#no........ never........ she lives in my bloodstream now

[ahollowgrave]

-- your fishing has attracted attention. pt ii.

][ featuring the most beautiful of viera @this-is-ris! Ris is probably safe! ][

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[erwinsvow]

You creep carefully into Rafe’s bedroom, pushing the already-open door gently with your palm. Your eyes dart around, worried he’s going to be just around the corner, but you’re greeted with nothing—just the empty space that belongs to Rafe.

How exactly did you get yourself into this? It had started a few hours ago—at least that’s what you thought. You didn’t have any clue what Sarah and her new friends were up to, you were just over for a pre-planned girls night that was dismissed the second you walked into Tannyhill. Instead, Sarah asks for a favor, one that you deny almost immediately.

“You’ll be in and out, it won’t take more than a minute-”

“I am not sneaking into Rafe’s room for you, Sarah. What if he-he catches me? Finds me in there? What am I gonna say?”

“He’s not gonna be home later, I promise. It��ll be a second, and he’s always liked you most out of all my friends so he won’t even care-”

Your face flushes at the very sentence. Her brother, Rafe, the one that you’ve only interacted with on chance occasions, the one who makes your heartbeat speed up anytime he’s in the vicinity, that very Rafe, has always liked you? 

You’re too caught up in that thought and its implications to even question Sarah anymore. Her new friends—Pogue friends, ones that you don’t know and aren’t sure how long they’ve known her—linger by the door. They seem eager to make sure that you agree. 

You’re being moved around the board like a chess piece but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s shallow, you know, as one thought circulates through your mind, body, and bloodstream—Rafe has always liked you. 

A hazy, dreamy mist settles over you. You agree to Sarah, feeling increasingly stupid as you settle into the living room and keep your eyes on the television. She left with her friends, and when Rafe comes down, you’re supposed to tell him you’re waiting for his sister. Once he leaves, you need to sneak into his bedroom to find a map they seem to desperately need. One of the boys suggests it’ll be in his sock drawer.

“It’s not a porn magazine, JJ, why would it be there-”

“Oh, um, I don’t know, just that it’s the number one male hiding spot-” “What studies are you basing this off of?”

"A little thing called the study of life, Pope-”

You had interrupted them yourself, reassuring that you’ll look in his dresser and his desk. 

But now, walking into Rafe’s bedroom, you're losing all your nerve. You’ve thought about this before—you’d be lying to yourself to deny it. Any girl who has a best friend with a cute older brother has too. In the summers you sleep at Tannyhill more often than your own house, but you still could have never imagined this would be the reason you’re in Rafe’s room for the first time.

The house is silent, just like Sarah had told you. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron out at the country club, Wheezie at the beach, Sarah supposedly with you but actually with those Pogues. She says Rafe is gone too, driving around somewhere with his friends, and you believe her without a second thought.

But you do have a second thought, and it's the fact that this is so beyond wrong.

Looking through Rafe’s belongings with your eyes, your hands start to tremble at the idea of touching something of his without his permission. You want to swallow your nerves to do this for your friend, but you hesitate, hands hovering over the drawer to his dresser.

For a second, you want to puke, worried that you’ll open this drawer to find porn magazines like John B had said, or worse—photos of one of his girls that you really don’t want to see. 

Your shaking hands pull open the top-most drawer, but everything calms down once it’s open. Besides for white socks and plaid boxers, there’s nothing in there. Your shoulders relax, your knees feeling weak.

Then you wonder for a second—why were you so worried about finding evidence of some other girl in his bedroom? Your mind spins briefly, worried at how attached you really are to Sarah’s brother, someone who’s never spoken to you more than a handful of times. A million thoughts run through your brain, all of them about Rafe and none of them noticing the way his bedroom door has just opened wide.

“Looking for something?” The timber of Rafe’s voice hits your ears and you freeze, probably looking like something out of a cartoon, shoulders tense, eyes wide. You’re still facing his dresser, and you really, really don’t want to turn, but you do, and then you wish you hadn’t.

Rafe’s dripping wet—damp hair sticking to his forehead, a towel around his waist and droplets of water glittering on his abs. He’s looking at you like he never has before. Your eyes are focused on everything else—the bare skin of his chest, his huge arms, the blue color of his towel.

“My eyes are up here, kid.” 

Like a deer caught in headlights, you turn your gaze up to lock eyes. You’re terrified—he has to be angry, no, furious. You’re practically a stranger to him, a stranger invading his privacy. But when you finally take in his expression, it’s not angry. He looks amused, a smirk playing at his lips while he takes you in, standing before him like a child about to be reprimanded for touching something that doesn’t belong to them. 

“I-I…” you trail off, swallowing hard, still staring at Rafe.

“You, you?” he mocks. You think you’re going to start crying but no tears well up—yet. “What’re you looking for?” he asks it seriously, his tone shifting. 

You’ve never spoken to Rafe enough to notice, but he’s incredibly domineering. You shrink just from his gaze, while he closes the door and walks closer to you. 

“Um, I-” You stop yourself short.

“Looking for trouble, huh?” He says it like it’s a joke, but you know he’s not kidding. Your head shakes, trying to convince him you’re not, but it’s not much use.

He’s not very far from you now, maybe another foot and you could smell the scent of his soap, another few inches and you could feel the heat radiating off of his bare body. 

You realize how you must look right now, wearing a tiny dress because of the heat outside but now feeling goosebumps prick along your arms. Your bare feet rest on his carpet while your hands feel clammy from how scared you are.

“I, uh, I needed socks.” You look down at your feet and he does too, looking back up at the same time. 

“Socks? From me?”

“Couldn’t find Sarah’s. She needs to do laundry.”

“So you came in here to get mine?”

“I-I’ll bring them back. Washed. Promise.” Your gaze is now dying to avoid his, looking all around his room and then turning back to the drawer to take out a pair. 

You feel a wet hand on your arm, turning you back around at full force, his balled up socks falling from your hand as you stare Rafe in the eyes. He must be able to tell from the way your body shakes in his grip, how your eyelids are fluttering fast, how scared you are.

“Don’t lie to me, kid. I won’t like it.” You suck in a sharp breath. A few moments pass.

“I’m not lying, Rafe. Promise.”

You actually don’t know it happens—ending up with his towel on the floor and your sundress right next to it, tangled up in the sheets, your body folded in half with Rafe pounding into you. He grips your cheeks and fucks you like you’re his, like he owns your pussy and every other part of you. It goes on for so long you lose track, forgetting everything else but how to say Rafe’s name, remembering nothing but how he sounded groaning into your ear. He kisses you, hard and wet, and that’s when you cum for the third—fourth? fifth? you’ve lost track—time. He cums too—inside you, and normally you think you’d maybe have an issue with that, but since you were the one begging for it, you don’t think you’re allowed to say anything in the way of a complaint.

Rafe rolls off of you a little bit later, after you’ve had a chance to catch your breath. You think he’s gonna tell you to get out so you try to get up yourself, trying to balance on trembling legs, when he puts his hand on your waist and steadies you back onto the bed.

“What’d you need? You should sit.” You look up at him, surprised. He doesn’t like it. “Water?” You nod, and he pulls on some sweatpants and forgoes a shirt, walking out and closing the door softly behind him. 

You get comfortable under Rafe’s sheets, pulling them up to cover yourself and body sinking into his bed. You reach out to find your phone, which has somehow ended up on the nightstand even though you don’t recall putting it there. There’s a few new messages. 

Sarah: Did you go in yet?

Sarah: I think he left, go now!!

Then one from thirty minutes after that.

Sarah: Did you find it?? Call me!!

You reply quickly, setting the phone down when you hear Rafe’s hand on the doorknob.

Sorry, didn’t find anything. Had to go, I’ll see you tomorrow.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING SNEAKY !!! LEWIS H. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: lewis was known for his year-end parties. the grid would be shocked to find out what else he was known for.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, pwp, lewis and reader on their sneaky link behaviour, p in v penetration, doggy or whatever pierre said, filthy, dom!lewis energy, fucking in a club bathroom vibes, utter nonsense— just lewis being filthy as fuck, drivers being drunk (max, charles and lando), bit of a twist at the end but not really???

rec music: disco tits by tove lo

note: shout out to @daaiissyyyyy for listening to my recent fever ramble at 11 pm— she gave me the thought to write for lewis after giving this music prompt eheh. i’m sick of sf23 and w14 so now i’m just writing ✨fuckall✨ enjoy xx

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if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out!

lewis was known for a lot of things: his sense of fashion, desire to make panty-dropping songs, his impressive record in formula one and of course…

the extravagant parties that never failed to live up to everyone’s expectations. 

now this was the first time he’s hosted a big party in his new york penthouse since his previous championship win before covid — 2019.

and 2023 was the most frustrating season for most drivers and lewis hamilton wasn’t an exception to that; after all, most teams splurged as much money as red bull did with their cars yet the crown was handed over to max and the austrian team in a gold plate. 

because of the same results every year, the brit couldn’t find himself to care much about it anymore.

instead, after the abu dhabi race he texted the group chat and invited them over for a party he was going to host after the prize giving ceremony. 

yet, when the drivers came over to his penthouse with their girlfriends and their peers — the host was found nowhere in sight. 

tove lo’s music boomed loudly as sweaty bodies hit the dance floor. the world champion - max verstappen - was chatting with the ferraris and lando about whatever the fuck he was planning to do during the break. most drivers were dancing and drinking. 

yet, amongst the sea of intoxicated and desperate people, none of them were lewis.

he was known for his parties. but what they didn’t know was that his parties were nothing but excuses to feel the adrenaline rush pump through his bloodstream without taking the drugs for it.

because he was upstairs in his room, thick cock spearing inside someone’s cunt as the woman screamed silently. her manicured nails clutching the sheets under her as drool escaped her mouth, her head down while her ass was arched up. 

lewis grunted as he lustfully traced down her spine and smacked her ass. “god, fuck! such a good pussy, doll.” 

“lew- lewis, fuck,” she cursed him in a foreign language that he couldn’t care to understand, her eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck her from behind. “i feel so full, oh~ god~ yes- yes- keep fucking me like that.”

“like this?” she let out a pitiful whine when he moved and roughly hit her sensitive spot with his cock.

her head was pushed against the mattress as she whined, his cock rubbing against the spot repeatedly while she inaudibly babbled. 

he demanded firmly, “you gotta tell me how do i fuck you, baby, otherwise i’m not gonna—“

“—fuck! yes, keep hitting that spot please,” she cried out, tears threatening fall from the pleasure she felt. 

in the moment of grunting and whining, no one downstairs could hear them as they fucked like rabbits in heat. thank god for the party that lewis had paid for. if anyone ever found out, they’d immediately assume that he only hosted this just to get her away from everyone. 

her walls clenched around him as he moaned aloud, “this pussy is so good— so tight f’me, princess.” 

the tip of his cock hit her cervix as she cried, “please lewis, please— wanna cum~”

“mmh~ god,” lewis groaned loudly, his deep lusty voice echoing inside the room alongside the slapping of their skins and her moans. “gonna cum soon, baby— gonna be a good girl and cum with me?”

“mhm yeah,” she nodded. 

“good because— ah~ keep doin’ that- i’m- ah fuck!” lewis grunted as his thrusting slowed. she came, too, her walls clenching around him still as she reached her climax and the sense of euphoria washed over her. 

lewis’ face was beaded with sweat and pleasure, leaning forward for a brief moment to keep his composure. his cock remained inside her as he pulled up her head and tangled his tongue with hers. 

he sighed, the sound of contentment covering up her quivering breath as he smirked mischievously.

this was a celebration, indeed.

this, however, was a celebration for the two of them only. this was how she rewarded him for putting up with this season, and lewis simply accepted her reward without hesitation.

after all, not everyone in the grid got to get a taste of her. if everyone found out, they’d be jealous. for one driver, they’d be furious— but lewis couldn’t find himself to care right now.

“lewis!” ten minutes later, charles, max and lando found the older british driver in his minibar. 

lewis looked at the trio with curious eyes as charles started, “have you seen max’s sister?”

lewis’ eyes narrowed for a brief moment, “max’s… sister?” he then looked at max with a questioning look.

“yeah, my eldest sister— i brought her tonight. you’ve met her earlier, remember?” the world champion asked lewis with the naivety that everyone else carried in the room. 

oh, lewis had met her, alright. 

he met her tonight. and the races before tonight. and the summer break. and almost everyday. not that the world champion had a knowledge of it. 

lewis let out an ‘ah’ as if he realized who the dutchman was talking about, “that sister! i think i’ve seen her—“

“mon sœur!” my sister! charles exclaimed, slurring out his words as he pointed at the direction of the staircase. “wait… max’s sister!”

there stood max’s sister, who looked less frazzled and fucked out than what she looked like ten minutes ago.

lewis almost chuckled. she’s quick to pretend like she hadn’t had a cock inside her just about now— that’s what lewis loved about her. she knew when to play pretend. 

max’s eyes narrowed at his sister while she approached the group. she immediately glanced at lewis, who merely smirked at the sight of her. max continued to pester her, “where the hell have you been? we’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

“bullshit,” lando called out with a laugh, “you were fucking singing disco tits the entire time! stop lying to everyone!”

the woman’s head cocked to the side as she smirked at her little brother. max’s face flushed red and shoved lando, “shut up.”

“well, i’m here now— and you’re drunk,” she pointed at max. “we’re going.”

“already???” max whined. “fineeee~”

“alright well,” lewis finally spoke. “it’s nice having you lots here. i’ll catch up with you soon, yeah?” but his eyes remained at the sight of her as he smiled. he wasn’t even talking to max or his friends— but her. 

she smirked too (not that the three younger men noticed) and nodded, “absolutely. we’ll catch up with you soon, lewis. thanks for the invite.” 

and it wasn’t even fifteen minutes later after the verstappen siblings departed when the knighted driver received a text.

the better verstappen 🥰: thanks for the invite, lew 💗 i hope the compensation paid off

lh 🫶: you know that times spent with you are worth more than one shitty season my love 😉

lh 🫶: def made things better after abu dhabi tho. what do you think about going to san marino and bora bora for the long break?

the better verstappen 🥰: for you? i’ll keep excusing myself from max’s family vacation plans baby

♡   moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

[art-from-within]

ER hc: Demigods in Love

(TW its long. Long.)

If they had a big fat crush on you and fell in love with you, they wouldn't say it outright at first but there would be signs

Morgott:

He becomes more catty-chatty. He usually cloaks his feelings of extreme self loathing(leading him to believe he deserves nothing and distance himself from things that bring joy, fear of rejection etc) with a rain of sour quips and old age scoldings, a technique he would definitely utilize all the same(and fail horribly) to suppress new trifling emotions arising within him, feelings he dare not indulge in for his own sake and everyone else's.

But despite his harsh words and taunts, the fact is not missed on you, that he is there. He is there, and for all his talk of finding you so lowly, he bothers to address you and your 'meager flame'

"I see thee little tarnished," he will say "smould'ring with that wretched flame of ambition" he will repeat this often, but the emphasis on 'little' changes with time. It is those little things, those minute slip ups, that itches a part of your brain.

Malenia:

She becomes more stiff around you. She is already taciturn enough, but around you she becomes stiffer than every statue in haligtree combined. But in those rare moments when she does address you, her voice becomes more softer than usual. Sometimes you catch her head nodding towards you gently. Other times you find her standing guard outside your door, though she will refuse to admit it was nothing else but that. Keeping you safe is her love language.

