#like her face is an OPEN WOUND. there is BLOOD dripping from her mask

[abyssal-ilk]

the thing about ghilan'nain is that when i look at her, she doesn't freak me out or feel gross/unnerving in any way. like i look at her and i can't even focus on how she's supposed to be corrupted and scary because i'm too busy looking at her face and back and going. damn. that shit has gotta hurt, right??

[celestiamour]

Accept my Hyun-ju request and my life is yours 😩🛐 (/lh you totally don't have to accept it if you don't want to <33)

BUT. The part where Hyun-ju is about to leave to fight the masked guards. Throughout the games, fem!reader developed a crush on Hyun-ju and before she left to fight, reader decides to go for it and give her a goodbye/good luck kiss 🤭

I am SO obsessed with this queen omg

ft. cho hyun-ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ giving her a goodbye kiss before she leaves during the revolt┊0.8k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: , angsty & open-ended, season 2 spoilers, canon-typical gun violence! love confessions, reader is sapphic obviously, mentioned homophobia/transphobic in conservative korea

➤ author's note: i’m so glad to see so many requests for this queen, i’m also obsessed

“goddamn it, where the fuck is dae-ho?!” you could barely even hear yourself over the sounds of shots being fired on both sides, hiding behind the pink walls which were steadily being painted red with the blood of your companions. 

the younger marine had left at some point to gather more magazines from the pockets of the deceased guards back at the barracks, but he was currently nowhere to be seen and the situation was becoming more dire by the second. although you had been conservative with your bullets to focus on accurate hits that would kill them on the spot, there were only a handful left at the moment and some of the other men were completely out. 

over all the ruckus, you could hear hyun-ju yelling into the walkie-talkie trying to get a hold of him, but he was nowhere to be seen or heard so she roughly shoved it into her tracksuit pocket and began to shout, “something must have happened! i’ll go down and check!”

“wait, let me come with you! it’s too dangerous to go alone!” you tried to get up from your position but was stopped when an oncoming bullet managed to graze your face, making you shriek in surprise as a shaky hand lightly brushed at the wound and found your fingers now smeared with blood. 

“it’s even more dangerous for you to move from your spot! i’ll be okay, i promise!”

her determination was awe-inspiring, yet your heart sank at the realization this might be your last time seeing her face. your affections toward her were unexpected even though you already knew you loved differently than most people did, something you both bonded over when being a part of the lgbtq+ community was still a taboo topic socially, but you found her to be beautiful inside and out with her caring personality and resilience in times of danger even though you were too scared of ruining your special friendship to admit it. you had no idea it was possible to become so attached to another in the span of less than a week, being so surprised at the realization you stayed up for hours when others were asleep to take it in. the only other person who knew about your feelings for her was young-mi, and she was…

suddenly hyun-ju was next to you wiping away the sole tear about to drip down the corner of your eye, holding on to you with a worried look on her face, “are you okay? i thought you went into shock for a second.”

god, you didn’t even notice with the battle going on around you sounding almost muffled with the two of you feeling like the only souls for miles around. everyone here insisted you should stay behind on account of being a woman even though you believed you had proven yourself to be tougher than most throughout the games, but she had faith that you could fight just as fiercely as a man and defended you each time they said you should turn back. (as annoying as it was, you don’t blame them since they were only looking out for you.)

you stared back at her for a second, blinking away thoughts of the past to focus on the present, the knowledge of this possibly being your last interaction with her once again coming to the forefront of your mind. taking in a deep breath, you decided “fuck it” with closed eyes and pulled her towards you for your first and possibly last kiss.

her eyes remained wide open in shock, trying to process the sudden action. it lasted for a few seconds but felt like an entire minute, feeling your soft lips against hers as she reciprocated the kiss and feeling her heart jump for joy. the earth seemed to stop spinning for those few moments until a voice called out to interrupt. “hey lovebirds! we’re kind of in the middle of something here!”

you finally parted with her, gazing deeply into her eyes and noting her blown-out pupils. “come back safe, and when we get out of here, we’re going to pay for your surgeries and move to thailand together, and i…” you closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to muster up the bravery to utter the words you might never be able to say again, “i love you.”

now it was her turn to stare at you. you loved her? loved her as she is? she can’t remember the last time she heard those words after getting essentially disowned by her family. she always knew, deep down, she shared the same feelings for you, but was too scared she would end up alone again as she has been for so long so chose to push them down out of fear of rejection. yet when you’re by her side like this in the face of certain death, she feels courage. “i love you too. we’re going to get out of this together,” her confident voice made it sound like she was an oracle who already foretold your happiness in the future, “but first, you guys are going to have to cover for me.”

“don’t worry, i got your back!”

[meadowfics]

happy birthday

cho sang-woo x f!reader

due to the squid games, you forgot that it is your birthday

warnings: established relationship, age gap (reader is in her mid-twenties), death, s*icide, angst, I do not suggest that minors should read this. I am not responsible for the content you choose to read after clicking, "keep reading"

the games have stretched on for days

you’ve long lost the ability to track time in the games since you did not have a single device with you.

every moment is just filled with a whirlwind of blood, screams, and desperate breaths you are grateful to take.

you haven’t thought about anything beyond surviving, eating only enough to function, sleeping with one eye open.

you haven’t even thought about what day it is, let alone the fact that it’s your birthday.

the person you were before the games feels like a distant, unreachable memory.

sang woo has always been the thinker, and the planner in the relationship.

you relied on his mind to guide you through the chaos that this game brought you.

while you carried out plans, while you ran and fought, he was the one ensuring you both had a chance.

he told you what you needed to do in order to survive each game, and you admired him for it.

now, with just the two of you left, that strength has become a devastating burden.

the man who kept you alive is now the one you must kill

...or be killed by.

the final game takes place in a desolate, open field.

the rain pours relentlessly, soaking you to the bone, making the sand beneath your feet slippery.

it’s too quiet, save for the patter of rain and your own shaky breaths.

you’re standing twenty feet apart, both in the same dark suits, drenched, eyes meeting through the haze of water.

the masked overseers watch silently in the background, unmoving, as if savoring the grim show about to unfold.

everyone there, the guards, the frontman watching.. the knew about the love between the two of you.

that is what made this sight more amusing to them..

“sang woo, i can���t…”

your voice cracks as you stare at him, your hands trembling at your sides.

you’ve already thrown the knife they gave you to the ground. you couldn’t do it.

“please, just do it. i—I can’t hurt you. i won’t.”

sang woo's expression is unreadable at first, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, the rain dripping down his face like tears.

he’s been your anchor through this nightmare, but now, as the end looms, his silence feels like a dagger in your chest.

“please don’t make me do this.”

his voice is low, trembling.

this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard him.

“don’t ask me to kill you. i can’t live with that. i can’t…”

he steps closer, his hand tightening around something at his side. you think it’s the knife.

is he going to kill you?

you drop to your knees, the rain pooling around you.

you scream, sobbing openly now.

“it’s okay! i’ll be okay, sang woo! just do it. take the money. take care of your mom. she needs you!”

your chest heaves, your heart feels like it’s ripping apart.

“i can’t live with myself if i kill you, but you...you’ll be okay! you’re a strong man, love. please…”

“no? you think i can live with myself without you?”

he finally chokes out, his voice raw.

the older man's eyes are glassy, filled with an emotion you’ve never seen from him before.

love. regret. anguish.

when he moves, it’s not towards you.

he pulls the knife and presses it to his throat in one fluid motion.

your stomach drops as realization sets in, but it’s too late.

he’s faster.

“no! sang woo, stop!”

you scream, bolting towards him as he sinks the blade in.

you reach him just as his knees buckle.

his blood gushes out, staining your hands as you cradle him.

“why? why would you do this?”

your voice is shrill, hysterical, as you press your hands against the wound, trying to stop the inevitable.

there is no help here, he is a lost cause.

sang woo reaches up weakly, his bloodied hand brushing against your cheek.

the man's voice is barely a whisper,

“because… i know you’ll take care of her… my mom. you’ll… make sure she’s okay.”

his breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, but then they open one last time, locking onto yours with a bittersweet smile.

“happy birthday, by the way. I love you.”

the words shatter you.

of course sang woo would never forget his favorite day of the year

even in this hellhole..

you scream his name, shaking him as if you can bring him back.

your lover's blood seeps into the sand below, mingling with the rain, as the weight of his sacrifice crashes down on you.

you can’t stop crying, holding his lifeless body, feeling the warmth of him slip away.

the games end. you are declared the winner.

the frontman teases that you are the first woman to have ever won, and the first person to win on their birthday..

45.6 billion won is yours, but it feels hollow, meaningless.

you didn't want any of this money no more.

every time you close your eyes, you see sang woo’s face, hear his voice, feel his blood on your hands.

an hour after the guards threw you back out in the streets of seoul.. you look at your phone.

you see the date: your birthday.

the day you should have been celebrating is now the day you’ll mourn for the rest of your life.

you won, but at what cost?

the weight of your soulmates sacrifice will haunt you forever.

masterlist

[valyriandreamer]

𝔐y 𝔚ife 𝔦s 𝔞 𝔚itch

summary: forced into a marriage of political necessity, King Jacaerys Velaryon finds himself tied to Y/N, a mysterious and powerful woman from a family shrouded in dark rumours.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

The grand hall of the Red Keep was deathly silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire that illuminated the stone walls with a dim, flickering light. Jacaerys Velaryon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, sat rigidly on the Iron Throne, his fingers gripping the cold, unforgiving steel of its arms. His face was set in a mask of calm authority, though beneath the surface, a storm brewed.

He had been forced into this marriage—forced to take a woman he barely knew as his queen. It was an arrangement, a political manoeuvre, to unite the powers of Westeros and Essos under one reign, but it had never been his choice. His heart still burned with resentment at the thought, the weight of duty pressing down on him heavier than ever before.

Her family was one of the most powerful in all of Essos, a house shrouded in mystery, their influence stretching across the Narrow Sea and into the heart of Westeros. They said her bloodline was ancient, woven with magic and darkness, and rumours of her power swirled like wildfire in every corner of the realm. A witch, they called her, though no one dared say it to her face. Even her past was cloaked in secrecy, as if the world had forgotten where she came from—or perhaps, been made to forget.

And now, she was his queen.

Jacaerys’ jaw clenched as the heavy doors of the hall creaked open. The sound echoed through the empty chamber, and all eyes turned to the figure gliding through the entrance. Y/N, his queen, his wife by name but not by heart, entered with a grace that bordered on predatory. Her gown, a deep, blood-red silk, shimmered in the firelight as it clung to her every curve, and her eyes—sharp and calculating—were fixed on him.

She moved like a storm contained in a human form, her every step deliberate, every movement precise. The court whispered about her, spoke of her seductive charms and her dangerous allure. But beneath the beauty, there was a cunning mind at work, a manipulative streak that she wielded as skillfully as any blade.

She was confident, arrogant even, as if she knew the world was hers to command. And why wouldn’t she? With the power of her family backing her, withrumourss of her dark magic swirling around her like a cloak, who would dare oppose her?

As she approached the throne, her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Jacaerys felt the air around them shift—thicken with the weight of something unspoken. She stopped before him, her lips curling into a smile that was equal parts charming and dangerous.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice a silken whisper as she dipped into a low curtsy. The formalities were all there, but Jacaerys could feel the mockery beneath her words, as if she were playing a game only she knew the rules to.

“Queen Y/N,” he replied, his tone cold, distant. It had been this way since the day they had been wed. Respectful on the surface, but nothing more.

“You look tired, my king.” Her words dripped with false concern, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she straightened, her gaze never leaving his. “The burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms must weigh heavily on you.”

Jacaerys fought the urge to scoff. Her voice, her words—everything about he - was a weapon, sharp and precise, designed to cut deep while leaving no visible wound. She was playing the part of the dutiful queen, but there was a darkness behind her eyes, one that kept him on edge.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said flatly, his eyes hard as he watched her approach the steps leading to the Iron Throne.

Her laugh was soft and melodic, but there was an edge to it. “Of course. A king must always appear in control, mustn’t he?”

Jacaerys narrowed his eyes. “And a queen must know her place.”

The room went still, the tension between them palpable. But Y/N, in typical fashion, remained unfazed. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a more genuine smile this time. “I know my place, husband,” she said sweetly, though her eyes sparkled with defiance. “Right beside you. After all, we are partners now. Rulers of both Westeros and Essos.”

Her words were true, but Jacaerys couldn’t shake the feeling that she had never intended to be an equal partner. From the moment she had stepped foot in the Red Keep, she had taken control—subtly, carefully, but undeniably. She charmed the lords, whispered into the ears of the council, and always seemed to know just what to say, just what to do, to bend people to her will. And though Jacaerys was no fool, though he saw her manipulations for what they were, he couldn’t stop them.

Her presence was intoxicating, whether he liked it or not. She was bold, charismatic, and cunning, traits he could almost admire—if they weren’t so dangerous.

“Is that what this is?” Jacaerys asked, his voice laced with bitterness. “A partnership?”

Her smile widened, and she took another step closer, her gown whispering against the cold stone floor. “Of course,” she purred, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “A marriage of two great powers. Together, we could reshape the world, rule over both Westeros and Essos with a strength unmatched by any other.”

“You speak of conquest,” he said, his voice low. “But the Seven Kingdoms are already mine.”

Y/N’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing across her face. “For now,” she said, her voice soft but filled with an unspoken threat. “But there are always those who would seek to challenge your rule. Our rule.”

Jacaerys stood, his tall frame towering over her as he descended the steps of the throne. “Do not mistake me for one of your pawns, Y/N,” he said, his voice hard, his brown eyes locking with hers. “I will not be manipulated.”

For the first time, her expression faltered, just for a moment. But then she recovered, her lips curving into a smile that was all the more dangerous for its sweetness. “I would never dare,” she said softly, though they both knew it was a lie.

He reached her, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, his jaw tight with barely concealed anger. “This marriage was a necessity,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Nothing more.”

“And yet,” she whispered, her gaze never leaving his, “you can not deny the power we hold together.”

Jacaerys clenched his teeth. She was right. He hated that she was right. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with—her cunning and charisma, his boldness, and loyalty. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or her.

“I am not one of your playthings, Y/N,” he said, his voice a growl. “You will not control me.”

Her smile remained, but there was a coldness in her eyes now, a warning. “I don’t need to control you, my king,” she said softly, her voice smooth as silk. “I simply need to stand beside you. And whether you like it or not, that is exactly where I will be.”

Jacaerys stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest, frustration and desire warring within him. She was impossible, infuriating, dangerous. But she was also the most intoxicating woman he had ever known.

And that terrified him more than anything.

“You play a dangerous game,” he warned, his voice low, threatening.

Her eyes gleamed with amusement, her confidence unshaken. “I always do, my love,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath warm against his skin. “But it’s the only game worth playing.”

Jacaerys’s hands clenched at his sides, the storm inside him raging. He wanted to push her away, to break free of the hold she had on him. Instead, he found himself standing still, frozen by the sheer force of her presence.

She stepped back, her eyes gleaming with victory as she gave him one final, knowing smile. “Goodnight, Your Grace,” she whispered, turning on her heel and gliding out of the hall, leaving Jacaerys standing alone, the weight of his crown heavier than ever.

He watched her go, his chest tight with a mixture of anger and something far more dangerous. She was his queen, forced upon him by duty, by politics. But deep down, in a part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t just angry because he had been forced to marry her.

He was angry because he couldn’t stop wanting her.

And that, above all, was the most dangerous game of all.

[dovveri]

matching wounds

synopsis: 2 victors are brought back as mentors for the 58th hunger games. you don’t understand how your fellow victor nayeon seems so okay after everything that happened in the arena.

warnings: angst! sleep issues, trauma, death, killings, blood, weapons, mentions of sex trafficking, suggestive at times, all the trigger warnings that come w the hunger games ig…

w/c: 13.3k

a/n: got this idea post conan concert listening to the exit and being thrown back to this one hunger games edit to the exit and this was born! its mostly just them dealing w their trauma and talking and being there for each other </3

»┼)➝

the train ride to the capitol is it's usual flamboyant, boastful lie. you scowl, looking out the window as you pass the countryside at rapid speed. a year was not nearly enough to recover from the trauma of winning the infamous hunger games. you still remember very clearly, the absolute dread you felt sitting on this train a year ago, praying to all the deities and gods you had never bothered learning the names of in your limited education in district 9.

your attention is drawn over to the carriage door when it slides open. your accompaniment, the only other victor alive in district 9, walks in briskly. she doesn't seem to take notice of you slinking around in the corner of the carriage. im nayeon was something else. she was your mentor when you were in the games last year. she had won her games not too long before you, reaped at the very young age of 14 for the 49th hunger games. you guessed you could consider yourself lucky in that sense. your name was picked out last year when you were already 18, so you already had the build and experience from working out in the fields all day to help you win. nayeon's games didn't make too big of a splash because the next year was the quarter quell and haymitch abernathy from district 12 stole the win to the surprise of much of the capitol and the districts. he was all everyone could talk about and people easily forgot the winner of the games the year before his.

you don't remember watching her games on television either, you were only 10 at the time, and your family was too poor to afford something as luxurious as a screen. you saw no sense in watching the games when you could be out working the fields to bring home food for your family instead, that was the first year you were trusted with heavier tasks after all.

as a mentor, nayeon was surprisingly bright and enthusiastic. she was a little awkward when she first met you, but when she found out you actually had potential, she poured her all into preparing you for your games. and with that bright charm she enticed capitol citizens easily, getting you sponsors left and right despite coming from such a poor district. your male counterpart was a little less lucky, he was killed in the initial bloodbath at the cornucopia, it was a shame but everyone expected it. you think he was one of the ones in your district that was worse off, he looked skinny as a stick, and when you sparred during training you had him flat on his face within seconds.

you'll never forget the face nayeon made when you came out of that arena, bloodied and barely conscious after killing the other final contestant, but nayeon was the first face you recognised. she hovered over you, eyebrows creased, hand over her mouth, tears falling uncontrollably, dripping onto your face.

you were the only other victor district 9 produced. it must have meant a lot to her that you survived after she sent kids off each year knowing they'll most likely die. it was the first time you had seen her break, the first time she wasn't putting on a mask for the kids she lead to their deaths.

because your district didn't have a male victor, you were asked to come back as a mentor this year instead. the kids reaped were scrawnier than ever, you had asked the staff to instruct them to take a shower first before meeting you and nayeon. you remember when you were escorted onto the lavish train for the first time you felt so disgusted with your grime and dust you felt too bad to eat all of the food that would be laid out, thinking you were much less than presentable, especially in front of nayeon.

you continue sulking in your chair, watching nayeon move around the room effortlessly. although you had moved yourself and your whole family into the victor's village, you still didn't see much of the older woman despite practically being neighbours.

you got to know her mom and her sister a little better but found out her dad was killed in a small uprising when she was only a little girl. not long after, her younger sister was born and she had to practically raise her while her mom was out trying to find as much work as she could to support all of them. nayeon grew up to be strong-willed and caring, winning her games with her cunning and natural ability to draw people into her and make them trust her. back home though, she spent most of her time away from home, no one, not even her family knows where she goes.

the carriage door slides open a second time, and this time the tributes for this year walk in shyly.

nayeon turns immediately with a smile, the same one she presented to you when you first walked in.

"hi! come in! please help yourself to all of the food here. it's a fairly long train ride into the capitol so it's important to bulk you guys up as much as we can before the games start."

the contestants flinch at the reminder of the games, looking at each other in uncertainty.

you step up then, "it's okay. everything's safe to eat. i had the same worry last year because i heard the story of that boy winning one of the early games by poisoning everyone on the train on the way to the capitol so all the other tributes were already dead or weakened by the time they stepped into the arena. security has upped considerably since the early games so it's safe to eat. you should eat, it'll help you get strong before you go in."

nayeon's gaze flicks over to you when you step out of the shadows, a curious look settling over her face.

the male contestant lurches forward at the reassurance, immediately stuffing his face with all he can reach, never having seen this much food in his life.

the girl also steps forward watching her counterpart, gingerly picking up a scone and biting in, her eyes light up at the texture.

you smile, moving towards them, "here. add this, it's called jam. it'll make it taste even better." you grab a scone for yourself and show her how to apply the jam, watching her take a bite and grin, mumbling her thanks around a mouthful of food.

nayeon slides in next to you, sitting across from the contestants with a kind smile.

"good right? after only eating plain bread and wheat for so long it's almost otherworldly."

the contestants hum and nod, still more focused on the food than the two of you.

"what were your names again?"

the boy finishes his mouthful of scrambled eggs, "julian. my family mainly works in transportation of wheat. so i've had a little experience hauling heavy things and lugging them around."

nayeon nods, "that can come in useful. there are always weapons that are included for heavyweights like you." she turns to the girl next, prompting her to reply.

"adeline. i don't have a lot of experience doing much of anything." she replies shyly.

you speak up, "that's okay! i'm sure we'll be able to find something once training starts."

you don't ask any further questions, nayeon and you in mutual silent agreement to let them eat until they were full. you send them off to explore the rest of the train and have a look outside, getting accustomed to the rapid change of pace from grueling farming work under the hot sun everyday, to air-conditioned velvet cushions and endless food and drink.

nayeon excuses herself as well, saying she was going to ask the train conductors exactly how long it would take to get there.

you wave goodbye, the permanent smile etched onto her face unnerved you.

when she was your mentor, you just thought she was encouraging. but now… now you know how she feels to be the last one standing in the arena. and you don’t understand how she can possibly smile or act as if everything was okay, not when the people you killed and betrayed haunt you in your nightmares every night, not when your senses are constantly on alert, terrified someone would jump out from around a corner to try and kill you, not when you felt like you had never left the arena.

it felt like you and nayeon had matching wounds, but yours were still black and bruised, and hers were perfectly fine. leaving the arena and trying to live life after the trauma it put on you, and being forcefully reminded of it every year afterwards, it was like you buried something that never died. how could she live with herself?

you spend the rest of the day moping around, wallowing in despair and wondering just how you were going to survive the next few weeks.

»┼)➝

a jolt of the train wakes you up. not that you could ever sleep well anyway. the first few nights after the arena you barely slept an hour a day. if you weren’t paranoid someone would attack you in your sleep, you’d be woken by the voices of the ones you killed.

you sigh, sliding out of bed and stepping outside your room. you wouldn’t be able to sleep for any longer so may as well rise early.

you pad down the hallways lightly, rubbing your eyes and wandering around aimlessly. you had gotten used to waking up at ungodly hours and usually chose to be productive when you were awake, cleaning, gardening, knitting, learning whatever you couldn't learn when you were living in poverty and didn't have the opportunity to learn. anything to get your mind off the ghosts that haunted you.

you find yourself at the back of the train, in the last carriage where half the carriage's ceiling and back wall is practically clear, allowing you to see the terrain the train was passing through.

what you don't expect is another figure, curled up at the end of the carriage sitting on the ledge and looking out at the landscape. nayeon.

she's got one knee up on the ledge, the other stretched out dangling over the edge, arms perched on her knee, head rested on her arms. you approach slowly, unsure if she was awake or not.

it seems her senses never really dulled at all either though. she noticed you when she walked into the food carriage earlier in the day, she just chose to let you think and brood, she noticed you now as you tread towards her slowly. this time she turns her head to not scare you, letting you know she was awake. her eyes are crinkled in a softer smile, heavy and tired.

"hey y/n."

you reach her quietly, she gestures for you to sit opposite her on the ledge, shuffling around so you have the space to sit up and lean back against the window.

"hi... did you sleep?"

nayeon hums, "a little."

it's silent for a few minutes, the churn of the train and the soft breaths the two of you let out are the only sounds you can hear. you look out towards the horizon as well, the fields and forests the train rapidly passes blur into mixes of brown and dark green. it's getting brighter, slowly but surely, the sun was lazily making its way up, signifying another day you were alive.

your eyes eventually drift over to nayeon. (they always do.) she was like a mystery someone would dedicate their life to uncovering. you trace over the lines on her face, noticing the little mole under her left eyebrow for the first time, the small array of freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her heart-shaped lips full and-

you catch yourself, eyes flicking up to hers again to make sure she wasn't watching you. you breathe out a sigh of relief, she was still entranced by the slowly rising sun.

