-of girlfriend' had been repeating something demonic in French, successfully freaking everyone the fuck out. Vague translations had left the group mostly in the dark about what was happening, the only parts that were figured out included the spillage of blood and the demands of an unnatural being.

The shock that struck you then stayed with you now, the thought of sleeping next to her was unbearable, thus explaining why you relocated to the attic to be with Taissa.

"It's okay to be scared, you know that, right?" She offered, trying to smile.

"I feel horrible though. I can't believe I just left her because I'm too much of a coward to face an issue that wasn't even her fault!" You fussed, grumbling into your hands to hide your face and the tears that were forming in your eyes.

"Hey, it's not your fault either. I'm sure Lottie will understand if you spend one night away from her, with good reason might I add," A friendly chuckle strived to cheer you up, Tai shuffled up to you in case you needed to borrow her shoulder.

"We kissed."

You don't know why you told her, you were planning on keeping it a secret, locking it away forever like the situation never even existed in the first place and was just another daydream, about your best friend, that nobody would ever know about.

The girl beside you took in a shocked breath, "Shit…I kinda guessed that you weirdos liked each other a bit too much but oh my god I wasn't expecting that."

"We've both been acting like nothing happened that night. Then this had to happen and make everything more complicated." You explained, slightly calmer than you had been a few moments ago.

"Try not to worry about it. Get some rest, clear your mind, and talk to her about it tomorrow, okay?

The suggestion had you nodding in agreement, what else could you really do at that point in time? You were in great need of an undisturbed rest and if you had to move away from the possessed culprit to do that then it was in your right to do so. You concluded that at the first chance you got throughout the busy, chore-filled day, you would go off and find Lottie. The idea made you anxious, nauseous even, but you couldn't avoid her and 'it' forever.

When you finally awoke the next morning, the sun was beaming through the window, golden rays shining down on your face and painfully in your eyes - you rolled over to avoid it, only to discover that Taissa was already gone.

It must've been later than usual since nobody besides Coach Scott could be found inside the cabin, everyone else had vacated it to carry out tasks, individually pitching in, which you were falling behind on due to the late start.

You recalled Shauna asking you to assist her with something, probably revolving meat rations. You weren't sure why she chose you of all people to help her with that stuff, but you supposed it was because you originally showed some willingness and then suddenly, you're dragged into it every time.

Luckily, you spotted her immediately, stood around with Jackie, seemingly waiting for you.

Apologies for unintentionally lying in came tumbling out of you, explaining how Taissa kindly forgot to wake you up. This earned you a hearty chuckle from Shauna who reassured you that it was okay, and that she knew you'd take a little longer as Tai had taken it upon herself to inform the group that you needed the extra rest. Feeling partially relieved, you followed Shauna into the forestry areas to the shed where the dead animals were kept - you didn't fail to notice Lottie's absence.

As instructed, you thinly sliced the portions of raw meat for rationing; the blade smoothly cut through. It wouldn't be long until you'd run out of food again, the one deer unfortunately wasn't enough to sustain the group forever, hence, you'd rather not worry about it, the hunters were out doing all they could and you had to put some faith in them.

Your mind drifted to Lottie, not a great decision since thinking about her was very distracting and you were wielding an extremely sharp knife - to accidentally slash your fingers while concentrating on her would be an amusing story for everyone else, not so funny for you however.

"Are you nearly finished?" Shauna checked up on your progress, peeking over your shoulder.

"Pretty much, yeah," You murmured, preoccupied, "Hey, have you seen Lottie this morning? I'm just curious since she wasn't around the cabin."

"Yeah I saw her, it wasn't for long," She recalled, "Laura Lee took her to the lake. You know, after the seance and everything…she's been acting really weird."

Having finished your task, you placed the knife down and rested your palms against the rigid table, then said, "I don't know how I'm realising it now but, something has been wrong with her for a fair few days. We haven't brought any attention to it, is all.

With a dirtied rag, Shauna wiped the blood off her hands and urged you to do the same.

"Maybe keep an eye on her if it makes you feel better. I think we've all been acting reasonably different." She replied, wanting to keep the hopes high, this you appreciated, giving her a small nod as she gathered up the meat and took it away to be stored.

You sighed deeply and shut your eyes tight, focusing on nothing, ensuring that your head was clear. The heat alone, out there in the wild, made you feel exhausted.

Stretching your back, you heard a faint rustle from no more than a metre or two away. Expertly scanning the surrounding area, you were ready to snatch the weapon up from the table and call for backup. If you were lucky, this could've been your next meal. Your mouth almost watered at the many possibilities of which animal would come into your vicinity without a single clue in the world of what their fate would be. The low grumble in your stomach grew.

Emerging from the trees, you quickly learnt that it wasn't an animal at all, it was Lottie; her hair had been wet but was gradually drying, some of the strands still clinging to her face, and the t-shirt she was wearing had a few damp patches splattered about.

Abruptly feeling awkward, you met her eyes sheepishly, waiting patiently for her to break the silence.

"Is now a bad time?" She carefully questioned you, her hands joined together in a nervous clump.

"Not at all," You uttered, feigning confidence when you were actually as equally anxious as she was.

"Can we talk?"

You had no objections, having been patient all day, awaiting an opportunity to set things straight with Lottie. Trailing behind her into the woods, you thought back to the party, the way she was leading you to a secluded area so the pair of you could be isolated, it was a direct parallel to that night that seemed a lifetime ago, the night where you had hopes that your relationship might have progressed.

"Is everything okay, Lot?" You gently asked.

"Where were you last night?" The taller girl decided you'd walked far enough and that this spot behind the cabin was suitable to converse, thus she stopped, "I woke up and you weren't there."

"I went to the attic."

"Why?"

There was no use in lying, it wouldn't benefit neither you nor Lottie, the excuse that you went up there for Tai, that you failed in convincing her, wouldn't make much sense anyway because the brunette had slept through the proposal. Plus, you just wanted to be honest. That's why you agreed to this in the first place.

"I was scared of what happened to you," You admitted, the anxiety you felt after seeing her possessed came flooding back, distressing you all over again.

Lottie paused, conjuring the perfect response. She didn't say anything - a small, understanding, but sad, nod was the best she could do. A harsh pang of guilt struck your lower body.

"I'm sorry, leaving you like that was probably wrong and I shouldn't have done it, I didn't mean to upset you, Lot. I'm really sorry," You apologised sincerely, "I'm not freaked out anymore, maybe a bit on edge still but, you're better now, right?"

You wondered if you sounded too whiny, your intention was to ensure that your best friend was okay, nothing else.

Her big brown eyes swirled with confusion, she couldn't even tell herself if she had returned back to normal, her voice brimming with anxiety, she whispered, "Do you hate me for what happened?"

"What, no! Of course not, I promise I don't hate you," You explained in a panic, absolutely heartbroken that you'd caused her to say such ridiculous things.

"I don't just mean that," Lottie slowly spoke, testing the waters as she was concerned about approaching the upcoming admission, "The party too, we never talked about it."

To say you were astonished was an understatement. Lottie, someone who you thought had completely forgotten about the kiss, openly acknowledged the fact that it definitely happened.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't think that you remembered, or that you chose to ignore it. I could never hate you, especially because of something like that. It was amazing!" You exclaimed, red tinting your cheeks, joy spreading across your face.

This same cheer infected Lottie, her frown lifting into a beautiful, more confident grin.

"Yeah, it was good," She agreed, blushing furiously.

Although she appeared happier, the furrow of her brow indicated that she remained slightly apprehensive, prompting you to inquire, "What is it, Lot?"

"There's another problem, I think I've been seeing stuff and I don't know if it's real or not." The brunette troubled, shuffling around.

"Like hallucinations? Visions?"

"Visions. I went to the lake earlier, with Laura Lee, and she dunked me under the water - and I ended up in a candle-lit room and then I saw an explosion and… I don't know what's happening to me," She rambled on, her eyes pricking with tears.

You reached out to her, firmly rubbing her shoulder for comfort, "You can talk to me about anything, I'm here for you."

"So, you'll believe me? Laura Lee does, but the others are cautious. You're the one that I need." Lottie's expression was solemn, entirely serious about the discussion you were having; her vulnerable side shining through.

"I believe you and I trust you. I care about you so much, you know?"

Your attention was brought to the blossoming pink patches covering her face due to your honesty, the taller girl experiencing an overwhelming mixture of emotions, she launched herself into your open arms. You hugged her back, tightly, letting go wasn't something that you'd be doing anytime soon, the height difference when you'd have such drawn-out, warm embraces always succeeded in making you laugh.

After an undetermined amount of time, you both instinctively pulled away simultaneously. You gazed up at her, body language oozing with love while you brushed her dark strands of hair out of her face. Lottie's tanned hand cupped your cheek, you could see that she was feeling the warmth radiating off of it, yet, it didn't humiliate you, it felt freeing.

You leaned in close, pecking her soft lips once, then going back in for a second short, though, sickly sweet kiss. Lottie began to giggle - the melodic noise identical to the one you would hear in the Yellowjackets locker room after a long, tiring game, or when you and her exclusivity went around invested in your own dumb shenanigans. It had been a while since you'd heard it, your heart beating faster as a result.

Her palm traced your skin until she arrived at your chin, tilting it upwards, accessing your mouth easier as she towered over you - this kiss was not a short peck. It wasn't a sloppy, heated mess either, rather, it was slow and filled to the brim with affection.

"So are we like a thing then?" Lottie beamed, remaining incredibly close to you with an indescribable bliss.

"If you want things to be official, then I do too," You marvelled, mirroring her wide, toothy grin.

You continued to pepper kissing all over each other's faces, showering your counterparts in affection. From there, things were appearing more positive; your hopes were high for the future.

#lottie matthews x reader #x female reader #fanfiction #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets #yellowjackets season 2 #yellowjackets season 1 #showtime #wlw #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x female reader #taissa turner #shuana shipman #jackie taylor #vantai #mistyquigley

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goblinhoursinsomniaramblings · 3 months ago

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I Know Those Eyes Pt 2

why yes i am continuing this

“You’re certain.”

Batman’s words were clipped. Less a question than a threat of consequences. Tim nodded, no hesitation.

“I’d have to have access to a blood or skin sample for 100% confidence, but… yeah. As of 1:23 A.M. this morning, we have confirmed visuals of Lex Luthor and Damian Wayne, alive and mobile, in downtown Gotham City.”

He brought up images of the hotel.

“Hotel Spillane, originally used by the Falcone family, mainly used by the successors of their original business interests. Several legal and executive representatives of one of these interests arrived over the course of the night and previous evening, with Luthor and… Damian being the last to arrive.”

Keep it together, Tim.

“Oracle looked into Luthor’s new identity. It’s so obvious I am actually mad. He’s backstopped a whole life story as Lex Luthor’s estranged twin brother, Lionel V. Luthor, going by the nickname Vlad. Sole inheritor of all Lex Luthor’s assets.”

He brought up the images on file for ‘Lionel’ as well as his own analysis of the footage.

“The confusing part is what he did after inheriting–he has been spending a lot of money on sustainability research, alternative fuels, updated emergency service systems, things like that. As far as I can tell he wants to make premium versions of those things and sell them for a profit, but is playing the long game by flooding the board with cheap goods while gaining good PR.”

He called up the files on VladCo.

“The rest he used to get a tech startup running, VladCo. Apparently he’s interested in ‘standardizing the nonstandard’, whatever that means, but he hasn’t really made anything for the mass market yet. The closest we can find is he’s been making something classified for the U.S. government.”

He took a shaky breath and called up what he had on Damian. He felt Bruce’s pained, shocked exhale more than he heard it, but it was there all the same. So… there really wasn’t any doubt.

“Daniel Summers. On paper he’s 24, was raised in Chicago, and while he’s acting as Luthor’s bodyguard we couldn’t find any official records of him being employed in that capacity. Probably because Oracle was only checking every thirty seconds and his birth certificate didn’t show up on any records until just before they arrived at the hotel.”

He started counting off on his fingers.

“So, 1: whoever is adding them to the system isn’t done yet. 2: they don’t actually care if they get caught. 3: they, very specifically, don’t care if we catch them.”

“You’re saying he’s taunting us.”

“It’s looking–hang on, Oracle says there’s a situation developing.”

One quick shortcut and video of a meeting room popped up on the screen. ‘Lionel’ was smugly facing down his very angry looking investors and their representatives. Suddenly, each of them seemed to calm down. Unnaturally fast, and in unison, with a very particular dull look to their eyes. Tim felt a chill down his spine.

Mind control. Lex Luthor was a meta now, and he had mind control! No wonder Damian hadn’t reached out–

But why? What did he still need Damian for? Unless…

Oh.

He met Batman’s eyes. The taunting, the lack of discretion, finding his first victims in Gotham City.

This was a hostage situation.

***

“You know, badger, you’re perfectly free to walk away from this part of the plan.”

“No, I promised. … still really creepy to watch, though.”

All the papers were signed, all the signatories overshadowed. Now all they had to do was get out of range.

Danny frowned as he saw the receptionist reach for the phone. Right, spy games. Someone was probably supposed to give her a code word when the meeting was over–

Her eyes went glassy, hand freezing around the phone, and seriously that would never stop being creepy to watch. Still, non-violent solution, he’d take it.

As they approached their car, Danny scanned the quiet, ominously lit street. Not for obvious cameras–he knew for a fact Oracle would never allow one to be obvious–but for the best possible angle a camera could have. Eliminating the ones that would have already been used, that left–

He had thought about this moment. How he would give some signal to let them know he was back. That he had been thinking of them.

… Tt. Another time. Too many layers to communicate through, too little space to do so. His gaze had lingered with a purpose, he could only hope that would communicate that Damian was still a part of him too.

For now, that would have to be enough.

***

-major reveal of this chapter: ‘Lex’ has mind control powers

-lol damian/danny is the ghost king, vlad holding him hostage? ha no

-yeah they did not plan the hostage thing but vlad is gonna jump on it with both feet later. like he’s not gonna take credit for it, amirite

-some chapters will be longer. some will be shorter. the main thing is still vibes

-yes, the last little bit is going to make things so much worse with the bats

-why Summers? anything winter-related would be too on the nose, and using a name associated with a very different comic book universe felt appropriate

-i've been a touch stressed so this got put on the backburner. yes, because current events

@hinari @blankliferain @grimdarling69

#dc x dp #danny as damian #vlad as lex #de aged ellie #de aged dan #misunderstandings #lin writes

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luvvictoria · 18 days ago

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A gate to hell

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status.on-going

+ official playlist.by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !! Also, this is the last chapter of my fanfic, thank you so much for reading this shit, and also I'm very grateful for the amaizing people that had been here from the beggining , I love you so much guys and I'm thankful for your support !

These secrets in my head Oh, how they burdened me These secrets in my head Burdened with urgency If I tell you one or two or three Can you keep them a thing between you and me? Dirty secrets

Days following Yo’s arrest were a never-ending nightmare of fear and guilt. Satoru, who had always taken pride in being the protector, the one others could rely on, now found himself drowning in a sea of doubt. The weight of betrayal from Haibara’s arrest and Suguru’s actions had shattered everything he thought he knew about the people closest to him. The walls around him seemed to be closing in, and he could no longer escape the suffocating feeling that his world was crumbling. Each day, he questioned whether Suguru would betray him too. The constant gnawing suspicion wore at him, a shadow that followed him wherever he went, refusing to let him rest. The more he thought about it, the more it ate away at him. Was Suguru — his oldest friend, his closest confidant — capable of the same treachery?

Satoru withdrew, his isolation growing as he distanced himself from everyone. The dread inside him was all-consuming, clouding his mind with doubts and fears. His mind kept spiraling, replaying everything that had happened. The betrayal felt personal, a brutal gut punch that he couldn’t shake off. He had always seen Suguru as a brother, someone who would stand by him no matter what. But now, he was left to confront the ugly truth: Suguru had been hiding his true nature for so long, and Satoru had been blind to it. His heart ached with the realization that the person he had trusted most in the world was no longer someone he could rely on.

Suguru’s actions, once unfathomable, now seemed inevitable in hindsight. The carefully crafted mask Suguru had worn for years was finally slipping, revealing the darkness beneath. What Satoru had once believed to be loyalty, friendship, and shared purpose now felt like a twisted game that Suguru had been playing from the start. And the worst part was that Satoru had played along, unknowingly complicit in Suguru’s manipulations. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant weight in his chest that refused to be ignored.

But nothing could have prepared Satoru for what came next — the cruel revelation that shattered what little was left of his trust in Suguru. [Name] had uncovered Suguru’s affair, the betrayal deeper than Satoru could have imagined. The love they once shared had been a lie, a web of deceit that had spun around them without their knowing. [Name] walked away, their heart broken and trust destroyed, leaving Suguru alone in the wake of his own selfishness. The breakup was explosive, a violent eruption of emotions that left nothing but a trail of broken promises and shattered hearts.

Suguru, now left to face the consequences of his actions, fell apart. He withdrew further into himself, the pain of his choices too much to bear. His world, once filled with power and control, had come crashing down around him. He had lost everything — [Name], Yo, Haibara, even Satoru — and he didn’t know how to cope. His mind was a swirling storm of rage, regret, and fear, and in his desperation, he turned to drugs and alcohol, seeking an escape from the chaos he had created. But even as the substances dulled the pain, they couldn’t silence the growing emptiness inside him. The weight of his own self-destruction was suffocating, and he couldn’t outrun the darkness closing in on him.

Satoru, despite everything, still felt an unshakable pull to help Suguru. The anger and betrayal that festered inside him couldn’t erase the years of friendship, the brotherhood they had once shared. So, one night, when he found Suguru passed out in a filthy bathroom, surrounded by smoke and empty bottles, Satoru’s first instinct was to help. It should have been satisfying, seeing Suguru unravel, paying for his mistakes. But instead, Satoru felt a deep, hollow sorrow. Suguru was beyond saving now, a man broken beyond repair.