She will also make sure to always have the most fresh med needles stuck in her before she ever steps foot into your vicinity. Anything to make sure you don't get even the slightest WHIFF of her rot...poor valkyrie. She really tries.

Mohg:

He becomes more...clingy. And by clingy I meant he stalks you (a mogh classic).

He isn't audaciously obvious with it, no he is never obvious with anything. But as I said, there are signs. Bushes and trees seem to rustle more than usual. Warm beverages left on your table with no owner in sight, roses blooming during the wrong seasons and WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT??? Somebody who is TOTALLY NOT MOHG just healed your student rune debts?? Ahh! Good heavens!!! Who could have done this??? Definitely not the rich demigod omen who lives 2 broken buildings away that seemingly always knows when you need a heat pad hmmmm

Despite all this though, it seems this amount of clinginess is inversely proportional to the lines of dialogue he will spare you i.e. the harder he falls for you, the more he stalks and the less he talks (tldr of another hc post, that welcome guest speech of his is totally scripted and he can’t function outside said script). His confidence leaves him when he sees someone he cannot risk losing. He also love bombs you, with all intentions meant. Anything material, you have it. Its almost like he can read your mind (he is in your bloodstream).

He functions on the mindset that nothing in this world is selfless, and that love can only be bought and not earned. He 'bought' the love of his sanguine nobles through promise of power...he straight up kidnaps his 'doctors', who now love him(they are all mad with bloodlust). The albinaurics are there (for miquella). He is truly convinced that he cannot be loved without reason, so he does all this extra crap to cook up said reasons. Local omen has yet to discover consent out of the shunning grounds. Maybe u can change him 👍or make him worse.

Godwyn:

He gives you golden privileges….Godwyn wouldn’t outright confess his love for you on first sight, but I imagine he would be the SECOND (Rykard being first) most forthright man in this sea of bashful tsundere personages. Aside from his flirtiness increasing by 10 folds, He will let you ride Fortisaxx. Must I even elaborate further? There are noble men in Leyndell who would sell their cock and balls for that opportunity, but he straight up goes “hey you wanna ride my dragon” wink. Fortisaxx is best wingman, drops hints to help his brother/friend/(lover?😏) out. Considering he has a whole lineage, and i really doubt the omen twins received any action in the lore, he is the most experienced when it comes to love, and he has learned the best way to deal with it is just be chill.

Bonus points if you catch him drunk, the comedy you would play witness to would be legendary.

Godrick:

He will let you touch him. …

Pre grafted Godrick:

would be a total tsundere straight up. He has 0 confidence in himself, and his old and wrinkly ass has only known rejection by that point to not have any qualms about confessing. Throw in an odd sense of aristocratic pride into the mix and you have got a noble who looks and acts like he is competing his way into a guillotine. He is quite rude, and if he is got a single talent up his sleeve, it is without a doubt his ability to drive anyone into a frenzy(no three fingers needed) with his snarky quips alone. He is physically not up there, but by words alone he could burn bridges (and he has). Perhaps he gets this talent from his great great great great great great great great great grand uncle who, rumors say, also rules over Leyndell! He is a small crooked paranoid little freekle frackle that clings onto what we would call Ancien régime mindset and lifestyle

Given this context, the first sign that something is awry is that he lets you be near his viscinty. He is still snarky, with all the thou-s and thee-s sprinkled in. But he lets you near him. Hmm that’s odd. You thought Ettiquette 6600038 stated no non royal was allowed to walk beside him-OH and he is staring right into your soul. Thats also weird. You thought he hated the commonfolk? Did he just hold your hand? Granted he was terrified by the lightening, but still…hm… and he just tried cooking for the first time?? Ended terribly he burnt the kitchen down. He did all that for himself he says…you hear a “yea right” from a very brave soldier of godrick, never to be seen again. He gives you a suspiciously customized hankerchief, embroidery of (insert your fav flower here) when you catch a cold. Never asks for it back.

Post grafted Godrick is mostly the same, but more crazy with a 10% increase in confidence. For one, its been 24 hours and he has yet to tear you apart from limb to limb which is something. “Unfit for grafting” he says. yea right.

...

He also shows you his gore Godfrey goon shrine, your quality of life depends on the tone of your laugh. He lets you bathe him (wow you touched him…or some dude’s entire torso which he stole.) and Gostoc doesn’t fuck with you like he does with others. Good. Good. He trusts you enough to complain abt some tantalizing trespasser omen loitering infront of his castle named ‘Margit’. Which sounds awful lot like Morgott. He hasn’t clicked the dots and he most likely never will.

Radahn:

He lets you ride Leonard.

Radahn is the type of guy who is beyond friendly with anyone, so when he does something which would so obviously be labelled affectionate coming from others, it is generally dismissed as an act of friendship. He remembers your birthday and holds a surprise party which is VERY COOL, but he also hosts birthday parties for everyone else….which is also cool… He suffers through the friendzone for a while with grace.

But when he offers you a ride on his dear Leonard, that darling steed of his that he treats like his heir apparent? Yup, that very horse, is when the gears in your mind unclog. His highness Prince Leonard has always been a boundary none dare cross, but here he is granting you a safe passage to jump right through. He lifts you up with ease, and places you on the saddle. And when you smile, he smiles even wider. Signs eventually bubble up to the surface. He laughs more often around you, completely at ease. When drunk he regails you with tales of bygone heroes and his own aspirations to be one. Reply with “but you already are one” and you will catch him lag for 5 seconds.

He keeps you close by during expeditions, and even during social gatherings. He uses his gravity magic to help you/your siblings indulge in some 0 gravity fun. And during less crowded evenings, he arranges fun getaways with friends, except its just you two this time...and here on out. Oddly enough though, the closer he gets to you the more you find yourself isolated at your job etc. You start finding your posts more empty. Which is odd since you did remember there were 2 other people assigned at this pla- AND its general Radahn with 2 roasted exalted flesh in hand! Wonderful.

One can only speculate how he uses his powers as head general...

Bonus point if you like cats. He will bring his cats for a wash to your house (another excuse to see you)

Ranni:

She spills tea.

This one is easy since we have in game canon content as reference. At first she is secretive. She introduces herself as "renna", and maintains a professional distance. But as time passes and she comes to warm up to you, that distance is chipped away by her own doing. She confesses to her many well hidden secrets, dark secrets like how she played a hand in the night of black knives or her more lesser secrets like stealing her mom's books, giving young Radahn a bobcut in his sleep, mischiefs with Rykard etc. Her trust in you, that you will keep her word between you two, is the sign. Anytime the topic steers towards anything remotely romantic though, she transforms into a bashful tsundere

"Noooo don't open that box from that chamber in this location you don't want to marry me noooo" (gives you the key to that box). Also "take not the ring from this place, the solitude beyond the night is better mine alone." Is code word for "please marry me I am very lonely".

Rykard:

ОНОНОНО

Pre Snake Rykard:

He shows you his sex dungeon

Yea. The most forthright admirer award goes to! PRAETOR RYKARD! Rykard seems like the type of guy who has this very thick professional exterior, that betrays his true perverse nature. You sit down with him and think

"wow, what a well rounded individual! Yes he is rough around the edges, but he dresses nice, he speaks well, he looks lordly enough albeit dark circles, he is good with machines (he doesn’t tell you that he names them 'abductor virgins' 💀) hmm surely he isn't some perverted freak with dungeons and torture rooms in his house"

and then he offers you a tour of his house and peels off his skin like a snake fresh out of hibernation and every fibre of your being tells you to run as fast as u can. Think Tywin Lannister but it's obvious somebody's been slipping drops of mercury into his coffee. His stern facade hides a lecherous mind

It would go something like this. He is wearing his tywin lannister inspired drip, while riding his very high horse. He bothers to look down from his very high horse at which point he sees you. Double take. He approaches you with the confidence of an absolute slut, but its coated with enough regal varnish to make them barely acceptable in public. Something like "Good evening Fair lady/good sir, I see thou art unchaperoned this low in the evening. May we escort you somewhere safe?". You don't really understand what he is getting at first, until he offers to give you a tour of his beautiful rich and lavish manor. And like, he isn't lying. It's beautiful. It's rich. It's lavish. On top of a fucking volcano? It’s always the fucked up bitches with tastes like look at Mohg?! 10/10 (I had rank him second to Mohg in dripmaxxing). But the deeper you venture into his abode, the crazier the tour becomes. And then you watch this man peel his layers of civility strata by strata, with each new chamber easing him into his true self until ultimately what is left is a crazed man with a crazed look pointing at a literal dungeon with very suggestive toys. Tanith is there.

The pros though is that he is a good lover, and father. Stressing on Father, because you are gonna make him one. (Magic world if you are a male reader. Anything is possible)

Post Snake Rykard:

Ooooohhh togethhhaaaaaa we prossspeeerrr untuu eterniteeeeeeeee become fameeelee?

( he is giving you a choice which is a show of love. Choose your next words very carefully)

Godfrey:

He lets you dress his scars.

He recognizes that familiar feeling of love, and his age and experience has taught him that fighting it will be more painful, so he just lets it be instead. Despite his bloodlust and barbarism, which resurfaces here and there, he is surprisingly courteous in casual settings. Being married to a goddess you find out, is a lonely existence. Is there any love between the two? Questions that will storm your mind as you do good on the honor of dressing his wounds. You can feel the eyes of his golden beast watching over you. Such an act had intimate undertones back in his homeland. Do you understand?

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Miquella:

He doesn't 'slip' up any 'signs' no he LITERALLY stabs you with it(out of desperation), but you are still oblivious because he looks like your 8 yrs old baby cousin with a bug addiction(Those wings are real y/n)!He tries to appear his real age by snatching every opportunity provided to show the vastness of his mind and wisdom, but ends up giving young Sheldon vibes. He tells you straight to your face that he loves you like "no other", but he just gets swaddled in your lap like a baby. Not enjoying this experience.

Messmer: Don't know anything about him to write 3 paras (for obv) but the vibes he is giving right now is that he is less pookie bear than imagined, and impaling isn't just a hobby but his way of life. Going off of the trailer, I had say if he had a crush on you, he would be as straight forward as Godwyn, but with a more sinister bent. He would let you play with his snakes...maybe burn you deep to leave his mark...?

[pricesprincess]

part one | part two | angst | series m.list

silence filled the air on the other side of the phone as you waited for kyle, your foot tapping against the soft carpet, a muffled sound that was something more than just what you had in the background.

"kyle? hello? i'm not in the mood..." you muttered and sunk into the couch feeling the anger melt to concern which was always the first thing you had to deal with when simon didn't answer.

there was shuffling in the background, and then you heard simon's voice come over the phone, rough like sandpaper but it was still enough to calm your racing heart. he was safe and sound for now.

your fingers picked at the loose threads of the pillow that lay in your lap waiting for simon. "sorry love, john needed me and all the guys came over so i lost track of time." he murmured with regret.

"needed you for what? i must've of missed when you and him had a baby. you know what? forget about it, just another mess that i cleaned up and simone deserves the apology, not me." you hissed.

now that you knew he was okay and alive the anger came back ten-fold, zipping through your bloodstream and flushing you with heat as you gripped your phone. "i'll be there for breakfast, sorry luv."

once he was off the call you sighed and wiped at your eyes feeling the tears finally stream down your and wet your shirt as you sobbed in the darkened living room trying to calm yourself down for the time.

if simone came out and saw you it would turn into a never-ending night and you didn't want her to see you like this, red-rimmed eyes and a heaving chest from trying to be silent as you thought of simon.

all the memories you both had were now tainted by the push of divorce, wouldn't it better to live life like this or try to work it out?

picking yourself up from the cushions that threatened to eat you, you stood and made your way to your bedroom feeling your phone buzz in your hand. it was simon. against your better judgement, you answered the call and opened your bedroom door.

"can i see her? i know she's sleeping but i'd like to check on my princess and my wife." his voice was still sandpaper rough and tinted with something that clawed to the surface wanting to be free.

you sighed and took a few steps back to peek into simone's room watching as she cuddled with her teddybear that she had you get a shirt with simon's face on it. "fine, only for ten mintues. max."

even though you still no longer wear your ring you love simon, always have, and feared you always will. no matter who you dated, he would always be in the back of your mind and he'd always be your soulmate.

trudging back into the living room you gathered all the toys and put them in simone's bucket when there was a soft knock on the door pulling you away from the task at hand. "come in!" you called out.

thankfully with how small the apartment was simon heard you and stepped inside kicking his boots off and making sure he didn't track dirt through the place. when he came into the living room you looked at him and pointed down the hallway. "just please be quiet."

you watched as simon made his way down the hall softly and gently which was kind of funny with how big and imposing he was. unable to help yourself you followed after and peeked your head in too.

it felt like old times when you and he would check in on her when it was time to transfer her to her big girl bed which meant a lot of late-night bedtime stories and more kisses and cuddles to soothe her.

"she's everything you are." simon murmured feeling a lump form in his throat as he watched simone, then you rubbed his back.

"what do you mean?" you asked quietly.

simon turned his head to look at you, his lips quirking in a smile as memories played. "she's sweet, kind, loving, and thinks about others above herself." he murmured, his head dipping down a little.

you met his heady gaze and crossed your arms over your chest. "don't be so hard on yourself si, she is tough as hell, doesn't take shit from anyone, last week she stuck up for her friend at school."

there was a moment of clarity and understanding as you nodded your head towards the couch. "simone would love to see you when she wakes." you told him with a smile that didn't meet your eyes.

he watched you slip away from him again putting the wall of space up, but this time it was a door.

[wileys-russo]

under the mistletoe II s.blackstenius x reader

merry christmas eve besties under the mistletoe II s.blackstenius x reader

"oh they decorated!" you noticed right away as you wandered into colney for training, amanda by your side having driven you as the two of you often took turns since you lived in the same complex.

"ha! that is going to be fun." amanda nudged you and pointed to the random tufts of fake mistletoe hung up around as you both made your way to the changing rooms, music already pumping away in the distance.

"oh if you wanted a kiss why didn't you say!" you teased, kissing her cheek as she pushed you away with a roll of her eyes, having adopted an older sister role of sorts since you'd both moved to arsenal this season.

of course you were already welcomed in by your fellow national team mates, grateful to know some of the team on your first day as lina and stina both wasted no time showing the two of you around and making sure you settled in.

stina in particular you'd always been quite fond of, the two of you often spending time together on national duty you were hopeful that it might continue to build into something a little more than friends now you both played for arsenal.

you'd liked her for a couple of years now, more of a silly little crush than anything else that you always assumed was one way. well you did, until the world cup.

you were all out as a team celebrating your bronze medals when stina had pulled you away from the group claiming she didn't want to go to the toilet by herself, only within seconds of the two of you having a moment alone her lips were on yours.

the kiss was messy to say the least with both your bloodstreams pumped full of alcohol, though you never got a chance to see where it might have lead as a very drunk frido stumbled around the corner and crashed into the two of you, stina practically running away the moment she did leaving you to look after frido and with a head a mess of thoughts.

you'd waited to see if she'd bring up the kiss, she never did.

afraid she was just too drunk to remember or worse she'd purposefully chosen to forget, you kept it to yourself and remained grateful it didn't change how the blonde acted around you.

especially now at the same club you found yourself spending even more time with her, though rarely one on one it was generally in a group setting she still gravitated to your side, pairing up for drills and sitting beside you most chances she could.

if you didn't know any better you'd swear sometimes she flirted with you, showering you with praise and compliments followed by an awkward little smile or hug before she'd race away and leave you wondering if maybe she did remember the kiss.

then reality would sink in and you'd remind yourself that this was just how stina was, how she'd always be and that just friends seemed to be your destined fate together.

hearing your phone start to ring you nodded for amanda to enter the changing room as you speed walked a little more out of earshot of the music pumping from inside as you clicked accept and moved it to your ear.

