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novaursa · 4 months ago

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Fire and Gold (the consequences)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne

- A/N: This is the last story for today.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep is silent, an oppressive stillness weighing on the air. Dread crackles like a storm about to break as King Aerys II Targaryen, known to many now as the Mad King, sits upon the Iron Throne. His fingers, thin and white as bone, drum restlessly on the armrests, the sound echoing through the chamber like the ticking of a clock counting down to catastrophe.

The hall is empty save for a few trusted guards and the towering presence of Tywin Lannister, who stands at the foot of the throne with his head held high, his face an inscrutable mask. It is a rare sight to see him without his customary calm, but even he knows the volatility of the man before him.

“You dared to think your lioness could strike my blood, my daughter, and there would be no retribution?” Aerys’ voice is soft, almost gentle, but it carries a terrible menace. The flames of the torches lining the walls flicker, casting shadows that seem to dance with the madness in his eyes. “Your precious daughter dared to lay hands upon my Y/N. My most beloved child.”

Tywin’s face remains impassive, though you can see the faintest tension in his jaw. “Your Grace, there must be some misunderstanding. Cersei—”

“Misunderstanding?” Aerys’ voice rises sharply, and he stands, the movement sudden and jerky. His robes billow around him like the wings of a dragon. “Do you take me for a fool, Tywin? My daughter returns from your encampment cut, shaken. My Y/N, who has never known such disgrace, such insult!”

Tywin’s green eyes meet the king’s blazing violet ones. “Your Grace, if there has been an offense, I assure you it was unintended. Cersei—”

Aerys’ laughter rings through the hall, a high, grating sound that sends a shiver down the spine of every man present. “Unintended, he says! The Hand of the King claims his daughter’s treachery was unintended. She openly shamed my daughter before the eyes of our people. Your daughter, who has been nothing but a viper in this court, tried to poison the hearts of our subjects against their rightful queen!”

The Mad King steps down from the throne, his gaze never leaving Tywin. The guards stiffen but do not move, knowing better than to interfere. “You think your children are safe because you are my Hand? Because you have served me well in the past?” He leans forward, eyes glittering with a wild light. “I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Tywin. I could order Cersei to be burned alive and no one would dare stop me. I could burn your golden boy Jaime as well, see how well your lions roar then.”

Tywin’s composure does not falter, but a muscle twitches in his cheek. “Your Grace, I beg you to consider—”

“Consider?” Aerys hisses, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I have considered. You think yourself so high, Tywin. So far above us all, above your king. But you are nothing without me. Nothing! You swore to protect my family, to serve the realm. And now, your blood turns against mine.”

He straightens, drawing himself up to his full, regal height, his presence a blazing fury. “I strip you of your title as Hand of the King. You will leave this court immediately and take your poisonous brood with you.”

Tywin’s eyes narrow, the only sign of his anger. “Your Grace, I have served the realm faithfully for—”

Aerys cuts him off with a savage gesture. “For too long! Too long have you schemed and plotted under my nose. Did you think I would not notice, Tywin? That I would not see your ambition, your pride?” He leans forward, his face a mask of twisted rage. “I see everything. I know everything. And I will not have it.”

The King’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “If your daughter so much as breathes near my Y/N again, if she dares to touch a hair on her head, I will burn her alive. I will burn you all. The lions of Casterly Rock will be nothing but ash.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Tywin stands there, a statue of marble and iron, the weight of the King’s words settling on his shoulders. But he does not bow, does not flinch.

“As you command, Your Grace,” Tywin finally says, his voice steady. “We will leave the capital at once.”

Aerys’ eyes gleam with triumph. “Good. Go back to your Rock, Tywin. And remember this day. Remember what happens when you think to cross a dragon.”

With that, he turns away, dismissing Tywin as if he were nothing more than a bothersome fly. The former Hand of the King bows, a shallow, mocking dip of his head, before turning on his heel and striding from the hall. His back is rigid, unyielding, but you can sense the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

As the heavy doors close behind Tywin, Aerys slumps back onto the Iron Throne, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The madness in his eyes dims, replaced by a strange, almost childlike weariness. He leans his head back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, a smile curling his lips.

“My daughter,” he murmurs to the empty hall. “No one will ever harm you. Not while I am king.”

But even as he speaks, you know that this is only the beginning. The wolves are circling, the lions crouched in the shadows, and the dragons? The dragons are restless, their flames licking at the bonds of peace that have held the realm together for so long.

And now, with Tywin Lannister cast down, those bonds threaten to shatter.

Storm’s End looms ahead, its ancient walls stark against the darkening sky. Tywin Lannister rides through the gates, his face as hard and unforgiving as the stone fortress that now houses his daughter. His entourage is small—just a handful of guards and his most trusted men. He has no intention of lingering here longer than necessary. He has come for one reason, and one reason alone.

As Tywin dismounts, his cold green eyes scan the courtyard. Servants scatter like frightened mice, aware of the tempest in his gaze. He strides purposefully toward the main hall, his boots striking the ground with a grim, unyielding rhythm. He does not slow his pace as the great doors swing open, revealing the grand chamber within.

Cersei stands at the center of the hall, her posture rigid, her face a mask of defiance and fear. She is dressed in her finest gown, a deep crimson that mirrors the color of Lannister pride, but the color does little to hide the trepidation in her eyes. She knows her father’s wrath is like a storm—merciless, relentless. And today, she is caught in its path.

“Father,” she greets him, her voice steady, though there is a tremor beneath it.

Tywin does not acknowledge her words. He looks past her, dismissing her greeting as if she were nothing more than a child who had disappointed him. His gaze sweeps the room and lands on Robert Baratheon, who lounges on his lord’s chair, a goblet of wine in hand. Robert’s eyes narrow as Tywin approaches, but there is no welcome in his expression.

“Lord Tywin,” Robert says, his voice slurring slightly. He shifts in his seat, a smirk playing at his lips. “Come to collect your troublesome daughter, have you?”

Tywin’s eyes, icy and penetrating, fix on Robert. “This matter does not concern you, Baratheon.” His voice is cold, precise, each word sharp as a dagger. “Leave us.”

Robert’s smirk falters. He glances at Cersei, who stands silent and still, and then back at Tywin. For a moment, he looks as if he might argue, but something in Tywin’s gaze—something deadly—makes him think better of it. He pushes himself up from his chair with a grunt and stumbles toward the door.

“Whatever,” he mutters, waving a hand dismissively. “Handle your family, Lannister. I’ve had enough of this.”

The doors close behind him with a heavy thud, and the hall falls into a silence so deep it seems to swallow every breath, every heartbeat.

Tywin turns his full attention to Cersei. The fury in his eyes is a burning, unyielding force, and she feels the weight of it like a physical blow. She straightens, lifting her chin, trying to summon her usual haughty confidence, but it feels brittle, fragile, in the face of his wrath.

“You dare,” Tywin begins, his voice a deadly whisper, “to jeopardize everything I have built, everything I have planned, for your petty pride? Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Cersei’s mouth opens, a protest ready on her lips, but Tywin’s hand lashes out, striking the table beside her with such force that she flinches. The sound echoes through the hall, a harsh, jarring noise that sets her nerves on edge.

“You drew dragon blood,” Tywin continues, his voice rising, each word a thunderclap. “Do you think that means nothing? Do you think you can strike at the heart of House Targaryen and there will be no consequences?”

“Father, I—”

“Silence!” His roar shakes the very walls, and she falls silent, her heart pounding in her chest. Never, not even in her childhood, has she seen him like this. The cold, controlled fury she is used to, but this—this is something else. This is rage stripped of all restraint, all reason.

“You have put our house in peril,” Tywin hisses, his eyes burning with a cold fire. “The Mad King threatened to burn you, Cersei. To burn Jaime. Do you think I will allow you to destroy everything I have worked for?”

Her defiance crumbles, the words she wants to say dying in her throat. “I—”

“You,” he spits, cutting her off, “are a foolish, reckless girl. You think yourself a queen, a lioness. But all you’ve done is make us vulnerable.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, every word enunciated with chilling clarity. “You forget yourself, Cersei. You forget your place. You forget that your actions reflect not only on you but on all of us.”

Her pride, her vanity, have always been her armor. But now, under the force of her father’s anger, it shatters. Tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them back, refusing to show that weakness. But he sees, of course. Tywin sees everything.

“You will not defy me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “You will remember who you are and what you owe this family. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” she whispers, hating the quiver in her voice, hating the way he makes her feel—small, insignificant.

Tywin’s gaze holds hers, his eyes as cold and unfeeling as the stone walls around them. “You will return to Casterly Rock. You will stay there until I say otherwise. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” she repeats, her voice barely audible.

“Good.” He steps back, the distance between them a chasm she cannot cross. “Remember, Cersei. The only reason you are still alive is because I will not allow House Lannister to be destroyed by your stupidity.”

She flinches at the harshness of his words, but she nods, holding her head high despite the tears that threaten to spill over. He looks at her one last time, his gaze filled with cold contempt, before turning and walking out of the hall, leaving her standing there, alone and broken.

The doors close behind him, and she sags against the table, her hands gripping the edge as if it is the only thing keeping her upright. She feels the rage burning inside her, mingling with the pain and humiliation. How dare he speak to her like that, treat her like a child?

But she knows, deep down, that her father is right. She has overstepped, has endangered everything. And now she will have to live with the consequences of her actions. She will have to endure the punishment he has decreed.

But as she stands there, trembling with the effort of holding herself together, she vows that one day, she will make them all pay. Tywin, Rhaegar, the Targaryen whore who has taken everything she wanted—one day, they will all suffer as she has suffered.

One day, the lioness will roar again.

The chamber is filled with the sweet scent of lavender and the faint, sterile tang of healing herbs. Soft light filters through the high windows, casting gentle shadows on the stone walls. You sit on the edge of the bed, the cold air brushing against your bare skin as Grand Maester Pycelle carefully unwinds the bandage from your side.

“Almost done, Your Grace,” Pycelle murmurs, his voice trembling slightly with age. He peers at the now-healed cut, his expression one of clinical detachment. “The wound has healed well, though the scar will remain.”

You nod, your eyes not on the maester but on Rhaegar. He stands nearby, his gaze locked on you with a mix of concern and anger that he has not yet managed to let go. His silver hair, caught in the afternoon light, seems almost ethereal, and his violet eyes soften as they meet yours.

“I should have been there,” he says, his voice low, filled with regret. He steps closer, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill in the room. “I should have protected you.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing his hand in a reassuring gesture. “You couldn’t have known, Rhaegar. Cersei’s malice was not your fault.”

Pycelle finishes his work, dabbing a final bit of ointment over the scarred flesh. “You must continue to rest, Princess,” he advises, though his eyes flick nervously between you and Rhaegar. “And avoid any strenuous activity.”

You nod absentmindedly, your attention still on Rhaegar. “Thank you, Grand Maester.”

Pycelle bows deeply and shuffles out of the room, leaving you alone with Rhaegar. He moves closer, his fingers gently tracing the scar that mars your skin, the touch as light as a feather. You can feel the anger simmering beneath his gentle exterior, the barely contained fury at what has been done to you.

“I hate that this happened to you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You should never have had to suffer such a thing.”

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, and you lean into the touch, closing your eyes. “I’m still here, Rhaegar. A scar is just a mark. It doesn’t change who I am.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened at all.” His tone is fierce, and you open your eyes to see the torment etched in his features. “I failed you, Y/N. I let that woman hurt you.”

You shake your head, taking his hand in yours and pressing it to your lips. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me by standing with me, by being here now. You are my strength, Rhaegar.”

He exhales shakily, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you,” he breathes, the words a soft vow. “More than anything. More than life itself.”

You smile, your heart swelling with warmth despite the pain and the memories that linger. “And I love you. We’ve faced worse than this, haven’t we?”

His lips curve into a small, rueful smile. “We have.” He lifts your hand, his lips brushing across your knuckles. “But I swear, no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I still draw breath.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice that sends a shiver down your spine, and you know he means every word. You pull him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck as you bury your face against his shoulder. His embrace is strong, protective, and you feel the tension in his body, the barely suppressed urge to take revenge for what has been done to you.

“I don’t care about the scar,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m just glad to be here with you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching your face. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “Stronger than I could ever be.”

You smile, a quiet, private smile meant only for him. “I’m strong because I have you.”

His expression softens, the anger fading as he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s not the fierce passion that sometimes flares between you, but something deeper, a promise of love and devotion that will withstand any storm.

When he pulls away, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Rest now,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

You nod, feeling the exhaustion finally catching up with you. He helps you lie back, his hands gentle as he adjusts the blankets around you. His presence is a calming, steady anchor, and as your eyes drift shut, you know that whatever comes, whatever challenges you still have to face, you will not face them alone.

Rhaegar presses one last kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there, as if to imprint his love and protection onto your very skin. “Sleep, my love,” he whispers, his voice a soft caress. “I’ll guard your dreams.”

#a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #rhaegar x y/n #rhaegar x you #rhaegar x reader #rhaegar targaryen #ceresi lannister #tywin lannister #jamie lannister #aerys ii targaryen #house targaryen #house lannister

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smilelikeacheshirecat · 25 days ago

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The Sound of her Heart

Pairing: Red Hearts x Chloe Charming

Genre: extremely fluffy

note: I remember reading this drabble I just had a hard time finding it and I find it really cute and could totally see it happening so I just thought of writing it into a short pov hope you like it.

word count: 1.4k

artwork: © @gayafsowhat

Red couldn't stand silence. It wasn't just a mild discomfort—it was a suffocating, gnawing dread. Silence in Wonderland was not natural. It was a land that thrived on chaos, where every second was filled with sound. The distant ticking of the White Rabbit's ever-late pocket watch, the constant murmuring of the flowers in the meadow, or the rhythmic, almost hypnotic march of the playing card soldiers.

As a child, Red had grown accustomed to this symphony of Wonderland's noise. It was what comforted her, what reassured her that everything was as it should be. Even the loudest sounds—the Mad Hatter's cackling laughter or the Queen's bellowing orders—had a strange consistency to them. They meant life was continuing as usual. Silence, however, was an omen.

The only time Wonderland had ever been quiet was when disaster was looming. Red remembered the first time it had happened, the eerie hush that fell over the kingdom the day before the great chessboard war. She had wandered the castle halls as a child, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the stillness. The card soldiers had stood at attention, not a single shuffle of their paper-thin feet or the clinking of their armour to be heard.

"What's happening?" Red had whispered to Cherise.

"Quiet means something's coming," she had replied, her usual playfulness replaced with a somber tone.

That night, the war began, and Red learned that silence was not to be trusted.

Even after she left Wonderland, the absence of sound never stopped haunting her. She carried that unease with her, like an invisible shadow, and though her life had changed in so many ways, her relationship with silence remained the same.

When she moved into Auradon with Chloe to start her school year, it should have felt like a haven. A place to start fresh. But the dorms' thick stone walls muted everything—no birds chirping, no distant chatter from townsfolk.

It was a stark contrast to the bustling mornings when students filled the halls, the lively laughter echoed in the cafeteria, the grunting and shouting of players and cheering of cheerleaders in the field and teacher's voice is heard in each classroom. But At night, the stillness pressed down on her like a heavy weight. It wrapped around her throat, tightening with every passing second until her heart raced and her mind buzzed with imagined catastrophes.

Red finally sat up from her bed as she the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Another sleepless night. Not bothering to even try to sleep, she got up and get ready for the day.

—

"Red you okay?" A student asked, concern for the Red head noticing the dark circles under the girl's eyes.

"Fine" Red grumbled under her breath. Not wanting to sound irritated she tried to fight the tired feeling as she tries to pay attention to class as much as her abilities but unfortunately failing miserably.

It was like this through out the day, she had already fallen asleep in two of her classes. Luckily the teacher were understanding, seeing how exhausted the girl, thinking she was still adjusting to her school life in Auradon. It must be different from what she was used to.

"You having troubles sleeping?" Another classmate, brave enough to asked.

Red could only groan in response, her lack of sleep is taking a toll on her already. When the dismissal bell rang through the school, the loud sound making her jerk up from her seat as students exited the room.

"Here" the student hand a small device in-front of the princess.

Confused, she looked at the person for further explanation as to what the clocks it was.

"It's a sound machine. It helped me fall asleep when I had troubles in my first week. Maybe it'll work with you" the student said cheerfully before leaving for her next class.

Red shot her a thank you before taking the small machine back to her room.

—

"It's supposed to mimic natural sounds," Red explained as she unboxed it in their shared bedroom. "Like rain or waves or... I don't know, a forest or something. Just enough noise to keep me sane."

Chloe raised an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as Red fiddled with the buttons until the soft hum of ocean waves filled the room. She was aware of her room mates predicament and tries to be supportive and helpful to make her comfortable to Auradon or the very least help the redhead get some good night sleep.

The first night, Red finally slept. Chloe, on the other hand, tossed and turned, glaring at the glowing machine as if it were a personal affront. From the sound of ocean waves, the playlist suddenly change into what they called white noise. The machine blared the sound of static hissed like an army of restless snakes, constant and suffocating. It pressed on your ears like a heavy fog, relentless and cold. Beneath it, faint crackles and whispers teased at something unseen, leaving an eerie sense of unease.

Chloe didn't know how Red could sleep to such a sound while she was about to cry in frustration.

By morning, the bluenette's patience had run thin. "Red," Cloe groaned for what probably the 6 or 7th time already, "That thing is awful. It sounds like static mixed with seagulls having an existential crisis. How do you sleep to that?"

"I don't have a choice," Red said with a shrug. "If it's not that, it's silence. And I can't . . ." She trailed off, her voice unusually small. "I just can't."

Chloe softened but still frowned. "There's gotta be another way. We'll figure something out."

The next two weeks were a trial-and-error nightmare. Earplugs for Red? Too uncomfortable. Headphones for Chloe? They kept tangling in her hair. Sleeping in separate rooms? not possible. Chloe even started singing her with a lullaby, it worked at first but the moment she stops, Red would start turning in her bed. The princess hated waking up without Red's sarcastic morning grumbles, and Red's nightmares returned in full force without any background noise to lull her to sleep.

Tensions ran high as exhaustion took its toll. Chloe snapped at Red for leaving a wet towel on the floor; Red barked back that she never refilled the kettle. Every little thing became a bigger problem and all the frustration from the lack of sleep just keeps adding up to it.