But when Satoru approached him, Suguru’s eyes snapped open, wild and manic. A surge of energy radiated from him, and before Satoru could react, Suguru lunged at him, attacking with a rage that sent a shiver down his spine. The years of friendship, the trust they had once shared, meant nothing in this moment. Suguru was no longer the person Satoru had known. He was someone else, consumed by the darkness within him. Satoru managed to defend himself, escaping with only a few shallow scars, but the intensity of Suguru’s rage left him shaken.

“Enough,” Satoru muttered, backing away, his voice low, laced with a mix of fear and sorrow. He was ready to leave, to walk away from the destruction that Suguru had become. But just as he turned to go, a dark, mocking chuckle echoed from the kitchen. “Did you think it was that simple?”

Satoru froze, the familiar voice sending a chill down his spine. Sukuna. His heart pounded in his chest as the sound of footsteps approached, each one a reminder of the danger he was in. Before Satoru could react, everything went black, a sharp blow to his head knocking him unconscious.

When he woke, his head throbbed with unbearable pain, and his surroundings were unfamiliar. He was tied to a chair, his arms bound tightly behind him, unable to move. The air was thick with tension, the silence deafening. The only sound was the harsh, guttural voice of a man yelling at him, demanding answers.

“Where is the money?”

Satoru blinked, trying to focus through the pain. His mind was clouded, disoriented, but he recognized the voice. Suguru. He turned his head slowly, his stomach sinking as he saw Suguru standing in front of him.

“You’ve taken the hardest hit,” Suguru said, his voice cold, calculating. “You’re quite the fool.”

Satoru’s chest tightened, the truth sinking in with a crushing weight. Suguru was no longer the man he had trusted. He had become something far darker, a force that could not be reasoned with. The betrayal was complete.

“Suguru…” Satoru whispered, his voice barely audible. His throat was dry, but the question hung in the air. “What the hell have you done?”

Suguru’s smiled, cruel and triumphant. “I realized Haibara was making a fortune,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I had to play him, control him. I scolded him, but that’s just how it is. It’s a boyish thing, really.”

Satoru’s mind raced, his thoughts jumbled. Haibara had always been paranoid, always speaking in riddles, warning of the danger that loomed over them. He had told Satoru once, "I think the guard is onto me." Suguru had manipulated him, pushed him into a game he couldn’t win. Haibara had been right to be suspicious.

Suguru’s laugh was dark, bitter. “I told him he’d be in trouble for years. He should’ve just told me where he hid the money. But he didn’t trust me. He knew I wasn’t the most trustworthy.” Suguru leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. “You’ve been his best friend since you were kids. It was clear he’d tell you. Come on, I know you’re nervous. Just tell me where the money is, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Satoru’s stomach churned. The pieces were falling into place. Suguru had orchestrated Haibara’s downfall, turning him into a pawn in a game he couldn’t possibly win. And now, Satoru was caught in the web, trapped by his own misplaced trust.

“Tell me where the money is,” Suguru repeated, his voice eerily calm. But the madness in his eyes betrayed him. “All the cash is in the garage on Porumbacu Street. " Suguru looked at Satoru and said, " Thanks, bunny. And here’s a little secret to end on a good note.” Suguru paused, savoring the moment, before leaning in closer. “I know my ex-girlfriend was cheating on me with you.”

Satoru’s heart stopped. The shock of the revelation was enough to freeze him in place, his blood turning cold. But before he could react, Suguru’s finger tightened on the trigger.

The shot rang out.

And in that moment, Satoru realized that everything — every decision, every betrayal, every lie — had led him to this. He was trapped in the darkness, in a place where he couldn’t escape, where there was no way out. The last thing he heard was Suguru’s voice, cold and triumphant, before the world went black.

Satoru’s final thought was a quiet, painful question: Was this the end of everything they had once been?

The news hit like a punch to the gut. It was as if time itself had stopped, the world coming to an abrupt halt. The words echoed in [Name]'s ears, a relentless, hollow thrum that drowned out all other sound. Satoru was dead. The announcement flickered on the screen, flashing in bold red letters: “HOMICIDE.” “INVESTIGATION.” It was as if the entire universe had shifted out of place, the ground beneath her feet slipping away. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight, as though someone had reached into her ribcage and was slowly squeezing the life out of her.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

But the cold, hard reality was there, staring back at her from the television screen. The images blurred together — Satoru’s name, a face too familiar now in the context of death. The world seemed to twist, contorting into a shape that made no sense. A cruel, nightmarish reality that she couldn’t escape. Her phone buzzed incessantly, vibrating like it was a part of her own pulse, but she couldn’t answer.

Not now.

It felt like her limbs had gone numb, her thoughts slow and heavy, as if they were trapped underwater. She couldn’t keep up. Riko’s messages flooded in, frantic and worried, then Utahime’s, the words twisted in agony. Even Haibara’s sister reached out, her text an insistent call to action. Everyone was asking the same question, and none of them had the answer. Where is Satoru? Why haven’t any of us heard from him?

But [Name] knew. Deep down, she knew the answer. They had all felt it long before the truth had come out. The dread had settled into their bones, an unshakable feeling that something was terribly wrong. It had started with the betrayal, the cracks forming in the people she had once trusted with her life — Suguru and Shoko.

That was only the beginning.

The sickness had slowly crept in, worming its way into their lives, and now... now, it had culminated in something she couldn’t have possibly prepared for.

Her mind was a maelstrom of confusion, guilt, and sorrow. She had felt the shift before, seen the signs, but had been too blind, too unwilling to acknowledge them.

How had she not seen it coming?

How had she not known what was happening?

How could I have missed the warning signs?

Satoru had always been the one to protect everyone. He had been the strong one, the leader, the one who took care of them all. And now he was gone. Just like that. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but her voice was trapped in her throat. Her chest constricted, suffocating under the weight of a pain she couldn’t express. She couldn’t even bring herself to stand, to move. Her body felt like it was made of stone.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared blankly at her phone. Her hands were shaking as she clutched it, the cold screen reflecting the tears she hadn’t yet allowed herself to shed. The messages were piling up, one after another, desperate, worried. Her heart ached with each vibration, each plea for information, each wish for Satoru’s safety. But there was no answer. There would never be an answer again.

She had called him so many times. Her voice, hoarse from the hours of pleading, leaving message after message, desperate to hear his voice, to know he was okay. Satoru, where are you? Please, call me back. Please let me know you’re safe. She had texted him, sending one message after another, never imagining that each one could be the last. She never thought that the silence would stretch on forever, that she would be left here, holding on to a phone that now felt like a cruel reminder of her failure.

The silence had been deafening, and now, she was left to confront the cruel, inevitable truth. Satoru was gone, and she hadn’t been able to save him.

The weight of that realization crushed her, pushing the air from her lungs. It was as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart, leaving a gaping hole where it had once been. Every part of her ached — her body, her mind, her soul. How could this be happening? How could Satoru, the one person who had always been there for her, be taken so suddenly, so violently?

But as the truth settled in, something darker began to twist inside of her. It wasn’t just that Satoru was gone — it was how he had gone. He had been murdered. And it hadn’t been random. It hadn’t been an accident. No, it had been planned. Calculated. The feeling of betrayal was suffocating, the idea that Satoru’s death was a direct result of the treachery that had been festering for so long. It was as if the people she had trusted most — Suguru, Shoko — had all conspired to bring him down. But why? What could have driven Suguru, someone who had once been Satoru’s closest friend, to do something so monstrous?

The questions circled in her mind, faster and faster, like a whirlpool that she couldn’t escape. Why had Suguru done this? What had pushed him to this point? She had known Suguru, or at least she thought she had. She had trusted him, had believed in the bond they all shared. But now, she realized how naive she had been, how little she had known. Suguru had been playing a game all along — one that had cost them everything. It was his hand that had pulled the trigger, his twisted need for power, for control, that had led to Satoru’s death.

The guilt ate at her. If only she had known. If only she had seen the cracks in Suguru, had recognized the signs sooner, maybe things could have been different. Maybe Satoru would still be here, laughing with them, reminding them that everything would be okay.

But now, it was too late. She had lost him. And with him, she had lost a part of herself. The guilt settled like a weight in her stomach, heavy and relentless. She couldn’t escape it. It was her fault for not seeing what was happening, for not recognizing the signs. For not protecting him.

Tears began to fall, hot and unrelenting, as she finally allowed herself to break. She cried for Satoru, for the loss of someone who had meant everything to her. But she also cried for herself — for the person she had become, for the mistakes she had made, for the trust she had misplaced.

She cried for the world that had fallen apart around her, for the future that had been stolen from them. And she cried for the person she had loved and lost — Satoru, the only one person she could never have imagined living without.

Her mind raced with memories of their time together — his voice, his smile, the way he had always been there for her when no one else was. She could still hear his laughter echoing in her mind, a sound that now felt so distant, so unreachable. She would never hear it again. And that thought, that brutal, final realization, shattered her in ways she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

The world had turned dark, and she was left in the shadows, questioning everything she had ever believed in. All the people she had trusted, all the bonds she had built, seemed like fragile illusions now. Suguru’s betrayal had torn everything apart. And the only thing left in the wake of Satoru’s death was emptiness.

And a question: How could she ever forgive herself?

It started with Utahime.

She had always been the one to keep them grounded, the one who could hold it all together even when the world around them was crumbling. Her sharp wit, her unyielding calmness — she was the one everyone turned to when the chaos became too much to bear. But when the news of Satoru’s death sank in, even Utahime couldn’t maintain the facade. The weight of it, the loss of their rock, had cracked something deep within her. The steady hands that had once kept their world from spiraling now trembled with fear.

It wasn’t just the loss of Satoru that shattered her, though. It was the looming fear — the knowledge that they were coming for her next. She knew it was only a matter of time before they hunted her down. She wasn’t naïve enough to think she would be spared. They had already taken so much from their group, and Utahime was a threat, too close to the truth.

Utahime didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to be hunted. She had tried to run, tried to escape before it all came crashing down, but there was no escaping Suguru. He always knew where they were. Always watching, always controlling. He had been playing them from the beginning — pulling strings, sowing distrust, and making sure none of them could ever be truly free. Suguru was the puppet master, and Utahime was just another piece on the board.

In the dead of night, when the air was thick with dread, Utahime had called [Name], her voice thin and strained. It was the sound of a person who had realized too late that they were already caught in the web.

"[Name], they’re coming for me," Utahime’s voice cracked over the phone, and it sent a chill down [Name]’s spine. "I can hear them. I’ve made too many mistakes. They know everything. They know I was trying to escape… I'm sorry…"

The call abruptly cut off, leaving only static in the air. [Name] stood frozen, phone still pressed to her ear, unable to shake the image of Utahime, so strong and defiant, now reduced to a woman broken by the ghosts of her own fear. That was the moment [Name] knew it was already too late for them all.

She didn’t wait. [Name] rushed to Utahime’s apartment, heart pounding in her chest. With every step she took, she felt the darkness closing in, felt the weight of everything spiraling into chaos. She didn’t know what she would find when she arrived, but she already had a sinking feeling that nothing would ever be the same.

When she reached Utahime’s apartment, the door was ajar, swinging on its hinges like a silent warning. The quiet of the place felt wrong — too still, too heavy. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she pushed the door open, entering the apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, the smell hit her. It was suffocating, thick with the metallic scent of blood. She choked on it, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but her feet carried her forward, deeper into the apartment. The silence was deafening, oppressive. It clung to the walls, to the floor, as though it had become a part of the very air.

And then she saw it.

Utahime’s body sprawled on the floor, her eyes wide open in shock, frozen in an eternal expression of terror. Her mouth hung slightly open, as if she had tried to scream, to call out for help — but it had been too late. Her body was a lifeless, crumpled shell, the once strong woman reduced to a victim of a fate she had tried so desperately to avoid.

The blood pooled beneath her, dark and sticky, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her skin. There were marks on her neck, deep bruises, like fingers had wrapped around her throat and squeezed the life out of her. But it was more than the physical wounds. It was the absence of life — the absence of the person who had once been their pillar.

[Name] felt her legs give way beneath her. She sank to her knees, her breath catching in her throat, fighting the overwhelming surge of grief and guilt that threatened to crush her. How had it come to this? How had they all been brought to this end?

But as her eyes drifted to the walls of the apartment, she realized it wasn’t just her friend’s body that had been left behind. There was something more sinister, something darker. Words were scrawled on the walls in jagged, uneven letters. Scratches. Messages from Suguru and Sukuna. A taunting, mocking reminder of how powerless they had all become.

You should have seen it coming. You’re all fools. You’re all mine.

The final message was etched across the mirror in Utahime’s bathroom, where she had likely spent her last moments, looking for a way out, a way to escape the suffocating truth. It read:

You'll never escape, Utahime.

[Name] closed her eyes, tears slipping down her face as the weight of the loss settled deep within her. She wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but there was nothing left. No one to fight for her, no one left to fight with her.

She knew, deep down, that Utahime was gone. And soon, they all would be.

But Suguru — Suguru had made sure of it all. He had been playing them, manipulating them, controlling them from the shadows. And now, in the wake of Utahime’s death, [Name] knew with chilling certainty that there was no escaping the nightmare. There would be no reprieve, no salvation. Just darkness.

A silence deeper than any grave.

And in that silence, the reality began to settle over [Name] like a thick fog. This was only the beginning. Suguru and Sukuna had already taken one life. They would take more. One by one, they would tear apart everything she had ever loved, until nothing was left but the broken remnants of what they once were. Dirty secretes

Riko was next.

She had always been the calm one — the strategist, the one who kept her cool in the midst of chaos. In a world teetering on the edge of ruin, Riko was the one who always had a plan. She was the pillar, the one who gave others the sense that maybe, just maybe, they could outsmart their way out of any disaster. But no one had ever accounted for Suguru’s twisted mind, or Sukuna’s unrelenting thirst for destruction. No one had anticipated how far they were willing to go.

Riko had always kept her distance. She had been smart enough to know that staying too close to the storm could pull her into its deadly whirlpool. She had tried to keep out of the mess, knowing full well that her sharp mind made her a target for those who couldn’t tolerate anyone smarter than them. It wasn’t that Riko had feared them — no, it was something deeper. She had known, instinctively, that Suguru and Sukuna would never stop until they had burned everything to the ground, and anyone who could challenge them would be reduced to ash.

But Suguru had planned for this. He had been watching her from the shadows, waiting for the right moment. Riko’s attempt to distance herself, to play her own game of survival, had only made her a more intriguing target. She had never thought she would be caught in their web, but now, she would be just another piece in their sick game.

It happened so quickly. Riko was sitting alone in a small, dimly lit café. The aroma of coffee mixed with the hushed conversations of strangers, and for a brief moment, she could almost convince herself that life was normal again — that the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on her every second of the day. But that fleeting sense of peace was shattered the moment Sukuna walked in.

He didn’t even need to say a word to announce his presence. His dark eyes swept across the room, and it was like the world itself held its breath. Everyone else in the café was too absorbed in their own lives to notice, but Riko saw him the second he stepped through the door. She stiffened, her sharp instincts telling her that the calm of the moment was an illusion, and something much darker was lurking just beneath the surface.

The second their eyes met, it was over. There was nowhere to run. No way to hide. Sukuna closed in on her with an air of finality, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing in her chest like a death knell. She tried to stand, tried to leave, but her legs wouldn’t obey her. The walls of the café seemed to close in around her, suffocating her with every passing second.

He cornered her against the wall, his expression cold and cruel. There was no compassion in his eyes, only the gleam of a predator. He didn’t say anything at first — just looked at her with the faintest smirk curling on his lips, as if savoring the moment. And then, in the most casual manner, he whispered something that chilled her to the bone.

“You should’ve known better, Riko,” he said, his voice a smooth, deadly murmur. “You thought you could escape this. But no one ever does.”

Riko’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. She had always been a step ahead, always calculated her moves carefully, but this… this was different. This was a game she had no control over. She was just a pawn in Suguru’s twisted scheme, and Sukuna was the executioner.

Before she could even react, Sukuna struck. It wasn’t violent, at least not in the way she had anticipated. There was no dramatic flourish, no drawn-out struggle. Just a swift, silent motion. The sound of her own breath escaping her chest as she crumpled to the floor.

Her blood stained the floor of the café, hot and sticky, mingling with the dust and dirt of the world around her. She had never thought it would end like this. Not Riko. Not the one who had always had a plan, the one who had known how to stay calm in the face of danger.

But Riko was gone.

And in the blink of an eye, the world seemed emptier. The absence of her sharp mind, her quiet strength, left a hole that was impossible to fill. She had been more than just a friend. Riko had been a stabilizing force — a person who kept them all tethered to reality when the world threatened to tear them apart.

Now, with her gone, the silence was deafening.

[Name] didn’t know when she had started crying, but the tears wouldn’t stop. The weight of Riko’s death pressed down on her chest, suffocating her, making it hard to breathe. It felt as though the world itself was collapsing in on her, one piece at a time.

The loss was sharp. A jagged, painful cut deep into her heart, and it hurt in a way she couldn’t describe. She had known they were all in danger, but she never thought it would happen so quickly. Never thought they would lose Riko—the one who had always been there, the one who had kept them grounded.

But now, she was gone. A memory.

[Name] couldn’t stop herself from thinking about how easily it all fell apart — how their once tight-knit group had become nothing more than a series of broken fragments, strewn across the floor like shattered glass. Each death, each loss, was a weight that dragged her down, deeper into the abyss.