"Vännen!" you smiled hearing the familiar accent ring through the phone. "hello frido." you chuckled, dumping your bag by your feet and leaning your back against the wall behind you.

"hello frido. god you sound so english!" the woman gagged making you laugh and curse at her in swedish. "sorry should i have said it in spanish? hola puta!" you teased as she clicked her tongue at you and you could only imagine the way her eyes would be rolling on the other end of the line.

"i'll be having alexia speak with laia if she's going to continue to teach you only bad words in spanish!" the blonde warned jokingly though you really wouldn't put it past her to do so. "how is the knee Gumman?" you smirked as she swore at you with a huff for the nickname meaning old woman.

"still attached to my leg, we are getting there. very slowly!" frido sighed as you frowned sympathetically, having been looked after by the older girl ever since you'd joined the national team years ago you cared for her very deeply so to know she was unable to play at the moment was painful.

"how is your crush on stina?" your sympathy melted away at her teasing tone. "she is so confusing, it kills me!" you groaned, looking around to make sure you were alone as frido prompted you to elaborate.

"when it is just us she is so sweet. always getting things for me like my food or my bag or my boots, pulling me to sit with her on the bus, always complimenting me and hugging me and i think she might like me back. but she is that way with everyone!" you sighed, rubbing your spare hand against your face and noticing a few of the girls start to file out of the change rooms for training.

"but she has not kissed everyone Vännen. tell her how you feel!" frido reminded softly as you sighed. "she does not remember that, or if she does then she has chosen to forget, and i do not wish to make a fool of myself by bringing it up or ruining things. i have to go we have training, i will call you tonight?" you offered, wanting a better chance to catch up with the girl who agreed before you ended the call.

now one of the last to get ready you hurried down the hall and into the change rooms, dropping down by your cubby and hurrying to change into your boots, stripping off your hoodie and tossing it behind you.

"did someone sleep in this morning?" you glanced up to meet bright blue eyes and an amused smile. "no i was speaking with frido." you returned her smile, lacing up your boots and rummaging around for your drink bottle with a frown.

though before you could worry any further it appeared in front of you in stina's tight hold, you taking it from her and standing with a grateful smile. "tack själv!" you sighed and craned your head up to kiss her cheek, walking out of the change rooms and missing the way the blondes whole face lit up bright red and she hurried after you.

"the decorations are nice." you smiled as she caught up with you, the clacking of your boots loud against the polished floors as stina hummed in agreement.

the morning passed by with nothing out of the ordinary, everyone pausing just before lunch to watch laura do her first run on the grass, both you and stina quite close with the austrian defender cheered loudly and proudly.

breaking for lunch everyone returned to the change rooms to swap shoes, the afternoons media session studying the weekends opponents not requiring cleats.

"mistletoe Snygging!" you barely had time to look up before katie had almost tackled you to the bench, faux bunch in her hand and held over your head as she pressed a wet kiss to your cheek and you pushed her off wiping your cheek.

"who taught you Snygging?" you laughed as she grinned and nodded to lina before racing off to find another victim. "i never understand that." you looked to your right to meet stinas frown. "what?" you questioned, slipping your hoodie back on over your training top.

"mistletoe, the kissing. seems silly!" stina shrugged as you only hummed. "i think its sweet, maybe a little silly but still fun." you smiled softly, looking up as vic and kyra raced past, vic having 'accidentally' dumped her water on the australians head.

"ah! stop that, go change you are all wet and its freezing." you warned the younger girls who ignored you with a shrug, kyra aiming her bottle at vic who ducked at the last minute causing kyra to spray her bottle all over you.

"sorry!" the australian apologized with a wince as steph grabbed her and you sighed waving her away. "here." you felt a tap to your thigh and looked up to see stina offering you her own hoodie which you gratefully accepted after peeling off your own soaked one.

you tried not to dwell on how it felt to be wrapped up in the large bundle of material, drowned in the scent of her shampoo and the woody tones of her perfume which tickled at your nose and allowed your body to settle.

"won't you be cold?" you questioned as she changed out of her long sleeve into her short. "some of us have real scandinavian blood in us, don't feel the cold." she teased as you pinched her and she laughed, offering you a hand up.

you expected her to let go of you once she pulled you to your feet but to your surprise her arm settled over your shoulders pulling you into her side as she walked the two of you toward the cafeteria.

"are you going home for christmas?" the blonde asked curiously as you gave her a strange look. "we booked the same flight back!" you laughed, all four of you travelling home together at the end of the season having booked the tickets only a couple of weeks ago.

"no! i mean to your families house." stina corrected, cheeks tinted slightly pink as she handed you a tray. "oh! no, my sister is hosting everyone this year." the two of you conversed about your plans, laura joining you as you both pulled her into tight hugs of congratulation and stinas arm left your shoulder.

filing into the media room after lunch it wasn't anything new when stina tugged on the back of your her hoodie to signal you sit beside her, your head falling to her shoulder as you chatted to alessia in front of you.

the room quietened as jonas and the coaching staff arrived, everyone settling down and paying attention throughout the entire presentation.

when the lights flicked back on a couple of hours later the room winced and chatter resumed as the coaching staff left and everyone started to stretch out tired limbs and do the same.

wandering back toward the change rooms to grab bags and head off for the day the mood was upbeat, everyone tired but excited to be done for the day, a group invitation of going out for dinner thrown about as some accepted but most declined with the weather outside worsening.

"ah ah ah!" you jolted to a stop as a hand planted on your chest stopping you in your tracks as stina ran into the back of you and apologised, katie blocking the two of you from entering.

"mistletoe!" katie smirked nodding upwards as you rolled your eyes. "didn't see you harassing anyone else for a kiss mccabe!" you chuckled, trying to go around her as she blocked the doorway again.

"not me. the two of you, go on! its bad luck not to have a little smooch." katie grinned wolfishly wiggling her eyebrows, waving off a few of the girls who yelled out from inside for her to leave you both alone.

"katie come on, move." you groaned trying to shoulder her out of the way without succeeding in moving her an inch. "stina! don't want bad luck do ya?" the irishwoman grinned over your head to the taller girl behind you who up until now hadn't said a word.

"i do not care and i do not want to kiss her katie, move." her words were blunt and hurt you much more than you cared to admit, katie not missing the way your face changed to convey so and quickly moving out of your way as you hurried inside.

"hey Älskling-" you heard amanda sit beside you and place a hand on your shoulder with a concerned look as you shook your head and pushed away her hand. "can we go please?" you murmured quietly grabbing your bag, cheeks hot with humiliation as the older girl nodded.

pulling off stina's hoodie you shoved it into her hands without a word or a look in her direction and pushed past her, ignoring her calls after you as you followed amanda out to the car, hearing kim and leah rip into katie for embarrassing the two of you and trying not to pretend you cared.

"vänta en minut!" footsteps pounded after you as amanda turned and spotted stina hurrying after the two of you, squeezing your arm and saying she'd wait for you in the car, leaving before you could even say another word.

with a sigh you stopped, allowing stina to catch up to you and find her breath for a moment, nodding for you to follow her into one of the meeting rooms for a little privacy.

"i'm so sorry, it came out wrong." she rushed out quickly, hands playing with the strap of her gym bag as you shrugged. "its fine stina, no need to be sorry." you forced a smile and turned to leave as she moved to grab your wrist.

"please, hear me out." she pleaded as you gave her an odd look but nodded, gesturing for her to continue as she took a deep breath. "okay. i just-" she paused, clearly struggling with how to continue.

"at the world cup, there was one night after the win when we went out partying. we were very drunk and you looked so happy and beautiful and...free." your cheeks blushed a little at her words not expecting them.

"i saw you dancing with the others and not with me so i took your hand and told you to come to the toilet with me-" your chest tightened at her words, not daring to believe you were really hearing this.

"-but really i just wanted to kiss you, with the alcohol in me i felt like i had all the courage i never had before." your breath stopped entirely at that.

"and so we..." she trailed off rubbing the back of her neck. "-we kissed." you finished for her as she gave you an incredulous look of surprise. "you remember?" you nodded at that and her face seemed to fall.

"this was a mistake." she shook her head and turned to leave as now you took hold of her wrist and pulled her back. "no, please finish." you asked, voice barely above a whisper as she hesitated but eventually nodded.

"-we kissed. then frido interrupted and you looked embarrassed so i left, then we never spoke about it so i assumed you were just too drunk and thats why you kissed me back." she admitted quietly and you couldn't help but let out a peal of laughter.

"what is funny?" "this. you, me, all of it." "i knew this was a mistake."

"no no! i remember the kiss yes, but when you left and never mentioned it i thought you were too drunk to remember or that you'd maybe chosen to forget." you bit your lip as stinas eyes widened.

"i like you but i didn't think you liked me back." stina blurted out, tips of her ears burning bright red as your eyes bugged. "i like you too, i didn't think you liked me back!"

"so we-" "-we both remember." "but we-" "-we both didn't bring it up." "and we-" "-we both like each other."

at that a silence built between you, both searching one anothers faces for any signs of insincerity in your confessions. suddenly stina let out a groan, cheeks red with embarrassment as she buried her face in her hands.

"we are very stupid." "so stupid."

at that you both shared a smile which built into a laugh, the taller girl pulling you into a hug as you melted into her, the air around you starting to crackle with an odd feeling as your laughter died down and you craned your head back to look up at her.

"hey stina." you spoke as she raised an eyebrow. "mistletoe." you pointed above her head with a small smile as her eyes flicked upward and she let out a laugh. "katie said it is bad luck, right?"

at that she ducked her head to press her lips to yours, your mouths slotting against one anothers perfectly as you relaxed into her, balling her top in your fists as your head spun like a top.

this kiss was very different to the last. her lips were soft and welcoming, and she kissed you so tenderly as if you might break if she wasn't careful, one hand cupping your cheek to deepen it slightly, testing the waters as her tongue swiped against your bottom lip and you parted them slightly to allow her tongue to slip into your mouth.

pulling away after a few beats of silence passed the two of you blushed and refused to look at one another, though still pressed together there was very little other options.

"oh you are joking!" you leapt away from one another and looked to the door where amanda was throwing her head back with a groan, the two of you sending her strange looks as she clicked her tongue.

"you both could not have waited till next season? i owe frido money now!"

[therocketeer0501]

Emptiness Machine

Transformers X Mech Pilot AU

Author notes: (Wowza I didn’t expect such a positive reaction to my nonsense! Here is a blurb to test the waters. See what y’all think! Let me know if you want more. 👀)

TW: (needle mentioned briefly, mention of alcohol to describe a feeling, reader cusses a little bit.)

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you only half hear the blaring alarm. You stare at the ceiling for moment, trying to get your brain to wake up enough to process the announcement over the loudspeaker.

“Decepticon activity coordinates delta seven, bearing nine. Threat level Magenta. Pilot SERAPHIM to the launch bay.”

The words repeated as the red overhead lights flashed. No one could sleep through this, you thought as you rolled out of your cot. Feet hitting the cold floor you let your training take over. Autopilot was the only way to operate on days like this. Despite not being out late or having anything to drink the night before, you felt hungover and woozy. The Energon micro-infusions you and the other pilots received must be to blame. Donning your pilot gear and clicking your mask into place you finally start to feel whole again. Being outside of your mech felt like hell. Exposed like a nerve and vulnerable. Feeling so small, you shake your head trying to figure out how you ever lived without that soul connection to your machinery.

You grab your communicator, linking it to your headset and running out the door. Hallways bustled and noise reverberated through the massive metal building as soldiers and Autobots alike made their way around the base. You dodged around giant peds, apologizing when you almost knock right into Hound. The bot putting up his hands and giving a startled whoa as you bolt towards the hangar doors. This was home. The metallic smell of oil and energon hit you as you ran up the ramp to your mech. She was beautiful. Orange and teal accents over ivory plating. The wing and eye insignia on her shoulder alongside tally marks of all the victories you had won. Her optics offline and her lines hooked up to refuel, she looked lifeless. An empty machine.

You smiled remembering the first time you had met a Cybertronian. They were appalled to learn that the mechs they fought alongside weren’t Cybertronian, but were in fact piloted by humans. The bots now compared you to a spark within your mech, your consciousness becoming that of the metal behemoth you piloted. You yelled a greeting to your launch officer as he walked through the protocols and commands before helping you into the chest of your mech. Settling yourself into the gel seat made just for you, you feel the sting of the needle inserted into the back of your neck. Your eyes roll back and the familiar sensation of falling tugs at your limbs. The micro amounts of energon in your bloodstream prickle as your nerves switch to feeling cold.

Optics coming online and flickering as your consciousness links up with your mech. Your servos twitch, testing your movement slowly via the launch officer’s commands. Rolling your shoulders as the energy lines disconnect and the link is complete. The HUD is always a bit disorienting, vitals and stats crowding your vision as it adjusts. The tiny body your consciousness left is nestled snug in your chest. You reach for your weapon where it was leaned, charging next to the bay. A familiar voice to your right makes you turn.

“Ready there Sera?” Your vocal apparatus crackles to life as you reply.

“Had to get my bearings Bee. Consciousness transfer never gets easier.” Energy thrums through your lines and you feel whole once more. You worked alongside the Bumblebee as a fellow scout. Your mech being a lighter class helped with the stealth aspect of intelligence gathering. Most of the other pilots were male, making you one of the few female pilots to survive the initial testing. You felt proud of your accomplishments since the war for energon began.

“What is our mark.” You ask following the yellow bot out onto the launchpad. A ground bridge was already open and humming ominously. He had an alt mode but you didn’t, your mech not able to transform. Using a ground bridge was the only way to get your mech anywhere far away fast. It wasn’t your favorite way of travel, personally you favored the jump jets your mech was equipped with. Something about soaring through the sky was the most liberating feeling you had ever experienced.

“We’ve got a high level threat. At least three cons attacked one of our mines in Australia. I heard Shockwave had some dangerous experiment. We’ve gotta do some reconnaissance before we go take it back.” He smirked before shoving at your shoulder making you stumble a bit. “Try to keep up this time.” You smile at him as he disappears into the swirling light. Something about this mission seemed off. Everyone seemed a little too stoic for this to be a routine take back. Shrugging off the seed of doubt you lift your ion cannon and mount it to your shoulder. Calibrating your weapons and getting ready for whatever fresh hell awaited you.