—

It wasn't until a random Thursday night that they stumbled upon the solution—completely by accident.

"Maybe we should take a break" Chloe suggested, lifting her head from her desk to look at her roommate who remain sprawl in her bed.

"Yeah that's probably a good idea" Red sat up and face the bluenette. "All this brain storming is exhausting"

They were curled up on the couch watching an old movie, something lighthearted and silly to distract them from their shared misery. Chloe had her laptop balanced on her knees, and Red lay beside her. At one point during the movie the redhead had unconsciously sprawled across Chloe's chest. Her head nestled against Chloe's collarbone but she paid no kind to it and continue watching. They weren't paying much attention to the movie—she kept cracking jokes about the terrible acting, and Red snorted every time.

But halfway through, Chloe noticed Red had gone quiet. You glanced down to see the princess fast asleep, her face slack and peaceful in a way you rarely saw.

"Seriously?" Chloe muttered, rolling her eyes. She were about to wake up her and tell her to sleep on her own bed but you watch the girl's sleeping figure

But instead of waking Red, she carefully reached over to close the laptop, plunging the room into darkness.

Chloe had planned to move, but something stopped her. The soft rise and fall of Red's breathing, the way her fingers twitched slightly against her ribs—it was endearing. And then there was the strange realization that Red's head was directly over your heart.

The bluenette stayed still, listening to the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat and wondering if Red could hear it too.

—

By morning, the answer was clear.

"That was the best sleep I've had in weeks," Red admitted as she stretched, her hair a mess but her face unusually bright.

Chloe arched an eyebrow. "You passed out on me like a cat."

Red grinned, but there was a hint of something more—gratitude, maybe. Or relief.

The next night, Chloe offered to let Red fall asleep on her chest again. It became their new routine. She would crawl into bed first, propping up the pillows, and Red would follow, curling into her side until her ear rested over her heart. The rhythmic thrum was just enough sound to chase away the silence, while you were spared the horrors of the sound machine.

It wasn't perfect—Chloe still teased Red about her occasional snoring, and Red grumbled about her bony shoulder—but they wouldn't have it any other way.

In the quiet of the school, Chloe's heartbeat became Red's Wonderland. A constant, reassuring melody that promised safety, comfort, and love.

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lovezbrownies · 15 days ago

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Listen to the Beast.

Nia's Masterlist - Julie's Masterlist

Synopsis: You are a werewolf, a creature of forest and wild. yet you have been forced to marry a queen. A queen who never cared of your other form. So you run into another woman's arms. Mad Scientist Julie.

PAIRING: Yandere Queen x GN!Reader x Yandere Mad Scientist.

This was a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in—yet here you were. Kneeling before the Queen—no, your wife—pleading desperately for her to let you leave the palace before the full moon rose high in the sky. Your voice trembled with urgency, each word laced with fear. If she didn’t let you go, something catastrophic would unfold.

And that catastrophe wasn’t some distant threat—it was you. A monstrous transformation into a feral, half-human, half-wolf beast capable of ripping through the entire palace like a storm of teeth and claws. You weren’t asking for freedom to rebel against her suffocating rule or escape her relentless hold over you. This was survival. The cure—the only thing keeping the monster inside you at bay—was running out.

One vial of Lycantherin a month. That was all you needed. The medicine suppressed the painful, chaotic transformation and gave you control over the beast if you did choose to shift. It was a lifeline that kept you and everyone around you safe. But it had been three long, grueling months since Nia, your overbearing and obsessively devoted wife, had forced you to marry her and live within the confines of her palace.

Three months since she had taken you as her own, smothering your existence in her suffocating love. She hadn’t let you step a single foot outside the palace, ignoring your pleas and protests with a smile that promised no escape. Because of her iron grip, you hadn’t been able to restock your supply of Lycantherin.

Your last vial? Gone. Used up twenty-six days ago. Now, only 3 days remained before the full moon rose—and with it, the beast inside you. The clock was ticking, and with every moment she refused to let you go, the closer you edged toward disaster. Toward tragedy.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice breaking, desperation clinging to every syllable. “If I don’t get the medicine... I won’t be able to stop it. I’ll hurt you—everyone in this palace!”

But Nia only gazed down at you, her eyes sharp and unyielding, her lips curling into a faint smile that chilled you to the bone. It wasn’t anger or hatred in her expression—no, it was something far more suffocating. Possession.

Her red eyes gleamed in the dim light of the bedroom, a dangerous mixture of adoration and obsession swirling within them. She lounged upon her lounge chair, draped in fine silk that shimmered like liquid gold, her appearance immaculate, as always. Every detail of her—the tilt of her crown, the intricate embroidery on her gown, the way her fingers toyed with a strand of her dark purple hair—spoke of her power.

And that power wasn’t limited to the kingdom she ruled. It extended to you, encompassing every aspect of your life, constraining your freedom with a velvet leash that felt impossible to sever.

Slowly, she tilted her head, resting her chin on her delicate hand as her smile widened. The motion was casual, almost lazy, but the weight of her presence crushed you all the same.

“You’re so dramatic, my love,” she purred, her voice soft and sweet, each word dripping with mockery and affection. “Always imagining the worst. Have I not cared for you? Kept you safe? Provided for your every need? Don't try making things up to convince me to let you go, because that will never happen!”

Her tone was syrupy, gentle, yet the undertone of control was unmistakable. She wasn’t asking for your reassurance. She was reminding you of the cage she had built around you, the walls of her love that were meant to keep you hers and hers alone.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat loud and frantic as you shook your head, forcing your voice to steady. But it was no use—the desperation bled through anyway.

“This isn’t about your care, Nia,” you said, your words trembling but firm. “It’s about survival. If I don’t get the Lycantherin, I can’t stop the transformation. You don’t understand what that means. I won’t be me anymore. I’ll lose control. I’ll hurt you-- everyone!”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. She simply watched you, her piercing gaze narrowing as though she were dissecting your very soul. And then, she smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And yet,” she murmured, her voice soft as a lover’s whisper, “you seem perfectly in control to me right now. You’re overthinking again, darling.”

Her words struck like a slap, her dismissive tone twisting the knife of frustration already lodged in your chest. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms as a wave of anger surged beneath the suffocating weight of fear.

“Nia, this isn’t overthinking!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m trying to save you—save everyone! If you don’t let me leave, there won’t be a palace left to hold me!”

Your plea hung in the air, fragile as glass, waiting to shatter under her cold indifference. For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint echo of distant footsteps. Then, with an elegance that made your breath hitch, Nia rose from her chair. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, as though every step were part of a carefully choreographed dance.

Slow delibrate steps lead you to her, the soft rustle of her gown echoing in the cavernous hall. Each step closer made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming at you to run even though you knew there was nowhere to go.

When she reached you, she knelt gracefully, her movements almost reverent. She cupped your face with her slender hands, her touch deceptively tender, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if to soothe you. Yet her gaze burned with the intensity of someone who would rather see the world burn than let you slip from her grasp.

“My darling,” she whispered, her voice laced with saccharine sweetness, “you don’t need to leave. Everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need, is right here—with me. I’ve made sure of it. You belong to me, and I would never let harm come to what is mine.”

Her words wrapped around you like chains, unrelenting and suffocating. There was no anger in her tone, no outright malice. But the undercurrent of her possessive love, her obsession, was unmistakable. To her, your protests were not warnings but challenges—ones she had no intention of yielding to.

Four days. Just four days until catastrophe. You had come to the conclusion that Xelera's palace of magnificence shall become the dust of insignificance if you couldn’t secure a vial of Lycantherin. You hated to admit it, but your werewolf form was far from ordinary—it was an unstoppable force, stronger and more feral than any other, and it would tear through the palace like paper.

Yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope. Word had spread that a renowned scientist was due to visit the palace, summoned to address a mysterious illness that had swept through the servants’ quarters. The sickness wasn’t contained to the staff; even some guards and one of the palace chiefs had succumbed. Thankfully, Nia’s obsessive restrictions had shielded both you and her from exposure. Your shared quarters were cleaned hourly, and you hadn’t stepped outside your bedroom in what felt like ages.

But today was different.

After hours of pleading, bargaining, and hollow promises of affection—anything to appease the deranged woman who had kidnapped and forced you into this twisted marriage—Nia had finally relented. She allowed you to accompany her to meet the scientist. You were hardly free, of course, but this was the first time in weeks you’d been granted permission to leave your quarters.

As you stood beside Nia in the grand entrance hall, you could feel the weight of her gaze on you even as she addressed the guards, issuing commands with her usual blend of poise and authority. Her grip on your arm was gentle but unyielding, a silent reminder of her control.

The massive doors creaked open, and your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it escaped in a quiet exhale. For some reason, you’d imagined the scientist as an elderly scholar—someone frail, hunched over with age, shuffling in with spectacles and a collection of ancient tools.

What you saw instead completely blindsided you.

Through the towering doors strode a tall woman, her posture exuding confidence and purpose. Her short, bouncy blonde hair framed a face that was youthful yet tired, her striking green eyes framed by the deepest dark circles you’d ever seen. She was good looking for sure, but there was something about her that screamed exhaustion, as though she bore the weight of countless sleepless nights. Her movements were sharp, precise, and utterly captivating.

This was the scientist? She looked like she could be your age, and yet her presence was far more commanding than you’d expected.

“Welcome, Doctor McCanister,” Nia said, her tone warm but unmistakably authoritative. “We’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival. I, Queen Nia Bloodwen, deeply appreciate your willingness to assist us in this matter. A great many of my palace servants have fallen ill from a mysterious ailment that has baffled our own physicians. Your expertise is desperately needed.”

Doctor McCanister inclined her head respectfully, her expression professional but detached. “Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady and tinged with a weariness that matched her appearance. “I usually don't care for royalty or any of the like, but once word of the illness came to me I had to come by and assist. I’ve reviewed the reports provided by your staff and will begin my examinations immediately. Time is critical in cases such as these.”

Her eyes shifted briefly toward you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt exposed under her sharp gaze. There was a flicker of something—curiosity? Concern?—but it passed too quickly to decipher.

Nia, thankfully oblivious to the exchange, smiled with calculated elegance. “I trust you will find everything you need at your disposal. Should you require assistance, simply name it, and it will be done.”

The doctor gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will proceed without delay.”

As McCanister turned, Nia’s grip on your arm tightened. She leaned closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Remember, darling,” she murmured, her tone as sweet as it was suffocating, “you are here because I allowed it. Do not stray to another woman the moment you see her. I would hate for anything... unfortunate to happen.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, but you forced yourself to nod, biting back a retort. The scientist might be your last chance, your only hope of finding Lycantherin—or someone capable of replicating it.

Nia's disturbing behavior suddenly vanished as she smiled softly, letting go of her tight grip on your arm. "Now, you may go on to accompany that blasphemous doctor, hurry." You nodded, thanking her andushing off, trying not to lose the doctor. You needed to speak with her and urgently, she is your only hope of surviving this month's full moon.

Something was brewing between the Queen and her spouse, something dark and unspoken yet impossible to ignore. The tension was palpable, even from a distance. Julie McCanister observed it all with her practiced, analytical gaze. The Queen's outwardly composed demeanor couldn't hide the stiffness in her shoulders or the white-knuckled grip she kept on her spouse. The spouse, on the other hand, was visibly nervous—posture rigid, movements hesitant, as if they were constantly calculating every step and word.

Julie frowned slightly, her thoughts spiraling. Could this be connected to me? To my position? She had made more than her fair share of enemies among the palace staff, those who found her cold precision and unshakable presence threatening. Was this a ploy against her? Perhaps the Queen’s spouse was involved, even the orchestrator of it all—a seemingly benign figure in an elaborate game of palace intrigue.

Her musings were interrupted by a voice calling out, startling her.

"Excuse me! Doctor McCanister!"

Julie stopped mid-step and turned, her sharp eyes landing on you—the Queen’s spouse, of all people. Curious, she thought, narrowing her eyes slightly. What could the pampered spouse of a monarch want with me?

You jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, your expression urgent but uncertain. Your appearance struck her as peculiar. You didn’t carry the air of someone accustomed to the opulence of court life. You seemed misplaced here, awkward in your movements, your clothing slightly disheveled as if the silks and brocades you wore were as foreign to you as a crown to a commoner.

When you finally caught up, you straightened your posture and tried to speak with authority, though the stumble in your words betrayed you. "Doctor McCanister, I—apologies for interrupting your, uh… journey to the labs, but I have something very urgent to discuss with you."

Julie arched a brow, her lips twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. So you’re as out of place as I thought. She tilted her head, lowering her gaze ever so slightly to meet yours. "Yes, Your Majesty?" Her tone was measured, polite but distant, her title for you uttered with a precision that felt almost clinical.

You flinched at the formality, but pressed on. "It’s… private. But urgent. I wouldn’t bother you otherwise."

The words came out rushed, jumbled even, and Julie’s assessment of you sharpened. You’re no noble. You’re a commoner dressed in silks, trying to navigate a world that doesn’t belong to you. A pang of something—sympathy, perhaps—cut through her. You were out of your depth, and judging by the circumstances, perhaps unwillingly so.

After a moment, she inclined her head slightly, softening the hard edge of her gaze just enough to be palatable. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said, gesturing for you to follow. "We may discuss this on the way to my laboratories. Time is precious, after all."

You nodded quickly, falling into step beside her. For all her usual cold detachment, Julie’s mind churned. What secrets do you hold, spouse of the Queen? And why come to me? Julie’s interest is definitely piqued now.

Even as you walked through the winding corridors of the palace, your hands fidgeted relentlessly beneath the cascading fabric of your top. The sleeves were longer than they needed to be, deliberately tailored that way by the Queen herself—a subtle yet suffocating way of masking what she called your "rustic charm" from prying eyes.

That was just one of the many ways she controlled how the world perceived you, ensuring that no one saw the real you beneath the finery. The soft brush of silk against your palms was meant to feel luxurious, but it only heightened your discomfort, the material as stifling as the life you now led.

“So… I mean—” Your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat like a poorly rehearsed script unraveling. You tried again, frustration lacing your tone as your thoughts jumbled. “I’d like for you to do something for—for me? And, well, I need to tell you something. This whole royal thing, it’s just—”

Your steps slowed as you searched for the right words, but Julie, ever sharp, didn’t give you the chance to stumble further.

“Is fake?” she interrupted with a smirk, her voice calm, almost amused. Her strides remained purposeful, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at you. “I’m aware. It’s fairly obvious, Your Majesty.”

Her bluntness left you momentarily speechless, your jaw tightening as a faint flush crept to your cheeks. You weren’t sure what response you’d expected, but the casualness of her acknowledgment was almost disorienting. Julie didn’t slow, though she allowed herself the smallest upward twitch of her lips, stealing another glance at you. There it was again—that look of unease mixed with apprehension. The way your gaze darted toward the floor, your shoulders drawn inward as if trying to make yourself smaller—it tugged at something deep within her.

Shaking off the unfamiliar sensation, Julie slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat, forcing her expression to remain cool and detached. “Don’t look so surprised,” she added, her voice steady. “You’re not exactly the scheming type. Innocence like yours doesn’t fit well with the trappings of court life. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you’re an outsider.”

Her words hit closer than you cared to admit. You exhaled shakily, a faint tremor running through you as you tried to steady your voice. “I… I’m not just a commoner,” you said finally, each word feeling heavier than the last. “I’m… something else. A magical creature, sort of.”

Julie’s steps faltered ever so slightly, her sharp eyes flicking toward you. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of intrigue in her gaze. “Go on,” she prompted, her tone even but laced with curiosity.

You hesitated, wringing your hands beneath the sleeves that now felt suffocatingly tight. The secret you were about to reveal wasn’t something you ever wanted to share, especially not in the sterile halls of the palace where every whisper felt like it carried to unseen ears. But you forced yourself to continue.

“Every full moon,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “I… I turn into a beast. Half-wolf, half-human.” The words spilled out haltingly, like stones being pried from a dam. “It’s not like other werewolves, though. My form is… much larger, much stronger. And…” You faltered, glancing away from her piercing gaze. “And uncontrollable.”

The confession hung heavy in the air, each word sinking like lead between you. Julie didn’t respond immediately, her features remaining carefully neutral, though her sharp mind churned behind her calm facade. She watched you closely, noting the way your breathing quickened, your fingers twitching as though trying to grasp something invisible.

“My batch of Lycantherin,” you continued, voice trembling now, “it’s gone. It ran out twenty-seven days ago. And we only have four days left before…” Your voice broke, and you clenched your fists beneath the sleeves, the fabric bunching as your nails bit into your palms. “If I don’t have another dose by then, I won’t be able to stop it. This palace… everyone in it… they won’t survive.”

Julie finally stopped walking, turning fully to face you. The weight of your confession settled between you like a storm cloud, her analytical mind parsing every detail. The flicker of pity she’d felt earlier twisted into something more profound as she studied your tense figure. Despite your silks and titles, you stood before her as raw and vulnerable as any terrified soul she’d ever encountered.

“Four days,” she said finally, her tone devoid of judgment, her words measured. “Then we don’t have time to waste.”

That day and the four that followed blurred into a frantic haze, the four of you locked in a desperate struggle against the ticking clock. Hours slipped away unnoticed as you and Julie worked tirelessly, hunched over desks littered with half-empty vials, scribbled notes, and scattered equipment. Julie's sharp commands guided your every move, her precision and efficiency an unyielding force that you did your best to keep up with. You barely left the lab, only stepping away when Nia’s simmering irritation boiled over into outright orders, dragging you away to fulfill your royal duties.

Nia, oblivious to the true nature of your plight, found your dedication charming. She believed your sleepless nights were for the good of the palace servants, thinking you were endearingly overinvested in Julie’s work. Julie, of course, allowed her to believe this. The Queen would never have guessed that her seemingly compliant spouse and her chief scientist were conspiring behind her back.

In truth, Julie had synthesized the cure hours after entering her lab. It wasn’t particularly challenging for someone of her intellect. “Simple, really,” she began, her tone clipped as she rattled off her process. “Using a microfluidic reactor, I injected the fusion compound into liposomal vesicles composed of phosphatidylcholine and cholesterol. This ensures stability and allows for slow-release activation in the bloodstream. And then—”

You blinked at her, utterly lost. Julie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she began explaining again, this time with smaller words and slower sentences. For someone as emotionally detached as Julie, the effort she put into making you understand surprised even herself.