And still, Suguru’s shadow loomed large over everything. He had orchestrated this. He had taken Riko from them. He had taken everything from them. And the worst part was, he was enjoying it. Every moment of this twisted game, he was savoring the chaos. Savoring their pain.

[Name] wanted to scream, wanted to rage against it all. But what was the point? She was just another pawn, just another piece in Suguru’s sick game. No matter how hard she fought, it would never be enough. No one would ever be enough. Not while Suguru and Sukuna were still breathing. Dirty secrtes

Nanami had always been the rock. The one who kept his head level even when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control. He had a way of grounding the others, of finding the quiet in the storm and bringing them back to reality when their emotions threatened to overtake them. But in the end, even Nanami wasn’t immune to Suguru’s manipulations. He had always been sharp, always seen through the lies, but this betrayal was something he hadn’t been prepared for. And it was something Suguru had orchestrated with chilling precision.

Nanami had been investigating, pulling on threads he never should have touched, uncovering secrets that Suguru had worked tirelessly to bury. When he finally pieced it all together, the weight of it crashed down on him like a wave, drowning him in the sheer scale of the betrayal. Suguru hadn’t just been playing the group — he had been playing both sides. And Nanami wasn’t stupid enough to think he could keep it quiet.

So, he did what anyone with a shred of honor would do: he confronted Suguru. They met in the dead of night, somewhere far from prying eyes. Nanami stood tall, his back straight and his jaw clenched, but his eyes... his eyes were full of rage. Rage at the man who had once been his friend, his brother in arms. Rage at the realization that Suguru had sold them out, that the bonds they had shared had been nothing more than a facade.

“You’ve lost everything, Suguru,” Nanami said, his voice cold, but there was a tremor underneath it — betrayal, heartbreak, the unmistakable weight of loss. “You’ve betrayed all of us. You think you can just walk away from this? That we’ll let you get away with it?”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, but Suguru just looked at him with that twisted smile. It was a cruel thing, something Nanami hadn’t seen before — something that made his skin crawl. Suguru wasn’t just breaking their bond, he was toying with it, enjoying the destruction he was causing.

“You think you still matter, Nanami?” Suguru’s voice was sharp, but there was an underlying venom to it that made Nanami’s stomach turn. “You think you’re better than me? You’re just a puppet in a game you’ll never understand.”

Those words cut deeper than anything Nanami had ever heard. It wasn’t just the anger in Suguru’s voice, but the way he seemed to look down on him — dismissive, condescending. Like Nanami had never mattered. Like everything they had fought for, everything they had built together, had been a joke.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Nanami could feel his chest tightening, a knot of emotions — anger, regret, disbelief — building up until it felt like he might snap in half.

"You've gone too far, Suguru," Nanami said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity behind it was undeniable. He was tired. Tired of pretending that everything could be fixed, tired of trying to hold on to something that was already broken beyond repair.

Suguru didn’t respond with words. Instead, the sound of a gunshot rang through the night like a death knell. Nanami didn’t even have time to react. The bullet pierced his chest, and his body crumpled to the ground, his hand grasping at the wound as if he could somehow stop the life from draining out of him.

His vision blurred, the world spinning around him, but there was no fear in his eyes — only regret. He had known this was coming, had known that Suguru was too far gone to be saved, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It wasn’t just the physical pain — it was the emotional weight of everything they had lost. The years of camaraderie, the trust, the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could turn around.

As Nanami’s life slipped away, his final words were lost to the silence, swallowed up by the night. He wanted to scream, to fight, to make Suguru understand that this wasn’t the end they deserved — but all he could do was gasp for breath, feeling his world slip away.

Suguru stood above him, his face unreadable. There was no joy in the act — just a cold, detached finality. He didn’t even look down at the body he had just created. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Nanami to bleed out in the shadows, the echoes of his final moments fading into the darkness.

Suguru didn’t need to say anything. The silence spoke volumes. He had won. Dirty secrets

Shoko’s death was perhaps the most personal, the most painful. She had been with Suguru longer than anyone else, and their connection had been one of trust — at least, that’s what Shoko had believed. She had seen the boy he used to be: kind-hearted, brilliant, always thinking five steps ahead but never losing his humanity. Or so she had thought. But as the years passed, that boy had faded, replaced by someone colder, someone consumed by ambition and darkness. And yet, despite the changes, she had clung to the belief that the old Suguru still lingered somewhere deep inside.

It wasn’t a blind trust. Shoko was too intelligent, too sharp to overlook the warning signs. She had seen the cracks in his facade, the inconsistencies in his words, the growing shadow in his eyes. She had heard the whispers of betrayal, felt the weight of his absence during their most vulnerable moments. But she had hoped — foolishly, desperately — that her faith in him would be enough. That she could pull him back before he crossed the point of no return.

That hope shattered the night she confronted him.

It wasn’t a confrontation born out of anger, but heartbreak. She had pieced the truth together carefully, methodically, each discovery cutting deeper than the last. The lies he had spun, the alliances he had forged with their enemies, the sacrifices he had made without a second thought — they painted a picture of someone she barely recognized. And when she stood before him, her voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and disbelief, it wasn’t just a plea for answers. It was a plea for him to remember who he had once been.

"Why, Suguru?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why did you do it? To us? To me?"

Suguru didn’t answer immediately. He stood there, his expression unreadable, his eyes cold and calculating. The silence stretched between them, suffocating. For a moment, Shoko thought she saw a flicker of the boy she used to know, the one who had always protected her, stood by her. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a smile that was more a weapon than an expression.

“You should have known better, Shoko,” he said, his voice soft but laced with venom. “You should have never trusted me. But you did. And now look where we are.”

The words felt like a physical blow. Shoko staggered, the weight of his betrayal crashing down on her. She had trusted him with everything — her life, her secrets, her heart — and he had torn it all apart with cruel precision. Her chest felt tight, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the enormity of the situation sank in.

"Was it all a lie?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything we shared, everything we built… Did none of it mean anything to you, just like it didn't matter with her?"

Suguru’s gaze didn’t waver. "What we shared was a necessity, Shoko. Nothing more. You were useful to me, and now you’re not. That’s all there ever was."

Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall. Not in front of him. She had always prided herself on her composure, her ability to keep her emotions in check, but now she felt like she was unraveling. How had she not seen this coming? How had she allowed herself to be so blind, so vulnerable?

But even as the tears threatened to fall, a part of her still refused to give up. Maybe she could still reach him. Maybe there was a chance to save what was left of the man she had once called her closest friend.

"Suguru, you don’t have to do this," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "You can stop this now. You can still come back from this. Please."

For the first time, something shifted in Suguru’s expression. A flicker of emotion — regret, hesitation — crossed his face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the icy resolve she had come to dread.

"It’s too late for that, Shoko," he said, stepping closer. "It’s too late for me. And it’s too late for you."

Before she could react, before she could process the finality in his words, it happened. Quick, brutal, and utterly devoid of mercy. She felt the sharp, searing pain for only a moment before her legs gave out, her body crumpling to the floor. The world blurred, her vision darkening as she tried to focus on him, to make sense of what had just happened.

As the life drained from her, a wave of emotions overwhelmed her — anger, sorrow, regret. But most of all, there was a profound sense of loss. Not just for herself, but for the man Suguru could have been, the man she had once believed in with all her heart.

And yet, even in her final moments, she couldn’t hate him. Despite everything, despite the betrayal and the lies, she still remembered the boy who had been her friend, her protector. And it was that memory she clung to as the darkness closed in, as her world faded into nothingness.

When Suguru finally walked away, the room felt colder, emptier, a void left in the wake of her death. But for Shoko, the fight was over. And for Suguru, it was just another step into the abyss.

Dirty secrets

[Name] was the last. Alone, vulnerable, betrayed by everyone she had once called a friend. The weight of it all bore down on her, pressing against her chest like an iron vice. The people she trusted, the connections she had nurtured, the memories she had cherished — they had all crumbled into ashes, leaving her adrift in a sea of deceit and pain. Suguru’s manipulation had been meticulous, a web spun so tightly around her that she hadn’t even realized she was trapped until it was too late. His control over her mind, her heart, her very sense of self, was absolute.

Now, standing in front of him, she barely recognized the man she had once loved. His face, once so familiar and warm, was a mask of indifference. His eyes, which used to hold unspoken promises, were cold and calculating. It was as if every ounce of humanity had been stripped away, leaving behind a shell that thrived on cruelty.

Suguru tilted his head, his lips curling into a smile that sent chills down her spine. It wasn’t a smile of affection or amusement; it was the kind of smile that predators wore when they knew their prey had nowhere left to run. His voice, soft and almost gentle, cut through the tension like a blade.

“You know,” he began, each word deliberate, measured, “I knew all along. You thought I didn’t know? You thought I didn’t see? I knew you were cheating on me with Satoru. I knew.”

The accusation hit her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. Cheating? Satoru? The words didn’t make sense. Her mind raced, trying to piece together how Suguru could twist reality into such a grotesque lie.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her pulse roaring in her ears. Finally, she found her voice, trembling but defiant. “You’re insane,” she said, her tone laced with a mix of disbelief and fury. “You’ve twisted everything. You destroyed everything.”

Suguru’s smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in his eyes — a spark of satisfaction, as though her pain was exactly what he wanted. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its kill.

“You’re nothing but a liar, Suguru,” [Name] spat, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself. Her voice cracked, a mixture of rage and sorrow spilling over. “You destroyed everything. You destroyed me.”

For the first time, Suguru’s smile faltered, but only for an instant. He laughed softly, a hollow sound that echoed in the empty room. When he spoke again, his voice was low, devoid of any warmth. “You think I care?” he asked, his tone almost mocking. “You’re nothing now. You and Satoru were both just distractions. Fleeting moments in a life that was never meant to be.”

The words cut deeper than any blade, slicing through her resolve. Her hands clenched into fists, trembling as she tried to hold herself together. But she couldn’t. Not this time. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was a desperation in her tone, a final attempt to reach the man she once knew. “You loved us. You loved me. I know you did.”

Suguru stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, without warning, he raised the gun in his hand. The sight of it made her breath hitch, but she didn’t move. She didn’t beg. She met his gaze head-on, searching for any trace of the man she had loved. But there was nothing.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, almost sadly. “I never loved anyone.”

Before she could react, the gunshot shattered the silence. The pain was immediate, searing, blinding. She crumpled to the ground, her legs giving out beneath her. The world tilted, her vision blurring as she clutched at her chest. Warmth spread beneath her fingers, sticky and relentless.

The physical agony was nothing compared to the emotional devastation. As she lay there, gasping for air, the memories came rushing back — the laughter, the stolen moments, the promises they had made. Had it all been a lie? Had she been nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game?

The emptiness consumed her, a void that swallowed every ounce of hope she had left. And yet, in her final moments, there was clarity. She saw Suguru for what he truly was — a broken man, consumed by his own darkness, incapable of love or redemption.

Her thoughts drifted to Satoru, to Utahime, Riko, Nanami... Shoko , to the friends she had lost along the way. They had all been caught in the same web, victims of the same betrayal. And now, as her world faded to black, she realized the truth: none of them had stood a chance.

As the sound of the gunshot faded into the suffocating silence of the room, Suguru stood over [Name]'s lifeless body. The weight of the moment pressed against him, heavier than anything he had felt before. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to look down at her, at the blood pooling beneath her, at the expression frozen on her face — a mixture of shock, pain, and something else. Betrayal, perhaps. Or maybe pity.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers still gripping the gun. The room was deathly quiet now, save for the faint ringing in his ears. The power he had felt moments ago, the cruel satisfaction of having the last word, was already crumbling. Instead, a hollow emptiness began to creep in, swallowing him whole.

“You’re nothing now.” His own words echoed in his mind, mocking him, taunting him.

Suguru staggered back, his knees threatening to buckle. He turned away from the sight of her, but it didn’t help. Her face was seared into his mind, her voice still ringing in his ears. The memories came unbidden — her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved, the way she had trusted him even when he didn’t deserve it.

For a fleeting moment, he had believed his lies, convinced himself that none of it mattered. That none of them mattered. But now, standing in the aftermath of his choices, the truth was undeniable.

They had mattered. She had mattered.

Suguru clenched his jaw, his hand trembling as he raised the gun again, this time pointing it at his own temple. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. The weight of everything — the betrayal, the deaths, the lies — pressed down on him, suffocating him. He had thought he could live with it, thought he could keep going, but now he knew.

There was no moving forward. There was no escaping what he had done.

“You always saw the good in me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper. “Even when there was nothing left. You were wrong.”

He closed his eyes, the gun cold against his skin. Images flashed behind his eyelids — Satoru’s grin, Shoko’s quiet kindness, [Name]’s unwavering faith in him. The people he had destroyed, the ones who had tried to save him.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. For the first time in years, the mask cracked, and the full weight of his guilt crashed over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew no one could hear him.

And then, with a final, resolute pull of the trigger, Suguru ended it.

The sound echoed in the empty room, a final punctuation to a tragedy that had been unfolding for far too long.

When the silence returned, it was absolute. No one was left to bear witness, no one to remember the laughter or the love that had once filled these spaces. Only the echoes of what had been, and the hollow reminder of what was lost.

In the end, Suguru had destroyed everything, including himslef.

The room was still. The bloodstains on the floor, the discarded gun, the silence — it was the final tableau of a story that had unraveled into tragedy.

No heroes. No redemption. Just echoes of what could have been.

As the last light of the setting sun filtered through the cracked blinds, it painted the room in hues of red and gold, a cruel mockery of peace.

And in the stillness, it became clear: this was the end.

A gate to hell, and no one had made it out.

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akutasoda · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! It's nice to meet you, I read though your works for a while now and saw how good they are.

I was wondering if I could request something with the hunting dogs(platonic teruko)

We the reader was there significant other/friend and died right after committing a very violent crime.

So the hunting dogs go on for years thinking that there friend/significant other was a criminal until many years later they find out that the reader died so that they wouldn't get framed with a crime.

So basically the reader died to protect them. And took being framed with a very serious crime so the hunting dogs wouldn't.

Thank you for your time and if this is to big of a request that's okay.

Have a good day!

time's long lost mistake

synopsis - for ages they never understood what drove you to do something that permanently stained your reputation, but they find out that's not the real story

includes - tachihara, jouno, tecchou, teruko

warnings - gn!reader, angst, reader dies, slight hints to blackmail, wc - 1.7k

a/n: hello! its nice to meet you to! no request is to big it just means ill take a bit longer haha - hope your having a nice day aswell!

michizō tachihara ★↷

tachihara had been through quite a bit. despite him being apart of a undercover mission in the port mafia he had never really committed a crime that would make him reap the consequences. but one thing he constantly worried about was that you may be caught up in any crossfire - port mafia or hunting dog.

being associated with both of these meant even more of a risk for you. but you knew what you were getting in to - he had told you many, many times. you had no doubt that you two could make it work and so did he. but now he wishes that maybe you both were a but more cautious.

wether the threat was from his undercover affiliation with the port mafia or because of his title as a hunting dog, you had no idea but one thing was for certain. if you did not take the fall, your lover surely would reap more consequences than you ever could imagine. you were made quite aware to the fact that there was no way out of this and that was fine. your mind was sealed on your decision.

tachihara had never thought something like this would be capable - let alone you but here he was, faced with the news of your untimely demise following the crime that seemed near impossible for someone to commit. he was near outraged, not to you, but to himself for not seeing any signs or letting you do this but now in your final resting you were branded a criminal. and yet he felt deep down as if something was off.

and it seemed his gut feeling was correct. for years he had gone on bearing the news of your demise and some part of him always felt mad when he had heard others talking bad about you and your end. but all of a sudden, like a sudden clarity, he was informed by a conspicuous individual who had presented him with clear as day evidence. evidence that could clear your name.

but now he felt even more outraged, he had let his job affect your life and caused you to die protecting him. he wished dearly that you had talked to him about it and not go along with it immediately to protect him. but it was too late for that now. now all he could do was try and bring peace to your final resting and clear your name.

saigiku jouno ★↷

jouno was always very hesitant to begin a relationship. not that he didn't want to, he loved you dearly and wanted nothing else but to be with you, but because he wanted to be with you that he feared that you would be used against him. being a hunting dog came with risks and the last thing he would want is to put you in danger.

however he eventually became confident enough to begin that relationship. trusting taht you both would be strong enough to protect not only each other but the relationship itself. the risks were well understood and much discussed before and during the relationship, he didn't want it to seem overbearing but he had to get his worries across.

however no amount of warnings could've prepared you for the decision that you were about to make. the decision if either sacrificing yourself or letting not only your liver be framed but the entirety of the hunting dogs. you wished you could've discussed it with him but time was short and you had decided the consequences of letting your liver be framed would be much worse than what you would face.

upon hearing the news, the only way jouno could describe the way he felt was betrayal. betrayal of the fact that he did not believe you could do something like that and betrayal that you had never been honest with him. he became rather quiet after. he was lost in honesty. not only had he lost you but it had left him to question things he normally wouldn't.

for years he had gone on feeling a multitude of emotions and becoming rather reclusive. that was until he was presented with quite the comically suspicious envelope. contents, that upon reading, made him realise that all this time he had doubted you. now he could feel the shame creeping up on him. why did he ever doubt you? of course you wouldn't do something like that.

and in fact he felt sympathy even more, for you. for the fact that he understood the situation you were placed in and no matter how much he wished things went differently he could do nothing to change the past. all he could do was bring peace to your reputation and get revenge in his own personal way.

tecchou suehiro ★↷

tecchou was a firm believer in justice, that was laid in no doubt. however there was one person that could rival his faith in justice. and that person was you, the person who stood by his side thick and thin. the person that understood the risks associated with dating a hunting dog and still chose to be with him. oh he wished he could of made you take back that choice.

the risks that hung over your head were a constant reminder for the reality of who you were dating. but you never minded in the slightest. you loved him and nothing could deter you from being with him. but fate did not see it that way. fate saw it fit to adminish a cruel change.

you had knew all too well the consequences of the action you were about to take. but to you, you hadn't seen it as the matter of the hunting dogs reputation or yours - but more as your beloved boyfriends reputation or yours. and you were more than willing to sacrifice yourself for him. the news had hit him like nothing he had ever felt before. he was in disbelief, how could you do something of that level and let alone die without explaining yourself to him - scratch that, how did he not see this happening.

he went on for years with the restraints your death placed upon him. he was disappointed in himself for not being there to protect you from your fate. constantly questioning the one thing he never even batted an eye at - justice. surely justice ment more than you losing your life for one crime (a rather violent one but that didn't add up for him). and even so he never felt as of he could be mad at you. he could never even dream of being mad at you.

clarity came in the form of a brown, conspicuous envelope that was laid in the middle of his residence with no recollection of how it could've gotten there. engraved upon it read 'justice for your loved one'. did he find it suspicious? yes. did he still open it? yes.

upon reading the contents, he felt as if he had lost control of his body, the envelope and its contents falling with a dull thud as he tried to process the information contained. but, however, it made everything click into place for him. inside contained documents of information passed between you and a classified individual. information that lead to you taking the fall to spare the hunting dogs of being framed for the crime you ultimately were framed with. a crime that no doubt would of lead to the disbanding of the hunting dogs.

justice was cruel. and what was even crueler was the fate of the fact that he bore for these past years. all this time he had been led to believe you truly had committed these crimes of your own volition, that he had doubted your innocence. but now he had learnt the truth and he had two options. to continue on knowing that everyone else hated you for what you did or to spread the truth and avenge your name and bribg peace to your final resting. a final will to justice.

