#little bird: chapter 4 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acid-ixx · 10 days ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 month ago

Text

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 4

(Rafe Cameron x Reader, series, 6.6k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

additional chapter cw: suggestive language/acts, mature readers only please

⇢ series masterlist

Rafe lifted his fist to knock on your door.

But before he could bring his knuckles to the wood, he froze, suddenly panicked that he had no idea what he was going to say when you appeared behind it. He stepped back, crinkling the package of the candy in his hands.

“Hey, so,” he whispered, practicing to himself. “I’m sorry if that was weird. Not weird. Sorry if that was uncomfortable? I don’t know why I’m saying sorry. Hey, so, Kelce is a dick, right? Maybe I should say sorry. Fuck…”

As he paced back and forth, the floor creaked below him. He was too preoccupied with trying to find the right words to notice he was making noise. He didn’t get a chance to finish his little script, though, because you opened the door.

He froze mid-sentence, eyes wide as he looked at you, realizing you clearly heard him talking to himself. Fuck, that’s embarassing. Before he could spiral about how much you had heard, he noticed the way your nose was red at the end, eyes glossy, and cheeks stained with black smudges. You had been really crying.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, struck with the urge to reach out and wipe the water from your face.

“What do you want, Rafe?” You sniffled.

“I wanted to…I was…” Rafe was lost, any words he had planned completely left him at the gut wrenching sight of your tears.

He shuffled on his feet a little as you watched him with an unforgiving glare. He had to come up with something.

He extended the candy to you, “...bringing you this.”

“Thanks but that beer made me sick, I’m not really in a snacky mood,” you snipped.

He felt like a kitten coming to his owner with a present, only to be scolded for bringing a dead bird into the house.

“Right,” he tried to recover. “I just thought maybe you’d want to keep them up here so no one takes them.”

You sighed heavily as you quickly took the candy from him, no lingering graze of your hands like you’d done so many times before the night had taken this turn for the worse.

“Okay,” he exhales. “I didn’t come up here to give you the candy.”

“What did you come up here for then?” You huffed.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admitted.

You turned from him, exasperated, and set the candy on the vanity across the room. He was tempted to follow you through the door frame, but he had the keen sense that he shouldn't push it, so he froze, feet inches from the threshold but not going over.

“And why wouldn’t I be okay?” You questioned, your back turned to him as you pulled a set of pajamas out of the top drawer, he swallowed any hope of seeing you change into them, knowing it was a delusional thought.

“Because of what Kelce said,” He brought his thumbnail up to his eyebrow, scratching a non-existent itch, desperate for something to do with his hands.

You turned quickly on your heel to face him, hands on your hips. The sudden shift in your features, from indifference to indignance, made him take a step back.

“What, did he say something?” You pressed.

“About how you, y’know used to-”

“Rafe, I’m fine,” you cut him off, rubbing the backs of your hands across your cheeks to get some of the smeared makeup off.

Even though you always knew deep in your gut that he knew how you used to feel about him, the thought of him actually saying it out loud as you stood in front of him with tear stained cheeks was unbearable to you.

“But you’re crying,” he uttered, eyebrows bunched in concern. “I don’t want you to be alone, crying in your room all night.”

You stepped closer to him, and his heart leapt. Maybe you would invite him in, let him hold you until you felt better. But then, as quickly as it had risen, his heart fell again. You placed your hand on the door handle and glared at him.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

With a definitive click, you closed the door in his face.

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The patter of thick rain drops against your window is what finally roused you from your long sleep. You’d fallen asleep crying into your pillow, an old hobby you hadn’t practiced in years. The light coming through the window was dim, making you assume it was early morning, but when you checked your phone your eyes went wide at the time: 12:04pm.

You swung your legs over the bed with a groan, rising to look out the window. The sky was dark and angry, high waves foaming and crashing in the distance, a storm raging. The rain was so heavy the window was straining to keep it out.

When you opened your bedroom door, you nearly stepped on the tray of food that was sitting outside it. You leaned down and picked up the tray of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice, smiling at the little note in your sister’s handwriting: “I’m so glad you’re here, we’re downstairs when you’re ready.” She signed it with a little heart.

After eating the breakfast in your bed, you steeled yourself to finally make your appearance downstairs. You were grateful that everyone had let you sleep in, but wondered if the delay in coming downstairs would only remind them of the dramatic way your night ended.

You placed your dishes in the kitchen sink, looking out at the backyard you’d fled so abruptly the night before. It was quite a different scene than the one you’d left, the pouring rain filling the porch with puddles, chairs strewn about from the heavy wind. You let last night play through your mind like a movie; Carter revealing your most scandalous moment during never have I ever, Tom’s big arms on either side of you as he flirted, Rafe’s hands in yours as you celebrated your beer pong dominance, Kelce’s words bringing all your fun to a screeching halt.

“No! Don’t shoot!”

Yells from the large den adjacent to the kitchen pulled you from your thoughts. You padded quickly into the room to find the source of the commotion.

“That guy was on our team!” Kelce yelled again, ripping a video game controller from Maddie’s hands.

Maddie just laughed at his frustration, “well I didn’t like him so I killed him.”

“That’s not how the game works, Mads,” Kelce scolded.

“Well that’s how I play,” she shrugged, leaning back on the couch.

Several people were piled onto the oversized sectional sofa. Carter was sitting up on the cushion with her legs criss-crossed, Topper on the floor in front of her while she put little braids in his hair. Tom and Kelce sat on the other side of Maddie, eyes locked on the small TV screen as their fingers rapidly tapped on the controller buttons, deeply invested in the game.

In the far corner sat Rafe, reading something on his phone with a concerned look on his face.

“Love the hair, Topper,” you said from behind the couch.

Everyone’s eyes shot to you, except for Rafe, who stayed caught up in whatever was on his screen. You found his indifference to your arrival annoying, but also intriguing, wondering what had captured his attention so fully.

“You’re up!” Carter exclaimed, accidentally pulling Topper’s hair as she turned to you, making him wince.

“I’ve been up for a while, just needed some quiet time,” you smiled at her. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Actually, that was all Kelce,” she informed you with a knowing smirk.

“Oh really?” You said, raising your eyebrows at Kelce.

He paused the video game and stood from the couch.

“Wait!” Kelce said. “I have one more thing!”

He ran out of the room and you looked back at Carter with a smirk.

“You better not let him off the hook too easily,” Carter encouraged you.

“Don’t worry, I plan to mess with him a little,” you smiled at her conspiratorially. “Everyone just act cool.”

They all nodded at you, shifting when Kelce re-entered the room. Their attempted acting skills were adorably terrible, pretending to ignore you and Kelce, suddenly very invested in their own hands and the stains on the couch. All but Rafe, who seemed genuinely disinterested in the whole thing, eyes still glued to his phone.

Kelce approached you with his hands behind his back, looking bashful. He revealed his present with a proud flair.

It was a bouquet of wilting flowers, and a couple of weeds, he had clearly pulled from the front yard. You smiled at the sad, but sweet, present.

“I picked them this morning,” he said proudly.

You didn’t take them from him just yet, tightening your lips to hide your smile so he’d think you were still mad at him.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that thing about-”

“It’s okay Kelce,” you cut him off before he could elaborate further. “What you said…you were right.”

These words finally pulled Rafe from his phone, head snapping towards you in surprise. The rest of the group struggled to maintain their little charade of indifference, the air in the room shifting as they all silently met eyes, wondering where you were going with this.

“I did stay at those parties for a boy,” you admitted to Kelce.

Carter coughed to disguise a laugh, figuring out your game before anyone else.

“You did?” Kelce asked.

You stepped closer to him, placing your hand on his arm. His eyes widened and he swallowed heavily.

“For you Kelce,” you whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Topper, Maddie, and Tom seemed to finally catch up with your plan as they tried to stifle their own laughter. Kelce had exactly the dumbstruck reaction you were hoping for, looking alarmed, stammering for words like an idiot.

“Me? You liked me?” He croaked, almost too stunned to speak.

You couldn’t hold it back any longer, his face looked so pathetically shocked you had to laugh. As soon as you cracked a smile, the group took it as a sign they could laugh now too, breaking into a round of giggles at Kelce’s expense. Even Rafe was smirking, looking back to his phone, but not before letting out a soft chuckle.

Kelce looked around helplessly, catching on painfully slowly.

“C’mon man,” he said when it finally dawned on him that you were kidding. “You really had me going there, I'm not gonna lie.”

You took the flowers from him finally, patting his cheek reassuringly.

“I can’t stay mad at you, Kelcey,” you reassured him.

“You forgive me then?” He asked hopefully.

“As long as you promise never to play beer pong again,” you countered, handing him back the flowers. “And you go put these back outside, there’s bugs in them.”

He took the bouquet from you with a dutiful nod and made his way to the front door.

“You gonna forgive Sabrina, too?” Carter questioned.

“No,” you scoffed, settling on the couch next to her. “She can rot.”

“You’re fun,” Maddie giggled. “Who knew you were so fun?”

I did, Rafe thought.

“I did,” Carter said.

The wind kicked up outside the tall windows, a loud clap of thunder causing you to jump in your seat.

“Y’all think I’m gonna be able to work on my tan today?” Tom quipped, an attempt to ease your nerves.

“I don’t think you need it,” you flirted with him, admiring the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled back at you.

Rafe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, finally putting his phone down and sticking it in his pocket.

“What are we gonna do today, though?” Maddie asked.

“I think you’re looking at it,” Topper spread his arms to gesture to the room.

“Good thing you’re so good at this game,” Kelce teased her, re-entering the room and jumping over the couch, making Carter bounce and lose her grip on the braid she had been carefully sowing into Topper’s hair.

“Dammit, Kelce!” She scolded. “We’ve been stuck inside for half a day and I’m already annoyed with you.”

“We could go see a movie,” you suggested hopefully, the idea of a calm afternoon in a dark theater with a big bucket of popcorn exciting you.

“No can do,” Topper explained. “The road is closed because of the flooding, we’re stuck here for the day. Jack and Sabrina went out for breakfast and they can’t even get back into the neighborhood.”

“Oh, okay” you frowned, bummed that your plan was foiled, but not that Sabrina had struck such bad luck.

Rafe didn’t miss the way your lips curved down with disappointment.

After leaving your room last night, he’d stayed awake for hours, staring at the unfinished basement ceiling trying desperately to think of a way to get back in your good graces. The finality with which you’d shut your door on him made his stomach churn, wondering if he’d finally messed things up with you for good. But it was only your third day here, and he was a gamer; he didn’t quit and he didn’t lose. He decided he would take any opening he could get, and this seemed like a good place to start.

“We could watch a movie here,” he recommended. “We’ll make some popcorn and have our own theater.”

You looked at him for the first time since last night, surprised he was speaking to you, and even more surprised he was being so positive and helpful.

“Can we do it right now? I hate this game,” Maddie complained.

“I’d be down,” Tom agreed.

“Oh, uh,” Rafe sat up, catching Topper’s eye. “I have that thing I gotta do.”

Topper nodded knowingly, “yeah, we should wait until it gets dark anyway,” he agreed, giving Rafe an out.

You were dying to know what they were referring to, what possible responsibility could be tying Rafe down when he’d be stuck in a vacation home all day, but you feigned disinterest.

It was decided, you’d all meet back here at dusk for your movie night. You had the perfect excuse to finally get some alone time, assuring Carter you were fine before going back to your room, slipping under the cool covers with a smile and pulling out the book you still hadn’t had time to start.

It was such a pleasant afternoon until the plot of your book started to feel a little too familiar for your comfort. A love triangle between the shy, bookworm protagonist, a sweet, unassuming brunette, and a complicated, brooding blond. You finally shut the book about a hundred pages in, when the blond character, who was continuously breaking the protagonist’s heart, stood her up for a date. You sighed and threw the book back into your suitcase, adding it to your DNF list on Goodreads.

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Carter was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs happily as Topper stood at the stove and added spices to the soup he was making. You stood at the bottom of the stairs for a minute, watching them as long as you could before they noticed your presence. It was a rare moment of calm between them, no arguments or teasing. Topper blew on a spoonful of his soup before lifting it to Carter’s lips. She smiled at him affectionately as he thumbed the corner of her mouth, catching the little drop of soup that had spilled off the spoon.

Your heart warmed at your sister’s smile. She was not a relationship girl, or so she always swore. But you knew her feelings for Topper went far beyond a penchant for messing with him. You were struck with sadness that she would be leaving so soon, studying abroad in the UK to get her masters. Maybe you should’ve spent the afternoon with her, instead of a book you hated.

The door to the basement creaked open, and Rafe stepped out, looking grumpy as he unknowingly interrupted the sweet moment in the kitchen.

Carter leaned away from Topper when she noticed Rafe, and finally saw you. You spotted the way Topper’s face fell a little as she pulled away.

“Needs salt,” she teased him.

“Yes chef,” he smiled back, though there was a hint of resentment in his tone.

Carter hopped down off the counter and walked over to you, wrapping her arm around you like you hadn’t seen each other in years. You squeezed her affectionately, hoping she could feel the love you had for her in your touch.

She pulled away, eyeing Rafe. He had bags under his eyes and he looked worn out.

“Where have you been all day?” Carter asked him.

“Just had to take care of a few things,” he ran his hands through his hair, which it appeared he had been doing a lot based on the way it was sticking up at different angles.

As he brought his hands back to his side, you caught a quick glimpse of the pen ink that was smeared on his fingers, only adding to the mystery of what “things” he was taking care of.

You were going to teasingly ask him if he was down there writing the great American novel, but before you could, the large french doors that lead to the den swung open dramatically, Tom standing behind them with a big grin on his face.

“All ready!” He announced it to the group.

“What’s ready?” You asked, an amused smirk at his theatrics.

“Come see for yourself,” he winked at you.

You followed him curiously into the den, the rest of the group trailing behind. Your jaw dropped when you took it all in. He had transformed the big den, setting up a large projector and screen, stringing little fairy lights from the ceiling and filling the side tables with popcorn, candy, and a variety of snacks. The room even smelled good, Tom having lit some candles, and with the rain still coming down outside, the cozy vibes were off the charts.

“You did all this?” You gushed.

“Well you seemed bummed that we couldn’t go to the theater,” Tom remarked. “So I brought the theater to you!”

Thinking that might just be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you, you gave Tom a big, grateful smile. Rafe muttered words under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out but sounded something like “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Woah, where’d you find the projector?” Kelce asked.

“They said it was in the attic,” Tom pointed out. “On the Airbnb listing.”

You didn’t understand why, but something about Tom being the only one to actually read the whole listing and pay attention to the details was attractive. You suddenly wished there weren’t five other people in the room with you and him.

“The only thing I haven’t done is pick the movie,” Tom admitted.

The group started chattering all at once, throwing out suggestions and arguing over each other’s taste in movies. After a few chaotic moments, Tom mentioned the name of a horror movie that had come out recently, and while the rest of the room chimed in with “ohhh yes” and “I’ve wanted to see that one,” your stomach dropped. You hated scary movies, you always had. Since you were a kid, you felt anything you watched or read very deeply, so when a movie was dark, it affected you emotionally.

Feeling helpless, your eyes inadvertently met Rafe’s. He immediately picked up on the way you were chewing your lip, afraid to protest to what everyone else clearly wanted.

Shit that’s right, he thought, she hates scary movies.

Plus, he knew you’d be teased for saying something, this group was fun but they weren’t known for their sensitivity. Your eyes dropped to the floor in acceptance, all of your excitement over the home theater fading as you settled in for an unpleasant evening. Rafe hated the way you were forced to resign to being unhappy for everyone else’s sake.

“Nah, I don’t fuck with horror movies,” he blurted out impulsively.

All eyes shot to him, most people laughing in assumption he was making a joke. When he didn’t laugh back, but clenched his jaw and stared them down, they fell silent.

“Bro, since when?” Topper asked hesitantly.

“Since forever,” Rafe doubled down.

“You scared, Cameron?” Kelce teased.

“So what if I am?” Rafe bit back, daring him to keep going.

“Hey man, that’s cool,” Tom assured him. “It’s not for everybody. We can just watch something else.”

It was like your heart was strung up with the fairy lights above you, Rafe and Tom grabbing either end of the cord and playing tug-of-war. Just when Tom did something so sweet you thought you might kiss him right here in front of everyone, Rafe jumped in to rescue you from ridicule, proving he remembered intimate details about you in the process, making your heart ache for him. Then Tom said something kind, and you were right back where you started. This wasn’t getting any easier.

Rafe could see the way your eyes flicked between him and Tom, he knew he needed to step it up even more. He rounded the couch and approached Tom’s laptop, which was plugged into the projector. He typed something into the streaming site that was pulled up and the projector whirred to life, the screen illuminating the room as the opening credits of a movie began.

It was your favorite movie of all time. Your heart swelled at the opening song that you’d know anywhere, this having been your comfort film since you were a kid. Rafe stared right at you as the rest of the group settled on the couch, no one wanting to argue with his choice. Your eyes went soft as you looked back at him, mouthing a silent thank you, just like you had done by the fire last night. You were astonished that he remembered how much you loved this movie.

“Perfect, I love this movie!” Tom exclaimed, pulling your gaze from Rafe.

Of course he does, you thought tenderly, your crush on Tom intensifying.

Of course he does, Rafe thought resentfully, his vexation with Tom boiling his blood.

As everyone took their seats, you hung back for a moment, taking in the whole scene and trying to clear your head. By the time your feet caught up with your brain, there was only one spot left on the big couch.

Carter and Topper settled in on the chaise, shamelessly cuddling up almost immediately. Kelce and Maddie sat next to them, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Then it was Tom, an empty spot, and Rafe. You considered sitting on the floor.

Standing between them, both boys looked up at you expectantly, shifting away from each other to make more space for you, both hopeful you’d sit a little closer to them than the other. You thought of the protagonist from the book you were reading, wishing you could take her out for a drink.

Finally, you took your seat, crossing your legs and placing your hands in your lap. You turned and looked at Carter, who was smiling back at you sympathetically. She looked like she was about to get up from the comfort of Topper’s arms, but you didn’t want to interrupt their time together, so you waved her off and settled back on the couch to prove you were fine.

The movie began, roaring through the speakers Tom had set up, and you were quickly distracted by the familiar sights and sounds of your favorite film.