Why am I doing this for them? The thought surfaced unbidden, lingering even as she pushed it aside. She refused to acknowledge the warmth she felt when your lips quirked up in gratitude, the way your voice softened when you thanked her for her patience.

At first, Julie had dismissed your emotions outright. “Focus,” she would snap whenever you let your worries slip into conversation. “Leave your thoughts and feelings behind. Rationality is what will save you, not sentiment.” She kept her face impassive, a fortress of cold logic. Yet, as the hours passed, cracks began to form in that stoic mask.

Your determination stirred something in her, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. She watched you struggle to learn, scribbling notes in your awkward scrawl and jotting down formulas that rarely made sense. You were woefully unskilled in science, clumsy with equipment, and terribly naive about the dangers of the lab.

“Don’t touch that,” she said one evening, not looking up from her work as you reached for a vial. “It will give you Type 1 Diabetes.”

Startled, you withdrew your hand. “What about this one?”

“That is the cure for Chronosynchronous Neurodegenerative Autoimmune Myelopathy. If you drink it, you will die.”

Your curiosity never waned, though. If anything, it amused her in ways she didn’t want to admit. By the third night, Julie noticed how exhaustion had taken its toll on you. Your head drooped low over your notes, your fingers slack around your pen. When you finally succumbed to sleep, hunched awkwardly over the desk, she found herself pausing mid-step.

She hadn’t meant to linger, but something about your vulnerability tugged at her. Without a word, she retrieved a blanket from one of the cabinets and draped it carefully over your slumped form. For a moment, her gaze lingered, softer than it had ever been.

How sweet. How innocent.

Shaking off the unfamiliar pang in her chest, Julie returned to her work. If she was going to save you, she would need every second she had left. What she hadn’t yet admitted, even to herself, was that saving you had become more than a task. It was now a necessity. You had become a necessity.

The following morning, you awoke to the faint scent of antiseptics and the distant hum of machinery. The blanket draped over your shoulders was a surprise, its warmth a rare comfort in the sterile environment of Julie’s lab. Stretching, you glanced up to find her exactly where you’d left her hours before, standing at one of the counters, meticulously mixing compounds.

You rose up, now sitting straight and back aching. You grumble as you stretch fro what felt like the first time in years, “You stayed up all night again?” you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep.

Julie didn’t look at you immediately, her focus still on the beaker in her hand. “Someone has to ensure this doesn’t end in catastrophe,” she replied dryly. But there was no bite to her words, only a quiet resignation.

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you noticed a faint slump in her normally rigid posture. She looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, though her face remained stoic. For all her coldness, Julie’s dedication was unwavering. You felt a pang of gratitude, though you weren’t sure how to express it.

“Thank you,” you said softly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you had.

Julie froze for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening around the beaker before she set it down with deliberate care. “Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered, finally meeting your gaze. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, softened ever so slightly. “We’re not done.”

It was true. Despite her brilliance, every attempt to replicate the Lycantherin formula had ended in failure. Either the compounds wouldn’t stabilize, or the mixture would react violently in a way that rendered it useless. The deadline loomed closer with each passing hour, and with it, the growing realization that time was running out.

By the time the full moon rose on the fourth night, the lab was a wreck of discarded notes and shattered glass. Julie stood amidst the chaos, her hands clenched into fists, her carefully crafted composure beginning to fray.

And then it happened.

The pain struck you like a lightning bolt, ripping through your body with an intensity that left you gasping. You barely had time to call out before the transformation took hold, your bones snapping and reshaping, muscles stretching impossibly as fur erupted across your skin.

Julie watched, frozen, as the creature that had been you threw its head back and roared. The sound echoed through the palace, primal and terrifying, sending servants scrambling for cover. She barely had time to grab her tranquilizer gun before you—no, the beast—charged out of the lab, smashing through the door with a force that shook the walls.

Her chest tightened. “Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, her grip tightening on the gun. For the first time in years, fear clawed at her. Not for herself, but for you.

Julie’s focus was razor-sharp, every thought and movement dedicated to her next steps. She was already loading the tranquilizer gun with the sedative when the sound of frantic beeping broke through her concentration.

She froze mid-motion, turning toward the source of the noise. The machine behind her—the cursed contraption that had refused to yield stable results for days—was now alive with steady, rhythmic chirps. Her gaze snapped to the screen, and there it was: stability.

The compound had worked.

For a split second, Julie stared, her mind caught between disbelief and cold, calculating relief. Then she moved, abandoning the tranquilizer syringe entirely. She reached for the vial the machine had just dispensed, its amber liquid glowing faintly. Her fingers worked quickly, dumping the sedative from the dart into a disposal vial and replacing it with the freshly synthesized Lycantherin.

Her heart was racing, though her expression remained stoic. “Finally,” she muttered, snapping the dart into place.

She didn’t waste another second. Tucking the loaded gun under her arm, Julie grabbed the remaining dose of Lycantherin and slipped it into her pocket before sprinting out of the lab.

Chaos greeted her as soon as she entered the palace halls. Furniture lay overturned, tapestries shredded, and a faint scent of blood lingered in the air. Servants cowered behind columns, their faces pale with terror as the guttural snarls of the beast you had become echoed from deeper within the palace.

Julie’s pace quickened, her grip tightening on the tranquilizer gun. She didn’t allow herself to think about the danger or what might happen if she failed. Her mind was consumed by one thought alone: she wouldn’t lose you.

The world was red.

Scent, sound, rage—all of it flooded your senses, overwhelming and intoxicating. The walls around you blurred into a haze of stone and tapestries, irrelevant and fragile under your claws. The air was heavy with fear, thick and pungent, but none of it mattered.

None of them mattered.

Your claws tore into the marble floor, splintering it with every pounding step as your massive frame thundered through the palace. Servants scattered in every direction, their screams piercing but meaningless. The beast inside you growled low, a guttural sound that rumbled from deep within your chest. The scent you were tracking was stronger now, laced with that cloying sweetness of silk and power.

Her.

The word barely registered as your thoughts dissolved into raw emotion. Fury. Betrayal. Resentment. They churned in your blood, each one fueling the fire in your veins. She forced you into this. Into the heavy crown, the suffocating halls, the golden chains that bound your soul.

Your lips curled back, saliva dripping from fangs meant for ripping and tearing. You slammed through a door, the wood splintering under your weight. No one stood in your way. No one dared.

The scent was closer now, pulling you like a tether. Each breath carried it deeper into your lungs, the promise of vindication clawing at your chest. The beast wanted her—wanted to see her cower, to hear her scream. To make her pay.

Memories flashed unbidden in the haze of your mind: her smug smile, the steel in her voice when she commanded you to “behave,” her grip on your arm when you tried to walk away. Every touch of hers burned, every order seared into your very being.

Your claws raked across the stone as you skidded to a halt, nostrils flaring. The scent was here, heavy and undeniable. She was close—hiding, maybe. It didn’t matter. You would find her.

A growl rumbled deep in your throat, vibrating through your chest and out into the air. Furniture lay overturned, shattered glass glittering like shards of ice on the floor. The beast surged forward again, head low, teeth bared.

No one else. Just her. Only her.

Another door shattered before you, the splinters flying like confetti as you barreled through. You were unstoppable. Her throne, her title, her arrogance—all of it would crumble beneath you. Beneath this rage.

Your body moved on instinct, driven by a singular purpose. You would not stop. Not until the Queen herself knelt before the monster she had made.

Nia’s heart thundered in her chest, the regal composure she wore so effortlessly now cracked and crumbling under the weight of pure, unfiltered terror. Her golden robes snagged on a jagged splinter of wood as she stumbled backward into the room, her hands trembling as they clutched at the silk folds of her dress.

The air was thick, oppressive, heavy with the scent of beast and blood. Each guttural snarl from beyond the broken doorway sent shivers down her spine, every creak of the floor making her breath hitch. She backed away further, her gaze darting around the room like a trapped animal searching for escape. But there was none.

She could hear it—the scraping of claws against the stone, the huff of labored, feral breaths. A shadow loomed in the doorway, grotesque and massive, the beast’s figure illuminated by the flickering light of a shattered chandelier.

Her confidence, her power, her crown—none of it mattered now. Nia was just prey.

Her instincts screamed at her to run, but where? Her eyes landed on the ornate couch at the far end of the room, its thick cushions and high back offering the only semblance of cover. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She bolted, her skirts catching on the splintered furniture and shards of glass that littered the floor. The sound of her heartbeat drowned out everything else as she dove behind the couch, pressing herself flat against the cold marble. She held her breath, her fingers digging into the floor as if anchoring herself to reality.

The snarls grew louder, closer. The beast had found her.

The room fell silent save for the sound of heavy, deliberate breathing. Nia squeezed her eyes shut, her chest heaving as she tried to stifle her panicked gasps. She prayed for the first time in years, her lips moving in silent desperation. Why hadn’t I listened…

The couch above her shifted, its heavy weight groaning against the floor.

Then it happened.

With an almost casual swipe of its massive clawed hand, the werewolf flung the couch aside as though it weighed nothing. The ornate wood cracked against the wall with a deafening crash, splintering into jagged shards.

Nia barely had time to register the movement before the couch slammed into her with bone-crushing force. The weight drove her body into the cold, unyielding marble, the sharp corner digging into her side as the breath was forced from her lungs.

Her vision blurred, pain radiating through her ribs and legs. She tried to cry out, but the sound came out weak, a strangled gasp. Her fingers twitched, grasping at nothing as her consciousness ebbed away like the tide.

The last thing she saw was the monster standing over her, its hulking frame towering in the dim light. Those glowing, feral eyes bored into her, unrelenting and unforgiving, before everything went black.

The air in the palace was thick with the tension of impending destruction. The walls shook with every roar of the beast, the air heavy with the scent of blood and fur. Nia's crumpled form beneath the couch, her body pinned and motionless, seemed like a lost cause—a casualty of fate. The entire room felt like it was teetering on the edge of something irreparable. The monster was relentless, and there was no end in sight.

Then, just as the beast’s hulking figure loomed over the wreckage, a sharp crack echoed through the silence—followed by the hiss of something fast and urgent. The air seemed to freeze in that moment, before the familiar hiss of a dart punctuated the chaos.

A sudden, intense burning seared through the side of your neck, a sharp pain unlike anything you’d felt before. The world around you seemed to snap into focus, the rage that had consumed you suddenly ebbing away. Your head spun for a moment, the fury retreating as if it had never existed.

The claws that had been ready to rend flesh, to tear and maim, slowly retracted as your vision sharpened, and you staggered back. It wasn’t your mind—no, it wasn’t you—but you could feel the shift. The beast was still there, its primal instinct not entirely extinguished, but it was weakening. The liquid coursing through your veins was fighting it, fighting the transformation that had overtaken your body.

And then you saw her.

Julie.

Her form stood at the doorway, breath coming in short, controlled bursts. She was poised, completely in control, the tranquilizer gun, now equped wiht Lycantherin still raised in her hand as her steely gaze locked onto yours. But there was something different in the way she looked at you—an intensity that you hadn’t seen before. There was concern, yes, but more than that, there was something... possessive. The cold precision of her demeanor melted away for just a moment, and you could see the raw emotion, hidden just beneath the surface. The kind of emotion she never showed anyone else.

Before you knew it, your body had shifted back—painfully, excruciatingly—until the towering, monstrous figure was nothing but a faint echo in your mind, leaving you human again, weak and trembling but no longer a beast.

You collapsed forward, not even thinking as you closed the distance between you, your arms reaching out instinctively. The world spun as you fell into Julie’s embrace, her arms wrapping around you with an intensity that made your heart race. You could barely speak, still breathless from the transformation, but the moment your body pressed against hers, something deep within you calmed. The primal hunger, the fury, the fear—they all melted away.

Julie held you tightly, her grip firm but gentle, as if she never intended to let you go. Her breath was shaky, and for the first time, you could hear the underlying vulnerability in her voice.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow in the face of what had just happened. She wasn’t just speaking to calm you down; she was speaking to herself, to reassure herself that you were truly here. Alive. Hers.

You buried your face in her shoulder, your body shuddering from the aftermath of the transformation, from the weight of everything that had happened. The world outside the two of you seemed to fade away, as if there was only this moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw, the words slipping out before you could even think. “You saved me…”

Julie didn’t answer at first. Instead, she tightened her hold on you, her fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes, a small shudder running through her body. For a long moment, she simply held you, her emotions warring beneath her stone-cold exterior.

But then, slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. There was a tenderness there, something fragile that she barely let show.

“You belong to me now,” she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying an undeniable weight. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And something about the way she said it—so certain, so sure—made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t know where this feeling was coming from, why you felt so drawn to her, why you longed to be in her arms even though it was all so overwhelming. But you didn’t care. Not anymore.

You leaned into her, burying your face against her neck as she pulled you in close again, her hands running through your hair, soothing you in ways you couldn’t fully understand.

And for the first time since the madness had begun, you felt at peace.

Julie was the one who’d saved you, and in that moment, you knew she’d never let you go.

#oc x reader #gn reader #yandere oc x reader #x reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere #tw yandere #gender neutral #yandere x reader #yandere female #female yandere #female yandere x reader #yandere female x reader

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chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

Text

checkmate

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: now that frank was gone, you were left alone to your own devices. could you protect yourself if trouble came knocking at your door?

warnings: swearing, lots of angst, brief mention of bomb violence, mentions of gun violence, blood, & death

word count: 4k

a/n: buckle up, sluts (i love y'all sm). shit is about to get real. ;) but don't just take my word for it. grab a snack, a drink, & get comfy. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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9:29 pm.

The catastrophic events of today didn’t feel like they had happened just this morning. They didn’t even feel real at all. They seemed more like glimpses of a purgatory from an alternate dimension that somehow had been implanted into your head. How had your world become so goddamn unrecognizable in less than twelve hours?

Life as you knew it had unraveled right before your eyes in one fell swoop like a cruel magician’s trick. For the first time in months, you were terrified to leave your house again, and there was a gaping pit of loneliness carved out in your stomach.

Because Frank was gone, and he was probably never coming back.

Saline seared along your waterline as your last interaction with him replayed behind your glossy eyes on a loop. He had looked so detached, the usual warmth of his brown eyes snuffed out with a layer of black ice, face completely void of any emotion like a blank canvas.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

He didn’t say anything.

Every comet that flashed across his lips at one of your stupid little jokes. Every tiny gesture that brought him closer into your orbit. Every universe you discovered when he revealed more and more coveted constellations of himself to you. The asteroid he threw with his fists at the bar that night. The rockets he was always ready to launch on your behalf. The way all the planets had aligned just right when he glided with you around the dancefloor made of the stars.

All those intimate moments you carried around in your heart like a locket meant nothing to him.

You had only ever been a job to Frank, and that epiphany broke something inside you that you didn’t think could ever be fixed.

Sitting at your dining table staring off into the void of silence, it felt like you were wandering aimlessly through an abandoned forest in your mind. When was the last time you had felt so…lost? It was difficult to navigate a path when your whole world had been flipped upside down, right as you were ascending to the peak above the clouds.

Ellison had politely demanded you take a few days off, or work from home, until there was a plan of what to do next regarding your safety. He didn’t know the details of why your security detail had been pulled, but the absence of Frank’s shadow was unmistakable. It was a glaring vacancy not even the darkness could hide. Coupled with the intense gloom of dejection lingering on your face and the desolation melting from your eyes, it wasn’t a hard mystery for him to solve.

Covering your face with your palms, you suddenly felt like a little girl again, hiding under the blankets and covering your eyes to hide from the villainous shadows that lurked in the corners of your room. You remember thinking that if you couldn’t see the phantoms, they couldn’t see you, and then they couldn’t hurt you.

That logic made sense in your head at the time. Before you learned that monsters are real, and they don’t go away when you hide behind your hands.

The sharp sound of clamorous repetitive knocking against your front door echoed through the quiet and caused you to jump with a noise of surprise. Glancing over at the clock on your microwave, your brows knit together in confusion as you read the glowing digital numbers.

10:31 pm.

A second round of impatient knocks had you slowly rising from your chair, tip-toeing around the corner towards your front door as noiselessly as you could, not wanting to alert anyone on the other side of your presence. Leaning up to peek through the peephole, the perplexity weaved between your brows only grew seeing two officers standing outside your door.

Despite the advice from your gut, curiosity got the better of you, and you unlocked the two locks in place, twisting the knob on the door to pull it open slowly.

“Can I help you?”

The first officer straightened up when you opened the door, placing his weathered hands on his belt as he eyed you up and down in a way that had discomfort blooming in your lower stomach.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

Glancing between the icy gray eyes of the first officer and the sharp aquamarine of the second, your grip on the door knob tightened slightly.

“I am. Who are you?”

The second officer folded his arms over his chest, peering right over your head like he was searching behind you for something, or someone.

“I’m Officer Walker, this is Officer Cavella. You uh, home alone?”

Something in your gut was setting off all the warning bells and alarms in your brain. The way Officer Walker tilted his head to the side with an ominous twinkle in his eyes, and the slight mocking tone you detected in his voice made you feel like he knew that answer already. Beside him, his partner was still attempting to scope out your place over your shoulders. An eerie feeling crept up your spine, and you pulled the door slightly shut, only leaving it open enough for your frame to fit through as you attempted to keep your voice calm and unaffected.

“I’m sorry, what’s this about?”

Officer Cavella chuckled lightly as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, taking a bold step forward and gesturing towards you with his hand, a large Cheshire grin on his thin lips.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’re here to keep you safe. Just gonna take a look around for any trouble. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you, now would we?”

The pet name he used made your skin crawl, and you detected that same artificial sympathy that had come from his predecessor. You felt like a lamb staring down two wolves with their fangs bared in sinister smiles.

“I…think there’s been some confusion. I already have protection-”

“Had protection. After that bomb fiasco yesterday, you’re not under Anvil’s wing anymore. Right?”

Officer Walker lifted his thick brows in question, a saccharine smirk on his lips, once again daring you to challenge the answers he already seemed to have.