"are you always up this early?" she speaks up at last, breaking the silence that settled over you calmly, although it wasn't an unwelcome break, like a raindrop disturbing the peace of a still lake.

"sometimes. i haven't really slept well ever since i left the arena." you realise this is the first time you're speaking about your experience in the arena with her. the first time speaking about your experience period. you had closed the memories off, pushing them down deep inside you so they could only haunt you in your unguarded sleep. and your family knew better than to ask, they saw what you went through on the big screens, there was no need to remind you of the trauma more than you already were reminded of it everyday.

nayeon lets out a dry chuckle, "that never changes."

your eyebrow raises, you knew close to nothing about the older woman. she never talked about herself or her games, when she was your mentor she was solely focused on helping you survive. and you had never asked.

"... you always seem so... fine though. i don't know how you do it to be honest."

she looks at you then, a sarcastic sort of glint in her eye, "is that what you think of me?"

you gulp, suddenly nervous for whatever reason, "i think that's what most people think of you. i didn't think much of it until i stepped out of that arena too. most people think we can just leave it all behind, enjoy the riches, bringing our families out of poverty, not having to live on scraps of grain everyday, they'd think we'd all look like you. but i'm not."

"i'm not either y'know. i have to put on this face. so that my family doesn't ask how i am. so that the kids i send to die every year think they have a chance of getting out and being as happy as i look."

"even faking it though... it must take so much. i can barely look at the kids without being thrown right back into that arena."

"you never get used to it. y'know the first year after i won, i was so optimistic. i thought, if i could do it, there's no reason anyone else can't do it from our district. and i thought that year they had better chances than me. i was only 15 y'know, when i first started mentoring, not to mention it was the quarter quell so there were twice the tributes i was in charge of. the tributes that year were all 16 or 17, i thought they were older than me, fitter than me, they could win, they really stood a chance. and then i watched them all be cut down in the first few seconds of the cornucopia bloodbath. four people. just like that. dead."

"...i'm sorry."

"don't be. that's just the world we live in right? the only way to survive is to think like the people in the capitol. when you view them as objects, as items of entertainment instead of real, tangible lives, it's a hell of a lot easier to watch them die." there's a somber pause, your mind racing, sorting all this new information you're getting out of her, "not you though." and then your mind's quiet, senses hyperfocused on what nayeon says next.

she sighs, looking back out at the soft orange and yellow hues that start to fill the early morning sky, "i couldn't do it. i couldn't look at you like that. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't- i don't know. you were different. eight years sending 18 kids to die, but you came back."

"i couldn't have done it without you."

her lips turn upwards, just a little, but you catch it, "no. you brought it out of me. turns out when you actually care about who's in the arena instead of treating them like your next poker piece, you work a little harder to make sure they survive."

"but then what if they don't?"

her smile drops again, "i think you'll answer that for yourself after this year's games."

she sighs, standing up, about to leave, but you catch her hand, not even sure what compelled you to grab it. the contact makes both your eyes widen, looking down at where you're touching.

"wait..."

she waits. cocks her head, hand closing around yours in reciprocation.

you struggle to form the thoughts in your mind, too much information for your cognitive load to handle, but eventually one thing comes to the forefront.

"i care about you too."

nayeon smiles, a real smile this time, you can tell because her eyes crinkle, her nose scrunches, cheeks blush, perfect teeth show. you suddenly pull a memory from the depths of your brain, the first time you saw her, when her name was called out at her reaping. she was a small little thing, obviously young and frail, but her smile was just as practiced. except back then she had two large front teeth, it gave the appearance of a freshly born rabbit. you don't question where they've gone, her time in the capitol right before her games likely had her stylists 'fix' her teeth so she was objectively prettier and would attract more sponsors on screen. like cleaning the pigs before sending them to the slaughterhouse. what a broken world you lived in.

»┼)➝

you spend the next few days on the train leading up to the capitol getting to know julian and adeline better, trying to tease out parts of their personality that could be used to appeal to the public, as well as putting them on a basic exercise and meal regime to get them fitter and healthier for the games.

you also spent a lot more time with nayeon, working together to come up with the best plans and routines to put the tributes into, staying up late and studying all you can know about the other contestants that would be in the games, coming up with strategies that could be used once they were in the arena.

the outlandish extravagance of the capitol will never cease to amaze you. and judging by the look on nayeon’s face as you pull in, it seems no matter how many times you return, you will always be reminded of their power and riches over the districts.

you’ve been getting to learn nayeon’s expressions. right now, she’s sporting her fakest, most exaggerated smile for the capitol viewers. you know better though, the anger and disgust in her eyes only able to be interpreted by someone who came from the districts.

she turns to you then, and you blush, feeling caught staring, but she doesn't comment on it, instead brushing her hand past yours lightly, behind the peacekeepers stationed out front for your protection (or to keep you in line), and interlock your fingers where no one else can see. she squeezes gently in reassurance, leaning in to whisper into your ear, "smile y/n. you're the most recent victor, the one they'll remember best, the one they'll be most curious about since her games ended, their attention on you can help bring attention to our tributes who would never normally get this much of a crowd."

she was right. you didn't have time to wallow in the self-pity and hate you held for the capitol when you remember your two mentees from back home, likely terrified and completely overstimulated from their first sight of the capitol, the people coming to welcome them not even looking like they belonged to the same species, all dressed up in absurd colours and materials people in the districts probably slaved days away to manufacture.

you squeeze her hand in return, looking out to the crowd and smiling.

"look for the red dots. those are signs that cameras are currently recording for the rest of the capitol to see."

you follow nayeon's instructions, spotting the small blinking dots and smiling directly at them, waving and trying your best to remove yourself from your body, going into autopilot to not feel the utter abhorrence at being paraded around like a circus monkey.

the crowd becomes impossibly louder at your actions. when you can tell everyone's eyes are on you, you point to your tributes who are standing next to you, looking like newborn foals learning to walk, redirecting their attention.

nayeon gives you a little nod of approval, her hand not leaving yours while you slowly step off the train and follow the peacekeepers towards your transport to the training facilities while making your way through the welcome crowd.

by the time you finally arrive, it's already sundown and you can feel the exhaustion of having put on a face for so long. the tributes are taken away from you to meet their stylists for the first time. you're too tired to offer them any advice but nayeon steps in, still as energetic as she was when the day started.

"do everything the stylists tell you to do. it's gonna feel weird at first and they may even want you to do some things that you won't be comfortable with, but it's all gonna be for your benefit. just remember that they're on your side. they want to make you look like the best version of yourself for the rest of the capitol, and beauty sells. trust me i know."

they nod, thanking you both and being led off by peacekeepers.

you and nayeon are led to your floor where you'll be staying for the remainder of the games. as soon as you're inside you slump down onto the couch, waving off the avoxes that look at each other a little concerned.

"she's okay. just tired. you guys can leave us, we'll call you if we need anything." nayeon offers a polite smile, sitting down much more elegantly next to you.

the avoxes nod their acknowledgement and wander off. poor things.

when you hear that they're gone, you roll over to look at nayeon who's finally taken off her smile, folding her jacket neatly and placing it off to the side.

"you're really good at that."

she looks at you, tilts her head in question.

"you fooled me too. the whole happy polite princess thing you have going on. and you know you're way around. this is my first time back to the capitol since the games. i never thought i'd be back here."

something comes over her eyes, but she brushes it off, smiling at you, a little pained, but before she can reply, one of the avoxes comes back and whispers something into nayeon's ear. her face darkens, and she nods, standing back up.

"i have to go y/n. rest well." it's curt, she doesn't even look you in the eyes, and then she's gone.

you’re left blinking after her, confused at what just happened. did you say something wrong?

»┼)➝

nayeon isn't back even by dinner time. neither are your tributes, although they probably wouldn't be back until the next day, or even the day after. you remember the amount of procedures you'd gone through when you'd arrived. the preparations for the opening ceremony were extremely important for first impressions and they didn't have that much time to fix all the issues you'd grown up with. major plastic surgery was normally the way to go.

so you push the abundance of food around on your plate, thinking about how at home the amount of food you're eating could feed a family of 10. it sickens you. it's the first time since you'd left home that you were really alone. not counting the avoxes positioned behind you that had to attend to your every need. it was almost like you missed nayeon. she was always able to brighten your moods, playing around, even when things were serious she'd make sure nothing ever got too overwhelming for you or for the tributes. she was a veteran.

you sigh, pushing your food away, apetite gone. with nothing else to do, you retire to bed after a shower. maybe the soft mattresses and expensive fabrics designed particularly for sleep would finally grant you a night of good sleep.

it did the exact opposite. the fabric rubs your skin the wrong way, and you're tossing and turning in bed, playing around with the different settings of the window, shuffling your pillows around. you just couldn't find peace.

you yawn, giving up and sliding out of bed. you pad outside your room, intending to get some fresh air. on the train you didn't have that luxury, but you could still see the countryside while it passed. at least now you had a balcony in the main living room. it was caged off in case any of the tributes tried to commit suicide before the actual games, but it was still fresh air.

the cool tiles of the floor feel foreign on the skin of your feet. before you make it to the balcony door, you hear the front door clicking open.

your heart stops, sweat immediately building up on your brow, your body being thrown back into the arena, terrified someone was here to kill you.

your movements are quick, crouching and scrambling towards the couch in silence, grabbing the closest thing you can, the couch blanket. you'd learnt anything can be fashioned into a weapon with the right mindset. the blanket could be used to choke the intruder if it really came to it.

you peek to the side of the couch, holding your breath as soft footsteps pad towards the living room, the only light available is the one in the entry way, overcasting a shadow moving its way closer and closer.

but as soon as it's about to turn the corner, it stops.

you curse internally. did they notice you?

you don't get to form a second thought before a pin is whizzing your way, impaling itself into the couch. you barely have enough time to scramble backwards, the cushion of the couch saving you, but the person is leaping forwards, pushing you down into the floor. you react automatically, struggling against the figure, using the blanket you're clutching onto to latch onto a leg, yanking so they lose their balance, toppling over. you take the opportunity to quickly clamber over them, pulling the blanket to wrap around their neck.

their hands come up immediately, trying to create space between the fabric pulled tight at their throat, gasping in effort.

you finally can assess the intruder. she's wearing a short dress, pale skin exposed, hair pinned up in a clean updo with the same pins that she must have used to throw at you once she noticed your presence. and then suddenly, with horror you realise it's nayeon.

you quickly let her go, scrambling back until your back hits the couch, staring at her as she coughs, trying to catch her breath.

"nayeon!"

she groans, turning, eyes adjusting to the dark, "y/n?"

"oh fuck i'm so sorry i didn't- i thought there was an intruder-"

she massages her throat, letting out a little chuckle when she realises what's happened, "it's okay y/n. i thought the same. sorry for almost impaling you with a hairpin."

you stare at her, still in shock. "what- where have you been- jesus i almost killed you-"

"don't get cocky now. i could've gotten out of that."

you roll your eyes, "i'm serious nayeon. what are you wearing? i'm sorry too." your words are flying out, too many thoughts coming up too fast, but mainly, you're just glad it wasn't some assassin sent to kill you.

she looks down at herself, like she was just remembering she was dressed up. "ugh never mind that. are you okay? you're not hurt are you?"

you shake your head, "you?"

"i'm good don't worry your pretty little self. anyway i'm gonna go take a shower. you should go back to sleep y/n."

you tilt your head, standing up when she does, "but where have you been?"

she starts towards the bedrooms, turning on the hallway light so you can finally see each other, "out." she doesn't look at you when she replies, pulling her dress down so it covers more of herself. you catch a glimpse of the scar on her right thigh right before she covers it, the one she got in her games when someone had slashed her leg. her face is made up, but you notice the mascara running down her face in tear streaks. it's such a surprise it stops you in your tracks. you hadn't seen nayeon cry since that time you were barely conscious and just out of the arena.

"nayeon..."

she pauses, but doesn't turn back to look at you, "what is it?"

"i... you... are you okay?"

nayeon lets out a dry laugh, "i'm fine y/n. you aren't that strong. i just feel really gross and i need to shower. i'll see you in the morning."

before you can stop her she's stepping into her room and closing the door. you frown, she was obviously lying, something had happened while she was out and she wasn't telling you. it was fine if she didn't want to tell you, you just... you cared about her. you owe your life to her. you want to do anything you can to repay her.

so you sit outside her room, it's not like you were going to be able to get any sleep anyway, you'd wait for her to finish her shower and talk to you.

»┼)➝

it's almost an hour before she leaves her room. you sit fiddling your thumbs, thinking up scenarios of what could have possibly happened. nayeon was too good at hiding herself. you wished she'd open herself up. if not to her family, to you, someone who understood what it feels like to be in her position. you were one of a kind, there weren't going to be many district 9 victors after you, there certainly weren't any before her.

when she finally opens her door you scramble up.

she looks down at you surprised, her hands wringing out her hair in a towel, face bare. you're reminded of just how young she was. despite her experience and knowledge of everything, you remember she was just a girl.

she smiles. you're practiced enough that you can tell it's fake.

"what are you doing here y/n?"

"waiting for you."

"i told you to go to sleep."

"i couldn't sleep anyway."

her smile stays as she steps past you, you follow quietly. she turns the kitchen lights on, rummaging around in the fridge for something to eat.

"have you not eaten yet?"

her hands stop moving for a second, "no. not yet."

"where were you?"

she sighs, taking out a takeaway box and moving to the microwave. "i was out y/n. i told you. please stop asking me."

"but why can't you tell me?"

"it's classified."

"what?"

"i can't tell anyone."

"but why?"

"i can't tell you that."

the microwave rings.

"do you not trust me?"

"it's not that."

"then why?"

she sighs again, ripping off the lid of her takeaway box a little roughly, "i just can't tell you y/n. you'll probably find out after this year's games end anyway."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

she whips around then, eyes red, eyebrows furrowed, she's raw and genuine for the first time, too tired to keep concealing herself. "you're not stupid y/n. you're an attractive victor. what do you think happens to attractive victors? where do you think i go when we're back home and i have to leave? i'm certainly not out farming or doing all the regular jobs people back home do."

that takes you back, the pure hurt in her eyes, the way she cowers into herself in just her thin sleeping clothes and bare face. she's so much younger, so much more human without all the flashy smiles and outfits she wears for the capitol.

"i- i don't- i just thought-"

"no. you weren't thinking. you're naïve y/n. you think we have to live with just our traumas from the games. you think there's an end to it all. that once you get over what happened in the arena you'll be able to live a normal life. the life. the life they promised us when they said we'd win the games. well i'm sure living it!" she chuckles darkly, arms flailing out and raising her voice to the ceiling.

"it never ends y/n. all they do is take and take until we're as bare and barren as the farms we take care of."

you blink stupidly, the reality of what she's saying settling in.

"you admire me for how well i lie." she spits the word out, mouth dripping venom and eyes furious, "i lie to survive. everyone does. the capitol lies to us, promising us riches and glory for winning the games. that's why districts like 1 and 2 exist right? why careers fight to volunteer to kill other kids in the arena? i wonder if they'd go back in time and do the same thing once they realise what winning actually means. we're not real to them y/n. we're not humans. we're products. expensive, dolled up, murderers they have on a leash."

she sighs heavily, both hands coming to rake her hair backwards. "i'm sorry. i was meant to be your mentor. i was meant to prepare you for all of this." her voice cracks, you stare at her, mouth agape, processing all this new information, "but i couldn't. i just couldn't. i was so happy when you won. i thought i could protect you from it all."

"w-what do you mean protect me?"

she slumps, her posture giving out, you've never seen her so broken. "they wanted to start you off last year. because you were already 18 when you won." she scoffs, "not that it stopped them from starting me when i was 15. i convinced them to give you a year. i wanted you to know what it felt like to win. to be free of it all, to have your belly full, to be with your family, to be able to live without the fear of not waking up the next day."

you gawk at her in horror, "what did you do nayeon?"

she chuckles darkly again, "i said i'd take your customers. until your year was over."

"you- what?!"

she wipes at her eyes angrily, picking up a spoon and stabbing it into her food, "it's fine y/n. it's not a big deal."

"wha- nayeon- it is a big deal! this- you can't- i'll kill-"

suddenly she's got a hand clamped over your mouth, so close you can see the redness of her eyes, the small freckles that dot her skin. "don't say something you'll regret. they have ears everywhere."

you gulp, nodding, wide-eyed as she lets you go.

"w-what about what you said?"

"i didn't say anything explicit. and you were going to find out soon anyway. your year is almost up."

"what- why haven't you fought back? why have you gone along with this for so long?"

she laughs thickly, "careful. that's rebellion you're talking about."

"but it's not fair! the deal was once we won we won! the only thing we should have to do is become mentors! and even doing that is cruel enough being forced to relive the games each year!"

"there are no limits to how cruel humans can be y/n."

"i- but- but still!"

"i have family. so do you. what do you think happens to them if you say no?"

that makes you pause, thinking back to your parents who worked so hard to bring you and your siblings up. who kept you alive until you were 18. lots of kids weren't that fortunate. many died from starvation, or of the unhygienic circumstances back home.

you collect yourself, taking a breath, nayeon was still inches away from you, studying your reactions. "do they know?" you ask softly.

she sighs, shaking her head, "my mother went through enough when my dad died. even more when i was reaped for the games. she thinks my trips away are just meeting people in the capitol for business ventures or whatever. it makes sense because i always bring back large sums of money. and my sister... i never want her to find out how cruel this world is. it's enough she still has to be entered into the reapings at least once a year, but that'll stop soon when she turns 18. and then i hope to just give her a normal life. she'll never have to worry over me again."

"nayeon..."

she sniffles, "it's fine y/n. worry about yourself. i can't look after you anymore. i'm sorry."

"are you kidding?! nayeon please... i don't- do you not understand what you mean to me? i owe you my life. and now i find out you've been doing this for me for the past year. you don't have to protect me. i can protect myself. i won my games didn't i?" you try for a smile, she gives you a teary one back.

"i just- i never knew nayeon i'm sorry. i'm sorry i didn't know you were going through all this on your own. i wished you'd told me. i wished you wouldn't shoulder all this on your own. we know you're strong. we all saw your games, we know you're capable of survivng. you don't have to keep proving that. you can rely on others every once in a while."

"others like you?" she jokes, smiling up at you.

"yeah. like me. i'm the only other one that can relate. that can understand. i want to be there for you. i told you, i owe you my life, my family's lives. that's a debt i'll never be able to repay. i want to do as much as i can in this lifetime to be there for you."

"you don't have to do that y/n-"

"yes. yes i do. you've been there for me this entire time, without me even knowing. when will you let me do the same for you?"

that gives her pause, she hides under wisps of hair that have fallen down over her forehead.

you ache to brush them away, to cup her cheeks, to see those eyes again.

your wish is granted when she looks up after a second, pupils glassy. and then without another word she's burying herself in the crevice of your neck, arms coming up to wrap around you, taking a shaky inhale. you react just like you had when she had thrown that pin at you, immediately reciprocating, pushing your cheek against hers and circling your arms around her waist.

you stay there for an immeasurable amount of time. unsaid words drifting between you, sharing emotions, pain. nayeon finally feels like she's not alone for the first time since she'd won her games 9 years ago. and you finally feel at peace in her arms, the ghosts that haunted you gone for the moment.

the both of you wound up in nayeon's bed that night. it wasn't awkward, the complete opposite. you naturally gravitated towards her after she finishes eating, and she lets you cling to her. when you fall asleep, limbs entangled and hearts beating in tandem, you'll realise in the morning, it's the first time the both of you will have had a full night's rest without any of your regrets invading your dreams.

»┼)➝

the horn sounds. you grip nayeon's hand as the competitors rush forwards, you try taking in as much of the arena as you could, as if you were standing on the platforms in the arena for the first time again. you were lucky in your games to have been granted fields of tall grass. it obstructed all of the other competitors’ vision and would prove very difficult to hide in, but you were practiced in moving around between blades of wheat that grew up to 2m tall back home without making a sound. this year it seems they took a more traditional approach, the cornucopia is in the middle of the arena as always, plain desert and beating sun the only thing visible. you can make out sand dunes on the far right of the arena. it would be hard to find a water source. your eyes lock onto your tributes, praying they make it through the initial bloodbath. they're not placed in a position they can see each other, in this scenario, you and nayeon had instructed them to run for it. don't bother with the initial bloodbath, the first thing they'd need to find was water.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see adeline do exactly that. she makes for the dunes you spotted earlier, leaving behind the chaos of the first few minutes. but then the camera pans to julian, seemingly frozen on his platform, completely petrified as he watches the girl from district 8 fall to her knees after someone launches a javelin at her.

"move!" you're extremely tense watching the scene, trying to maintain your composure as you knew you were still in public, the opening of the games was always a big spectacle, all the mentors were situated up in viewing boxes while the capitol watched along on massive screens.

nayeon grips your hand tighter, a warning not to be too loud, to keep on that mask.

you spare a glance at her, her features are tight in concentration, eyes glued to the little figures on the screen.

your head whips back when the crowd suddenly howls. it seems the career pack has formed and has just taken down both the tributes from district 12. it disgusts you how these people can cheer over the deaths of children.

julian has finally started moving though. he leaps off the platform and runs forward.

no. no no no. he needs to run away from the cornucopia. you grit your teeth, he must have seen the deaths of the district 12 tributes and thought the careers would be distracted.

the camera follows as he crouches and dips past ongoing fights, he manages to grab a sword, but that's where his luck ends. the girl from district four is wielding a nasty trident, charging straight for him. he tries to fend her off with his sword, catching it in one of the prongs of the trident, but then with horror, his feet catch on the sand. he hasn't gotten used to the terrain yet. he must have known running on sand was much more difficult than running on regular ground or the concrete of the training grounds. the girl takes the opportunity to yank her trident back, and then jabs it straight into him, all three prongs go through his chest and out the other side. you can see him cough up blood in shock, hands coming up to rest on the handle of the trident, she pushes him down and steps on his stomach to yank her weapon back out, already on the lookout for her next victim.

you can't believe what just happened. you had knew him. you had spoken to him. you had just seen and touched him this morning before he was flown off to the arena. it's completely unreal. the crowd roars with glee.

your mind can't keep up with your eyes. there's no way he was dead. the sounds, senses of the crowd drown out, you stare blankly at the main screen, watching other kids be cut down left and right, kids smaller than your youngest siblings, all while people dressed up in nauseating colours and patterns placed bets and had their children play fight with toy swords and weapons imitating real life people that died for their entertainment.

"y/n- y/n... y/n!" nayeon's shaking you out of your stupor, you blink, looking down at your intertwined hands, her concerned look that's quickly masked with a smile.

"the announcer was just asking you for some comments about the opening." you can see straight through her smile, you've spent much more time together over the past couple weeks while you were preparing your tributes for the games. you didn't explicitly talk about it, but you'd always end up in her bed each night, cuddled up and talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep. it was the only way you could sleep these days, and you knew it was the same for her.

you look past her shoulder to see a short man with bright green hair and a matching moustache. he smiles expectantly, teeth all white and glowing, holding out a microphone to you.

nayeon squeezes your hand again, hidden under the tresses of your gowns.

you clear your throat, awkwardly leaning forward and looking into the camera panned towards you, "r-right. um well it's pretty standard from what we can see. my arena last year must have made it difficult to see all the... fighting so it seems they've gone with something a lot more open this year." you try for a joke, earning a boisterous laugh from the man with green hair and from some in the audience who were looking on where your face was projected on one of the smaller screens next to the main livestream.

"we can definitely see all the juicy bits more clearly can't we!"

juicy bits?! is he trying to remind us of the bloody insides of all the kids being slashed open?! what kind of sick joke is it to use those words?! nayeon saves you the outburst, speaking up with a smile and a voice you know she's only ever used when talking to capitol media.

"definitely! and i must say wilbur your moustache is fantastic this year!"

he blushes, twirling the green hair on his upper lip, "thank you nayeon. you're as beautiful as always. and i'm glad to see you're finally accompanied by another victor your age! it must have been very lonely these last few years on your own."

nayeon's hand tightens against you. you want to punch this man in the face.