Rafe’s eyes flicked over to you every so often, melting at the cute way you were mouthing the lines along with the actors, laughing at funny scenes even though you’d seen them a million times. He was trying to respect your space, but eventually he needed to stretch out his long legs, spreading them so his knee was almost knocking into yours. He wouldn’t touch you though, no matter how much he wanted to. It seemed maybe he had almost secured your forgiveness and he wasn’t about to push his luck.

Tom wasn’t in such a difficult position though, his arm fearlessly brushing against yours as he reached for a bowl of popcorn and offered you some.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

“Do you like this movie?” He whispered, leaning in a bit too close for Rafe’s comfort.

“It’s my all-time favorite,” you told him.

“I’m glad we picked it then.”

We? Rafe seethed. This whole movie night was his idea in the first place, and once again, here was Casanova sweeping in and stealing away your attention.

Rafe thought he couldn’t hate him more, and then Tom put his arm around you.

Anything, he would’ve given anything, done anything, to hear you tell Tom to fuck off. But you didn’t. You blushed and shifted a bit, nestling into Tom’s side and tucking your legs under you.

Your feet, covered in pink fuzzy socks, were just inches from Rafe’s leg, tormenting him. They nudged him every so often when you laughed at the film or leaned in to whisper something to Tom. He got excited for just a moment the first time you touched him, but his heart cracked when it dawned on him that while you were touching him by accident, you were touching Tom on purpose.

Even though he was tempted to storm out, your obvious rejection of him nearly unbearable, he forced himself to play it cool and stay through to the end credits.

The screen faded to black, and everyone stirred and stretched. You sat up from Tom’s side and looked over to your sister, surprised she hadn’t pulled out her phone and texted you something cheeky about him during the movie, but quickly realized it was because she had fallen asleep. Her hair was messy in her face as little snores escaped her lips. The only person looking at her with more affection than you was Topper, who scooped her up in his arms with ease and a peck on the cheek, and carried her to bed.

“Okay, so that was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Maddie said as she and Kelce followed them out of the room.

Rafe sighed as he saw the mess that had been left behind, kneeling down to sweep up the popcorn Kelce had spilled on the floor. He felt the small window of hope that he’d somehow reconnect with you today close as you exited the room.

Feeling just as tired as Carter looked and eager to crawl into bed, you made your way toward the stairs. Tom caught up with you before you took the first step, saying your name softly to get your attention.

“I had a really good time with you tonight,” he said when you turned.

“Me too,” you told him, blushing bashfully. “Though I don’t think anyone had quite as good a time as Carter.”

“You’re probably right.” He had gotten closer, leaning towards you as he said it, close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, “the night’s not over yet, though.”

Heat swept across your cheeks and down your back as your whole body blushed. You had really enjoyed your time on the couch snuggled up next to him, but you were a notoriously slow mover when it came to new guys. You thought you might kiss him goodbye at the end of the week, maybe get his number, but that was as far as your imagination had wandered. You’d hooked up with guys at school, and you were certainly more confident with every year that passed, but you had accepted about yourself that you would always be a little slower than other girls, and that was okay with you.

“It’s not?” You asked, hating the shaky nervousness in your voice.

“Maybe I could carry you up to your room, too,” he propositioned.

With that suggestion, he leaned in to kiss you. Your whole body went numb and a nervous hum escaped your throat. You flinched slightly right before his lips met yours, signaling him to pause.

“Sorry,” you mumbled as he pulled back.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“It’s just, a little fast,” you explained. “I’m really enjoying getting to know you, though. I tend to move slow.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he continued. “Maybe I could just crash in your room? I’m sharing with Kelce and he snores.”

“The couch is pretty comfortable, you could sleep there,” you stepped away from him a bit, voice firmer.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” he flirted again, not letting up.

“It’s not gonna happen tonight,” you told him definitively. “We can definitely hang out tomorrow, though.”

He eyed you for a second, and your skin crawled with the feeling you were being studied.

“Sure,” he muttered, the softness you usually saw in his eyes was nowhere to be found. “Night.”

As he shuffled up the stairs without another glance to you, you saw that Rafe had been standing in the doorway of the den, for how long you weren’t sure. His hands were full of dirty dishes as he eyed you anxiously.

“All good?” He questioned.

You wanted to put up a front, make a joke to wipe the protective, caring look off of Rafe’s face, but your spirit was a bit shaken, and if you were being honest, you were just glad not to be alone.

Instead of answering, you reached out, took some of the dishes from his hands and walked them to the kitchen sink. Your wordlessness was an indication that you didn’t want to talk about it any further, so he didn’t push.

Rafe washed and you dried, completely silent as you did the dishes together. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, just an understanding between you that nothing more needed to be said tonight. You were immensely grateful to have something to do with your hands, a task to focus on as you recovered from the upsetting interaction you’d had with Tom.

Once Rafe handed you the last bowl, he bid you goodnight quietly and descended the stairs to his room. You dried the bowl and reached it toward the high cabinet it belonged in, but nearly dropped when you heard a loud “fuck!” come from the basement.

You set the dish down carefully before hurrying down the stairs towards the sound of Rafe’s distress.

“What’s wrong?” You asked breathlessly as you descended the creaking steps.

Rafe stepped back to show you the cause of his outcry. Sometime in the evening a leak had sprung from the edge of the basement ceiling, running down the wall and right onto his bed. The rain had stopped about an hour ago, and though it didn’t appear the water was flowing in anymore, the damage was done.

“Fuck,” you echoed him.

Rafe moved his luggage and backpack to the stairs to get them off the ground, and pulled the bed away from the wall.

“I’ll just sleep with my head on the other end of the bed,” he sighed.

“Rafe, you can’t sleep down here,” you countered. “I found some extra blankets and pillows in my closet, I’ll get them for you and you can crash on the couch.”

He nodded in agreement, “thanks.”

Rafe followed you up to your room, stopping at the threshold of your door, just like he had last night. You smiled to yourself at the respectfulness of the action. Though it proved to be unsustainable when you slid open your closet door and tried to get the blanket and pillow stored on the top shelf, unable to reach it even when you jumped.

“Can you help me?” You sighed, indirectly inviting him in.

Rafe smirked as he approached, barely having to stretch to reach the bedding. Your throat bobbed as you watched him, his frame so long and lean it towered over you.

“Thanks for these,” he looked down at you, holding the pillow and blanket to his chest with crossed arms.

“Least I could do,” you smiled. “After you saved me again.”

Rafe furrowed his brows quizzically.

“You hate horror movies, huh?” You quirked your eyebrows.

“Oh,” he mumbled, realization sweeping across his face. “No. But you do.”

“And you just really wanted to watch that particular movie instead?”

“No. But you did.”

The room suddenly felt too hot, as you bantered, your voices dropped lower, and so did Rafe’s eyes, landing on your lips.

Not sure you could stand this close to him much longer without making a decision you might regret, you stepped away and over to your vanity. You unclasped your necklace and started removing your rings, preparing to begin your nighttime routine. You caught Rafe’s eyes in the mirror as he watched you take your hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall around your face in a soft curtain.

Rafe cleared his throat and looked down, digging his foot into your rug. You swore you caught a blush kiss the apples of his cheeks.

“Well what are you doin’ right now? Wanna hang out?” He croaked.

You smiled at his desperate attempt to keep the conversation going. It was reminiscent of the way you used to search your mind for more questions to ask to keep him on the phone, or pretend you needed to run errands so he’d be in your car longer. Now, here he was, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes, completely desperate. The power shift was electrifying, a newfound dominance rushed through you. You had him right where you wanted, and you couldn’t help but milk it.

“I’m feeling pretty tired.” You turned to him and faked a yawn, stretching your arms up, the bottom of your t-shirt rising to reveal just a sliver of skin, his eyes catching it immediately. “I think I’m just gonna get ready for bed now.”

He stood across the dimly lit room, every muscle in his body fighting against his attempt to stay in place. You held back a smug smile when you saw he was actually making tight fists to keep from reaching his hands toward you.

This would be all he would ever get, he thought. Just these little moments when his eyes caught slivers of your perfect skin. The tops of your sun kissed shoulders in your swimsuit. The brief hint of a dimple on your lower back when you bent to get a beer from the cooler. The curve of your hips in the tight jeans you wore today.

If this was all he’d get, that would be okay. He’d collect the memories of these moments like rare coins, only to be pulled out on special occasions. If these teases of what it might be like to be with you for real were all you’d ever give him, he’d make do.

And just as he made himself that promise, you reached down and pulled at the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head in one motion, tossing it to the floor.

You were wearing a black bra with a little white bow right where the cups met between your breasts, and he could see the top of your black lace panties barely peeking out of the waistband of your jeans.

Rafe’s face flushed and his shoulders tensed as he looked you up and down, eyes wide with surprise at how bold you were being. His large body cast a long shadow on the wall, but something about the desperation on his face made him seem so small, so vulnerable. The rush of power felt unbelievable and you wondered how far you could push him before he snapped.

Without breaking the heated eye contact between you, you slowly unbuttoned your jeans and dipped your thumbs under the waistband, pulling them down and over your feet.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Rafe finally choked out, unable to stay silent any longer.

“I’m getting ready for bed,” you shrugged innocently. “And you’re getting ready to leave.”

Your words were pushing him out, but your actions were freezing him in place. He had no idea what you really wanted from him, but he knew exactly what he wanted from you.

Before he could ask if you really wanted him to leave, you pulled back the covers of your bed and climbed in. Once under the sheets, the white linen covering you up to your shoulders, you shuffled a bit, making the blanket rustle with your movement. His brows furrowed in confusion, unsure what you were doing now. Then, your hand reached back out from under the covers and dropped your bra to the floor. More shuffling, and your panties followed, now only the plush duvet and silky sheets stood between Rafe and your completely bare body. Rafe cleared his throat as he felt himself straining against his board shorts.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, the blankets sliding slightly, stopping right before exposing your chest to him. He swallowed hard.

You looked at him, your face unassuming, like this was the most normal thing in the world. The way you were looking at him, he knew he would do anything you told him to, even if that meant you really were asking him to leave. He prayed to whatever god made the perfect creature in front of him that you’d ask him to stay. But you didn’t.

“Hit the lights on your way out?” You said, before laying back and letting your hair fan out over the pillows. You closed your eyes and moaned softly as you sunk into the plush bed.

He bit his lip as he watched you get comfortable, his heart pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it.

“Rafe?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“Y-yeah?” He stammered.

“Goodnight,” you smiled, putting an end to any hope he had for an invitation to join you in the California King.

He sighed in defeat, “goodnight.”

With that, he walked toward the door, giving himself one last look at you, angelic and at peace in your pre-sleep. He hit the light switch and pulled the door closed softly behind him.

Rafe leaned against the door, one hand over his chest to feel his spiked heart rate, and one still clutching the door handle, unable to fully let go of it, of you. He felt lightheaded, the realization of how badly he wanted you washing over him, leaving him breathless. Why had he been such a dumbass in high school? He thought ruefully of that day senior year. If he had done just one thing differently, maybe he would be in bed next to you right now.

The thought of pulling your soft body into his, holding you under those cool sheets, nuzzling his head into your hair and inhaling the scent of you until you both fall into blissful sleep…he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as bad as that. His want, his need, for you was too much to bear.

He couldn’t bring himself to walk downstairs, and as much as he was dying to, he couldn't bring himself to go back into the room and risk your true rejection. As he toiled over his lack of choices, he sank to the floor, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He knew it was pathetic, sitting outside your door like a stray cat. He told himself he’d sit here for just five more minutes, enough time to collect his dignity.

He fell asleep on the floor thinking about the way your hair smells.

(chapter 5: part one)

a/n: thank you thank you thank you thank you for the support on this story! thank you to this anon for the move night idea which really helped solve some plot issues I was having I appreciate you!! in the original draft of this chapter, Tom suggested they watch Hellraiser 2022...is that too meta?

once again, if I forget to tag you it is not intentional pls let me know! follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works to be notified first when I post a new chapter <3

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clockwayswrites · 3 months ago

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Oh Birb Part 11

Masterpost

Next Thursday. Alright, Danny could do next Thursday. He still didn’t know how he had gotten invited to Cassandra Wayne’s dance recital, but sure enough there was a link to a ticket and the event information in his email the next morning.

He was just checking in on work real quickly before he left for the Far Frozen. Or maybe he was putting off the trip for as long as he could. Danny knew that he had to go see Frostbite, but he was afraid of what answers the yeti might have. Or, worse, the answers that Frostbite didn’t have.

Danny didn’t know what would really be worse.

‘You are on vacation, Mr. Fenton.’ Popped up in Danny’s Slack and he rolled his eyes. Of course Lucius was keeping an eye on him.

‘Just checking on things before I leave.’ Danny replied. ‘I’ll be off for the next five days, promise.’

‘That better be true.’

He would have much choice, his current phone wouldn’t work in the zone.

Danny refreshed his inbox one last time before he turned his tablet off and tucked away in the basket next to the couch. Fridge emptied of anything that would spoil, trash taken out, far too many plants watered… Danny was out of excuses.

“Going ghost,” he grumbled with a sigh. He didn’t really need to say that part out loud anymore, not after all these years, but sometimes it just made it easier. A sense of bitter, binding cold washed over him. It was like breathing ice. The shards stabbed at his lungs, choked his air, killed him— and then it was gone. It was all gone. His breath, his heart beat, the pull of gravity, the ache in his bones… his life.

Danny breathed out a breath he didn’t have and let himself drift up a few inches into the air. At least he didn’t hurt. For now. Returning to his body after this trip was going to be miserable. That was a later him problem, right then Danny just enjoyed being weightless. He breathed in and out, letting his body relax from the top of his head to his toes and all the way out to the tips of his wings.

Wait. His what now?

Danny’s fit hit the ground hard. He scrambled his way over to the long mirror titled against the wall by the door. And froze.

Wings.

Those were… those were wings.

Massive black wings with spots of white on the outside and more white on the inside. There was a slightly iridescent sheen to them as he twisted and turned to try and get a look at them.

They were. He had… okay. He had wings as Phantom now. Wings that were definitely like he had seen in the videos when he was that bird thing. Danny ran his fingers over his face, wincing as his finger tips caught a little. His taloned fingertips. That’s great he was turning into a bird.

Cheep cheep, motherfucker, Danny thought hysterically.

He had been expecting a midlife crisis as he approached forty, but turning into a bird wasn’t how he thought it would go!

He needed to get to the Far Frozen. He needed answers. He needed Frostbite to have answers. Focusing on the concept of the Far Frozen, Danny dragged a clawed finger through the air, tearing a hole in reality.

The portal glowed a noxious green.

Danny took a breath and flew through it.

---

AN: I polled the HH discord if Phantom should have wings or not and it was unanimously 'yes' so! Poor Danny, having such a panic!

Can you believe we're up to 4 chapters now for this silliness?

Stay delightful, darlings.

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #birdritch

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darkstaria · 5 months ago

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Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 3:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

Chapter 3 is finally here! Hooray! Hope people enjoy this, cuz I'm going to sleep now zzz

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr

----

A week had passed since that encounter that had sent you running home, and you could only be grateful to yourself that you hadn’t given Tim your number back. He had probably expected that you would have messaged him back by now. Instead, you were going to avoid that cafe for a while.

As if to spite you, Red was currently fluttering about you. Or should you call him Tim? That might make things too confusing. Red it was.

You had looked at the card Tim had given you, and in all honesty, you regretted it. Mainly because of the name on the card.

Tim Drake.

Tim Drake, who is also commonly known as Tim Wayne. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

Tim Drake is Red Robin.

You stared down at Red, who had started dozing in your lap.

Did that mean that the Wayne family all were..? No, surely not. You mean, Brucie Wayne as Batman? That felt a little ridiculous. You could definitely see Robin as Damian Wayne though, he had the right energy.

Richard Grayson had ties to acrobats right? Something about a tragedy. Nightwing did perform quite the stunts.

…

It was way too late in the night for these revelations.

There was one way to know for sure though.

“Wing!” You called out, attracting the attention of the bird that had previously been messing around with your stuffed animal. Wing had way too much of a vendetta against your plushie sometimes. Honestly, if he destroyed one of them, you certainly wouldn't be hugging him anymore.

Wing flew over to you, in a graceful arc that included several unnecessary loops. Showoff.

Wing landed on your hand, and you took a deep breath. Stay calm. The weight of Red in your lap gave you a little comfort, keeping you grounded.

“Richard Grayson.” You said, staring.

No reaction. Not even a twitch, Wing just started tweeting cheerfully as if you hadn't said anything of interest.

Maybe Richard Grayson wasn't Nightwing then? Or was it Richie? Although, he could be called by a nickname instead. What nickname would a Richard be called though…? Maybe..

Dic-

A clutter caught your attention, the sound of a window being opened and slid down. Your window.

Uh oh.

You immediately panicked. What? What could you do? You likely only had about a minute or two until the invader located your bedroom, you needed to make a decision quickly. Even as birds, you knew Red and Wing could defend themselves, but were you willing to take the risk?

If you got robbed, that would be awful, but a robber could do so much worse with the knowledge of a vigilante's civilian soulmate.

You'd take the risk. You pick up Red’s prone form, placing him into an empty bag you had laying around. If your life was in danger, you'd simply free them, and all would be okay.

You turn around, aiming to grab Wing. You reach for him, but Wing evades, darting to the left. Frowning, you try and grab him again, but Wing continues to evade, tweeting in joy.

Wing! You felt like screaming, blood racing to your head and flushing you with panic. This was not a game!

You swipe at him, starting to grab at him in increasingly frantic motions. Each movement is skillfully evaded, with Wing adding a flourish to each dodge.

“Stop dodging!” You hiss, whispering as quietly as you could. It was only when you paused in a moment to calm your frustrations that Wing showed you solace. Landing on your head in a smooth movement, Wing gave a little chirp.

Holding your hands to your head, you felt Wing climb on. You lowered him to eye level, taking a second to glare, before suddenly remembering that you had a literal home invader and stuffing Wing alongside Red in your bag. You had just clipped the bag shut when the creak of your door alerted you to their entrance.

Turning, you were beginning to lament the loss of all your earthly belongings when you locked eyes with a familiar face.

Red Robin.

“What..?” You mumble, horrified. Why was Red Robin here, in your house? The only place you could count on. The one sanctuary you had where you never had to worry about getting caught. Where you were safe.