How did he know that? Hadn’t Billy told you Homeland was keeping the details under wraps? That the attack was reported as an accident?

An icy sense of unease caused goosebumps to prickle along your skin. There was only one way either of them would know about the bombing yesterday, and it had your heart thrashing against your ribcage furiously.

“Mr. Russo arranged alternate protection for me already.”

“They running late or something?”

Officer Cavella quipped, cocking his head to the side in an imitation of concern. But the wild look in his piercing eyes gave away his real candor. He took another daring step forward, breaching the boundary of your personal space, and bared his teeth in a crooked grin.

“Tell you what, why don’t you let us take a look around while you wait for them to show up. We can keep you company. Wouldn’t be right to leave a scared girl all by herself-”

“I’m not scared.”

The harsh edge to your voice had the pleased smirks dropping from both their faces, and you could visibly see their patience running thin. Pursing your lips, you attempted to rain in your hazardous temper before it could spark a situation you couldn’t handle alone. Clearing your throat, you brushed a piece of your hair out of your face with your finger as you focused on keeping your voice at a civil decibel.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I don’t need either of you. Have a good night.”

A thick boot wedged itself between the frame and the door, preventing you from shutting it, and your eyes widened slightly when Officer Cavella braced his palm against the door, exerting a show of strength in forcing it back, and you along with it.

“Sorry princess, but we got orders.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise at the intrepid intrusion, but his words piqued your interest, and your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared up at him.

“Orders from who?”

Officer Walker took a step forward and placed his arm in front of his partner to halt his movements, flashing him a warning glance before flipping a charming smile onto his lips when he turned his attention back to you.

“You know, this will really go a lot smoother if you just cooperate and do what you’re told.”

That one sentence nearly paralyzed you with dread that spread throughout your entire nervous system, threatening to shut it down completely. A sobering thought flickered in your head that if you didn’t play this smart, these men might kill you, or worse. Glancing between them frantically, your mind fought through the cortisol pumping furiously through your bloodstream, and you quickly started to formulate a plan.

Both of these men were far larger than you, and you didn’t know any self defense. They were without a doubt faster than you, and even if you made a run for it with a headstart somehow, they would catch you. You couldn’t fight, and you couldn’t run, which only left you one option.

Do your job.

Treat this like any other investigation.

Play your role, get your answers.

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you forcefully swallowed your inner combative nature, slipping into a more appeasing version of yourself as you looked between them with a tired smile.

“Can we…start over? Today has been so hectic…and with everything going on, I’m just super on edge. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to take that out on either of you. I apologize. I…appreciate you looking out for me. Please, come in. Can I get either of you some coffee?”

The tension that had been lingering heavily in the space like a suffocating layer of smoke seemed to slowly disappear as the two men exchanged a glance in a secret language you couldn’t understand, turning to face you with their previous artificial smiles plastered on their thin lips.

“Coffee would be great.”

Officer Cavella had a sickly sweet tone to his voice, and the pleasure in his eyes from your submission turned your blood into molten lava, but you fought to keep your composure, reminding yourself that your life was potentially on the line.

On the way to the kitchen, you elusively swiped your phone and hid it behind your coffee machine, subtly pressing record on the voice memo app that was on your home screen. Once their coffees were done brewing and the machine was no longer making noise, you cleared your throat and began your interrogation.

“So, you guys must be pretty relieved huh?”

Officer Walker perked up at your words, the hand that was lifting the coffee mug to his mouth pausing in midair. He glanced at his partner curiously before looking back at you from his spot at your dining table.

“About what?”

You feigned confusion as you glanced between them with a light smile on your lips.

“The evidence that Homeland found? Mr. Russo said they found something in the bomb fragments. It’s a really good thing Mr. Price had already checked out of his hotel room. He got lucky.”

“Looks like that pretty boy doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Wasn’t Price’s hotel room that got blown up. It was one of his escort vehicles.”

For someone that was completely giving himself away, Officer Cavella looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to indirectly insult your intelligence, but he didn’t realize that by trying to prove his superiority to you, he was feeding you everything you needed to confirm your suspicions.

Conveying an expression of mock horror on your face, you braced one of your hands on the counter, placing the other dramatically over your mouth.

“I…I must have misheard him then. I-Oh my God, that’s…terrifying. I couldn’t imagine…knowing I was in danger like that.”

You pretended to shudder, leaning your back against the counter as you shook your head slowly and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, despite how it happened, I’m just glad they were able to pull those fingerprints from the fragments.”

“What?”

Officer Walker’s face was twisted up in puzzlement, but there was a specific emotion pooling in his eyes that caught your attention; fear.

“Yeah, I mean…they’re partials, but Mr. Russo said Homeland was pushing them through every database for a match. Didn’t they tell you that?”

Officer Cavella leaned over the dining table as he stared at you in almost a glare, his teeth bared more in a subtle snarl than a smile.

“Didn’t who tell us that?”

“Homeland. They sent you, right?”

Cocking your head to the side slightly, you attempted to feign innocence and perplexity.

“Russo sent us.”

Furrowing your brows slightly, you looked over at Officer Walker and let out a soft laugh with a shake of your head.

“He doesn’t have that authority. He only hires private contractors.”

“He put in a special request with our Captain.”

Officer Walker seemed to speak almost through gritted teeth, a light layer of warning laced through his quick reply to your incessant interrogation, but his patience was far more intact that his partner’s.

Officer Cavella was the one you could get to break, and you knew just how to get him to shatter.

Aim for his ego.

Letting out a soft hum in acknowledgment that you allowed to linger for a moment, you turned your attention to Officer Cavella, meeting his predatory gaze with an expression of indifference tied with a smile.

“You know, it actually makes sense that Homeland didn’t tell you. They don’t usually share information with anyone that doesn’t have the security clearance. I guess you boys aren’t high enough up the ladder.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that your playful jest struck a nerve exactly as you had intended. The skin on his knuckles turned stark white from gripping so tightly onto the ceramic mug, and his jaw was clenched so hard, you thought he might crack his own mandible.

“I guarantee you we have more clearance than some gossip magazine writer.”

“Newspaper, actually. And investigative journalism, not gossip. You’d be surprised at the kind of clearance I have.”

Although you knew it wasn’t wise to inch closer towards a firecracker that was dangerously close to exploding, you were too fucking close to a lead that could expose these assholes; the first one that had been discovered in months. You couldn’t shy away now.

The fractures in Officer Cavella’s resolve were already starting to spread like an intricate labyrinth cracking through glass. You just needed to apply a little more pressure to get him to implode into guilty fragments.

Waving your hand dismissively in his direction, you glanced around your kitchen with a content sigh before facing him with an arrogant smile.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter who really sent you. They’ll have those full prints in just a few hours, and this whole thing will be over. Those cowards will finally go down, and I can’t fucking wait to cover the trial.”

There was an extra bite to your tone as you emphasized the word coward, and both of them instantly sat up straighter with squared shoulders. The neutral expression of innocence was still coveting your features like a mask, but the edges were steadily beginning to rip.

All at once there was a quick shift in the room and an unspoken aura of understanding between the three of you was swiftly forming over all of your heads like a raincloud. They suddenly seemed to sober up to the motion that you were playing them like pawns.

“There won’t be any prints.”

Officer Cavella seemed to be vibrating with anger, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Officer Walker reach to his hip to place his hand over his gun. There was a very real chance that you were about to die, but it didn’t matter.

Because you would fucking win in the end.

You just needed one of them to make that last, foolish move across the chess board.

One final move to win the game.

“Why not?”

There was no reason to bother hiding behind a facade now. That mask of innocence had been ripped wide open, and even though your hands trembled with fear, your jaw was set in defiance. Your voice was firm and accusatory, daring him to prove his “superior” intelligence to you again. It was incredibly ironic he was being outsmarted by being so fucking stupid.

As you stared Officer Cavella down in a glaring challenge, you waited for that spark to reach the edge of his temper.

And the explosion was glorious.

“Because we don’t use our bare hands you stupid bitch. You think we’re that dumb, we wouldn’t use gloves?”

Checkmate.

Officer Walker slammed his fist down on the dining table in complete frustration towards his partner.

“God damnit Cavella, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cavella rose from his chair so fast that he knocked it backwards, glaring between you and his partner as he pointed an angry finger towards you.

“You think I’m gonna let this whore talk to me like I’m fucking stupid-”

Walker stood to his full height quickly, shoving his own chair back as he got in his partner’s face and jabbed his finger into his chest.

“You are fucking stupid! You just sold us out because you can’t control your goddamn temper!”

Cavella shoved his hand away in frustration as he scoffed, gesturing towards you again.

“Whatever, we’re gonna kill the bitch anyway-”

“No. He wants her alive. If we bring her back with one scr-”

“Who?”

Both of them turned to face you as your voice rose in volume to cut above their bickering. There wasn’t a single cell in your body that wasn’t infected with anger, and you were struggling to contain your own rage.

“Who wants me alive? Who’s the fucking pussy behind the curtain leading the rest of you around?”

Cavella swiftly pulled the gun from the holster on his hip as he took a step towards you, cocking the hammer with his thumb while snarling at you.

“Keep running that fucking mouth of yours and you won’t get to solve that mystery, Nancy Drew.”

As you went to retaliate, you noticed a shadow flash past the window in your kitchen, and your brows knit together in confusion. You were too pissed off to even be afraid as you glanced between Cavella and Walker.

“Who’s outside?”

Walker instantly stilled his advance at your words, his grip tightening on the handle of his gun that was still tucked into his holster while looking over at you in skepticism.

“What?”

“I just saw someone outside. Is that your fearless fucking leader? You gonna show your face like a man?! Or hide in the dark like a fucking p-“

Walker tugged you backwards roughly by your arm when you went to storm towards the window, clamping his hand tightly over your mouth to cut off your furious yells. His icy gray eyes were wide with apprehension as he hissed.

“Shut up. No one is with us.”

Glancing over at his partner, he silently motioned with his head towards him to go investigate. Cavella slowly began to approach the window with his gun in his hands, loosely aimed at whatever target he was about to discover.

All of a sudden the sound of shattering glass pierced the silence, and your eyes widened seeing a metal canister rolling against the tiled floor of your kitchen. It exploded into a thick fog of ivory smoke that steadily began to fill the small space. Cavella began firing blindly through the gaping hole in your window, and you took the opportunity to run while Walker was distracted and yelling at his partner.

You could hear Walker’s heavy footsteps pounding on the floor behind you, yelling your name, and you screamed when a bullet whizzed by your head and punched through the drywall in front of you.

The second you reached your bathroom, you attempted to slam the door shut, but Walker caught the spine of your door and wedged it open with his hand. Turning around, you forced all your body weight back against it, struggling against his dominant strength. Glancing around in a frenzy, you reached your foot out towards the counter of the sink in front of you, and with a surge of adrenaline, you let out a feral scream as you shoved both of your feet forward against the sink to give you momentum against the door. A satisfying crunch sounded in your ears as Walker howled in pain and retracted his broken hand, causing the door to finally slam shut behind you. You swiftly twisted the lock into place on the door before backing away.

The sound of bullets raining down in rapid succession had you covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut as you attempted to breathe. Your lungs burned from running as fast as you ever had in your life, and with anxiety overflowing in your bloodstream, you were on the brink of hyperventilation.

“Who the fuck are y-”

Bang bang.

The echo of two bullets cracking through a skull you could only assume belonged to Walker had your breath hitching in your throat. Muffled through the sound of your own labored breathing, you could hear his body drop to the floor just a few feet away from the door with a heavy thud. Your eyes went wide with terror as the thundering roar of heavy footsteps began to slowly strike closer and closer outside the door.

No.

This isn’t how this ends.

This is not it.

Eyes frantically darting around your bathroom for something to use as a weapon, they landed on the horrified reflection of your own face. There was a small cut above your eyebrow from where a shard of glass had nicked you that was actively bleeding. Your pupils were completely blown wide open with hysteria, and your waterline was shimmering with unshed tears. You hadn’t seen yourself look this small and broken since you were a child.

Without thinking, you smashed your fist against the glass, sending hazardous shards falling into pieces in the sink like shiny raindrops. Grabbing the biggest one, you didn’t even flinch when it sliced deeply into the meat of your palm, and you only sent the jagged edge further into your skin as you clamped your fingers around it tightly, slicing them in the process. Your brain barely registered the warm, wet feeling of blood starting to cascade from the wounds on your hand, dripping onto the floor below you steadily like a leaky faucet.

Staring at the door in front of you in complete terror, you held the makeshift weapon out in front of yourself. The way the lights above you caught the reflection of the glass everytime it shook in your hand caused spheres of white to dance along the bathroom walls, as if there were a mirrorball on the ceiling.

As soon as the threatening shadow appeared right underneath the door, you willed the last shard of strength in your body to take over.

“Stay the fuck back! I have a gun, and I swear to God I will shoot you!”

Panic trembled in your voice almost as much as it did in your hands. On the other side of the door you heard a faint rustling noise, and then there was a gentle tapping of knuckles quietly knocking against the wood, accompanied by a voice you would recognize anywhere.

“Sweetheart?”

tags: @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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mostlymarvelgirl · 2 years ago

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Imagine If Magneto's *Private Moment* With You Was Released Into The Internet (Fem! Reader)

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT IG?

Erik sighed. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. On one hand, he really didn't mind, knowing that at some point, this would happen due to his fame in mutant politics, but on the other hand he didn't want you to be shown to the entire world like this in a private scenario.

The things you would have to face in public, what you would have to go through. While being deep in thought about how to deal with the scenario, a door with you running inside crying angrily. The door was slammed closed.

"Did you know? Did you know that someone motherfucking asshole recorded us having sex and released it? It's apparently the hottest sextape released in the century.', you screamed at him as if you were accusing him.

He felt guilty. Of course, he would never show that, but he ended up with a comment catastrophic enough to ruin the rest of his personal life. Not that he meant what he said, but clearly not thinking through.

"Well, I warned you not to try anything new and kinky. You should've listened.", Erik said immediately, regretting what came out of his mouth.

"What?", your voice became small, not being able to believe what he said.

Before he could apologize and explain, and your anger clouded mind lost patience, the ring from your was thrown into the sink, and you turned your heels walked out the door.

****3 Months Later****

"As we recall the recent steamiest s*xtape of magneto and his wife released into internet which gained over 3.8 billion views has been deleted by the cyber crime from all platforms. The culprits had been caught but died in an accident. Was it planned by Magneto? Or was it just an accident? I'm Sarah Moon reporting in six o clock evening news and I'll see you tomorrow."

The TV was switched off.

Y/N sighed. She knew who killed them and knew Erik wouldn't be arrested. She should've known that Erik was not good expressing and should've seen the expression. She regretted throwing the ring he made for her. She regretted what she had done.

"Regretting some past actions, I suppose?", the sarcastic voice spoke up.

Of course, it would Charles Xavier showing up behind her. That annoying British accent.

"For the record, my accent once wooed your husband to my bedroom, so I would take it as a jealousy or compliment coming from you.", Charles replied while sticking his hair back.

"What do you want?", you ask him with annoyance. You didn't want to aggravate your guilt more than it already was.

Charles smiled. That bitch. You knew, well, everyone knew, if they were in trouble and needed to solve the problem quickly, Charles would do the *smile*, and it'll be like it never happened.

"You're not wiping the entire world's memory about this, that's damn near impossible and dangerous.", you replied to his reaction.

"Well, it is for the better. Think about it. Or well, I should say actually, discuss about it.", Charles wheeled back slowly and opened the door.

"What are you-", you were cut off with Erik standing outside the door soaking wet with...............blood.

Silence.

There was no sound. All, the both of you wanted to do was to reach to one another and cry, Apologize, and comfort, but, the ego and guilt in both of you prevented all the bottled emotions and feelings of 3 months.

"Well, I will be leaving and give the both of you sone privacy. I'll be waiting right outside. Let me know when you've decided.", Charles said while wheeling out and closed the door.

"Hi."

That was it to pull the trigger inside you.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN BY SAYING HI???!!! YOU COCK-SUCKING, TWAT-WAFFLED SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH-ASS- HATTED CUNT! YOU'RE FUCKING KILLING AGAIN???!!! HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED CLEAN THIS MESS UP?!!!", you blasted at him.

"Listen i-", Erik was cut off.

"NO. YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE DICK! I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE TAPE. OKAY?!", you stated before he could ask.

You started to tear up and your voice broke and became small and vulnerable.

"I don't want you to kill around people. We could've done this together. I don't care what other say about me. Please j-just stop.", you started to cry.

Erik walked near you and hugged you tightly as you hugged him back.

He apologized to you and held you. You felt a something slip in your ring finger. You smiled and cried more realizing how horrible you must have looked.

"Y'know, you smell really bad like some old metal furniture. You need to get showered.", you pushed him away for fun.

"We could shower toge-", Erik got cut off.

"NO. Absolutely not.", you stated while laughing.

#erik lehnsherr x reader #magneto x reader #erik lehnsherr smut #erik lehnsherr #xmen #xmen x reader #marvel pov #charles xavier #erik lensherr x charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #erik lensherr imagine #professor x #x men fanfiction #magneto #x men mcu

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mikavlcs · 2 years ago

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Purity Weeps

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You don’t talk about home very often and Tara finds out why.

Warnings: violence, gore, murder, domestic abuse, manipulation, tara is a terrible person, bad parents, repeated words and phrases

Word count: 7.7k (god...)

Notes: this is a request, i changed it up a bit so it could fit with the first part but the general gist is there. i also wrote like half of this with food poisoning so sorry in advance...

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

One thing Tara noticed about you was that you never talked about home.

You had no problem talking about yourself—your various likes and dislikes were something Tara had memorized within weeks of your arrival to Woodsboro—but you never talked about your family.

She only knew the most basic details. You lived with your parents. You had no siblings despite your longing for one. Your house was exactly six and a half blocks away from hers. And recently, you told her that your parents were getting divorced, something you seemed almost relieved about.

That was it. Even her knowledge about your parents was equivocal.

Your mother she’d met a handful of times when she picked you up from school before Tara designated herself your personal chauffeur. A polite woman, if a bit aloof. Never quite meeting Tara’s eyes when she talked, but she liked her well enough.

Your father, on the other hand, remained an enigma to her.