"yes i'm very glad to have y/n here. we make a fine team don't you think?" she grins. you notice the angrier she is, the more absurd her acting is, almost as if she's testing the limits of just how far she can go before people finally realise she's been sarcastic the entire time.

"of course! 2 fine ladies such as yourselves, you're both a hit in the capitol! i'm sure lots of fellas in the crowd tonight would love to see you two team up another time."

there's an uproar in the crowd, obviously male voices hollering and agreeing with laughter.

you're absolutely revolted at the implication. so you can't stop yourself when the next words fall out of your mouth, "i'm sure you'd know a lot about teaming up wouldn't you wilbur? how many fellas do you have twirled around that moustache of yours?"

nayeon is barely able to conceal a scoff, hiding it as a cough into your shoulder. you smile daringly, all teeth as wilbur stares at you aghast.

he clears his throat, "i'm not quite sure i know what you mean by that y/n."

"oh nothing. just wondering how many balls you have to play with when you do that team sport out here... i don't quite recall the name, it must be something that is only really fashionable out here in the capitol."

"r-right. sports. ahaha! you must have gotten me mixed up with someone else y/n! yes that must be it. everyone here will know i'm not really one for sports." he tries to steer the subject off, his face burning up bright red, with his green hair he looks like a mishappen christmas tree. he moves on quickly after that, going to interview less problematic mentors.

"you shouldn't always let them get away with shit like that nayeon." you frown when the attention is off you again, whispering into her ear.

she shakes her head, "sometimes it's better to let it go than to bring it up. more trouble than it's worth. you did very well though. are you okay? you zoned out a bit back there."

you sigh, running your thumb over hers gently, "yeah. just... wasn't prepared i guess. adeline is still in it though, she's got a decent chance if she manages to find water."

"you can never prepare for this. i'm sorry."

"there's nothing to apologise for. you warned me on the train, about what it's like. nothing compares to the real thing though."

"i know. i'm here for you though okay? i couldn't physically help you in the arena but i can now."

"stop that nayeon. you did more than enough for me in the arena. i told you. i owe you my life."

she smiles. you're taken aback by the genuinity of it. the slightly dimmed lighting, her makeup not too over the top like some of the people you've seen walking around the capitol, but accentuating her already flawless features even better. you knew she was attractive, you'd have to be blind not to. and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of nayeon as something more. you pushed it down though. people like you and nayeon didn't have the luxury of feelings like love.

you quickly break away from her gaze and those perfectly heart-shaped lips, looking back to the aftermath of the opening minutes. but even the grim bloodied bodies littering the floor that you can barely comprehend are real, do little for the blush that dusts your cheeks and the fluttering in your stomach.

»┼)➝

you can tell from the way she's breathing nayeon’s not asleep yet either. one of her arms is draped over your midriff, her breaths lightly hitting the back of your neck, legs entangled with your own.

"you're still awake." you whisper out into the quiet of her bedroom walls.

"so are you."

you don't dare turn to face her, knowing your faces would be centimetres apart, breaths hitting each other's lips, noses almost touching.

"i can't get it out my head. the way the trident just went through him. like he was made of clay."

her voice is soft, careful, "i’ll never forget any of them. not any of my kills.”

“he wasn’t your kill nayeon. the tributes you mentored aren’t your kills.”

“they may as well be. as a mentor, surely i can do something. but every year is the same. i don’t learn. i can’t do anything for them.”

“you helped me survive.”

she sighs, breath tickling the back of your neck, her arms wrap around you just a little tighter. “i told you. you’re different.”

“how?”

“you just are. i don’t know how to explain it.”

“you don’t have to. i… nevermind. still, i don’t think you should think of the tributes we mentor as people we’ve killed. it’s the capitol, everything’s them, that’s the big enemy remember?” your voice is hushed, paranoid they’re listening in somehow but also desperate to soothe nayeon’s worries.

“it doesn’t change what i did. all victors are murderers. we lost our innocence the day our names were pulled out of that bowl.”

“you’re right. we have to live with that. but at least we’re not alone now.” you decide to risk it, turning and shuffling around the bed until your nose to nose. you can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks already, wisps of her hair tickling your face, her eyes shining in the dark.

she stares at you for a little, eyes darting around your face. "you're right. we're not alone now." she speaks in a whisper, breath gently kissing your lips with her words.

you can't help but look down at her slightly parted, heart-shaped lips, her breaths coming in and out softly, luring you in. you're magnetised. the tension between you two is undeniable, thick enough to make you feel almost drowsy, eyes drooping and lidded, only focused on tracing the shape of her lips.

nayeon's the one to break it.

she leans in closer, hand tightening around your waist, closing her eyes and pressing your lips together. it's not sparks or lightning, it's just two mouths moving against one another, finding comfort in one another, it's soft and pure and everything the capitol robbed the two of you of when they turned you into murderers.

but then it's not. there's a salty tinge to her, the taste of tears. you open your eyes slowly, breaking away from her, she takes the opportunity to inhale shakily.

"nayeon?" you frown, immediately concerned you've overstepped.

she hides her face in your neck, squeezing herself against you.

"hey... what happened? what's wrong?"

"we- w-we can't." her voice is wobbly, there are still tears dripping down her face.

your heart sinks, "we can't?"

"i'm- i can't- i'm a product y/n. you'll become one too. i can't- i can't lose you too."

"but- you won't lose me."

"you don't know that y/n. you don't know what the capitol is capable of. if they find out we're- if they find out we care for each other like that they'll tear us apart. we can never have what normal people have."

"but that won't stop me from caring for you! and i know that's not going to stop you either."

"but when- i don’t- when they start selling you off i don’t know how i’ll be able to- to not kill them all."

you bring a hand up to her cheek, forcing her to look at you, thumb swiping across the skin under her eye, wiping off her tears, "i know. i don't know how i'll be able to do it either. but you're worth it. i haven't felt- i haven't felt this understood, i've spent so long thinking i'm alone, that i'll have to spend the rest of my life like this, but you make me feel happy. after all we've been through don't you think we deserve that?"

"but- but- they can't know y/n- they can't take you away from me."

"and they won't. i promise. do you trust me?"

nayeon stares up at you, her eyes shining, lip wobbly. she bites down into it after a second, breathing out a small "yes."

"i trust you too. anything they throw at us, we'll take it together. okay?"

she sighs, nodding, bringing a shaky hand up to feel you, just to make sure you were real, that she wasn't conjuring all this up to cope with her trauma. you lean into her touch, hand coming up to grip her wrist and squeeze, leaning in and touching your nose against hers, feeling safer than you've ever felt in your entire life.

»┼)➝

the next day is more of the same. at least this time you're not in a display box so you can have genuine reactions and you can be close to nayeon in the privacy of your own floor, finding comfort in her arms and words.

you spend the morning cuddled up, choosing to eat breakfast on the couch while the livestream of the arena plays. when there's nothing interesting going on they have live coverage of news anchors and commentators reacting to replays and talking about what happened during the night that the audience may have missed while they were asleep. adeline hasn't been seen on screen much but you know she's still alive and has found a small alcove in the desert with cacti that she can cut open to drink water from. still, you know it won't last her and nayeon and you plan on going out during lunch when most of the capitol citizens will be out and about to start finding sponsors to send water or food to adeline in the arena.

by the time you're in the city you come to realise just how good nayeon is at networking. you trail behind her like a lost puppy while she greets extravagantly overdressed citizens of the upper circle with a bright smile, compliments, and sparkling eyes. she seems to understand that you're much newer at this so she brings you along as a prop of sorts, convincing new and old sponsors to sponsor district 9 once again, after all, the most recent victor did come from district 9, and adeline was tutored by you with the most recent experience winning which made her someone to look out for in the later days of the games.

there are lots more people that recognise than you think, colours and materials you've never seen or felt before invading your senses, fake voices and compliments trying to get on your good side, you can simply smile and try your best to keep up.

eventually, you're seperated from nayeon when a short man engages you in a conversation about hair products and how you got yours to be so shiny and natural, you only nod along while he talks your ear off about different products and chemicals he's tried on his orange mess of a flat top, you can only provide clueless agreements and your simple hair routine back home. but you manage to steer the conversation back to the games and actually manage to get him to donate something as long as he gets the name of the random shampoo brand you use back home.

once you wave him off, you excitedly look around for nayeon, eager to tell her about your first donation that you managed all on your own. but as you scan the square, you can’t seem to catch sight of her.

you frown, wandering around a little until you spot her, hidden away in the shadows behind a few pillars. your eyes light up, almost skipping over to her until you realise she’s with someone else.

“stop- no i don’t want to-“

“c’mon you want sponsors don’t you? i’ll give you double what your highest donation is if you come now-“

“no! i’m not rostered on right now you can’t just- you can’t approach me in public like this-“

“no one saw us sweetheart c’monnn if we go now we can leave quietly. besides i saw your other victor and she’s doing alright on her own, she won’t even notice you’re gone.”

the man she’s with is gripping nayeon’s forearm harshly, when he starts pulling her away you step in, clearing your throat, eyes flaring up. “i did notice she was gone actually.”

nayeon whips her head around to you, but you can barely see her, your gaze is fixed on the way he still has his fingers wrapped around her, squeezing so tight her skin is white around his fingers.

your eyes trail up to his face when he laughs, not letting go of nayeon, “oh! y/n right? don’t worry nayeon and i are good friends. i’m just gonna borrow her for a bit yeah?”

you step forward, an arm sliding around nayeon’s waist protectively, glaring up into his blue eyes and perfectly sculpted nose, “is that true nayeon?” you don’t back down from his sleazy gaze while you direct the question to the older woman.

his eyes flick over to her, a warning in his eyes.

“i-it’s okay y/n i can handle this just go back to the square.”

you frown, unwilling to let her go, “no.”

the man raises an eyebrow, “you two a package deal now or something?”

nayeon bristles then, yanking her arm away from him, “don’t fucking touch her.”

the man backs up, surprised, “woah! calm down bunny i was just joking around.”

nayeon flushes at the nickname, “whatever josh. i told you i’m not rostered right now. book me in for when i’m actually available.”

“and her?” he smirks, nodding his head to you.

she grits her teeth, “take it up with your agent. don’t contact me outside again or i’ll make sure you won’t be able to buy any one of us.”

she doesn’t wait for him to respond, pulling you away and back into the main area.

you’re quiet, processing the information you just learnt. she doesn’t look at you, eyebrows furrowed, hand tight against yours.

“… was that one of your customers?”

she sighs, “yeah. one of my pushier ones.”

“i’m sorry.”

“what for? he pays well.” she spits out, storming back to your accommodation, deciding socialising for the day is done, she had collected enough donations today.

“i’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

“it’s not your fault.” she says simply, pulling you into the elevator and punching in your floor number.

you ascend silently, fiddling with your fingers, unsure of what else to say.

when you arrive, your fingers are still interlaced with hers, but she relaxes as soon as you step in, letting her mask drop.

“you did really well today.”

she smiles at you then, “thank you. i saw you grab that last donation too. adeline will be happy.”

you step closer to her, tentative and shy, her eyes crinkle at the sight. “thank you.”

“what for?”

you step closer again, swinging your intertwined hands slightly, ���protecting me all that time.”

her hand tightens against yours.

“can you actually do that? stop him from using your… services?”

she snorts, “no. but he doesn’t know that. all he thinks about is his dick anyway, any danger to that and he’ll back off.”

“do they ever hurt you?”

her eyes soften, looking into yours, searching. “sometimes. sometimes it gives them pleasure. other times they like to take out their anger on us. maybe they’ve had a bad day or they’ve had a fight with their spouse at home or whatever else. they don’t need an excuse to treat us however they like.”

“that’s terrible.”

“it’s the world we live in.”

“what if we… what if we were a package deal?”

she raises an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“if they had to book us together. it’d make me feel better, if i could protect you somehow while we’re in there. that you have someone else there in case anything extreme happens. and…” you blush, thinking over your next words, “i know i have to… share you, but at least this way i can see what others do to you, so i still have some semblance of control over the situation.”

nayeon hums, pulling you in by the waist so you're no longer awkwardly hovering around her trying to think of how to get closer to her, "i can ask. that's a good idea y/n. and i'm sure lots of people would love to see two pretty girls getting it on." she jokes.

you blush, looping your arms around her neck loosely, playing with the hair at the back of her neck that has come out of her updo, "i don't- i've never- y'know..."

there's a hint of a smirk on her face, you're avoiding her gaze, "you've never...?"

you whine, knowing she's teasing you on purpose, pushing her away from you but she laughs, pulling you back into her and pecking you gently, "do you want to? there's no rush. i'm worried we may be taking things a bit fast but as long as you're comfortable i'm okay with whatever."

you look at her determinedly, "i don't think we can move too fast. i think we should take whatever we can get while things are good before the capitol tries to break us apart. i want to be with you, all of you, for as long as you'll let me."

nayeon smiles, leaning her forehead against yours, "i want to be with you for as long as you'll let me as well."

you reciprocate her smile, leaning in and pressing your lips against hers, hesitant, but loving. she responds immediately, one hand remaining at your waist and another coming up to rest on the crevice of your neck. you move easily against each other, it's comfortable, safe, you're both on the same wavelength, and nayeon treats you with utmost respect and adoration, ensuring you felt just as loved as she felt, keeping you grounded and at-home in her arms.

»┼)➝

it's another few days before something big happens. nayeon and you spend every minute wrapped up in one another, basking in the comfort and excitement of something new yet reminiscent of innocent, purer times.

that shatters completely when it gets to day 6 of the games.

adeline has managed to survive this long without coming into real contact with any of the other surviving tributes. nayeon has done most of the brunt work in receiving sponsorships and donations which you use strategically to lead adeline towards water sources or away from enemy tributes that may be nearing her location.

however, it seems the gamemakers had had enough of her cat and mouse game by the time there are only 5 tributes left, adeline, the boy from district 1, the two from district 2, and the girl from district 11 who managed to create her own water and food source in the barely repairable soil, turning it into her own farm using knowledge from her home district.

it was nearing the finale, and everyone in the audience knew it. the anticipation would put pressure on the gamemakers to bring out their final tricks, to lure all the tributes into one location to fight it out to the end.

that trick turned out to be a sandstorm in the night, blinding all the tributes, throwing off coordinates, destroying the girl from 11's farm, and forcing all the contestants to stumble blindly in the dark while the storm whipped around them harshly, sand cutting into skin and drying up lips while the cold chill of the desert night only made it even more difficult to find one's senses.

the girl from district 2 was smart, she used the sandstorm and her teammates' confusion to her advantage, taking the chance to stab the boy from 1, making him think it was the boy from 2, and letting them fight it out while she ran off, abandoning the career alliance that was inevitably going to break down towards the end of the games anyway. the boy from 2 ends up being able to defend himself well enough to deliver the finishing blow on the boy from 1, but he sustained fatal injuries in the process and died slowly and painfully in the storm while the sand lapped at his open wounds and his mouth gasped for water through mouthfuls of sand, wishing he was the one who was killed first.

when the storm finally dies down, the audience can see the carnage it has wrecked on the arena, three girls left, all within a 20 minute radius of one another. if it wasn't clear this was the endgame, it was definitely clear now.

the entire topography has been shifted, everything is now covered in sand. there would be no food, no water, the girls would either starve or thirst to death first in which case it would be a test of endurance, or find each other first and win the games to end their own form of suffering in living in this unlivable arena.

the girl from 11 seemed to want to take the former approach, burrowing herself under dunes of sand, digging for her farm and hoping the desert heat and lack of water would mirage her location into regular sand dunes while she hid until the final 2. the girl from 2 is set on the latter, going on the prowl immediately to find the remaining two contestants and claim her victory.

unfortunately for adeline, because the girl from 11 hid herself so well, it meant she came into contact with the girl from 2 first.

she puts up a good fight. everyone in the capitol is on the edge of their seats. as soon as the storm had cleared, nayeon and you had immediately sent adeline some supplies, water, a basic first-aid kit to tend to the wounds she had received earlier in the games, anything to let her know you were both still watching and keeping an eye on her, that she wasn't alone despite the immense loneliness and hopelessness she must have felt living in the desert for the last 6 days.

but even that wasn't enough to deal with the mental pressure of being in that situation for so long, thinking you actually have a chance of winning, of going home, she let her guard down, openly gulping down water while the girl from 2 crept up behind her.

adeline reacts just in time, throwing her bottle away and picking up the sword she had retrieved off a dead tribute's body earlier on in the game, swiping blindly in order to create some distance.

she manages to find her footing, standing on both legs, eyes zeroing in on her opponent who has already started lunging forward with her next attack. her weapon is longer, able to reach further, but adeline is tall and gifted with long limbs, able to maneuver herself out of the way before getting impaled by the pointy end of a spear, whipping around quickly to slice a deep cut in the girl's arm while it's still outstretched holding the spear.

the girl yelps out in pain, but quickly recovers, switching the spear to her non-dominant hand, jabbing forward without missing a beat, gritting her teeth in effort.

the crowd in the captiol is cheering, throwing popcorn, placing last minute bets, rowdier than ever after they couldn't clearly see the fight between the boys from districts 1 and 2 because the sandstorm had lowered visibility on the cameras. now, they could see every parry, every stab, every drop of blood that’s splattered onto hot, golden sand. the pure bloodlust is nonsensical.

adeline manages to block off each advance, but there's simply nowhere left to run or hide, everything that could be used has been covered by sand, there's only acres and acres of desert. so it makes sense when she loses her footing on the loose grains, falling onto her back and losing grip of her sword. the girl from 2 is quick to kick it away and out of reach, and adeline is tired, thirsty, and near delusional from being in the heat and arena for so long, that the ripping squelch that sounds out on speakers across the country as the girl from 2 shoves the end of her spear into adeline's chest, comes almost as a blessing, ending her pain at last.

the gamemakers are able to lure the girl from two to the girl from 11's hiding spot after that, and the final battle ensues, the girl from 2 rising up on top, bloodied and battered but grinning with the glee and pride only those in the career districts could have after killing and coming out on top over 23 other children.

you barely have time to mourn adeline's death, you and nayeon are both thrusted into interviews immediately, forced to watch replays and close-ups of the killing, to watch the life drain out of adeline’s eyes over and over again, asked for comments and messages to send back home, to congratulate the winner on becoming one of you, a murderer.

and even worse, when the day’s finally over and you can retire to your safe space in your apartment for your last night there, nayeon is called out for a premium customer, someone paying triple the normal fare to spend one more night with her before she goes back to her district. so you're left alone, watching repeated news coverage of the hunger games from start to finish, dolled up 'scientists' and gamemakers being brought on for interviews and time to analyse kills and strategies the tributes used, milking every drop of profit and entertainment out of the deaths of children not their own.

you'd watch something else but every channel on capitol television is talking about the end of the games, you switch every time your face, or your post-games interview comes up, cringing at the way you looked and spoke, feeling as if you betrayed your district for dishonouring adeline and julian's deaths by dragging them out for the enjoyment of people who never cared for them, wanting desperately to go home and find their parents and offer your condolences, and maybe sneak some of your victor rations to their families so they at least didn't have to worry about another death. you were determined to take care of all of your mentee's families, you know it's what you would've wanted if you had died in that arena.

by the time nayeon comes back, you've already settled in her bed, cuddled up on her side and taking in the scent she's left behind, the tv still playing in her room at a low volume.

you sit up immediately when you hear her come into the room, closing the door softly behind her. she looks at you and smiles defeatedly. "you look cute."

you blush, burrowing into her sheets more which only serves to widen the smile on her face, "are you okay?" you ask.

"i need a shower."

she doesn't say anything else. you remember the last time she came home this late, not having eaten anything and only wanting to get rid of the feeling of another person's hands on her body off of her. you nod, shy, letting her walk around collecting clothes and heading into the bathroom.

she doesn't bother closing the door. you appreciate the gesture. it's a dramatic change from the first time she had locked you outside her room unknowingly, to think she trusts you enough to leave the door unlocked in her most vulnerable state warms your heart. you hate the capitol for what they've done to her, what they'll continue to do to her. at least this was the last time she would have to do it alone, she had talked to higher ups in the capitol and gotten president snow himself to agree to your proposition, you'd hope your presence would at least ease some of the tension she felt during those sessions.

you hear the shower turn on, and you hesitate, thinking over your next moves carefully.

after some deliberation, you quietly move off her bed, padding to the bathroom and stripping off the pyjamas you had already put on when you were getting ready for bed.

you stand outside the fogged up door for a second, admiring her silhouette, but soon grow cold, opening the door gently and announcing your presence to not frighten her.

she turns, surprised, bar of soap in her hand, hair wet and squinting at you without her glasses or contacts on. she's adorable.

"y/n?"

"hi... is it okay if i join you?" your arms bracket your chest, suddenly shy even though she's seen all of you already.

she smiles, pulling you in under the stream of hot water, "of course. i'm sorry i'm not really feeling up to doing anything today-"

"no! i didn't- no i didn't come in with that intention i just... wanted to help you get clean."

she blinks up at you, water still running over her face and hair, and then she pulls you down into a wet kiss, arms still holding onto yours as you kiss her back sweetly.

you break away first, smiling and nudging your nose against hers, "turn around, i'll do your back first."

she follows, bending her neck down so the water doesn't get in her eyes, handing you the bar of soap she was holding.

you lather her back up, caressing the small scars and moles you had memorised. you had asked the story of each one, and nayeon had told you. your heart broke with each scar, most of them from her games, but some of them from rougher times with clients, others from when she was even younger, working the fields and factories back home. there were more from when she was young, but most of them were surgically removed or fixed when she was first fitted for her games, her stylists wanted her to look as young and as pure as her age suggested, hoping to entice sponsors either out of pity or admiration.

you rub her shoulders, work the knots in her back while you wash her, feel her relax under your touch.

when you get to her right thigh, you're extremely careful, and nayeon takes notice.

"it's okay. it doesn't hurt anymore."

you frown, rubbing gently over the largest scar on her body, the one she covered up most often and got in her finale fight in the games. "i know. i still want to be careful though."

she smiles, pecking your cheek while you concentrate on cleaning her to the best of your ability. she had opened up about how disgusted she would feel in her own body after she would come back from sessions with her clients, often spending an hour or more scrubbing away at her skin until it was red and irritated and hurt to continue before she finally felt clean. you were determined to make her feel loved, feel safe in her own skin, and do so without hurting her.

when you finally come out of the shower, you're quick to wrap her up in a towel first, patting the rest of her down dry and sitting her down on a stool, grabbing the hair dryer and brush.

she scolds you in the process, telling you you'll catch a cold if you don't dry yourself off first. you pout but do as she says, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your pyjamas again.

then your hands are back at her hair, combing through gently with your fingers first, before turning on the hair dryer.

she watches you with a smile, her eyes crinkling upwards at the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, drying each part of her head with meticulous attention.

when it's just slightly damp you turn it off, placing it back down and start to brush through her hair, wincing and apologising with each knot you work through. nayeon giggles, constantly reassuring you it was fine with each apology, but her reassurances do little to quell your concern.

it's quiet, peaceful in the bathroom, just the two of you.

"my mother used to do this for me when i was young."

"mine too."

"it feels nice."

"i'm glad."

"are you ready to go back?"

"as long as i have you."

"you'll always have me."

you meet her eyes in the mirror, "will your mother be okay with this?"

"you brushing my hair?" she jokes.

you whine, "you know what i meant. us."

she smiles, "yes. both my mother and my sister only want to see me happy. they know how much the games affected me, they're just glad i'm still alive."

"mine too." you repeat.

"…even if they weren't, you know i wouldn't stop wanting to be with you right?"

you blush again, easily affected by her, "i know."

she nods, satisfied, the both of you falling into an easy silence again.

you think this isn't too bad. living out the rest of your life with nayeon like this. she helped you forget all the bad stuff, but also reminded you of all the things you've been through together, you healed each other. in no other universe, no other situation, no other time, would you be able to find this kind of love with nayeon, and that little special thing the both of you share, it makes everything you've gone through and will go through a little more bearable.