You didn't feel safe anymore.

“Why? Why are you.. in my home?” The words stumbled out, barely registering even as they left your mouth. You had started shaking. When did that happen?

Perhaps noticing how shaken you were, Red Robin had the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry for invading your house.” He began, with an apologetic tone. “I got quite a bit injured while patrolling, I was hoping I could camp out here for a while.” He gestured to his leg, where a grievous scratch bled. He smiled at you, a polite, small thing, as if it would convince you.

No, was your immediate answer.

“Yes.” Was your spoken response. “I guess that will be fine, but don't linger too long, I don't want to be targeted because a vigilante came into my window.” You tried a smile. It felt like a mask. “And I don't know any medical care. I can offer you my first aid kit, but that's about it.”

“That's fine.” Red Robin seemed reassured, happy to be here. “I have some medical supplies of my own, but I'd appreciate it if I could use your medical kit.”

“I'll go get it. Could you go to the kitchen, please? I’d rather not have you bleed out on my bed.”

He chucked. “Sure.” Then he was gone, headed off to your kitchen. He acted as if it was so simple, as if your life hadn't just shattered to pieces all around you. So nonchalant.

You took a moment to catch your breath. It was difficult. Then, you lifted the clip of your bag, checking in on your soul animals. Wing was cuddled up to Red, the two dozing.

You frowned. Red was fine. He was completely calm, fading in and out of sleep. There was no trace of an injury on him at all.

When it came to injuries, soul animals had some quirks. They only reflect injuries if the soulmate found the wound to be serious enough. Because your soulmates were vigilantes, you were plenty familiar with when they were injured or not. Red was not injured. Not in the slightest.

Red Robin’s wound was intentional. Calculated. If it was a genuine issue, Red would be suffering as well. Which meant only one thing.

Red Robin was on an investigation.

And you were the subject.

You took a couple extra minutes to compose yourself, minutes you didn't doubt Red Robin was utilizing to his full extent. You just had to remind yourself, you were a civilian, you had nothing to hide.

He could look everywhere in the house and not discover a thing. The real secret was already contained in your bag. You could not let him find your soul animals. He can see everything else, but that.

It would be really convenient if both Red and Wing suddenly left to visit some other soulmate of yours, but you knew better than to expect that. If anything you'd be lucky to not have some other soul animal of yours show up. Ever since Spoiler and Orphan showed up, they'd been more persistent than usual. Maybe the new bonds had reminded them that they still hadn't met you.

Well, it was time to face the music. Or the Tim, that worked too. You had already wasted enough time.

Shaken, you slowly stood up. You gathered your bearings, breathed.

You could do this.

Opening the door to the kitchen took much longer than usual, you could only blame the nerves. You locked eyes with Red Robin.

You couldn't do this.

“Hey.” He said. He had his own kit open, taking out some bandages. Despite the illusion of busyness, you didn't doubt he had already skulked around your home. “Did you get the medkit?”

Ah-

The medkit. The kit of medicine you had said you'd bring. The very reason you had your precious minutes of safety in your bedroom. The medkit you forgot. Fu-

You darted back into your room, ripping open a cabinet, and yanking the kit out as if it were the cause of your problems, before dashing back over to him. It was a miracle you hadn't tripped on the way over.

Play it cool.

“S-sorry!” You tried. Your heart was beating out of your skull. Could he tell? Did he already know? Was it over?

“Here.” He took the kit from your shaking hands, laying it across the table and opening it. “You said that you didn't know any medical care. Gotham has clinics, but it's a little dangerous to not have any idea of how to treat an injury, I'll show you.”

You felt yourself nod.

No. It couldn't be over. He’s got nothing on you, and will never have anything. You are a normal citizen, you just need to act like it. You didn't live a life separate from the world, hidden from birth, just to get caught.

You noticed a flutter of movement in the darkness behind his shoulder, and stared. After a bit of squinting, you could make out a small figure in the darkness. A bat.

Uh oh.

A rush of horror gripped you. The bat was smaller and slender than the Bat. It was Orphan. You gave a little twitch, a small shake of the head, begging for it to not move. Orphan didn't react.

Red Robin began explaining how to properly cleanse and sanitize wounds. You did your best to pay attention. Somehow, he was a decent teacher. He then moved on to explaining how to properly bandage. You assumed that he was just going to talk you through it. This assumption was broken, as Red Robin instead took your hands in his, and guided them through the correct technique. Once you seemed to have gotten it, he then let you apply them to his leg.

“A little tighter, just like that.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.”

Why would he let you do this? Aren't the bats supposed to be paranoid? Your thoughts were interrupted by a ruffle of your hair. You looked up, locking eyes with Red Robin. He smiled.

“Well done.”

What the hell was going on.

The only good thing about today was that Orphan still hadn't moved. You almost forgot about it, since Orphan had stayed in complete darkness the whole time. Perhaps Orphan was content just watching?

Ah, but you're getting distracted. Red Robin received his medical care just like he wanted, now it's time for him to leave. And never come back.

“Are you doing any better?” It was a tentative question. Unfortunately you didn't think a ‘get the hell out of here’ would work any better, as much as you wanted to say so.

He nodded. “Yep. I'll head out now, goodbye.” Red Robin stood up, gathering his medkit up and placing it in his utility belt. He vaulted up to your kitchen window, sliding it open once again and climbing up to it. Now you knew what window it was, you were absolutely fixing that shut.

A glance in Orphan’s corner told you that it was still there, still watching. In that aspect, the soul animal was rather like the Bat. A stalker. Still, you'd take it.

You had never been so glad to watch someone leave before. He didn't let you enjoy your happiness for long, however, as he turned back to you at the last moment. “Oh, by the way”. He began, as if you weren’t screaming inside.

“I'll be coming over again in a few days, possibly next week.” He glanced at some gadget you didn't care about as he said this, nonchalant.

What.

“W-why?” You stuttered, completely bewildered. He had definitely checked out your house, there was nothing to be found! For what insane reason would he be coming back for?!

“It’s not safe for any Gothamite to lack basic first aid training. Your parents should have taught you better.”

The world was becoming red, you hid a clenched fist behind your back. “That's nothing that a first aid course wouldn't teach me, really, it'd be fine if you didn't come over.”

You wanted to outright protest, you really did. But you couldn't. Drawing any excessive attention would be your downfall. It'd be much easier, if Red Robin would pick up that you clearly didn't want him here!

And besides, your parents were busy enough, paying to keep you safe, hidden from the world. They have done enough.

“A course can't teach you like a hero can. I'll know when your in, so, keep an ear out.” Of course. Thanks Tim, so much.

So now you had the choice between staying at home wherein Red Robin could show up at any moment and find out your soulmates, or you could leave home and get caught with having vigilante soul animals outside. Great, what wonderful options.

You're about to protest, give a better argument, at least something. But you're interested by a squawk coming from your bedroom. You realised what happened immediately. One of the robins had finally woken up.

He needed to get out. Now.

“Okay fine, but please leave. Having a vigilante hanging out of my window is even worse than being inside my house.” You gave up. It didn't matter what concession you had to give, you needed him out immediately.

Red Robin had the audacity to chuckle, as if you had made a joke. He lifted his hand in a wave, before vanishing with a swoosh.

As if he had never been there to begin with.

A shaky sigh left you, your knees losing strength. But you snapped back to attention a second later. It was time to attend to your soul animals.

Orphan landed on your shoulder as you made your way over to your bedroom. You reluctantly petted it, sapped of your usual enthusiasm. At least it knew of subtlety, unlike certain soul animals you had.

Maybe it was time to finally get some sleep.

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

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Symposium Series Masterlist

aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

slow burn: you fell first, he fell harder

□ Timeline

□ Extras: Taglist

Moodboard #1

Moodboard #2

□ One Shots Requests: Open! ; Rules

■ Overture

0 - Symposium, definetely not Platonic love

■ Act One

1 - Orchids & Knots

2 - Early Birds

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Café

4 - Thesis

5 - Antithesis

6 - Synthesis

7 - Cogito, ergo Sum

8 - Law & Self-awareness

9 - Folie à Deux

10 - The Reaper Aftermath

■ Interlude

11 - May You Be Satisfied

■ Act Two

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

13 - Soulmates

14 - What Could Have Been

15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

16 - Sapphire

17 - My Decline

18 - I'm Always Running to You

19 - Push & Pull

20 - Something happens

21 - Hotch fucking explodes

■ Interlude (Reprise)

22 -

■ Act Three

...

■ SympOneShots

The Metaphysics of Love: set somewhere at the beginning of Act 3, one year after chapter 20

Barbri Legal Handbook: set *REDACTED* years into the future). A little gift for all the suffering

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

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trashogram · 9 months ago

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He Chose You (Pt.1)

Lucifer/Reader

Hazbin Hotel AU where Lilith never existed, Lucifer has been lonely for over a millennia and Charlie will be born one way or another. Rated E for explicit sexual content of the raunchiest variety in later chapters and also weird old people.

There was a knock at your door. It sounded like someone rapping their knuckles against the wood whimsically, as if following the beat of a song you couldn’t hear.

The methodical folding of your clothes into garage sale-quality drawers came to a halt. You looked over your shoulder, shifting on your feet hesitantly.

It had been little over a week since you moved into the grand old Donner apartment. Apart from a quick tow-in of shoddy furniture from your hired movers, no one had come calling.

You definitely weren’t expecting anyone either, not in a brand new city you’d spontaneously decided to live in.

After another moment of uncertainty, you pivoted to the door and inched it open to a slit you could peek through. “Hello?”

Your brow furrowed as you stared at the empty space ahead of you. Pulling the door open fully, you peered down one end of the hallway to the other.

Nothing but cracked and crumbling crown moldings on wainscoting, a matted-looking saxony carpet, the same musty, stale air…

‘Quack’

You nearly jumped out of your skin, head snapping down to see a real, live duck standing just outside your doorframe.

“Oh!”

You immediately squatted down to marvel at the animal. It gazed back up at you with beady red eyes and a curious gait.

“Hey little guy,” You cooed, smiling despite the incongruous image of a waterfowl in your building.

You raised a hand and reached out slowly, instinctive desire to pet the cute little creature warring with a minuscule yet no less embarrassing fear.

Were ducks typically friendly? You knew so little, ornithology not being your thing.

“Will you let me pet you?” Your fingers hovered over the surprisingly patient animal before it decided to nudge itself under your palm.

The duck shivered with delight at your touch, all-white feathers ruffling excitedly and tail wagging, looking akin to a very happy dog.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, heart melting. “You’re so cute!”

Soft feathers brushed against your bent knees as the duck drew close enough to rub its body against you. It had gone from doggish to cat-like effortlessly, and you couldn’t help giggling over how silly it looked.

“Where did you come from?” You asked after a bit of cuddling, glancing from side to side once again. The hallway remained empty, no one running to fetch what you assumed was a beloved pet.

‘That’s… weird.’ You thought. ‘So, who knocked on my door?’

It was tempting to ask the bird that was currently bouncing on its webbed feet. You couldn’t help but snort with laughter before positioning yourself so that you were sitting. In an instant, the duck made to climb into your lap, allowing you to carefully lift it onto your legs when it couldn’t reach.

“You’re so silly!” Grinning, you continued to stroke its head. “Your owner is probably worried sick about their silly little guy.”

‘Quack’

The duck burrowed its head against your stomach as it settled on your lap, and you sighed. “I’d love to keep you, but I don’t know how to take care of you, sweetie.”

Little red eyes bore into you from below, seemingly wide and beseeching. It was too precious, and too perfect (to the point where you idly wondered if someone was somehow scouting a way to scam you via adorable duck shenanigans).

Aside from the guttural, sad ‘wek’ you got in reply, a slow creak of hinges drew your attention back up. The door across from you had visibly opened the barest amount. You squinted, just able to make out frizzy red hair and a red-rimmed, down-turned mouth in the dim lighting.

“Oh hey, hi!” You stopped yourself from standing, instead of bracing the bundle in your lap close. “Is this your duck?”

A tingle went up your spine as the door opened fully and an old woman appeared. She was dressed in green capri pants and a ruffled tan blouse, hair red as an open flame and barely kept in-check by a cheetah-print scarf. The makeup she wore was caked on, harsh red lipstick smeared around her thin lips and black kohl-rimmed eyes popping out of her wrinkled face.

The sour, almost suspicious look on her face softened but did not completely go away, even when she smiled.

“Oh Lou!” She cried, making you jump. “You didn’t get very far, did you? I almost didn’t notice you were gone, you little scoundrel!”

“Well, thank goodness for that I guess. He’s got those little legs, ya see,” She nodded down at your lap, “but he’s so darn fast anyway, might as well be a midget racehorse!”

You chuckled and smiled politely. That persistent tingling at your back had you holding back a shiver, and the skin on your arms prickled and rose.

“I didn’t know we could have pet ducks in this building.” Your words belied a confidence, as well as interest in having a conversation with this woman, that you didn’t truly have.

As a matter of fact, despite the inner scolding you gave yourself for being judgmental, you were quite off-put in the woman’s presence. The want to return to your apartment and shut the door in her overly-painted face was rising like a lump in your throat.

“He seems to really like you, that’s so sweet. He’s not usually this friendly with anyone but my hubby. That’s Mr. Farrow, honey, have you met him?” The woman - presumably Mrs, Farrow, leaned down just a few feet away.

She still looked to be examining you and your avian companion, the bland pleasantness oozing yet unable to suffocate the shrewd glint in her dark eyes.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m afraid I haven’t -” You started.

“Oh, that’s alright! That’s fine! Matter of fact, he’d get an earful from me if he was talkin’ to a pretty thing like you without me knowin’!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Just kiddin’, honey. You’re new to the building though, aren’t you? Well, welcome! It’s nice to see a new face here! ‘Specially a young one!”

“Thank —”

“Maybe that’s why Lou is so taken with you! Animals just thrive off energy and sunshine and all that. Not slow, almost dead things. I’m sure you’re birds of a feather that way.”

Again, your soft laughter is polite, teetering on nervousness.

You took a moment to rise, humming apologetically when Lou squawked as he was jostled. On your feet, you instinctively stepped back. One foot over the threshold and solid in your apartment.

“He is really sweet.” You said, holding the animal out as carefully as you could. “I’m glad he didn’t get lost.”

Mrs. Farrow stared, arms falling to her sides. She didn’t attempt to take the bird from you for a long, long moment.

Confusion and disbelief clouded your mind as you stood, waiting, watching as Mrs. Farrow’s throat bobbed when she swallowed forcefully.

What? Was she afraid of the duck?

In a split-second, she returned to smiling animatedly and waved a geriatric hand in the air so flippantly that the uncomfortable moment ceased to exist.

“Oh honey, you can put him down if you want. He’ll come back over now that our door’s open.” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Lou’s not my biggest fan. He’s such a prideful thing, you know. Just like Mr. Farrow - it’s probably why they get along so well!”

You blinked, then slowly bent at the waist to let Lou down. The duck made another disdainful quack, red eyes looking at you morosely.

It’s little legs eventually rowed through the air in an effort to gain footing. You lightly placed him over the carpet and let go, allowing Lou to jump down.

The duck began waddling away, though it appeared to hang its head as it did so. Occasionally, he turned to look at you, somber and sullen as if bidding farewell before walking on death row.

“Aww, poor little thing.” Mrs. Farrow drawled. At your side. “Looks like my Lou is sweet on you! Poor guy, I can see why! Again, a lovely young thing like you is probably a gift from above in this stuffy old place.”

“Say, how long have you been here?”

You turned to the old woman. “About a week, I’m still getting settled.”

Mrs. Farrow nodded vigorously, eyes bright but mouth pursed. “A week, a week?! A week and no one’s introduced themselves to you?”

“Holy Toledo, you must think we’re all a bunch a’ snobs in here! That’s no good. Oh! Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime and me and my mister can show you some proper hospitality?”

“Oh, that's really nice of you —”

“Sure! Sure! It’ll be great, how ‘bout tomorrow night? It’d give us some time to get prepared, have things cleaned and settled. Do you like steak? That’d be perfect, actually. I’ve got some in the freezer just waitin’ to be defrosted.”

“Um, well — That’s a little short notice…”

“I’m sure Mr. Farrow won’t mind. He’ll be glad for the company, and if he isn’t, well he will be when I’m done with him.” She chortled. “Just another joke, honey. He’s always dyin’ to talk to someone that isn’t me. It’d be a real treat to him. Treat ta me too! What do you say?”

Your mouth opened and closed as a light sheen of sweat broke over the nape of your neck. Mrs. Farrow’s sharp eyes were wider, attempting to beguile you while your head was still spinning.

“I-I guess, maybe —” You stammered.

“Wonderful!” The eccentric woman’s eyes lit up like fireworks, cigarette-smoker’s voice becoming truly raucous in her delight. “I’ll go ahead and get started. You go get back to what it was you were doing before Lou and I interrupted you! And don’t worry about a thing! We might be old timers, but a good meal and good cheer never go out of style.”

Mrs. Farrow laughed, pretending to shoo you away until you were back inside your apartment and she was pulling your door to a close for you.

“Have a good night, honey! We’ll see you tomorrow! 6 o’clock, don’t be late!”

Before you knew it, you were staring at the back of your own door again.

‘What the fuck just happened?’