ōkura teruko ★↷

teruko had two people that she truly admired in her life. the commander and you. she truly looked up to you in a way siblings would and you reciprocated the feeling just the same. she never really gave a thought into what being associated with her meant for you, she had occasionally but she had come to the conclusion that the both of you were perfectly strong enough to protect each other.

you however had thought more about the risks, but they quickly were oberlooked. you understood them yes, but the last thing you wanted to do was to just leave teruko. you two had made a silly child like promise to always look out for each other. and sometimes, now, she thought she could've honoured that a bit more.

she spent alot of time blocking out the noise of people telling her what happened or even just talking about it, mind spiralling into thought after thought about what could've driven you to commit such a crime. she lived in denial, no there's no way you could or would do anything like that, is what she told herself over and over again to block out the noises or glaring at those that sttill spoke ill of your name. fellow hunting dogs could only look upon her in pity.

that was until she received a few files. files detailing conversations - more like threats - sent to her that were intercepted by you. she stared at the words in disbelief. you had taken the fall for her, you had prevented her from being framed. but at a cost she didn't seem fit. while it brought her some clarity, knowing that your name could be cleared and hopefully grant you honour in death, she was unhappy that it was because of her that lead you to that fate.

many people tried telling her that it wasn't her fault entirely but she couldn't help but harbour the guilt of knowing that if she had distanced herself from you, you would be alive and well. but the more that she thought about it, the more she started realising that you took her silly idea of being found siblings and forever protecting each other a bit to serious and she admired you for that.

#x reader #x gender neutral reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd x reader angst #bsd tachihara #tachihara x reader #bsd jouno #jouno x reader #bsd tecchou #tecchou x reader #bsd teruko #teruko x reader

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cursingtoji · 2 years ago

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 — 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥!𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

part 2 of Sweet Sacrifice

summary: Chainsaw man universe where humans can form contracts with devils in exchange of sacrificing something valuable.

cw: chainsaw man spoilers (anime only), self insert into csm canon, reader is in love with Aki, dub-con, heavy oral (f -> m), deep throat. choking, bruises, spit, failed attempt of masturbation, Sukuna has a normal human form (at least for now), reader goes into Sukunas domain, as per the last chapter reader is a virgin 4k words.

note: this was very fun to write, quick info… for reasons of “just cause” himeno is not into aki in this series. also i have plans for the next chapters but feel free to speculate

After the last mission with Aki you felt like everyone at the public safety building looked at you weirdly, like they were trying to understand how a not so skillful hunter finished a strong devil by herself.

Aki thankfully taught you to not share too much about your devils and the contracts, so you knew how to defend yourself if anyone asked you about Sukuna.

“Makima-sama wants to see us” Aki said, joining your walk.

“Great” you mumbled ironically but followed him anyway.

Aki knocked and you heard Makima calling you in.

After a quick greeting she started asking about the report from your previous assignment together. You haven’t read it before Aki submitted it so you allowed him to confirm the information.

“...So you summoned Sukuna with a cursed word and he appeared beside you?” Makima asked you directly.

That was not what happened. Sukuna took your body. Aki would not lie about this, but you know the actual truth is not what he would’ve written as well. Having Sukuna taking control of your body was a huge risk for the public safety, the type of risk that could get you executed like a devil.

“Actually—“ he started.

“I’m not asking you” her eyes did not leave yours.

“No, my contract with Sukuna allows me to use his strength as it was my own, he does not manifest physically as another entity. If Hayakawa wrote that, my apologies, he was hurt and probably confused, I should’ve explained better” you took the fault knowing that Aki did not write what Makima said.

“Very well” she seemed pleased with your answer and you could hear Aki exhaling relieved, “What did Sukuna take?” the question got you in alert mode. That was your superior asking. What should you say? Would she know if you lie?

“Makima-sama, with all due respect, I don’t think she needs to disclose that information” your eyes widened, you never saw him standing up for Makima like that.

“It’s nothing that’s gonna be missed,” you added, not wanting Aki to suffer any consequences.

“Fine, congratulations y/n, thanks to your new contract you have an offer to join the 3rd division.”

“What?” Aki and you said at the same time.

Makima slid an envelope to you.

“They need an answer till the end of the week, you may go now. Hayakawa you stay” you bowed, still a little confused and left the room not without exchanging a look with Aki, “Leave the door open” she ordered.

On your way out you saw a blond kid waiting outside, upon hearing Makima's voice he quickly fixed his posture and entered the room.

You haven’t even taken the offer and Makima was already replacing you as Aki’s partner. Bitch.

You went back to your desk, and found that week’s patrol shift. Today you were by yourself, patrolling a chill area and replying to the radio channel which the local police uses to call for public safety back up.

You sighed, knowing this day was gonna be long and boring. Leaving the building, you decided to walk to your area, using a path Aki and you would always take. Before you got to your destiny, something drew your attention to an alley. It was the middle of the day, you doubted a devil could be there, either way you carefully approached the source of the noise and recognized Aki’s voice.

Hiding behind an irregular wall you listened to the conversation. You couldn’t see them without them seeing you, but it was obvious he was beating the shit out of someone, you assumed it was the skinny boy from before.

“Makima-san is not the kind of woman a punk like you should be chasing” followed by the indistinguishable sound of fist hitting a face.

“Sounds to me you like her too” the boy replied. You felt your heart sinking.

Why was Aki defending Makima? So what if that newbie wanted to be her new dog? To hell both of them…

But why does Aki have to get involved? You wanted him to defend your honor and only you—

What honor?

You heard that familiar and yet strange voice inside your head.

You swallowed your shame and left the alley, wanting to focus on anything but Aki.

It’s not like you could have him anyways.

“You greedy asshole” Denji kicked Aki’s balls once again, “I saw you partner, what else do you want, huh?” he kicked again, “You get to hang out with a hot chick like that everyday and you’re giving me shit for wanting the same with Makima? Fuck you” before he could give another kick he saw Aki wasn’t getting up, “Shit”.

Two days later, when the sun was setting you ran into Aki when you were leaving a house after finishing executing a small devil. He was talking to the cops outside.

“Hey, I beat you on this one” you smiled at him.

“I heard you replying the call on the radio” he defended, “Just wanted to come by in case…”

“In case what? In case I couldn’t handle it? Please, that devil was the size of a pigeon” you made a sign to the cops that it was done.

“So, do you miss me already?” you teased him.

“In comparison to those two I miss you every hour of the day” he threw that statement unbothered, it was enough to make some blood rush to your face.

“That’s right, you have a fiend now as well” you giggled imagining how Aki dealt with the fiend, he confirmed with a grumpy face.

“Have you accepted the offer?” he asked.

“Oh I forgot about it” indeed you haven’t even opened the letter yet, “I’ll take till the end of the week.”

“Why?”

“I’m just not thrilled to work with a bunch of freaks.”

“That's basically what division 4 is now” you laughed and he smiled.

“They are living with me, you know” Aki picked up a cigarette and lit it up, you watched waiting for him to continue, he took a long drag and extended the cigarette to you, “Power, the fiend and Denji, the Chainsaw”.

“Chainsaw huh…” you wondered, “Why though?”

“Makima-sama asked me to” you felt that weird tightening in your stomach again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I guess I am.”

Since you haven’t given an answer to the offer yet, Makima put you with division 4 on a mission the next day to recover a piece of the gun devil in a hotel. There you got to meet the new members and saw your senpai, Himeno.

“They don’t look so bad” you whispered to Aki, he even got the devils to call him senpai… after a bribe but whatever works.

“Give it some time.”

During that week so far you have been feeling weird, ever since that night with Sukuna actually, if you can even call it that. Every night after a stressful work day you recalled that event, silently expecting him to show up again, but nothing. So you managed to drift your focus to something else, by now that tactic has only made you more and more horny.

“…will give you one as well” your attention was drawn back to the current situation when Himeno said your name and put an arm around your shoulders.

“What?” the team was looking at you weirdly, especially the Chainsaw boy, “I’ll give a what?”

“A kiss to whoever defeats the devil.”

“Not a chance.”

Denji started to talk about how he already decided who he’s gonna kiss.

“…when it comes to sex stuff it feels way better when its with two people who get each other.”

You couldn’t hold back a scoff/laugh, it was automatic given the situation you were in, no one seemed to have noticed your reaction but when your eyes met Aki’s looking at you weirdly you decided to put an end to that subject, Himeno seemed to have convinced Denji anyways.

“Let’s go” you called and all of you entered the building. The rookies leading the way meanwhile the three of you stayed a bit behind.

You let your thoughts wander, thinking about what sex would feel like with Sukuna.

Next time I won’t be so good.

That’s what he said last. You have no idea what he meant by that, or what to expect next, but something made you think you were gonna find it out soon enough.

A couple minutes later chaos seemed to have taken over, power killed an ugly fucking walking head, then you all got stuck inside the 8th floor, Kobeni was crying and trying to drink toilet water, Denji was sleeping like a baby. After looking around you gave up trying to find a way out and simply layed on a bed in an empty room.

“Could’ve been worse” you murmured to yourself. You seem to have all this time and nothing to do.

The bed was pretty comfortable… your core still burned, would it be too bad if…?

You slowly brought your hand down your uniform till your finger found your clit over the material of your trousers.

You sighed, felt good, you needed some release. You closed your eyes, circling that spot and thinking of that night when Sukuna had control, but instead you imagined Aki to be one touching you and—

“AARGH” you screamed louder than you should’ve, a sudden sharp pain in your lower lips had taken you off guard. When you looked down you found Sukuna’s mouth in your palm “Did you fucking bite me?!” you accused. He clearly bit you through the pants.

“When I told you I was gonna be the only one touching I meant it, not even you can touch yourself got it?”

“That’s ridiculous I—“ your left hand seemed to have transformed into his again, bigger with sharp black nails, he went straight for your neck, choking you.

Down the hall you heard Aki calling your name, he probably heard your scream and was now opening every room to find you.

You panicked, not wanting him to find Sukunas hand around your neck.

“Sukuna” you begged.

“That’s not my name.”

“M-master please…”

“Say you won’t do it again” his grip tightened, cutting your breath, Aki’s voice was closer.

“I— won’t— I p-promise” you chocked out.

Right when he let go of you and you gained the control of your hand back again Aki barged in.

“What’s wrong?” he rushed to your side on the bed, putting his hands on your shoulders to take a look at your face while you coughed.

You managed to come out with a lie about having a nap then waking up from a nightmare and choking with nothing. He didn’t seem to believe it but didn’t ask anymore questions thankfully.

“I need smoke” he got up from the bed, “Come” and took your hand making you go with him.

You hated to lie to Aki, it was necessary, but whenever you felt his skin touch yours like that you almost felt like giving up on everything, on Sukuna, on being a hunter…

“Himeno-senpai, do you have any cigarettes left?”

“I want one too” you added

“Sorry, that’s the last one,” she replied.

Both you and Aki asked for it, Himeno gave him first then he gave you. You realized how close you were to each other’s faces when Denji screamed “indirect triple kiss!” you giggled while Aki told him to shut it.

More time had passed, you have no idea what time it is but you really wished you had taken a nap. Now, Himeno, Aki and you were lying on the hall facing the huge disgusting blob the devil had become.

Himeno asked Aki if he had a plan, he always had a plan, but this time the only thing you were certain of was not killing Denji since that’s what the devil wanted.

“I’ll use the sword” your heart skipped a beat, you quickly protested it as well as Himeno.

“I’ll use Sukuna first” you argued.

“Who? What’s that?” Denji asked.

“That’s one of the devils I have a contract with—“ you started to explain but Aki cut you off.

“He’s not gonna be useful here. If that thing doesn’t have any weakness there’s nothing Sukuna can do.”

“Oh and what can your sword do?” his words made your blood boil, was he trying to underestimate your contract with Sukuna? Underestimate you?

“Oi, no fighting” Himeno interrupted, but before you could continue Aki got up, taking you with him by your arm before the devil moved in your direction, then you were running.

Fuck, you needed to do something.

The whole floor starts to bend in the devils direction, you found a stable place in one of the rooms, Kobeni was screaming about throwing Denji to the devil.

“I’ll use the sword” Aki said and you got the cursed word to summon Sukuna on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m not gonna do it” he said from inside your head.

Fucker.

“Himeno” you warned her, Denji was not about to become devil food, but you also didn’t want Aki to lose years of his life by using the sword.

“Die!” Kobeni screamed and ran towards Denji with a knife.

“Enchain” you called.

You lost consciousness for no more than 5 seconds, but when you came back Kobeni was on the floor, a bloodied knife beside her and—

“Aki” you whispered nothing but the pool of blood coming out of him “Sukuna… what the fuck”.

“You called too late little hunter, that was not our deal, you’re gonna pay for it” he replied in that voice only you could hear.

You kneeled beside Aki while he defended Denji and Power tried to manipulate his blood, when she touched him he flinched and reached for the closest thing that happened to be your hand.

Himeno was freaking out, the Kobeni again, until Denji got up.

“If I manage to kill this fucking devil, I still expect to get that kiss” he screamed at Himeno but looked at you too before explaining his plan. That boy was deranged, but you liked him.

So long have passed, Denji was still slicing the eternity devil, Power really seemed to have stopped Aki’s bleeding, you managed to not fall sleep while laying beside him, you wanted to make sure he was still alive, so you keep waking yourself up.

“Hey” he murmured, “you have awful eye bags.”

“I would punch you if you weren’t stabbed” you murmured back. He adjusted himself getting closer to you, he was pale but not as much as when he got hit by the knife, “I’m glad you’re okay” you placed your head on his shoulder.

“Can he hear us talking?” he whispered.

“Who?”

“Sukuna” you looked up.

“I don’t think so” you replied, Sukuna only seemed to be around when you were by yourself or in a stressful situation.

“I saw him” Aki moved some hairs away from your face, “When you said the word, I saw your features change, your eyes got darker, he didn’t do anything, but he smiled when I got stabbed, you smiled…” your eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve done something myself” your heart broke, Aki sounded so fragile.

“It’s okay, I’m fine” he placed his arm on your shoulder, resting his cheek on your forehead, “Can you promise me something?”

“Maybe, what?”

“If you don’t feel safe with Sukuna, terminate the contract.”

Safe…

“I’ll think about it.”

Thankfully Denji was right, he managed to defeat the devil by himself, freeing everyone else from the 8th floor. While Power was holding Aki on her back, you approached Denji.

“You must be exhausted,” you murmured.

“It’s not so ba—“ you gave his cheek a peck when he wasn’t looking at you directly.

“Well, you deserved it so…” before you finished he fell backwards, but Himeno got him when he was about to hit the floor.

“Let’s get them to the hospital” Himeno said and you agreed.

With Aki and Denji spending the night in the hospital for observation, you decided to go back home and check on them the next day.

Home seemed to embrace you when you arrived, finally having your own food and a decent shower.

After a long time washing your body and hair you stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around you, but the second your toe touched the ground you heard a voice

“Enchain”.

And everything around you changed like you were transported somewhere else.

“What the…” it seemed like a dark cave, looking down you seemed to be standing on a wet floor, was that blood? It didn’t smell like blood, although the place looked like it was rotting it didn’t smell like anything weird. There were bones around, piles of them, and a huge spine above you.

“Don’t look around without permission” you heard him again, behind you.

“You—“ when you turned around you met his naked chest.

Only then you realized you haven’t seen Sukuna in a human form since your contract, you forgot how tall he was. He was wearing a white robe, tied around his waist, from that point up his torso was exposed, black lines adorning it.

You took a step back, raising your head to look at his face, he had an obnoxious smile and a look of superiority.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“In my domain, basically in my mind” he turned around and sat down on a throne made of bones.

“That explains why this place is so creepy... How do I get out?”

“You can’t until I say so.”

“Suk—“ you rolled your eyes and was about to say his name in a very disrespectful tone until you met his serious face, “What do you want?”

“Do I have to remind you of our deal? You said Enchain, now you gotta pay.”