[st6rrrs]

Could you please maybe do a Theodore Nott fic where he’s ghost face?

DONT MAKE A NOISE || GHOST FACE THEODORE X FEM READER

summary: there has been murders around Hogwarts recently, People say they have seen a person in a ghost mask, you would have never expected the person behind it al.

warnings: smut 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon?, blood, murder, violence, hair yanking, cursing, oral sex(m receiving), etc..

a/n: this is my first time writing something like this, im sorry if this is bad. short! rushed

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"Theo what if this ghostface person comes after you or me?" you sigh "im scared."

people have reported seeing a person in all black wearing a ghost mask. This person has already killed 4 people and you were scared that you and your best friend theo would be next.

"Dont worry i wont let anyone hurt you, ever."

you asked theo if he could sleep in your dorm room tonight because your roommate was with her boyfriend and you didn't want to sleep alone. You and theo were cuddling on your bed but you fell asleep..

you awaken due to the loud thunder storms and rain outside you look over to check on theo but hes gone?

"theo?" you immediately get up to see if he's still here but it was to dark. You get up to turn on the lights but they wouldn't turn on, maybe the power was out due to the storm.

you go to grab your phone on the nightstand and check the time 2:58am.

you were about to text theo but you see his phone on the nightstand also so decide your gonna go look for him because this isn't like him.

you go to the flash on your phone and turn it on

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"theo! are you out here?"

you been out here for a while looking for him, you were just about to turn back around and go back to your dorm but thats when u heard something, you get goosebumps.

you turn the corner and you immediately go pale. You see a dead boy on the floor with blood all over him and stab wounds, above him was that ghostface mask staring at you. the boy on the ground didn't look like theo thank god

you drop your phone and run as fast as you can to your dorm. right when your at your door you get pushed inside and hit your head on the wall. you groan out in pain and you feel something dripping down your head you go to touch it and its red.

you hear the door lock and suddenly you feel the ghostface grab you by your hair forcing you too your knees.

"please dont hurt me" you sobbed

he didn't respond all he did was unbuckle his pants that had blood all over them and pulled them down. You could see his hard on thru his boxers, you sobbed even more knowing what was bound to happen.

he released himself from his boxers his cock hitting your cheek. he then put a knife to your throat pushing it into your skin making you whine.

he opened your mouth with his fingers and forced his cock into your mouth moving your head back and forth stretching your mouth out.

you repeatedly gag on his cock, tears running down your cheeks. You drooled in the corner of your lips. His fingers raked through your hair Pulling at it as he thrusted into your mouth hitting the back of your throat. you feel him twitch in your mouth knowing he's close.

he releases in your mouth with a loud groan. He takes his cock out your mouth and covers your mouth with your hand and squeezes your nose shut so he can make sure you swallow.

you ended up swallowing because you couldn't breath. he grabbed your wrist and pushed you onto the bed and he gets on top of you the mask staring you in the face.

you feel weak from the amount of blood you lost when u hit that wall

your barely awake when u feel him take your shorts off and then pull your panties down your legs. He then rubs his cock through your folds and pushes himself into you and all you could do was lay there and take it.

"no stop" you moaned out trying to push him off but he just grabs your wrist together and pins them above your head slowly thrusting into you, he groans while speeding up.

hes thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace now, Your eyes were shut tight

"dont close your eyes on me now" he whispers in your ear while pounding into you, you realize that's the first thing he said to you all night.

"your taking my cock so well" he groans in your ear "so fucking tight"

He sounds familiar?

you feel that pit in your stomach that you shouldn't be having but your body betrays you.

your body tensing and toes curling as you come undone around him

he pulls himself back once more slamming himself inside of you while his dick twitches inside of you. you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

before he had a chance to stop you, you grab a hold of his mask and you pull it off...

this was rushed.

taglist

@bbsxsaa @xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @drewstarkeyslut @stvrkey @blondbrat @sevenwivesofrafecameron @tracymbcm

[girlystories]

Two sides on the same coin

— pairings: Joseph Descamps x ex-rebellious reader

summary: you get expelled from your all girls school after an incident you get yourself into. cutting all ties with your troublesome friends, your parents send you to voltaire lycée in hopes you change your ways. an annoying prick, though, gets in the way of that, making you constantly on the verge of breaking your promise to your parents.

additional warnings: underage smoking, usage of foul language, mention of boobs ig?

authors note: very creative chapter title, ik. also really sorry for this late update, but i honestly don't haven't any excuse. it's finally here so I hope you enjoy. also i added a character from another movie cuz i can.

words: 3.9k

Chapter 1: The bastard with the dumb glasses

[Name] [Last Name] certainly wasn't expecting her first day to occur like this.

She fell down on her knees next to the wounded boy, who held on his left eye. He was whimpering in pain, making it obvious the punch he took to the face was serious.

Placing a hand on his back, she tried to receive any attention from him. She called out his name but didn't get an answer. Blood was dripping from between his fingers and his groaning increased before she was pulled away from him.

...

Lumière Lycée was nothing but a memory now, all what happened there only for the driven girl to want go remember, whenever she even wanted to. If she wanted to. She couldn't lie to herself and say it was a good time. On the contrary, it was a living hell for her. It wasn't a catholic school, but it was somehow aiming towards it.

She'd gotten in trouble one, two, three, or more times. Times she couldn't even keep track of.

Not that it even mattered now. No one would know of her past, her previous troublesome and somewhat rebellious nature in a place for her old school and only herself. It was a year ago from now, certainly she'd have changed from then. Or, in better words, she wanted to mask it deep inside. She promised it to her parents.

Moving schools meant moving overall, but she was sure she'd get used to the new environment sooner or later. Voltaire Lycée, the only academy daring to take things further and expand into a mixed school containing both boys and girls. Such a big change, things were seemingly passing so fast. It was the only thing the newspapers and radio were discussing about all day long for the past three days.

She was now brushing her hair, styling it while in her bathrobe. She added a small touch of makeup on her lashes, in a effort not to seem as tired from sleeping late the earlier day. Her anxiety forbid her from it. To bring some sort of color to her lips, she applied some chapstick. She didn't want to impress anybody, but didn't want to stand out by appearing like some sort of messy girl. That'd make a horrible impression. She opted to blend in with everybody else, which wasn't as easy since she was expected as one of the other few new girls. She'd stand out either way. How many girls would even attend that school anyway?

Either way, she hoped for a change. From having more than fifty absences, five to nine out of twelve marks, constantly snapping at her other classmates and breaking into fights, to becoming a lady with a future ahead of her.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, "[Name]," a soft voice called from behind it, "are you ready yet? Your father could give you a ride to school."

"No, it's okay," she got up from her chair, giving a last look at herself from her mirror. "I'd lather walk on my first day."

Her mother nodded and left without a word, leaving her to finish in getting ready.

[Name] opened her wardrobe, inspecting her clothes and in the end decided upon a matching set of a top and short skirt that she tried out the day before. Before leaving her room she wore her pair of Mary-Jane's.

She headed to her kitchen, where her parents were already awake, eating their breakfast before work. She took a seat and took a sip of her prepared coffe. "Good morning," she said.

Her father swallowed his own coffe before speaking, "Good morning. How do you feel about your new school?"

"Rather anxious."

"No wonder," her mother said. "A mixed school? It's a much troublesome shift from what we're used too. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Her dad finished his coffe, placing his mug down. "Well, we do what we can do. If only you would behave, [Name]."

"[Father name], " her mother glanced at him with knotted brows. "Don't start again."

He ignored her warnings, "Now make sure to get your shit together or else things will be really complicated. I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart."

"I know," [Name] simply said.

Her mother still kept an eye on her husband and sighed, turning her attention at her daughter. "Now you have a nice day, okay? Be home right after school or if you want stop by the bakery."

[Name] finished her butter bread, taking her bag as she got up and went to the front door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she got interrupted. Internally groaning, she went back and kissed her parents on the cheek.

"Alright, bye," she finally said and left.

Since it was still early, she stopped at her neighborhood supermarket to buy herself a pack of Gauloises, thanking the owner and lighting one while on her way. Just then she realized she didn't know the way.

Minutes later she regretted not accepting her parents' offer to drive her to school. Cursing under her breath at her possibility of being late on her first day, she kept her fast pase as she took a turn on the street she thought the school was located.

To her utter luck, she was right. When she noticed the front gate inspector closing the door she jogged there yelling for him stop. He rose his head towards her, earning his attention.

He threw his cigarette, chuckling softly. "Lucky for you, it's your first day, miss, otherwise I'd have left you locked outside," he said and opened the gate for her.

"Sorry, it won't happen again..." she breathed out.

"Well, they haven't made their way inside. Mr. Belanger is giving a speech."

"Thanks," she said and walked hurrily where everyone stood.

On top of the building's stairs stood the school staff, the students surprisingly listening from bellow. She shoved herself between the crowd to catch a word he was saying.

"-Gentlemen, I expect you to...to be as polite, respectful, magnanimous and dignified as I know you can...when on your best behavior."

"Who is that?" she asked herself.

"The school's Dean," she wasn't really expecting an answer, yet a guy replied from beside her.

She nodded at him, staying silent for a moment before talking again. "Damn, I don't even know in what class I am."

"Don't worry. They'll call your name anyway."

Just then, a woman walked forward, holding a sheet or paper. "I'll now be calling the first-year's, then proceed the second year's due to the addition of female students."

"Just like that," he smirked and Mr. Bluebeard began reading the paper.

[Name] breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I was afraid of almost getting detention from being late."

He let out a laugh, "On your first day? There's no way a person could achieve that record. Not even me. I can assure you I've tried. I don't think you get detention from being late."

"No," she said. "I said almost. Wait, what do you mean y-"

The call of her name interrupted her question.

"That's your name, right? Seems like you're in class 1B."

"Oh, yeah," she said looking as some other students walked up the starts when their names were called. "See you."

She took a seat behind two girls, and as she did so smiled at them when they seemed to acknowledged her. Little by little everyone gathered in class, each taking their seats.

The woman that was calling out the students from before walked in. "I am Mrs. Giraud, your homeroom teacher."

Then, a girl with blonde hair entered the class, eyeing the empty seats anxiously. She had her hair styled with a headband that matched her dress which was beautifully complimenting her figure. It was no surprise everyone was looking at her with either admiration or a tint of desire.

She took a seat at a desk in the front, and [Name] felt somehow disappointed she didn't choose to sit next to her instead.

Mrs. Giraud noticed her gesture. "What's your name miss?"

She got up from her seat, holding her hands together politely. "Annick Sabiani."

"Where do you think you are, miss Sabiani?"

She didn't get enough time to respond at her question.

"Do you think it's okay to sit next to a boy?" she asked sternly. "Get your things."

She began doing so, but Mrs. Giraud interrupted her again. "No. You," she pointed towards the boy next to her. He looked at her for a moment and she continued, "Get up. Go sit in the back."

"But I can't see from there."

"Back row, now," she then looked at [Name], realizing she failed in noticing her presence before. "And what's your name, miss?"

She got up, awkwardly looking around the class and trying to ignore the stares. "[Name] [Last name]."

"You sit in the front."

She gathered her bag and did as she was told, still feeling the stares accompanied with whistling sounds and whispers. The boy tried to do the same, but someone put his foot in the way. That made him trip and almost fall, the group of boys laughing and making pig noises. "It's not your day, piggy."

The teacher did nothing about it, only complaining about being interrupted. "Quiet! As I was saying... Mrs. Giraud, with a "D" as in "discipline.""

[Name] wasn't listening what she was saying anymore, glancing at the person who was at fault of tripping the poor guy. He was grinning at his friend beside him, finding it wholehearted hilarious, like it was comedy gold. He fixed his glasses before he pretending he was paying attention to Mrs. Giraud. Instead he wrote a note and showed it next to him, the duo starting cackling quietly.

Next period was Latin, where she was met with Mr. Douillard. She ultimately ended up not having a really good idea about him, earning already a bad impression by him ignoring the girls when they raised their hand. She grew more and more annoyed when he pretended not to noticed her and she just stopped trying. Sabiani did not back down, though. Still, Mr. Douillard picked the only guy that had raised his hand.

"I think she raised her hand," the same guy with the glasses pointed out in a snarky tone. He pressed his lips together to hold himself from laughing.

Much to the teachers dismay of having to pick a girl student, he side-eyed Sabiani. "Indeed. So?"

She pushed her chair back, fixing her dress. "The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."

"The Romans "cheer" Horatio," he corrected, obviously not wanting to lower to the level of ever praising a girl, wanting to dismiss their existence entirely. "Can you conjugate the verb "ovare"?"

As Sabiani was answering, [Name] noticed the guy from before writing something on a paper, giving it to the person next to him and whispering something. The note was passed down until the teacher noticed.

"Give me that," he ordered, interrupting Sabiani.

The poor guy sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. From where [Name] sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

The unlucky person sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. [Name] knew of him. He was Alain Laubrac, a guy who happened to be in the same gang she used to hang out last year. She stopped hanging out with them after her expulsion, when she was grounded all summer, cutting all ties with them thankfully. She hadn't spoke to him since like the rest. From where she sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

"Think this is funny?"

"It wasn't me."

"Who is responsible for this masterpiece?"

No answer. The guy who drew it pretended he didn't know a thing, placing his pen under his bottom lip.

"Your name?"

"It wasn't me," Alain repeated.

"'It wasn't me'," Mr. Douillard sighed, "All culprits have the same name. They must be related. Okay, Mr. 'It wasn't me'...'"

"My name is Laubrac," he corrected.

"Are you the boy from the foster care?"

The whole class chuckled at that.

"Some nobody's son's trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system? I won't let a bastard disrupt my class. Get out."

"But he didn't do anything!" a girl with blond pigtails protested.

"Nobody taught you to raise your hand in your girls' school, Miss Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the Dean," the teacher mocked, hitting the paper on his palm. "Escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention too."

They both left the room with their heads low, the class filled with silence.

[Name] bit the inside of her mouth, raising a hand.

"Yes, miss?" the teacher complained.

"With all due respect, sir, but you're being really unfair," she said. Mr. Douillard was taked aback and she continued before he interrupted. "It was Picasso over there who did it," she eyed the glasses-guy from the back.

The smile he wore dissappeared, now glaring at her and preparing to argue something back.

"You've got a nerve talking to me like that, miss [Last Name]," the teacher said. "Don't think I haven't been informed of your performance in your past school. I'm not afraid to get you expelled here too."

The class suddenly filled with murmurs.

"Unless you want detention as well I advice you to sit back down."

She looked down and without having anything else to say she sat on her chair. Her grip on her pen tightened when she looked back and seeing the guy still stare at her, slowly forming a winning smirk.

Bastard, she thought.

Finally lunch came, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she stood up from her seat, an instant need to stretch her body overtaking her. She only wanted to smoke as soon as possible, the necessity of nicotine calling out to her from not being present for a while. She closed her notebook and walked out the classroom as soon as there was space for her to walk through the students.

She walked down the big row of starts, avoiding in pushing the boy in front of her, but still having trouble keeping her patience.

Just as she was about to turn a corner she felt her face being hit with a flat surface, being jolted back.

"Woah, what's the rush?" she felt an arm on her shoulder and was met with a silly smile. It was the guy from earlier in the morning.

"Sorry," she said, feeling embarrassed. She allowed herself to groan, feeling free from expressing her feelings. Even in front of this guy she just met. "I just couldn't stay in that room anymore."

"I didn't know class 1B was that far off," he joked.

"You know anyone from there?"

"Certainly. I could name quite a few if you ask me."

"Ugh, then I'm sure you know. Speaking of, in what class did you end up?"

He placed a hand in his pocket. "2B," he smiled. "If my last name was different we could've been in the same class. Maybe then the school year wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah, talk about luck," she played along his playful attitude. She didn't know where he was getting at, but he was at least tolerable. "Oh, hey, we haven't met properly before."

"You're right," he extended his palm, smiling at her. "Mick Travis."

She replied with her name, shaking his hand. "Mick Travis? Is that French or..."

"I'm originally from Britain, but I've moved here for a while. I don't know for how long but I'll do what I can in the meantime. Second year in this school and I can't wait to get out of here."

"Did something happen last year?"

"It's a long story," he said simply, changing the subject. "So, where are you headed?"

In the end they sat at a bench, under a tree to avoid the bright sun from blinding their eyes and having to constantly squint at each other. Travis sat sideways, his one leg crossed while the other was extended freely, his head resting on his palm, the other holding his cigarette.

[Name] lazily looked up at the tree as the wind moved it's leafs, making her almost fall asleep. "Are they gotta tell us something for not going to eat?"

"Hell no, I'm sure they know how ass the food is anyway. We're just saving our lives at the moment."

She hummed, putting out her finished cigarette.

"So," he adjusted his head, in a way to look at her. "What do you think of this school?"

"I don't know. But I hope this year passes quickly. Last year was the worst year of my life."

This peacked his interest. "How so?"

"Long story," she laughed when she realized he responded the same way before. "Maybe I'll tell you if I skip a class."

"Fine."

Break ended too quickly for [Name] to enjoy and she dragged her feet to class, with Travis having to sometimes push her while she groaned in annoyance.

She walked inside, making eyecontact with Sabiani and giving her a look of "I can't stand being here already." The poor girl only giving her a sympathetic smile in response.

She was about to sleep on her desk, when a commotion made her raise her head to see what was going on. Descamps and his friends – whatever their names were, she didn't even bother to know – were making a fuss over something, and she noticed quickly a bucket filled with water behind the door. Descamps grabbed it and attempted to place it on top of the door, ordering one of his friends to keep watch from outside in the process.

The class did nothing, and so did [Name]. It took her a while to realize that a prank was happening, so whoever were to walk in would get drenched in that dirty bucket water. She rose from her seat, throwing her chair back and scaring Sabiani from beside her. She did promise not to act out, in hopes of not getting unwanted attention from the teachers, but she had enough from that Latin teacher anyway. She wouldn't let anyone stop her now.

She walked up to him, pushing him and making him almost spill the water. He narrowed his eyes at her, before he flashed her a cocky smile. "What's that? Didn't you learn your lesson from getting expelled from your last school? Are you planning on doing the same thing here?"

She clenched her jaw at the nerve he had. He didn't even know of her, yet acted better than her. "I'll get expelled for this? You're the one putting a bucket on top of the damn door."

She felt a hand grabbing her wrist and she turned around. "Don't get involved, just continue sleeping on your desk like you were before," it was one of Descamps friends.

She snatched her hand away, "Don't touch me." Turning her attention back at the vile glasses-wearing guy, she attempted to take the bucket away from him, only for him to raise it over her head, mocking her in the process. She would've been intimidated by his height, but she was already used to scarier guys from last year. Descamps laughed at her unsuccessful attempts, then motioned something to his friend. He got the memo and held back [Name] by restraining her.

"Let me down!" she yelled, but they ignored her, finally Descamps putting the damn bucket where he planned from the beginning. She looked at the rest of the class, everyone doing nothing about the whole thing and staying silent in their seats. She made eyecontact with Laubrac, her eyes seeking for his help. He only looked away, hiding his shame.

The victim of the prank was Magnan, as the water completely covered her from head to toe. Her braids were starting to fall apart from her cute style. Her frozen body left in shock as she looked around the class, everyone watching her without reaction. [Name] felt shame when she realized the water made the fabric on her chest area visible, being stuck on her skin.

Descamps and his friends were the only ones breaking the silence in the room, chuckling to themselves and breaking out laughing, [Name] being no longer being held back.

Suddenly he swallowed hard and composed himself at the sight of Mrs. Couret. He looked at her nervously and placed both his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Couret was in shock at first, but acted quickly, taking of her jacket and putting it around Magnan. She ordered [Name] and Sabiani to look over the class, but they knew that with both of them combined they couldn't control Descamps and his dumb crew. Moments later, they exited the classroom, headed to the nurses office.

If that wasn't enough, Descamps even drew on the chalkboard, being a picture of who she assumed was Magnan, her chest area being the most prominent. [Name] was about to go off again, but Sabiani grabbed her wrist instead, shaking her head at her to tell her to stop. After a bit of contemplating she backed down. Before she could even sigh in disappointment, a senior barged inside the classroom.

He pushed a guy from his way and swing at one of the guys that indulged in the "prank". Sabiani yelled at them to stop but it escalated even worse. Descamps went to defend him, and this lead to him being hit. In the eye area. Next thing she knew, he was kneeled to the ground. Everything had happened so fast, [Name] was frozen in place.

Without thinking she fell next to him, trying to get a look at his injury. It was pretty hard to do so, as he pressed onto his left eye, his back slouching more and more as he couldn't contain his pain anymore. His groans made him so he couldn't hear the girl from beside him, but the warm touch on his shaking body comforted him even for a bit.

[Name] felt herself suddenly being pushed back, and she calmed herself when she realized it was the Dean.

"Let me see," he said, crouching to Descamps' level.

"My eye...! I can't see..."

"Don't touch it okay? Can you stand up?" when he nodded, he helped him get up. He then ordered Pichon to get the nurse, but she was already there.

"He's got some glass in his eye," Mr. Belanger said softly at his wife, as she placed a hand on his back and led him outside, mentioning something about taking him to the hospital.

"Get back to your class!" he yelled at the students that were watching from outside the door. "Dupin, take your seat. Jean-Pierre, my office. You two, put the chairs back. You wipe that off. And you, clean that now!" he looked at the rest of the class, his piercing look sending shivers down [Name]'s spine. "Everyone else, take your seats!" he ordered and the tone of his voice made everyone do so without question. "Quietly!"

He sighed, "I'll leave you to it, Miss Couret," he said, giving a last look to the teacher that had just arrived before storming off.

The rest of the day seemed to pass way slower that before.

tagging: @kpoploverxx-12 @puchosdementa @tropicalheart13 @luvmacyyyy @aiuragf @idontlikemonday @helchronicles @bubblegum-bitchhhhhhhhh @visndcaitswhore @blueberryblood11 @remusmuse @pookayyyyy @blvckdress @lirominissss @issoais-blog @murxhavia @b3l1z8 @nikkoiiii @beau-min

©ssnowville ©snowville

[orbweaverspidergirl]

Chapter 2: but i am in the twilight

summary: Orbweaver, Gotham's one and only spidergirl. A hero for only a year, she's easily recognizable from her brown spider suit, and six-eyed mask. But, without the mask, she's Nicole Lawson, the "unwanted" daughter of Bruce Wayne. She didn't mind it, not too much, but after the death of her mother and the exposure of her identity, her life is in shambles.

tw: descriptions of blood, someone being stabbed, and someone on the brink of death.

Chapter 1

You felt like a ballerina when up in the air. The sky was your floor, and the webs your wings. It was fun, being able to fly in the air. You often wondered if Superman took glee in it like you. It seemed nice, at least on TV, you’ve never really met him in person. You’ve seen him though, when you had patrol in the day. You wondered if he ever noticed you, that would be cool. Orbweaver, noticed by the most famous hero in the city, Superman! 

You snort, a girl could dream. 

You land on an old warehouse roof. It rattles, but you jump off the roof, landing a backflip onto the pavement, right in front of the door. Your hood falls down when you land, but you let it be and begin to walk the streets of Gotham. You weren’t particularly looking for a specific crime tonight, you’d prefer if there was none at all, but that’s rarely ever the case. 

You crinkle your nose in disgust when you smell blood. You hear someone yelling, and you pick up your pace into a run. You hear it from a nearby alley and make a sharp turn right. A woman stands there, slouched against the wall of the apartment building. A knife is stuck in her abdomen, and you see a man standing over her, a shocked look on his face. He sees you, and his face turns into one of fear. You quickly web his feet, now frozen in place, you tackle him. Your knee goes up against his neck, and you zap the web onto his hands. He struggles, but there’s not much he can do other than that.

“I promise, I promise I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t-” You web his mouth close and then look at the woman before you. She can’t be older than twenty, you think, as you assess the damage. Sweat drips down her face, and she tries to pull the knife out. You stop her, resting your hand on hers. 

“Don’t. You’ll cause more damage to the wound. Where’s your phone?” You say, words rushing out of your mouth. Even after a year, you still get nervous about open wounds. 