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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animusrox · 9 months ago

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TOP 10

Past Lives

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Barbie

BlackBerry

The Holdovers

The Iron Claw

Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11. The Killer 12. Beau Is Afraid 13. Dream Scenario 14. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15. Godzilla Minus One 16. American Fiction 17. They Cloned Tyrone 18. Evil Dead Rise 19. Eileen 20. The Artifice Girl 21. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22. Talk to Me 23. Reality 24. Leave the World Behind 25. A Thousand and One 26. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28. Theater Camp 29. Carmen 30. Merry Little Batman 31. Priscilla 32. Society of the Snow 33. Infinity Pool 34. Enys Men 35. Sanctuary 36. Rye Lane 37. Skinamarink 38. Monster 39. Anatomy of a Fall 40. Landscape with Invisible Hand 41. Reptile 42. Sisu 43. Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44. No One Will Save You 45. Tetris 46. May December 47. The Zone of Interest 48. V/H/S/85 49. Dumb Money 50. El Conde 51. Arnold 52. Maestro 53. Napoleon 54. 20 Days in Mariupol 55. Influencer 56. The Creator 57. Origin 58. Thanksgiving 59. Next Goal Wins 60. The Boy and the Heron 61. Bottoms 62. Wonka

[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]

Grade B

63. God Is a Bullet 64. No Hard Feelings 65. Joy Ride 66. Fair Play 67. Cocaine Bear 68. NYAD 69. Asteroid City 70. Nowhere 71. The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72. Divinity 73. The Equalizer 3 74. The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75. Venus 76. Butcher’s Crossing 77. Somewhere in Queens 78. The Persian Version 79. Boston Strangler 80. Polite Society 81. Miguel Wants to Fight 82. The Color Purple 83. The Royal Hotel 84. Saw X 85. All of Us Strangers 86. Fallen Leaves 87. Ferrari 88. Elemental 89. Peter Pan & Wendy 90. Renfield 91. Cat Person 92. Scream VI 93. The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94. BS High 95. Blue Beetle 96. Huesera: The Bone Woman 97. When Evil Lurks 98. Dark Harvest 99. A Good Person 100. Final Cut 101. Knock at the Cabin 102. Quiz Lady 103. Leo 104. Air 105. The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106. Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107. John Wick: Chapter 4 108. Beaten to Death 109. The Wrath of Becky 110. Passages 111. Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112. Gran Turismo 113. 65 114. Sick 115. Sister Death 116. The Blackening 117. Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118. Flamin’ Hot 119. Nimona 120. Cobweb 121. Totally Killer 122. What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123. Sharper 124. Unseen 125. Dunki 126. Bird Box Barcelona 127. The Marvels 128. Shazam! Fury of the Gods

Grade C

129. Wildflower 130. Freelance 131. M3GAN 132. Strays 133. Sympathy for the Devil 134. Creed III 135. Chevalier 136. The Marsh King’s Daughter 137. A Haunting in Venice 138. The Little Mermaid 139. Silent Night 140. Master Gardener 141. The Flash 142. Fast X 143. The Pope’s Exorcist 144. Saltburn 145. Kandahar 146. Stand 147. Plane 148. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149. Fingernails 150. Quicksand 151. Fool’s Paradise 152. Migration 153. Rustin 154. The Covenant 155. Good Burger 2 156. The Pod Generation 157. Alice, Darling 158. Insidious: The Red Door 159. Missing 160. Shotgun Wedding 161. You Hurt My Feelings 162. The Boogeyman 163. Showing Up 164. Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165. Champions 166. Consecration 167. The Nun II 168. Biosphere 169. House Party 170. The Exorcist: Believer 171. Big George Foreman 172. Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173. Children of the Corn 174. The Beanie Bubble 175. Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Grade F

176. Anyone But You 177. Marlowe 178. Paint 179. Extraction 2 180. It Lives Inside 181. Deliver Us 182. Trolls Band Together 183. Finestkind 184. Corner Office 185. Wish 186. Prisoner’s Daughter 187. Pain Hustlers 188. Foe 189. The Mother 190. Old Dads 191. Ghosted 192. Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193. Haunted Mansion 194. Mafia Mamma 195. Five Nights at Freddy’s 196. The Machine 197. Justice League: Warworld 198. We Have a Ghost 199. What Comes Around 200. Legion of Super-Heroes 201. The Boys in the Boat 202. Attachment 203. Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204. About My Father 205. You People 206. Meg 2: The Trench 207. Pathaan 208. Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209. Assassin 210. Dalíland 211. Vacation Friends 2

Bottom 10

212. Sound of Freedom 213. Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214. When You Finish Saving The World 215. Heart of Stone 216. Family Switch 217. Expend4bles 218. Sweetwater 219. Hypnotic 220. 80 for Brady 221. Spinning Gold

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peacheeeliz · 3 months ago

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EMPIRES

SYNOPSIS ⤏ you're trying to peacefully build your starter house on the empires server when your neighbor so rudely (accidentally) kills you, starting the biggest war on the server just one day in.

PARING ⤏ idol!jung yunho x streamer!fem reader

GENRE ⤏ smau, rom-com, fluff, "enemies" to friends to lovers, some written

FEATURING ⤏ ateez, txt, aespa, and sungchan from riize

FACECLAIM ⤏ faceclaim for y/n purely for picture purposes!! (@ sullendin on ig)

WARNINGS ⤏ swearing, a lot of dnd/bg3 references, pls ignore timestamps 💔, mentions of minecraft alliances, wars, and deaths, sexual and kms/kys jokes

STARTED ⤏ 8/21/2024

STATUS ⤏ complete ♡

NOTE ⤏ i've been so obsessed with minecraft youtubers lately 💀 so i decided to do a fun little story inspired by the empires smp that ldshadowlady and her friends did awhile back!

PROFILES & CHAPTERS

THOT POCKETS | 8TEEZ | EMPIRES SMP

001. apology video w/ tears

002. you're dead to me

003. yucloudz

004. count your days

005. wooyoung's emojis (1.5k wc)

006. huggy wuggy backpack

007. he's a pain in my as-

008. begging PLEADING PLEASE KQ PLEASE

009. you're delusional man

010. ominous but ok!!

011. hurry up we're hungry (1k wc)

012. whore

013. MY FRAME RATES

014. ew gross

015. AM NOT

016. WHY TF IS MY SON IN A PAN

017. my sweet boy

018. mingi go to bed

019. "sohee!" we all say in unison (1k wc)

020. choke me pls 🫶

021. did i fuck up

022. she called me baby

023. hey pretty (904 wc)

024. i'm out

025. only for you pretty (946 wc)

026. pls drop it

027. MATCH MY FREAK?

028. it's all coming together

029. very demure, very cutesy

030. my little emperor

BONUS

bonus 1: domestic yucloudz

bonus 2: gaslighting her way out of a scandal

bonus 3: atz members kidnapping y/n

☆©peacheeeliz, 2024

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist is closed!

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez social media au #ateez smau #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop social media au #kpop smau #yunho #yunho smau #yunho fanfic #kpop fanfic #yunho au

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cressidagrey · 3 months ago

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Looked to the Sky - Chapter 4

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Kinda a panic attack or the fae equivalent, Mention of Wing Clipping (kinda) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Eira was having a bad day.

She was having a really, really bad day.

After the war…they had been more often.

After the war…there hadn’t been a week without her having one of those bad days.

A day, where everything felt like it was too much. Where everything seemingly scratched at her skin, everything was too much, too loud.

Today was another one of those days.

It was one of those days where everything was too much, too loud, too much, too bright. Where the walls suddenly seemed to grow too close, the ceiling too low, the world too large, too noisy, too….everything.

It was one of those days and Eira didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She was curled up in her room, the windows covered and the curtains drawn closed, plunging the room into deep shadows.

She couldn’t stand it when the world was too much, too loud.

And yet she could still hear it all. Still hear every little sound, every little noise.

The voices of the others, the birds or the animals outside, the people on the streets, everything.

It was too much and she didn’t like it.

She was curled up on the bed, her hands pressed against her ears as she tried to block out as much of the noise as possible.

It was too much, everything was too much, too loud, too bright..

She just wanted the noise to stop.

But she couldn't. And as much as she wanted to throw herself a pity party...it wouldn't result in anything.

She wanted to cry and complain and have something in the form of a tantrum, like a child.

But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it?

She was an adult, she couldn’t just sit and sob about everything being too much. About her bad day.

It wouldn't give her anything...wouldn't result in anything. And so she forced herself to get up...she forced herself to have breakfast...to smile at Nyx when he upended his porridge bowl all over Rhys.

It was hard, getting up when all she wanted to do was to stay under the covers.

She was exhausted, her bad day and the lack of sleep leaving her feeling like walking dead.

At least she was left alone.

Rhys was in a meeting with the governors, Feyre had taken Nyx with her to some painting classes…

She knew she shouldn’t have been feeling as relieved as she did when she realised that every one was gone, leaving her alone in the River House.

But there was a part of her that was immensely relieved, almost desperate.

It was only her, with her bad day and the silence of the house, for once without the constant bustle of the others.

She ended up tending to her gardening patch that day...ignoring the hovering shadows that tried to get her to stop.

But she didn’t listen. The hard work of tending the garden and the feeling of the dirt against her skin was enough to distract her, if only for a little.

It was better than sitting in her room, alone and curled up and trying to muffle every single sound.

She could still remember the smell and the sounds of the war.

Of blood and mud and smoke, of the sound of steel on steel.

Of the screams of soldiers, of the soldiers calling out for their friends, for their family.

Of the sounds of swords being pulled from flesh and mud, and of bodies crumpling to the ground.

She could still remember those days.

And sometimes it was all she could think of.

The war. The bad days. The pain.

Eira finished her planting, having harvested enough carrots for the day, and then walked back through the door, dusting some dirt off her hands.

She paused when she saw Amren standing just inside, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

She froze, suddenly feeling the urge to turn back and out of the door again.

There was something about the other female’s stare, the almost calculating look in her eyes, that always made her feel like prey.

And Eira didn’t like it.

She could see the other woman’s gaze dart over her, noting all the messy and unkempt aspects of her current appearance, and suppressed the urge to shrink and cower.

“Amren,” she greeted politely, as she tried to push down the rising feeling of dread.

The other female simply tilted her head, eyeing her almost lazily.

You look...” Amren drawled quietly, before trailing off.

Eira’s skin was crawling with the feeling of being judged, to be judged and found....found lacking.

“You look like you’ve been digging through mud,” Amren continued, her voice still quiet.

Eira swallowed a little, feeling herself start to hunch in on herself.

She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands, the feeling of Amren’s intense gaze almost making her fingers start to twitch.

"I have been gardening," Eira said quietly. Her own vegetable plot...and she needed to think of how to prepare the garden for autumn, given that Elain was not going to do anything like that.

"You would have been better off honing that lightning power of yours, Girl," Amren drawled. Eira couldn't help but flinch.

She tried to ignore...what was slumbering under her skin. She tried to...she tried not to think of what...what she was capable of. What she had proven herself to be capable of.

“Your power is wasted on gardening,” Amren went on, her eyes still fixed on her. She was still studying her in that intense, almost predatory way. “You should be training, honing your abilities….not digging in the mud like some ordinary farmer.”

Eira felt herself bristle slightly, a spark of anger cutting through the almost debilitating terror of the intense stare.

The other female made it sound so….insulting. Like working in the garden was an insult to her power, something she was too good to do.

"I like gardening," Eira answered quietly.

“You like gardening,” Amren repeated, raising an eyebrow. She pushed off the wall, taking a couple of steps towards her.

“You like it, or is it an excuse to avoid using your power?” she inquired, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Ignoring your power isn't going to make it disappear," Amren said quietly. "You are cauldron made, girl. You already showed how deadly you can be."

Eira flinched again, unable to stop herself. Amren’s words hit her like a blow.

It was something she'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about.

She was cauldron-made, cursed by the powers she'd been given, by the very strength that was in her blood.

“You have an entire arsenal at the tip of your fingertips. You’re powerful. You’re stronger than most of them. You have the power of the damn lightning running in your veins. You have a natural gift for destruction. And yet you choose to ignore it all , to dig in the dirt like some common peasant instead of actually learning how to use it?”

She flinched again.

"What's wrong, girl?" Amren asked, her voice still low and quiet. "Have I struck a nerve?"

She stalked closer, circling around her like a predator.

"You have power at your fingertips, enough to level a city and yet you choose to waste it on…gardening. Or on sewing or on baking or on whatever other useless little hobbies you find time for.”

The words cut deep, cut deeper than any blade ever could. Amren's voice was cold, almost mocking, but there was a touch of something else in it. Something almost like…irritation.

It was like she was disappointed, that she wanted Eira to...to be more. To be…a weapon.

"I don't want to be a weapon," Eira whispered. She didn’t want to fight.

She wanted peace. That was all she wanted.

Amren stopped, so close that Eira could taste the almost metallic smell of her power, like a sharp tang on the back of her tongue.

The other female was silent for a moment, studying her in that intense, almost calculating way of hers.

A beat passed before she spoke again, a low murmur.

“What you want...is irrelevant. You are a weapon. You are a living weapon...and that is never going to change. What about your sister? She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage. This is your thanks to your High Lady?" Amren hissed at her.

Eira flinched at the sharp tone, her eyes wide as she stared at Amren.

The other female was looking at her with a cold expression, her gaze sharp.

And yet…there was something else in her eyes, a cold kind of fury. Rage.

Amren’s voice dropped to a low murmur again, a dangerous undertone to it. “What about Feyre?“

Her words were like a lash, flaying the skin of her soul.

Of course. Of course, this was about Feyre.

Amren was furious with her. She was furious with how Eira tried to push her power away, how she tried to bury it and hide and avoid using it.

Amren’s eyes flashed with irritation. “She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage, all so you can waste your power on something as trivial as gardening ?”

The faelights flickered, flickered and started to dim.

Eira could suddenly feel a spark of anger at the back of her throat, a sharp feeling of irritation, as if something was scratching at the inside of her skin.

Too much. Too much.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

It all crowded her mind, everything so sharp and intense it almost cut her from the inside.

A rumble somewhere…outside.

There was a part of her that wanted to scream, to yell and kick something and make the sharp feelings stop.

Another part that wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

She wasn't sure what she did...she wasn't sure what she was...what...

Eira wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, or what she was even supposed to be.

She didn’t want to be a living weapon, a cursed creature with power she didn’t want.

She didn’t want to be that. She couldn’t be that.

She exploded.

It was like the world started to spin, a dizzying rush like a tempest, like a storm rushing through her body.

Her skin felt tight, almost stretched too thin. She felt like she was on fire, sparks crawling through her skin like little thorns digging into her soul.

It was anger. It was fury. It was a roaring sound in her ears like rain, like a thunderstorm.

She exploded. Or at least it felt that way to Eira. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to be far, far away.

Everything was blurry, like a red veil had been dropped over her eyes.

The only thing she knew was that she needed to get away.

She needed to escape, to be somewhere else, far, far away.

She needed…

She hit the floor.

The first thing she knew was the feel of loose dirt beneath her fingertips as her fingers clawed into the ground beneath her.

Not the polished marble of the River House hallway, but cool dirt and grass.

Outside. She was outside.

She was suddenly aware of that fact.

Aware of how her knees and palms were pressed into dirt. That her heart was beating like a battle drum in her chest.

There was a feeling of lightning crawling over her skin, and as she looked down on her hands she saw it. Saw the lightning arcing over her skin, her whole body trembling.

No. No, no, no, no….

She closed her eyes, as a ragged breath left her throat whimper.

She tried to hold it back, everything inside of her.

The anger, the power, everything swirling in her soul, scratching at her heart.

She tried to keep it all from spilling out, but it was like trying to contain a hurricane.

She failed, miserably.

Even with her eyes closed she could see the lightning. Could see the bluish silver colour of it a it sparked all over her skin, as it enveloped her…as it…as it poured into the ground like water.

It was like a tempest was roaring through her veins, like the very lightning was snapping at her skin.

It was too much.

The power. The feeling.

It was all too much.

It was like a living current, like a thousand burning tendrils tracing over her skin, igniting every nerve ending like wildfire.

Every muscle felt like it was twitching, every nerve like it was screaming.

It was almost painful, the lightning dancing like little claws over her skin.

She tried to hold it back, wanted it all to stop.

But it was like a dam had burst.

All her anger, all her rage, all the things that had been brewing in her soul were now pouring out like a tsunami.

The ground around her was torn up, little pieces of grass and dirt thrown about by the currents of her power.

It was like an ocean of energy, like a storm in miniature, and it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. Everything felt raw and exposed, like every nerve ending was on fire, and the lightning just wouldn’t stop.

She wanted to curl up, desperately wanted it to end and just wanted to stop feeling all at the same time. And then...then it was over.

Then it was over.

Her heart was still thundering in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears, the electricity leaving her skin feeling oversensitive and raw. Her body felt exhausted, every muscle screaming and every nerve like a live wire of pain.

And then, as suddenly as it had all started, it was over.

Eira was aware of a sudden moment of silence. And then she was aware of her own ragged breathing, how her heart was beating so hard in her chest she was sure it was going to break through her ribs.

Eira sat there, feeling the cold air biting into her skin.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

She was at the edge of a forest, sitting on the ground. Her hair was a mess, dirt and grass sticking to the strands, and her hands and clothes were stained with it.

She was cold, and her body felt almost numb, but she still couldn’t move.

You need to get up the shadows whispered suddenly.

She heard them, the shadows whispering to her.

It was like a voice in her ear, a quiet and almost urgent murmur.

You need to get up.

They sounded almost...concerned.

She forced herself to speak, to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Where... where am I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shadows remained silent for a moment, before she heard them reply, a quiet murmur.

Illyria. You winnowed. You need to get somewhere safe.

She froze slightly at the words.

Not at the idea of being in Illyria, but at the last part.

You winnowed.

She had...winnowed.

She had somehow managed to winnow in her anger, in her fury, to land in the middle of godforsaken Illyria.

She swallowed, trying to get through the fog of her mind.

You need to get somewhere safe.

The shadows were right, and the rational part of her knew she needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the dangers of being right there.

Eira didn’t know what kind of display she had just made, but she could imagine it. And if some rogue Illyrian was going to find her…some rogue Illyrian who hated the High Lord…she was going to die. She somehow didn’t doubt that for one moment.

But she was also…tired. So tired it felt like her bones were made of lead, and she wasn’t sure if she could even move.

The shadows started pulling at her, like invisible hands gripping her and carefully lifting her to her feet.

She staggered a little, trying to keep her balance, her body still shaky from the aftermath of her outburst.

The forest seemed even more ominous in the faint light, the trees like shadowy sentinels surrounding her with their silent vigil…the smell of smoke in the air. She stared to find some of the trees being nothing but smoking black carcasses.

Her trembling intensified.

She had done that. She had…Today it hadn’t been people. Today it had only been trees. Somehow that did nothing to calm her.

But the shadows still held her, guiding her forward, almost like they were trying to lead her somewhere.

One tendril wrapped around her wrist, like an invisible tether, pulling her forward with each stumbling step.

She wasn't sure how long she stumbled after it...every movement sluggish and shaky.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on, how long she stumbled and tripped through the shadows of the forest.

She was tired, so tired she felt like she could go to sleep and stay there on the cold forest floor. But the shadows still pulled her on, their grasp a gentle but firm pressure around her wrist, guiding her ever forward.