“You did nothing” you crossed your arms, “I may have said it but you failed to keep your word.”

“Watch your mouth, hunter. Contracts have power, if I hadn’t held my end of the deal I would’ve suffered the consequences, but here we are. If that dumb head of yours wasn’t so busy thinking about getting fucked you would’ve realized that was nothing for me to do in that situation”

You opened your mouth to argue back, but quickly realized you were in no position to do so.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with” with that he pulled the only thing that was covering your body, the white towel, and threw it away.

You attempted to cover yourself, but he pushed your shoulders down until you fell on your knees in front of his throne.

“Sukuna, not here” whatever was under the wet ground was rough on your knees, and the whole setting made you uneasy. All the skulls laying around seemed to be watching you.

“I said I wasn’t going to be good, especially after you misbehaved so badly earlier. Tell me, little hunter, have you used that mouth of yours to something other than pointless arguments?” Sukuna leaned back on the throne, spreading his thick legs and undoing the knot on his robe. The angle you were in gave you a pretty good look on what you were going to be working with.

If there was a source of light behind Sukuna you would have his dick casting a shadow on your entire face.

“Sukuna…” you called his name in scared tone, all your confidence fading out as you noticed from up close the thick veins.

“Do I really have to teach you everything?” he pulled away from the throne backrest getting closer to you, roughly taking your wrist and turning your palm up.

When you met his eyes he had a mischievous look, he snorted leaving you wondering what about your expression he found funny.

Then he spited in your palm and made you wrap it around his length.

You couldn’t help but gasp, such a dirty act and still your thighs were pressed together as hard as you could to get some friction on your core.

You had no idea what the average size was, but Sukuna was definitely above that. Your fingers weren’t even close to touch, how were you supposed to…?

“Come closer” he spread his legs, Sukuna was back to his original position, back against the rest, looking down at you like you were a bug. You noticed the frown was gone, like he was more relaxed.

You obeyed, moving more into the middle of his legs your face now just inches from his dick.

His hand guided yours up, stopping before the head and going back down encouraging you to squeeze his base, his chest was rising faster as you learned the way he liked it. You approached the dark red tip, giving it a kitten lick to test waters, a satisfied groan from the devil made your face heat up.

“Don’t be shy” he placed his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down his hard cock as you put your hands on his thighs for support.

Sukuna pulled you back before he hit the back of your throat, when your lips reached his tip you sucked it and felt his hand closing and pulling your hair.

“Liked the taste?” he teased. You would never admit it out loud… but you did. The bitterness of it and his scent made you high.

Being a virgin you didn’t expect a cock to be so hot. Literally. You felt your cheeks burn just being this close to his hot skin.

Your tongue traced the underside of his length, the warmest point of him. Out of curiosity you reached for his balls too, they ehere even hotter and so heavy.

Sukuna adjusted his hips, tilting it a little but enough to make you gag on it.

“Open wider” his rough hand held your face, index and tumb forcing the sides of your jaw to stretch more. It hurt, you wined, sinking your nails on his thigh, “Relax…”

You’ve read porn before, you know what you’re supposed to do, in theory.

“I need to buy cigarettes, you can wait here” Aki told you when you reached a convenience store.

“I’ll go in with you” you replied, while Aki went to the counter you walked to where the maganize were. You picked the newest edition of a popular one, flipping through it you found an interesting article. It was a reader question for the recurring sexologist. My husband never comes when I suck him off, what should I do to improve my head game?

You brought the magazine closer, not fully reading the answer but just scanning your eyes over the words that stood out the most.

Create a vacuum by pursing your lips… focus on the frenulum… suck the balls… swallow when it reaches the back of your—

“You buying this?” Aki was suddenly beside you, your head was basically inside the magazine, thankfully shielding the content.

“No, there’s nothing good” you closed it quickly and put it back.

You should’ve come back for that.

Taking a deep breath you tried to relax your throat as Sukuna applied pressure to the back of your head, as soon as his thickness reaches the very back of your throat your eyes fill with water.

“That’s it, choke around my cock, little hunter. Allow me to bruise that throat of yours” he thrusted his hips and you realized you have almost no control over it anymore, just to surrender to the situation. A mixture of liquids accumulated on your chin, almost dripping.

Sukuna loved this more than he should, you looked so helpless. But those eyes didn’t deceive him, he could see the lust, the hazy look and your delicate hand under his balls told him the secrets you didn’t.

“You’re such a whore, you know that?” you swallowed, “You know why?” he bent, one hand still on the back of your head and the other around your neck, he pushed you until your lips were amost at his base. All the heavy meat of his cock down your throat.

Your teary eyes tried to look up at him, the hand on your neck closed around it, Sukuna could feel his own shape there. You eyes widened realizing you could barely breath.

“Because good girls don’t take dick like this” he trusted a few more times until you felt it twitch, your hair was aggressively being pulled but the hand around your neck kept you in place while he shot hot loads down your mouth.

“Eat it” he commanded and you obeyed, shutting your eyes and swallowing it, although it was a lot.

Sukuna pulled you away, mesmerized by the string of cum and saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.

You inhaled for the first time since this started but soon began to cough, your jaw ached and your legs were numb beneath you.

“Monster” you managed to murmur in a extremely husky voice.

“Please” he was catching up his own breath, through blurry eyes you could see his abdomen was sweaty, his thigh was trembling. Sukuna bent, supporting his elbows on his knees to get really close to your messed face, his huge hand approached your face and out of reflex you fliched, but with a delicacy you would never expect he removed the strands of your hair that got caugh in your wet face. The sudden act made your face soften, he ran a thumb over your swallowed lips, rubbing the saliva off, he looked at you with a proud smirk. You felt vulnerable at that moment, his eyes didn't seem dangerous, and he was so close you couldn’t help but close your eyes and reach for a kiss.

You found nothing.

Opening your eyes again you saw the tiles of your bathroom, finding yourself naked on the floor. Droplets of your wet hair ran down your back, you took your towel off the floor and wrap it around your shoulders and attempted to get up, groaning from the pain on your knees. The groan scratched your sore throat and you started to cough again, moving to the sink you lowered your head trying to get some water but the image in the mirror scared you. There was a clear imprint of a hand around your neck, you traced it in shock. You thought about what to say tomorrow at work, should you wear a scarf?

But the most important question was: how deeply involved were you with Sukuna now that he had literally marked you?

#sukuna x you #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #chainsaw man x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #csm x reader #jjk smut #sukuna x y/n #devil!Sukuna

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pizzabox-box · 5 months ago

Note

How does Fake Peppino and Peppi-no perceive themselves? I assume from the clones post that Fep sees himself as peppino (to some extent), but also knows that he isn't as "real" as the real peppino (and that being real is better? Or is that something Pizzahead told him?) Does Peppi-no still see himself a bit as Peppino, or does he just consider himself the monster that killed peppino?

The best way to describe how Fake feels about himself would be like this:

" I may not be "The Real" Peppino but I'm still a Peppino! And I will try to be the best Peppino I can be! I'm not just some messed up clone... I will prove how good of a Peppino I can be! You will be proud of me! Just you wait! I will show you! I will show you all! "

Fake Peppino seems himself as a Peppino, but at the same time he's aware that he's not the original. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but the fact that he's just a butchered clone of someone is eating at him.

He doesn't see himself as the monster most view him as. He's just making pizza, what's so wrong about it? There's some doubt and second thoughts but it's deeply repressed. There's no time for being sad when you're running a restaurant!

So now onto Peppi-no, what does he think of himself?

"I'm Peppino! Of course I'm Peppino! I have to be Peppino. People need their Peppino! What else would I be if not Peppino. This is what I always wanted. ... "

But he knows he will never be The Peppino, real Peppino is dead. He Killed him.

"Oh, who I'm I kidding. I'm a terrible selfish monster. I took a life of another for my own selfish desires. No better than a stupid ravenous animal... "

But there's no time for self pity, he has a restaurant to run! "Friends" to meet. An act to put up. He can't risk anyone finding out! So he shoves these thoughts in the back of his mind. But no matter how hard he tries, they come back to haunt him again. Each time more intense and more aggressive.

This song fits Peppi-no very well:

I realized in my last life That I hate the light So I keep running And running I'm trying to hide From everything that's inside This heart that I've tried To erase and wash away all the shame

He regrets what he did, and is trying to hide from the consequenses

Scared to death of what's within There's bleeding kind of beating, deep beneath the skin Feel it rattle, ravage, all my sin Hear it scream behind my chest again

Flashabacking

No alchemy can give me what I wish I could be So I'll try a different body Just a dash of this and that A touch of blood and add some mud My wishes, fears, and painful tears I wonder when I'll have enough

He can't undo what he did. He takes real Peppino's place, runs his restaurant. Worries about how long he can do this.

No form of love can give me what I wish I could be I pray just change me I'm broken, torn, and tattered I'll never be full again I'll close my eyes and shatter My heart, rebuild from the start Dis-gus-ting

Talking about how much he regrets doing what he did, he was fundementally changed by the piece of real Peppino.

Even if I somehow find a way to feel alive, I Realized in my last life That I hate the light So I keep running And running I'm trying to hide From everything that's inside This heart that I've tried To erase and wash away all the shame To erase and wash away all the shame

Didn't know what he was doing until it was done and now he's stuck with the consequences

Stuck in the mud in my mind, if I clean up, I swear that I'd shine I am confined to what is inside Eating away at the thoughts that I'm trying to hide And I'm sick of all this wondering if I even deserve to live I think it's best I rip these feeling out with the rest of it

Hating himself for what he did

The breath of life was my demise I'm cursed until the day I die Perhaps a better set of eyes Will blind me from this sin of mine

taking Peppino's life was a terrible decision, he wants to return to blissful ignorance, before he took the bite

I've been forsaken, I'm breaking, can't take it again So take from me my mind and let me be

Reaching his breaking point. Wants all the guilt to stop

I'm lower than the dirt A worthless Homunculus Sick. of. this.

self hate again

self explainatory, he's trying to run away from what he did

Toil all day, till this rotten clay Water and blood just aren't enough To fill my heart up Over and over I try to reshape Crying in shame as I take the pain out Maybe that can change me That can save me

day after day he takes Peppino's form to continue his act, hopes he will weasel his way out of this mess, hoping that maybe someone can help him

I'm broken, torn, and tattered I'll never be full again I'll close my eyes and shatter My heart, rebuild from the start Disgusting Even if I somehow find a way to feel alive, I Realized in my last life That I hate the light So I keep running And running I'm trying to hide So maybe in my next life I'll finally find Find a way to wash away all the shame To erase and wash away all the shame

already went over this, a lot of guilt, self pity, self hate. And he's trying to run away from of it.

#pizza tower #fake peppino #Peppi-no #dead man walking au #oh an animatic for this song would go SO hard

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adelha-mathilde · 2 months ago

Text

How Love Hurts (Obey Me!) fanfic

content: Simeon has some thoughts about life, love, and choices. Established relationships. Casual talking. Discussion of loss and death and regrets. Mention of war and death. Gonna mark as spoilers for reasons due to what happens to Simeon in late game.

The snow fell gently outside of the mountain mansion. A quiet peace for the occupants as Simeon sat in his bedroom. Luke had long fallen asleep next to Simeon to be curled up against him. So Simeon was content to sit and read a book by the firelight. Since the fireplace provided good light and warmth against the bitter chill outside.

This holiday trip to Germany had been planned by Lord Diavolo and Adelha for Lucifer to help. With Adelha's family offering their property in the mountains and extending invitations to join in the month long events their family held for Christmas. The Currier clan had been sure to prepare enough mansions and cabins for any who wished to attend the festivities. The past few weeks had been full of fun and frolic as much as challenges and some minor fights. Yet everyone was savoring this winter get away. Including the angels and humans of Purgatory Hall to be given the time to reflect and relax.

Simeon felt Luke shift closer as the blonde angel hugged him tighter. Which had Simeon smile sadly before he made sure the blanket around Luke was properly tucked in. Watching as Luke dreamed on to then feel his eyes burn. So Simeon wiped at his eyes with care to sigh heavily over his turning mood. Thoughts dwelling on all that had happened since the exchange program and what had come of himself. All the conflict and internal questioning. All the chaos and self doubts. It had Simeon ache in ways he didn't have it in him to voice for so very long. Yet his main reason to hold tight to who he used to be and all he wanted to be was right next to him. This sweet soul that was his ward and who loves him unconditionally.

Simeon felt tears fall for him to ruffle Luke's hair with one hand. His thoughts asking of him, "Is this how they felt for Lilith? Am I too late to keep Luke from getting hurt? Will he face that same choice we did so long ago and very recently? The last thing I want is for Luke to get hurt even more by my choices. Yet how does one avoid such?"

Simeon sighed to then turn his gaze when Adelha eased the bedroom door open. The Dragon Fae holding a tray of tea to slowly walk into the bedroom and set the tray close by. Words of gentle warmth given in the quiet. "It would seem someone has need for a warm drink and a long sit down. So I'm glad to provide. Simeon. May I stay a while and enjoy this moment?" Simeon nodded to then take the offered teacup to gingerly sip at the contents. The flavors washing over his tongue and spirit in turn for him to ease into the bedframe. Yet he did not speak right away. Letting his thoughts swirl before he speaks with a bit of rending ache to note, "I regret so many things. Yet I do not regret saving our darling lamb. If given the choice to take the Ring of Light for them again, I would do so. Every time. But I never wanted to hurt Luke by any choice I might make. He should not have to hurt because of my consequences."

Adelha nodded to then situate herself so she is sitting next to Simeon to hug him from the side and rest his head to her shoulder. Treating him like the younger soul as she played elder sister to him. "Alas. One can do everything perfectly and still lose. This existence will be unfair for any flawed being. The Almighty accepts us in our flaws and wants us to hold tight to His love. Even when we do things that are for good yet do much harm in the doing." Simeon flinched as if he'd been slapped in the face. Yet Adelha just held him to give them a moment. Yet Simeon sniffled to close his eyes as his words ripped up his throat and over his tongue. "I wish I had stood beside Lucifer. I wanted to protect him and all he loves. Yet I didn't do anything. I kept out of it all and stayed beside Father's gardens. I stayed in Father's presence. I was too conflicted to know what was right. Too many fledglings need someone to guide them and nurture them. I dedicated myself to that form of loving under Father's blessing. Now... I've abandoned them... I've failed them and Father in that..."

Simeon felt Adelha run her fingers through his hair to give a soft sigh of loving patience. Her words offered out of love. "No, Simeon. Such is not a burden you should take upon yourself. Our Father would never condemn you in such a way. You haven't failed anyone. Not the fledglings you cherish. Or the other angels. Not Luke. Not Raphael. Not our Father. Not me. Not anyone." Simeon felt a question he desperately wished to voice. One he'd agonized over for so very long. Yet it stuck in his chest like a dagger. But he was soon given an answer in Adelha's gentle words. "And especially not to Lucifer and his brothers. No matter what has come before or will come to pass. Lucifer still loves you. Mammon. Leviathan. Asmodeus. Beelzebub. Belphegor. They all still love you as they did from before. They will always love you as you are. You are still the same person. Someone who gives and loves and wants the best for those you treasure. Becoming human. Almost changing into a demon. Regaining your angelic existence. None of this changes who you are in spirit. Who you are at heart. This is you, Simeon. As such, Lucifer and Luke and all of us will continue to love you. For always."

The pure truth washes into that wound in Simeon's being for him to finally shatter. His whole frame shivering as he begins to cry. Turning into Adelha's embrace to sob and sniffle. Which has Luke rub at his eyes to wake up and meep in fear. But Luke soon just snuggles up close to join Adelha in holding Simeon tight as he cries. Letting Simeon cleanse out all the roaring emotions as a familiar human opens the door to see what is going on. Which has Adelha wave Solomon's apprentice over to join them in the snuggle pile. Only for one more to enter the room and silently sit at the foot of the bed and place a gloved hand to Simeon's leg. Yet Simeon is to upset to notice as he sobs and clutches at Adelha to keep him upright as his emotions pour free from his being. Until he has cried his eyes red and can barely make any noise. So Luke pours another cup of tea to help Simeon drink it. Only then does Simeon finally notice who is sitting at the foot of the bed. That someone being none other than Lucifer.

Simeon goes wide eyed to look shocked. Yet Adelha simply dabs at Simeon's face with a warm rag to look slightly amused. "Remember to breathe for us, Simeon. I have been having regular discussions with Lucifer in regards to your struggles. Including how I offered to extend you a place in my personal Fae clan. He wasn't very surprised I would offer to place the Mathilde clan mark on you and thereby claim you as family to protect you. But he has been letting slip more and more of how much he wants to be there for you. As he once was freely able to do so very long ago." Simeon blinks a few times to finally lean forwards. Taking Lucifer's hands to hold them tight and finally speak to one he never stopped loving as his brother. "I've spent all this time wishing I had stood with you. That I had done something... Anything... Lucifer... Brother... I am so sorry..."

Yet Lucifer didn't let Simeon continue. He simply sighed to lift Simeon's gaze and shake his head. The words of the Avatar of Pride full of strength and compassion in equal measures. "No. Simeon. You have done what you believed at the time was best. I will never hold that against you. Do not hold onto such pains. Let them go. Adelha is right to let us speak truth openly. I never stopped loving you, brother. This will never change. If you stay human, I will make a pact with you. If you become like me, I will take you into our family. If you return to the Celestial Realm, I will rest easy knowing the fledglings will flourish in your love. No matter what happens, I am proud of you."