“In,” she lets out a ragged breath, “in my pocket.” You reach for it, quickly dialing 911. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” You recognize the lady’s voice behind the phone. She’s often the one who picks up your 911 calls. 

“It’s Orbweaver, I got a civilian with a knife wound, the knife is still in. The perpetrator is webbed down. 819 Dixon Road.”

“Understood, police and medics are on the way. Keep the person away the best you can Orbweaver, and please, stay on call.” 

You look at the lady and sweat pools around her head. You put the phone on speaker and start to ask her questions. “What’s your name?”

Tears start to form in her eyes, but she answers, voice quaky, “Josselyn.” You know a girl in class named Josselyn. You didn’t think it was a real common name, but you guess you stand corrected.

“That’s a pretty name, I know a girl named Josselyn in class. She’s cool.” Her eyelids flutter, and you’re tempted to force them open, but you just gently shake the dark-skinned woman. “What happened Josselyn? Can you tell me? Speak as loud as you can for the agent on the phone.” 

“I, uh, was walking to my, uh, my apartment.” She begins to hack up blood, and your nose twitches at the now iron filled air. “Oh fuck...” She says, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. 

“It’ll be alright, Josselyn. The medics will be here soon. Please continue.” She just nods, grimacing.

“He just, he, uh, came out of nowhere. Asked for money…” Her eyelashes bat against her cheeks, and you shake her once more. She looks at you, but her eyes are distant, “Told him I didn’t have any, then he threatened me. Told him to fuck off, and uh, he, uh, pulled out a knife.” 

You can hear clicks on the other side of the phone. No doubt the agent is typing in the information told. “You did well, Josselyn, thank you. It’s almost over, I promise.” You get up, making your way over to the poor excuse of a robber. The man is passed out, so you pull back the webbing from his mouth. You didn’t mean to suffocate him, but it’s less work for you, and it isn’t like he’s dead. You think. 

You hear him before you see him, Nightwing. You don’t know why he’s here, usually he’s in Bludhaven, doing God knows what. You were close with him, as close as one could be in this type of work. He looks down at you from the roof, and you see him smile. 

“You alright down there, Spidey?” He asks, before backflipping off the building. 

“Show off,” you snort. “But yeah, I’m okay. Her on the other hand,” you glance at the lady, and the 911 agent speaks up from the phone. 

“The medics are on your street, Orbweaver.” 

“Heard.” She cancels the call before you can, and you pick up the woman, holding her to your chest. She startles, but you’d rather her be startled then dead. 

Nightwing walks behind you, picking up the man from the ground. “How has Bludhaven been?” 

He picks up the pace, now standing beside you. “It’s been nice. I came to visit some family today. We had to go to some school event.” You raise an eyebrow, that’s awfully familiar. 

“Really? What school did–” 

Before you can finish, a loud “WEEE WOOO, WEEEE WOOO,” fills the air. You both stand aside waiting for the medics, and you make sure to check Josselyn one more time before giving her to them. Eventually, the robber is handed off as well, and you let out a sigh of relief when the situation is over. 

Nightwing notices, and he reassuringly pats your head. “You’re doing good, Spidey. Keep it up.” You roll your eyes, not like he can see, and shove his hand away. 

“How kind of you, birdy!” You say in a mocking tone, before shooting your webs on the buildings. You swing through the air, and you hear Nightwing struggling to catch up.

“Hey, kid, wait! I forgot you could do that!” He whines, and it makes you laugh out loud. 

“It was nice to see you again, Nightwing. Have a good night and tell your family Orbweaver said hi!” You yell, prancing off into the night, leaving the hero to his lonesome.

A/N: Inbox/requests are open!!

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty seven : the apostate

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ☆ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 6.0k

summary : judgement day. (din's version)

warnings: language, angst, violence, gore, blood, torture, murder, death, ro makes things up about infection bc they're too scared to google it (what if there's gross pics??), din is morally grey at times, pregnancy

a/n: worked a ten hour shift, got home, made an iced coffee, hammered away at my anvil until this was written and edited. now it's bed time lol

Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain. 

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. All it had taken was a few firm punches to the side of the head and any remaining hearing in that ear was lost. 

It’s not looking great. Or sounding great, all he can hear is ringing as he hits the ground, hard. He knows someone is yelling at him but how the fuck is he supposed to know what they’re saying when he can feel a thin bead if blood dripping from his ear canal. 

He never manages to figure out what they’re saying but he gets the gist of it when his armor is ripped from his body. He puts up as much of a fight as he can manage, his efforts skyrocketing when they yank his helmet off, leaving him bare before a couple of guards. 

For the first time in his life he knows what it's like to have that choice taken away from him. 

And he cannot hide the fear and discomfort that come with losing his helmet behind a mask any longer. Thankfully he isn’t exposed for very long, per Kodo’s orders his face is to remain covered. Of course they go with the most humiliating option, a fabric bag thrown over his head. It’s somehow worse than being exposed, now he can’t hear or see. 

So there’s no warning for the beating that immediately follows his imprisonment. 

He’s been in countless fights through the course of his life but nothing like this. He’s never been unable to fight back. They restrain him and beat him senseless, and he can’t so much as hold his hands up in defense. 

And then they leave.

He has no way to tell the time. So he simply sits and waits in the emptiness that is his life now. 

Until someone new comes in to beat the shit out of him. 

It’s a horrific existence, to sit in the cold darkness, unable to hear an approaching threat until they’re actively upon you. He doesn’t know when it happens but at one point he loses all feeling in one of his legs, he knows he was cut there but he has no idea how bad it is. He spends his time trying to assess his wounds, he stretches out what parts of himself he can as he does his best to keep his blood flowing. 

And the entire time all he can think of is you.

He knows nothing of what’s become of you. He did everything in his power to ensure that you would be blameless but he has no idea if it worked, that itself is a worse torture than any of this. He’s in agony wondering if you’re down here in a cell receiving the same treatment as he is. 

☆

He didn’t think things could possibly get worse. 

Until the day when the footsteps stopped before his cell and the door to Elaine’s swung open instead. 

He heard most of it. 

Every wet, gory sound. 

He took his time with her, laughing all the while and when he was finally done Din called out to her. 

All he got in response was the faint, distant sounds of her agony. 

The next day he feared they had returned to finish her off when he heard the ear piercing screech of her door opening but Elaine’s screams turned to soft whines. After a while his own door shrieked open, it took him a while to realize who it was but after she repeated herself a few times he was able to make out the word Lysa and was able to relax briefly. She tried to feed him but he told her he was fine, despite the twisting pain in his stomach, he’d lost too much. 

His face is all he has left. It’s all he can cling to now.

She tries every day despite his protests but he doesn’t mind. He likes having someone to talk to, it helps his hearing when he can focus on one person speaking at a time. 

Then came the day where he felt hands on his chest and he tensed in anticipation of a hit that never came. 

It took a while to register and for a moment he thought it was a trick but he recognized the smell of you, and the familiar, gentle nature of your touches. 

You were an angel. 

Feeding him, being with him, loving him. 

He would have done almost anything for five more minutes with you when Lysa told you it was time to leave but he knew you couldn’t be caught down here, it just wasn’t safe, so he let you go.

And he found peace in the knowledge that you were unharmed. 

From that point forward he endured for you. 

Not in hopes that you would find some way to get him out, or that he might find his way back to you. He endured simply for you. For the idea that he might get to look upon your face one last time before he goes.

He had just about accepted his fate when Lysa came to him, unlocking his cuffs. 

“I messed with the shift schedule.” She speaks in a hushed whisper directly into his ear so he can hear her.

“What?”

“I messed with the schedule, for the next two hours there will be no guards, one empty window. I’m taking Elaine, gonna get her off planet.”

“Nevarro.” They’ll be safe there, maybe someday he’ll bring you to visit them. 

“Where is that?”

“It’s an outer rim territory, go there, find Greef Karga and tell him Din Djarin sent you.” 

“I will.” She presses the key into his palm. “You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” It isn’t said with cruelty, it’s a fact. 

That’s okay, he’s doing this for you as well. 

And just like that she’s gone, when he takes the bag off his head he’s alone. Immediately he gets to his feet, nearly screaming in pain as he tries to figure out what his next move is. 

“Don’t waste this.” 

She’s right. 

He won’t get another chance, he can’t mess this up. 

If he leaves Naboo he knows he’ll never get you back. They will lock you away, you’ll be hidden in some tower making heirs for that monster, never allowed back in the public eye while the “dangerous” Mandalorian is free. 

That’s his reasoning. He tries not to think too hard about the other aspect of running away. 

That you might think he left you. 

Finding you and taking you with him sounds like a good option but when he really thinks about it he realizes the risks are simply too high. 

If they realize he’s gone and you’re gone before you can get on a ship they’ll close every port on Naboo, you’ll be trapped on this wretched planet and hunted like animals. 

It wouldn’t matter much anyway, getting that far would require him being able to run. With the condition he’s in he isn’t even sure he can walk. It takes some work, and a lot of biting his own fist to silence himself but he manages to stumble across his cell. 

So running isn’t an option. 

And he can’t leave you. 

He promised himself he would never leave you again, he stayed when you told him to go, he stayed those four days of waiting, and he’ll stay now. 

But he has to be smart, and he has to be lucky. 

So he sits back against the wall, sliding his wrists back into the cuffs, leaving them unlocked.

And he waits. 

☆

He can’t make out much of what the man is saying but he recognizes the low, gravely timber. It’s the same man who’s tormented him several times but more importantly it’s the man who hurt Elaine. 

The bag is ripped off of him and he can’t help but light up at the sight of only one man. 

He can handle one man. 

He’s weaker than usual, and he isn’t expecting it when his mouth is forced open, a knife slicing into his tongue. 

It’s more difficult than it ever has been to fight, every muscle and injury screams for him to stop but he still manages to get the man on his back, from there all he has to do is slam his head into the stone. 

It’s been a long time since he had to kill someone. 

He thought it would feel worse, he’d be lying if he said that being around you hasn’t softened him up. But he feels fine, almost accomplished. He’s one step closer to you. He drags the body to an open cell a few down from his, taking the man’s uniform he dresses himself and takes his own clothes, tossing them back into his cell as he moves as fast as he can with a barely working leg. 

The guard's uniform fits but the man's skin is significantly paler than Din’s, he’ll never pass as him. 

“You won’t get a second chance.” 

Walk and think. 

Think of a plan on your way to it. 

He marches out of the dungeons, every step is agony, and his mouth continues to bleed as he tries to think of people he wouldn’t mind killing who wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. 

The answer comes to him while he’s rubbing the raw skin of his wrists. 

He’s known since he started working here just how shitty the security is. Even in his current state it’s rather easy for him to sneak into the guards station at the front entrance of the castle. It’s even easier for him to search through their bracelet database and find out exactly where the bastard is. 

He wasn’t sure why he planted the bracelet on him that day in the market, a small part of him always did want to go back and find him, maybe teach him some manners. It was easy to slip the tracker into his bag, he even truly considered killing him at one point just to send a message to any one else who might try to touch you but you wouldn’t have wanted that, so he let it be. 

He hopes you won’t be too mad. 

He simply finds the tracker labeled ‘Mandalorian - LOST’ and memorizes the location, thankfully it appears to be in a residential area just outside the castle. He takes one extra moment to search through a few extra files, when he finds the staff lists he’s met with three blank spaces.

He fills in one of them.

Every step is blistering pain but he breathes heavily through his mouth, continuing to push through as he descends the steps towards his goal. He can’t help but wonder if he even has the strength to do any of this but what else is there to do? He has to get back to you. 

Whatever it takes. 

Later on, when he tells you what happened on this night he makes up a story, simple and believable, because in all honesty he doesn’t even know how he did any of it. His own strength in that moment frightens him a bit, all he knows is that he was looking for the man who accosted you in the markets all those moons ago and the next thing he knew he was standing in a halo of broken glass in the man's home. 

He knows you probably wouldn’t approve but he had wanted to kill him the first time he had grabbed you in the market, after the second time he wanted to make it hurt. The dungeons are a mercy compared to what Din would do to him. 

He’s running out of time so he has to improvise, he knocks the man out when he finds him in his bedroom, tearing the welding goggles off the nameless man's head. He cuts his hair with a shard of glass from the window, trying and failing to make it resemble his own.

It’ll have to do. 

He tells himself before dragging the body in through the back servant's entrance he’s used several times to sneak in and out of the castle with you.

He’s slick with sweat, at least his leg doesn’t hurt anymore, by the time he gets to the bottom of the steps there's barely any feeling in it at all. 

It’s one hell of a task, getting the nameless man into the cell and chained to the wall unnoticed but by some stroke of luck he does it, finishing his task by removing the man's tongue in one swift motion with a knife. Silencing the only witness to his escape. 

He looks over everything, making sure it’s all in its perfect place before adding the finishing touch, a bag over his head. Once it’s done he rushes towards the dungeon's entrance. 

He should move, get out of there and fast but he can’t help himself. Not after what they did to Elaine. 

So he checks the shift schedule, he waits until the last possible moment, when the next shift of guards arrives he hands them the tongue, trying not to wince at the undisturbed look on their faces, and he tells them that he’s going to do one last sweep before they switch. They all seem more than happy to have someone else doing the rounds. And he takes his time, slowly and methodically checking every cell until he gets to Elaine’s, and even then he waits just a little longer, giving them as much time as possible to get on a ship and far away from here. 

Even if it’s just a few extra seconds. 

Then he yells. 

His words make no sense and are garbled because of the state of his tongue but he gets the message across just fine. 

He yells that there’s been an escape, that a prisoner is missing and in the commotion of it all he slips away. On his way back to you. 

He’s so focused on seeing you again it never even crosses his mind just how many people have now seen him without his helmet. 

☆

“You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

Lysa’s words continue to echo through his head. 

He has to do this exactly right. Or he’ll lose you all over again. 

He has to get into the castle. The quickest way to you is going to be being a staff member, but first he has to make himself presentable. So he goes to the cabin. Surprisingly untouched, Kodo must not have cared enough to have it vacated. 

He’s barely standing when he stumbles in through the door, heading straight to the fresher and peeling back the boards that hide his bacta stash. 

He is so fucked up when he finally looks in the mirror. He's practically a wild animal as he scrambles to get a vial of bacta open.

It’s unbelievable that no one asked him if he was okay, his face is mangled. Large gashes originate at his mouth and move up and down his face. A deep cut runs across the bridge of his nose, coincidentally directly over a scar he already had. 

He makes quick work of it. Lathering a thick layer of bacta onto each wound before opening his mouth. Thankfully his tongue is still attached in some places, it’s easy to coat in the healing ointment but it’s difficult to keep it from bleeding, but he manages. The real challenge is his leg. He limps out to the kitchen with a bottle of bacta between his teeth. Grabbing himself a knife from the drawer as he sits at the kitchen table, propping his leg up on a chair with a groan. 

Fuck. 

He’s seen enough battle injuries to know just how bad it is. Dark lines that he knows mean infection run along his calf. 

“Fuck.” He verbalizes his distress as he peels back more of his pants.

Okay.

The infection doesn’t go past his knee. 

Okay.

He doesn’t have time to be in denial over how bad it is.

He has the credits to cover a prosthetic but he doesn’t have the time. He’ll be in recovery for ages and that simply isn’t an option now. He can fight off the infection for a few more weeks but after that there’s no way he’ll be able to keep his leg. 

He can’t leave you alone in that castle with Kodo. 

So he steels himself, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter to bite down on as he cautiously cuts away any decaying flesh as well as chunks of meat where the infection is worst. He’s lightheaded when he fumbles through one of his drawers for his cauterizer, sealing each wound with an unsettling sizzling sound. 

He feels half dead when he finishes, haphazardly pouring the contents of the bacta bottle onto his leg before passing out on the kitchen floor.

☆

As eager as he is to get back into the castle he knows he needs at least one more day to recover. So he tends to his wounds, and tries to teach himself how to walk all over again. 

He takes no breaks, keeping himself in a constant state of motion until the next day. He dresses in the provided clothes from the cabin, a wave of self consciousness washes over him as he walks up the palace steps in broad daylight, face on display for all. 

He gives the name he had put into the files at the door. 

Written on a slip of paper.

Din Djarin

His tongue is still healing, when he tries to speak all he can manage is a few incoherent syllables so he doesn’t bother.

He barely holds it together when he’s face to face with Kodo, he can’t believe that he’s directly dealing with servants until he begins explaining to them that they are to report any and all strange behavior from the queen back to him. 

And then he’s taken into a room. 

And he gets to see you for the first time in weeks. 

He doesn’t even get to feel a fleeting sense of joy because there is something terribly wrong with you. 

That’s the first thought that crosses his mind when he’s finally brought before you. 

It’s the scariest thing he’s ever done, to stand before you, face bare. His good leg shakes like all hell and he can’t figure out what to do with his hands. Being found out isn’t even a concern at this point; he just hopes you’re okay because it’s more than clear to him that you aren’t well. 

Your face looks hollow and his immediate worry is that you haven’t been eating. Your eyes have gone dull, his heart aches as he realizes the fire that he fell for is gone. 

He yearns to step forward and fix it. To reignite what’s burned out but you won’t even look at him. 

He so badly wishes you would just look, maybe, somehow you’d know. 

But you never do. 

You just leave, locking yourself away once more and he’s stuck with a week of staff training before he gets to see you again. 

☆

You aren’t the same after the execution. 

He had tried to warn you, to give you some kind of sign that you weren’t alone, but you’d thrown the daisies into a wall and he couldn’t do a thing to help you. He wanted so badly to say something, anything, to let you know it was him but he was only just starting to get singular words out and he just couldn’t keep up when you ran, his leg getting worse by the day. 

You just wouldn’t look at him. 

He had managed to purchase a hearing aid for his still working ear so he was able to hear the rumors the other servants said about you.

They were all mostly the same.

That you’d lost it. 

That Kodo had driven you mad and you were going to snap. 

He kept a closer eye on you after that, he had even tried leaving a different flower, blue lilies, like the ones you had back home, but they received the same treatment as the daisies. 

It was the day he started talking again that you snapped. 

After two weeks of bacta treatments he had regained feeling in his tongue completely and could speak, it was late at night when he’d finally done it and he wasted no time going to find you. Instead he found your room empty, when he knocked the guards told him you’d left. 

So he searched for you.

As quickly as someone with a barely working leg could. 

He caught sight of you just as you started making your way up the tower steps, Kodo’s hand in yours. The sight made his stomach drop but he followed you regardless. To say that he was in anguish was an understatement. He had been avoiding stairs for a while now and suddenly he had to climb an entire tower's worth. 

He was slow moving, making progress at a snail's pace until he heard your screams. High above him he heard raw and pained cries and suddenly it was like he had no limp at all, as he ran the rest of the way to you. 

When he found you he couldn’t stand upright any longer, he collapsed on the floor and pulled you to him, his hands shook as he got to feel your warmth for the first time in ages. 

Any pain he was in temporarily fizzled out when you held him back.

He made it back to you.

☆

You can’t stop looking at him. 

You’re aware of the circumstances, you should act first, look later but he’s here. Actually, really here. You aren’t imagining it, you can feel him under your trembling palms, he’s real. 

Your Din. 

You don’t even know where to start. 

How did you miss all this? 

The hawkish nose you’ve felt against your skin countless times. Plush lips, thick eyelashes, and dark eyes you’ve only ever dreamed about. It’s hard in the darkness but you can see just how pretty he is. Your pretty boy. 

“We should run. No more wasting time, no more excuses. Just you and me on a ship.” His voice becomes urgent and you know he’s right but you can’t get on a ship, they’ll never let you leave the grounds. 

“They’ll never stop looking for us. Maybe before I killed Kodo we could have gotten away with some cunning escape, but now? I just committed regicide. They won’t let us go.” Your voice is starting to go shrill as your panic rises. 

“What other choice do we have?” 

Kriff.

Can’t stay, can’t leave.    

Your mind races as you close your eyes to think, letting the pieces fall together until you have a coherent plan. 

“What if there was a way no one would ever come looking for us?” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. “We wouldn’t have to hide. No more secrets, just us. We live here and no one objects.” 

“Cyare, that just isn’t a possibility.” 

But it is.

“I’ve been reading a lot, when I lost you, I read a lot. And not just romance books, every book I could get my hands on, I learned a little about this planet's history. According to Naboo royalty traditions, I take Kodo’s place as the reigning monarch.” 

“I thought it passed to the closest living male relative.” He gives you a skeptical look.

Not if they think you’re carrying the last king's child.

“No… it goes to me.” You mumble, thinking over everything else. You have to think fast and you have to think smart. He doesn’t dare interrupt as you focus.

You’ve covered everything on your mental checklist when a dark thought crosses your mind. 

“Would you think less of me if I did something out of spite?” You whisper, holding him tighter. “If I wanted to do something terrible?” 

“I would kill a man for looking at you if you asked me to.”

You don’t doubt that. 

“Do you trust me?” You start to stand, taking his hands as you help him to his feet. 

“Always.” 

“Then I need you to get Leo for me.” He frowns the moment you say his name. 

“You’re sure?” You nod, pressing your face into his neck. 

“I need you to do it, I can’t.” He knows you aren’t just asking him to bring Leo here, you’re asking him to end this. 

“Of course.” He murmurs. “One last terrible thing.”

One last terrible thing. 

Then you’re done.

“Bring him here, then I need you to follow my lead from there, there’s no more time to deliberate. We have to act, now.” You both know you’ve spent too much time planning, you pull him close, hugging him tightly before letting him rush back down the stairs. Your brow furrows when you see just how hard walking seems to be for him. 

You spend the few minutes that he is away trying to steady your breathing. Your mind is having a hard time deciding what to focus on. All you want to think about is Din but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that once the two of you are safe. 

 It doesn’t take long, eventually you see Leo making his way up the stairs, Din isn’t far behind. 

You consider for the briefest moment, just forgiving him. 

For the longest time you considered Leo to be nothing more than someone who could be a bit annoying, you never thought of him as downright cruel. 

But then you see his expression. 

He looks at you as if he’s owed something and all your resistance snaps. You know he can’t see Kodo’s body in the darkness so you let him walk to you. 

“My queen…” He approaches skeptically as Din blocks the entrance.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Mandalorian.” You clear your throat and he immediately frowns.

“I do not think that is wise.”

“Did you know him, at all?” This has nothing to do with your plan, you just need to know. 

“I only interacted with him in brief instances.” You nod slowly. 

“And you knew how much he meant to me when you handed him that death sentence, right?” At this moment it doesn’t matter that Din is alive and well. You don’t care about that. You care about the days of agony he was put through, the pain Elaine had inflicted upon her when she got caught in the crossfire. 

“There’s no reason for us to have this conversation.” He almost turns to leave but you speak again. 

“I love him.”

“Loved.” He snaps back quickly, as if this entire ordeal is exhausting to him. 

Your jaw twitches. 

“Do you think he suffered down there?”

“Not at all, he was given a swift death, I’d consider him lucky.” 

“What about Elaine?” You’re surprised when Din speaks, Leo seems just as taken aback as you are. 

“She got what she deserved for witnessing an act of treason and doing nothing about it.” 

That’s the final straw for both of you.

“You know what, I think you are deserving of a reward, Leo. Din?” You look just over Leodall’s shoulder where Din’s eyes have gone nearly black. 

“Turn around and cover your ears.” The voice that speaks is one you didn’t think you’d ever hear again, it isn’t Din, it’s darker, deadlier. The Mandalorian is speaking now and you do exactly as you’re told. You turn, squeezing your eyes shut, you put your hands over your ears but even that cannot keep out the sounds of the carnage behind you. 

He takes his time. 

At first you aren’t sure how he kept him so quiet but when Din turns you around to face him you see how. It would be hard to call for help with a broken jaw, especially after your own tongue was shoved down your throat. 

You squint, searching over the damage to his body and see where Din carefully wrapped Leo’s stiff fingers around the vibroblade. 

“Are you okay?” He’s covered in gore when he asks and you simply nod, a few stray tears in your lash line. 

“I’m going to finish this.” You mumble, giving him one last look of reassurance before you do the thing you’ve been doing quite a lot of lately. 

You scream. 