[youredreamingofroo]

On Repeat

// Click for HQ

Whew,,, I finally finished these! Thank you @elderwisp / @elksun / @living-undead / @dejasenti99 AND @yukikocloud FOR THE TAGS!!!! Holy wow :0

Tagging :

@circusjuney / @butteredfrogs / @mmonetsims / @flovoid

@birdietrait / @venriliz / @retrotrait / @mattodore

plus anyone else who wants to do this! Also feel free to ignore esp if you've alr done this, idk who has and hasn't im sorry 😭😭

// Extras under the cut - below is very long, so open w/ caution if you don't wanna scroll a lot 😭

This has taken the piss outta me (albeit fun), so i'm kinda just gonna explain how I think the featured line in particular is akin to the OC/Ship and not the entire song... as much as I'd love to 😭 Also it's just SUPER hard (for me) to find songs that I relate to my OCs, lyrics as well so skdjhnsjk

Roo's Song Oil & Water by Origami Button "When did I become like the ones I never thought I'd welcome in my home"

The above line in particular is quite literally Roo in the current story/character arc- He's looking at himself from a third person view and going "Oh. I am what I hate." He's looking at his old self, in college, and how he treated Leo, to now, looking at his present self and seeing the way he creeps on Leo, how he clings to him despite being several states over. Roo looks at the progression of his stalker-ish behavior, his obsession, how it went from just general clinginess that Leo could bear, to something completely unbearable after 7 years of no contact, it saddens him. So taking it quite literally, if he was at his own door and he knew how awful he was, he would slam the door on himself. A painful self reflection for him :')

Leo's Song Truth or Dare by Ricky Montgomery "Hiding in the closet, trying not to vomit, didn't even want it"

The entire first verse for this song can be applicable to Leo. As a teenager (15-16), Leo went HEAVY on drugs as a form of escapism from his parents, of course they'd always find him and get on his ass HARD for doing that shit. After a while of being sober, Leo started going to house parties, great idea- Flash forward to his third house party, and he finally cut his year long sober streak for drugs. as many as he could fit in his body. He had terrible influences around him so they encouraged him to do this shit, it didn't take long for his body to feel the god awful effects of taking so many drugs, so he ended up in the bathroom for a while- He tried to hold back the vomit because he was,,, partially enjoying his high, but he couldn't hold it back for long and ended up passing out, but not before nearly gutting himself from vomiting so much. Cut forward in time, and people got worried, bashed open the bathroom door and found Leo's unconscious body slumped over the toilet 🙃 Obv he came out fine, but it's a major moment in his life, because looking back on it, he realizes that wasn't what he wanted, he just wanted attention, he wanted to be cool, he wanted to be rebellious, but he didn't want to (nearly) kill himself. The render isn't one-to-one with the situation, but the lyrics are accurate so :3

Onia's Song Bloodstream by Soccer Mommy Scene used in render "Now a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink and there's a pale girl staring through the mirror at me"

Overall, the song talks about how the artist (Soccer Mommy) has lost her childhood innocence and how she wants to go back to her childhood and putting Onia's Sheep in Wolf's clothing motif aside, Onia misses being a child, and misses not knowing the pain and burden of being the complete opposite of what her parents wanted, so she spirals over this a lot, and like the lyrics say, "a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink," She tends to lean towards harming herself, in this case, her hands, and her knuckles- I can't draw or simulate blood in either blender or GIMP, so the red light is supposed to simulate the blood-sodden sink that she's standing over, and of course, "pale girl," is Onia, she's staring at herself, but additionally I like to think she's staring past the mirror, or staring through it (wink wink), she's spacing out and thinking about who she should've been, or who she could've been.

Hero's Song Following Eyes by Soccer Mommy "An awful feeling started creeping over me and what I saw was like no horror I had seen"

I'm keeping this short and sweet. It's not easy to find a song (that I like) that's about being haunted or cursed so. I had to re-use her song from her intro post, which isn't bad, but I did hope to find a new song kdsjhnsjk Anyways. Hero's cursed, pretty much anywhere she goes, she is forced to perceive ~the horrors~, sometimes she's forced into a blank space, a void (SOMETIMES,,, not a lot,,, rarely moreso), where she'll be tormented for who even knows how long, this moment in particular, she was walking along this catwalk in the dark, she eventually felt something that felt similar to someone dragging their fingers up your spine, in a moment of fear, she turned around and just. saw. She looked onto this,,, being, what she saw was "like no horror I had seen,,," Although to be fair, the creature isn't all that horrifying (which in my defense.. I'm a blender novice so </333)

The Hiraeth Song Nomu by Good Kid "Four eyes entwined draw four separate lines and none of them point to you"

I think this song overall is a perfect example of Roo and Leo's relationship both after Leo's confession and after Roo tried to reconnect with Leo. After Leo confessed, he tried to keep their relationship going, but it didn't work out, so he gave up (Roo didn't realize Leo was pulling such a weight and he just let their friendship fall out) After Roo tried to reconnect (aka the CURRENT storyline), Roo has been trying to keep things together and has been trying to make things work, but Leo has long-since given up on their friendship as a whole. Now in terms of the lyric above; Post-Confession, every conversation they had together would not be the same, they couldn't look each other in the eyes, their eyes would connect momentarily and separate almost immediately; Nowadays, if they WERE to be living together or near each other, they just would NOT be able to talk to each other, because Leo would be fed up with Roo and trying to avoid as much eye contact and general verbal+physical contact as possible with him. Roo, on the other hand, is just terrible with eye contact so he would have a terrible time trying to engage in eye contact with Leo.

The Ithanel / It's All Wrong Song From Eden by Hozier "Babe there's something broken about this but I might be hoping about this oh what a sin"

Ithuriel and Nanel's entire relationship is inherently toxic, they are not toxic to each other, but the underlying (or moreso, the OVERWHELMING OVERLYING) dangers of this relationship makes it toxic, broken in a way. Nanel risks her life going to see Ithuriel outside of work-related interactions and Ithuriel risks her life by just. seeing, talking to and loving Nanel. Whether they know (they do) or care (they dont) about these dangers, they still want this relationship, they live on, literal, prayers that they are not caught and that they can continue to love each other in peace, but overall, their relationship, in the eyes of the heavenly council (ehhh W.I.P term for IAW lore stuff), is a sin, and nothing but a sin.

Ithuriel's Song What You Mean by Rome Hero Foxes "Cause every little god damn thing you do makes me wanna get close to you"

The lyrics speak for themselves... Ithuriel is very dedicated to Nanel, and literally every waking moment of seeing and knowing Nanel drives Ithuriel up the walls because she loves her so much.

Nanel's Song Future Me Hates Me by The Beths "It's getting dangerous, I could get hurt, I know, I've counted up the cons, they far outweight the pros."

This is semi-foreshadowing, but Nanel knows that her and Ithuriel's relationship is forbidden, wrong (not cuz its gay necessarily,, 😭), and the way Ithuriel's heavenly role works means that their relationship status and every interaction outside of a required interaction is a risky game of one or both of them being punished and sentenced to death. But ! Nanel loves Ithuriel wayyyy too much to let how insanely dangerous their relationship is to get in the way of them loving and being with e/o.

Nirvana's Song 1999 by Beabadoobee "And I'm not wasting time again, closure instead of s^x, and I'm not wasting time again" Idk if I need to censor s^x but i am justttt in case...

Oof, Nirvana... Nirvana has always been sxually active, she's always had one-night-stands with other men, she's tried to continue things after that ONS, but it never works, she's tried to have relationships with women, but they just use her for s^x. She's tired of wasting time with people who just want her for her body, she's tired of s^x, she just wants, well, closure, she wants someone who will love her for her, she wants a relationship without s^x, or at least isn't s^x-focused, she just wants to know someone will love her past her body. Although aforementioned is all just a habit so she will unfortunately end up right back where she started and continue this uncomfortable and sad spiral.

[see-arcane]

Thoughts on why Carmilla is so fixated on Laura to begin with? I think the implication in the book was probably that Laura herself was a Karnstein though her mother's line and old folk vampire lore often had vampires drawn to attacking their family members. And what's a good Gothic Horror Story without a bit of incest!

Supposed that a Coppola style reincarnated lover thing could also work pretty well too.

The bit in question:

“And now you can read quite plainly the name that is written in the corner. It is not Marcia; it looks as if it was done in gold. The name is Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and this is a little coronet over and underneath A.D. 1698. I am descended from the Karnsteins; that is, mamma was.” “Ah!” said the lady, languidly, “so am I, I think, a very long descent, very ancient. Are there any Karnsteins living now?”

That would be an extra gothic note of horror to throw on the pile.

But I'll admit that when I read it, my brain skidded over the incest angle and assumed that Countess Mircalla had married into the Karnstein family with the long-ago Vordenburg ancestor being one of her side consorts. Per the text, the guy wasn't her husband, but her lover:

He might have been termed a Moravian nobleman, for he had changed his abode to that territory, and was, beside, a noble. But he was, in truth, a native of Upper Styria. It is enough to say that in very early youth he had been a passionate and favored lover of the beautiful Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. Her early death plunged him into inconsolable grief.

Miss Mircalla, though shown targeting girls in the story's present, was apparently doing some bisexual juggling once upon a time. The fact that she wasn't wearing this guy's ring told me that she had a husband hanging around somewhere. So in that way, maybe there is something of a reincarnated lover angle hanging around for us to use.

Adaptation Possibility:

Mircalla wed a Karnstein once--a husband we never meet in Vordenburg's records, being that they were penned by his ancestor the Ancient Side Consort (who, notably, aged to death, never turned, and wrote his confession of hiding Carmilla's coffin to shield it before he croaked). But who was this spouse?

Was she in love with him and simply playing with extra lovers because she could? Was she after some pretty relative of the spouse's? We don't know. But we will guess, in tragic fashion, that where grief moved the old lover to hide her coffin, the loss of Mircalla simply killed them. Or worse, prompted suicide in a painful attempt to follow her into vampirism. Alas, it did not take.

Either way their soul was out there now, drifting like a leaf on the bloodstream of the Karnstein's lineage. It carried a secret psychic thread down the line until it landed and blossomed in little Laura with that first strange nightmare. Perhaps that is why Carmilla is here now; has been here, waiting through the century. Pacing her way through new throwaway trysts in undeath as she had in life, loving and devouring and tossing them aside, waiting waiting waiting.

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Come back, my love, you must come back, these others are not enough, have never been enough, come back come back come back!

And then, surprise. Here is Laura.

Laura who is her husband? Laura who is her bride in all but name? Whoever or whatever she was, is, Carmilla who is Mircalla recognizes that blood, mind, and soul.

Back, back, her love has come back..!

And she will not lose that love twice.

[girls4liyah]

welcome to my world ︴ning yi zhuo

ning yi zhuo x female reader ⬳ pair.

ningning gets dared to visit a cemetery, but she doesn’t expect to find a scary, horny demon with a penchant for getting into trouble there. she doesn’t expect to fuck you, either. ⬳ sum.

noncon to dubcon, demon!reader, dom!reader, human!ningning, mentions of murder, intoxicated ningning (this is mentioned once and never brought up again), cheating, anal sex, tentacle sex, none of this is ethical behavior ⬳ content.

3k ⬳ wc.

“And one more thing,” Yeji starts, throwing you a strict look. 

You groan, throwing your hands up in irritation, “I know, I know. Don’t get into trouble. You do not have to give the monologue again.”

“Do you know? Maybe I should give it again, y’know, for safe measure,” Yeji huffs, arms folded. Her yellow eyes are glowing in exasperation as the memory of the last time you went off-script unfolds behind them. “The last time we let you meander outside the underworld, you killed a human.”

“So? People die all the time.”

“You bit her. With your teeth. Injected venom into her bloodstream.”

“I’m still not seeing the issue.”

“We have unique teeth and venom from, say, earthly beings,” Yeji snaps, “People will get suspicious. You’re lucky we have connections or your ass would be hot. Literally.”

You throw her a wry smile. So maybe you got a little carried once or twice. Possibly five times. No big deal. At worst, all those humans would just start to believe in vampires. It’s not like they could prove random pretty girls were being targeted by horny demons. 

Humans don’t know anything about demons at all. There’s so much more to you than evil red horns and sinister faces. You live in a society with other demons and you’re much more familiar to humans than they believe.

“Relax,” you chirp in a way that has Yeji running her hands through her hair, frustrated. When you say it like that, she can’t help but not relax. “I’ll be an angel.”

Yeji visibly recoils at that word. Not the word itself, maybe, just the fact that it leaves your mouth of all people. “Just get out of my sight. I can’t save you if Hyungwon finds out you killed another girl.”

You scoff, “What’s he gonna do? Kill me? I’m already dead, babe.”

“Don’t press your luck,” a masculine voice says in a clipped tone from behind you.

You turn, spotting Hyungwon, grim as always. You’d say it would kill this guy to smile, but he, too, is already very dead. “Hyungwon!” you sing, “The man of the hour and just the guy I wanted to see—”

“Save it,” Hyungwon spits, having none of your acts, “You have twenty-four hours. If you’re not back by then, I revoke your privileges for a year. If you kill another human, I revoke your privileges for a year. Am I clear?”

You bite your lip to fight an irritated scowl, not one to be bossed around, but you suck it up. “Crystal, sir.”

Ningning waves the flashlight around loosely. It’s pretty thick; heavy, makes her wrist hurt. But it was big and she was surrounded by nothing but pitch black darkness and dead people who were probably a mere heap of bones by now. 

She hates her friends. All of them. She hates Karina for suggesting they play truth or dare. She hates Giselle for daring her to go to a creepy, dark cemetery after the sun has already set and she can’t even see the clouds. She hates Winter for not agreeing to come with her, letting her wander all alone.  

You won’t be alone, she said. You’ll have a handy-dandy flashlight, she said. 

On the bright side, despite the fact that Ningning can hardly see anything at all, the cemetery doesn’t look like something completely out of a horror movie. It’s not foggy out and the moon isn’t full. It’s not cold and the trees are thick with leaves that she’s sure are green. Instead, there are no stars and the moon is concealed by dark shrouds of mass. 

Which might be a little worse. 

Just an hour. She only has to withstand this torment for an hour and she can go back to Winter’s apartment—maybe without any severe trauma, she hopes. Checking her watch, the one her boyfriend got her last year for her birthday, she notes that she’s been here a grand total of five fucking minutes. 

I’m not gonna make it, Ningning tells herself, losing all hope within the first few minutes. I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it—

She hears a rustle, immediately turning on the balls of her feet, and lets out a tiny, shocked squeak. She waves the flashlight around but sees nothing. Because why the fuck would anyone be in a cemetery at three in the fucking morning? Hell, she shouldn’t even be here her damn self. 

It’s probably just some random critter, like a squirrel or whatever the hell else roams around at night. Maybe it’s a bird. Are they nocturnal? Ningning doesn’t really know. Bless her heart. 

She doesn’t even know why she agreed to this. She could have easily said no, though of course they would have made her down an entire bottle of disgusting beer and she’s already had three—so it’s even worse that she’s intoxicated in the middle of nowhere by herself, but it’s not like anyone in their right mind would be here. 

There’s another sound. Ningning turns again, shrilly shrieking out in terror, but when she tries to use the stupid flashlight it only flickers before rendering itself entirely useless. “Fuck,” she groans, throwing the flashlight. 

“Ow, shit!”

Ningning startles when she hears a string of profanities, because she’s not the one to say them. She can’t see at all now, but just the knowledge of someone being there alone has her shuddering. 

“Who’s there?” she asks, glancing around, trying to find the source of the noise, but she doesn’t really know where she is.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickers back on, but she’s not the one holding it. The light is shining at her. “You forgot to turn it on, dear. See, like this,” you demonstrate, “On, off. On, off. On—”

“I’m not stupid,” Ningning hisses, crossing her arms. 

You snicker, coming into view, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Ningning stills when she sees you, actually sees you. She sees your completely black eyes, lacking any color at all. She sees your long braids. She sees your horns protruding out of your head. She sees the lines on your skin that look like vines almost, and it chills her to the bare bone. 

She steps back, eyes widening, “What are you?”