The only time she’d ever seen him was on your first day off school when he dropped you off. In the time since, he hadn’t been present for any school events with you and your mother. Not even a picture. He remained but a silhouette in her memory, and that made the situation all the eerier to her.

And you barely spoke a word about him either, only bringing him up when it was getting late, and you wanted Tara to take you home.

“My dad wants me home by eight,” you’d say and when Tara hesitated, wanting more time alone with you, you would follow it up with a quiet, “Please, Tara, I can’t be late.”

No matter how Tara felt about you having to leave, the tremble in your voice would have her grabbing her keys within seconds.

She always saw the way you shuffled in your seat when you were cutting it just a bit too close, sending anxious glances toward the clock.

There were even times, back when Tara wasn’t taking the situation quite as seriously as she should have been, when you would get out of the car without a goodbye, practically running into your house.

It angered Tara initially, that you had such strict rules being placed on you that were visibly afraid to break them, but with time that anger gave way to concern.

Your overly timid mannerisms when she brought up your family, the tight leash your father had on you, the anxiousness on display when you tugged a little too hard on that leash—it all painted a rather grim picture.

Her concern hit its peak when, after being together for a few months and friends for even longer, Tara realized that she had never been inside your house. She had seen the outside of it countless times when she picked you up and dropped you off throughout the week, but she had never seen the interior.

Why that specific revelation unsettled her so much, she wasn’t sure but it stuck with her.

Tara was used to being able to see her enemies. Amber, Daniel, Rowan, and Jason were all people she knew, people she saw eyeing you in a way they shouldn’t have been, touching you when you weren’t theirs.

Your father was something different. A man she had never once met or seen. Someone she was almost sure was hurting you in some way but without proof, she wasn’t able to confidently act.

This wasn’t a problem she could just stab to death. At least, not without having potentially catastrophic effects on you and your mental health.

So she was going to try something different. She began making plans but every idea she came up with ended up being scrapped. Nothing she came up with felt right.

Tara did not at all care for rules and boundaries. Made up guidelines that served no purpose other than to irritate her. Imaginary lines in the sand that were made to be crossed. She permanently left those behind the moment she donned the Ghostface mase. But when it came to you, she took them very seriously.

The thought of breaking your heart and trust is what made her once again adhere to the made-up rules, what kept her feet firmly planted on the right side of the line in the sand.

It’s what kept her from breaking into your house and surveilling you and your family. What held her back from slitting the elusive man’s throat with no remorse. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you or driving you away from her.

But the idea of doing nothing didn’t sit well with her either.

Other, non-violent plans took form. She tried to be more direct, asking you about your father, what he was like, how close the two of you were.

You didn’t shy away from her questions but the answers you gave were always vague. Just enough to qualify as an answer, but not enough to give Tara any real information to work with.

When she realized she wasn’t getting results, she pivoted and decided to put more emphasis on being supportive. Reiterating how she would always be there for you and that if needed, you could tell her anything.

But no matter what she did, the curfew never budged and your avoidant attitude about your home life never changed. It was starting to get to Tara.

She wanted to believe that you trusted her enough to tell her if something was going on at home. But at the same time, if her suspicions were correct, there was much more to it than simply trust.

Sam would likely tell her to call the police, and that might be an option Tara considered if she had a modicum of trust in the Woodsboro police force to handle the situation correctly. But she didn’t. Law enforcement in Woodsboro had become a joke ever since Dewey stepped down as sheriff.

And she knew that if this situation didn’t get handled correctly, then whatever possible abuse you were enduring would get worse in the aftermath.

For the first time in her life, Tara was stuck. She had no idea what to do.

She was frozen in place, stuck in an endless loop of watching and waiting. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting.

It was maddening.

Part of her, Ghostface she supposed, wanted to just gut him and get it over with. Like she’d done to everyone else that had been in this position. But if she was wrong,

So she was stuck. Suspended in time and space, unable to do anything but her set routine.

Watch and wait.

Until something, or someone, broke the cycle.

Today wasn’t a great day for Tara.

It started it off well enough. You stayed glued to her side all day, your attention completely on her just as she liked it. She didn’t catch anyone staring at you or trying to talk to you.

Hell, not even Wes tried to bug you throughout the day like he usually did.

It really was going so well.

But then at the last second, you canceled your usual Friday movie date with Tara, citing an urgent family issue. She had driven you home after school without complaint because she knew it wasn’t your fault, and you looked just as upset about it as she did, but she was still bitter.

She needed her time alone with you. You were an addiction that she could hardly keep at bay. Withdrawal symptoms began to set in before you were even gone.

Those symptoms were raging within her now, hours later. It was somewhere around midnight. Sam left only a few hours prior because she liked working night shifts for some reason, so Tara took the opportunity to have another Stab marathon.

She was about halfway through Stab 2 and debating whether or not to just call it a night. It wasn’t like she wasn’t enjoying it—Stab movies never got old to Tara, but the fact that you were supposed to be there with her taunted her, sucking the excitement out of her.

At some point near the third act, she allowed her thoughts to stay on you, disregarding the film entirely.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to spend too much time alone with you after school. The newly finalized divorce was your ongoing reasoning. Your father was moving out and you were helping him pack his things.

You seemed both relieved and conflicted but Tara, of course, was overjoyed about this development. The cycle she was in was being broken without her needing to intervene. Soon, both you and her would be free of this.

And once he was gone, you could spend as much time with Tara as you wanted. That was something she needed to constantly remind herself of when you canceled plans because she missed you.

Hopefully whatever issues you were dealing with (having something to do with your father, no doubt) didn’t take all weekend.

If it did, this would be one of the first weekends you spent without her since Amber’s untimely death. And if she missed you now, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get over the coming days.

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by your familiar ringtone.

She hurried to pick up her phone. Maybe she had caught a break. Maybe your family issue wasn’t urgent after all.

She brought the phone up to her ear and answered with her usual, “Hey, baby.”

But instead of being greeted by your sweet “hellos” or melodic laughter, she was met with what sounded like frantic sobbing.

Immediately, Tara was on her feet, searching for her keys while she tried to figure out what was happening.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?!”

You tried to blubber out an answer, but it wasn’t anything she could remotely begin to decipher. Snatching her keys off the kitchen counter, she tried to ask again. “Take a deep breath. Can you repeat that for me?”

She heard you take in and release a shaky breath. “T-Tara, I…i-it’s my dad, he’s…” More cries echoed from the phone speakers, urging Tara to move faster. “Please, I don’t-I didn’t mean to.”

That set off alarm bells in Tara’s head. What did you mean?

“Just stay on the phone with me, ok? Don’t hang up. I’m on my way,” she hurried out as she stepped into her shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. She was out the door and in the car in seconds, her raw panic nearly driving her to hysteria.

The call dropped as she backed out of her driveway, cutting you off mid-sentence. Tara’s heart stopped and only restarted when she noticed that her phone was dead. She took her own advice and took a deep breath.

She needed to get to you. Now.

Tara made it to your house in record time. She left her keys in the ignition, barely remembering to close the car door before she was running up to the door, grabbing the spare key she knew your mother kept under the potted plant by the doormat, and unlocking it.

The moment she stepped inside she froze.

Whatever she was expecting paled in the face of what she was met with on the other side of your door.

A man, presumably your father, lay limp on the floor. The back of his skull was caved in against the edge of the glass coffee table in front of the couch, staining the table and the carpet beneath it an achingly familiar shade of crimson.

After getting over the shock, Tara’s eyes were drawn to you standing a few feet away, looking unsteady on your feet.

Shamefully, her first thought was how amazing you looked with someone else’s blood on you. A depraved part of her was excited by the sight.

But that excitement was quickly drowned out by her concern at your state. To put it simply, you looked forlorn. Tears cascaded down your face in seemingly endless waves. Your eyes were flitting between your father’s body and your blood-stained hands, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. You were shaking so vigorously that Tara was afraid your legs would give out, finally prompting her to move.

Slowly, Tara stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The sound of it, though quiet, still made you flinch. Your head turned, and once your eyes met hers, she saw some awareness creep back in.

“T-Tara,” you sputtered. She smiled sweetly and cautiously approached you, putting her body between you and your father’s corpse.

From this close, she could see the beginnings of large bruises blooming across your neck and upon closer inspection, she saw how heavily the outlines of the darkening marks resembled fingers.

Red clouded Tara’s vision. The familiar burn of her rage rose within her, but she forced her voice to be soft and soothing. The last thing you needed right now was her anger.

“Hi, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?”

“He-he tried to…” Your words broke off into choked sobs. But you didn’t need to finish. The bruises on your neck told her everything she needed to know.

“He-I wanted him off. So I pushed him and h-he…He tripped and…” You trailed off, eyes refocusing on the body over her shoulder. She saw the anguish rising and put a stop to it.

“Hey, no. Don’t look at that.” She brought you into her arms, guiding your face to her neck. You nestled into her instantly, clutching onto her like a lifeline as you wept once more. The blood on your hands was staining her shirt, something she took note of while she wrapped her arms around you.

Tara held you close, softly running one hand up and down your back while the other held your head. On the outside, she made sure she appeared calm and comforting, but on the inside, she was anything but.

Pure, unadulterated fury surged through her. Usually, Tara loved being proven right, loved the satisfaction and vindication that came with it. But this time she could feel nothing but malignancy because he tried to strangle you.

And the fact that you had to be the one to kill him deeply infuriated her.

A death at the hands of an angel was far, far better than he ever deserved.

She wished his heart would somehow restart, just so she could have the pleasure of making his last breath as painful as it should have been.

Better yet, she wished she could have gotten to him before he laid his hands on you.

Tara allowed herself, briefly, to daydream about what she would’ve done. A man like that didn’t even deserve the time it took to plan an intricate murder, so she would have kept it simple. Slow, excruciating exsanguination. Death by a thousand torturously shallow cuts as she forced him to keep his eyes open, so the tears could flow unimpeded. So she could watch the life slowly drain from his eyes.

So she could see the terror on his face when, instead of an angel, he spent his last fleeting moments staring into the eyes of the devil.

Your voice broke her out of her fantasies.

“What am I gonna do, Tara?” you sobbed into her neck. “I-I…he’s dead. And I did that.”

Tara hugged you closer and let you cry for a few minutes. It was painful to listen to, but she needed to put her focus on formulating a plan. Plus, it was probably good for you to let it out anyways.

While you wept, Tara took stock of the situation.

There was one body. Cause of death was a fatal head wound which meant there was lots of blood to clean. Luckily, you had a carpet to soak it up. A quick glance told her that nothing else appeared to have any blood splatter, significantly lessening the amount of cleaning she would need to do.

But even with all that in mind, she still had to find a way to get rid of the body. And that would be a tall task to undertake on her own.

There was also the matter of your mother’s whereabouts. Her car was in the driveway. Tara’s car was parked right beside it, so she had to be around here somewhere.

She decided to concentrate on locating her first. Both to make sure she wasn’t informing anyone else about the situation and because, as much as Tara hated to admit it, she would need help with disposing of the body in a timely manner.

Your father could wait a bit. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon anyways.

With her mind made up, Tara gently pulled you back and cradled your face between your hands. “Do you know where your mother is, sweetheart?”

You blinked then looked away, biting your lip in concentration as you thought about the question. A smile pulled at Tara’s lips at the sight. Even now, you managed to be cute. You looked back a moment later, shaking your head shamefully. Tara just gave you an encouraging smile.

“That’s ok. I’ll find her,” she assured, wiping your tears with her thumbs.

You sniffed. “You will?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, eyes landing on the couch. Gently, she brought you to the back of it, guiding you to sit with your back against it. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

A nod, and you were burying your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake again. Tara wanted to comfort you but there was work that needed to be done, so she set her mind to the task at hand and began her search.

It didn’t take very long.

She found your mother in the kitchen, only a room over from where you were. The woman was curled into a ball by the stove, blank eyes staring out into space.

Tara’s brows shot up. Had she been there the entire time?

“Hey,” she called out, staying a healthy distance away.

No reaction. Tara sighed, looked at the clock on the stove.

12:17 a.m.

There was no time for this. Tara knelt down before the woman, getting directly in her line of sight. That worked and her gaze slowly drifted to Tara’s.

“Are you hearing me?” she asked.

Her inquiry was met with a languid nod. Good, Tara thought. She decided to ask her most pressing question next.

“Did you call anyone?”

Sluggishly, the woman shook her head. Tara let out a silent sigh of relief. Not having to worry about police made this a bit easier, but getting rid of a body on such short notice was still going to be a challenge.

“You were in here the entire time?” She couldn’t resist asking, needing to know if your own mother just sat by and listened while you were being attacked.

She averted her eyes away from Tara’s, choosing not to respond. But the silence itself was an answer, and not one that Tara liked. Her muscles tensed instinctively, fingers curling into fists, but she forced herself to relax.

After a breath, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

Another silent shake of her head and Tara had enough of this conversation.

“Then you are going to get up and help me help your daughter. Do you understand?” she gritted out, colder than she probably should have been.

For a long moment, your mother said nothing. The silence made Tara’s jaw clench painfully. Eventually, she gave another painstakingly slow nod, but the tension within Tara still remained.

Realistically, she knew your mother wasn’t entirely to blame for this situation, likely being a victim herself, but she had knowingly allowed you to get hurt. And there was no forgiveness for that. Not for Tara.

Still, she needed the woman’s help right now if she wanted everything taken care of in a timely manner, so she relaxed her jaw and scrubbed away the impatience in her tone.

“Good. Stay here, I need to take care of something real quick.”

Tara was striding out of the room before she had the chance to respond. Rounding the couch, she found you again. You had your knees pressed to your chest, mirroring your mother’s position.

With a sweet smile, she crouched down in front of you.

“Hey, I found your mom.”

Your eyes widened. “Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” she affirmed, bringing a hand up to your shoulder. “I need you to listen to me carefully, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumbled.

“Go upstairs and take a shower. Put these clothes in a plastic bag and leave the bag in the bathroom. Then you can go lay down in your bed and rest. I’ll come up when I’m finished.”

“What are you gonna do?” You sounded scared, she wanted to alleviate that fear.

“Your mom and I are going to take care of your dad.”

You still looked hesitant. Tara brought her hand up to trace your jaw, stared deep into your eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately, making Tara smile.

“Then I need you to do as I say right now. Everything is going to be ok.”

“Promise?” you whispered. Your red eyes and quivering form made for a truly heartbreaking sight. One that Tara hoped she would never have to see again.

With a tender smile, she said, “Yeah, baby, I promise.”

She planted a kiss on your forehead then pulled you to your feet. You lingered for a fleeting moment before following Tara’s orders and heading up to the bathroom. Once Tara heard your footsteps upstairs, she went back to the kitchen.

Your mother was exactly where Tara left her. The smaller girl barely spared her a glance as she spoke.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to gather some things for me.”

Finally, she spoke up for the first time, feeble and low. “You have a…plan?”

At the question, the younger girl paused. She definitely didn’t, but she needed to come up with something, and quickly. She began brainstorming.

She had neither the time nor the tools to try the more elaborate methods of disposal that she’d seen in movies over the years. Things like cutting the body up and hiding the pieces, or melting the body with chemicals were off the table.

So she went with the easiest, least time-consuming plan that came to mind.

Turning, she said, “I need the largest bag you have, a shovel, a sheet, a hat, a bandana, a shirt, a pair of gloves, and your car keys.”

Your mother’s brows raised in disbelief. “My car keys?”

“Yes,” Tara answered, an equal amount of disbelief in her tone. There was no way she was going to potentially get your father’s DNA in her car. She wasn’t stupid. “Do you need me to write all of that down for you?”

She stared at Tara with that disconcerting look again before shaking her head and leaving to gather the items Tara asked for. While she was gone, Tara ventured to the kitchen, searching all of the cabinets until she found plastic wrap.

Returning to the body, Tara lifted your dad’s head off the carpet, careful to get as little blood on her as possible, and began wrapping the plastic around it. Layer after layer of plastic wrap was wound around his head as tightly as Tara could make it, using the entire roll to be safe.

She was just finishing up when your mother returned, the various things Tara requested in her arms. All but the shovel, Tara noticed. A large duffel bag was set down beside her, and Tara glanced up just in time to see her still.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing Tara with a queasy look. Tara’s fist clenched. She hated being interrupted while working.

“I’m wrapping his head so his brains don’t leak out inside of your car,” she explained flatly, shifting briefly to give the woman an annoyed look. “Unless you want that in your trunk?”

She paled, shaking her head vigorously. Her complexion was looking a bit green by the time she regained her train of thought. “The uh, t-the shovel is in the basement.”

Tara blinked. “Then go get it.”

A hurried nod and your mother was practically running to the basement. Tara rolled her eyes.

She took a long look at the bag beside her. It was a bit smaller than she would’ve liked, but it could work with the right positioning.

Taking advantage of your mother’s absence, Tara stripped her bloodied shirt off and shrugged the new one on. It was a simple t-shirt, solid black thankfully with no designs. Perfect for what she was going to be doing.

She dropped the bloodied shirt onto the carpet so it could be disposed of along with it and began unfolding the sheet on the floor next to your father. Very carefully, she rolled him over onto the sheet then did it again and again until he was completely wrapped inside of it like a burrito.

Once he was fully wrapped, she slid the hat over her head, tucking her hair up into it, and tied the bandana over the bottom half of her face.

Just as she was slipping the gloves on, footsteps sounded from the basement stairs and her accomplice appeared at the top of the steps, shovel in hand.

“Put that by the door, I need your help with this,” Tara gestured to the wrapped corpse.

Her eyes widened, noticeably avoiding looking at the body Tara was referring to.

“Y-you want me to help with…that?”

Tara bit back the scathing retort on her tongue and took on a pleading tone instead.

“Yes. Please,” she tried, “I can’t lift him into the bag by myself.”

Conflict flashed in her eyes. She swallowed roughly, still unmoving. Tara was about to give up and try putting him in by herself when she finally moved to where the smaller girl was.

Tara opened the duffel bag, and with some initial struggle, they maneuvered him onto his side, pushing his knees to his chest so he could just fit inside. It was a tighter fit than anticipated but they made it work.

Together, they lifted the bag and walked it to the car, placing it in the trunk alongside the shovel. Tara grabbed your mother’s arm before she could go back inside.