Simeon goes rigid to look completely stunned. But soon, Lucifer gathers Simeon into his arms to hug him as his wings brush at Simeon's frame with gentle assurance. So Simeon closes his eyes to hug Luicfer back and let the moment cleanse away his regret. While Luke gets lifted into Adelha's lap for her to hold him and let him cry a little into her shoulder. Solomon's apprentice smiling as they soon got in on the hug with Lucifer and Simeon to declare they are all one big family of demons, angels, humans, and Fae. A moment of loving acceptance and good washing over the room as Raphael stands outside the room to guard the door and stay motionless. While Solomon watched from his room with his crystal ball. His phone out to let Michael listen to the whole thing as Solomon chuckled in rich amusement to then place a hand to his chin. "See? I told you that we would be able to handle things. My apprentice and Adelha make for a good combo against sorrow and regret. Hence why you have nothing to fret over. I can vouch for all the humans the Currier clan and Mathilde clan have claimed as their treasures. Those Fae see humans as equals and cherish all in their circle. So if Simeon does stay as a human and let's Adelha mark him with her claim, he will be given all the love and care possible." Michael gave a sigh of relief to soon hang up the phone. Leaving Solomon to his own musings before he rose to head for the library and restock on more books to read.

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me #fanfiction #fanfic #obey me! fanfic #obey me! fanfiction #obey me: nightbringer #obey me nightbringer #obey me simeon #obey me swd #obey me nb #obey me spoilers

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sierrawitch · 3 months ago

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Dear Diary…

On Saturday I went to the grocery store to procure some tasties for a party with friends. As I pulled out of my parking space, I noticed a wind spirit swirling and playing with the leaves on the pavement.

I’ve reflected on that for three days, now. Not intensely, but it popped into mind periodically throughout my days. I wondered how it would be to feel as free as the wind, with no real responsibility but to blow some leaves across the ground, rustle the trees, and usher in a new season of crisp, chilled air.

I’ve always been particularly fond of earth spirits. They’re very grounding and calm, they can be stoic yet tender. I work with plants and herbs often in kitchen magick, herbal remedies, saining, etc, and have rarely felt the need to connect with the spirits of other elements. This is my mistake.

After witnessing the playing wind spirit, I’ve been more aware of the energies and personalities of other nature and elemental spirits around me.

Last night, for example, I was watching a film with a scented candle lit to help me relax after a long day. The flame flickered wildly, despite there being no draft to speak of. When my eyes wandered over to it, the dancing light stilled, and waved ever so slightly at the tip. Then, when I returned to watching the film, it wildly flickered again until it regained my attention. I watched it, and felt the sense that it was just a young thing wanting to be noticed and appreciated. Remembering that this candle was newly opened, I had no doubt that this little flame was something like a child.

The beauty of animism and spirit work is the realization that we are indeed connected to all things, living and non living (or at least non living by perception). Our existence as humans is preoccupied by essentially meaningless man-made design and obligatory schedule, to the point where we’ve become dissociated from this idea and consequently the natural world. Even on this journey of mine, I’m sucked into the hubbub of societal life. But it’s moments like these when I’m reminded of the truth: there is more to our world than what it seems, and there is more to explore and connect with than what we realize.

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de1ete-bi · 3 months ago

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thoughts of the Halloween episode of The Sun and Moon show

sorry its long (not really)

I liked Nexus in the begin when he was still New Moon. I think it helped the family more than having Old Moon stick around, not being able to sit with his thoughts and reflect on the way he treated everyone he deems below him mainly Sun. While it also allowed him to see the consequences and aftermath of his death and how it directly affected sun more than everyone else. While I think the addition of Solar indirectly caused Nexus' downward spiral, in the end I'm glad he joined the family. after Solar's death it was weird that he spiraled that fast. Now that I rewatch it he was spiraling far before that and it was just the last straw. Nexus's whole purpose was to be better, kinder, and more loving than those who came before him, I think after Ruin was exposed is when he abandons that purpose of being kinder to be "Smarter and Better" than Old Moon. I think that's when 'Dark" Sun started influencing him even if it was just a thought ever now and again, slowly chipping away at the core of his mind. I believe Sun was able to recognize that something was happening just not knowing what. That's why Sun started to pull away from Nexus and everyone else, cause he knew he was gonna get hurt, even if it hurt everyone else as well. While its a bold claim from nexus of that he was treated as tool, he was right in the fact that Sun was not the best brother to him. Though Sun never claimed to be, he was well aware that 1) Old Moon was "never" coming back and therefore could not hurt him, and 2) that Nexus was not Old Moon nor was he acting like him, However you have to realize that Nexus was walking around with his dead twin's face, the face that hurt him everyday for years. the face that he grieves for when he's was alone and no one can hear him mourn the loss of the one person who was with him for everyday of his life. Sun lost the other half of him when Old Moon died, and then Lunar dying soon after. he didn't get a chance to really grieve and, yet he still took care of Nexus and Earth. Nexus had some points, But not a good enough reason to go that level of insane. In the End he got a truly sad death which was to die by the hand of the one that still after everything did truly loved and cared for him.

My thoughts on "Dark" Sun

For "Dark" Sun to be the one to force Sun to choose between Nexus and Moon is very cathartic for the character of Sundrop in my option. Yes it was a little fucked up, it was necessary tho. It was what Sun needed for him to finally start making decisions and to grow more of a back bone. I do not doubt the claim that "Dark" Sun is every Sun because it makes senses in a way. We the viewers have never seen the universe where Sun doesn't exist ,because I don't believe there is one we would have seen or heard about it by now. However there are some special cases like Lord Eclipse who had the chance to get rid of his Sun but didn't or couldn't, or where puppet is from which I believe is the Base dimension for the T.S.B.S universe. Which leads me to believe that Sun and the other Suns are what their dimensions are based around or on. The fact that "Dark" Sun stopped time and pulled Sun to talk proves this more. There are more signs as well, like when "Dark" Sun talks to Sun and turns on the glow function so we can see a difference in who's who, along with that there is a one of Ruin doing it to, when he said he could feel the camera looking at him and saying hello while staring at it. It makes more sense why "Dark" Sun seems to know everything that happens to sun and his family, and why he says certain generalized statements about what Suns do and do not like. This also make sense why Sun can interacted with all or most energy sources like star power and wither shards with out many consequences, its because He is the begin, middle and end to the universe. That's also why he hasn't died in someway yet, because if he dies the universe go's with him His body will most like be the form of the wither storm for that universe or at least starts from his body. That may also be why he goes in to a trance like state when he sees "Dark" Sun's Dragon its the universe's coding deep in him that starting to from the wither storm. I do think if Sun was to die his soul(?) would go where the souls go and his body start the process of the wither storm. but if Sun didn't die, he would go in that trance like state and his body would start the process anyways, but he wouldn't be able to do anything. However I don't believe we the viewers have seen the last of "Dark" Sun, but I think Sun and them won't see "Dark" Sun again hopeful. I think Sun will Most likely look for someone outside of the family for therapy maybe someone atlas knows or would recommend cause i don't see Sun begin ok with talking to earth about it after all of this happening

please no hate this is just my option

#sun and moon show #tsams sun #the security breach show #tsams dark sun #tsams nexus

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vampirepirates · 4 months ago

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THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4

CHAPTER THREE — A MISSING SISTER.

And all I gave you is gone, Tumbled like it

was stone. Thought we built a dynasty that

heaven couldn't shake. Thought we built a

dynasty like nothing — ever made.

— Dynasty, MIIA.

The tourney at Harrenhal marked a turning point in the life of Lyarra Stark. Things were not easy between the siblings once they made their return, especially since Brandon was hardly around — and Eddard had once again returned to the Eyrie. Benjen, Lyanna, and Lyarra were left to their own devices. Lyarra made a consistent effort to not sneak out as much, choosing to stay with her sister throughout the night instead. She'd even taken to sharing her bed, only so that she would not have to leave her side. The three children would march around Winterfell, carrying on as if nothing had changed. After the tourney, Benjen seemed to collect himself — moving on from petty grievances, to take a place at his sister's side.

The three had become inseparable within the first week of their return. Everywhere they went, they went together. Lyarra was not certain how much time she'd have left with Lyanna, before she would lose her to Robert. Her sister seemed to know that as well as she did, and made sure that her two siblings were with her at all times. She rarely talked about Rhaegar, as Lyarra feared the topic itself, but when she had — her eyes were distant, longing for something out of her grasp.

The topic of Brandon's wedding shed light on their somber attitudes, though. as they finally had something to look forward to. Lyarra, in particular, longed to return to Riverrun — a thought that would make her younger self wince. Last she'd heard, Petyr was still with the Tullys. He'd have no choice, then, but to talk to her. She'd finally get a proper answer on whether he'd been avoiding her. Though, as much as she longed to see her friend, she was more concerned with her own brother's joy. In truth, she did not know if Brandon and his betrothed cared for one another. Every time that she'd questioned her brother, he'd avoided the topic altogether. Benjen had suggested that there was someone else that he'd given his heart to, that he had not been permitted to marry. Yet, even still Brandon was never overtly expressive with matters of the heart.

However, the idea of a wedding — outside of that of her sister's — brought a sense of expectation to Lyarra. It was a fascinating concept, despite its often barbarish implications. Lyanna, however, did not appear to be as enthused. She'd been happy for her brother, no doubt. But the very thought of a wedding likely only further reminded her of her own. Some nights, Lyarra would observe her sister cradling a winter rose — one that had once littered the crown, she'd assumed. In that moment, she would have given anything to see her sister as joyful as she once had been. She would ride off with her in the night, fleeing the city to live a life of their own. They could make it as some sort of sellswords, no doubt. They'd have to cut off their hair and dress as men, but that wouldn't be the worst thing, in Lyarra's mind. If they were caught, there would be dastardly consequences — but she would accept them head-on for her sister. Benjen held no such fantasy. He'd become too much of a realist of Lyarra's liking, recently.

A month after the tourney, a raven reached Winterfell. Brandon was to be wed in a month. Lyarra and her siblings would need to prepare for travel as soon as possible, seeing as the journey to Riverrun was not overtly short. Lyarra hadn't snuck out in a fortnight, instead spending her nights with Benjen and Lyanna. Their routine had started off almost entirely by accident. Lyarra had spent the night in Lyanna's room, and just before the sun had begun to creep over the hills — the two were disturbed from their slumber by their youngest brother. He hadn't slept a wink, made apparent by the red circles around his eyes. Lyarra let him in within moments, and moved to set up blankets on the ground. As Benjen himself had gone to lay down, she sat by his side. For the remaining weeks until their departure, the three slept side-by-side every night. It'd done nothing to ease their discomfort, as they now woke with an aching back and a bent neck every morning. Yet they felt better than they had in months. Regardless of what was coming, the three had one another.

Lyanna had taken to wearing a winter rose in her gowns. She no longer dressed as the boyish, rough girl that her sister knew all too well. No longer was she allowed to wear leather trousers, instead she was to wear her traditional furs and garments wherever she went. Despite her evident discomfort at such clothing, Lyanna knew better than to argue with her father.

Leaving Winterfell had become such a routine for Lyarra, that she no longer felt such sinking discomfort at doing so. It'd become familiar, and she could easily recall every familiar tree, hill, and building. Again, came the longing feeling in her chest. Soon, she'd see Petyr again. As she rode alongside her brother, she allowed her mind to wander. What would he look like now, after all this time? Was he still the small, sharp-featured boy that she'd come to know all too well? Was he longing to see her again, the way she was him?

Traveling without Eddard left a sour taste in her mouth. It'd only been months since she'd last seen her brother, but it felt wrong to be apart from him for so long. He'd always been the comforting presence that she'd needed for these journeys. Ned had never been the most talkative, but she felt better around him than she did now, at the very least.

In Lyarra's mind, they'd been on the road for months by the time they reached Fairmarket. It was the first proper town that they'd come across, and Lyarra welcomed the opportunity to take a break. Lyanna had been silent for most of their journey, opting to nod along to whatever the others had to say instead. She'd hardly seen Benjen since they left, seeing as he rode ahead with the other men in their party. The moment they had been given a room in a local inn, Lyarra threw herself onto the first mattress she saw.

"That can't be comfortable." The distant voice of her brother rang out. Lyarra only further buried her face into the quilt in response, with an almost silent grunt of aggravation.

"You'd be surprised." Her words were muffled by the fabric, but she knew Benjen could discern them well enough. She had half the mind to turn and glance over at him, before she was cut off by a sudden, sharp weight pushing her further into the mattress. Lyarra whipped her head towards the offending pressure in annoyance, when she saw Benjen draped across her.

"You know, you're actually right! This is pretty comfortable." Benjen emphasized his words with by raising his head and dropping it heavily on her back. She let out an offending grunt, before pushing him off of her with all of her strength.

"You're such an idiot" She grumbled out, choosing to sit up at that moment to brush her hair out of her face. Benjen was still lying on the ground when she had the chance to peak over at him, sprawled out on the floorboards. Somehow, that almost looked more comfortable than the stiff mattresses they were stuck with. Lyarra made a point of tripping over his ankle, before making her way out of the room once she heard a distant yelp of pain from behind her.

Lyanna was sitting outside when she finally found her, perched on a rock — gazing into what little landscape they could see. Lyarra did her best to announce her approach, taking heavy steps in the short distance. Eventually, Lyanna craned her neck to discern who had been walking up to her. When their eyes met, Lyarra could hardly help the gasp that was punched out of her. Her sister's eyes were bloodshot, heavy bags littering them. Lyarra's reaction was instant, lunging towards her to pull her against her chest as the girl's tears returned in waves. She was not certain how long the two sat, cradled in one another's arms. Once she had seemingly collected herself, Lyarra pulled back to wipe the pads of her thumbs against her cheeks.

She did not once stop to ask what was wrong, or if there was any way that she could help — a fact that she would later come to regret. Instead, she held her sister tighter, promising that she would take care of her. Promising that no matter what, the two would face what was to come together.

Sleep evaded Lyarra that night. After the image of her sister's devastated expression came into mind more than once, she'd resigned to the fact that she'd likely get no rest. Instead, she did her best to take quiet steps out of the room, making a quick distance to the same rock that she'd seen Lyanna earlier. She was unaware of how long she sat there, caught in a cascading jumble of her own thoughts, until she heard a door shut behind her.

Her traveling party were not the sole inhabitants of the inn, yet Lyarra couldn't help but spin back to face the offending sound. She was met with the started expression of her sister, who had a leather sack in her arms — eyes wide, like she had been caught in the act of something that Lyarra could not discern.

"What are you doing out here?" The question was barely above a whisper, but the words themselves were sharp. Lyarra raised an eyebrow at her sister's inquiry, choosing then to climb off of the rock and approach her. Lyanna took a step back, a motion that was only made noticeable by the moon shining across her pale complexion.

"I could ask you the same thing." Lyarra sighed, choosing then to scan over the objects that Lyanna had with her. The same winter rose that she'd coveted so closely before — which came as no surprise to Lyarra — a sack of what appeared to be the clothes she'd brought with her for the journey, and a steel blade. The final object gave Lyarra pause, as she moved to grab Lyanna's chin — forcing the girl to meet her gaze.

"You can't be serious. Where are you going?" Lyarra looked over her sister, looking for anything else she could have on her. The concept that her sister planned on leaving in the night, to gods knows where, had her gut reeling.

"Away. Somewhere. To pray, maybe." Lyanna's tone was wistful, and far too calm to satiate Lyarra's nerves. Lyanna had never been one to devote herself to the gods, but when she had it had been at the weirwood tree in Winterfell. Her sister's poorly covered lies only made Lyarra's stomach curl further into a pit.

"What does that mean, Lyanna? Where were you going?" Her words were punctuated with sharp intakes of breath, Lyarra leaning further into Lyanna's line of sight, imploring her to answer anything. Her attempts were to no avail, however, as her sister only stood prouder — chin raised, assured, and unwilling to budge.

"Why does it matter, Lyarra? Am I not allowed one moment to myself? My body won't even be my own anymore, soon enough. I'm not allowed to go anywhere anymore. To even speak to a man alone, let alone my family. I don't need you down my throat, as well." In an instant, the night sky felt suffocating. Lyarra took a sharp breath, stepping back as she furrowed her brow.

"So, what, I'm not allowed to care for my sister anymore? Was I meant to allow you to slink off into the darkness, knowing full well I may never see you again? You don't know what is out there, Lyanna. If you want a night to yourself, take it. I'll sleep in Benjen's room, for all I care. But this?" She pauses, gesturing widely between the two, "This is running away. This is a coward's way out."

"Fine, then. Let me be a coward! I would rather betray my family name than live a life that was not meant for me. I am not meant to be Robert Baratheon's prize, a wolf locked away on a shelf for him to show off when he is drunk enough to remember my existence. As he fucks everything he sees. That is not my life. It is not fair of you to ask me to live it." The two were still speaking hardly above a whisper, but Lyarra's lungs hurt like they had been shouting. Lyanna would not relent, not even to step out of the bubble the two had created.

"No, it's not fair. I wish you were not asked this, I wish this was not your life. I would give anything to take your place, if only so that you would have your freedom. I would leave with you this very moment, if I could." Lyarra took her sister's hands into her own, bending to gaze into her eyes pleadingly.

"You mean it? You'd leave with me now, if I asked?" Lyanna's words were quiet, her tone noticeably hopeful. The shift made Lyarra flinch, as she took a slight step back. She meant it, then. She meant to flee in the middle of the night, while Lyarra herself had been none the wiser. As if Lyanna knew what she was thinking, she took a step foward herself — her features hardening. Lyanna's mind had made up, regardless of what Lyarra had wished. "I would not ask that of you. I would not ask you to leave your life for me, as I chase a fool's dream. Go inside, Lyarra. Rest. The ride to Riverrun is not an overtly pleasant one." With that, Lyanna took a step forward — meaning to walk past her sister, and keep going. Before she could step out of her range, Lyarra grasped onto her wrist.