“Nothing important,” you mumble, focusing on your prize. She’s got to be the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen — human or not. She has the prettiest round eyes, the sweetest quivering lips. You’ve been observing her in half amusement, half curiosity for the past ten minutes, and you have no clue why this random human girl is wandering around a cemetery in short, tight pajamas, but you won’t get caught complaining. 

Your tongue passes your teeth, and Ningning sees your eyes shoot pink with hunger. It frightens her. 

Ningning tries to run, but one of your braids fly out to grab her, pulling her back to you. She glances at you, cheeks wet with fresh tears and she frantically begs, “No, no, no. Please let me go.”

Had Hyungwon and Yeji not gotten on your last nerve earlier, you might’ve showed her some mercy — no you wouldn’t have, but having them to blame your urges on makes you feel better — but you’re just so angry, and she looks like the perfect way to blow off some steam. 

Swiping a tear out of her eye with your thumb, scalding hot skin and sharp talons gently brushing against her cheek in a way that makes her tense, you coo adoringly, “What’s your name, pretty?”

“Ningning,” she sniffles softly. 

Even her name is cute. You’re going to have a fun time with this one. 

Setting her on the dirt, watching her trying to get away again, you chuckle at her naivety and restrain her with the rest of your brains without moving a finger. You lower yourself to her body, ignoring how she squirms and pleas for help. Your attention is drawn to how the tight tee hugs her breast and you poke a hole into the shirt with your claws, stretching it until her tits pop out. 

“Stop!” Ningning cries. “I have a boyfriend!” 

“That’s cute. Don’t worry, I’ll send you back to him in good shape,” you whisper carelessly. Then your head tilts in thought, wondering if you can keep that promise. “Probably.”

Your uncertainty doesn’t console Ningning in the slightest, but she has to admit, it’s a little hot that you’re a… whatever you are. She’s never seen anything like you. She’s scared to death, but also a little turned on. 

Her tits are so soft, you realize while fondling them. When your fingers pinch her nipples, she accidentally moans, and she would cover her mouth if she wasn’t fully restrained by your braids. If she wasn’t powerless. 

She wonders why your hands are so warm, it feels like you’re burning her skin whenever you touch her. You wonder why you didn’t spot a find like her on your past visits to earth, but it’s probably a good thing. You, though not on purpose, would have killed her. She’s too perfect to die. 

Thinking about the girls you happened to have killed makes you remember why you’re so angry in the first place and you start to get irritated. It’s not your fault if you lose control sometimes when you’re fucking these girls. Fuck, not when they look so pretty, with their scared eyes and cute faces. Not when they taste so good and they’re so tight—now you can’t help but think of how Ningning tastes and how small her pussy must be. 

Ningning moves to her hands and knees but not on her own accord, but because your braids move her. “What are you doing?” She asks innocently.

“Don’t worry, Ningning,” you say, grinning cheekily. “It’ll feel so good.”

Ningning gasps when you rip her tiny shorts off, then her panties, and you find it so cute that they’re so wet, sticking to her cunt. Before you ripped them to shreds, at least. Ningning, against her better judgment, gets excited at the thought of you fucking her, wiggling her ass a little.

You growl, a sound that makes Ningning giggle, although a little terrifying. She’s oblivious, though, when you grope her cunt and damp your palm with her wetness, just moaning at the feeling of being toyed with. She’s oblivious when you spread her juices all over her ass. She’s oblivious when you slide down your pants, freeing a tentacle from your underwear. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” you warn while sinking to your knees, which is nice enough, although you’re feeling anything but. 

Ningning’s visibly anticipating it, her pussy still leaking with all her wet fluids. So much for her having a boyfriend. To be fair, though, the poor guy wouldn’t believe you if you told him that his sweet girlfriend was slutting herself out to a demon — in a cemetery, no less. So, really, there’s no point in confessing to the act. 

She’s disturbed when she feels it, the slick rod slithering around her rim, confused as it dips inside her ass and not her pussy. She gasps, but you don’t have the patience to stop, impaling her on your long tentacle, fitting as much as you can in one swift go. It’s too long for her pussy, especially as tiny and frankly tight as it is. 

Conflicted, Ningning stills in shock. She doesn’t know whether or not she should ask you what the hell that is inside her, or tell you that you’re in the wrong hole. She writhes, seeming to forget that there’s nowhere to go, trapped by every inch of you as you force her into a cage of yourself. 

“Where you going, pretty?” You ask, laughing at her desperation. You like that nickname on her. It’s fitting. 

“Wrong hole,” she exhales with half a breath, like you knocked the wind out of her. “No, pull out! Wrong—”

“Right,” you hiss, already drawing yourself in and out of her, face twisting. “It’s the right hole, baby.”

Tears prick Ningning’s eyes as you fuck her unprepared ass, her hand slipping out of the dirt as she reaches behind herself to make you quit it, but her arm is grabbed again by one of your braids that obey your every command like little serving serpents. 

“B-but,” she stammers, evidently worried. “I’ve never… I’ve never been fucked there before.”

Something about that just lights up the biggest spark in you. “Never?”

Ningning shakes her head, and you wish you could see her eyes, knowing that they’re so round with innocent twinkles. 

“Fuck,” you hiss loudly, but it’s not really an issue. What, are you gonna wake up the dead? “Guess I’ll have to break you in, huh? Send you back home with a couple of pointers for your boyfriend.”

Ningning only blinks at the mention of her boyfriend that she’d seemingly been so loyal to only moments ago, and she seems to remember for the first time in a minute that she’s vowed to a commitment, but it’s forgotten in the same instant as she feels you press inside her fleshy ass and her head tips back, a sweet-sounding, light noise filling your ears. 

Her ass is so pretty and tight, and it’s all that you can think about. It’s such a shame that her boyfriend’s never fucked her there, but not for you. Matter of fact, you love that you’re her first. You love that no one’s ever felt what you’re feeling right now, like it’s something especially reserved for you. 

You don’t want to send her back to her boyfriend, really. You want to keep her with you like a pet, take her to the underworld and fuck her holes whenever you please. Yeji and Hyungwon would never approve, though — guardians of the underworld and all — and somehow that only upsets you even more, fucking her sloppy holes rougher. 

She arches her back, and it’s the prettiest arch, too. The prettiest arch you’ve ever seen. You hiss, slapping your palm against her ass. Ningning cries out, and you’ve heard that blend of pleasure and pain before, recognize it as something all too familiar. It comes with the territory. 

You ease up, letting your braids slacken, knowing she won’t try to get away from you anymore. Not with the sinful sounds that sound like music to your ears and how she lets you use her ass, lets you have your way with her entirely, like every rational thought has been fucked out of her fuzzy brain and the idea of preserving herself for survival doesn’t even occur to her anymore. 

Instead she’s more focused on being such a slut, reaching behind herself again, not to stop you, but to spread her ass for you. The sight is something out of your dreams, you’ve never been more thankful for your excellent vision. That’s when you know she has you, and from her giggles, she knows it too. 

“You’re such a nasty little thing,” you chide, smacking her ass again. She whimpers, her soaked pussy tightening around nothing. “Spreading yourself for a demon?”

Finally able to put a name to the monster she’s exposed to, corrupting her. You’re so deep inside her, as deep as you can go, because if you could go any deeper without hurting her too much, you would. She knows that you have more to offer — she accidentally felt your slippery, slick tentacle when she reached behind her back. It’s raw and slimy, gushing inside her ass. She loves it so much now, babbling about how full she feels.

“Yeji and Hyungwon don’t know what they’re talking about,” you rant mindlessly, not caring that you’re exposing your world. Ningning can tell that you’re upset from the tone you ramble in, she could tell from the pace you fuck her with. “I can protect you. Other demons would only destroy your precious soul in minutes, I would take care of you. I’d never let anything take you.”

Ningning’s not sure what you’re going on about, but she’s gone too dumb to care, just agreeing, “Uh huh, y-yeah. Please.”

“Shit,” you curse, because she’s so much, but not enough. You extend another four tentacles that Ningning didn’t even know you had, stuffing two up her soaked pussy and forcing one inside her mouth. The other one joins the one in her ass, because they’re not too thick for her to take, too thin.

Ningning’s noises are muffled against your tentacle, but if she could, she would go on and on about how full she is. She thought she was full before, but that was nothing compared to now, how over occupied she is. You’ve filled all her holes and she feels like she’s floating. It hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s something so mysterious about it. Something so enigmatic that she’ll never understand. 

You desperately want to bite her, but for once in your life, you try to have some control. She can’t die. Not after you just went on your whole spill about how you would protect her, and you weren’t just saying words, you really, really do want to keep her safe. Even if it means from yourself. Yeji would be proud — if you left out all the other details of this tryst. 

In fact, there’s only one real reason why she’s less strict than Hyungwon.

Ningning gets the most surreal feeling and it’s not just the knot in her gut, growing with every thrust. She’s getting off to being fucked not just by some stranger, but by something she thought she’d only see in her dreams. A demon with horns and slimy tentacles that stroke her in all of the right places. Her pussy is gushing around you, her tongue is warm and flat, and her ass is so tight and small.

No human has ever gotten her this aroused. She’s dripping onto you and it’s borderline embarrassing, because all she can think about is the fact that you’re a demon using her holes. Fuck, she doesn’t know why, but that thought alone is making quick work of her. 

She shoves gently at the tentacle occupying her mouth, because she doesn’t want to hurt you, and asks sweetly with a hoarse throat, “W-what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you whisper. 

And she almost screams it. The last push hits, the waves come in, and everything breaks loose, and she cries your name in between a string of expletives as her pussy spasms around your tentacles in orgasm. It’s the most intense one she’s ever had, making her whole body quiver and the world around her reel as she starts to feel lightheaded. 

You’re not finished, though. She notices that immediately. It drives her mad, the overstimulation. She’s so sensitive that she thinks she can’t handle it, whining, “Too much—”

“Take it,” you order sharply. 

“I can’t.”

The tentacle is back in her mouth in a matter of seconds to shut her up, your braids back to restraining her as she attempts to sneak away, but you won’t let her go. Not before you’re finished with her, done using her. Ningning’s not used to this. Not used to the stretch, not used to pleasure to this extent, not used to the overstimulation. She just feels like a set of holes for you to fuck. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty,” you convince her. “You can take it for me. It’s what you were meant to do.”

Ningning hums, bobbing her head around you as she sucks you off greedily. Gobbling is a better word. It keeps her attention while your thumb massages her ass, and she grinds her ass back against you, too. The most inconsistent girl in the world. 

She’s like a rot, corrupting you from head to toe. It makes you burn, makes you wish you could fuck her forever, because you would. She’s perfect, and you don’t throw that word around loosely. She’s making you lose your grip in a different way than any other mortal has, in a way that’s probably dangerous, too, but you can’t be bothered to care. 

Thoughts of keeping her consume you alive. That’s all it really takes for you to blow your load, a couple more slams before you halt entirely, moaning her name too loudly. “Shit, Ningning—”

She moans, too, you feel it around one of your tentacles. It fills her everywhere — sticky, gooey cum, seeping into her ass and her pussy and her mouth. Ningning tries to swallow all of your cum, but it’s too much, dripping down her chin messily. It’s why she doesn’t feel empty when you at last pull out of her holes, because this icky substance is keeping her nice and full. 

“Oh my god,” Ningning whispers. She’s ironically never felt more alive. “That was so…” Perfect. 

Her chest heaves, her entire body drenched in sweat and slime and goo. It’s nasty, she feels nasty, but she likes it, too. She doesn’t think of how she’ll get back to Winter’s apartment when she looks the way she looks and her clothes are nonexistent. Thanks to you. 

Then it hits you, after climaxing. It wouldn’t matter, really, if Hyungwon banned you from visiting earth, if you snuck Ningning to the underworld. 

Your world. 

“C’mon, pretty,” you say with a coquettish grin, helping her stand. “I just had a bad idea.”

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 24]

And it's the last thing he would have wanted her to do :(

Once again, want to draw your attention to the fact that Julith doesn't seem to really care about Joris. She just set him and Bakara free to get hit by lasers and once he told her "I will never allow this to happen" she stopped paying attention.

Like, did her love hinge on the condition he didn't disagree with her or what? I am insane about her various behaviours and weird way of loving (AKA she doesn't really love anyone besides Jahash, and she might not really love Joris that much either. because she's like. known him for a day and 80% of it he called her cringe(because she's cringe))

Man, I know ankama didn't think about this all so deeply. They were like "cool lasers go pew pew pew". But I'm the CEO of caring too much. So I will literally do just that.

Anyway, her parenting style (setting him loose under some deadly lasers) reminds me of Kerubim, except she's doing this on purpose. yaay.

Joris has GOT to be in a literal state of shock and dissociation by now. Not even years of therapy will fix this.

By now he's seen roughly 1000 and 6 people die.

I've seen headcanons of him keeping his mother's cape. And while imagining Joris with a cool cape is nice and all, I really doubt he Would Fucking Do That.

Not because you can get it as a cosmetic item in Dofus MMO (you can, but it's dubiously canon imo). I just think he fucking hates her and wouldn't want that thang in his house.

It's just him VS. her now.

There's a heaviness to this. All of them (save for maybe Lilotte) have the knowledge that whoever hits the Dofus will get exploded together with them. But with the rush of adrenaline, inexperience of everyone involved (only warriors actively think "oh I am going to DIE for real this time"), and the "if we don't act now 1000 people will die" of this situation, I really doubt either of them thought too hard about it all.

But I think that once you're all alone with that thought - and it's obvious that it's you, who will have to do it, it sinks in a little better.

He looks so distraught...

Inside me are two wolves: one of them is saying, "Joris is so brave yet so scared. He knows he will probably not survive this, and he's 10, and, and--" and the other says "JORIS JURGEN SUICIDAL HEROISM MOMENT NUMERO UNO!!!!!"

Both of them are equally insane.

I NEED these frames injected into my bloodstream.

One counterpoint I can think to why Julith is so worried about this despite setting him free to roam under the deadly lasers, is that, as the guardian of the Ebony Dofus, she could simply go "Not that one. let that one live. No, you can kill the blonde that looks like my husband, I don't give a shit about her. But the weird little boy? Don't kill him."

But this is just me trying to fix Ankama's fucky-wuckies with my imagination.

It's jojover. Just completely and irreparably jojover.

This scene always gives me chills, more so than any other insanely evil interaction between Joris and Julith.

There are a lot of ways this scene gets me (imagine me putting on the tinfoil hat from my Aux Tresors kerulou days. I am about to be that insane): The way she envelops him stops any and all movement of him and his Dofus completely, and wipes out all the sound and momentum.

He is completely helpless against how easily she stopped him and took his only way to save everyone from him.

As he falls to the ground, there's a little sense of dreaminess to it — the cape seems far bigger than it should be, the time before he hits the floor seems longer than it should be — and make no mistake, it is on purpose. Seconds before he falls we are shown the floor, and it seems vaguely closer to us at the first glance, than the distance he falls. It's unexpected, it's destabilizing.

It's like he is dissociating, from the horror of not being able to do this.

It's like a nightmare.

And after doing this irreparable evil, and taking his one way of stopping this evil, she looks at him as if he is a tiny, stupid little thing, that doesn't know what it is doing.

As if it's not her fault that his only choice is doing something that will kill him, just to stop her.

And listen. There's guilt too. Because Joris is the one who allowed her to get the Ebony Dofus back. If he survives this and nobody else does, do you think he could ever forgive himself?

She's making him responsible for this.

They will never get to speak, but Jahash is happy, with what Joris has tried to do.