Safe. We’ll get you somewhere safe, the shadows whispered. Safe. Safe.

Azriel. Azriel was safe. She needed Azriel. She needed…

For just one second she could have sworn that she smelt him…smelt cedars and mist, just as the shadows dragged her through…something. Something sticky like honey, like the very air had just hardened around her.

The shadows whispered in her ear, a quiet murmur.

Nearly there.

She still felt tired, still felt like her body was made of lead, but the words from the shadows gave her the strength to keep going.

Nearly there.

She was blinking, and then she wasn’t.

And suddenly... suddenly a cottage appeared before her, like it had just sprung up from thin air.

She stumbled with surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at the cottage before her.

A simple dark grey stone cottage. It looked old, but well kept, sturdy and solid enough to withstand the harshness of Illyria.

There was a thin trail of smoke curling up from the chimney, and a warm light shining from the windows.

It was clearly lived in, clearly a home .

Esmeray will take care of you.

Eira was bewildered, and confused, and her mind was sluggish and slow.

The shadows had brought her here, to this cottage, and now they were whispering about this...Esmeray.

She didn’t know who Esmeray was, and had never heard of her, but the shadows trusted her.

Still, she stumbled up to that cottage door, hand grabbling against the door, clawing against the door frame to hold herself up.

And then she heard a sound, a voice coming from inside.

"Who in the Mother's name...?"The sound of footsteps came padding hastily nearer, the door opened…and Eira would have nearly fallen into the house if she hadn’t caught herself.

The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

Illyrian. A pair of ruined wings hanging from her back. Dark hair braided back into a long braid that fell down her back. She was beautiful. Hazel-green eyes, sharp eyebrows...She froze as she saw Eira, her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the battered, ragged appearance of the female on her threshold.

"Great Mother alive....What happened to you?" The Illyrian exclaimed, her eyes widening as she saw the state Eira was in.

She took a few quick steps forward, reaching out like she was to grab Eira from the doorway.

Eira didn’t have time to protest before the Illyrian grabbed her arm, pulling her all the way through the door and into the cottage. The inside of the cottage was warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a faint, homey scent of smoke and herbs lingered in the air.

She was surprised, speechless at the quick movement, and her legs all but gave out underneath her.

The female caught her before she hit the floor, quickly steadying her and practically dragging her to where a chair was set by the fire.

The shadows swirled around her, dancing and flitting in the air like a little cyclone. The female noticed them, an eyebrow raising at the strange phenomenon, and turned a questioning gaze towards Eira. "Did Azriel send you here?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with something like alarm.

Eira struggled to find her voice, her throat dry and her mind fogged. Trying to speak was like trying to pull the words from the thick fog that filled her mind, but she managed to give a vague shake of her head, gesturing towards the dancing shadows.

The female tilted her head, seeming to understand her silent meaning.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked towards the shadows swirling around her.

"The shadows...did they bring you here?" she asked, her eyes flickering between Eira and the dark tendrils of air.

Eira nodded weakly, unable to summon the strength to speak.

Yes. The shadows had brought her here. They were still spinning and flitting around her, their presence a strangely comforting one.

The female’s brows furrowed more, as she took in Eira’s battered appearance, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the dancing shadows.

"What exactly happened to you?" she asked, her voice sharp and urgent, as she examined Eira for any more injuries. She was checking her over as she spoke, her hands gently but firmly moving over Eira's arms, chest and back. The female’s voice was quiet and gentle, like she was trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet Eira’s.

Eira thought for a moment, trying to force her mind to work, to pull the words and her own name from the corners of her mind.

It took a moment, but she finally managed to rasp the words out.

“...Eira.”

The female nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.

"Eira. That's a nice name." she said softly, before pausing. A moment of silence, as the female seemed to study her. And then… "Eira Archeron?" Surprise coloured her voice, and her eyes widened as she took in Eira's face, studying her features.

She was looking at Eira, her hazel-green eyes searching her face, like she was trying to find some resemblance, a small smile appearing on her face.

"My son mentioned you before," she said quietly. “My son mentioned you before,” she repeated again, her voice still quiet and soft.

It took a moment for her words to register.

Her son… mentioned her?

"Your... son?" she managed to croak out.

The female chuckled.

"Azriel," she said quietly, her voice holding an undeniable note of pride.

Eira's mind went quiet, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name. Her mind was like a sluggish, muddy mess, but something clicked as the words sank into her mind.

Her son. Azriel.

Esmeray was Azriel’s mother .

He...he had mentioned her? To his mother?!

To his mother.

The words circled her mind, repeating again and again.

To his mother, to his mother, to h-

The female seemed to recognize her shock, her surprise. And her words came softly, as her eyes never left Eira’s face.

"My son always was a quiet one. But he has a habit of mentioning the things that are important to him. You and your sisters clearly are considered important to him. Elain is your twin sister, isn't she?" The words seemed like they were spoken through a fog. Eira’s mind was in shambles, still reeling from the fact that Azriel might have mentioned her to his mother. But her mind caught on the other words.

Elain. Her twin sister.

She could only give a jerky nod in response, the movement making the world spin for a moment.

"My name is Esmeray," Azriel's mother introduced herself. Esmeray. "Welcome to Rosehall, Eira."

Rosehall.The word echoed in Eira’s head.

She was at Azriel’s mother’s home, a place called...Rosehall.

And the female before her...was Azriel’s mother.

Esmeray. Her name matched the warmth of her voice, and there was a kindness to her face that made Eira trust her instinctively.

Esmeray’s voice was soft as she spoke, a kind and gentle tone.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The words rang through the buzzing mess that was Eira’s mind, and she almost wanted to cringe with frustration. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember.

But Esmeray’s voice was so gentle, so...motherly. It made her just want to spill all her troubles, to lay down her head and just...rest.

The words fumbled out of her mouth, stumbling over her tongue as she forced them out one by one.

"I...I was gardening,” she said, her voice soft, “back home...Amren came...we had words...I...I got angry...”

She paused a moment, hesitating, before forcing herself to continue.

“I winnowed...I ended up next to a forest...I think…I think I killed the trees..."

Esmeray was watching her, her eyes not leaving her face for a second. There was concern in her face, surprise and alarm, but none of the judgment Eira had expected to find there.

She could only swallow, feeling all at once like a little child again. A frightened, exhausted and weary little child, all but collapsing in the presence of a caring adult.

Esmeray didn’t move, but there was a quiet pause before she spoke again.

"The shadows led you here," Esmeray said, her voice still soft and gentle.

The shadows wrapped around Eira’s wrist tighter, another tendril moving and twirling around her like they were acknowledging what Esmeray had said.

Esmeray seemed to blink twice at the shadow’s behaviour. "I imagine my son is already aware of what happened then," she said, her voice quiet.

True. The shadows would have told Azriel what was going on, right? So why hadn’t he come?

Master will be there as soon as he can, the shadows whispered to her. It's alright. They were trying to soothe her, in their own quiet, strange way.

Esmeray was watching her, studying her like a worried mother.

“Let’s clean you up,” she said, her voice still soft and gentle, "Are you hungry? Thirsty? You are in shock, you are shaking.”

It was only then that Eira realized she was shivering and quaking. Like her body was trying to tremble apart.

The female stepped closer but didn't touch her yet, her eyes still studying Eira like she was trying to decide what to do with her. "And what happened to your clothes, sweetheart?" she asked softly, almost to herself, as her eyes raked over the torn, ragged state of Eira’s gown.

It was only then that Eira remembered the sorry state of her own attire. Torn, stained, dirty, ragged, burnt in some places, ripped in others… she must have looked like she had stumbled right out of a nightmare.

And then Esmeray reached for her, gently taking her arms in her hands.

Eira could have pulled away. Her body told her to pull away. She didn’t know this female, had never even met her. And yet…

"Come," Esmeray said quietly, "Let's get you washed and into some clean clothes."

She seemingly blinked and Esmeray had her bundled into a thick nightgown and had chivied her back into the kitchen...herbs drying over the the stove, as she put the kettle on and then sat across from Eira to carefully clean the scrapes on her hands. Her hands were spread out on the tabletop, and Esmeray was bent over them, carefully cleaning the scrapes and cuts there with some sort of ointment. The female seemed to be an expert when it came to tending wounds, her movements swift, yet gentle.

The silence in the cabin was so absolute, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle on the stove, the steady hum of the pot, and the occasional stirring of the herbs above.

It was comforting, in an odd way. Like for the first time in a long time, Eira could draw in a deep breath without worrying about what would come next.

Her mind was still so sluggish, but the steam rolling off the kettle, and the clean scent of the herbs all seemed to be slowly coaxing her out of the fog that filled her head.

Perhaps even her body was beginning to relax. Eira felt...more grounded now, like she was less on the verge of collapsing than before.

The kettle started to whistle, and Esmeray looked up. Her movements were swift, as she took it off the boil and poured the hot water into a teapot. “Here, drink something,” she said, pushing the tea towards Eira, her voice not leaving much room for arguments.

It was a command, not a suggestion. Though Esmeray’s tone was still quiet, kind. Yet there was a hint of a mother’s steel in it. Eira tried to remember her own mother ever cleaning her scrapes and making her tea. She came up empty.

Her own mother had been more of the opinion that children should be seen not heard.

Eira couldn’t even remember her mother ever having hugged her, now that she thought of it.

Esmeray pushed the steaming teacup towards her, raising an expectant, dark eyebrow.

Eira took it, hesitantly wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, and raised it to her lips, hesitating to take a sip. Esmeray was watching her, studying her even now, even in these simple moments. Eira drank, swallowing the bitter, sweet tea.

It burned slightly on the way down, but it seemed to help, as the fog in her mind receded ever so slightly.

“You have three sisters, don’t you? Nesta, Elain and Feyre? Azriel mentioned that.”

And there it was again. Azriel’s name. Again. He had mentioned her. He’d...spoken about her to his mother.

And somehow Eira still couldn’t wrap her head around it, even as the words echoed in her mind. Azriel mentioned it.

She nodded quietly, a jerky movement that made her head hurt. “Yes.”

Her voice was dry and rasping, and she winced slightly, as she forced the words out.

Esmeray nodded, looking pleased at her answer.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she said simply.

Her words slammed into Eira like a punch to the stomach. He was fond of her. Azriel...He was fond of her.

The words seemed to send a strange sort of shudder through her entire body. He was fond of her. Her mind was still so fuzzy and messy, but the words kept ringing in her head, like a bell someone was tolling over and over again.

He was fond of her.

Esmeray was watching her, her gaze unwavering, and it made Eira realize that the female must have noticed her reaction.

But if she had, she didn’t make any move to mention it. Instead, she just kept looking at Eira, like she was waiting for some sort of reaction.

And so Eira forced herself to speak. “How….how do you know?”

Her words were a bit steadier now, the bitter, yet warm tea working its magic.

“My son may be skilled with the shadows,” Esmeray said with a wry smile, “But he still has the same tell he had from when he was a child. You can tell he’s fond of someone, if you know where to look, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. And he is quite fond of you…though he may be fonder of that twin sister of yours,” she said with a laugh. Elain.

Eira swallowed. She understood what Esmeray was hinting at in a roundabout way without her needing to say another word. "Too bad she turned out to be mated to another," Esmeray said with a sigh.

And just like that, it felt like somebody put a knife straight into her heart and twisted.

Elain.

Azriel may was fond of her…but he was fonder of Elain. Elain was the one who Azriel had been in love with. The one he couldn’t have.

Eira…Eira was just a replacement, wasn’t she? A consolation prize.

It stung, like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin. A replacement.

She looked down into her teacup, trying to will the stinging in her eyes away.

Esmeray was watching her still, taking note of her reaction again."Why do I feel like I just said something I shouldn’t have, sweetheart?” Esmeray asked softly.

Eira shook her head, tears stinging into her eyes.

It wasn't her place to tell Azriel's mother about their mating bond. That should be something that should be coming from him. But Esmeray was watching her and Eira felt like she was seeing everything that was going on in her life. Esmeray was watching her, her eyes sharp and shrewd, as they studied Eira in quiet silence.

And then, all of a sudden, her face softened, and her voice was even softer as she asked quietly, “Did something between you and my son...happen?”

The words seemed to freeze Eira’s lungs.

How had she known? How had she known?

She swallowed, and then opened her mouth, ready to deny the fact...her words dying in her throat.

She couldn’t lie to that face, not the softness in it, not the motherly concern.

The tears came so suddenly they made Eira gasp. They were hot, sliding down her face, and she couldn’t seem to wipe them away, no matter how hard she tried.

Esmeray’s face softened even more, and before Eira knew what was happening, the female was crouched in front of her, her hand reaching up to gently wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh sweetheart...” Esmeray’s voice was soft, almost motherly. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

The tenderness in the mother’s voice made Eira’s chest ache even through the tears, and a quiet sob escaped her.

What was wrong ? Where to even start? Her powers, the bond, Elain, Azriel, the guilt....

It was all too much.

And yet, Esmeray was there. Her voice soft yet stern, her dark eyes kind and concerned as she sat across from Eira, with no sign of budging.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said gently. “What happened? What did my idiot of a son do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” she protested weakly. “He didn’t…”

“Then what happened?” Esmeray pushed gently. “What happened to you, sweetheart? You don’t just start winnowing accidentally if everything is well, Eira.”

She wasn’t even sure where she was supposed to start.

“She….Elain is a seer,” she said weakly, her voice broken.

Esmeray nodded slowly, as understanding seemed to flicker on her features, even as she gestured for Eira to keep talking. "She...she had a vision. Of...Of...Azriel and me," Eira managed to bring out, brokenly. "She tried to make sure that it wouldn't come true....Tried to...He...the mating bond...snapped for him two weeks or so ago."

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears.

Her voice was a broken mess, and her throat felt so dry, like each word was scratching her already abused vocal cords. But Esmeray stayed quiet, only nodded.

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears. "The bond….the bond snapped for Azriel around two weeks ago," Eira finally managed, and then she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, each one more choked and broken than the last. "She...tried so hard to keep the vision from coming true but...it still happened. It happened. I...I am his...mate"

The words broke off, as the tears came again, the sobs now choking her, "I am his…his mate," she repeated, and just saying the word out loud made the tears flow again, her heart aching almost painfully in her chest.

She was his mate. And yet, he had been…he had been in love with Elain. The one he couldn’t have. She was just the replacement.

The tears were still falling, and the sobs were still wracking her body, as she heard Esmeray’s soft, yet quiet words. “And you….how do you feel about my son?”

"I met him when I was...I was still human," she forced out. "I looked at him and...it was just...I...I fell in love. He was...he was so gentle. Kind. And the shadows…the shadows were so beautiful. I fell in love…before I knew what a mating bond even was.” She felt her tears starting to flow harder once more, despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

She had loved him before the bond. Even before their magic had intertwined and made them mates, she had loved him. Loved him and all his quiet, dark, beautiful glory. And the fact that he had been in love with someone else….it just made everything hurt worse.

Her tears were now falling more steadily, and no matter how hard she tried to blink them back they wouldn’t stop.

Esmeray was still watching her, her dark eyes fixed on Eira’s quivering form, but she was quiet now, her features thoughtful. There was a weight in the room now as the both of them remained silent.

The only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle, and the low hum of the pot above the stove, and Eira’s shuddering breaths.

"Drink your tea, sweetheart," Esmeray finally said quietly. "It seems like I need to have a talk with my son about actually writing me more often than monthly."

Eira managed a small, if a bit shaky, snort, even as she brought the mug of tea up to her lips again. As the warm liquid slid down her throat, she slowly, gradually, managed to get her breathing under control again and her tears dried up.

There was nothing she could change about it, could she?

She had always known that she probably wasn’t going to marry for love. She had just thought that…maybe…maybe becoming Fae would at least grant her that.

“At least tell me my son didn’t react badly to the news?” It was a quiet question, but Eira could hear the sharp, motherly tone to the it. It was a quiet yet clear demand to know just how exactly her son had taken the news of them being mated.

"He wants to try. He's trying to court me the human way," Eira’s voice was weak…tired. She heard the sharp intake of breath from Esmeray.

" Human way?” There was a small note of surprise to her voice, but Eira chose to ignore it.

"I used to be human," Eira said weakly. "Then I got thrown into the cauldron." Esmeray just inclined her head in a mute nod, indicating she had understood.

There was a small note of melancholy in her voice, as her dark eyes seemed to study Eira's before her lips curled into a small smile. “Then I suppose I have plenty to talk to my son about,” she murmured softly. “Are you hungry? I was going to make dinner soon,” she said with a smile.

Eira opened her mouth to answer and was then interrupted by a white cat that padded into the room, meowing loudly. The cat took one look at Eira, meowed happily, and then hopped into her lap, purring loudly.

“That’s just Flora,” Esmeray said with a fond smile, "She's probably trying to get away from her babies for a bit. They have turned into little terrors these days."

Eira let out a small, choked laugh, trying and mostly failing to resist the urge to immediately begin rubbing the purring cat behind the ears.

She had always loved cats. It was a small comfort, as the creature rubbed its head against her hand, purring loudly. Just as Esmeray had said, 3 kittens were not far behind their mother.

The three kittens hopped into the room and immediately began climbing up onto the nearest piece of furniture. One managed to scale a nearby bookcase, and another made their way onto the table near the window, while the third decisively scaled Eira’s skirts to curl up on her leg together with its mother. They were adorable, all three of them, small and white fluff balls, stumbling about as they scrambled after their mother.

The kitten immediately nuzzled against Eira’s hand, purring loudly, clearly looking for more pats from her, looking at her with sapphire blue eyes.

Eira couldn’t help her small smile, as she began to gently rub the kitten behind it’s small ears. The cat seemed to enjoy the attention, as it began purring louder, its little back arching every now and then.

The shadows tightened around her wrist, and she would have laughed at their display of jealousy any other time, but right now it just got a weak smile from her as the kitten curled up on her lap to take a nap.

“She seems to have taken a liking to you,” Esmeray commented with a smile, watching the kitten rub its head against Eira’s hand, clearly demanding more pats.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 1 year ago

Text

How You Turn My World; Chapter 1

Your day started with chaos, and my dear, it looks like it will continue to be chaos. But only time will tell. The Underground holds many surprises in store for you.