You shriek, holding yourself closely to Din. It’s mostly an act, your wails of terror that echo through the halls. But a small part of you truly wonders if you’ll ever recover from the things you’ve done tonight.

After a few nerve wracking minutes you’ve got dozens of guards taking in the sight of your mess. 

You both play your parts perfectly. 

You cling to Din like a lifeline as you tell the head guard what happened. 

“Kodo and I, we- we were walking around the castle, he wanted to show me the view from the tower.” With a quivering finger you point to the window you know has the best view of the castle grounds. “We were celebrating. We were so happy we didn’t even see Leo following us.” You hide your face in Din’s tunic, letting out a shuddering exhale to imitate a sob. “I had just told him I was with child when Leodall attacked me.” You make a real spectacle of yourself as you weep against Din’s shirt, Din who notably goes rigid. “Kodo tried to protect me, he wanted to protect his heir but Leo just- he-” You whimper, earning yourself a room full of sympathetic gazes. “I screamed for help and thankfully this servant was here, he saved my life.” 

That’s all they need to be convinced, after all, who wouldn’t believe the queen.

At one point you’re asked why Leo would ever do such a thing. 

You tell them he hated Kodo.

Because he refused to make him a lord. 

And you speak loud enough for every guard in the room to hear you when you tell them that Elaine was innocent, that Leo falsely accused her. 

There were never any follow up questions. All of it made sense to them and even though it came from a terrible thing you’re free. You’re more than free. According to the way the monarchy on Naboo is structured you’re technically queen regent until your child comes of age. 

Kodo gets to die a hero.

The king who sacrificed his life for his unborn child. (That bothers you for quite some time.) 

But he dies nonetheless. 

And you can live with that because at the end of the day they’re putting him in the ground and you’re up here, with Din. You’ll have to wait an appropriate amount of mourning time before you take his hand in public, but he’s yours now. No one can tell you otherwise, what kind of person tells a widowed queen what she can and can’t do?

When the room clears you take him to your chambers, dismissing the guards who stand watch. 

“Kodo’s dead, leave me be.” Is all you say as you push past them with Din, you hear a brief worried discussion outside your door before they leave in a hurry. Din looks around the destruction of your room with a look of concern before his eyes settle on you. “Sorry, I- uh, didn’t handle things well when I thought you were- well.” You mumble apologetically but his look of worry is no longer focused on your room, it’s on your stomach as he makes his way over to you, carefully stepping over the mess.  

“Are you- are you really…?” 

“Yeah.” You smile at him but his reaction isn’t exactly what you were expecting. 

He cups your face in his hands, searching your eyes for any signs of distress but you know he won’t find any. Right now it doesn’t matter that you’ve done unimaginable things. It doesn’t matter that you’ve killed. Because somehow, despite it all, Din is okay. 

“I’m so sorry. If I had known I would have killed him long before you did.” He murmurs. 

“Hmm?” You hum softly, unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. In the light you can see a little scar across the bridge of his nose, you want to reach out and touch it. 

“It doesn’t matter to me. We can do whatever you want, I’ll raise them as my own. I am more than willing to love this piece of you.” There’s a painful sincerity in his face and you become hyper aware of the fact that he assumes your baby really is Kodo’s. 

“Din-” Almost immediately he interrupts you; he drags his hands down your body, resting them on your stomach. 

“And we can live in the cabin. I’ll build a nursery the moment everything settles down, I will be the only father they ever know.”

“Din.” You say a bit more stern, trying to snap him out of his rambling. 

“Sarad’ika.” His thumb rubs a small circle against the fabric of your nightie. 

“It isn’t Kodo’s.” You give him a reassuring smile as he freezes in place. 

And you get to see it all. 

Every emotion you never got to enjoy when he was hidden behind steel. 

You get to watch as his concern melts away into a brief confusion that is quickly replaced with shock and processing. You get to see the way his eyes soften, and his lips part ever so slightly as he inhales a shuddering breath. If you had known just how expressive he was you never would have let him wear the helmet in the first place. He chews on his bottom lip briefly as he stares at you. Swallowing loudly.

“It’s mine?” The single sentence is shaky and breathless as you nod. 

“All yours.” You whisper back. 

His arms cage you in as he pulls your body flush with his, nearly lifting you off the ground.

“How is that- we were so careful…” He turns his head, pressing a series of kisses into your hair. You give him a skeptical look as you laugh.

“Were we?” 

“I guess not.” He shrugs, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at you. 

“It’s really mine?” He leans down to kiss you before you can even answer, making you laugh against his lips. 

“It’s really yours, and I already picked out a name.” Your heart flutters as his eyes light up, you just want to stare at him all day, partially because a part of you is worried he’ll disappear from your life all over again.

“Without me?” He sounds genuinely hurt, you lean up to kiss him again, hoping to soothe him.

“I think you’ll like it.” You mumble against his mouth after a moment. 

“How do you know it’s going to suit them, it’s too early.” He chuckles. 

“I just know.” You really do. A part of you had always had a vision of them, a little carbon copy of Din. A baby boy with his dark eyes and hair, you can feel it. “Can we go to the cabin? I don’t think I can stomach another night in here. The next few days I’m gonna have to deal with everything I did tonight, and I just want to spend tonight with you.” He nods, pulling you into one more embrace, unable to keep his hands off of you as he smiles. As much as you adore finally being able to look at him you suddenly worry that he might not be comfortable. “I have your helmet, if you want it.” You turn to fetch it but he keeps you pinned to him. 

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure? What about the creed?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile softens. 

“You’re my creed. Everything I have, everything I am, it’s all for you. For both of you.” 

“You know you don’t have to be so poetic with me, I’m already yours, you’ve already wooed me.” You tease. 

“Then let’s go home.” He whispers. You smile as you leave your room, sneaking out the back entrance until the two of you are walking hand in hand across the courtyard and into the trees.

a/n : did a classic bks all nighter for this and im so tired, the edit was done through weary eyes lmao, feel free to lmk if there's any glaring issues

i no longer have a tag list!! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

[bookishcarmela]

Dark Desires

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

Warning: mild violence

Word Count: 6.5k

Chapter 5: the trial

The air in the court feels thick with tension, like something is about to snap. You're standing behind Rhaenyra, Jace at your side, Luke just behind him. You notice Bella, standing apart from everyone, dressed in Velaryon blue instead of the usual Targaryen red. It's strange, seeing her so different from her sisters. What’s she thinking?

At the front of the room, Otto Hightower sits on the Iron Throne, his presence suffocating. The King is absent, and the absence of his authority weighs heavily on the room. Otto speaks, his voice steady, though you can almost hear the hidden ambition in every word.

“Although we all hope Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto says, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. And as Hand, I speak with the King’s voice. All that matters now is the crown’s will. Now, we will hear the petitions regarding House Velaryon.”

You try to ignore the knot in your stomach. Despite Otto’s words, you know they can't deny Luke. There's no way they could.

Vaemond Velaryon steps forward, his voice rising with pride as he speaks. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell, we were the last of our kind. Our forebears came to this new land knowing that failure would mean the end of their bloodlines. I have spent my life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s true blood—the unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Before he can continue, Rhaenyra cuts him off, her voice sharp as steel. “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you care so much about your house’s bloodline, you would not be so bold as to plant the rights of your nephews.”

Otto gives Rhaenyra a pointed look but says nothing, letting her speak. “You’ll have your chance, Princess Rhaenyra,” he says, almost too calmly.

Vaemond turns back to Rhaenyra, his eyes flashing. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house—not yours.”

You watch Luke, feeling your heart ache at the fear in his eyes. You squeeze Jace's hand, silently reassuring him, and he squeezes back, his grip tight. His anger is palpable, but he remains silent, his focus entirely on the confrontation.

Otto cuts through the tension. “Enough,” he says, his voice unyielding. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. Lord Vaemond, you may continue.”

Vaemond presses on, his voice dripping with pride. “I humbly put myself before you as the rightful successor to my brother’s seat.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his use of ‘humbly.’ You lean toward Jace, whispering, “He’s anything but humble.”

Jace nods in agreement, though his jaw is tight. He’s pissed, but doesn’t say a word.

Otto nods curtly. “Thank you, Lord Vaemond.”

“And now, Princess Rhaenyra, you may speak on behalf of your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra rises, poised, but before she can even speak, the doors to the throne room suddenly crash open. A collective gasp fills the room as the King himself, who was bedridden just days ago, stumbles into the court.

You’re stunned. The last time you saw him, he looked frail, sickly, a shadow of the man he once was. But now, he’s standing before everyone, barely holding onto the staff he’s leaning on. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, and the mask he wears only adds to his fragile appearance. He’s barely able to make it to the throne, and when he does, he stumbles, his crown slipping off.

Before anyone can react, Daemon rushes to his brother’s side, placing the crown back on his head with careful hands.

The room is still in shock. You feel your heart race as your father returns to his seat, taking his place beside you.

“I do not know why petitions are being heard over a settled succession,” the King says, his voice rough but commanding. “As to Lord Corlys’s wishes, those closest to me know my desires. Princess Rhaenys, you may speak for him on this matter.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her voice steady, unwavering. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through to his true-born son, To Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.”

A smile forms on your lips as the court falls silent, waiting for the next move. Your heart swells with a strange sense of relief. Rhaenys’s words are a confirmation of everything you’ve known to be true, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride for Luke.

Then Rhaenys drops a bombshell. “As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to my granddaughters, Y/n and Rhaena.”

Your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but grin, your face lighting up. You turn to look at Jace, whose smile mirrors your own.

But as you smile, something catches your eye—Aemond’s stare. It’s icy, piercing, like he’s trying to burn a hole through you. Your stomach drops as memories of the other night come rushing back. You force yourself to look away, not wanting to think about it any more than you have to.

Rhaenyra’s proposal is met with murmurs of agreement, and the King stands, his voice ringing out. “I hereby reaffirm Lucerys Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, and he shall take the Driftwood Throne as the next Lord of Tides.”

But then Vaemond steps forward again, his voice filled with fury. “You break centuries of tradition to install your daughters as heirs,” he says, shaking with rage. “You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?”

“I will not allow this!” he shouts. “Those are no true Velaryons! Those children—” He points at Luke and Jace. “—are no nephews of mine!”

You feel your heart stop for a moment, the words like a slap. You look at Luke, his face stricken with disbelief. But Jace’s anger is palpable.

Then, Vaemond’s fury explodes. “They are bastards!” he screams. “And she,” he points at Rhaenyra, “is a whore!”

The room goes silent. The King, who had been standing, suddenly moves forward. His voice is cold as he barks, “Bring me his tongue.”

In a heartbeat, your father is no longer beside you. You watch, almost detached, as Daemon swings his sword, and Vaemond’s head is severed from his body.

For a moment, the entire throne room is silent. Vaemond’s headless body sways before crumpling to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His head lands just feet away, his mouth still open, as if the words he never got to finish are frozen on his lips.

Daemon wipes his blade clean with an eerie calm, then steps over the corpse, glancing down at the severed head before smirking.

“He can keep his tongue.”

You watch it all unfold, completely detached from the scene before you. The reactions around you are sharp, visceral—gasps, shouts, the rustling of movement as the courtiers shrink back in horror.

Jace stiffens beside you, his hand still gripped tightly in yours. You feel the way his entire body tenses, his anger rolling off him in waves. But you feel nothing.

You don’t even process that Vaemond is dead. Not really. He was talking, and now he’s not. He was standing, and now he’s not. That’s all.

You didn’t like him anyway.

Your gaze drifts downward, lingering on the severed head for a moment. It doesn’t seem real. It’s just… there. Detached from the body that once carried it.

Then something makes you look up.

Across the throne room, beyond the sea of stunned nobles and shaken courtiers, Aemond is staring at you.

His gaze is intense, locked onto you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no shock on his face, no horror. Just something dark. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels unnatural.

You swallow thickly, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. The weight of his stare, the way it feels like it’s reaching inside you, makes you dizzy. You grip the fabric of your dress, willing yourself to breathe.

Court is dismissed.

The King begins to cough, a wet, sickly sound that fills the throne room. He’s pale, weaker than before, and even Otto looks concerned as he moves to his side. People are murmuring, shifting, trying to recover from what they’ve just witnessed.

You press a hand to your stomach. “I feel sick.”

Jace turns to you, concerned. “Y/n, do you need—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off quickly. “I just— I just need a moment.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you say, a little too fast. You force a small smile, stepping back. “Stay with Luke. Stay with your mother. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

Jace hesitates, but eventually nods.

You turn and leave before anyone else can stop you, slipping out of the throne room, trying to push down the nausea clawing its way up your throat.

You don’t even hear him coming.

One moment, you’re walking toward your chambers, pulse still racing from the chaos in the throne room. The next, you’re slammed against the cold stone wall, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your head spins.

Before you can even process what’s happening, fingers curl around your arms, tight, unyielding.

Your vision clears just enough to see who it is.

Aemond.

Your stomach drops.

He’s close, his grip like iron, his breathing uneven. And his eye—gods, his eye—burns into you with a fury so raw, so blistering, it sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You’ve never seen him like this.

“What the fuck—” you choke out, trying to push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“How long?” he hisses, voice razor-sharp.

You blink. “What?”

His fingers dig into your skin. “How long have you been lying to me?”

Your mind reels, scrambling for some understanding, some explanation for why he’s doing this. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—”

“You said you weren’t getting married.” His voice is lethal, low and vibrating with barely contained rage. “You sat there, at dinner, and told me you had no prospects.” His grip tightens. “And yet, today, in court, you stood there and smiled as it was announced you’re to wed Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Your stomach twists violently.

Oh.

That’s what this is about.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “You’re angry because I’m betrothed to Jace?”

His jaw clenches. “I’m angry because you fucking lied to me.”

A cold, sharp silence stretches between you.

And then it clicks.

“You—” You exhale sharply, trying to steady your breath. “You figured it out… after the announcement.”

His eye darkens.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

It clicks into place—the way his gaze burned into you in the throne room, the tension radiating off him the moment your betrothal was spoken aloud. That was when he pieced it together. When he realized that night, you had been sneaking away from Jace’s chambers.

“That’s why you’re so mad,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

Aemond exhales harshly, his grip twitching. “I saw you,” he says, voice sharp, brittle. “You were coming from his chambers. And yet you stood there, looked me in the fucking eye, and told me there was nothing.”

“There was nothing,” you snap, though you’re not even sure why you feel the need to defend yourself.

His lips curl into something bitter. “Really? And I’m supposed to believe that, when you went from sneaking around in the night to standing at his side today like you fucking belong there?”

You glare at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s not your concern who I marry.”

His fingers twitch again.

And then, suddenly, he shifts.

Before you can react, his hand moves from your arm to your face, fingers pressing into your jaw, tilting your head up—forcing you to meet his eye.

Your breath catches.

For a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Your body tenses, heart hammering against your ribs as his grip tightens just enough to make it clear that he’s in control—that you aren’t moving unless he allows it. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and your stomach twists with something you don’t understand, something that makes you want to shove him away and pull him closer all at once.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his expression hardens, and with a sharp exhale, he shoves you back against the wall, his fingers finally releasing you.

You stumble slightly, breath uneven, head spinning.

Aemond steps back, his face unreadable.

“Bisa isnt toliot byka zaldrīzes” (this isnt over little dragon) he murmurs, voice rough with something you can’t quite place.

And then he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving you breathless, shaken, and burning with something you can’t begin to name.

The door to your chambers slams behind you, the heavy wood muffling the noise of the castle, but doing nothing to quiet the storm within your chest. Your breaths come fast, shallow—your heart racing as if trying to break free of your ribcage. You press your back to the door, trembling fingers clutching at your sides as you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s voice still echoes in your ears, his grip still sears your skin. And beneath the fear, the anger, the guilt—there’s something else. Something you don’t want to name. Something that makes your stomach twist and burn.

You clutch at your chest as though you can physically tear the feeling out of you. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. The walls are closing in.

Get out. You need to get out.

Your hands shake as you hastily pull on your riding leathers, the familiarity of the worn fabric grounding you, if only for a moment. You shove open the door and make your way toward the dragonpit, each step stiff and hurried, as if trying to outrun your own thoughts. By the time you reach the entrance, you’re still trembling, your heart still racing.

"Silverwing," you say, voice tight as you speak to the dragonkeepers. "Ready her for flight. Now."

They nod quickly and move to obey, but before you can retreat further into your thoughts, a familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Where are you running off to in such a hurry?" Daemon’s tone is light, but his eyes are sharp—too sharp.

Your father steps out from the shadows, his gaze sweeping over you with the scrutiny of a man who misses nothing. You freeze, trying to summon calm, but you know it’s already too late. He knows you too well.

"Just needed some air," you mutter, keeping your gaze averted.

"Air?" He arches a brow. "You fled the throne room like you were being chased by the Stranger himself. That wasn’t about Vaemond, was it? You’ve seen worse than that."

You swallow hard, but your throat is tight. You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... I hate this place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home."

There’s a long pause before he steps closer, his voice dropping to something softer. "Look at me."

You do—reluctantly—and you see the concern in his eyes, the warmth beneath his cool exterior. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, and before you can stop yourself, you lean into him, arms wrapping around his middle. His hand rests gently on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

"I know," he murmurs. "I hate it here too. This place is full of vipers and fools. But we only have to endure one more night. Then we’ll go home."

You nod against his chest, but the tears won’t stop. One slips free, trailing down your cheek. You try to wipe it away, but his thumb is faster, catching it before it falls.

He tilts your chin up, his touch gentle, though his eyes glimmer with that familiar steel. "You are a dragon, my little dragon. And dragons do not cry. Not over matters such as these. Tears are for those who are weak of spirit. You are not weak. You are of my blood."

You blink up at him, his words settling deep in your chest—both a comfort and a command. You nod again, this time with more resolve, though your eyes are still glassy.

"Come," he says, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder before letting go. "I was going to fly with Caraxes anyway. Let’s go together. Clear your head."

The offer surprises you, but you don’t hesitate to accept it. He knows you need this. He always knows.

Together, you mount your dragons, the familiar rush of wind and cold air hitting your face as you ascend into the sky. The world below becomes distant, the tension in your chest loosening with every beat of Silverwing’s wings. You glance over at your father, flying beside you on Caraxes, his expression relaxed for the first time in days.

Up here, you are free. Up here, you can breathe.

And for the first time since you arrived at King’s Landing, you feel like yourself again.

The Kingswood welcomes you with open arms, its ancient trees standing sentinel over a clearing that seems untouched by time. A gentle river winds its way through the heart of it, the water glinting like liquid silver beneath the sun's soft gaze. The air smells of pine and damp earth, and a breeze carries the rustling whispers of the forest.

Silverwing and Caraxes land with grace, their talons sinking into the soft soil. The dragons linger only briefly, exchanging a glance before taking to the skies again. Their sinuous forms twist and coil in the air, playing or perhaps dancing—a rare display of something so close to joy. You watch them for a moment, finding a strange comfort in their freedom.

You dismount, your boots meeting the ground with a soft thud. Daemon joins you, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the ease of a man who has spent his life both embracing and defying the wild. Together, you move toward the riverbank, settling beside the gentle stream.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are the water’s hushed song and the distant calls of your dragons above. You lean your head on your father’s shoulder, his warmth grounding you as the weight in your chest begins to ease.

He is the first to break the silence.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Your eyes stay on the water. “Everything,” you whisper. “Everything is wrong. My whole world is wrong.”

Daemon tilts his head slightly, his silver hair catching the light. His voice is softer than most would expect from him. “You’ve never been one to speak in riddles, my little dragon. Tell me plainly.”

Tears well up, but you blink them away. He notices, of course—he always notices. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb gently beneath your eye. “Dragons do not shed tears over little matters, my little dragon. We are made of fire. Fire does not weep.”

Your lips twitch, but it is not quite a smile. “I know.”

He gives you a moment before pressing further. “Did someone hurt you?”

You hesitate. It is such a father’s question—protective, direct. For a brief second, you consider saying yes. You can see it so clearly: your father storming back to the Keep, his sword in hand, ready to spill blood without hesitation. But the thought passes as quickly as it had come.

“No,” you say quietly. “Not… physically.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Good.” He pauses, then, with a knowing look: “Would this have anything to do with a certain one-eyed prince who could not keep his eye off you today?”

You freeze. Your entire body stiffens, and that is all the answer he needs.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “That.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Daemon leans back against a tree, his gaze steady and calculating. “I won’t ask what happened,” he says. “But whatever it is—it needs to stop. He is dangerous. And he is a Green.” His voice lowers, rough with disdain. “You know what I think of their lot.”

You nod, but your mind is tangled. You want to say it isn’t like that—not exactly. But you can’t find the words.

Daemon sighs. “I cannot help you if you don’t speak to me.”

Your voice cracks. “It’s not that simple.”

He gives you a long look. “It never is.”

You exhale, your eyes on the water. “There’s… something there. And it frightens me. He frightens me. But it’s more than that. He makes me feel something and I hate it. I don’t understand it.”

Daemon’s expression darkens briefly before softening into something that resembles understanding. He had been young once. He had known desire, confusion, and the dangerous blend of both.

“You love Jace,” he states.

“I do. I’ve loved him my whole life.”

“But something has shifted between you.”

You flinch but nod.

Daemon is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You are not the first Targaryen to find their desires pulling them in opposite directions. Marriage is duty. But desire… desire is something else. What matters is how you wield it.”

You look up at him, unsure. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying this: If you do not love Jace in that way, there is no shame in that. You will marry him because it is expected. That does not mean your entire life must be bound to him. Targaryens have always kept their secrets, and you are entitled to yours. But Aemond Targaryen cannot be one of them.”

You swallow. “Why?”

His eyes narrow. “Because he will destroy you. Men like him—men like me—we do not let go of what we want. And we do not handle rejection well. You are playing with wildfire, my little dragon. And you are too precious to burn.”

Tears threaten again. “I just want to go home. I hate this place.”

Daemon wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in. “One more night. Then we go home.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in—the scent of smoke, leather, and something uniquely him. It steadies you.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You are my little dragon. You always will be. And no matter what happens—whatever choices you make—you will always have me.”

You nod into his shoulder.

After a while, he stands. "Come. We should head back to the Red Keep. We'll fly over the Kingswood on our way."

You manage a smile—small, but real. “Race you?”

Daemon smirks. “You’ll lose.”

You both take to the skies, the cold air biting at your face, but it doesn’t matter. Up there, above the world, you can breathe again. You love flying—you always have. And with your father beside you, you feel safe.

That evening, dread coils in your stomach as you prepare for dinner. You spend the day in your chambers, reading a book on High Valyria that you found on your bedside table. You are certain you left it in the library, and someone has clearly been reading it—pages marked, passages underlined. The thought unsettles you, but you push it aside.

Dressed in Targaryen red with gold and black accents, your gown is off the shoulder, pushing your chest up slightly—modest by your standards but likely scandalous to the Queen. You wear your hair down, braided back in places, with a delicate gold chain across your forehead. As a knight escorts you to dinner, you remind yourself: one more night, then home.

The dining hall is heavy with tension as you enter. You offer a polite hello to everyone, your eyes briefly meeting Daemon’s. He gives you a small, knowing look—it comforts you more than you’d like to admit.

You sit beside Jace. He leans in. “Are you feeling better?”

You smile. “Yeah, I think I was just a little sick earlier. I’m fine now.”

“Good,” he says softly.

But you feel eyes on you—Aemond’s gaze, sharp and unrelenting. You refuse to look at him, keeping your focus on Jace.

The King is carried in. Everyone stands until he is seated. The King’s voice is weak but hopeful. “How good it is to see you all together.”

Alicent offers a prayer; you and your family endure it, exchanging glances. Daemon smirks, and you stifle a laugh.

The King toasts your betrothal to Jace. You squeeze his hand, finding comfort there, despite everything.

The dining hall is heavy with tension the moment you step inside. The long table is set with gold-trimmed plates and goblets of rich red wine. Candles flicker along the length of the table, their soft glow doing little to warm the atmosphere. You offer a polite, measured greeting to the room. “Good evening,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach.