...Unlike Julith, who was reminded of Jahash by Joris's blue eyes, — I bet Jahash thinks they're similar to Bakara's.

There are so many emotions here. He will never get to speak to this man. This man is happy abotu what Joris has done. This man is the reason Joris's life is utterly ruined.

Is Jahash's smile an "I'm sorry that you have to do this, and see this," or "I'm proud of you," or "I wish things were different," or a mixture of all of them?

Joris will never get to know.

He saw something in her that other people didn't see.

She never really wanted to be a "butcher". Even if she could not overpower that destiny, — after Bonta took away her entire family and future, may I add, — the fact that she tried to begin with is saying a lot.

The look he gives her is something between "please don't prove me wrong" and "this isn't you".

I think she realizes now that there is no future where she, Jahash, and Joris are together and happy.

Four lives, in three generations of this family, ruined and uprooted and destroyed, because of some petty politics that were happening behind their backs.

I truly despise Bonta.

It's quiet. The only sound is his own heartbeat. Nothing seems quite real. He can barely believe that maybe she will stop this madness herself.

There is only one kind of reunion that they may have.

No matter how much she wanted a happier ending.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 17

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 5k

Chapter 17: 'Nothing Fucks With My Baby (NFWMB)'

The following afternoon, approaching Juliet’s old community. 

Joel's POV:

Joel was familiar with the spark of awareness that spread across his skin when a gun was trained on him. The burning feeling that flashed down his arms, the tightening of his muscles, the ire that wrapped around his heart, squeezing tight. Joel welcomed that feeling; he craved it sometimes. The adrenaline that shot through his bloodstream, sharpening his mind, strengthening his body, and then he would move: disabling those who shot at him, or shooting back. Whether it was the sick crunch of their necks, at the cold mercy of his arms, or a bullet through their skulls, Joel would do the job. He would stand over his latest killing, breathing heavy, as he relished in the stillness of their chests and the knowledge that he would live another day. 

Joel was never afraid of staring down the barrel of another’s gun, not until Juliet. 

Four men stood before them, each holding up a shotgun. They were quick, quicker than Joel had expected when he noticed the watchtower over the edge of the fence. Seconds later, they had opened the gate and circled Joel and Juliet like wild cattle. Joel had grabbed Juliet’s arm and pulled her behind him, his gut twisting when he couldn’t protect her from every angle the men had positioned themselves in. The adrenaline had started to pound through his body, the roar of blood rusher in his ears as his fingers pressed deeper into Juliet’s arm. Her head whipped around them, the loose waves of her dark hair smacked against the arm of his jacket. Joel knew he had to do something, had to think of some way to defend her, to keep her safe. But they were out of ammo and outnumbered. With Juliet’s body pressed against his, his usual confidence was gone, fear was now his most prominent emotion. 

“Don’t move!” one of the men shouted, he was tall with ginger hair, almost covered by the dark hood he wore. 

Joel had to say something, explain that they didn’t want any trouble, that this was some misunderstanding. He had assumed they would recognise Juliet but the men in front of him only had a cold hunger in their eyes. For more than just their blood, Joel thought, going by the frailness of their bodies. 

“Stop!” a voice cried out, “It’s me, It’s Juliet!”

Joel’s head turned to the woman pressed against his back. All four of the men froze, their creeping movements forward paused as their eyes scanned Juliet’s body from head to toe. Seconds later, recognition flared in their eyes. 

“Juliet?” the ginger one gasped out, his eyebrows pinched together as his hands unconsciously began to lower his shotgun. The other men followed his actions, peering closer at Juliet. 

She pulled away from Joel, putting at least a foot between them. That sick feeling in his gut worsened, he wanted desperately to pull her back against him, to wrap her in his arms, throw her over his shoulder and get the hell out of here. For what was supposed to be a homecoming for Juliet, she looked undeniably terrified. But she was still the woman he knew, so Juliet straightened her back, wiped her expression of any fear and transformed her mouth into a relieved smile.

“Thank god we made it,” she gasped, her voice pitched higher than usual. “Thought we’d be in that forest forever,” Juliet continued, laughing as she spoke.

Juliet had this unique ability to camouflage herself. He hadn’t noticed it back in the QZ, when he would watch her from a distance throughout their shifts together, listening to the conversations she had with other workers. But journeying across the country together, just the two of them… Joel had a front row seat to the several masks Juliet carried with her. When they had run into those men in the supermarket: she became this ruthless killer, practically begging to kill the men who had kidnapped that girl. Back at the gas station, Joel blinked and Juliet had become Blake’s loyal servant, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes. 

And the night before, when he had her pressed against that tree, watching as the cruel motions of pain, regret and terror had rippled in her eyes… Joel watched as Juliet lied to his face. 

She had promised him that this place was safe, ‘the safest place for her,’ she had said. But Joel had watched that mask fall over her features, he had watched the sparkling light go out in her eyes as her voice numbly uttered those words. 

“Fuck , Juliet,” one of the other men drawled, shaking Joel from his thoughts. “Thought you were dead,” he said, shock flickered across his face as he, too, lowered his shotgun.

Joel stiffened, more pieces added to the never ending puzzle of Juliet’s life. 

Juliet shrugged and raised her arms, a picture of cool indifference. “Guess not,” she replied with a small smile, then her eyes quickly lifted to Joel’s face.

Joel’s eyes bore into her, she blinked and looked away.

The men dotted around them were shocked, not by her words, but by her attitude. Their eyes slowly trailed down her body to her hands now perched on her hips. When their gazes eventually made their way back up to her face, the men’s eyes had an appreciative glaze coating them, like they were looking at something appetising.

Joel wanted to rip their eyes from their skulls. 

Juliet shifted under their intense stare, moving her arms across her chest. “My father’s expecting me,” she announced, lifting her chin. 

At the mention of her father, the men stood up straighter, like a barrel of water had been tossed over their heads. They glanced at each other, a couple of them nodding towards the fence, passing an excruciatingly silent conversation between them. Joel’s hand curled with unrestrained rage. When he didn’t know what was happening, when he didn’t know how to protect Juliet, Joel always turned to anger. 

Joel stepped closer to Juliet, his hand hovering over her shoulder. It looked like he was claiming her, asserting some connection to her. 

The men noticed his movement, and the scowl that covered his mouth. The ginger one nodded down to Juliet. “Who’s this guy?” he asked, as if he had only now noticed him next to her. 

Before Joel could answer, Juliet fortified her masked expression then pointed her thumb towards Joel.

“Oh, this is Joel,” she answered, “he got me here in one piece in exchange for some supplies.”

The men looked at each other, their eyebrows raised. 

“That right?” the ginger one questioned. 

“That’s right,” Juliet said, stepping closer to the hooded man. Joel had to fight his arm to not grab hold of her and drag her back to him. 

“I know my father would do anything for my safe return, so you will get this man whatever he would like,” she ordered, tilting her head to the side with a cunning smile.

The ginger one swallowed and stepped back again, nodding to the men on his right. Joel followed his gaze as two of them headed back to the fence.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But we gotta search you first, no weapons inside the fence.”

Joel had expected this, he was out of ammo anyway, but he wasn’t about to lose his knife. Juliet had assured him this place was safe, that she would be safe here, but he’d yet to see any proof. He eyed her, waiting to see how she would react to the man’s orders. Joel was following Juliet’s lead here. 

She turned her head towards Joel, titling her chin down in a firm nod while avoiding his eyes. Joel swallowed, clenching his teeth, as he pulled his backpack off his shoulder and started to pull out his weapons. One of the men came to stand before him, his hand outstretched expectantly. 

Joel pushed his gun into the man’s hand, then dropped his bag to the ground to be searched. 

When he turned towards Juliet, he almost lost it.

She stood tall with her arms above her head as the ginger one patted her down, his hands roaming down to her waist. Every muscle in Joel’s body locked up and he had to force himself to not pull his knife out. When his hands began to roam down her legs, Joel had had enough.

“Watch it,” Joel growled, his voice lethal. The man’s movements halted before he reached Juliet’s ankle. His hands left her body and he turned towards Joel, ready to give him an earful about the rules of the community, but his smug smile disappeared the second he met the fury burning in Joel’s eyes. 

The man straightened, picked up his gun from the ground, and took two steps back from Juliet. 

Joel didn’t break his stare, even as the other man began to pat him down. Their technique was severely lacking because he clearly missed the knife in his inside pocket. When he was done, he turned back to the ginger one and nodded. “They’re good.”

The ginger one turned his body towards the fence, then nodded back at the other man. “Let’s get them to Elijah,” he said.

His words made Joel stiffen, there was something menacing about their tone. Nothing about this felt right, nothing about this whole situation felt like a daughter returning home to her loving father. Elijah’s name fell from the man’s lips like a warning. Joel was growing uneasy. 

Juliet had started to move forward, slowly following the men towards the fence. Her footsteps were stilted, her posture tight. 

When she realised Joel wasn’t following, she turned towards him and pulled her lifeless gaze up to meet his intense stare. Behind his dark eyes, Joel’s mind was buzzing with indecision. He could take her away from here; he was coming to realise that he would go anywhere, take her anywhere, as long as she could be by his side. But that wasn’t his decision to make, and they had a deal. He curled his hands into fists as his jaw tightened. 

Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed, her mouth opening and closing as she considered what to say. Then she swallowed and shook her head, the movement subtle. “It’ll be okay,” she said with a small smile which didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice was almost a whisper but her words screamed in Joel's ears, raising the hairs on his arms, tightening his already tense jaw. 

Joel moved forward, his hand outstretched. He didn’t know what he was going to do but his heart was crying out for him to grab hold of her arm, pull her back to his side and run.

The fence ahead of them could have been the fiery gates of hell from Juliet’s haunted expression. 

But just as his feet began to creep towards her, a voice called out.

“Come on!” the ginger one shouted, standing beside the other man at the open gate. His words made Juliet jump and her eyes pulled away from Joel’s. Joel had stopped moving, now standing still beside her. He looked down at Juliet, searching her face for a hint of indecision, for a sign that she was unhappy with her choice to return home. He wouldn’t take her unwillingly, but with one desperate word from her lips, he would steer her away from his place. 

She said nothing more. Joel watched as Juliet straightened, running her trembling hands over the straps of her backpack, and started walking towards the fence, quicker this time. Her feet moved with a new, desperate urgency. 

That feeling in Joel’s gut was almost unbearable, it felt like a combination of every time he was forced to watch tears fill Juliet’s eyes, when he had to see her in pain. Joel followed her retreating steps, then he began to move quicker, hastening his stride to catch up with her. 

He would follow her anywhere, even for the last time. 

…………………………………………………………………………….

Juliet’s community was a ghost town.

As they walked down the street, flanked by the two men, Joel could only hear the sounds of their footsteps hitting the cracked concrete. Every house they passed was silent, there was no sound of laughter, no conversations drifting in the wind. Joel would have thought they were empty, if he hadn’t noticed the occasional twitch at a curtain. When his eyes would follow the movement, the curtain immediately fell. These people were scared. Of him? Or was it something else? Someone else? 

He glanced at Juliet as they walked side by side, his gaze drifted over her face, searching for any hint that she, too, was shocked by the town’s emptiness. He found nothing in her expression, her face was tight as she stared ahead. She didn’t look around, didn’t move her head at all. Her steps even unconsciously moved around the larger cracks in the road.

Juliet knew exactly where she was, and exactly where she was headed. 

With every step, Joel’s hands clenched tighter into fists, his knuckles growing a stark white against his tanned skin. His anger was simmering on his skin, waiting for something to happen, waiting for an opportunity to release the fear that boiled inside him.

He was getting really sick of the two idiots beside them. They weren’t prisoners, this was Juliet’s home, they didn’t need escorts. 

Another five minutes passed as they made their way through the haunted streets. Joel noticed that Juliet’s steps began to slow. Her gaze was still locked in front of her, but her body had visibly tensed. Joel’s head turned, searching for a threat as he moved closer to Juliet. Seconds later, the loud screech of a rusted hinge cut through the eerie silence as a door swung open. Joel’s eyes followed Juliet’s wide stare to the house at the end of the street. 

An older man stepped through the front door, the wood was cracked and the remaining blue paint was almost completely faded. He was followed close behind by the other two men they had met at the fence. Joel watched as Juliet’s entire body flinched.

When they reached the house, they stopped. Joel and Juliet were now surrounded by the four men and the new figure who had begun to stride down the porch steps to greet them.

The first thing Joel noticed was his stare. His eyes ran over Joel, a flicker of confusion darting across his face before his piercing gaze landed on Juliet. The man didn’t appear surprised to see her, instead, for a brief moment, he almost looked enraged, like the sight of her had triggered some habitual response. It was gone as quick as it appeared, and the older man’s features morphed into a combination of relief, shock, and delight. His eyes lit up as he scanned Juliet from head to toe. 

“Juliet, you’ve returned!” he choked out, before striding down the remaining steps and heading towards her. His arms were outstretched, ready to wrap around her. 

When he was just a few steps away, Joel moved, stepping in front of Juliet. The man, Elijah, Joel presumed, staggered to a stop. Joel hadn’t meant to interrupt this reunion but every protective instinct he had for Juliet kicked into gear. His thoughts had faded to a dull murmur in his head, Joel’s every action was driven by pure instinct, that gut feeling had forced his feet to move, to shield Juliet. Still, a distant part of his brain wondered why he felt this way? Why was he so determined to protect Juliet? Why was it so hard to let go?

Joel buried that thought deep in his head, and shifted his stance, ready to face whatever Elijah would send his way. He couldn’t think about why, all he knew was that Juliet was under his protection right up until the last second of their time together. And this man didn’t look unwell, didn’t look like he was at all close to death as Juliet had made him out to be. Her story was unravelling with every second they spent in this town. 

Elijah’s eyes trailed over Joel, raising his head to scan Joel’s fierce expression, and tilting his chin to examine him right down to his worn boots. Joel didn’t flinch, he returned an equally weighted stare, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes dark. 

Juliet was strangely silent, she made no move to step around Joel or greet her dad. Joel was right: something was really off about this. Before Joel could turn to her, to assess her expression and try to form some kind of plan in his head, Elijah broke the tense silence.

“Julietttt,” he called, in an almost musical tone, tilting his head to see beyond Joel’s hulking form. “Who is this?” Elijah asked softly, moving his hands behind his back in a stance of pure apathy. His men had begun to move closer, Joel noticed their hands twitching towards the guns hanging from their shoulders. Their eyes kept darting to Elijah like they were waiting for some signal. Joel only had his knife and he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could go against four young men with a shotgun each, and whatever Elijah had on him. Joel had to be smart about this.

But Joel didn’t get a chance to think, to plan, because a second later, Juliet stepped out from behind him and walked straight up to her father. She looked confident, happy even to see her father after such a long time, a quiet smile had graced her mouth. But Joel saw the slight falter in her steps and the tremble of her fingers as she wrapped them around the straps on her shoulders. 

“Joel got me here, I’ve promised him weapons, food and a vehicle for my safe return,” Juliet said, her voice clear and authoritative. “I told him about your generosity, father, I hope this is alright?” she added, a slight quiver forming in her words. 

If Elijah was surprised at all, or angered by her request, he didn’t show it. Instead, a smile overtook his mouth and he nodded firmly. “Of course!” he declared, and turned to face Joel. His grin didn’t falter as his pale eyes met Joel’s dark gaze. “Thank you, Joel, for returning my daughter to me,” he said, but the smile that marked his face didn’t reach his cold eyes. 