“Listen,” she spoke lowly, “while I’m gone, you’re gonna roll up the carpet and burn it in the firepit out back. Get the clothes from the bathroom and burn them as well. If there’s anything else that got blood or DNA on it, then throw that in too. Understand?”

A timid nod was the only response she got from the woman before she walked back toward the house.

“Oh, and clean the table too,” Tara called out as she reached for her own keys in her pocket and popped the trunk.

She was suddenly very thankful that she kept her platforms in her trunk for… spontaneous occasions.

With a practiced ease, she tied the shoes on and unlocked your mother’s car, quietly slipping into the driver’s seat. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and she found that her body was more tense than usual.

The next part of the plan relied entirely on luck, something Tara didn’t particularly like. But she had no choice.

Turning the key in the ignition, Tara pulled out of your driveway and began the drive across town.

Woodsboro was a sleepy little town. Very few were out and about after 10 p.m. and even less were out now, well after midnight. But still, she needed to be as careful as possible.

She drove slow, headlights off, taking as many backroads as possible to avoid any cameras and the sightlines of any major streets or apartment buildings in case anyone was awake and watching.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Tara pulled into one of the two cemeteries in Woodsboro. A slow ten-minute circuit around the place told her that there was nothing of use there. It disheartened her a bit, but she couldn’t give up, so she set off to her next destination.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on her side because a few minutes into her drive around the second cemetery, she found exactly what she was looking for.

A freshly dug grave.

It had been a real gamble. But considering most funerals were held on Saturday’s and it was a Friday night (or early Saturday morning, now), there was a chance she would find one.

Tara quickly got out and opened the trunk. She grabbed the shovel with one hand and the bag with the other, almost falling over as she tried to lift it out of the car.

Very quickly, she gave up trying to carry the duffel bag and settled for pulling it along by the bag strap with both hands.

“Heavy sack of shit,” she mumbled as she dragged the bag across the grass.

She lugged him over, grumbling, and set him down by the hole. Tara noted the dirt piled around the dug out grave. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about making a mess.

When she checked the time before getting out of the car it was already 12:47.

She had to get this done so she could get back to your house. Back to you.

With a sigh, Tara grabbed the shovel, jumped into the grave, and got to work.

Digging was an arduous process. Aside from how taxing it was on the arms, Tara had no real way of knowing how far down she was digging, so she had to just trust her instincts. She only stopped when she confidently estimated she had dug around two feet down.

Getting back out was a challenge even with platforms on to accentuate her height. Being short was a curse, Tara was convinced. But after a few attempts (and a lot of embarrassment) she managed to haul herself out with the shovel in tow.

Once back on her feet, Tara roughly kicked the duffel bag into the hole and started covering it with dirt.

Trying to gauge how much dirt she was putting in while also attempting to make it perfectly even to not arouse suspicion was difficult with the limited moonlight. She could have used her phone flashlight, but she wasn’t trying to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, so she made it work.

By the time she stumbled back to the car, threw the shovel back in the trunk, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, Tara was exhausted.

Her arms ached with a fierceness and she didn’t even want to think about how they would feel when she woke up in the morning. She sighed.

Why did breaking the law have to be so much goddamn work?

A glance at the clock told her it was 1:56 A.M.

You had probably long since finished your shower by now. She pushed her fatigue aside and got back on the road.

The knowledge that you were waiting for her made her want to slam her foot down on the pedal, but she held back. This was the home stretch, getting caught now would potentially ruin everything.

Tara let out a sigh of relief when she pulled into your driveway. She turned the car off and took the shovel out the trunk, the thought of every step bringing her closer to you driving her forward.

As she stepped inside, she set the shovel by the door and instantly spotted your mother, cleaning the blood off the glass table just as Tara asked. She was also pleasantly surprised to see that the carpet that formerly resided under the table was missing.

It seemed that the feeble woman actually was good for something.

“How is she?” Tara asked while taking the hat and bandana off. Silence followed. Tara threw the garments onto the couch and looked to your mother, who had stopped scrubbing to stare at the floor.

Tara blinked. Hard. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Have you not gone to check on her?” She couldn’t bother to keep her incredulousness in check.

Again, the room lapsed into silence as the older woman kept her head down. Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or rather what she was not hearing.

After sitting by while your own father—her ex-husband was trying to kill you, she couldn’t even be bothered to check in on you. “Angry” didn’t even begin to cover how Tara felt at the flagrant display of cowardice.

She couldn’t help but wonder, was this even the first time something like this happened while your mother hid instead of intervening? Was this the first time she refused to look at you because of her own shame or selfishness or both?

Enough was enough, she decided.

“She’s staying with me.”

That got your mother’s attention. She shot to her feet; eyes trained directly on Tara’s for the first time since she stepped back into the house.

“She absolutely isn’t. Why would you think that?”

“I think it’d be better if she’s away from this house for a while,” Tara gritted out, patience running thin.

“There is still a killer on the loose in this town. I won’t let you take my daughter somewhere where I won’t know if she’s safe or not.”

Indignation burned bright and hot in Tara’s veins. Her lips curled into a distorted smile.

“And you think she’ll be safer here? With you?” she spat, enjoying the way your mother’s eyes widened. “You couldn’t even protect her from your own husband, do you really think you could protect her from a vicious murderer?”

The woman blanched and inched back, but Tara didn’t stop, taking a step into her space as she continued.

“Even tonight, as your husband tried to kill her, what did you do? Did you try to stop him? Or did you cower in the kitchen like you were when I came?”

Tara waited for an answer. None came. She persisted.

“That’s right, you did nothing. You didn’t try to stop him; you didn’t try to save your own child. Hell, you didn’t even try to call the police. Your daughter had to call me for help after he died because you were being too useless to even stand up.”

Your mother had gone completely still, a slight tremble setting in. She was close to crumbling, Tara knew. One more solid push should do it. So Tara leaned in real close, eyes dark, voice but a whisper.

“You couldn’t protect her all these years. What makes you think you can now?”

As predicted, that did it. Tara watched her shatter in one swift motion.

Tears pooled and spilled over as all of the blood drained from her face. The tremble in her limbs became a violent shake, sending her to her knees with a gargled whimper.

Tara just stood, watching the display with distaste. Languidly, she knelt down before your mother and caught her teary gaze.

“If anyone asks where your ex-husband is, you tell them that he moved out west and cut contact with you. Use the divorce as an excuse,” she instructed slowly. Eyes darkening further, Tara leaned forward, dropping her voice. “You will not speak a word about what happened here tonight to anyone. Your daughter will be staying with me until she’s able to feel safe in her own home again. Do you understand?”

It was a statement more than it was a question, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument. There was only one acceptable answer for Tara. And it seemed that she understood that. Lips trembling, she gave Tara a shaky nod, making the smaller girl smile.

Satisfied, Tara stood, intending on collecting you and leaving, but your mother apparently wasn’t finished annoying her.

“P-please, please tell her that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” she gasped out between miserable sobs, weakly grabbing Tara’s hand.

Tara’s lips curled with disgust. Even now, after everything that had happened, your own mother couldn’t give you the apology you deserved to your face.

How pathetic.

Snatching her hand from the woman’s frail grasp, she began making her way upstairs, letting the pitiful cries fade with distance.

Tara entered the upstairs hallway, scanning it quickly. There were four doors that branched from the hall. The one all the way at the end was partially open. She made her way to it, taking a peek inside the bathroom along the way, pleased to see that the bag you presumably left on the floor was indeed gone.

At least your mother was good at following orders.

Pushing the door open wider, she was greeted by the unfamiliar sight of your room. It was a surprisingly sparse room for someone with so much personality. If Tara didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have even guessed it was yours.

The walls were bare, lacking all the decoration that Tara’s had, and the furniture was more of the same. Plain, brown, and devoid of all the emotion and spirit that she envisioned it having. The only sign of life in the room was on your bed, where you laid unnaturally still.

You rested atop your comforter, your damp hair fanned out on the pillow beneath you, gradually soaking it. But you either didn’t notice or didn’t care, staring resolutely out your window. The bruising on your neck was already darker, a nauseating shade of purple that made Tara’s stomach stir.

She approached quietly, not wanting to startle you in your seemingly fragile state, and sat down on the edge of the bed. You didn’t register the shifting of your bed, so Tara tentatively slipped her hand into yours.

Finally, Tara saw you inhale, and your attention shifted from the outside world to her.

“Tara,” you whispered, voice gravelly, “my dad, w-wha-“

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I took care of everything,” she cooed, stroking her thumb over your cheek.

“Did…you call the police?” you asked. The soft furrow of your brows would be adorable if it weren’t for the worry in your eyes that accompanied it.

Tara shook her head. “No. No police.”

“Wh-“ A harsh cough forced its way from your throat, making Tara wince in sympathy. “What’s gonna happen now?”

The fear in your eyes made her chest ache. To combat it, she put a small, comforting smile on her face. “Actually, that’s what I was coming to tell you. I talked it over with your mom we came to an agreement. You’ll be staying with me for the time being.”

She half expected you to say no, to refuse being uprooted from your home so suddenly. Instead, you asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude on you or Sam.”

Tara almost sighed. You had a way of constantly making yourself out to be a burden when you were anything but.

“You could never intrude on us. Sam loves you and so do I. More than you could ever know. If you want to stay, you would be more than welcome,” she paused then posed the question. “Do you want to stay with me?”

She tried to brace herself for whatever you would say but your answer, only one small syllable, was said so fast that she didn’t even have time.

“Please.”

The rush of relief she felt was so powerful it almost knocked the air from her lungs.

Tara went over to your closet and started putting clothes into the overnight bag you used when you stayed with her for the weekend, grabbing your favorites first. The bag wasn’t big enough to fit everything, but it didn’t really matter, she could always come back and pick up more if need be.

Or you could wear her clothes. Tara liked that idea much better.

Once it was as full as she could get it, she turned to you and froze. You were sitting up now, brows drawn together as you stared at nothing.

Concerned, Tara dropped the bag and knelt down in front of you, reaching to cradle one of your hands between hers.

“Hey,” she prompted, voice soft, “what’s going through that head of yours?”

Pursing your lips, you tried to look away, but Tara wasn’t letting you get away that easily. She leaned forward, following your eyes. A sigh was expelled through your nose, voice dropping to a grave whisper.

“Do you think I’m a monster, Tara?”

Tara swore she could feel her heart fracture.

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head. “No, look at me.”

You did. She chose her next words very carefully, trying very hard to steer clear of anything resembling “he deserved it” (even if it was true).

“What you did was an accident,” she started, speaking slowly and clearly. “You didn’t want to hurt him, but he was hurting you and you reacted. You couldn’t have known that he would trip. And if you did know, you probably wouldn’t have done it. Why? Because you’re not a monster. You could never be one, not to me anyways.”

There was a brief silence after her small monologue. You took in her words while she watched you, admired you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. She just smiled, placing a feather-light kiss on your lips.

Tara tried not to dwell on how you would view her if you ever found out about the sins she’s committed without remorse.

She stood on unsteady legs. “Are you ready to leave?”

Thankfully you nodded, seeming just as eager as she was to get the hell out of this house.

She grabbed your bag and escorted you out of the house. Tara didn’t miss the way you barely glanced in your mother’s direction as you passed her.

The ride to her house was silent, as expected. You looked on the verge of either falling asleep or breaking down and nothing Tara could say would change that. Still, she reached over to intertwine your fingers with hers at the first red light.

Sam’s car was in the driveway when Tara pulled in, which made her groan. She was hoping she could at least wait until morning to explain the situation to her sister, that would have given her time to come up with a suitably vague excuse for your indefinite stay.

But her sister surprised her.

She stood from the couch as you both entered and took your shoes off, that irritating look on her face that indicated to Tara that an interrogation was imminent, but the minute she saw you, her mouth clamped shut.

The way her wide eyes trailed over the bruises on your neck didn’t escape Tara’s notice, and she was just about to step up and get defensive when Sam wrapped you in a delicate hug and told you that you could stay as long as you needed to.

Tara was shocked. She didn’t think it would be so easy, but she supposed this fell in line with Sam’s newer personality quirks.

Sam had a recent habit of being… protective of the people she cared for. It annoyed the hell out of Tara but, if it could help her get what she wanted, as it did just now, then she would learn to tolerate it.

So she sent her sister a large, grateful smile and pulled you upstairs, making a mental note to find other ways to take advantage of Sam’s overprotective streak in the future.

Tara debated bringing your things into her room, but she figured you deserved a space of your own that could truly feel like it was yours. She led you to the guest room, conveniently right across the hall from her room, and placed your bag on the edge of the bed.

She paused then, finding herself entirely unsure of what to do next. Part of her wanted to invite you to her room like usual, while the other argued that you may want some space to process what happened earlier.

Discordant words interrupted the beginnings of her internal debate.

“Can I sleep with you?” you rasped, sounding shy despite the fact that you’d shared a bed with her dozens of times before. Tara smiled.

“Of course.” She took your hand in hers again and took you across the hall, gesturing for you to lay down while she changed and put her dirty clothes away. She made another mental note to wash those clothes tomorrow. Just in case.

In the few minutes that took, you were already on the verge of falling asleep when she turned back around.

With a small grin, she laid beside you and opened her arms. The tiny smile you gave her in return was blinding. You burrowed into her and buried your face into Tara’s neck like you always did when you slept together. Tara started carding her hand through your hair, knowing it would lull you off faster.

You were asleep within minutes. She couldn’t blame you, it had been an eventful night, and Tara herself should have been passed out instantly with the amount of physical labor she had done not even a few hours prior, but she just couldn’t shut her eyes.

How could she peacefully sleep knowing what she did to you?

This entire situation was her fault. Her inaction led to this moment, her hesitance to possibly hurt you nearly got you killed.

Her hesitance made you kill. That was devastating.

Tara wasn’t oblivious. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that her ultraviolent impulses were normal. No, there was a reason why she hid her true nature.

Whereas she found killing to be exhilarating—as utterly satisfying as scratching an itch you hadn’t been able to reach—you found it to be tormenting. She saw how stricken you were earlier, heard how terribly you thought of yourself for your actions just earlier in your room.

This would torture you. Would be a burden you carried for a long time. Because of her.

Just the thought was agonizing. The knowledge that she had hurt you, intentionally or not, made her want to drive a knife through her own flesh.

It would never happen, that she would make sure of.

With reinvigorated purpose, Tara pulled a blanket over the both of you and pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of your head. A silent promise to do better. A vow that for as long as she had you, she would never let another soul do you harm.

And the next time she even suspected anyone of laying their hands on you, there would no hesitation and absolutely no mercy.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #scream #scream vi #jenna ortega #i still don't know what damn tags to use lmao #shoutout to the mutual that informed me about exsanguination #ur a real one!#hope this isn't too disappointing

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mscherub · 19 hours ago

Text

Courting with Jade(Jade Leech x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as Perfect or Y/N ✦

Warnings!:

swearing as usual, just in my nature

Jade being…creepy. We like him for that tho ig…

Uneducated reader on merfolk mating rituals

Word count: approximately 2.63k

Exactly how long has it been since jade has been acting weird? Well…weirder than usual. He was a little more out of it, that being the nicest way to explain his actions. This is Jade we’re talking about, Jade, the man who was always pristine in looks and words, well mannered, knew proper etiquette while also being absolutely creepy nice…but the way he was acting now was different, going as far as calling it absurd, even!

Jade was never like this, he had never smiled so wide when you accidentally brushed your hand against his, and you have never ever seen that guy blush before, that is until you yawned while facing him after so graciously helping clean and close the lounge (which you only did for the money). It’s confusing, baffling, bewildering, yea, you get it. What happened to the mushroom obsessed eel boy? Maybe he ate one too many mushrooms and that’s why he’s acting like this. But, who knows why? Well, you want to. Jade, no matter how cynical he appeared to be, no matter how many threats he made that you didn’t quite know were empty or not, you liked him, and all this bullshit that he’s pulling is freaking you out way more than his normal personality!

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

Grim and you were in a tight situation, as usual. Money was running low, food stock was running low (more so Grim’s tuna), and the recent check from Crowley never managed to disappoint. How many thaumarks did you get, you ask? A whopping $650…again? Shit. It seemed his checks kept dwindling more and more by the month, which evidently caused you to have to score a job at the lounge, which Azul happily took your offer up on. Definitely wasn't just using you because he knew most of the student body liked you, pshhhh...

Azul was always there to lend you a helping hand when you needed it, although you usually never took his hand, physically and metaphorically speaking, but you had to these past few months, all because your little furbaby needs his food or he might just burn down Ramshackle, and you can definitely not afford that catastrophe right now. While working there, Jade grew a little closer to you but never ceased to be a pain in the ass, same with his brother, runs in the family you suppose. You look at the time and realize you have to get going.

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

Hours tick by, the lounge now closed for the night after a particularly busy day, and you just stand wiping the same spot on the table over and over again, zoning out as drowsiness overcomes you in a flash. How long had you been working? Let’s see, your shift started at around 2:00 p.m. which is when classes are usually over and– HOLY SHIT! As realization dawns on you as you look at the clock, you see It’s 1:30 in the morning.

You pause and you take a breath in, looking down at the table which you had been absentmindedly cleaning more than it needed to be. You pick up the rag and you throw it on the cart. Jade and Floyd looked as graceful as ever as they mopped the floor and wiped off the seats, their earrings jingling in sync it seemed. You sit down at a booth and take off your lounge uniform blazer and slip your gloves off…

“Stupid things…fuck my life, fuck this.” you murmur under your breath. You lean back and close your eyes. How did they do this? Did they do this every night? You knew Azul could be cruel, but damn…working them that long every day? You wouldn’t survive that, that’s all you know.

“Done already? Azul doesn’t like slackers, which I’m sure you know.” Jade smirks. You snap your eyes open, jumping a bit. His footsteps were always eerily silent, always catching anyone least expecting him to pop up off guard. You shake your head and sit up again, clearing your throat.

“Uh, yea. I’m done. Sorry.” you huff out, grabbing your gloves off the table. You look up at him, his smile never faltering.

“Ah, amazing job. Shall I walk you back to Ramshackle then?” He tilts his head. You narrow your eyes at him. That’s different. But you nod and grab your blazer, standing up.

Jade takes it right from your hands, holding it open so you can slip your arms in.