Your father, Daemon, sits at the head of the table, his gaze meeting yours briefly. There is an unspoken understanding in his eyes—a silent exchange that eases you, even if only slightly. You glance over and see Jace. He stands as you approach, concern written on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice soft, careful.

You nod. “Yes, I think I was just a little sick earlier, but I feel fine now.”

He exhales in relief. “Good. I was worried.”

Before you can respond, you feel it—the weight of a gaze. Aemond. His eye is on you, burning, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You keep your attention on Jace, your fingers brushing his briefly as you both take your seats.

Soon, the King is brought in, carried upon his chair, his body frail and sunken into the cushions. Everyone rises. You stand with the rest, watching as Viserys is lowered into place at the center of the table. Alicent sits to his left, Rhaenyra to his right. At Daemon’s side is Rhaena, then Lucerys, Baela, you, and Jace. Opposite, Aemond presides over the other end, with Aegon and Helaena beside him. Otto Hightower sits close to Alicent, his calculating eyes ever watchful.

Once the King is settled, the room lowers back into their chairs. Silence blankets the hall, so thick it nearly chokes you. Viserys begins to wheeze, his labored breathing cutting through the quiet. You can barely stand to look at him—he appears as though the very act of sitting upright is agony.

“It is good to see you all tonight, together,” the King finally manages, his voice weak but determined.

Alicent glances at him with concern before speaking. “A prayer before we begin,” she suggests softly.

Viserys nods, and the Queen lowers her head. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Ser Vaemond Velaryon—may the Gods give him rest.”

You struggle to keep your expression neutral. The words feel hollow, almost ridiculous. You chance a glance across the table at your father. His lips twitch with barely concealed amusement, and you mirror his smirk, the brief moment of shared irreverence lightening your heart.

When the prayer concludes, Viserys raises his goblet with a trembling hand. “This is an occasion for celebration. It seems my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Y/n and Rhaena… strengthening the bond between our houses.”

You look to Jace, and he to you. He squeezes your hand under the table, a gentle affirmation. You smile at each other, the brief warmth between you a rare comfort.

Daemon raises his cup. “Here, here.”

Others follow, lifting their glasses. You sip your wine, though the sensation of Aemond’s gaze continues to burn into you. You do not look his way.

As the cups lower, Aegon leans toward Jace, his voice low but not so low that you cannot hear. “Well done, Jace. You finally get to lie with a woman.”

Jace stiffens, his jaw clenching as he sets his goblet down with an audible clink. Your eyes narrow, shooting Aegon a glare sharp enough to pierce armor. He meets your gaze with a lazy smirk, clearly amused by his own crudeness.

Viserys speaks again, his voice strained but resolute. “Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Here, here,” you echo, raising your glass once more.

Rhaena smiles at Luke, offering gentle encouragement. “You will be great.”

The tension simmers beneath the surface, but for this fleeting moment, there is unity—however fragile.

You sit beside Jace, your hand resting lightly on his leg, trying to soothe the anger still simmering from Aegon's earlier taunts.

Aegon leans in once more, voice low and slurred. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? Or is my dear nephew still in need of a tutor?” He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jace stiffens beside you, his grip tightening on his goblet. You sense the fury bubbling beneath his composed exterior. Before he can react, you give his leg a firm squeeze, a silent plea for restraint.

You turn your gaze to Aegon with a forced smile, voice laced with subtle sarcasm. “Oh, is that your way of asking if Jace knows what to do? How thoughtful, my prince. We all appreciate your concern for our marital success.”

Aegon blinks, caught off guard by your tone. He huffs a laugh but looks away, momentarily subdued.

Jace seizes the opportunity. “You may play the jester if you wish, Aegon, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon eyes him with a lazy smirk, unimpressed. “Oh, very serious,” he mutters, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to his wine.

The King shifts in his seat, struggling to stand with his cane. Conversation halts as all eyes turn toward him. With effort, he begins to speak. “It gladdens me… to see you all together.” His voice is frail, wheezing, and his face, half-masked in gold, appears more ghastly than ever. When he removes the mask, revealing the decayed side of his face, you suppress a shudder.

“You are all dear to me,” the King continues. “I wish you to see yourselves as I see you—as one family. United.”

Rhaenyra rises, goblet in hand. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

You exchange a glance with your father across the table, both suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. The tension between your families cannot be so easily soothed with pretty words. Still, you sip your wine dutifully.

Alicent stands, visibly moved. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Polite applause follows. You join in but feel detached from the moment. You are merely playing your part.

Wine flows freely, and music swells in the background. For a brief while, the atmosphere lightens. But then Aegon stands again, his third cup drained. He moves toward the wine pitcher but pauses by your side, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

“I regret to disappoint, but you are to soon suffer. However… if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you need do is ask.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but anger. Jace catches the murmur and is on his feet before you can stop him, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The room falls into an uneasy silence as eyes snap toward you.

Aegon smirks, sauntering back to his seat as though nothing had happened. Jace exhales sharply, swallowing his anger, and raises his goblet. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. I hope we may be friends and allies. Good health, dear uncles.”

You grasp his hand beneath the table, squeezing it gently. He looks at you and exhales, his smile small but genuine. The moment is not perfect, but you are proud of him.

Unexpectedly, Helaena stands, her voice soft but clear. “To Y/n and Rhaena. They will be married soon… It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Laughter ripples across the table, though Aegon turns crimson with humiliation. You raise your cup. “Thank you, dear cousin. Here, here.”

Otto Hightower claps along with you, though his eyes narrow at his grandson’s shame.

As the music resumes, Aemond breaks his silence, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “It is rare to see you smile, cousin. I was beginning to think you found none of our company agreeable.”

You meet his gaze, steeling yourself. “I smile when I have reason to.”

Baela chimes in, her tone sharp. “And it seems tonight offers plenty of reasons, unlike some of our past gatherings.”

Aemond’s eye narrows, but you sense his amusement. “Perhaps the future holds more agreeable company then.”

Jace interjects, unable to hold his tongue. “If you are referring to yourself, cousin, I would not count on it.”

Aemond smirks. “Careful, Jace. We would not want you to lose your composure. You would not wish to follow in your father’s footsteps in that regard.”

You sense Jace bristle beside you. "And you would not wish to stumble and lose more than just an eye, cousin," he snaps back.

The tension is thick, but you speak up before it can escalate further. “Enough. Let us not ruin the King’s table with petty quarrels.”

Aemond tilts his head, considering you. “As you wish, cousin.”

The conversation shifts, drifting to less dangerous topics, but the undercurrent remains. You exchange brief, knowing looks with Jace, Baela, and Rhaena throughout the evening—silent assurances that you stand together. Whatever the future holds, you will face it united.

For now, you endure.

With the music starting to play, everyone’s mood begins to lighten. Jace looks to you, giving your hand a quick kiss, and says, “Excuse me,” which confuses you. He gets out of his seat and goes over to ask Helaena if she would like to dance, to which she agrees. They start dancing, and Aegon looks put off, his expression clearly reading, “What the fuck?” Aemond doesn’t look any happier.

You don’t care much, though—you’re just happy to see Helaena having a good time. You hold her dear to your heart, and seeing her smile warms you. You’re watching them dance when you suddenly see Aemond get up. “What the hell is he doing?” you think. He walks straight up to you, extending his hand. Your heart drops. “Fuck my life,” you think, but you know that refusing him would cause a scene. So, you take his hand.

As you rise, you shoot a pleading look to your father across the table. Daemon meets your gaze, his eyes full of knowing amusement. He can tell you want out of this, but he only gives you a small smirk. Jace notices as well, his expression shifting to one of concern as he catches your eyes while you move toward the dance floor.

Aemond’s grip is iron-like as he leads you into the dance. He holds you tight—too tight—pulling you close. It’s almost improper, the way his hand lingers on your waist and the way your bodies brush together.

“You seemed quite comfortable in his company,” Aemond says, his tone low and sharp.

“I wasn’t aware you were keeping such close tabs on me,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “I keep my eyes on what’s mine.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not yours,” you say firmly.

Aemond leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusion suits you.”

He laughs under his breath, clearly enjoying your resistance. “You’ll come around, Byka zaldrīzes. You’ll see.”

“You wish,” you snap.

The song ends, and you pull away quickly, but not before Aemond leans in one final time, whispering into your ear, “When you tire of boys who barely know what to do with you, you’ll know where to find me.”

Your cheeks flush red with anger and embarrassment as you return to your seat. Jace notices immediately.

“What did he say?” Jace asks, his voice low with concern.

“Nothing,” you mutter, though your face betrays you.

Dinner continues with laughter, wine, and conversation—until Viserys begins to groan in pain. The mood shifts. The king is taken away, his condition clearly worsening. Everyone stands, unsure of what to do.

As the servants bring out a roasted pig, it is placed in front of Aemond. Luke can’t help but stifle a giggle, recalling the childhood prank involving the Pink Dread. Aemond slams his fist onto the table, causing the room to fall silent.

“A final tribute,” he says, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

Your heart stops. The word hangs in the air like a curse. You know what he’s implying.

Jace rises in anger. “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond feigns innocence. “Why? It was only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Luke stands, as does Aegon, ready to escalate the fight. Jace throws a punch, landing squarely on Aemond’s jaw. Chaos erupts.

You start to rise to defend Jace and Luke, but before you can intervene, Daemon is there. He grips your arm gently but firmly, pulling you back.

“Stay out of it,” he mutters.

“They can’t just—” you begin to protest, but he leans in close to your ear.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Go to bed, little dragon.”

You freeze. The nickname and his tone are laced with both affection and authority. You glance over his shoulder and see Aemond staring at you with that same intense gaze. Daemon notices this too, and his smirk returns. The tension between them is palpable—a silent challenge—but while Aemond seems to take it seriously, your father remains cool, amused even.

Jace, now at your side, grabs your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

You hesitate for a moment, but Daemon gives you a knowing look. You nod and follow Jace, leaving the chaos of the dining hall behind. As you walk away, you hear Alicent’s voice raised in anger, scolding Aemond. The night ends with the echoes of clashing tempers and unspoken threats lingering in your mind.

[antoncyng]

౨ৎ. save my heart — l.mk

synopsis - while your bestfriend saved the city as the friendly neighborhood “spider-man”, he also gets caught up in saving your heart from a lost love.

warning(s) - fluff, slightly angst..? happy ending tho, kissing, spiderman!mark x fem!reader, slightly suggestive towards the end?, mentions of injuries and blood, bestfriends to lovers.

word count - 0.7k (731)

another night studying, calming music from your favorite group currently, TWS. the studying was seriously starting to get to your head, you felt it pounding as your rubbed your forehead, finally putting down your pencil for a break after hours and hours, then you heard it.

knock, knock, knock

you knew who and what it was just by the rhythm of knocks, it was your bestfriend, mark lee. other than your bestfriend, mark was also a well known superhero in your city, as well as around the world. his story about being bitten by a radioactive spider went viral, turning him into the friendly neighborhood spiderman.

you've made a realization over the years that you had gained feelings for your bestfriend, but having to push away your feelings for the sake of friendship and trust wasn't easy. ever since you made realization of these feelings, it hurt and left you with a heavy heart every time he talked about his past and previous crushes.

"yn she's so pretty, what am I gonna do?!"

“i asked her to eat lunch with me today! i might confess soon..”

“from a girl’s perspective, do you think gwen likes me?”

gwen this, gwen that.

"I don't think gwen likes me back.. she said I was like a brother to her when she was talking to hyuck.." was all he could choke out before leaning in and crying into your shoulder, feeling the fabric of your shirt get heavy from his tears over another girl, that wasn't you.

✦.

you heard muffled grunts and groans coming from mark outside your window, rushing to it to open it for him and help him inside, noticing how he stumbles and limps into your room. pulling his mask off his face as he sits on the floor with his back against your mattress and bed frame, laying his head back while sweats drips from his forehead and he’s hissing in pain with every contact that’s made with the fresh wounds on his body.

observing his body in his suit, you noticed scratches that went through his suit, they seemed deep but not enough to have any serious injuries. shocked, you sat there, too scared to touch him in such a vulnerable state, you’ve dealt with marks small scratches and bruises a few days after his “villain” fights, but you’ve never had to deal with fresh wounds like these.

“are you gonna sit and stare or help me out here?” he said with a sarcastic tone and a slight laugh, only to be cut off by a hiss and groan of pain. that was your signal to jog towards the kitchen and get your emergency medkit, bringing it back to mark and taking out everything you would need to help him heal his open wounds.

“u-uh.. mark..?” you said quietly after making a realization, and what you got was a curious hum in response, knowing he was in too much pain to respond to your sudden concern. "you're gonna have to.. take your shirt off.. only for me to help you!" darkness was all you could see when you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment after rushing out your sentence, only to hear a chuckle with a hint of pain coming from mark.

“you can open your eyes, you know.” you heard before peaking one eye open, only to be met with a shirtless mark and a heated blushing face. you hesitated, but started to help the boy with his cuts and bruises, blushing harder everytime you looked up and made eye contact, not knowing he was staring at you and only you the whole time you were healing him.

after many whines and hisses of pain, all bandaids and ointments were over. “thank you yn.. sometimes i think, i genuinely don’t know what i would do without you, you know? you’ve been there for me forever and for everything, even when i was sad because my mom couldn’t buy me ice cream when we were like.. 6, you shared yours with me! i feel like i would be so hopel-“ but he was cut off by your lips on his, you don’t know what got into you, but hearing him ramble on and on just pulled you in. but what you didn’t expect, was for him to kiss back so quickly.

the butterfly feeling in your stomach increased when you felt his fabric covered fingers make contact with the skin of your hips, closing the gap between your bodies. the two of you pulled away after realizing you both needed to breathe, looking at each other like you’ve been waiting a whole lifetime for this moment. snapping back into reality, you started blushing and attempted to look away, only to be brought back by mark’s index and thumb gently gripping your chin.

“don’t look away now, you meant that kiss right? because i know i did.” he said, looking for any sign of uncomfort or sarcasm in your eyes, but all he found was adoration. “of course i did..” was all you could mumble back, mark felt a weight lift off his shoulders before leaning in and resting his forehead against yours.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to save my heart, just like you save the city.

antoncyng ‘24 — PLEASE DO NOT STEAL OR COPY!

nini’s note — sorry the ending might be kinda rough.. i’ve had this in my drafts for a little while and have been dreading to finish it until today.. 🥲🥲

[tacticaldiary]

Heyyy just wanted to ask if maybe you could write a ghost x reader with fluff and comfort maybe where the reader comforts ghost after he has a nightmare

Night Terrors

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

It's a bad idea to touch a soldier in the midst of the haze of panic, but even between the haze, Ghost knows to associate her touch with a soothing calm.

"Simon." She says calmly, gritting her teeth as his hands tighten around her wrists. "Simon, you're safe."

His eyes clear, the iron-clad panic slowly fading as he comes to his senses

Masterlist

The person in the mirror stares back at her, clean and freshly showered. Droplets of water drip from her hair onto her neck, her eyes following the trail towards the bandages wrapped tightly across the expanse of her right shoulder all the way across her upper shoulder.

They hide stitches. Fifteen on them in a neat row earned after taking two bullets to the shoulder whilst on their last mission. The soft cotton of her shirt slips over her, hiding the itchy bindings out of sight.

Three short raps on the door startle her out of her thoughts.

"You alright in there?" Simon's gruff voice flows through the wooden door separating them.

"Fine." She says after a moment. It's not far from the truth. Physically, aside from the ache in her shoulder she really is fine.

She full well knows that her life isn't assured with what she's chosen to dedicate her life to. It didn't bother her most days, she knew the risks and loved her job. She loved her task force, loved her boys, loved the good she does for the world even if it meant getting her hands dirty.

She loved Simon.

It's something about the sombre stillness after the heat of going headfirst into a gunfight, the silence after the storm that still seems to be swirling in her mind, the ringing of gunshots echoing in her ears, and the scent of gunpowder and blood lingering on her skin.

Pulling the door open she's faced with her boyfriend, a furrow in his brow as he looks over her. It's rare to see him without his mask, but right now he bares himself to her fully, the strong line of his jaw and the dirty blonde hair dishevelled.

The exhaustion in his eyes mirrors her own.

This was why they were here on leave. She had been put on a month of medical leave for her shoulder to heal up, and Simon had silently followed her back to their apartment.

A burst of warmth had cut through the grey cloud hanging over her shoulder when he'd shown up on the helipad with his own luggage, ready to follow her back. They'd gotten here this morning, and even though she'd fallen asleep against him on the way here she still felt the persistent tiredness nagging at her to close her eyes and rest.

"Your shoulder?" He trails off, gaze flickering to the hidden bandages.

"They're fine, Simon." She assures him, offering him a tired smile. Grabbing his hand, she squeezes affectionately and leads him to the bed nearby. "Just tired, y'know? Getting shot takes a lot out of a girl."

"You're not funny." He deadpans, allowing himself one last look at her.

The warm covers are comfortable, the mattress much easier to sink into than the cold hard ground the team had been camping out in. You get used to it, but coming back to something other people consider normal knowing that it could have been normal to you too is strange.

"Wasn't trying to be." She yawns, letting out a long, slow exhale when Simon wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. Legs tangle together, her head on his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady. All of it slowly takes the tension out of her shoulders until she's loose and soft against him, breathing deeply.

His hands brush gently over her wound, making her shiver.

"You shouldn't have gotten hurt today." He says quietly into the air. Simon's not sure if she's awake or not, but the words fester inside him like a poison he can't expel, they push themselves out of him without his permission.

"We were on opposite ends of the building." He feels her lips move against his chest, her breath fanning over his skin. "It's not your fault." She whispers.

He hums, not agreeing or disagreeing. She leaves it alone for now, too tired and on the brink of sleep to argue. Tomorrow she'd show him that he wasn't to blame, convince him the way she always managed to do.

But for now? The hand gently carding through her hair knocks her unconscious almost instantly.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

An instinctive intuition honed from years as a soldier is the only thing that makes her eyes flutter open halfway through the night. Tangled in the sheets, she frowns, a nagging feeling of wrongness tugging at her mind.

She had rolled over in the night, pried herself away from Simon at some point instead opting to sleep soundly on her stomach.

A small noise, almost indistinguishable over the creak of the bed as she moves.

"Simon?" She mumbles, sitting up slowly. The lack of reply makes snaps her to attention. Reaching blindly to her side, the lamp on her nightstand is clicked on. The light washing over the room makes her squint but when she finally cracks an eye open, her stomach drops.

"Simon!" Eyes widening, she throws the blanket off, kneeling down next to him on the bed.

There's a thin sheen of sweat over his face. Jaw clenched hard, his body is wound tight like a spring. Silent. He's silent aside from the heavy exhales that leave him and the slight tremble of his body.

Asleep. He's still asleep, she realises with a start. His head moves slightly side to side, as if trying to shake something off. This was...new to her.

Simon was someone unshakable in her eyes. Yes, he'd gifted her with more vulnerability than he'd ever shown anyone, but that did not change his image in her mind.

This...this was all wrong. He looked almost small.

Looking back, this was the worst thing she could have done but still half asleep and frazzled her first instinct is to reach out, to touch and comfort and assure.

Her hand lands on his shoulder, shaking gently as she leans down to call out his name. "Wake up!"

It works.

His eyes snap open with a strangled gasp that catches in his throat. Panic-glazed eyes latch onto her and before she can blink or speak, she's pushed roughly down, flipped onto her back.

Stifling a cry as her injured shoulder jostles painfully, the grip he has on her wrists pinned over her head is uncomfortably tight. She's strong, but with him straddling her, bearing down his weight to pin her in place it's a little hard to breathe.

"Hey-" She gasps when his grip tightens. His breath fans over her face, hot and harsh as he stares down at her hackles raised.

He was awake, but he wasn't seeing her. He was still stuck in whatever nightmare had been plaguing his mind.

Taking in as deep of a breath as she could, she tries again, smoothing her voice to be as gentle and steady as possible.

Simon wouldn't hurt her, she knows that deep down even his subconscious wouldn't do her any true harm. He was just jarred right now, merely on edge and acting on instinct.

"It's me. Just me, see?" She says calmly, gritting her teeth as he presses her harder against the bed. "Simon, you're safe. It's alright, I promise."

Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes clear, the iron-clad panic slowly fading as he comes to his senses. She watches him come back in real time, sees him blink and register his surroundings properly.

When his eyes land on hers this time, they're wide and seeing.

"Fuck." He breathes out sharply, immediately pulling himself off and away from her. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry." The distance between them grows as he stands.

It takes a second for her to respond while she catches her breath, drawing in the oxygen that was denied of her, calming her racing heart.

Silence wraps around them while they both come to terms with what just happened.

Simon runs a hand down his face, eyes raking over her to find any injuries, any sign of hurt. "Are you alright?" A hoarse voice dripping with blatant guilt.

"Are you?" She says, shifting to the edge of the bed, closer to him. "You were having a nightmare, I think."

He visibly clams up at that, tensing. It'd clearly happened before because surprise was not one of the emotions he held at the moment.

"Your shoulder." He says tightly, clearly upset and angry.

Confused, she look down and...oh. Oh.

Crimson stains her t-shirt, seeping into the fabric sluggishly. "Must have ripped my stitches." She mumbles. Now that it's been brought to her attention, the ache in her shoulder is sharper, most intense. Yeah, she definitely ripped them.

Simon curses under his breath, disappears into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit.

The atmosphere is tense.

"Off." He demands as he kneels in front of her on the ground, pulling out gauze and an antiseptic ointment. Obeying silently, mind still lingering on the image of his quiet, shaking form from before, she discards the shirt, letting it slip from her fingers onto the floor.

His fingers hesitate in touching the ruined blood soaked bandages, almost as if he's...he's afraid to touch her.

"it's alright." She says. "I shouldn't have touched you like that so suddenly-"

"And I shouldn't have ripped your fucking stitches." He snaps back, pulling away immediately. Dropping his head into his hands he takes a deep breath, willing his anger away. He's not upset at her, never at her.

It's himself that he's pissed at.

With hands not entirely steady, he unwraps her shoulder, inspecting the damage. His stomach sours at the realisation that half the stitches were ripped, not unsalvageable but still damaged.

The silence stretches, heavy in the air as he goes through the motions mechanically, spreading the ointment over her wounds and rewrapping it. She doesn't know what to say. He was the one that needed help a second ago, but here she was now, being that one on the other end. She knows guilt weighs down on him, that he'd blame himself for this as well.

"Night terrors." He admits into the quiet, his sudden voice startling her.

"What?"

"They're night terrors." By the tight way he reveals the information, she guesses he's never spoken it aloud to anybody else before. "Had them ever since I was a lad."

"That's terrible." She frowns, catching his hand as it ties the last knot to secure her new binding. The ache fades slowly, more bearable than before. "Do you...have you had them while I'm around before?" The thought of her sleeping soundly while the man she loved suffered inches away from her made her feel sick, an iron band clenching her heart painfully.

His lack of response is enough of an answer.

"Fucking hell." She breathes, yanking him into a hug. "I'm sorry I never noticed."

"I didn't want you to." The answer is just as immediate as the arms that bands around her, pressing them together tightly.

"Tell me next time." She demands. At his silence, she pulls back. "I want you to wake me up when you have one. I'm serious." The fiery determination in her eyes warms his cold heart. "I don't give a shit if it's the ass crack of dawn, Simon. I want to help you. I want to give you the same comfort you give me." A soft hand cups his jaw, her thumb brushing over his cheeks slowly.

"You already do." His lips brush against the pulse point in her wrist as he kisses it. "I used to..." He falters, and so it's unlike him that it only makes her hurt more. "They used to be about...my past." He keeps it vague on purpose and she knows better than to press it and prod now, not when he's opening up on his own. "But now they're about you."

That, she had not been expecting.

"Me?" She echoes, confused.

A tight nod, his head dropping to press against her good shoulder. "You, love." He confirms. "Always you. You dying in my arms. Me watching from a distance unable to reach you as you get shot." He presses them together tighter as if taking solace in the heat of her body. "You dying at an order I told to you carry out. You get the gist of it." A dry, humourless bark of a laugh.