Joel tried to catch Juliet’s eye but it was obvious her mind was far beyond his reach. Her eyes were vacant, another mask had veiled her true feelings. Or maybe this was her true reaction, maybe there really wasn’t anything to fear. Joel had judged the community by its barren appearance, but it didn’t look dangerous, there were no outward threats that he could find, just a lingering feeling of dread.  

Joel nodded, and clenched his teeth so hard he thought he’d chip a tooth as he watched Elijah step forward and wrap his arms around Juliet. At first, Juliet’s entire body froze but, after a second, her arms reached up, returning the embrace. Joel had to look away. 

When they pulled away from each other, Joel noticed that Elijah kept a firm grip on Juliet’s arm. 

“James, Sean, take Joel to the armoury and let him take his pick. We have more than enough to spare,” Elijah ordered, turning to two of the men. They looked pissed.

“You can stay here tonight, if you wish, we wouldn’t send a fellow survivor out into the dark,” Elijah added, with a laugh. “There is a room above the bar, James and Sean will show you.” 

Joel hadn’t even noticed the night approaching, he was too preoccupied with watching every flicker of emotion that crossed Juliet’s face. Juliet was staring at him now, waiting to see what his answer would be. Joel’s eyes drifted down to Elijah’s fingers circling her wrist, his firm grip tightened when he noticed Joel’s attention. 

That simmer of rage began to burn, there was an inferno swirling within him now, desperate for an outlet. But he had no right, there was no concrete proof that this place was unsafe. It was creepy, yes, but Juliet had given him no indication that she needed saving. Joel would respect that, but he still searched her eyes, looking for a hint of fear behind the vacant mask she wore. 

Joel realised they were waiting on his answer and he nodded, his chin dipping in one hard movement. He would stick around tonight, make sure he could stomach leaving her here. 

“Fantastic,” Elijah said, his smile subtly shifting to a grimace as he turned to Juliet. “Shall we, my sweet Juliet,” he drawled, moving to tug her towards the house. At the sound of his endearment towards her, Juliet‘s whole body flinched. She looked like she had been slapped across the face. For one brief moment, her mask slipped, and Joel saw a spark of terror in her eyes.

“Stop,” Joel called, his eyes didn’t leave Juliet. 

“Yes?” Elijah asked, turning back towards him, one eyebrow raised. 

Joel ground his jaw, hard. “I wanna say goodbye,” he answered, his voice like steel as he tilted his head towards Juliet. 

The look in Elijah’s eyes was murderous, but his grin didn’t falter. He shrugged and released his grip on Juliet's arm, one tight finger at a time. Joel finally allowed himself to take a deep breath. 

Juliet walked over to him, her steps were slow. When she reached him, Joel titled his head down towards her, his eyes scanning her face. After a moment, he saw something thaw in her cool stare. Joel could feel Elijah’s eyes on them, so he kept his voice low. “Thought you said your dad was sick?” he asked quietly. 

Juliet bit her lip. The movement startled Joel, his gaze flickered down to her mouth, then back up to the deep brown of her eyes. “He is,” Juliet insisted as she shifted on her feet, then crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Just say the word and we can go,” Joel stated, his words barely legible as he struggled to keep his voice low and his rage contained. Juliet looked shocked, her eyebrows pinched together as he stared up at him. “I -” she started, then stopped herself and turned to glance at her dad. When her gaze returned to Joel, she swallowed and shifted her arms, tightening her hold on herself. “Thank you, Joel. For everything,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, her eyes had turned glossy. “I’m home now… go find your brother,” Juliet murmured with the gentle curve of a smile, then uncrossed her arms and reached her hand down to Joel’s. Her small hand slid over his rough fingers and squeezed… then she was gone. 

Before Joel could even blink, Juliet had slipped away, her quick steps striding back over to Elijah. Joel could still feel the heat from her touch on his skin as he watched Elijah grip her shoulder and lead her up the steps towards the large house. The wood had rotted in multiple places and some windows were entirely frosted. It took every ounce of his control to not follow her, not run after them and rip her from her father’s grip. Joel resisted every primal instinct screaming within him. 

“Let’s go,” one of the men, James or Sean, said to him as they walked past Joel’s frozen form. “Armoury’s this way.”

Joel felt himself nod, but he couldn’t look away from that house. The rage trapped inside him had transformed into ice. Glacial shock now flowed through him, stiffening his muscles, piercing his heart. 

“Now or never,” the voice called again, shaking Joel from his trance. He turned, finally pulling his eyes away from the old house. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and nodded at the men.

As they made their way down the darkening street, leaves crunching underfoot, Joel couldn’t help but feel that he was walking away from a part of himself he hadn’t even realised still existed after so many years surviving in the wasteland of this world. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

About an hour later, after they showed Joel his gifted supplies (which he would collect in the morning), James and Sean led Joel to the town’s ‘bar’.

Joel didn’t agree with that term.

What he stepped into was the renovated bottom floor of a decrepit building which appeared to be the remains of an old store. It was dull, the only light came from hanging bulbs in a few areas of the room. The back wall was shelved with rows and rows of bottles of varying size and colour behind a long counter and mismatched stools. The rest of the room was filled with an odd mix of tables and chairs. Joel was surprised to see most of them filled. This was where everyone was, apparently. 

Eyes followed him as he walked through the room, towards the man tending the bar at the back wall. Voices hushed and fingers pointed, but Joel ignored it all. Once he was seated on one of the stools, his near empty backpack on the floor, Joel leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. The murmurs had picked up again and Joel allowed the noise to drown out the screaming thoughts inside his head. When the bartender approached, Joel ordered a whiskey with the intention of numbing that twisting feeling in his chest. 

The bartender eyed him with confusion but Joel wasn’t going to explain his presence, let them all be wary of him, he thought. Joel was afraid he would start punching if someone got too close to him right now, if someone tried to ask him why he was here. 

A glass of whiskey was slid over to him and Joel downed it in seconds, his head tilted back as the cold glass grazed his lips and the hot burning liquid poured down his throat. 

The glass hit the table with a thud when he brought it back down, his hand gripped it tight. Joel was tempted to see how much force he could apply before it began to shatter. He would welcome the pain, he craved a distraction from the turmoil raging inside him. 

Joel contemplated a second drink, maybe if he kept drinking it would keep him from stalking over to Juliet’s house and throwing her over his shoulder. 

Just as he began to gesture towards the bartender, the man’s face dropped in shock. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened as he stared over Joel’s shoulder. Joel raised his eyebrows, and moved to turn, searching for whatever had spooked him. 

At that moment, Joel noticed a man striding towards him, pushing his way through the many patrons. He was young, probably around Juliet’s age, his hair was slicked back behind his ears and murder danced in his eyes. Joel stood, bracing himself as the young man marched straight for him. 

“This him?” the man barked towards the bartender, as he continued to eye Joel. The bartender stood with wide eyes, but he managed a nod in response. Joel’s eyes flickered between the both of them as he shifted his stance, subtly moving his feet into a fighting position while the young man took those last few steps towards him. A second later, the younger man threw himself at Joel, gripping his shoulder with one hand and pulling the other back to land a punch. He didn’t succeed, Joel growled and caught the man’s hand in his fist, twisting it at an unnatural angle and pulling it behind him. Before the man could retaliate, Joel had both of his hands pinned behind his back and he pulled him against his chest. Joel was breathing heavy as the man continued to struggle in his grip, he was no match for the strength Joel possessed. 

Some men in the bar had stood up, their chairs scraping against the floor while they watched, but no one moved to help. At once, murmurs started to travel through the bar as the men pointed, not towards Joel this time, but towards the man restrained against him. 

“You’ve killed her,” the man in his arms began to hiss. “You fucker, you’ve killed her.”  

Whatever buzz the whiskey had given Joel was completely gone. 

The bartender finally awoke from whatever shocked daze he was held in and he caught Joel’s eye. “Bring him this way,” he instructed, moving towards a door along the side of the back wall. 

Joel snarled and gripped the man tighter, ignoring the words he gasped out, and pulled him through the door after the bartender. 

When they entered the backroom, the bartender pulled the man free from Joel’s grip and pinned him against the wall. Joel staggered back, gasping out a ragged breath. “The hell you talkin’ about?” he demanded, facing the young man now held against the wall.  

“Juliet,” the young man gasped. “You’ve killed her.” 

Joel swore he saw red flash across his vision. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife as he stalked closer to the man. He had stopped struggling, falling limp in the bartender’s grip. As Joel got a better look at him, he finally noticed his appearance. The man’s face was gaunt, purple circles darkened the skin under his eyes, and his hair hung limp over his face, the greasy strands no longer tucked behind his ears. 

“If you don’t start explainin’ right fucking now, this is goin’ in your throat,” Joel growled, lifting his knife to make his point. The man pressed himself harder against the wall behind him and swallowed rough. 

“Who the hell are you?” Joel demanded when the man didn’t instantly answer, his voice low and steady as he ran his thumb over the knife’s edge. 

The man stared back, his eyes burned with a terror similar to what was churning inside Joel.

“I’m Ethan,” he croaked out, then squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long breath, before opening his eyes back into Joel’s dark gaze. “Juliet’s boyfriend.” 

Joel’s entire body tensed, he almost dropped the knife in his hand. But Ethan wasn’t finished, he inhaled another breath, licked his lips, then swallowed again. 

“And you’ve signed her death sentence bringing her back here,” he spat, venom dripping from his words.

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

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

[randomfoggytiger]

Gethsemane, Bill Scully Apologia, and Maggie the Emergency Contact

Dialogue and Play-By-Play Analysis:

Bill: "I picked up the phone when they called Mom. I thought you could use a change of clothes."

Scully: "Thank you... where's Mom?"

Believing her cancer is still a secret, Scully automatically places Bill's importance below her mother, wanting to talk freely with Maggie (without Bill.) Bill sees and understands this; and is hurt that she still won't open up to him despite being here, now, for her. As of yet, he doesn't act on that hurt.

Bill: "I didn't tell Mom what happened...."

Scully: "...But I'm okay. Luckily."

Bill: "You're not okay, Dana."

Scully: "I told Mom not to tell you."

Bill: "Why?"

Scully: "Because it's very personal. Because I don't want sympathy."

For all of the just criticism against Bill later in this arc, here he is holding back his anger (an expression of his hurt) and listening, really listening to his sister. He keeps quiet, giving Scully room to fully explain herself; and even sympathetically locks eyes, giving her his full attention.

Another thing of note: he is staring at Scully with the exact look of sympathy she wanted to avoid. Mulder and Maggie know her enough to acquiesce to her "I'm fine"s; but Bill is her life-long peer, and siblings can't hide truths from each other as effectively as they can their parents or partners.

"You think you can cure yourself."

Bill realizes that his sister never told her own family-- him-- about her cancer because she does, even now, believe she can cure herself. He's stunned, shocked, even appalled; and that leaks into his voice, coming across as judgmental.

Scully doesn't deny it, caught; and sighs, frustrated, that he divined and overly-simplified something she hadn't expressed to anyone and probably would not have been able to without a beautiful speech prepared ahead of time.

"Mom tells me that you've gotten worse. That your cancer's gone into your bloodstream."

This explains why Maggie told Bill in the first place: she cracked under the strain Dana's edict of secrecy put her under, watching her daughter slowly die without any apparent attempts to circumvent that death or even to bond over their shared tragedy. Bill became her only recourse... and Bill spilled the beans (as he does, again, in A Christmas Carol.)

Scully is shaken by his bluntness, unable to shy away from the truth spoken so baldly to her face.

"What are you doing at work getting knocked down? Beaten up? What are you trying to prove-- that you're going to go down fighting?"

Scully: "Now, c'mon Bill--"

Scully is deferring back to an old sibling dynamic: Bill misunderstanding, or only understanding enough to feel she's acting out of turn; and her attempting to draw him away from his preconceived notions. In this case, however, he's right; and she's avoiding the truth of that (subconsciously.)

Bill stops her by slapping down the clothes, getting her full attention.

"Y'know what Mom is going through? Why do you think I didn't tell her when they called?"

"What should be doing?"

Bill: "We have a responsibility-- not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives."

And he's absolutely correct here: Scully has been so focused on work and its promise of a cure that she's forgotten to give space to those suffering alongside her.

"Just, just because I haven't bared my soul to you or to Father McCue or to God, it doesn't mean I'm not responsible to those important to me."

Here Scully reveals she thought emotional distance and soldiering on was her way of protecting her loved ones from her burdens, providing them strength in the face of her worsening health. In reality, it worsened their fears and burdens; and furthered their isolation... except for, ironically, Mulder, who wasn't ready to face the implications of her impending death, anyway.

"To who? This guy Mulder? But where is he, Dana? Where is he through all this?"

Bill is less right here: from his perspective, Dana has (once again) wrapped herself up with a man whose authority and work ethic supersedes Bill's love and concern for his sister-- another in the pattern of their late father and Daniel Waterston and Jack Willis. Bill isn't stupid: his above reproach also reveals he knows Mulder knows about Scully's cancer; and the fact that her partner did and still left her alone to deal with it to "pursue his career" while Bill hasn't been able to be there to support her at all eats away at him, makes him hate the man. (And still he's civil when he meets Mulder, even talks with him in terms he believes a workaholic will understand-- "Let's keep the work away from here"-- only getting rough when he misinterprets Mulder's blank face in response-- "Let her die with dignity.")

Despite being wrong here, Bill still hits the mark; because Mulder did wander off on a quest. But Scully can't argue for Mulder without betraying her own reticence, her own need to keep Mulder in the dark for Mulder's sake-- because that would betray her feelings in a way that she doesn't want to discuss with Bill, especially after Mulder has consistently dodged that serious conversation for years now. So, she picks up her clothes and ends the conversation.

In-Depth Analysis

Maggie Was Scully's Emergency Contact

The hospital called Maggie when Scully was rushed in, unconscious; and while this doesn't outright disprove the theory Mulder might also be an emergency contact, it certainly fits in with the pattern of him being called to the hospital and let into Scully's room by Maggie and not the other way around (i.e. One Breath and Wetwired.) Furthermore, Mulder isn't alerted (that I know of) to a missed call from the hospital after his return to civilization, meaning the hospital didn't notify him at all.

Bill the Bully?

Is Bill a despicable figure? Most definitely... in a deleted Memento Mori scene-- which is why I think they cut it. Though his words are brusque, even cruel in their blunt honesty, Bill, apart from that scene, doesn't seem to willfully inflict or weaponize guilt against his sister, wielding it only as a reminder of how much her family is left out of her life, how much they want to be there for her and don't understand why she won't let them in. It's a fundamental difference in how they approach life; and both are forceful about their insistence on doing things their own way.

Scully is used to being everyone's source of strength (Maggie places her on a pedestal even above her brothers in Memento Mori), which hinders her from opening up or betraying her weakness. Being "the strong one" for so long turned into a fear of failing others; but this reticence has the opposite effect, ostracizing and distancing her family (and Mulder) in her struggles to keep them unaffected. Their divide grows as the years go on (though it seems an equilibrium of sorts has been reached after Emily, since she mentions them fondly in How the Ghosts Stole Christmas and indirectly in Millennium.)

Bill Is Right (in This Instance)

On its face, Bill's speech is unrelenting and out of left field... but is it, really?