"Do you take me for a fool? I would never leave you, especially when I know you intend to flee in the night." Her words were harsh, sharper than she meant to be — as she dug her nails into Lyanna's wrist. She did not stop until she heard a resounding hiss, which inspired Lyarra to pull her back to her. "Please, please don't go. Please, Lyanna." She knew well enough that she was begging, her tone closer to pathetic than it had ever sounded before. This gave Lyanna pause, and she couldn't help the warm hope that flowed through her chest.

"Please, don't ask me to stay. If you won't leave with me, just let me go. I need to go." Lyarra hadn't noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks until Lyanna wiped one away, pressing her palm gently into the side of her face. Lyarra leaned into the touch in an instant, desperate to keep her sister close to her in any way that she could. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg, plead for Lyanna to not leave her. She couldn't bare the thought of living without her, of suffocating within the all-encompassing walls of Winterfell without her by her side.

"Lyarra, look at me. This is not my life. I am not meant for this. I wish, for you, that it could be. But it isn't. So let me go. Go back to our room, rest your eyes. In the morning they'll ask where I am. Say you don't know. Please, Lyarra." At that, Lyanna had to pull Lyarra against her to muffle her tears. The two would be found, sooner or later. They only had so much time, and Lyarra was becoming all too aware of this. "Do this for me, sister. I promise you, I will see you again. I swear it." Lyarra said nothing, only cowering further into her sister's chest. She was too cowardly to protect her the first time, but if this was what it took to give Lyanna the life she wanted — Lyarra nodded through her tears, muttering loose promises through her lips. The childlike hope in Lyanna's eyes made it worth it.

For the first time in years, Lyarra saw the young Lyanna staring back at her. The version of her that she had been longing to reach, that she had been longing to bring back — at what ever cost necessary. This was the cost, she supposed. She would lose her sister, if only to protect what was left of her. She knew that her brothers would likely not forgive her for this, if they found out. The thought made her stomach churn uneasily, as she tried to swallow down her tears.

Their goodbyes were short, gone before Lyarra's mind could properly catch up with itself. Lyanna kissed her forehead as if they were once again children, and Lyarra watched as her figure faded until she was nothing more than a shadow in the distance. She found her bed as quickly as she had abandoned it, and did her best to not make her cries audible — as she buried her face in the quilt for the second time that day.

Once the disappearance of Lyanna Stark had spread through the area, the remainder of their journey to Riverrun was rushed. What should have taken well over a fortnight took no longer than a week. Lyarra couldn't say that she was surprised. They didn't want to risk the disappearance of the other two siblings, not when rumor had it that Rhaegar Targaryen had been the one to 'abduct' Lyanna to begin with. She wasn't caught off guard by the thought, not entirely. Lyanna went willingly, to that there was no doubt — but the way that she had caressed the winter rose came to Lyarra's mind. She knew she would be meeting Rhaegar, wherever it had been that they had found one another.

Part of Lyarra was comforted by the fact that Lyanna had the opportunity for true happiness with the man, and the other part of her — the part fighting for dominance of her — felt ill at the very thought. She knew, all too well, what was to come. Lyanna was betrothed, and Rhaegar Targaryen had ignored this claim entirely — ignored his own wife, at that. Robert would not allow this to pass unpunished.

Benjen had attempted to reach out to her on the remainder of their journey more than once, but Lyarra did not spare him more than a blank smile. She could not manage much more than that, she thought. This was her fault. Had she simply pulled her sister back, convinced her not to go, they would not be in such peril. But she hadn't. She chose her sister's freedom, and this was the result of it.

The moment that the walls of Riverrun came into view, Lyarra all but rushed to the doors. In a flash, she was across the drawbridge and thought the doors. Her movements were wild, as she tore down every door until she found who she was looking for. Once her eyes caught onto him, she dashed forward — burying herself in the older man's furs. Brandon was stiff, hesitation embedded in every movement. However she paid his reluctance no mind, as she only pulled him closer to her. After a beat, his resolve crashed — as he dropped to his knees to wrap his arms around her, burying his nose into her hair. The two sat like that for far longer than necessary, a moment reminiscent of the night that she'd cried in his arms. Only this time, the two were just as afraid as the other.

Every waking moment after that she stayed by her brother's side. Even Catelyn, his intended, had seemed to understand that — as that night, she'd offered for Lyarra to stay with him, claiming that she'll sleep in her own quarters. Lyarra knew better than to accept her offer, however, and chose to spend her night in Benjen's room — as she had been doing for months. The boy accepted her back welcomingly, only hesitating for but a moment before allowing her in.

It was when she woke up, that she began to realize she'd yet to see Petyr. It was hardly the time to create a stir for him, however. She'd only had the chance to ask when she had caught Catelyn alone. The question was timid, yet Catelyn responded as if she knew she'd been intending to ask since she'd arrived. Petyr had been sent back to the Fingers, not too long ago. According to her, Petyr and Brandon had gotten into a quarrel of some kind — though, as much as Lyarra questioned, Catelyn would not divulge the details of their fight. Only that it had not ended pretty, and it was decided that he would return home. This fact alone was enough for Lyarra to sink further into her own sorrows.

At the moment where she needed him the most, Petyr was gone. To no fault of his own, she'd assumed — yet she couldn't help the sting that burned in her chest. She had half the mind to send him a raven, but couldn't bring herself to write to him. Another ignored letter would only cause her further pain, she decided. It was not worth the trouble.

The concept of time seemed to become a foreign thought to Lyarra after that. She could hardly keep up any longer. Brandon was riding to King's Landing, alongside their father. The day that he left, she had properly expelled all of her remaining tears into his pelt — leaving him with a half-soaked tunic. He took her face in his palm as he promised to return. Her father made no such promise, only grasping onto her chin similarly to Brandon. As the two rode away, Lyarra allowed her legs to give out underneath her, collapsing into Benjen as he did his best to hold her up.

She did not let the younger boy out of her sight, from that day on. Just before she had begun to settle for the night at his side, a knock came at the door. Brynden Tully chose to appear then, a man who had previously made himself scarce. It was evident then, just how uncomfortable the man was with his own presence — as he approached the two siblings. They were to return to Winterfell, with haste. Eddard would likely be there by the time that they returned, and until further notice they were not to leave their ancestral home. Lyarra thanked the man, asking him to send her thanks to his nephew Edmure as well — suddenly feeling rather guilty for the way she had treated him. Catelyn bid the two siblings farewell, as Lyarra made a point to assure her that Brandon would return — if not for duty, simply because he had promised. Her words likely did nothing to satiate Catelyn's nerves, though she sent an appreciative smile nonetheless.

It wasn't until they had returned to the snow-ridden castle of Winterfell, that Lyarra's world properly came crashing down around her. Once she'd entered the gate, she'd scoured the courtyard for the first sight of her brother — warmth enveloping her as she finally caught his eye, only to be frozen in fear as she noticed his expression. He was devastated, grief hovering over him like a shadow. She gazed into the depths of his eyes, brow furrowed as she tried to discover the cause of what was ailing him so. It was only when she noticed just how alone they were, how everyone had seemingly been giving the siblings space — that Lyarra realized what must have happened. She sunk to her knees then, Eddard following her suit. Benjen stood solemnly behind the two, his emotions hidden behind an expression far too mature for a boy of his age.

Lyarra fell into Eddard's chest, wailing in a way she never had before. Brandon was gone. Their father was gone. Lyanna was never coming home. A war had started, then and there. The King was begging for Eddard's head as well, claiming that he and Robert must face him in King's Landing. Vaguely, Lyarra heard him revealing all of this to Benjen, explaining further that Jon Arryn was the only one to defend the two boys properly.

Eddard was leaving for war, a thought that further removed all stability in Lyarra's legs. She could no longer feel her own tears, even if she had tried. She felt numb, too many losses hitting her at once. Ned had attempted to promise her that he would return, but she cut him off with a sharp glare. The last person that had assured her he'd return broke that very promise. She'd even comforted his betrothed with those same words, only to let her down tenfold.

Within months, there would be another wedding. As if some joy was meant to be found in a time like this. Eddard was to be married to Catelyn Tully, a fact that Lyarra wasn't certain either party was pleased with. Their marriage would strengthen the house, but at what cost? The wedding came and went. Lyarra did her best to weather her own feelings, pushing them aside at the hopeful look in Eddard's eyes. He was an honorable man, a fact that even those who barely knew of the name 'Stark' knew. He would treat Catelyn with respect, and if Lyarra looked close enough she could almost see warmth in Ned's gaze.

The day that Ned left Winterfell, Lyarra could hardly force herself to look up to face him. She sat at Benjen's side, weakly nodding as Eddard made empty promises. He swore to bring Lyanna home, regardless of what the cost was. The younger siblings knew his words were empty, as well as he did. He brought them both to his chest, kissing their foreheads in tandem. They were meant to look after one another, protecting Winterfell above all else. Should Eddard fall, Benjen would be the next 'Lord Stark'. As the two watched Ned ride off into the distance, they felt one another properly break apart in each others arms. After all of this, they might only have one other. A thought that both comforted Lyarra, and filled her with more guilt than she had ever felt in her life.

When it was announced that Eddard had returned, Catelyn had all but jumped from her seat to greet her Lord Husband. Lyarra, however, did not move an inch. Benjen had given her an inquisitive look, but she only waved him off. She knew all too well, the moment that she stood up to greet Ned — all she would be able to think about is Lyanna's absence. He swore to her that he would bring her back, and she had a fool's hope to believe him. After another moment, Benjen stood to follow Catelyn, raising his arm to Lyarra.

Lyarra took a sharp breath, before nodding to follow him — clasping onto his arm for strength. Just as she had expected, Eddard stood alone in front of the gates. He looked older. He was only a few years her elder, and yet he looked just a year younger than their father had. His eyes were restless, his own somber attitude carrying him as he solitarily. It was only then, that she noticed the small bundle pressed against his chest.

There, Ned Stark held a babe. She couldn't help her own curiosity, as she unlinked her arm from Benjen to cautiously approach the two. Eddard's eyes widened at her approach, as if he'd assumed she would avoid the very thought of him. Once she reached the two, she couldn't help but peel back the blanket from the infant's face — clutching her chest as a gasp escaped her. There, the face of Lyanna Stark looked back at her. The babe had her eyes — though they were far from the same hue — her nose, her smile. He looked like her mirror image. The thought flooded Lyarra with confusion, as her head snapped to the man holding him.

Eddard only met her with a quick shake of his head, unnoticeable to anyone more than a foot away from the two. His eyes told a simple story, 'I'll speak of it later,' and the heat within them was enough for her to nod mindlessly, moving to step away from the two instead. To anyone who asked, the babe was Ned Stark's bastard. A thought that was hard to believe for many, considering the man was not one to break an oath. However, Lyarra could not help but hold her breath. There was something he was not sharing, a fact made clear by the unreadable expression that marred him any time he looked her way.

He found her when she was alone, that night. Before she had fled to Benjen's quarters. There, he carried the babe against his chest. He was well and truly asleep, however that did not change his familiarity. Lyarra did not open with a question, choosing instead to lean against her nightstand with a raised brow.

"I can't explain it. Do not ask me to, Lyarra." His words allowed no room for argument, while his gaze carried a level of finality that only furthered his intensity. Lyarra found herself speechless, choosing that moment to take a harsh seat, the chair thundering beneath her. She deserved answers, he knew that as well as she did. However, there was something keeping him from telling her the truth — something that Ned would not relent from, no matter how much she attempted to persuade him to do so.

"What is his name, then?" Her voice was weak, hardly recognizable as her own. Ned's gaze met hers in surprise, almost as if he did not expect her to relent as quickly as she had. The thought was unsurprising, but in truth Lyarra was tired of fighting. All she could think about was the babe in his arms, a babe that carried the face of Lyanna Stark wherever he went.

"Jon. After Lord Arryn." His words were soft as he looked down at the infant in amazement, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. Lyarra narrowed her gaze, at that, making quick strides across the room to stand at his side. Eddard seemed to shrink at her approach, his arms coming up to cradle the baby closer to him. "I can't raise him alone. Catelyn won't speak to me, won't even look at me. She wouldn't let me explain. Not that I could, anyway." He hardly allowed her to get a word in, before his arm came up to wipe sweat from his own brow. He wasn't handling this well, not that she could blame him.

"I need your help. This is far too much to ask of you, I know that. I wouldn't, had I any other choice. He deserves to grow up proper, deserves a better life than I can give him." Ned sounded almost ashamed of himself, as he continued to gaze down at the boy. He hadn't looked away once, as if he were afraid he'd disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

"I'll take care of him, Ned. I promise you, I will care for him as he deserves. You have my word." Lyarra clutched onto Eddard's hand, bending in the slightest to meet his line of sight. Reluctantly he met her gaze, his eyes brimmed to the edge with tears. In that moment, she couldn't bring herself to ask the fate of her sister. She'd learn in due time, if not from her brother — then from someone in the courtyard who hadn't learned to whisper quiet enough. News travels quickly throughout the realm. Instead, she chose to lean into Eddard's space, gazing down at the boy alongside him. He'd repositioned, then, moving to offer her the babe. In an instant, Lyarra was filled with nerves. She'd never felt as if motherhood was for her — especially not her brother's bastard. Yet, the moment he was in her arms, Lyarra had never felt something more right.

Once his eyes peeled open, Lyarra was met with the tentative gaze of her sister. His eyes bore into hers, holding a question that she could not answer. Tears came streaming down her face before she could control them, and it was only the stable hand of her brother that kept her upright. She knew then, gazing into the eyes of the babe in her arms, that she would do anything for him. Regardless of what his story was — where he came from, in that moment he was hers. She'd hardly noticed Eddard slinking from the room, as she came to rest against the wall instead of his stiff arm.

"Hello, Jon." She cooed, caressing the boy's cheek with the pad of her thumb. She was stunned then, by the realization that she had never felt more love than she had in that moment, as she held him in her arms. A baby that she had known for less than a day, yet felt like she had loved more than half of her life. Jon Snow was her boy to care for, hers to protect. She may have failed her sister, but Lyarra swore in that moment that she would protect him with her life — regardless of what was to come.

Hey, so. Remember when I said I was going to make this one shorter... Oops. The last few chapters are a little rushed, but Lyarra is grieving okay. Things aren't going to go as they normally would. I really wanted to focus on the growing connection between Benjen and Lyarra, and ALSO the loss of Lyanna. Lyarra lost more than half of her family in less than a year .. She is not handling things well alright. I tried to do this in a proper way that made sense, but I also beg you guys to bear with me. The timeline is likely messy but.. Who reads a fanfic for a proper timeline?? Right?? Haha.. Okay.

The next chapter is likely going to introduce two of the main characters that haven't been mentioned yet. Right now, I'm thinking it's going to cover everything from this moment until the first proper episode of the show. So it will likely be a pretty long chapter. I apologize to everyone who decided to read this thinking it'd be a normal Sandor fic.. but above all this is the story about Lyarra Stark. I hope you all still enjoy! I am having a lot of fun writing this. And as always, feel free to leave any comments you have here!

Thank you,

Zevran

#the hound x reader #sandor clegane x reader #the hound #sandor clegane #petyr baelish #petyr baelish x reader #lyanna stark #jon snow #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction

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velidewrites · 1 year ago

Text

This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Chapter 1 || Go to Prologue || Read on AO3

ONE WEEK AGO

Eris Vanserra wiped the last of his blood off his back and straightened his shoulders despite the soreness. Now that he was alone in the quiet darkness of his rooms, he could hear the rapid pulsing of his veins as it echoed off the stone walls. Eris gritted his jaw, letting his body tense and muscles harden. He would let no one, not even the servants, hear.

Dipping the wet cloth into the basin, he twisted the fabric and watched as the water slowly turned a pale shade of pink. It felt lukewarm on his skin, doing nothing to ease the pain, to bring any sort of relief. Not that Eris had expected it in the first place.

Fifty years ago, back when his magic had still been his own and not yielded to the hands of another, he could have opened a rip in time and space and let the cloth disappear in there, all evidence of tonight erased in the blink of an eye. The best he could do today was a quick snap of his fingers to strain the cloth of all liquid, and a flicker of a flame to burn its remains. The ash, he knew from experience, would soon melt into the cracks between the stones anyway.

With that taken care of, he slid both arms into the sleeves of his jacket, fighting off the wince his body demanded to submit to. Everyone had eyes Under the Mountain—especially the darkness.

He did allow himself a quiet breath, though, as he realised the usually stiff back of the jacket had mysteriously been padded, the fabric no longer roughly grazing his skin as he walked. It did little to calm him—no, his breath only seemed to encourage the fire stirring in the pit of his stomach, the flames rising higher and higher until they licked at the column of his throat. It had been foolish for her to risk it for something so small, so insignificant in the grander scheme of things. For him. But his mother had never seemed to listen, anyway.

Whatever she’d sewn into the spine of his jacket, it helped, and Eris hated it with every step he took as we walked out of his chambers. The Vanserra family tailor answered to his father, like everyone in the family’s employ, which meant Beron would find out about what his wife had done one way or another. She had been shackled to his side long enough to understand that, which made everything all the worse. She knew—she knew what the consequences were, and yet…

She thought Eris was worth it anyway. It was the Mother’s most cruel of punishments, perhaps, to allow Lady Vanserra to keep her heart despite the family she’d been given. It was why Eris never prayed to her, or the Cauldron, or any of the Gods that had once used to roam these lands. They had all abandoned them long ago. The monsters stayed.

One of them awaited Eris at the end of the narrow hallway, carved so deeply into the Mountain he doubted even its native dwellers were aware of its existence. The shadows had led him here once before, the last time he’d needed to bargain. They had sensed his urgency—desperation was not a word Eris preferred to resort to—in his sleep, and revealed the location somewhere in the depths of his dream. It was the first and only night Eris had not been plagued by nightmares.