Characters; Grim, Lilia Vanrouge, Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola

Content; Gender-neutral reader, cat shenanigans, building the plot

Content Warnings; Swearing, illusion to marijuana but there is none

Word Count; 4.6 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you go to the Underground and don't return. Mwah mwah, kisses~

Ah, the joys of cat parenthood. Days spent cuddling your little bundle of furry joy. That’s what your friends preached. That having a feline roommate was easy and rewarding. That you would benefit by having a cute and fuzzy companion that didn’t demand much of anything. That you would love your little kitty friend like a child. Well, either your friends were liars with questionable senses of humour, or you drew the short stick when it came to choosing a furry companion. And there’s always the possibility of it being both, what with having Ace as a friend and all, but you just hoped it was just your shit luck and not that you had shit friends.

Seriously, though, what higher power did you manage to piss off to deserve the royal hobgoblin of a cat you have? He has shit and pissed in your plants on several occasions. Demolished every single curtain he laid eyes on like he had a personal vendetta against them. Stole your breakfast off your plate right as you were about to take a bite. Puked on your last pair of good white shoes, which still had stains on them because they wouldn’t come out. The cherry on top of it all though was that he insists on yowling and crying in the middle of the damn night for no good reason. Rudely awaking you from the dead of sleep because he demanded attention. With how loud he was, you were surprised that you hadn’t gotten a noise complaint from any of your neighbours… yet. But then again, you could hear the upstairs neighbours’ children screaming bloody murder every so often — what were their names, the Clovers? They were probably so used to it that they threw you a bone, or they didn’t want extra grey hairs from filing a complaint to the landlord. So maybe Grim wasn’t all that bad, but he was still a gremlin child.

“MROWWWWWW!!!!!” Ah, so tonight was no different then. Grim had decided that you needed to be woken up before even the birds started to sing, needed to be yanked out of the land of dreams. That whatever had caught the attention of his singular brain cell was more important than you recharging so you don’t accidentally say the wrong thing to your boss. Since last time you had slipped up and called him dad, even though no one in their right mind would leave him alone with a rutabaga unattended, and he went on a two-hour long monologue about how much of a kind and generous person he was for you to see him as a father figure. And your salary wasn’t high enough, nor would it ever be, to deal with his eccentric and maddening behaviour.

Maybe, just maybe, if you ignored him and stared at the ceiling long enough he would stop his caterwauling and go to sleep. “MROWWWW!!!!!” Apparently not.

Just one night, ONE NIGHT, of peace and quiet. PLEASE. But you knew that if you didn’t get up soon, he would get up on the bed and put his fluffy butt in your face… like he did last night and the night before that. Sighing, you begrudgingly got out of your cocoon of warm, fluffy, blankets, and hoped you would soon be back in them after dealing with Grim. Hopefully, he was just complaining about his food bowl not being as full as he would like it.

What was the time anyways? Three-thirty in the morning? Ugh, Grim! What did Ace say about it, ah, yes, “Primetime witching hour. Demons and all sorts of creepies” yada yada yada. But you didn’t pay any mind to him, as his annoying smug look would taunt you in your mind even though he was probably sound asleep, blissfully asleep. Something that you wanted to be doing, but woefully you were not.

Stepping out into the main living space, you shot the grey fuzzball the stink eye. “What the hell do you want? You absolute gremlin!” You hissed through gritted teeth, very much annoyed with your brat of a fur child and wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed, hell, even the loveseat would suffice.

The offending feline just trilled at you in response, and his tail vibrated, happy that you had come out to see him. How is he so cute but so annoying? He rubbed against your legs before trotting off to one of his hidey holes, which also served as his nest of your stolen socks. He has a weird obsession with socks. But he popped back out, holding something in his mouth. Something small and fuzzy that didn’t look like any of his toys.

“Prowwww,” he dropped it at your feet as if saying that catching whatever it was, was the equivalent to paying his share of rent. Which, it was very much not.

You closed your eyes and pinched your brow. Please be one of his toys. PLEASE be one of his toys. You chanted to yourself in your mind and then opened your eyes. Unfortunately, it was not one of his toys. The small, fuzzy thing in question seemed to be a mouse or some other kind of rodent. It was too late (too early?) for this, and quite frankly you didn’t have the brain power to confirm whatever the hell it was. All you knew was that it looked like a mouse, therefore it was a mouse.

“Is this what you’ve been screaming about this whole time? A mouse,” you sighed. Shaking your head, you went to the bathroom, grabbing some paper towel so you could at least put it outside for something else to eat, or go back to nature in some other way. It was better than just being left to decompose in the communal garbage bin. When you came back out though, it was nowhere to be seen. Now, either Grim decided to eat it like a good kitty cat, or, with your luck, it was still alive and was now running amuck in your apartment.

Grim’s chattering was coming from the kitchen now, and he was up on top of the fridge. It was running amuck in your apartment, how lovely.

“Why, why, are you like this?! Get down from there!” You really didn’t have the energy for this.

Grim just blinked at you before his eyes dilated. He leapt down from his perch on the fridge and was pawing at a corner by the window. Looking down and you couldn’t make out anything on the floor. But you had the oh-so-brilliant idea to look up toward the ceiling. The ‘mouse’ was very much alive, and wasn’t a mouse at all, since it was flying around and banging itself against the corner.

“YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

He had indeed caught a fucking bat. And bats were normally fine, when they were outside. Not when they’re flying around your apartment at three o’clock in the morning and your cat is losing his goddamn mind trying to catch it. So no, this was very much not fine.

The bat was about as pleased as you were with this whole situation and kept on flinging itself against the glass of the window, desperately trying to get back outside. How the hell did it get inside in the first place? That could be pondered on upon at a later time, as the first priority was getting it back outside.

“Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat,” you whispered in a non-threatening tone. Could the flying mammal understand what you were saying? Mostly likely not. Hopefully it understood that you, unlike your cat, were trying to help and did not want some fresh bat as your late night snack tonight.

After what felt like forever fuddling with the window to open with a broom in hand, just in case the bat decided to dive bomb your head, you finally got the cursed thing open.

Grabbing Grim, who was still trying to catch the bat for a second time tonight, you got back to your bedroom and locked the door shut. You hoped that the bat would take the hint that it now had a path to freedom, but only time, and a bit of sleep, would tell. Slumping against the door frame, you sighed and looked over at Grim. He was playing with the door stop, the boing, boingg, boinggg sounds filling in the quiet. Whether it was to amuse himself, or to annoy you was a fifty-fifty bet.

Just as you were about to crawl back under the covers a string of anxiety connected in your head. Shit, did Grim get bit? DAMMIT GRIM! After leaving a somewhat desperate and tired call to your vet’s voicemail, alongside an apology for the late call (early call?), you peeked outside to see if the bat was still flying around. According to Google, the bat should be tested for rabies. You did not trust your no brain cell having fluff ball to know better than to get bit by a possibly rabid bat. But it was gone, so yet again, you were out of luck.

You had enough with today, even though it had just really begun. Pulling up the covers, you sighed in the dark warmth of your blanket cocoon. Grim was busying himself by trying to pounce on your feet, but you ignored him, falling back to sleep and hoping that the rest of your day wouldn’t bring any more shenanigans, migraines, or small flying mammals.

…

By some miracle, you managed to get Grim to the vet the very same day. Your boss agreed to let you work from home because he is ever so kind and generous… It did help that one of the other higher-ups nearly nagged off his ear upon hearing about the condition of your cat. Even through the phone you could hear it, and could only imagine the spectacle it must have been. Oh well, you had the day off and that is what mattered… but you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cough out a laugh just imagining the scene on the other side of the phone.

You were relieved, Grim on the other hand was not having it. To be fair, you did trick him into his crate with some tuna. He made his disdain known to all though by crying the entire way there. You almost felt bad for him, almost being the key word.

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself, ya know.” You huffed at him, feeling your shit sleep all too well. “Crying about it won’t help you any.”

Grim let out a pathetic little mew. His little, bright, blue eyes being the only visible part of him, which peered out miserably from the crate. Caving to the kitty manipulation, you poked your finger in as a peace offering. Grim booped his nose to your finger and then proceeded to nibble on it; such a vicious beast.

The vet visit went as well as you could hope it could, as Grim only tried to maim the vet a few times. Hey, it was an improvement from last time, as he had actually peed on them. So yes, trying to maim was vastly better than seeing your figurative child pee on the doctor. You’re pretty sure your vet didn’t go through years of schooling and thousands of dollars into debt just to get peed on by your unruly cat. But Grim was won over by the offering of that cat gogurt, his nose and stomach betraying him. Note to self, stock up on some of that stuff.

The rest of the visit went on without a hitch; he had some blood drawn, got his booster shot for rabies, and even managed to squeeze in a bonus nail trim. There was no evidence of any bite or puncture marks, so Grim by some miracle, did indeed have enough brain cells not to get bit.

“Grim will have to be watched for about forty-five days,” the vet hummed, checking Grim’s chart. “Since you don’t have any other animals it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep him in quarantine. If you see any symptoms be sure to bring him back, just in case.” They gave you a tired smile, and then turned that smile towards their cantankerous patient. “And thank you for deciding not to pee on me this time, Grim. I’m not so bad, see?”

Grim swatted at them, which was his answer to the vet’s question. In Grim’s book, the vet was that bad.

Ignoring his attitude, as you would whenever you came across a screaming toddler and exhausted parent while doing your grocery run, you turned back to your vet. “Thank you, and sorry for Grim. If it makes you feel any better, he’s just as much as a gremlin child at home as well.” At least today went better than last time.

The vet chuckled goodheartedly, “Don’t worry about it, I have more unruly patients than little Grim here.”

Damn, they have seen some shit, haven’t they? … Maybe I should, I don’t know, bring them a gift basket next time I’m in? Or maybe a gift card for a spa day or something??? You should really get them something for the amount of dry cleaning they probably needed to do.

With the visit over, and Grim having a clear bill of health, you shoved him back into his carrier with zero decorum, closing the door as fast as possible before he could escape and try to hide behind the counter like he did last time. I know your tricks, cat. Speaking of bills, the one that was waiting for you at the front desk was enough for you to point an icy glare at your unruly ward.

“You’re lucky that I love you, asshole.” And much like the vet you too got a swat as your thank you. Wonder if this is what the Clovers feel about their children? At least their kids didn’t wake them up in the middle of the night with a bat they caught… You shook your head, moving past those thoughts, and hauled your wailing cat back home.

…

...

By the time you got back to your place, it was just a little past noon. The rest of your day was wide open, and you didn’t really have anything else to do, since taking Grim to the vet was the most urgent of your tasks. Your place could benefit from some tidying, since your boss had recently been demanding more as of late and has been even less useful than he usually was… which was saying something. Seriously, how does he have his position? It was baffling. You swore you could hear his monologue playing on loop in your head whenever you thought of the man, which you tried to keep to a minimum for your own sanity… whatever little of it still remained that is.

Shaking your head to rid the annoying voice, you put on your favourite playlist and got to work. You took your time, putting away the dishes, vacuumed the main room, and even got rid of the dust on the high shelves. But your place was small, so it didn’t take very long for you to tidy up, and deep cleaning could wait for another day when you had enough energy to mentally and physically deal with that undertaking.

You knew that your email probably had a few messages, but it could wait. You weren’t on the clock and therefore didn’t have to check it. Only do the stuff you’re required to do when you get paid, it makes your downtime way more enjoyable.

But, you were bored. The cleaning helped with it, but with the majority of it done and the more intense stuff waiting for another day, you had nothing else to do. And while doom scrolling through social media may fill in the time, it too, was boring, predictable.

… There were two people though who were the exact opposite of boring and predictable. And yes, they did give you your fair share of migraines and questioning your life decisions more than you usually do, they were your best friends. And you were in need of having a movie night with them.

Opening up the group chat, you typed in a message.

| The Responsible One | You guys down for a movie night at my place tonight?

And almost immediately, Ace replied.

| Ginger, derogatory | depends | ya got fiid?

Deuce responded shortly after.

|The Responsible One | How does 6 sound?

| Mama’s Boi | 6 works for me

| The Responsible One | I took a screenshot of that btw love you Ace | Thanks Deuce for actually giving me an answer. | What FIID do you guys want?

| Ginger, derogatory | FUCK YOU | … but yeah 6 works 4 me | any is cool with me

| The Responsible One | Yes yes, fuck you too Ace | Bring your own snacks it is then | See you guys at 6!

That gave you about ninety minutes to hide your good snacks, since the last time, Ace had made himself too comfortable and ate all your fancy treats that you paid way too much for. But like they say, you deserve to ‘treat yoself’ … Ace still owed you for those snacks though. They were fucking expensive, prick.

…

Ninety minutes didn’t take very long, but you managed to hide some of the mess that you hadn’t tackled in your bedroom; it could stand to wait. And the first of your dork friends arrived right on time, count on Deuce trying to be punctual… even if he was panting like he had run a marathon to make it.

“You know,” you sighed, “you didn’t have to sprint here.” You grabbed a glass, filled it with some ice water, and handed it over to your flushed and heaving friend. Please don’t pass out on me. “It’s not a race.”

Deuce took the glass and downed it, still catching his breath. He lifted up the tote bag he was carrying, “Mom made brownies.” A series of coughs escaped him, but he gave you a bashful smile and showed off the multiple Tupperware containers filled to the brim with still warm chocolatey divineness. “Didn’t want them to get cold! Oh! She also made extra for you too!”

He is such a sweetheart… but he’s also pretty dense at times, still a sweetie though. You could have just warmed them back up in the microwave — yes, they weren’t the same as fresh from the oven, but still — you didn’t have the heart to tell Deuce that though. He looked so proud that he made it on time and that the brownies were still warm. What did you do to deserve Deuce as a friend?

“Also,” he fished around the tote bag, “I brought extra popcorn, since we ate all of yours last time.” And he pulled out an unopened bag of popcorn, the bashful smile turning bright.

Deuce took a step forward, but stopped and backpedalled, taking off his shoes. After he set them neatly by the door, he made his way to the kitchen, and set all of his assorted belongings on the meagre counter space. Once he unloaded the tasty cargo, he made his way over to your loveseat, which had seen better days, and sat down, getting comfortable.

He was looking at you, and there was a little crease in between his eyebrows. Deuce only wore that look when he was worried. “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit… off.”

You gave him a tired smile, “Meh. Tired, stressed, not enough money. You know, the usual.” You noticed that his frown was only deepening, so you took a seat next to him and patted his shoulder. “Seriously, Deuce, I’m okay. Plus you got enough on your own plate without worrying about me. I’m going to be fine.”

Deuce pursed his lips, but let out a long sigh, accepting your answer without much fuss. You were capable of dealing with whatever it was, he knew that. You were one of the most capable, and stubborn, people that he knew. You would be fine in the end. “Whose turn is it to pick the movie this time?” He asked, stretching out, trying not to bump into you.

“Hmm, your turn actually,” you hummed. “But–”

Bzz! Bzzz! BZZZ! Someone was buzzing your door, repeatedly pushing at the button. Only one person you know did that. BZZZZZZZZ! And he wouldn’t let up until you answered the door.

Groaning, you got out of your spot and peaked through the peephole. On the other side was none other than Ace, who’s leg was bouncing and he kept on pushing your damn buzzer.

You only opened the door when he decided to lean on it, making him almost fall… almost. Maybe next time would be the day where you would see him eat dirt. “Happy you could join us on this lovely evening,” you drawl, doing a little bow.

Ace rolled his eyes at you, “Seriously? Feeling petty tonight I see.” He too took off his shoes, since the last time he wore them in and tracked in mud from outside, you made him clean it up. He learned his lesson that day, and really didn’t feel like cleaning your floor again.

You smiled at him, “Yeah, yeah I am~” You dropped the smile and went back to your comfy spot beside Deuce. “Also,” you turned around right as Ace was about to plunder your fridge. You glared at him, and he backed off, giving you a sheepish look. “Don’t even think about stealing my food, there’s popcorn and you have food at your home. Unless you want to start paying for my groceries, stick to what’s on the counter.”

Closing the fridge, Ace busied himself by making himself some popcorn, and sneaking a brownie or two in his mouth as he waited for the microwave to finish making his treat. While he was busy in the kitchen, you and Deuce were slowly going through the seemingly endless catalogue of movies.

“What are we even watching tonight? There’s no special occasion,” Ace mused, sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. “Action? Horror? Sci-fi? Perhaps,” he paused and made a kissy face, “romance?~”

You stared at him, until he dropped the kissy face. “Never do that again,” you deadpanned, turning back to the screen. “Found something?”

Deuce was hovering over a title, Labyrinth. “Can we watch this? Mom said it was one of her favourites when she was a kid.”

Ace plopped into the armchair, and started chowing down on his fresh popcorn. “Dude, your mom probs just had the hots for, uhhh, Jared? Or whatever his name is.”

You threw a pillow at him, but missed unfortunately, and Ace flipped you off. “First off, Ace, his name is Jareth not Jared. And yeah, we can watch it,” you said, stretching back and getting into prime comfortable blob position. Oh yeah, you weren’t getting back up.

Once Deuce got up and brought some snacks back in, you started the movie. And damn, these brownies are divine. You really needed to ask Ms. Spade for her recipe. The popcorn was decent, overall meh, but the brownies! THE BROWNIES!!!

You all settled down after being rationed your snacks, and you pressed play. Ace and Deuce both nearly choked on popcorn when Jareth appeared.

“WHY ARE HIS PANTS SO TIGHT?!” They both choked in unison.

You just rolled your eyes and ignored them, trying to focus on the movie. Other than you nearly having to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on the both of them, the movie continued without incident, until a certain gremlin decided to start crying right as Magic Dance began playing. Seriously Grim, must you choose the most inopportune time to act like Toby does in the movie? But that’s life with a cat.

You paused the movie and looked at Deuce. You were in prime comfortable blob mode, you weren’t getting up. Deuce patted you on the shoulder and went to go see what on Earth Grim was screaming about. Ace just continued to scarf back brownies, thank goodness you hid some away before he got here, or else you wouldn’t have any come tomorrow.

But Deuce came running back out of your room, since that was where Grim was. And you were about to question why he looked like he’d just seen a ghost when something blurred right past him; something small, fuzzy, and flying.

The damn bat is back?! Yeah, you definitely felt like you were cursed.