“I can do it myself” You sigh. You wait for him to do something, but he shakes the blazer and smirks even wider. What is up with him?

"I insist." He grins. You roll your eyes, and you slip your arms through the sleeves. Jade then gingerly slips his hand to the small of your back, rambling on about whatever it was that he has on his mind as he leads you out of the lounge. You’re way too tired to comprehend anything he says or even notice the hand placement, all you know is that your bed is calling your name.

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

You slump down on the couch in Ramshackle, kicking off your shoes and running a hand down your face, letting out a small yawn, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

Jade chuckles and watches from the doorway with evident amusement at your appearance and actions. “Difficult day I presume?” he chuckles. You are definitely not in the mood for his antics today.

“You were there the whole time, so yea, obviously. Goodnight, Jade.” you grumble and make a swatting motion with your hand towards him. He simply grins wider.

“Ah, humans are so different. In the deep, staying up long hours is essential to make sure you’re always safe, never let your guard down.” He muses. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the couch.

“Ok, well we aren’t in the deep and I honestly don’t care. Goodnight, Jade.” you say more sternly, slightly harsher than you had intended, but if he would leave you alone so you could sleep, that would be the best thing ever at this rate.

“Ah, ah. How harsh, Y/N, I was simply stating how we are superior as a species, all fun in games.” He chuckles again. “So angry it seems. You should join me for a hike one of these days, it helps to clear the mind, especially after such stressful situations.” he remarks.

“Yea, yea, sure, whatever.” You drawl on as you find your eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

“Would this weekend work then for a hike?”

“Sure. whatever. Yep. good, or whatever. Bye.” your words stumble out of your mouth as you slump down onto the couch more and sleep finally takes over, sending you into a well-deserved rest.

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

Well…that happened, you guess?

Over the next few days, you forget about what you said in your tired state, more focused and confused on the little trinkets you find in the pocket of your work uniform whenever you arrive back at Ramshackle late at night, each one ranging from something shiny, like a pearl, or something like a scale from who knows who. You don’t know who these “gifts” are from, and it’s ominous in a way…but you don’t have time to question it, and you just throw it in a small box, just keeping the thought of money in your mind to keep the motivation of making bank to continue to have a place to live. Crowley, when you see him, it’s on sight, instantly.

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

The weekend comes quick, and you honestly forgot about the whole “Deal” you made with Jade, just happily awaiting your check from Azul.

You practically skip your way to the lounge, the only word on your mind being “money.” You hum a tune quietly as you push your way past people waiting in line to get a table and head straight to the VIP lounge.

“Azulllll, I believe you owe me something!” You smile as you push open the door. In the room is the octotrio themselves, Azul scribbling on paper, Floyd looking bored out of his mind, and Jade dressed in– dressed in hiking gear, which jogs a memory in your mind. Your “agreement” to go on a hike with him, which seemed innocent, but knowing him, he was hiding something.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd perks up and instantly stands up, walking over to you and giggling happily. He picks you up and hugs you tight. You let out a short puff of air as most of it is squeezed out of you. Azul clicks his tongue and grumbles under his breath, going to fish through his drawer as you’re being suffocated to death. Jade gets up as well, smiling calmly at the scene before him. Floyd sets you down, bored already, and walks away, although he seems a bit wearier of Jade all of a sudden, which is quite unusual.

Azul then comes over as well and hands you an envelope with what you hope is a thick stack of money inside.

“Thank you.” You smile triumphantly. Jade, finally having enough of being quiet, clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Perfect, I thought you would have come prepared with proper attire, but it seems I have been mistaken.” he grins. You feel your stomach sink and you look away from him. You sigh and look down at your shoes. To be fair, you didn’t exactly have proper gear to begin with anyways, but you also weren't trying to go on this little trip in the first place.

“Fear not, the Mountain Lover Club is always prepared for newcomers, which means luckily for you, we have just the correct items.” Why was he using “we?” Only Jade was in the club, ah…whatever, the bigger problem here is that not only will you be hiking, but you will also be hiking alone, with Jade.

You purse your lips and nod. Azul sighs, gaining both yours and Jade's attention. “Discuss this somewhere else, I am a very busy man.” he huffs as he glances over at the door. Jade instantly takes the hint and walks out towards the door, looking over his shoulder to make sure you follow him.

Uh oh.

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

After getting suited up and getting permission to head off campus, rightfully excused by Jade since he was president of his club, you and Jade hiked up a mountain, a pretty steep one at that.

“Oh. Look, these mushrooms are special to this mountain due to its higher level of humidity. See how it grows along the trees and logs? Certainly fascinating.” He thrums out as he continues to observe the blue, glowing mushrooms. Meanwhile, you were leaning against a tree, heaving in and out as you finally were able to take a break to catch your breath after climbing, and the worst part of it all? You “were not to the desired destination yet,” quote Jade.

You glare over at him, but your gaze softens as you see him so interested in the mushrooms, his facial features softer and lacking that formal facade he’s so perfectly crafted and wore around everyone at NRC. You push yourself off of the tree and kneel down next to him, reaching out a hand to touch the blue thing, but he stops you.

“They are quite deadly. Toxic, in fact. It's better not to touch them, especially to prevent any incidents where you may inhale any spores released.” He schools you, looking down at you with a smile. You pull your hand away and keep it glued to your side, ok, no touching any blue glowing mushrooms, got it, though that should have already been common sense. An awkwardly pleasant silence falls between the two of you. Jade takes one last look before standing up again, holding a hand out to you. You take it and you both continue to hike up again.

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

“Jade? I have something that’s been bugging me.” You sigh out, the thought finally being too much to ignore.

“Give me a name and you’ll never have to deal with them again.” He answers firmly. You pause and open your mouth, then close it again, a confused look on your face.

“That’s…not what I meant.” You murmur out. Jade simply smiles and chuckles.

“My misunderstanding, what seems to be the trouble then?” he inquiries. You recall how you kept finding the little items in your coat pockets after work, thinking it had to have been him since he walked you back to ramshackle after working at the lounge.

“The little things in my pockets–”

“Those were from me. Why has it been bugging you, hmmm?” he hums as he ducks under a branch, continuing to move, his long legs helping him easily step over long roots sticking up from the ground. You pause your movements and stick your hands in your pockets, shrugging.

“Dunno, not like you.” you whisper out. He stops and turns to look back at you, quirking an eyebrow as he stares at you. But the look quickly goes away as quick as it came, and he smirks.

“You’ll find out soon. Follow along.” He turns back around and heads up the path again.

“Hey! No, Jade, I wanna know, stop being all secretive–

Jade pushes back a tree branch and reveals an open spot at the top of the mountain which overlooks the entire mountain range. The high peaks in the distance are spotted with snow, and the pine trees in mass quantities spread across the range, fog blanketing the dips and valleys. You stop in your rambling and go quiet as you slowly walk up next to him, your mouth agape at the sight.

“I…Woah.” Is all you can manage to stutter out.

“Truly a most ethereal sight. Things like this don’t exist under the sea, another thing that makes both worlds so different from one another, which evidently brings me to another drastically different aspect of the cultures.” he smiles and looks down at you, watching as the sun hits your features just right, casting you in a sort of golden glow. You turn your head up at him and a look of bewilderment flashes across it.

“I thought you to be smarter, Perfect. But one can only hold another in such high regards for little time.” he sighs, a pout on his face, though as well as you knew him, you knew it was just a ploy. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“I certainly expected you to catch onto my advances. You see, Y/N, I was courting you. Had I been too subtle?” his pout deepens. You’re speechless. You look into his eyes, and damn! That fucking pout, as fake as the meaning behind it was, he was incredibly cute at the moment, and the sun giving him an incandescent look didnt help either. You clear your throat and try to mutter something, anything out, but nothing comes. You glance away, flustered.

So that’s what all this weird behavior has been coming from him? He’s been trying to court you. It seemed unbelievable, but when you look back at him, he’s smiling his well-worn sinister smile, though it seems more genuine.

“You’re blushing, Perfect.” he snickers. “At a loss for words?”

Who knows what comes over you, maybe the past confusing moments finally making sense and you wanting to get revenge on him, but you pull him down by the collar of his jacket and you place a kiss on his cheek.

“Bastard.” You grumble as you pull away. Now it’s his turn to be left speechless, a faint tint of pink to his cheeks, but it quickly fades as he smiles again. His gaze softens again

“Glad you feel the same, Y/N…it’s truly a relief.”

Hope you enjoyed my lovelies! I’ll be posting more soon, I promise, lol. I’m just trying to get all my works over to here, but two other ones I have not posted are on my Ao3 —> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_cherub

I was editing this on the bus so mb if I missed any spelling mistakes or anything like that! That’s it though <3

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, repost if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

#twisted wonderland #jade leech #octotrio #floyd leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech x you #gender neutral reader #x reader #<3 #x y/n #y/n

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esmedelacroix · 1 year ago

Text

Coffee Shop Love Pt. 3

synopsis ! He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit charming barista.

cw ! no use of y/n, fluff, age gap, teeny bit of angst, suggestive

Coffee Shop Love Masterlist | Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Several mornings and nights with Miguel passed you by until you had fallen into the routine of seeing him twice a day. When you saw him, the two of you would talk about random things while doing your own things.

Of course, there was the occasional obviously flirty comment that thickened the odd tension between you. You had been feeling it for two weeks and couldn't quite place it.

The next morning you got up and got ready to start baking for the morning rush. By the time you got down to the shop, your two employees Miles and Gwen were already baking the muffins and cakes. You said hello and went over the menu for the day. You then started preparing lunch menu ingredients and Miles took the first wave of breakfast costumers.

You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket mid morning rush cool down. Which was weird because no one ever texted you in the morning. You took your phone out and stared at the message that awaited you.

Miguel: Hey could you make my coffee in advance? I'm running late today...

You: Of course, hurry!

Miguel: Maybe sneak a lil muffin in there...?

You: Sugar? Am I speaking to Miguel or an imposter?

Miguel: 😡

You smiled down at your phone. Older people using emojis always cracks me up. You thought, as you put your phone back in your pocket and made his order. While the morning rush built up to its usual catastrophic storm of angry city folk, Mr. Smith picked up his order and his rent, just when the morning rush was at peak catastrophe and the line was going out of the shop, you saw Miguel pull up to the sidewalk and step out of his car.

You threw on your scarf and earmuffs, along with a puffer jacket and gloves before heading outside. If there was one weakness you had, it was your sensitivty to cold weather. You rushed out to Miguel who was leaning against his car. "Hey, I came as fast as I could," you huffed out smiling at him.

"Thank you, Baby—you look warm," he teased. He noticed the way your eyes watered when gusts of wind carried snow. How the snowflakes fell on your nose and eyelashes. The way your face turned a slight shade of pink, he could already guess that if you didn't have those earmuffs on, your little ears would be pink too. Even though you were wrapped in the warmest clothes, you still looked so chilly. Miguel was resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you and warm you up properly himself.

"I'm so sensitive to the cold, my hands and feet are always cold," you explained as you held his drink out to him as well as a little brown paper bag. "I packed you a lemon poppyseed muffin, something tells me you'll enjoy it," you said.

"Hmm, I let you know," he hummed looking away. He was obviously a bit embarrassed to be enjoying baked goods. You chuckled to yourself and shook your head.

"Get inside Baby, or you might freeze right where you stand," Miguel chuckled as he ushered you back into the shop.

You waved goodbye and entered the battlefield of morning brews and muffins. It was a long day but you looked forward to when the clock finally struck 9 p.m. because you knew Miguel would walk in, probably get stuck in the mistletoe, and say hello.

So when he had walked through the door into the empty shop and got caught in the mistletoe while accidentally knocked over the yuletide, your night was finally complete.

You never would have thought that a man as intimidating as Miguel would also be so clumsy. But it wasn't his fault that he was incredibly tall and monstrously muscular.

"Miguel, can you stop trashing my shop?" you teased as you walked around the counter to fix your holiday decor. Just when you had adjusted the yuletide, his broad shoulder bumped into a bell and it fell as well.

"Great, now you're throwing stuff at me," you joked giggling at his clumsiness.

"Oh stop it," Miguel said rolling his eyes. The both of you were so lost in the moment of laughter and bliss that you didn't realize that you were standing at the entrance of the store. You both realized and looked above you to see the mistletoe, you felt the heat rise from your chest to your face all the way to your ears.

You had never been this close to Miguel so you never realized that his eyes which you thought were mahogany brown had a slight hint of ruby in them. They were both whiskey and wine while simultaneously being black coffee and velvet cake.

He smelled like sandalwood, vallina, musk, roses, and cedarwood. In short, he smelled better than sex. His scent drugged you and kept you in his trance while swimming in his eyes. You stared at each other far too long for it to be nothing. You finally broke the tension by clearing your throat. "It's too bad you don't believe in Christmas, I'm a really good kisser," you quipped, as you walked behind the counter. You hoped that he didn't notice how nervous you were. He walked up to the counter visibly not over what had just happened.

"Well, who said I don't believe in Christmas?" he asked.

"I said I haven't celebrated in a while," he explained, correcting you.

"Are you just saying that because you want a smooch? So needy," you said shaking your head at him. You handed him his coffee, which you already started to make. Your question made him blush a bit. Cute.

"Don't worry you don't have to answer that question, but you have to tell me if you liked the muffin I made you," you asked with a shy smile.

"It was actually really good. But don't take that wrong way, I still don't like sweet things," he assured.

"Yeah sure, anyway I'm going to drop the extras off at the soup kitchen down the road if you want to tag along?" you suggested

"Okay, I don't really have much to do," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

You were partially asking so he could help load the stuff into your car (What? He didn't have all that muscle for nothing). As you both got in the car and drove the short drive to the soup kitchen, you sparked a bit of conversation. "So, I've never seen you around the area, did you just move here?" you asked.

"I moved recently, I actually work at Alchemax, it's not too far away," he explained. You let out an impressed hum.

"Ohh snazzy, what do you do there?" you asked, as you taped the wheel rhythmically to the Frank Sinatra Christmas song playing in the background.

"I'm a geneticist," he answered.

"Yeah, I don't know what that is, but I was born and raised here," she said as Miguel laughed at her earlier comment.

"Tell me more," Miguel said under stifled laughter.

"The coffee shop is kind of a family heirloom if you will, it's been around for decades. Naturally, I followed in my parents' footsteps and went to culinary school. But my parents passed away a while ago so I couldn't finish school," she explained.

"Well, I'm sure your parents would be proud. I think you have this coffee thing down to a T," he said, making you smile like an idiot.

"Thank you, Miguel, that means a lot," you said as you pulled up to the shelter. You both got the stuff out of the trunk. You walked in and took it to the front desk where your best friend Estella was. "Hey, Baby—oh? Who's this? Boyfriend? Hookup?" she asked, sizing him up and giving you a nod of approval.

"This is Miguel, and um, he's my uh—" you started trying to find the words.

"We're friends," he answered simply. Estella still looked at you suspiciously before letting the volunteers take the goods off our hands.

"Well you two have a great night, and Miguel, she may not look like it but, she likes it rough," Estella teased throwing a wink at Miguel.

"Oh my god, Estella!" you groaned as you walked out with Miguel and got back into the car. The ride was silent until he chuckled, "Rough huh?"

"Please forget she said that," you said smiling sheepishly at the revelation.

"Oh, so you're not going to deny it?" he asked.

"Well, why deny it when it's true?" you said accepting the shame.

You had parked and looked over at his face for a reaction to this information. But nothing, you couldn't read his expression. The two of you spent the rest of the night chatting it up about everything under the sun(or moon). You had learned so much about Miguel.

You learned that he has a brother named Gabriel, his favorite color is red, he prefers chocolate over gummies(wrong opinion). You realized in your time knowing him, he absolutely has to keep eye contact when speaking with someone. His eyes never left yours and it made you feel like you were forgetting how to breathe.

As you both continued to bond over Christmas cookies and brews, your moment was interrupted by a buzz from both of your phones. It was an amber alert that read:

[Blizzard Warning! This area til 9:00 PM EST Mon. All citizens must stay indoors. All roads closed]

-> Next Part

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@amber-content

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pollymorgan · 6 months ago

Text

Coach Negan Part 2

Warnings: Negan beeing Negan, hot table sex

Okay, I did it again! Have fun with the second part! 🤭

When I wake up, I briefly think I had a pretty intense dream. But when I see the phone lying next to me on the pillow, I realize that unfortunately, it was real.

Oh man, I've started some pretty weird actions lately. Somehow, my life seems to have gone a little off track. But phone sex with my daughter's hated gym teacher pretty much tops it all.

At least I didn't oversleep, not even once this week! Who knows, maybe I'll still be "Mother of the Year."

Feeling a bit off-kilter, I shuffle to the bathroom to freshen up.

With the toothbrush in hand, I let my thoughts wander. Okay, the whole phone call was a bit sexy. Well, actually, pretty hot. My cheeks start to flush as I think about Negan's voice and how dominant he was.

Damn, the whole thing was more erotic than anything I've experienced in the last 5 years. At least! Although that's not saying much....

Suddenly Negan's last words come to mind.

"Okay, I'll expect you tomorrow at 3:30 pm for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and without panties.. Good night!"

Fuck! My ex-husband is picking up the kids today. At least, that's the last I heard. From experience, I can say that can change at any time. Anyway, I absolutely must not run into Negan at this time, preferably never again. But that will probably be a bit difficult...

The morning goes by thankfully without any major catastrophes. A few arguments, two forgotten homework assignments, and spilled milk later, I've dropped off my three kids at kindergarten and school on time.

Feeling somewhat relieved, I return home. There's chaos in every room, but it's quiet in the house. After calmly drinking a coffee, I decide it's really time to start filling my social media channel with content again. After all, it's become my job, albeit somewhat involuntarily. I'll make a post about a nutritious, quick meal for stressed out mothers. At least I don't have to go shopping again. I have all the necessary ingredients in the fridge, and it's not too time-consuming.

Just as I'm preparing everything, my phone vibrates. Assuming it's a message from my ex, canceling the meeting with his kids for some flimsy reason, I open the message annoyed.

"Be on time today, otherwise it's detention! 😉 Negan."