He had not been blessed with such comfort the second time. All he’d had to do was think the right words at the right time, and watch as a shadow of disdain passed through Rhysand’s face. To Eris, it was confirmation enough.

“Tell me why I should not kill you right where you stand,” the darkness purred, and Eris rolled his eyes.

“I come with a proposition.”

“If there is anything you require, I suggest you take it up in a formal audience with our Queen,” Rhysand said simply. “All this secrecy is…” His gaze narrowed on Eris’s. “Troubling.”

“I would hate to inconvenience our Queen in such a momentous time,” Eris drawled smoothly. “The time is almost up, after all.”

Though Rhysand remained silent, Eris could have sworn the darkness tensed around him—watching. Waiting.

He continued, “A celebration is in order, I hear. The Attor is on the hunt—if my information is correct.”

Rhysand angled his head an inch. “And where do you obtain such sensitive information, Eris?” he asked.

Eris let a smile creep onto his mouth. “Oh, you have no reason to worry, Rhysand,” he crooned. “I can assure you you’re still the only one warming our Queen’s bed.”

Rhysand’s gaze darkened.

Still, Eris pushed, “I do wonder what Amarantha will make of you, though, once her precious Tamlin arrives.”

“You dare speak our Queen’s name?” Rhysand asked him quietly. “I could leave right now and tell her of your disobedience—and I think we both know which one of us she would believe.” A smile of his own tugged at the corner of his lips. “How, I wonder, will your mother take the death of yet another beloved son?”

There it was—the monster he had come to bargain with.

“While I’m sure you’re eager to return to her side,” Eris taunted, “there is something I need from you.”

“And why, exactly, should I feel inclined to help you?”

Eris smiled. “Because if you don’t, I will tell your Queen of your little visit to the Spring Court on Calanmai.”

For a heartbeat, the air around them seemed to still.

Then, “That visit was sanctioned,” Rhysand said. “I was acting on Amarantha’s will.”

“Ah, yes. The three drunken wraiths conspiring to dethrone her rule,” Eris mocked. “One shudders to think what might have happened had you not stepped in, High Lord.”

The darkness seemed to narrow on him. “Is there a point to your empty threats, or have you requested my presence simply to annoy me?”

“A little bit of both” did not seem like an adequate answer at this time, so Eris simply said, “As I’ve told you before, there is something I require from you.”

“And I told you, I am not feeling particularly generous tonight.”

“No, I imagine you save all your generosity for the Queen,” Eris answered. “I can also imagine her pretty face when I tell her the wraiths were not the only traitors you spoke to that night.”

Rhysand went wholly, entirely still.

“A human girl,” Eris hummed, delight rising through his chest as he watched that darkness stir with unease. “With pale blue eyes and hair like ancient, molten gold. A mere Child of the Blessed, one would think,” he mused. “But I am told that minutes after you left, she was approached by a very concerned Lucien Vanserra…and hurried right back into Tamlin’s manor.”

“Your brother has always had an affinity for the ones beneath him,” was Rhysand’s only reply. But Eris could tell—could feel the shift in the power around them, like lightning bracing to strike at midnight.

It was why he waved a dismissive hand. “Lucien Vanserra is an embarrassment to my family, and an exile,” he said, the words souring on his tongue even as he spoke them. “I will not claim him as my brother unless he miraculously regains his senses,” he added, letting a grimace twist his face. “Though I very much doubt that will ever occur.”

“Well, from what you’re telling me, a reunion seems to be imminent,” Rhysand commented. “Your mother will be delighted to see her youngest after such a long separation, I’m sure.”

It was the second time he mentioned Eris’s mother tonight. The threat was more than clear—and that fire inside him stirred at the message it carried.

Rhysand crossed his arms over his chest, something too hidden in the dark for Eris to discern rustling with the movement as Rhysand asked, “How did you get your spies from Under the Mountain?”

“I don’t feel particularly inclined to share my secrets with common whores.”

“Careful, Eris,” Rhysand warned, something cold slithering into his tone—perhaps to combat the fire cracking at Eris’s fingertips. “Your words may be your greatest weapon, but in our current situation, they remain your only one.”

Rhysand straightened then, and even the darkness seemed to take a step back as he announced, “I grow bored of your company. Tell me what it is you want, and don’t try screaming into my mind again.” He grimaced. “Your voice is exceptionally unpleasant, you see.”

For what had to have been the hundredth time tonight, Eris rolled his eyes. But as much as he wished to show Rhysand how, exactly, he’d been trained in handling the monsters’ threats…

“I need you to manipulate someone’s mind.”

Rhysand arched an eyebrow—and Eris thought that, perhaps even if his plan failed, the surprise on the High Lord of Night’s face would be compensation enough.

“So rebellious,” Rhysand drawled, his gaze studying him closely. “What would your dear father have to say, I wonder, if he found out his heir has grown a little too ambitious in the dark?”

“Say we have a deal, Rhysand,” Eris simply told him. “And I will never mention the girl ever again.”

Rhysand must have let the mask slip a little, then—a new kind of darkness finding its way behind his stare as he met Eris’s at last. “Not a single fucking word about her, Eris,” he warned, and when Eris nodded, his shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Alright, then.” He outstretched his hand.

Eris shook it firmly, his own skin tingling strangely as the darkness infused with the quiet scent of jasmine scented night.

“It’s a bargain,” Rhysand said.

***

PRESENT DAY

Nesta’s cell was shrouded in darkness, occasionally broken by a flash of a strange, blue flame. It had taken less than an hour for her to learn that the screams would soon follow, filling the space with an echo of pain and agony.

Somewhere in the distance, the fire burned again, casting shadows on the wall ahead—dancing in what she couldn’t help but feel was a mockery of her misery.

She sat up straighter, waiting for the wailing to come. From what she had discerned earlier, the voice belonged to some male creature bearing wings. She could still hear them flapping in desperation, as if their tortured owner still believed he had a chance of escape.

The only other sound accompanying the prisoner’s screams was the Attor’s raspy laugh, and Nesta tried not to shudder every time it came. She could still feel the monster’s voice on her skin, like grains of sand brushing over her roughly. Though she had not seen the Attor since the moment it had knocked her out mid-flight, the mere sound of its cruel laughs had been enough to make her stomach twist and her heart drop heavily in her chest.

The worst, and perhaps the best thing about all this at the same time, was that Nesta was not alone. She had been tossed into the cell unconscious, but had woken up to the quiet murmurs of both concern and excitement—the mixture odd enough that she figured out quite quickly whose company she’d been shoved into.

Nesta had no interest in finding comfort in the arms of the Children of the Blessed, but she found herself listening in on their conversation anyway.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” the eldest of the group cooed, her slim hand patting another girl’s head gently, easing her quiet sobbing. “This is all a misunderstanding. Once the Fae understand we have come to serve them, we will be released to perform our duty.

Nesta rolled her eyes.

It did not go unnoticed—and another woman shot her a look, her navy gaze piercing. “You’d do well to show some sympathy,” she hissed. “Where we come from, the Fae do not shove us into their dungeons without prior questioning.”

Nesta was not sure what to take offence more—that someone so empty-headed felt within their rights to snap at her, or that they assumed Nesta, of all people, was one of them.

“Where are you from, anyway?” another Child asked her, red hair spilling over her shoulder as her head angled in curiosity. She had not arrived with the other three, Nesta remembered, with one of the guards only bringing her in hours after. “Do your clans not bear the symbols of our masters?” she asked, finger tapping on the wood-carved token around her neck. Nesta could hardly see the details of it in the shadows, though she made out a pair of hands holding up something rotund in shape—yet another meaningless thing of the world she had no desire to be a part of.

“She must think herself above such things,” the blue-eyed one scoffed, then returned her attention to the trembling girl in her friend’s arms.

Nesta turned back to the red-headed one. “I lost it on my way here,” she lied. “It fell from my neck mid-flight.”

The girl’s brows knitted into a scorn. “You ought to pay better care to such things in the future.”

“I doubt there’s any future for us left,” Nesta replied, ignoring the loud shush of the others as the youngest cried even harder.

The girl glanced over her shoulder quickly. “I saw the creature that brought you here,” she whispered. “It must’ve been terrifying.”

“I thought the Children are servants of all faeries.”

The girl scrunched her nose. “I doubt that thing can be called a faerie at all.”

Despite herself, Nesta snorted—and the girl smiled weakly. “My name is Carisa. You didn’t tell me where you came from.”

Nesta cleared her throat. The girl might have been tolerable, but it hardly meant Nesta was going to reveal to her everything about her life.

Especially not when she felt like, despite being entirely devoted to the torture next door, the Attor was still watching her, somehow.

“I was sent as an emissary to the South,” Nesta explained. “But I come from Scythia.”

Carisa’s face seemed to light up even in the darkness. “So am I!”

Shit.

Carisa continued, “Did you attend Queen Vassa’s coronation?”

Nesta had no idea the human lands on the Continent had appointed a new queen. “I was already gone by then.”

Carisa hummed. “You must have been here long, then,” she said. “You missed quite the celebration. I have a feeling Vassa is going to be a fair and just ruler.”

“I don’t particularly believe in the monarchy.”

Carisa blinked.

“For once, we agree on something,” the blue-eyed one cut in, apparently now part of the conversation as she looked at Carisa reproachfully. “The only authority we recognise are the Fae.”

“How glad we are to hear it,” a hoarse chuckle sounded above them—and they all jumped up with a shriek. Nesta included.

The Attor’s smile revealed all his silver teeth. “Come, Children. Mother has been expecting you.”

***

Eris watched as the blood trickled down the table in thin streams of crimson, the sight so dreadfully familiar he had to fight the urge to check over his back. It pooled at his feet, filling the small chamber with the scent of iron and wet earth, betraying the nature of its owner. These Lessers were native to the southern regions of Autumn, with the power to rip the roots of the strongest oaks from the earth with a mere nod of their fur-clad heads.

It was a shame this one had to die. He had proven himself to be one of Eris’s most capable spies, and, for the past forty-something years, had proven loyal enough that Eris had stopped questioning his reports only two decades in.

But, no matter how useful, he was still only a pawn.

And Eris was playing a larger game.

“Clean it up,” was Beron Vanserra’s only command as he wiped his hands on the pristine white cloth he’d summoned from thin air. No matter how much of his power Amarantha had claimed for herself, he was still High Lord—which meant he had access to magic Eris could only dream of.

It was one of many reasons he had framed his own spy. Why he’d turned to Rhysand, of all people, to get one step closer to winning the game.

“I should feel honoured,” Eris commented, using the spy’s discarded tunic to wipe his own hands. “You usually let Aran and Conall have all the fun.”

Beron scoffed. “Those fools would have bragged about it to the first whore that landed in their beds,” he said, as though it was not his own sons, his flesh and blood he was talking about. He cut Eris a look. “I should not tell you this is a matter of utmost secrecy.”

Eris nodded. “What is your plan, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beron simply told him, his attention already elsewhere as he slid on his dark-bronze jacket, the material thick enough to cover the blood speckled over his formal shirt.

Eris did not let himself get surprised easily, and he liked to think he knew his father well enough to anticipate his reactions accurately. But this—this strange, eerie calmness about him as he buttoned up the hems was enough to make him say, “I do not understand.”

Beron met his gaze.

Eris continued, “We just found out one of our own spies reported for Amarantha. How certain can we be that the others have not been compromised?”

His father waved a hand in dismissal. “She will learn of this one’s death quickly enough,” he told Eris, something souring in his expression as he added, “I do not know what the Hybern bitch is playing at, but with this death, the game has officially begun.”

For Beron—perhaps. But Eris…Eris had been playing for a long, long time.

If the knowledge of Amarantha sending Beron’s own sentries after him was not enough to steer his father’s focus far away from Eris’s own dealings, it only meant Eris had to push a little harder. “You wish to wait for her next move.”

Beron cuffed his sleeves. “I want her gone, as we all do.” Another look at Eris carried a flash of a warning. “I have not taught you such impatience,” he mused quietly—too quietly. “Your mother, perhaps. It would not surprise me to see yet another failure of hers in my one and only heir.”

Eris stiffened.

“Mother has nothing to do with this,” he said slowly, as if to calm the rising urgency in his own chest. Clever—he was so clever bringing Mother into this, dangling her life right before Eris’s nose until he stumbled grasping for it.

Beron hummed. “Perhaps you require another lesson instead,” he said, and something like a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the body and ordered, “Clear the table.”

Eris was going to abide—the way he always had.

His feet carried him to the centre of the room as though they possessed a mind of their own, completely isolated from the thoughts pounding through Eris’s head. His back had fully healed—courtesy of the newfound comfort of his clothing—and, in a few moments, Beron would know exactly who to blame.

But then a knock sounded on the heavy, wooden door—and Eris stopped.

“My lord,” a voice called, quiet and hesitant. “My lord, you and your family’s presence is requested in the throne room.” A pause. “I’m afraid time is of the essence.”

Eris did not dare to move.

Beron sighed deeply. “Clean up later,” he instructed, then made his way for the door. “Kill him on your way back in.”

Eris’s face eased back into its usual stillness. “Naturally.”

“Good,” Beron nodded, the word the highest of praises in his mouth. “Now let’s see what this is all about.”

Praying Amarantha had somehow heard as the High Lord of Autumn referred to her as “the Hybern bitch,” Eris followed his father. It was ridiculous of him to hope, it the thought brought him some entertainment, at least, as they made their way up the labyrinth of corridors carved into the Mountain, passed only by the occasional guards or maids scurrying toward their designated rooms.

They reached the throne room quickly, Beron disappearing immediately to take his place by the other High Lords—in the alcove right above the western side of the hall and overlooking Amarantha’s iron throne.

A little higher up, in the lounges reserved for nobility, Eris slid into his usual chair, his gaze not leaving the throne for one second as he, ever-so-slightly, leaned toward his left. “You should not have done that, Mother,” Eris murmured. “He—”

“Straighten up, Eris,” came the reply, soft and quiet. “Smile.

So Eris did.

“Who are they?” a female voice to his right asked, and Eris bit back a hiss as he realised Aran had brought in a female into his family’s section. Again.

“Fresh meat for the Attor,” his younger brother snorted. The female visibly winced.

Only then did Eris finally regain his senses enough to scan the area below. A small group of people gathered before the throne, where Amarantha lounged—with a smiling Rhysand beside her.

Eris gritted his teeth.

“Kneel,” the Attor announced, wings sprawling high up from where he stood behind the group—as if to block them all from turning. “Before your Queen.”

One of them—the shortest one—slid the hood off her head, the others quickly following suit before dropping to their knees. Eris realised then—there would be no torturing Beron Vanserra today, even despite his best wishes.

No. They’d been invited for a feast.

Amarantha’s red-stained mouth curled into a smile as she leaned back in her throne, her right arm wrapped around Rhysand’s. To his left, Eris heard Conall scoff. “What have you brought me today, my dear?” she asked, clearly addressing the Attor to the horror of Aran’s companion. “Ah. Children of the Blessed. How delighted I am to see your lovely faces,” she added, and one of the women—the closest one whose features Eris could make out—seemed to beam at the acknowledgement.

“These three were found near the Winter border, Your Majesty,” the Attor explained, the rasp of his voice carrying throughout the hall. “This one arrived at Autumn’s eastern docks earlier today,” he pointed to a red-haired woman. “And this one,” he said, wings flaring in unabashed pride, “Came from Spring.”

It only lasted a second—even less, perhaps—but Eris did not miss the flash of fear in Rhysand’s violet gaze. There and gone, like the flicker of a star as it descended down on the last woman.

She looked up, then, her black hood falling farther down her back—and met Amarantha’s gaze directly.

Eris held his breath.

She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Woman, he corrected himself immediately after the treacherous thought, if the rounded tips of her ears weren’t enough of an indication. Had Eris not been his father’s only suitable heir, Beron would have killed him for harbouring such a sentiment without hesitation. It would not have been Beron’s first time.

Even so, Eris could not help but let his gaze linger. There was a devastation to her beauty, as though all the gods he’d forsaken had decided to prove him wrong in crafting this woman. When she looked at Amarantha, there was no admiration, no blind loyalty that shone from her companion’s misty stares. No, this one looked at Amarantha with…challenge, shining brightly from those blue-grey eyes.

Eris stilled at that, the realisation ripping the world underneath him open as he understood why he glimpsed fear in Rhysand’s eyes.

A human girl. Those were his own words, spoken no more than a week ago. With pale blue eyes and hair like ancient, molten gold. A mere Child of the Blessed, one would think, but I am told that minutes after you left, she was approached by a very concerned Lucien Vanserra…and hurried right back into Tamlin’s manor.

This woman had come from Spring—and she was no Child of the Blessed.

The lie burned like fire in those eyes of hers as she held the High Queen of Prythian’s gaze. “We are here to serve you, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice smooth and clear.

“Such devotion,” Amarantha purred. “I would be delighted to have you as my guests tonight. A ball—in your honour.”

The other four erupted in whispers, their excitement so palpable it turned Eris’s insights sick as Amarantha added, “And a very special offering from my court later.”

In the past five decades, Eris had attended enough of those celebrations to know exactly how Amarantha liked to play with her prey. To know what would happen to those women the minute the final note of the violins marked the ball’s bloodied end.

But, if he was right, one of those women, the fraud…

If he was right, she was the one they’d all been looking for. The one Rhysand had met that night, knowing she was the key to everything.

A newfound fire sparked in Eris’s chest as a new pawn appeared on his centuries-old board.

He was going to save her.

And in turn, she was going to save them all.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #neris #neris fic #in which eris has fire in his blood and he fucks like it too #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x erisi vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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