Now, you could either get up and deal with the bat, since Deuce was just trying to shoo it outside the window with a mop and Ace was screaming much like Grim was, or you could stay warm and comfy and hide under the blanket, pretending that this wasn’t your waking reality…

Option B was really tempting right now, to be honest. Sighing, you got up, massaged your temples to collect yourself, before arming yourself with a broom yet again. Grim has his rabies vaccine, you don’t, so you weren’t taking any chances.

“WHY IS THERE A BAT IN YOUR APARTMENT?!” Ace hissed, ducking as the bat swooped near him.

You opened the window right open, almost threatening to take it off its bearings, “Because the universe hates me, that’s why!” Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it contain a seed of truth? Yes. So that’s what you went with. Was it really an exaggeration though? In the past twenty-four hours it really felt like the universe was sending you a personal ‘Fuck You ♡ ' letter with a kiss mark on the envelope.

You and Deuce tried to work together as a team to coax the bat outside. Come on, the window is wide open. Come on bat, get your fuzzy ass out of my place.

All that was happening though, was some scene that belonged in a Three Stooges act. With Ace and Grim screeching — yes they counted as one collective unit — Deuce trying his best, but not getting anywhere, and you feeling like you were about to explode from the stress and noise. Even on an impromptu day off, you didn’t get a break, not really.

Getting whisked away by the Goblin King is looking real appealing right now. The bat swooped down close to you, and your instincts kicked in and you swung at it, making it crash land into your coffee table, right into the popcorn. And alongside the popcorn getting spilled everywhere, there was also a poof of green sparkles.

When the green sparkles subsided, there was a strange person with long black hair and red streaks, wearing something that looked straight out of a Ren Faire, and he was standing on your table. The strange man looked straight at you, and you looked back, blinking fast. Did Ms. Spade give us a different kind of brownie? Or is this actually happening?

He snapped his fingers, and you watched as he slowly disappeared into another poof of green sparkles. You were backing up, since hey there was a stranger in your place out of nowhere, but thanks to your shit luck, you tripped over your own feet, tumbling into them. And as the green poof subsided, both you, and the stranger, were nowhere to be seen. Leaving a very confused Ace, Deuce, and Grim to wonder what the hell happened to you.

And honestly? You were thinking the same. Where the FUCK am I?!

...

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; And I'm finally showing this to the world, after months of collecting dust in my Google Docs. I have no idea how long this fic will go on for, and the length may be dictated by how much feedback and interaction this gets, so yeah. General rating for this is Teen but might change in the future; I won't tag people if that happens though, cuz, yeah.

If you enjoyed this story, and want to read more of my stuff while I slowly work on more installments to this fic, check out my masterlist! Please ignore any spelling mistakes, I write and die with no beta.

#twst #twst x gn reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #twst grim #lilia vanrouge #deuce spade #ace trappola #there will be more x reader stuff in future chapters #soooo #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #loosely inspired off of labyrinth and some other fae media; but very loosely #majority of this should be original with some tie ins from the movie #i wrote like 9 K in may for this idea and haven't touched it since; it took me like a week to rewrite this 4.6 K and i deleted some stuff #don't be precious; delete your art (from drawfee)#the length of this may be dictated from how much traction and interaction it gets #gilf enjoyers rejoice #twst labyrinth au #<- kinda but not really; we shall see #to clarrify; there is nothing in the brownies; the brownies are just run of the mill brownies #will be making a masterlist for this series; just so i don't break diasomnia's sooner than the others #there's also going to be a break in fic updates in october; but more on that later #btw everything grim did; my cats have done; the 'bat' was a mouse though and not lilia vanrouge from twisted wonderland #also labyrinth gave me nightmares as a child cuz i was terrified of puppets; and i had the same reaction as adeuce at his pants #first time posting a multi-chapter fic; let's see how this goes

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aquietjune · 1 year ago

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Little Bird: Chapter 4 is out on AO3

She killed her first man when she was eight years old.

Her father was right in wanting her prepared for what was to come. Alongside her, more than twenty children passed the selection for the Warrior program. They lost around eight during the campaign in Lakua. They didn’t post them to the frontline directly—they mostly kept them around to do odd jobs—, and yet they experienced warfare. A few surely died under the enemy’s fire; others, for the Marleyans’ carelessness; one, for his own.

Due to unforeseen events, the Marley military could not put them on any trial back then.

The trials took place a few months later, when they shipped them to Agonia. There, the troops of both Marleyans and Eldians had been losing many soldiers in the war for the conquest of the Là-Bas nation. Some units had been decimated by the enemy, and they would have lost if it wasn’t for the power of the Jaw.

The candidates were to prove themselves worthy of the title of Honorary Marleyan by delivering the death penalty to unworthy soldiers.

The candidates happened to hear the officers quarrel about it.

At the time, Pieck had already joined the program.

“They won’t make us shoot Marleyans,” she said. “It would lower the morale of the soldiers, seeing Eldian kids shooting their own.”

“I suppose any execution would lower the morale,” Bertholdt said, looking at his knees.

Reiner said, “Out of the question. It would be wrong for any Eldian to shoot a Marleyan.”

Pieck (and, to an extent, Reiner) was right. They put them in front of a line of Eldian deserters. One at a time, they were asked to take the rifle, and shoot them.

Even though they had given the candidates some herbs to “calm down,” many of the other children were deeply agitated.

Annie was annoyed at that. She wanted this to be over. For once, she got in line among the firsts.

(The rest is here)

#i made it but geography still haunts me #little bird #little bird: chapter 4 #aruani fanfiction #annie leonhart fanfiction #aot fanfiction #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aruani #annie leonhart

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No.

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?”

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess?

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you.

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?”

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?”

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?”

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. ��More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x female reader #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut #könig fluff #könig imagine

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sweetfictionalworld · 2 years ago

Text

Bound For Life - Chapter 1

Pairing: OC!Orc x Human Female Reader

Summary: Your life is nothing exciting. Until one day when you encounter a creature in the forest and your life is changed forever.

Warnings: Nsfw! Smut, Orc Sex, Monster Sex, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Size kink.

Author's notes: Okay, so this is my first time writing and posting anything original. I hope this is good enough to post and that a few out there will like it.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Life had never consisted of anything exciting or interesting for you. As you grew up to be an independent young woman after the death of your parents, you found yourself living quite a boring life. Living alone in a small cottage in the forest outside the village, you worked at the local Inn. Every day was the same as the other. Meeting the same people, having the same dull conversation.

Little did you know, it was soon about to change.

You knew of the creatures in the world, of the elves and trolls, goblins ad orcs, but you'd never encountered one. Their lands were far away from the humans, so distant it felt like a fairytale red to spellbound children.

It was late at night after another shift. You walked through the dark and murky forest, following the stone path to your home. Suddenly, your skin tingled and your eyes flickered as your breath deepened, inhaling more air. Your footsteps slowed down as you listened with great intensity, couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You looked behind you, expecting your eyes to connect with a rodent, a wolf, or a bird, but nothing was there. Nothing but a lingering knowing. Looking onward again, you quickened your steps this time, hoping to escape the constant feeling of being followed by watchful eyes.

Yolmar hid in the darkness of the forest, watching the fragile, little female figure walking the path through the woods. He had never seen a human before. His head tilted, nostrils flaring as he felt the smell of your fear. It was almost like hunting a deer.

Yolmar had never been this far away from home. As he came of age, Yolmar was sent to explore the world to find a suitable mate. He never expected that it was the sent of a human that would awaken his interest.

A sudden crack made him look to the side, his pulse quickening at seeing the wolf sneaking up on you. His eyes snapped back to you, then back to the wolf, his instincts taking over when the animal suddenly lunged towards you.

It all happened so fast. Despite your senses being on high alert, you barely had time to react when you heard the crack of a breaking tree branch behind you. Twirling around, you stared at the wolf galloping towards you. Your scream didn't have time to leave your lips before the wolf was knocked to the ground by an enormous, green-skinned humanlike creature. You stared at the scene before you, unable to move as the creature wrapped his muscular arm around the wolf's neck and broke it. The green beast dropped the lifeless wolf to the ground, its chest heaving with heavy breaths as he turned his attention to you, staring at you with yellow, intense eyes.

From the stories told to you as a child, you knew that it was an orc.

You thought you would die on the spot as the orc moved closer, its heavy footsteps booming in your ears in pace with the sound of your own racing heartbeat.

"You okay?" the orc spoke, his voice guttural as he struggled to speak your tongue. You blinked, once, twice, as you stared up at this monstrous beast before you. His yellow eyes examined you with what you could only describe as...concern? He was tall, probably close to 6,6, his bare-chested upper body flexing with muscles as he breathed heavily.

You nodded at his question, couldn't find your voice as your gaze dropped to his loincloth, your face heating up as you imagined what was hidden beneath. What on earth possessed you to think such inappropriate thoughts in the face of death? You looked up again, your eyes following the shape of the black mohawk on his head, down his pointy ears, and the two tusks protruding from his bottom lips.

"Good," the orc answered to your nod, his gaze slowly roaming down the shape of your body, and you found yourself blushing. Why did he make you feel so utterly naked and bare?

"Uhm...t-thank you. For...for saving me," you finally managed to say, your voice shaking as much as your heart pounding in your chest.

The orc nodded, a smirk ghosting across his lips as he looked back up to your face and met your gaze.

"W-what are y-you doing here? I-I mean, s-so far away from your homeland?" you asked, not knowing where you got the courage to speak. Good lord, this was so unreal. Were you actually having a conversation with an orc?

"I left my clan to search for a mate," the orc replied, taking a step closer to you as he gazed at you leeringly. "I am Yolmar. What's your name, little human?"

You stared up at him, unable to breathe at his closeness and the lustful glimmer in his eyes.

"Y-Y/n...," you croaked and wetted your lips, scared of what might happen next.

"Well, y/n..." Yolmar placed his forefinger under your chin, lifting it up and forcing you to hold his gaze. "I believe you owe me for saving you."

Holding your breath, you felt a heat rush through your core as you looked into his piercing, yellow eyes.

"I-I...w-what do you want?" you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"You. As my mate."

Your eyes widened as you kept staring up into his eyes. Your ears were buzzing, mind unfocused on everything except the word coming from his lips.

Mate.

"W-What?" you flickered your eyes, the nervous beating of your heart increasing. "W-What do you mean?"

"It's your scent. I could smell it from miles away, the way only a mate could sense it. You and I are mates, destined to be together. I must confess I was disappointed at first that you're not an orc. But now that I see you, how tempting your soft and tiny body is, I can't wait to claim you. To make you mine."

Yolmar smirked and leaned down to your ear, inhaling your scent. A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest, and the sound along with his hot breath on your skin caused a trail of goosebumps down your body. You couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe how willing your body was to accept him when your mind was still trying to protest. Yolmar's finger left your chin and slid down the nape of your neck, sending another wave of goosebumps down your skin. A keen whimper slipped from your lips and you became shamefully aware of the arousal pooling between your thighs. Yolmar growled at the sound coming from your lips, his hand landing on your waist, covering your entire hip.

"P-Please don't, I can't...," you begged, hated the uncertainty in your voice and how your body betrayed you, aching and throbbing to feel him inside you.

"I can smell your arousal, human," he growled, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, coaxing an embarrassed moan from your lips. Yolmar snickered. "You want me as much as I want you."

His hand found its way underneath your dress and undergarments, two of his long, thick fingers slipping between your soft folds and into your wet, spongy core. You gasped and grabbed his big arms as his fingers stretched you out.

"So wet and tight," Yolmar mumbled and started moving his fingers inside you, grunting at the squishing sounds your pussy was making. His cock jerked at the feeling of your wetness, twitching, and hardening to life, eager to fill your tight, little cunt to the brim.

"Oh fuck," you gasped at the feeling of his fingers thrusting into you, didn't understand why you didn't stop this stranger, this monster, from doing this to you. Most of all, you didn't understand why you wanted him to do this, why your body seemed to crave his touch. Maybe it was true what he said? That the two of you were destined to be mates.

"Such foul words coming from such a sweet, little thing," Yolmar chuckled, the sound vibrating through your core. "Tell me, my little human...Do you crave my cock inside you?" At the last word, he pushed his fingers deeper inside you, pushing against your g-spot and you screamed out in pleasure.

"Y-Yes! Please, yes," you whimpered, tears welling up in your eyes as he repeatedly thrust his fingers into you at a rapid pace.

Yolmar grinned and took out his fingers from your pussy, his hands violently ripping the dress from your body, leaving you only in your undergarments. You gasped, wanted to cover your bare chest when the orc stared at your breasts but didn't have time to react before his calloused hand cupped your tits. "Pretty," was all he said and kneaded the soft flesh, felt the weight of them in his hands, and rubbed his rough thumbs across your nipples that hardened at his touch.

"P-Please," you begged, bit your lip at the feeling of your pussy aching and clenching desperately to be filled.

Yolmar lifted his gaze, his yellow eyes filled with hunger as he removed his loincloth. Your gaze dropped, widened when you saw his enormous, engorged member pulsating and leaking with precum as it stood proudly in a curve up against his stomach.

"Oh, fuck...," you whispered, wondering how it would ever fit inside you at the same time as your pussy twitched at the sight of him.

Yolmar chuckled at the frightened wonder on your face. "Don't worry, little one. It will fit. If we take it slowly. Now, get down on your hands and knees."

You obeyed on trembling legs, jerked and gasped when he ripped the undergarments from your body and grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling your ass up in the air. Then, you felt him at your entrance, slowly pushing the bulbous head between your fold and into the tight hole of your pussy. Your eyes widened, breath coming out in short gasps through your parted lips.

"So tight. So fucking tight and small," Yolmar mumbled and howled in pleasure when the head of his cock suddenly popped inside your warm, wet entrance. At that point, he couldn't control himself anymore. Grabbing your hips harder, he bucked his hips against your ass, pushing his cock into you halfway before pulling back. You cried out, back arching and head thrown back as his huge cock stretched out more than you thought was possible. Then, he thrust forward again and you screamed a silent moan, realizing he had only been halfway inside you and he was now fully seated in your womb.

"Feels so good...so good, my sweet, little human," he crooned, almost lovingly, as he started a slow and gentle pace of fucking you, claiming you as his mate. Your vision got blurrier with each of his thrusts, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body. Soon, your mind became dazed and numbed, and a smile spread across your lips when all you cared about was how absolutely divine his cock felt inside you. You could feel the pressure building in your core with each thrust, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. Then, the orc suddenly pulled out and you whined at the loss of contact, of feeling so empty inside.

Yolmar pulled out and positioned himself above you, on his hands and feet as he pushed inside you again, his massive frame hovering above yours as he thrust into you. You moaned when Yolmar pushed back into you again, smiled as you looked up at him over your shoulder. You looked into his eyes and held his gaze as he quickened the pace once more, rapidly shoving his dick inside you over and over until your senses were overflowing.

Yolmar looked back into your eyes as he slammed into you hard and fast, rougher with each thrust. The slapping sounds filled the forest, blending with your high-pitched moans and the orc's snarling growls above you. The pressure in your belly intensified and finally erupted just as you felt the orc pump into you a final time, burying himself deep inside you as he came. His cock twitched inside you and the feeling of his seed pulsing into you brought you swiftly over the edge, your pussy clenching and milking every last drop out of him. Yolmar threw his head back, his loud, guttural growl echoing through the forest as he emptied his seed inside your belly. You collapsed onto the ground, panting for air and your body becoming limp as you felt his cum flow out of you, creating a white river on the dirty ground between your thighs.

"Mine," he muttered quietly and out of breath as he picked up your exhausted body.

Yours. You smiled tiredly when Yolmar cradled you in his arms, and he started walking down the path leading to your cottage.

#orc x reader #orc x human #orc smut #orc fanfiction #oc x reader #orcs #orc #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x y/n #monster x fem!reader #monster smut #monster fanfic #monster imagine #monster fucking

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catsteeth · 7 months ago

Text

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 7 ✿:+ Fork In The Road.

1-2-3-4-5-6-_-8

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: SMUT MDNI, afab reader, cock warming, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Wrap it up), Fem Dom (if you squint), VIOLENCE, misogyny, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage,

A/N: this was part of a much longer chapter so the next chapter should come out pretty soon too teeheehee.

Word Count: 4437

You remembered the first night at kings landing alone. without your fathers protection, you missed, no matter how futile it might have been.

you wanted to scream and cry “father keep me, father stay with me, father hold me” but you couldn’t. you couldn’t make a sound. you felt numb, if someone had sliced your hand open with a blade you’d not have noticed. sometimes tears would fall from your eyes straight into the ground and you’d not even noticed you were tearing up.

that’s the hardest part of being so hard was that when you cracked it shattered more than you noticed. more than you’d be comfortable admitting even to yourself.

when you mother and brother died your father feared you’d be turn mute for good.

that’s what intrigued Sandor most.

you suffered silently. you suffered with expertise.

once he’d known your heart. your loyalty, devotion, and your fearlessness was when his fascination turned into something deeper. He thought it was obsession and maybe it was, but it was more personal than that too. Poets would call it love. He’d call it nothing. He’d never spoken of it therefore it had no language. It was just what he felt, he knew he cared that was it and that was all he’d admit.

A day had past since your escape. You both were hungry, he especially.

You were beginning to enjoy the freedom that came with this new way of life, however. There were downsides. The constant exposure to the elements, the lack of food, hot water, and the lingering fear. Fear of being caught, fear of what was happening now to your cousin, and what Loras would think of you leaving.

But you had freedom, no more hand maidens pawing at you the moment you woke up to the moment you fell asleep. You no longer had to endure the torment of the Lannister's. No longer had to marry a man you didn’t love, not really anyway.

As you rode that day, you stopped to water the horses. As you did, a group of five men were riding down the trail behind you. You looked back at them as you heard the sound of their horses trotting.

“Don’t look at em’” Sandor grumbled, not looking at you. You looked back to, Lika.

You pet Lika, trying to distract yourself as you felt a pit in your stomach. A pit of dreadful anxiety. You always felt that same anxiety every time you knew something terrible was coming.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at em’." He grumbled even lower this time as the men came closer. You looked at him and he was looking right back at you. Until his gaze went back to the water Stranger was drinking from.

It was a large watering hole, so it wasn’t surprising to Sandor when the five men stopped there as well to water their horses.

As soon as they did, Sandor walked closer towards you, guarding their view of you with his form.