Oh God, I had hoped this whole thing would just fizzle out. Feeling a bit nervous, I set the phone aside and try to focus on what I actually had planned. But that's not so easy! I keep staring at my phone, afraid of receiving the next text or out of desire? I can't even define it myself.

Screw it! I was married for 19 years and I've based my whole life on this man. Taken care of the kids and the household and always put myself last. Only to be left. So, what's wrong with having a bit of fun?

I quickly grab my phone and reply.

"Just detention? 😯 I expected a more creative punishment! 🙈"

I hesitate for a moment, but then I send the text. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I see the two checkmarks next to the message. It only takes a few seconds before I receive a reply.

"You naughty girl, don't challenge me ...".

I can't help but grin.

Quickly I type, "As they say, 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go on the teacher's desk' or something like that ...😉"

"I can't wait ... Room 319, in the big gymnasium," I receive as a reply.

I look at the clock. It's just after 12 pm. I quickly finish my Instagram post to have enough time to get ready.

After a thorough shower, I stand somewhat desperate in front of my closet. I absolutely must not show up too sexy at Peggy's school. But my obligatory gray jeans and a plain t-shirt that has been my wardrobe staple lately won't do either.

I'm as excited as before a first date, and in a very strange way, that's what it is.

In the depths of my closet, I find a royal blue knee-length pencil skirt and a matching white blouse with large dots in the same color, with the price tag still attached. I put it on and critically examine myself in the mirror. I've always been slim, but the impending divorce has cost me at least another five kilos.

I loosely tie up my hair and apply light makeup. Then I put on my favorite scent, a mix of vanilla and cherry that I've worn far too rarely lately, afraid the bottle might run out.

Now there's no time for doubts. Determined, I go to the car, start the engine, take a quick look in the rearview mirror to remove mascara smudges under my eyes, and head towards the school.

There are only a few students left on the grounds. Most have already finished, just like my daughter. Thankfully! He actually managed to pick her up. Miracles do happen after all!

I have the terrible feeling that everyone is watching me and knows exactly what I'm up to, although that's obviously nonsense.

Feeling a bit nervous and with a pretty strong flutter in my stomach, I go to the big gymnasium. Disoriented, I roam the narrow corridors and then stop in front of room 319. Okay, so I'm really going to go through with this.

The door isn't closed, just ajar. I take a deep breath and then push it open further. Negan is sitting at the desk, focused, with some papers in hand, and suddenly startles. As he catches sight of me, he begins to grin, his perfect teeth shining through.

Oh man, has he always looked so damn good? He's wearing a khaki jacket over his jeans shirt and glasses with a dark rim. Determinedly, he stands up and walks directly towards me, while I remain rooted to the spot, staring at him.

He stops right in front of me and leans against the door frame with one arm. I have to look up at him because he easily towers over me. The woody, masculine scent of his cologne envelops me and literally clouds my senses.

"Never heard of knocking?" he smiles at me and then lightly licks his lower lip with his tongue.

Finally, I find my words again. "Well, I seem to be a really naughty girl, but at least I'm on time...".

Dramatically, he looks at his golden wristwatch. "Right on time..." he states curtly and gestures for me to come in, before immediately locking the door. At the sound of the lock, my heart gives another heavy thump.

So, I'm really here now.

I quickly glance around the room, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.

"Sit down!" he commands and goes back to his desk. Just as I'm about to take a seat on one of the two chairs in front of it, he protests.

"No, here..." He taps the table clearly and sits on his chair, never taking his eyes off me. After a brief hesitation, I sit down, as ordered, directly opposite him on the table, crossing my legs. As confidently as possible, I look down at him. When our eyes meet, small electric shocks run through my entire body, seemingly converging in my lower abdomen. His gaze continues to roam over my body, to my legs and back up. We remain silent for a moment, but then he breaks the silence with the sentence, "And did you remember not to wear any panties?".

My cheeks blush even more intensely, I have to swallow hard before I can respond. "Yes."

"Okay, then show me..."

Slightly confused, I try to think. This man hasn't even touched me, let alone kissed me yet, and I'm supposed to present my most intimate parts on a desk to him?

"Come on, don't be shy..." he adds demandingly, noticing my hesitation.

As if on command, I jump off the table in one go, pulling up my tight skirt until it barely covers my butt. I then brace myself on the desk with both hands, ready to jump up and slightly spread my legs in front of him. Negan leans further forward and stares unabashedly at me. He grasps my knees to open my legs a little more.

It's the first time I feel his warm hands on my bare skin.

"And shaved just for me, that wasn't necessary..." he states, satisfied and self-assured.

His hands slowly continue to my thighs, then he lightly rests on them and positions himself directly between my legs. His face is only a few centimeters away from mine, and I feel his breath just as heavy as mine. I examine every pore and every small scar thoroughly until my gaze falls on his lips. Without thinking further, my arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

Finally, our lips meet. The kiss is immediately wild and without any restraint. Full of desire, our lips press against each other, and our tongues immediately explore each other.

All I can think about is how good all of this - how good he - feels.

Negan firmly grips my butt with both hands and dominantly pushes my pelvis closer to him. The fabric of his jeans presses against my bare skin. I feel how hard and big he already is. I can clearly feel him, right at the spot that yearns for him the most. I softly moan into the kiss.

"Damn, that's the sound I wanted to hear! I haven't been able to think of anything else since last night..." he exclaims excitedly.

Then he swiftly takes off his jacket and starts to slowly unbutton my blouse. My black lace bra is revealed. Before he kisses me again, he looks down at me.

"Fuck, look at you...you're so incredibly beautiful," he says softly.

My hands move confidently to his pants, feeling for his belt.

"Not so fast...first, I want to taste you...every damn inch of your perfect body!"

He grins at me, and I immediately do nothing but eagerly wait to see what he has in store next.

Negan slowly takes off my unbuttoned blouse and skillfully unclasps my bra. He immediately grasps my breasts firmly with his large, warm hands and plants delicate kisses on my sternum. His beard scratches against my delicate skin, giving me goosebumps. His mouth moves to my right breast, and I let my head fall back. I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of his tongue on my sensitive nipple. His hand firmly grips my left shoulder and pushes me down. Now I'm completely lying on the desk, while his kisses travel deeper and deeper.

Without hesitation, he grabs my knees and presses my legs firmly against my body. Then I feel his warm breath on my wet vulva. Automatically, I press my pelvis further towards him, and he starts kissing along my inner thighs, while I eagerly await feeling his lips on my pulsating clitoris finally.

My whole body is tense as he continues to tease me, his mouth gently returning to my thigh.

Impatiently, I slide back and forth on the desk.

He releases his firm grip from my knees and gives me a light slap on the butt.

"Damn, it's sexy how turned on you are... I could continue like this all day..." he remarks with a grin, unbuttoning his jeans shirt as his dark chest hair is revealed. I prop myself up on my forearms, looking at him expectantly.

"Okay, okay... Who can resist such a look and such a sweet pussy..." he says, leaning back between my legs to finally touch me where I need it the most.

Skillfully, his tongue wanders to my most sensitive spots, applying just the right pressure and perfect tempo.

I moan in relief and lean back again. He softly sucks on my swollen clit, and my legs start to tremble. I grab his hair and hold onto it tightly because I feel like I need that support. The orgasm hits me unexpectedly. I never thought I could reach the peak so quickly.

Negan grabs my wrists and swiftly pulls my upper body back up. Breathing heavily and utterly exhausted, I look at him, and he smiles contentedly, his lips moistened with my wetness.

"Wow, okay..." he says.

"Wow, okay..." I reply and pull him closer to kiss him.

"Now I want to fuck that perfect pussy..." he whispers in a deep voice into my ear, opening his pants with one hand. Then he briefly separates from me to open the drawer of his desk and retrieve a condom.

I watch him, and suddenly I seem to be able to think clearly again. At least, I can imagine how many times he has done this before. How many lonely, abandoned mothers he has already screwed on this desk, that he even keeps condoms in his drawer.

Without saying anything, he seems to notice my gaze very precisely and knows how to interpret it.

He grabs my chin between his index finger and thumb and turns my head decisively towards him.

"Hey, don't even think about it, okay? ...I only placed it there today, in the slight hope that you would seriously consider my nice offer..."

He lets me go to put on the condom without breaking eye contact.

My eyes wander between his dark ones, and I get lost in them.

I nod hesitantly and flinch slightly as I feel his tip pressing against my entrance.

Negan runs his thumb over my mouth. My lips feel dry and sensitive.

"Don't close your eyes now, look at me as I enter you..." he says unequivocally.

I already feel him slowly pushing deeper and deeper into me. When he is all the way in, he places his burning hot forehead against mine. His mouth is slightly open, and his breath is heavy. I enclose his lower lip with my lips. It is an incredibly intense feeling to be so full. I feel my lower abdomen contract repeatedly as he slowly starts moving inside me. It doesn't take long for his thrusts to become faster and harder. I realize he is close to coming.

"Sit on the chair, I want to be on top of you!" I say, trying to gain some control and at least once have the upper hand.

"Okay, whatever you want... really anything!" he says, breathing heavily, and sits back on the chair behind him.

He looks incredibly sexy. With those piercing eyes, his slightly swollen lips from the intense kisses, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his slim hairy chest, and his large hard penis that I immediately want inside me again.

I jump off the table and climb onto his lap. With my right hand, I grasp his pulsating cock and let him glide into me. Negan holds onto my hips, and I place my hands on his shoulders to support myself. Slowly, I begin to move, and he penetrates deeper into me.

"Damn, you're finding spots in me that I didn't even know..." I smile and then bite my lower lip in concentration. I mean it literally. I have never felt anything like this before. My movements become faster, and I feel the tension running through Negan's body.

"Let's come together..." I whisper softly to him.

"Okay, baby..." he says decisively, and his hand moves purposefully between my legs. Quickly and with quite a bit of pressure, he circles my hypersensitive clit with his thumb.

I feel like I can hardly breathe from excitement. My lower abdomen almost cramps painfully.

I manage to groan "Now..." just before another intense orgasm floods my body. But not only me, I also feel how Negan is coming intensely. Exhausted, I collapse on his lap. His arms embrace me and press me firmly against his bare chest. For a moment, all you can hear is our exhausted breathing, then he whispers softly while still deeply inside me.

"That was insane. When can we do this again?"

I grin at him contentedly. "I have the whole weekend free from the kids... so I'd be happy to do it again tomorrow..."

Then I kiss a bead of sweat off his forehead.

He pouts, "Why wait until tomorrow? ...How about tonight and then the whole night... Believe me, I want to explore a few other spots in you..."

#jeffrey dean morgan #jdm fic #jeffreydeanmorgan #twd smut #twd negan #negan fanfic #negan smith #negan x you #negan smut #negan x reader #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan #the walking dead negan #negan imagine

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celaenaeiln · 1 year ago

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something i’d love to see more of is angsty rebellious teenage dick grayson. i don’t know why i enjoy the trope but the image of dick “golden boy” grayson getting plastered with roy as he slowly sinks into depression before somewhat getting his shit together is an interesting picture

also he just seems like the guy to get impulsive piercings. dunno why

oooh yeah that fantasy's a guilty a pleasure of mine.

I am 1000000000% an enforcer of Dick was not an angry robin. And he wasn't because the comics show just how happy his demeanor was and how fun he is. But angsty teen Dick? 16/17 year old Dick?

I LOVE IT.

Again throwing a little bit of canon in

"When we started this you were open and encouraging. You were my father...but these last few years...all you've been doing is trying to control me even more."

This is so loaded.

The anger Dick feels when Bruce is trying control him, trying to lock him in a cage in the batcave because of worry, has so much ao3 potential.

Like angsty teen dick is so complicated to think about because Bruce acts a bit like an alcoholic father and Dick's compartmentalization issues come from his parents' death. So what would this result in?

I have no fcking clue.

Because Dick would totally get wasted with Roy, hazy blue eyes staring emptily into space, watching with a flushed cheeks as his short black hair fans out on the back of a beaten blue couch at Roy's place, just breaking down quietly as Roy rants and screams about life's injustices in the background, slinging an arm around Dick and jostling him.

Or maybe he and Roy would also go bar hopping, both of them sloppy drunk, laughing and crying at the same time while they max out their daddies' credit cards and then crash somewhere in someone's pool. Maybe they end up inadvertently on Katy Perry's Friday Night music video.

Or maybe Dick would be a hurricane of disaster, lashing out with knives of sharpened words stabbing the deepest, sorest spots of pain in people, his anger alighting a fire in all. He would be magnificent, ferocious, and catastrophic.

He could be any of these three and all three at once.

He would feel the need to act out if Bruce was becoming more controlling.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, Dick raised Bruce and that perpetually sense of responsibility he's instilled into himself from a young age as well as his self-sufficiency is never erased so one night he would be blacked out from the excessive alcohol but next morning 6'o clock his body's walking up and he's going through his morning routine like a machine and out the door to work. He just keeps going like this day and day until he collapses and the titans intervene or Bruce drags him back to the manor, screaming in love and fear and Dick screams back and the cycle begins.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #135

Like canonically Dick ran away from home at 16, got a job, got caught up in a major anarchist group, and did a whole freaking investigation while Bruce sulked in the cave because Dick ran away.

There's so much angsty dick potential that could go in so many ways because he's such a complex character that all of them apply.

LOL!!! I totally think he would get impulsive piercings too. Maybe when he's drunk and pissed and then the next day he would wake up be like wtf. He'd sit in turmoil and a little regret for a while and then be like whatever because these piercing are freaking cool.

Bonus: no one (except the og titans and Alfred bc Dick never keeps anything from Alfred and the titans are family) ever find out about the piercings and it's kept a tightly guarded secret until a decade later when he does something in the batcave and one of the batkids notice and they're like, "DICK YOU HAVE A PIERCING?!" The rest of them just about break their neck whipping their head around to look at him. Dick just shrugs nonchalantly because time has tempered him and goes, "oh yeah. I guess. I forgot." Bruce passes out and wakes up on the floor to Dick hovering worriedly over him while the rest of the family watches in amusement at his predicament and also half brokenly because their golden boy big brother has piercings. Plural.

Bruce gasped out a pained breath, "Piercings?"

Dick stared at him silently, gemstone eyes holding his gaze as the quiet of the cave melted the seconds into hours. His eyes slowly slid from Bruce's to where the rest of the family was standing, watching them with bated breath for his answer, before they met Bruce's hopeful ones again.

"No." Bruce, with all the strength left in his body after recovering, raised a questioning eyebrow as Dick continued, "I don't have any piercings and never did."

"Hmn." But he swore he could've seen-

The kids erupted in protests.

"Dick, come on!" Jason hollered, pushing forward. "We clearly saw it there-"

"Where?" Dick asked, spreading his arms wide and invitingly, offering them to see for themselves.

The piercing they had all gotten the barest glimpse of was gone from where they had seen it on Dick.

"But you said you! You said, 'yeah. I guess so. I forgot.'" Stephanie put her hands on her hips, "Admit it Boy Piercing!"

"Boy Piercing?!"

"Fess up, pretty boy!"

"Steph," Dick visibly bit his lip to keep from laughing, "I was joking. You guys should've see your reactions - they were so funny!! Dick has a piercing. OMG. You people were hilarious."

Damian clicked his tongue. "Enough Richard! Did you implement metal into you skin like a heathen? Richard, how could you?! Who dare touch-"

"No Dami!" Dick quickly interfered to prevent a possible murder on his behalf, "I was just kidding, okay? Besides, did you guys even really see it? Like full on?"

Harper crossed her arms. "Close enough."

Dick quirked his eyebrow at that. "But you didn't actually see it right? You thought you saw something shining and turned to look. C'mon you guys know what it is - peripheral vision hallucinations. Things you see in your peripheral vision that aren't real because you are tired," He pinned a look at each other, emphasizing the words, "and stressed."

Dick pressed his lips together and folded his arms. "Time for bed. Now. I know you all haven't been sleeping for the past few days so you all are going to bed. At the manor." Dick finished, shooting Jason a look when he tried secretly shuffling toward his bike.

The rest of them were unmoved for a moment but quickly caved under Dick's patented "I'm mom-ing you."™ stare as Jason liked to call it.

They trudged upstairs while Bruce and Dick watched in companionable silence.

Bruce turned to look at Dick as the sounds of their bickering and footsteps faded away.

"How did you do it?"

Dick hummed distractedly and tilted his head to look down at Bruce still sitting on the floor. "Do what?"

Bruce growled, impatience, annoyance, and apprehension swimming in his voice, "Don't lie. To me. How did you hide it? Now. And for so long?"

Bruce watched tensed as the tip of Dick's tongue ran over the ridges of his top row of teeth, the first sign of anger he had seen from him in weeks. The pink flesh of his tongue barely avoiding cutting itself on the slightly too sharp canines that Dick loved to call his vampire teeth since he was little. He had even threw a veteran-dentist-scaring-tantrum in the dentist's office when the man suggested shaving them down once.

Bruce watched warily as Dick crouched down, balancing on his balls of his feet like a cat on a fence, and forcefully tamped down the sudden urge to pull out a hidden batarang when the boy grinned, eyes lighting with the wild fire of joy and madness from his robin days that still had Bruce on edge for decades.

"How did you it?" He asked again, not sure if he really wanted to know anymore but the principle remained. There was no way Dick's activities could be hidden for so long. He didn't invest in his detective following skills for something like this to escape his observation. But at the same time Dick had evaded his tracking skills when he was seventeen and ran away from him. But something so obvious as a piercing would never escape his notice. But a whole 17 year old boy also shouldn't have escaped his notice. However, Bruce had improved. He had gotten better at his job and his skills. Right? Right, of course, he was the best in the world. Dick definitely did have a piercing. But...on the off chance...what if he really had just seen a flash of light? Sweat on a body? The edge of a birdarang? Peripheral vision hallucinations? "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

You already know what I'm asking. Bruce thought, frustrated with Dick for lying. Frustrated with himself for not knowing if Dick was lying.

"Do you have piercings?" Bruce ground out.

Dick laughed, his voice echoing like choir bells in the spacious cave and bouncing off the stalactites to create a ringing, haunting melody as he leaned in closer to Bruce.

"C'mon, B! You know every showman's got his own tricks," Dick grinned brightly.

And you're the whole damn circus. Bruce hissed viciously in his mind.

Dick's eyes twinkled back at him.

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