She swallows, taking in the information. "I'm not going anywhere." Gently carding her hand through his hair helps him relax. "I'm right here, okay?"

"I know." He breathes. "I know you are."

"I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

"You better not."

"Wake me next time." She pleads. "Let me make it better."

"Can't promise anything." He mumbles into her skin, pressing his lips against the crook of her neck. "I'll think about it."

She sighs, knows that he wouldn't crack so easily. The way to Simon's heart was slow and rocky and dangerous, but she'd gladly risk getting crushed in the landslide if it meant there was a sliver of a chance she'd reach her final destination.

He reaches the bandages on her shoulder, lips hovering over the rough fabric. She shivers as his breath fans over her. "You shouldn't have had to see that." He says quietly, before pressing a kiss to her injured shoulder, a gentle brush.

"I know." She matches his voice, tipping her head back. None of them deserved this. Simon didn't deserve it, she didn't deserve it, yet their line of work, who they were and their past, was inevitable.

Life didn't care about the 'should not's' just about the 'what is'.

For now, she allows him to hold her right there, his lips trailing up and down her neck in slow, sweet and silently apologetic kisses. He mumbles three words into her neck, words that make her smile and melt.

"I love you too." Tugging at his hair until he lifts his head, she brings their lips together sweetly one last time.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(18/07/2023)

[ragingbookdragon]

There’s not much to see in between the minute slits of the burlap sack thrown over her head, but she still strains to see anything and everything that she possibly can. The men holding onto her arms dig their fingers into her arm, a bruising grip that is in part her fault as continually digs her feet into the ground and struggles with something fierce. Ghost is behind her, can feel it, even if he hasn’t said a single word. She on the other hand hasn’t stopped spitting fire every chance she gets, venomous threats and cold warnings.

It’s only until she’s shoved down onto a seat, arms tied behind her back with her legs bound too that the hood is harshly yanked off and she shuts her eyes at the bright light above her, much like driving on the road at night and being blinded by powerful LEDs. As her vision clears, she sees the captors who’d managed to get the jump on her and in turn, capture Ghost as well, and he’s in the same position as she is, but there’s definitely more rope around him than there is her. She snarls at them when they come close, baring her teeth in a way that says, “touch me and lose a finger.”

“What do you want from us?” she gripes, voice devoid of any emotion but annoyance.

“Answers,” the leader asks. “You know where the resistance is hiding out.”

The second one crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell us where their headquarters are.”

She spits down at their feet. “Suck my dick.” A moment, a pause before a backhand sends her careening to the side, chair tipping slightly and she growls, turning back to face him with blood dripping down her split lip; she licks it, the wound stings but it burns in a way she likes. “Your dad hit me harder than that last night,” she cracks back, and the man grabs at her chin, hauling her upright until they’re nose to nose.

“I will make you scream in ways you’ve never imagined.”

“That’s what I told your mom before I—”

His other hand reaches for her combat vest, and she thrashes as he undoes it and yanks it open; he’s centimeters from the thin tank top she wears and only then does Ghost make a single noise, the scraping of a chair, fingers clenching white on the arm rest as he snarls, “Touch her and I’ll fucking smear the goddamn walls with you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking warning. One not to be ignored.

The man pauses, looks to the side, sees Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His breathing isn’t labored. It’s calm. Deadly calm. And the man, taking in the sunken nose of Ghost’s full-face mask, the raised skeletal plates, decides perhaps this isn’t a fight he really wants neither then nor later.

He lets her go and she sinks back into her chair, but Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the man even as he slinks behind his commander. The ropes at his wrists strain under Ghost’s flexing forearms and she hums low in her throat.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “Not here.”

This time Ghost eyes both of the enemy captors, and he answers, a barely-contained, seething rage in his chest and out of his throat, “I’ll fucking kill any bastard that touches what’s mine.” He snarls beneath the mask, and she feels it deep in her chest, the sound reverberating through her. “I’ll fucking rip your guts out through your back. Touch her again. I dare you.”

This time, even the commander shifts nervously on his feet, and he clears his throat in an exaggerated fashion to ease whatever fear is ebbing in his stomach as he turns to the second and says, “We’ll come back with more questions.”

“Don’t keep us waiting long,” she retorts, watching them leave and as the door shuts and locks, she reaches out, brushing her fingers against Ghost’s knuckle and all at once, he relaxes his grip. “Easy, Simon,” she calms, and he lets out a single deep breath.

“I don’t like people touching you.”

“You can’t kill everyone who does,” she jokes, and he looks over at her, his eyes glinting in the light, a solid ring of gold around a deep pit of a void; her throat dries up at the beastly hunger in them, but no fear is in her heart, in fact, quite the opposite.

“I’m the only one allowed to fucking touch you.” He looks down at the silver necklace on her chest. “You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”

She swallows thickly, the S dangling at the apex of her throat feeling like a branding, but it doesn’t hurt, she loves the burn, craves it, wants to drown in it—in him. “Yeah, Simon,” she breathes, heart pounding in her chest. “I’m all yours.”

[acourtofmarvels]

You Called

Rhysand x she/her POV

Warnings: Miscommunication :D

Word count: 2746

Rhysand watched as she danced under the starfall. Absolutely beautiful. The most beautiful female he'd ever layed eyes on.

She was his mate.

That word seems foreign in his head. 200 years old, he never thought he would ever find his mate.

She didn't know though. The bond hadn't set for her. At least thats what he thought. He'd known for about 20 years now. His brothers had some suspicion but he didn't tell anyone.

He tried for about 15 years to get the bond to set for her. He wanted it to come naturally and not be the one to tell her. It's not the right time, he thought. So he gave it a rest for now.

He couldn't be around her though, so he distanced himself for 5 years. Only approaching or speaking to her when needed.

Her POV

"Did I do something to Rhysand?" It was late at night, Starfall was over. I had drug Mor to stay with me in the House of Wind. Usually we would stay at the townhouse but I wasn't feeling entirely sure I was welcome.

"What do you mean?" Mor mumbled. She was very drunk and trying to sleep. I didn't drink much tonight, which was not normal for me. I always go all out for nights like this like but I had to much on my mind tonight. I couldn't even fully appreciate starfall.

I had a nice night, don't get me wrong. But the whole time I just had this aching pain in my chest I didn't understand. 

"He just seems different. He barely talks to me anymore. Barely even acknowledges me. I don't know what I did..." He can't possibly know. 

"Babe, just relax. It's probably nothing. He gets in moods sometimes." More voice was quiet. I know she was fighting sleep to talk to me. I shouldn't have had this conversation at a time like this.

"Some long ass mood..."

***

"Az! Please wake up! Open your eyes, Azriel." I shook his shoulders. We had been shot down from the sky. When he hit the ground he was knocked unconscious. Even with the ash arrow through my wing I was still able to land.

We had been on a mission for the past 2 weeks. We were flying home from Spring Court when multiple ash arrows started flying through the air. Azriel blocked most of them from me but I still got shot. I couldn't grab him in time before he hit the ground.

It was night time. I could barely see anything through the trees and the dark sky.

I could hear footsteps and voices getting closer. I must protect Azriel. I'm wounded but I won't go down without a fight.

I needed to get help. I covered Azriel's body with my own as I closed my eyes. Rhys. I wasn't sure if I could reach him from this far. Rhys I need you. What if he has me completely blocked out? Rhysand please, they're coming.

The footsteps were close. I pried myself off of Azriel, pulled my sword off my side and stood up straight. My body ached. I could feel the poison from the arrows weakening my body, making me sicker by the second.

I think I blacked out, fighting these people, whoever they were. I didn't stop, couldn't stop. My body was drenched in their blood, or maybe it was my own blood.

I was overpowered. Knife to my throat. This was it. This is where I die. I can't save Azriel. I can't save myself. Killed by men in masks.

"Cowards," I choked out, blood dripping from my mouth. "Show your faces."

"Illyrian scum." The one holding the dagger to my neck said viciously. "Don't worry. We'll send your wings to your High Lord. Then we'll take his when we-" his sentence was cut short by his head coming off his body.

I gasped as the dagger nicked my neck slightly. The rest of his men began screaming loudly, holding their heads as they all fell to their knees. Then, absolute silence. And they were all dead.

I turned around quickly, still on the ground to see who killed my attackers. I let out a sob as I saw his familiar, piercing violet eyes.

He was on his knees before me, taking hold of my face in his hands. He looked over at all my injuries.

"You came," my voice failed me. I was holding onto him for support. I knew I was about to lose consciousness from the ash poison and the loss of blood.

"You called. Of course I came. What happened?"

"Azriel, you have to take him. Take him home now, Rhys." I pleaded with him, tears I had been holding back began to roll down my face. "He's hurt. I couldn't wake him up. Take him, please."

Rhys whipped his head over to Azriel who was unconscious in his own puddle of blood. I was praying that he was just unconscious and not...

"I'll be back for you." Rhys placed a kiss on the top of my head before he picked Azriel up in his arms and winnowed away. 

He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be...

I'm not sure how long Rhys was gone. Minutes or seconds but I was growing tired. My body was failing on me. I was defeated. The poison was still in my system. I had to stay awake.

"Keep your eyes open," the order was from my High Lord. Not my Rhys. 

"I'm tired Rhys." He picked me up off the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck weakly. 

"You're gonna be okay sweetheart. We're home now. Just keep your eyes open." I could hear other voices around me. I could recognize Madja's voice. But I was only focused on Rhys. He set me down on a bed and began to walk away. 

"Please don't leave me." I held onto his hand tight. His promise that he would never leave me was the last thing I heard before I finally slipped into sleep. 

That's me. Why can I see myself sleeping? Is this a dream?

"She's okay, we've got her." I looked around the room, Madja was by my beside working her magic to heal me. 

"What the hell happened?" My line of vision went to Mor as she burst into the room. My heart was beating so fast, anger coursed through my veins. 

"Keep your voice down." That voice rang in my ear as if I just spoke. Rhysand. Rhysand spoke. Where was he? "They were attacked outside of Summer. They're okay."

I was looking at myself again. Aching sadness and guilt ran through me. No. No this wasn't me. This isn't what I'm feeling. I see myself through Rhysand's eyes. These are Rhy's emotions I feel.

His emotions were overwhelming. Everything he felt for me was maxed out to 100. He felt sick. Guilt was the most I could feel. Then sadness... Anger... Regret.

He felt guilty for not getting there sooner. For not being able to protect his brother and me. Sadness for the state we were both in. Anger for the men who hurt us. And regret for not making them suffer longer. 

Mor was talking to Cassian. I could hear their voices but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Rhys was tuning them out as he watched my sleeping figure on the bed. His thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. 

Theres something else here. I can feel it within him but... but I don't know what it is. 

I finally awoke hours later. That was such a weird dream. Or at least I thought it was a dream until I looked to my right and Rhysand was sitting beside me. His hand was still holding onto mine but he was fast asleep. 

He didn't leave. He stayed like I asked. He looked cold. I should give him my blanket. 

I barely moved a centimeter in my bed before Rhys woke up. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" He moved closer to me. He placed a hand on the side of my face gently as he looked me over. 

My whole body warmed to his touch upon my cheek. He was so close. 

I opened my mouth to speak but my mouth was far too dry. Rhys noticed immediately, using his magic to bring me a glass of water. "Here." His voice was so soft as he brought the glass to my lips so I could drink.

I was trying not to laugh at his protectiveness. I know he was worried, had been worried. But I'm alright now. I wanted to tease him but maybe I'll take this attention some more.

"I'm alright," I assured him. I took the glass from his hand and placed it on the nightstand after I took another sip. 

He kept looking me over. I was sore but I know my wounds have healed now. 

"You can go now, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer." I tried to remove my hand from his but his grip only tightened. 

"You could never bother me," he sounded hurt by the word I used. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Damn you heart. Don't flutter now. You can't do this.

I tried to slowly inhale and exhale out my nose, trying to calm my breathing. He can't know how I'm feeling. He can't know that I'm his mate. 

"Azriel, is he alright?" I tried to cover up my nervousness by thinking of something else. Why does he keep staring at me?

"Azriel will heal, it will just take longer for him. But he'll be back to himself in no time." 5 years. This was the longest conversation we had in 5 years. He pushed me away right after the bond snapped for me.

I honestly didn't know how to react after it. It was so unexpected. I had know Rhys for so long, he was my family and my best friend. Why did it take so long for this apparent bond to snap into place? Was the Cauldron playing a game with us?

I'd always had a little crush on him but always pushed it aside. Falling for my High Lord? It was embarrassing. Everyone in Velaris most likely had a crush on him. How could you not? Have you seen him?

He still hasn't let go of my damned hand. Gods, it felt like my hand was on fire. 

There was silence for so long. Rhys wasn't looking at me. He stared down at our conjoined hands. His brow furrowed as he was deep in thought.

"You seemed surprised when I arrived. Like you expected me not to come help you." He seemed angry.

My face heated up in embarrassment. "I-I just didn't think you would be able to hear me from so far away."

"No, that's not it. You expected me not to come to your aid. Why?" 

I was flustered. I hated he could read me so well. My shields were always in tact so I knew he wasn't in my head.

I tried to pull my hand away but his grip only tightened. "Let me go." He of course let go at my wish. 

"Why did you think I wouldn't help you?" His voice raised slightly.

He would keep pushing if I didn't give him an answer. He had no right to be mad at me. I should be mad at him. "Because you have been cold! Distant! Did you know this is the longest conversation we have had in nearly five years? I did expect you not to come. You hardly speak to me and when you do, you answer with one worded responses. You avoid me. Do you think I haven't noticed when you make some sorry ass excuse to leave when I enter the room? I don't know what I have done for you to dislike me so. So sorry for expecting you to not come to my aid when i ask of you."

I was furious. If my body wasn't so sore and tired I would have stormed out of the room dramatically. Now it's just awkward because he is sitting there not saying anything. Not denying it either.

"You think I dislike you?" His voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

"Why else would you ignore me?"

He looked like he wanted to say something else but he bit his tongue. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "You are not ready for that answer."

So he admits it. He has been pushing me away. Purposefully it seems. The answer 'I'm not ready for'. Asshole.

I hated myself for the tears that weld up in my eyes. My mate doesn't even want to be around me. 

"You don't get to decide what I can and cannot handle." I looked away from him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This isn't easy for me." Gods I wanted to punch him so bad.

"I have zero pity for you. Must be so hard pushing someone away who has done nothing but love you." I was already humiliated enough, why not put a cherry on top. Might as well tell him how I feel.

"No, no. Don't say that. You don't love me." He was pacing back and forth in front of my bed now.

"Of course I love you. I have loved you even before we-" I was the one who bit my tongue this time. 

His eyes bore into mine. "Before what?"

Can he really not feel it? This bond between us? I feel it in every bone in my body. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my wings.

"Before what?" He almost yelled.

"Before we were mates!" I yelled back at him. "There! I said it! Are you happy now? Get the fuck out!" I threw a pillow at him.

"How long have you known?"

"Get out, Rhys! I don't want to have this conversation right now." I threw another pillow at him. It was all I had around me. He caught it and threw it at the wall behind him.

"Goddamit it, Y/N! How long have you known?"

"5 years. 5 years of feeling this bond with someone who has given me the cold shoulder."

"15 fucking years I tried. I tried 15 years for the bond to set into place naturally for you and of course the second I stop trying... The moment I stopped putting myself through all that pain and decide to give you space it fucking clicks."

I think my heart stopped beating for a second. I was temped to reach my fingers to my neck and check my pulse to make sure I hadn't died.

"What?" I almost didn't even hear my own voice.

"I've known for 20 years that you're my mate and loved you for even longer before that. Guess the cauldron really wanted to fuck us over." He walked back over to the side of the bed and sat back down in his original spot. He let out a sigh of defeat. 

"How could you not tell me?" Tears rolled down my face. 

"You didn't tell me either..." I almost rolled my eyes. I had my reasons, I wanted to know his. He must have picked up that I wanted a legitimate answer. 

"I... Wanted you to love me, for me. Not because we were mates." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Rhys..." I pleaded him to look at me. "Rhysand." He lifted his head finally. "You're my best friend. I am lost without you. Sometimes I-I feel I cannot breathe without you. My heart beats for you," pushing through the pain I moved to the side of my bed. I grabbed his hand and placed it over my heart. "It has always beat for you."

"You are my everything," he replies, taking my own hand and placing it upon his heart as well. It felt as if our heart's were both beating erratically in sync. He leaned forward till our foreheads were pressed together. My eyes closed on instinct, the tears still rolled down my cheeks.

"I thought I lost you. I have never been more terrified in my entire life," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

"I am here." I pulled away only an inch. I placed my other hand on the side of his face, beckoning him to look my in the eyes. "I am not going anywhere."

"I love you with everything that I am. I cannot live without you. My heart calls your name." He wiped the tears from my face before pressing our lips together.

Acotar Masterlist

[theunholybastard]

Hey!! I have a new request. A fic where the ghouls dissappear to the den for a few days to deal with their cycles. Inhuman ghouls again. Copia has no idea where they all went and is worried about practice. Esencially, he walks in on them fucking each other...... 75% porn 25% plot. Thank you!!

Hey, Lovely! 👋 My apologies for the little wait, I've been busy cooking up some absolutely devious stuff for Kinktober 😈🙏 I hope this was worth the wait!

In Sync (Era 5 Ghouls x Papa Emeritus IV Smut)

Tags: Heat/Rut, Orgy, Overstimulation, Double Penetration, Face-Sitting, Biting/Scratching, Blood Kink, Voyeurism, Copia's a Pervert, Squirting, Cum-Eating, Knotting, Mention of Breeding

He didn't know how something like this could happen. I mean, obviously he knew it was possible, but seriously, what are the chances?

Whenever the Ghouls went through their heat cycles, it was usually just one or two experiencing it at a time. They would just be able to retreat to their den for the duration, and come out to rejoin society once it's over with. It's never caused any problems, even during tours Copia was able to find a different Ghoul to dawn a mask and act as a replacement for a few shows. But all of the Ghouls going into heat at the same time? He never could've predicted something like this.

The show was tonight. The Ghouls were expected at practice, and they were not there. Where the hell were they? Heat or not, Copia needed them. It's not like he could find fucking eight replacement Ghouls in such short notice. They can suck it up and control themselves for one night. The show must go on, right?

Copia knocks on the door to the Ghoul den. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still, no answer. They gotta be in here, right? He opens the door. That was a big mistake.

I suppose when you have a bunch of horny Ghouls in one room, it's bound to happen. It's not like they can control themselves in this state. All of Copias prized Ghouls; naked, bodies squished together to the point where you couldn't tell which body parts were which. The Ghouls are too caught up in their sexual deviancy to notice Copia, who stood in the doorway, frozen.

Swiss and Mountain were sharing Aurora, Mountain stuffed in her cunt while Swiss takes her ass. Sodo had Rain bent over, buried balls-deep inside of him, fucking into him rapidly. Meanwhile Phantom, Cirrus and Cumulus were together, Cirrus bouncing on Phantoms cock and Cumulus sat on his face. A cacophony of moans echoed throughout the room, along with the obscene sound of wet skin slapping.

Copia didn't know what to do. Should he say something, make his presence known? As if that would stop them. He almost wants to just stand there and watch, see how long it would take for one of them to notice, and how they would react once they did. Would they shoo him out? Would they keep going without a care? Would they invite him to join? Copia is ashamed to admit, a jolt of arousal shot through him at the thought.

Aurora was the loudest of them all, how could she not be when such a little thing like her was taking such big cocks? Her mouth hung open, drooling from how good they were fucking her, reaching deep within her to hit the spot each time. Mountain, who was typically gentle during his sexual endeavors, harshly yanks Aurora by her hair, pulling her in for a kiss. Sloppy, saliva dripping from the corners of both of their mouths, fangs and horns clashing violently together.

Sodo ferally bucks into Rain, snarling and clawing at the poor Ghoul underneath him. He bites the nape of Rains neck, piercing the skin and lapping up the blood leaking from the wound like a starved vampire. Rains hand is tucked underneath his waist, furiously jerking himself off. A puddle of cum is already formed on the floor below him, working towards what looks to be his third or fourth orgasm, sobbing and shaking unbridledly from the painful, stinging pleasure.

Phantoms whimpers are muffled from the curvaceous Ghoulette grinding on his face, incapable of doing anything other than desperately sucking and licking at her folds, like he needed her cum down his throat to live. Cirrus rode him feverishly, mewling as a particular slam of her hips causes the head of his dick to hit her g-spot directly. Cumulus has a tight hold on his wrists, spitting words of filth down at him as he suffocates on her cunt, rendering him completely and utterly at the mercy of the two.

Copia can't help but rub himself through his pants as he takes in the sight of it all. He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn't watch this, let alone pleasure himself to this, and he definitely knows this is just going to delay practice even further. I mean, it's not like he could stop them even if he tried, he might as well let them fuck it out, right? They should get it out of their systems now so they can be able to perform later; and surely it's for the best that he get it out of his system with them.

It isn't long before Copia grows more confident with his movements, gingerly extracting his cock from his pants and stroking it freely. He bites his lip to hold back his moans, trying to remain undetected, though a small part of him is itching to get caught. He watches as they pump load after load into each other, seed pouring from their holes.

Aurora screamed hoarsely as Swiss and Mountain came nearly in sync, flooding her womb and ass and stretching her with their knots. It's a wonder she didn't faint, Copia thought to himself. Soon after, its Sodo letting out a demonic roar as he finishes inside Rain, Rains cock weeping along with him. Lastly, Phantom reaches his orgasm with a full-body shudder. Cirrus takes it all with a smile, both her and Phantoms juices mixing together and dripping down his balls. The vibration of Phantoms groans against her clit sends Cumulus over the edge, her orgasm filling his mouth, drinking it all down hungrily.

The sight, the sound, the smell; it's all too much for Copia. All of them, skin glistening from being covered in sweat, spit, blood and cum. Successfully bred and knotted. Fuck. His orgasm hit him like a bus, sudden and unanticipated, spilling his seed with an embarrassingly loud gasp. Finally, the Ghouls take notice, all turning their heads towards the noise. Copias face grows red, eyes wide, petrified.

Just when he expected to be yelled at for disturbing their intimate moment, a deep chuckle comes from Swiss. A couple other Ghouls join in, not laughing at Copia, but rather the absurdity of the situation. It's Cumulus who speaks first, curling her finger towards him in a 'come hither' motion. "Wanna join, Papa?"

They didn't attend practice that day.

-

[prttylilbunny]

SPIDER!NATALIE

summery: your best friend is spiderwoman, but what happens when you fall in love with the crime fighting girl?

warnings: mentions of blood, tooth rotting fluff!!!!!

notes: nat needs a hug

you sat at your desk finishing up your homework for the week as you listened to music, from the corner of your eye you saw someone crouching by your window . the sight startled you, you heard and saw the shadow knock, you looked closer and saw someone in a spider woman's suit . you chuckled and got up from your seat, opening up the window . she climbed into your room, she was drenched in rain and dripping on your carpet 

 

'nat what the fuck! you scared me!' she chuckled and slid off her mask, 'sorry dude', she sat on your bed side table, 'don't call me dude I'm your best friend asshole' you crossed your arms . she gave you a fake pout, 'sorry my beautiful wonderful bestest friend' her sarcasm made you grin, you moved closer to her and saw a patch of blood on her suit

 

'holy fuck nat!' you rushed to her back and zipped her suit down, she hissed at the contact of the wound and air . she had a gash on her shoulder blade and a bruise on her spine, you grabbed a first aid kit from your bathroom and cleaned her wound up . she bit her lip as you wiped the blood from around the gash 

 

you placed a patch on top of the wound and helped her get her suit off, 'i have some clothes for you' she turned around and saw you had a pair of sweatpants and a simple black tee, she slid the pants on and sat in your bed, you helped her get her shirt on, trying to not worsen the would on her back . 'you good?' you whispered, she looked up at you with teary eyes and nodded, 'yeah' she whispered back

 

'why are you crying' you gently cupped her cheek, 'nothing, just, I've never had anyone take care of me like this' you stroked her face with your thumb, wiping her tears . 'i love you nat' you said as you laid her down, 'i love you too angel' you smiled and laid right next to her