The group of men were a little rowdy, and they looked over to you and Sandor.

“Hello there, friends!” A bald man shouted, and your stomach dropped.

Sandor looked over at the man, show him that permanent scowl on his face.

“I know you, you’re the hound, Joffrey's Dog.” A man with longer hair shouted again.

“How far til Saltpans?” The hound asked ignoring the mans comment.

“I reckon a day. Maybe another if you’re unlucky.” The bald man said.

Sandor took the answer and left it at that. Looking away.

“What’re you doing out there? Far from Kings Landing.” The Stout man said.

“I heard Joffrey's hound ran from the battle of the blackwater.” A tall and dark man said, he seemed angrier than the other men.

His tone made Lika spook slightly.

“Easy.” You whispered to Lika, stroking her snout.

“Pretty creature you got there.” the stout man said, you had the feeling he wasn’t talking about Lika, his eyes were on you.

Sandor stepped in front of the mans view of you, “You’ve got food there?” The men had sacks of what looked like food, and a lot of it. “Bring me it.”

“You got something to trade for it?” The tall man asked

“Not a thing.” The Hound said, it made you want to roll into a ball. He was aggressively confident.

“Now Dog, we know that ain’t true.” The tall man said tilting his head to get a better look at you.

“Your cunt friend speaks like that again and I’ll cut out his fucking tongue.” The Hound hissed

“Oh but he’s right the crowns offering a pretty penny for you my friend.” The bald man said.

“And you think you’re the ones to collect it?” The Hound asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Five of us, one of you, and the girl.” The taller man taunted.

“Tell you what, we’ll make a deal with you. It’s been a long journey for the five of us. We don’t want the trouble. We’ll let you go even give ye’ some of our food… for a go at your pretty friend there.” The stout man tried to ‘reason’ with the group.

“Fuck you.” You said with the same ever present venom in your voice.

The group of men began to laugh at your words, but when the Hound stepped forward with his grip on the tilt of his sword made their laughter falter.

“Ye have any fuckin’ sense you’ll drop the food and leave.” The Hound spoke coldly.

“You don’t seem to understand the situation.” The tall man spoke.

“I understand if any more words come pouring out any one of yer cunt mouths, I’m gon’ have to kill each one ye.” He stepped forward once more

“You gonna die for some broken in whore-” The stout man wasn’t able to finish his sentence before The Hound stormed towards them. The men caught off guard were late to draw their swords.

The first to go was the closest to him, the bald one. Unable to draw his sword in time, the Hound cut him down, nearly in half with one blow. You’d never seen anything like it, no, you had. It was like when Gregor cut his horse in half with one blow. You could stew on that thought long before he moved on to the next man.

The tall one, who at that point was able to draw his sword. Their swords clashed together, the Hound kicked his knees in, making the man drop to the ground. That's when he plunged his sword into his chest. He huffed as he retracted it from the mans body.

He moved forward to the next man, a man with long hair. He seemed startled by the whole scene unfolding. He threw his sword to the ground and raised his hands up quitting. Sandor rolled his eyes and huffed in frustration, he lowered his sword and punched the man so hard his neck must have snapped.

As the man hit the ground Sandor approached the stout man who said the final words that broke him. The stout man tried to climb his horse but Sandor pulled him down to the ground. Sandor loomed over him as he began to beat him with his hands.

“Say it again!” he shouted again and again as his fist plummeted into the man’s face again and again.

You were so entranced by this violent dance unfolding in front of you, you’d hardly realized he’d only killed three men, the fourth was under his fist now, and the fifth was…

“Sandor!” You shouted as the fifth man jumped onto his back. The man was able to cut the Hounds cheek with his nails, deeper than one would expect. The man tried to strangle him from behind, but Sandor was too tall and too wide for the man to. Sandor got ahold of the man, as he did Sandor managed to snap his neck.

He turned his attention back to the stout man who was still breathing.

Sandor took out his knife and stabbed it into the mans heart, wiped the blood on the mans sleeve.

He approached you, he was covered in blood. Huffing and puffing, he put his blade back in its sheave. He picked you up by your waist and sat you on Lika.

“Sandor…” You mumbled as you looked down at your clothes that he inadvertently smeared blood on.

He grumbled something that sounded something like “Sorry”, as he walked back over to the bundles of food still attached to the abandoned horses. As he untied each one, and carried all of them back to your horses, you couldn’t help but admire his strength. One man would struggle to carry just one but he could called all three without struggle.

꒰ ୨୧ ─・┈ ꒱꒱

You had washed your pants, your wool sweater, and Sandor's armor, in the water after the attack. They laid out on a near rock as they dried. You two sat beside one another in front of a warm fire.

Sandor sloppily shoveled meat and bread into his mouth with his large brutish hands. You watched him, in awe. How he could have killed five men and less than an hour later be eating like a king.

“Eat.” Sandor said with a mouth full of food. you shook your head, “Fuck-” He hissed under his breathe, ripping a piece of meat off and holding it up to your mouth, “I’m not that imp lord, I won’t let you starve. You can eat it or I'll make you eat it.” You pouted a little, looking from his eyes to the piece of food in his hands. You took his wrist and moved his hand closer to your mouth as you ate in as he wished, from his fingers.

As you chewed it your face scrunched up, “It’s-”

“Shit” He said shoveling more into his mouth.

“Hardly worth dying for.” You said as you grabbed some bread, hoping it’d be better than the meat.

“Those cunts didn’t die for the fucking food.” Sandor grumbled,

You stopped chewing for a moment and looked at him. His words, brutal but in some indecent way romantic. He’d kill five man for simply insulting you.

You watched him eat, in... adoration? Awe? Who knows. You watched him eat, and noticed the cut on his face still bleeding.

“Your face-“ You said reaching out to touch his cut cheek, he grabbed your wrist stopping you, “Stop it.” You rolled your eyes as you commanded and he actually gave in, letting go of your wrist. You ran you hand against his cheek, he looked down, avoiding your eyes. He pushed away his food, “come here.” You spoke softly. Instead of him coming closer he pulled you onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around you.

You used your sleeve to tap the blood away from his cut. Dapping at it trying to stop the bleeding.

“I told you… no one is ever gonna hurt you again.” He whispered, looking into your eyes.

“I don’t want you hurt either.” You said still trying to stop his bleeding,

“Too late for that.” He grumbled.

You leaned in and kissed his lips incredibly gently, running your hands against the sides of his face, letting them run down to his neck.

“I don’t deserve this,” He rasped as your lips parted,

You kissed his nose, “Too late for that.” You gently rubbed your nose against his own just before you kissed him again.

You kissed him deeper, but softly. His hands ran through your hair. He admired the length of it, the texture of it, the color of it, and the smell of it.

You moved you leg over his lap. He kept at petting your hair, his hands traveled down to your lower back, the other to your thigh. You knew he was going to push you onto your back. So you stopped him, moving his hands to your hips. “Gentle” You whispered into his mouth.

You began to rock your hips back and forth against his now stiffening cock. He groaned into your mouth. Your kisses still soft and gentle, but now increasingly sloppy.

You felt his hands begin to ready himself to flip you on your back again. So once again you stopped him. “A mans meant to fuck his woman.”

“I’m your lady?” You teased him with a subtle smirk as you kissed his jaw

“Well, youre not anyone else’s that for fuckin' sure.”

You pulled his cock out, grinding your clothed cunt against it, rocking your hips against it making his thighs flex involuntarily. He began to paw at your small clothes.

“I’ll fucking rip these off you if you don’t take em off.”

You grabbed him by his jaw with both your hands forcing him to look you in the eyes. “I told you to be gentle.” Your grip softened as his hands wrapped around your back. “Let me be sweet for you.” You whispered into his mouth.

You moved your small clothes to the side and pushed his cock inside of you, slowly. You were wet, but not wet enough for it to not sting a little.

You winced a little, “Nphm” You whined a little.

“Thats what happens when you don’t let me-” You cut him off by kissing him again,

Once his cock was in you, just barely brushing your cervix, you stopped moving. You just held him while you kissed him.

He bucked his hips, hitting your cervix in a way that made you arch your back.

“Don’t move,” You whispered in his ear, licking and nibbling on it lightly.

“The fuck are you doing-” he growled but then let out a small moan from your tongue on his ear.

“Shut up.” You said into his ear in a breathless moan as you felt yourself getting wetter. Fitting him better, molding around his now familiar shape.

It made him growl under his breathe, gripping onto the plushness of your hips.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, woma-” You cut him off again kissing him deeply, sucking on his tongue. He moaned into your mouth, and he bit your lip.

You lifted your tunic over your head, tossing it beside you. You still had on the top half of your small clothes.

Sandor leaned down and began sucking at your breasts through the fabric, his hands caressing them gently. But his grip tightened as you let out a moan and he felt you tighten around his cock.

He growled into your breasts, the vibration from it made you even wetter, soaking his cock and only making it easier for him to sink in deeper, pushing against your cervix.

He then discarded his own tunic, “Take that off-” His voice rumbled, so you did. You took off the top half of your small clothes. His mouth returned to your breasts, swearing against your skin, you could feel him pulsing inside you. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to fuck. Not be fucked, but you needed to fuck.

You rolled your hips and it made him bite down on the plush skin of your breast which made you mewl. You stopped after moving just the once,

“You want more?” You asked petting the hair on his head

“Fuck do you think?” You grabbed him by his jaw and chin, forcing him to look at you.

“I won’t do it if you don’t ask.” your hand trailed from his chin to his throat, squeezing it a little before dragging your nails down his chest. He bit his lip smirking a little, not letting allowing himself to ask, his pride stopping him. “No? Alright then.”

“Please..” He said through gritted teeth,

“What was that?” You teased him,

He grabbed your throat and pulled you to his mouth, “please…” He said again this time biting your lip.

You began to grind yourself on his cock. At this point you were so wet you did it with ease, it was all pleasure. You moaned into his mouth as he kept his grip on your throat.

“Fuck” He cursed into your neck as he licked and nipped at the skin, “At’s it- fuck me-” He whispered against your bruising skin.

“Nmm- Ah! Sandor-” You moaned into his ear as you clawed at his back.

“Taking me so-” He grunted, gritted his teeth “So fucking good!” He struggled to say without grunting.

Your legs began to feel weaker, and weaker, shaking. Fucking was a new skill you’d obtained and this part was just as new. You knew you couldn’t keep bouncing yourself on his cock alone. But rather than admit failure, you licked his ear, and moaned into it “Sandor, mmmphm, please, I need you to fuck me,”

Without hesitation his hands went to your ass, bouncing you on his cock. “Ah!” You moaned again and again, your breasts bounced against his chest, making you only that much wetter. You pressed your cheek against his, constantly moaning directly in his ear. It drove him mad. You could feel yourself coming undone, “I’m cuming!” You whined against his face. He turned his head slightly to kiss your cheek sloppily,

“Good, do it, cum on my cock, Birdy.” He groaned into your ear.

You felt your legs spasm, and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, squeezing down his shoulders tight, digging your nails into his skin. You buried your face in his neck as you reached your peak, you moaned so loud, it could’ve been a scream.

He took your face from his neck, holding it so you’d look him in the eyes, he brushed the hair from your face, “How’d that feel, Birdy?” Strangely gentle. You kissed his lips sloppily,

“Keep going,” You panted into his mouth. To which he obeyed, pumping in and out of you with an increasingly erratic pace.

He looked down at your cunt sucking him back in, the thick ring of cream you created around his cock, the way your thighs were shaking, it was beginning to be too much for him.

His hand tangled in your hair, foreheads resting on one another, moaning into each others mouths, the way his hands made you feel safe.

“Sandor,” You couldn’t stop the words from coming, “I love you.” You moaned breathlessly, you hoped he didn’t hear but he did, it sent him over the edge unexpectedly.

He melted in you, you felt the heat spreading in your core.

As you laid against his chest, sweating, panting, exhausted, he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, “Love you..”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The next morning you woke in his arms. You both got dressed, and no real words were spoken.

As you readied Lika, Sandor came up behind you.

He put a piece of bread in your hands. As you looked at it, he wrapped one hand around your waist and leaned down to smell your hair.

You just smiled to yourself, looking at the piece of bread.

He patted your behind quickly, “Hurry up, got a long ways to go.”

Just as you were about to mount Lika, you and Sandor heard the sounds of at least twenty horses galloping closer and closer, and the sounds of men.

Sandor wasted no time picking you up and putting you on Lika.

“Go, take off that way and don’t stop-” He growled at you

“I can’t leave you-“ You tried to plea with him,

“Did it sound like a fucking question? Get the fuck out of here!” He shouted at you,

“No!” You shouted back with the same ferocity as he did.

“Stubborn bitch.” He said under his breathe, “Take this,” It was his dagger. “That ways North, keep going til I get you or you get to the Starks.” He said,

“Sandor-” You began but he hit Lika and yelled, making her take off with you on her. You couldn’t get her to stop, all you could do was look back and watch as a group of men surrounded the man you loved.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

It was miles til Lika was calmed enough to respond to your commands. By then it was no use. No point in going back, you knew if he needed help you weren’t able to give it.

Once you found a small creek you decided to stop let Lika drink.

As she drank, you sat there, wondering what to do.

Who were those men? Where they Lannister men? Raiders? Should you wait for him? He said he’d come, was he trying to give you hope? Unlikely, he wouldn’t be so cruel. As you were contemplating,

“My Lady Arryn!” It startled you, no one had referred to you as a Lady in so long, much less your house name.

You turned to see a older but handsome knight, in pretty silver armor. He had a blue cape. And was riding on a large Brown horse.

“Who are you?” You held out your dagger at him,

“Ser Varys Cole of the Vale, my Lady. I didn’t recognize you in those clothes, but how could any knight forget such a vision once he’s seen it.”

“Ser Cole? You served my father.”

“Indeed I did, My Lady.” You eyes still watched him like a… well a falcon, “So perhaps given the circumstances, you could lower your weapon?” He said with a smile,

So you did, trying to play the cards in your hand. “Ser Cole, I require your assistance, I need to find Robb Stark.”

He looked down regretfully, “My Lady, I am afraid I cannot assist you with such a task.”

“Why not?” You pressed,

“I am under the order of Lord Baelish to bring you to him directly.”

“The Vale is under the direct protection and order of the Arryns as it has been for generations, and you take your order from Baelish, not I?” You asked with furrowed brows and beady eyes,

“I am afraid so my lady.”

You looked at him with disgust, you walked back towards Lika. “Leave me then, I shall find my own way.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow that, my Lady.” He said, you looked back at him with a harsh gaze.

“You can, leave me. Just go and I won’t speak a word of it.”

“My Lady, your father would want me to see you to safety.”

“You believe safety is with Little Finger?” You questioned him like he were a child.

“It’s not out here.” He said looking around, you hoped Sandor would ride up and cut him down. “My Lady if you do not come willing I have orders to take you in ropes. I’d prefer you untied. So would your father.” It only angered you more that he mentioned your father so much.

You wanted your dog.

“I will not go to Kings Landing.” You said sternly, gripping on to your dagger.

“No my lady, I’ve been instructed to take you Lord Baelish.” He said as if it were an improvement.

You held the dagger in your hand. your thumb brushing the handle of the blade. You contemplated it. You could kill him. maybe. steal his armor, his sword. Travel north until you got to Winterfell. But that’s all to say you could take the armored man in combat, and that no one else along your journey would try to kill you either.

“How far?” You asked, hoping he’d say it’d be a two days journey to him. So you could run at night.

“Lord Baelish is occupying an Inn near by. He had a feeling you’d be around this area.” He was lucky you got separated from Sandor in that case.

He got off his horse and walked towards you, “You can go on your horse, My Lady. Or you can go in ropes.”

“Ropes.” You said, you pulled your dagger our and stabbed him in his leg, but he grabbed your wrist before you could remove it.

He gritted his teeth, “That was not necessary, my Lady.”

He pinned you on your back and tied your hands together. Placed you on your horse, then tied your horse to his own. All the while limping.

“Forgive me, My Lady.”

He said as he rode on, you prayed to all the Gods, old and new, for Sandor to be around a tree. For him to come up the rode, for him to kill this man, for him to untie you, and be in his arms again.

But no.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As you arrived at the Inn, Ser Cole carried you off your horse. You wanted to kill him for even touching you. He placed you on the ground and guided you to Little Fingers chambers.

“What is this? Untie the girl!” Petyr ordered,

“Yes, My Lord.” Ser Cole did as he asked.

“Leave us,”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Ser Cole left the room.

You rubbed your wrists and stared daggers at Baelish, you wanted to kill him right then.

But the knight outside the door would have killed you too, you’d have to wait til you had your dog.

“A sight for weary eyes, my lady. Even in rags.” He said with a twisted grin.

“Don’t take me back there, to Kings Landing.” You asked, but it sounded more like a command.

“If you wished to escape why wouldn’t you have asked me, you know I would have done anything-”

“You had ample time to help me and chose not to.” You interrupted him,

“You and Lord Tyrion seemed contented.”

“And you seemed contented to watch.”

“I know he has been positively bereft in your absence.” You felt your stomach drop. You’d wondered on him, for a moment, but you assumed he’d be fine.

“Lord Tyrion is a decent man,” You said with concern in your voice.

“Then why not marry him?”

“Because I am not a decent woman.” You blurted out with venom, “I rather you kill me then go back there.” You threatened.

“I’d never do such a thing,” He ran his finers against the skin of your forearm. Sandor would have cut his fingers off for it, you thought. You raised an eyebrow at him. “I asked your father for your hand, did you know this?”

You swallowed, “I did.”

“Do you know why I did?” You felt sick, a pit in your stomach, that same pit of dread.

“You want the Vale-”

“I wanted you.” He said as he leaned in and kissed your lips. Your lips did not move and your eyes stayed open. Sandor would have cut his throat for that, you thought.

As he pulled away you pressed your lips together and looked down.

“You aren’t taking me to Kings Landing are you?” You whispered.

“No, no my lady I am not.”

NOTE: Hey all you cool cats and kittens, sorry if you had to wait a little for this one. It is a longer chapter so I hope it satisfies you or a lil. Also I know, I know, the ending is a bit of a bummer, reading angst is never as fun as writing it but distance makes the heart grow fonder or whatever. I also gave you sub Sandor so like…. You're actually so welcome.

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