Bill is told about his sister's cancer only when it has become irredeemably terminal. He arrives on land, either before or after Maggie's revelation, and finds the rest of the family ignorant and his mother having to shoulder that burden, alone, because his sister refused to let her tell anyone else the news-- meaning, Maggie has been suffering in silence the entire cancer arc, trying to abide by her daughter's terms for space and silence on the topic. However, Scully's definitive terminal diagnosis broke her; and Maggie, having no one to turn to support because Dana still refused to talk about it, finally confessed to her priest and reached out to her son for strength. Bill sees how hard this has been on her and tries to alleviate that burden by adopting his sister's methods: keeping Maggie in the dark as much as possible. It honors what he knows to be his sister's wishes and his mother's fears.

In this scene Bill is absolutely in the right. He and his sister, while not incredibly close, have no ill will between them; and he finds out that not only has she been slowly dying for months and sworn their mother to secrecy but she also still refused to tell him, even when he dropped everything to bail her and Maggie out with this act of kindness. This is wrong-- it is-- and his speech rebuking his sister is as deserved as Scully's are to Mulder whenever he acts only in stubborn self-interest.

Bill is hurt, Bill is grieved; and Bill drives that home, peeling back his sister's denial by exposing her true intent: "You think you can cure yourself." The ludicrous nature of her expectations-- cure incurable cancer and never tell a soul so she won't have to 'suffer' the shame or embarrassment of their sympathy or pity-- galls him; and he's right. It's Scully's struggle and her burden; but it's not just her struggle or burden: her family and loved ones are losing her, too, and that pain is just as powerfully frightening. Bill wants more from her than an immovable pillar of strength-- and that's a good thing. Maggie needed her to be "the strong one", and Mulder needed her to keep fighting; but Bill just wanted his sister to tell him the truth and let him in.

A last note: Bill grew up with Dana-- he knows her propensity to get lost in father figures and demanding authorities. He probably sees Mulder as another Daniel Waterston or Jack Willis, an extension of her undisguised adoration for their late father. He's naturally protective (as we see in Redux II, though grossly misplaced) and thinks Scully is losing that stability in herself the more engrossed she becomes in her work (ex. Gethsemane-Redux II and A Christmas Carol.) These fears and concerns are expressed in overbearing finger-wagging and anger rather than communication, a (sadly) common affliction in a family growing a more distant with time and lives necessarily apart.

Scully Believed She Could Cure Herself

Since Memento Mori, Scully's modus operandi has been to avoid, avoid, avoid the topic of her cancer (and the death of her father, her abduction, etc.) The following cases rarely touched on her illness unless she had a concerning diagnosis or needed further treatment, i.e. Zero Sum and Elegy. Radiation was likely ruled out as ineffective since the skirmish with Dr. Scanlon (and was a drain of her valuable energy and health without any chance of helping, regardless); so, Scully probably opted for more obscure treatments, buying time while she and Mulder chipped away at their work.

In the back of her mind, she believed, truly, that she wouldn't die: that her cancer could be tucked away from her family and cured before Bill or the others ever found out. As we know, Maggie bore the brunt of her daughter's edict of silence alone, finally caving when the cancer reached Scully's bloodstream. When Bill waits for an explanation-- staring at his sister's defiance and stubbornness and pure conviction that she's fine and that the family shouldn't be worried about her at all-- he figures out her blind expectation and avoidance-bordering-on-denial and says, appalled: "You think you can cure yourself." Scully dips her head, exposed and embarrassed.

The beginning of Gethsemane proves Scully was still denial: "my dying wish" she professes on the one hand only to reject the priest and shake her head at Bill with the other. No, Scully did not expect to die alone without her family there. When Bill demands, "We have a responsibility-- not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives", she parries, "Just because I don't bare my soul to you or to Father McCue or to God." Scully thought she was doing her duty by keeping her loved ones in her thoughts while carrying out her solitary battle. When Bill strips her of her further excuses-- "Who? To this guy Mulder?"-- it peels back her hyper-focused perspective, reminding Scully that it's not just her and Mulder fighting the world.

She did her family and Mulder and herself a disservice by pushing them all away to "protect them", as she realizes in Redux II: being "strong" stripped them of the ability to support each other and was damaging in the long run. In this, Bill is undeniably correct. However, where Bill is wrong is that he doesn't see that Scully believes in Mulder's ability to save her, that by following him she is doing what is best for herself.

Her partner's fervor and hope give her strength; and his inability to break under defeat keeps her fighting even in her darkest hours (and does end up saving her life.) Scully put such faith in Mulder and his abilities and his theories that she kept council only with herself (as much as possible) to keep him going, to keep the weight off his shoulders (and her mother's and her family's) so that they could move forward as a well-oiled machine, ready to snatch the cure whenever they got their hands on it. And Mulder did get his hands on it... and then it failed.

She's dying; but it's not until the cure fails that the dam breaks: everything Scully had been fearing comes rushing out of her. She gives in, crying to her mother about her crumbling lack of faith-- because the miracle cure didn't work, because her months of waiting and hoping in private were all for naught, because she's going to die and there's no possible way to escape. But it's also freeing: she can own her fear, hold onto her mother, clutch Mulder's hand, cry with the priest, finally lean into and start to heal from the weights she's been holding on her back, alone.

And she prays: death is near.

Scully Wanted to Please Bill, Too

As she told Ed Jerse in Never Again, "There are other fathers."

The ouroboros twirls on and on in her personal life, goading her to both make a stand for herself and to placate Bill's expected reactions. In this situation, she did deserve his anger; however, this dynamic continues to play out in Redux II and A Christmas Carol, separate circumstances that are outside Bill's scope of understanding or perspective. After each confrontation, her brother always backs off and begrudgingly acquiesces his sister's boundaries; but it's easy to see why he clings to his late father's behaviors-- viewing them as the only way his sister will confide in him-- and why Scully automatically responds to-- albeit with more guilt than openness-- and rejects his methods.

It's an aspect of their relationship that fell to the wayside as the series barreled onward; but there are hints of resignation on his part after the events of Emily unfolded the way they did (silent support in the courthouse and true remorse in the church.) Scully, however, is locked in grief and unwilling to open back up, yet. We're never shown on-screen what happens next; but he seems to have caused her no further problems in spite of her professional and personal scares in the future (including almost being burned alive, an unexpected trip to Antarctica, job demotion, and getting gut shot all within the span of a few months.) Perhaps he gave her up for loss, perhaps he stayed close but distant, perhaps he withdrew from the drama all together. We'll never know; and, ultimately, it's up to individual interpretation.

Conclusion

This scene sets up the hinge upon which the cancer arc (and any future Scully family drama) twists and turns.

I don't believe Bill is bad, or even malevolent: he, like any other person in a family strained with distance and death, doesn't seem to blame Scully entirely or for long; and only wishes to get through to her somehow. We saw him bully her as a child but we also saw him gift and teach her how to use a bb gun. Scully, meanwhile, balks at and softens over Bill's bluster and overstepping, always effectively putting him in his place after courteously listening to his opinion. We saw her yell and shove him as a child but we also saw her gleefully play alongside he and Charlie.

In conclusion: like all sibling relationships, there are headbutts and there are fights; but it seems, at least by their conversation here and succeeding ones in the future, that any hitch or bump in the road is smoothed over, ironed out, or fixed before it becomes permanent. Bill makes excellent points that Scully takes into consideration, changing her future dealings with Maggie and Bill and even Mulder (namely, her willingness to open up in Detour); and Bill, having said his peace, supports his sister in her decisions the rest of this arc and later in S5.

That we know about.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[jazz-fics]

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Ex Outlaw!Fem!Vampire!Reader

Plot: She was once an outlaw until he found her all those years ago. Her end came in the only way an outlaw's end could. He saved her in more ways than one.

Warning: Talk of crime, blood, vampire things

1900--Wild West

She could remember the day clearly. She was laying in an alley bleeding out. Her gang had lost in a stupid feud they couldn't walk away from. She had been their leader and they had all died in the brutal shootout that had involved both lawmen and the gang she and her gang had been up against. Gunshots are clear in her memory, the sight of her folks falling as each are hit more than once. They fought to survive. Until they couldn't fight anymore.

Until she couldn't fight anymore. She had been shot in the shoulder, in the leg, and finally in the chest. Her heart had been grazed and she was the last to survive in her gang. She had fallen and it was assumed that since she weren't moving she was dead. That was until a vampire who could smell her blood and hear her faint heartbeat came walking into the scene, trying to see if there were any lives he could save.

Carlisle had picked up on her scent first and when he saw her for the first time something had stirred inside him. He knew he had to save her even though it would take away her humanity. He just had a feeling. He couldn't explain it, it was something he had only heard about that his kind often experienced.

He never thought he would experience true love until he bit into her flesh, left his venom in her bloodstream, and took her body to his home to wait and see if he could change her. If he could save her. If that blood that streamed through her bullet wound would stop and the venom would take over.

Present Time--Forks Washington

Y/N had taken to the venom all those years ago and now here she is. She's lounging, restless as ever, in the perch of a tree outside of Carlisle's study. She got the clear view of him from her perch. She was wild going down and she is wild now as a vampire. Her human years were nothing but running and fighting. Surviving.

Here she is as an immortal vampire. She was still wild, just no longer commiting crimes and landing her face on a wanted poster all over the country. Carlisle had changed her in more ways than one. She was a new woman. She was in love. She will always be in love and his.

She looks away before remembering she had found something she wanted to show him. She didn’t know how he would take it. If he would be reminiscent because she knew he’s seen one before plenty. Or if he would worry that she was going back to that life.

She was never going to go back. He’s changed her in so many different ways. That’s what she thinks about as she collects the poster from her past.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

She comes into the study as he’s working on the computer and she sets on the table a folder. His eyes meet hers with a fond smile on his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Carlisle muses as he puts his hand on the folder to pick it up. He opens it to see her human face starring back at him. “What’s this?”

He knew what it was, but he never expected he would be seeing her face on a wanted poster again. Had it not been for the yellowing and frayed edges on the paper, he would be disappointed.

Y/N grins as she responds, “My old wanted poster. One at least. I found this on eBay. Can you believe it?!” She seems excited, to which, Carlisle can’t match.

He sighs, concerned. He’s worried. She looks at him, tilting her head in an adorable look he always fell for. He softens, his looming irritation melting.

“I’m just worried, is all, love,” he says with a small smile as he closes the folder.

“About?”

“I’m worried that this excitement of yours is going to turn into you missing that life. I’m worried you’ll go picking up a gun next and claim it looks just like your old one.” He raises his hands defensively. “Don’t get me wrong,” he adds. “I know you well. You won’t. I just can’t help but worry. You’ve come so far and…I don’t think I could recover from losing you.”

He makes her dead heart come alive. If she had been human, she’d cry and become emotional. She might have been hard as a human, but Carlisle always had a way of reaching her heart.

She shakes her head and slips into his lap. Her arms wrap around his neck, her hands clasping in the back of his neck. “None of that will happen. I’m just…it doesn’t even really feel like me. It just feels like I’m coming across a character I enjoy learning about.”

Carlisle nuzzles his nose into her neck. He’s glad that she’s chosen like this. Glad that she’s simply going down memory lane. He thinks, perhaps he can go down memory lane with her too.

He flips open the folder to look at her wanted poster. She was a beautiful human. She’s a beautiful vampire too but he can’t deny that had he met her as a human he’d be just as hooked as he is with her now. Sure, he met her when she was human, but that was when she was dying.

She had been beautiful then, too. Not that he was paying too much attention. He was too busy trying to save her life. While he looks at the poster, his fingers rub circles into her hip. It’s a blissful moment.

Y/N wouldn’t trade this for the world. She admits that she misses that part of her life, but having Carlisle?

He’s changed her in more ways than she can say.

[chvoswxtch]

Hi! I have a request for Matt Murdock

Matt is dating a Black Widow but she occasionally suffers from nightmares about her past, and doesn’t sleep for a long period of time and he sometimes stays up with her and talks to her about the Red Room.

hi nonnie! thank you so much for the request! i'm not sure if you're the same person that requested a few other matt x black widow reader prompts, but if you are, you literally live rent free in my head because it's an idea i've thought about for awhile now, so thank you & I hope this is what you were looking for!

warning: some cursing, and very brief mentions of abuse in relation to the red room. I gave this a kinda fluffy ending because everyone deserves some comfort after a nightmare. ❤️ word count: 1.5k

the red room.

Raindrops cascaded lazily down the glass after pelting the window pane, like they were a part of some fervent race none of them cared to win. Thunder cracked loudly across the sky, the sound ricocheting through the clouds like a dead tree being snapped in half in a quiet forest. If it wasn’t for the calamitous thunder accompanying the cadent storm outside, Matt wouldn’t have noticed that you weren’t in bed. 

Another round of thunder dragged him out of a deep sleep, and it was only as he turned over to seek out your body that he noticed your side of the bed had gone somewhat cold. Matt suddenly shot up, focusing his senses on trying to find you and decipher what state you were in. The living room was still and quiet as you sat perched on the window sill, but inside of you another storm was brewing. 

Your breaths were somewhat ragged as you attempted to keep them under control, eyes following the trails of raindrops to give your mind something else to focus on. Your heart thundered in your rib cage at an anxious irregular pace, and Matt could smell the cortisol raging in your bloodstream. He kept his footsteps quiet as he approached you slowly, not wanting to add to the fear and uncertainty that was radiating off of you. He kept his voice barely above a whisper as he stood a few feet away, preparing to give you space if you needed it.

“What was it tonight?”

You jumped so slightly at the intrusion of his voice, even he almost missed it. Matt’s fingers twitched at his sides as he studied you, waiting for some kind of signal that he could approach. A shaky inhale through your nose had his chest constricting along with the detachment in your voice.

“The Red Room.”

Matt closed his eyes for a moment as his fists balled up tightly at his sides. You hadn’t gone into too much detail about what you’d endured during your time in the Red Room, but based off of the snippets you were vulnerable enough to share and the way your body reacted as you divulged them, he didn’t have to use his imagination. He’d heard plenty of horror stories from other former black widows that had escaped, and if your story was anything like theirs, he understood fully why you never wanted to speak of it. 

Although he knew his own childhood and upbringing hadn’t been exactly easy, he couldn’t even fathom the degrees of abuse and manipulation you had experienced. The first night that you spent together when you’d had a nightmare, Matt was more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life. He had a brief idea of your past, but he didn’t know just how much it affected you until that night. It had taken him several hours to calm you down, and he had never felt so helpless. 

The hardest part was never knowing when the nightmares were going to hit, or what they would do to you. Some nights you woke up sobbing uncontrollably, gripping onto his body like he would vanish into thin air if you even slightly loosened your hold. Other nights you awoke with a start, silently slipping into the living room, refusing to speak to him or let him touch you. The worst nights were when you woke up screaming. Matt would have to pin you down to the mattress until you awoke fully, repeating over and over that you were safe; that you were home. He hated those nights. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

You were talking to him. This was a good sign. He approached you slowly and carefully like you were a wounded animal trapped in a corner. He placed his hand next to yours on the window sill so that you could feel his warmth and presence, leaving the option to take it completely up to you. 

“How so?”

“The memories. Sometimes they feel like…like they belong to someone else, and I just have them in my head.”

Matt stayed quiet as he waited for you to continue. He felt a slight sense of relief noting that your breathing had finally started to even out.

“I know they’re mine. I can feel the reason behind every scar. I know exactly what memory they’re tied to. Sometimes…if I close my eyes…it’s like I’m still there. Like this has all been some…twisted dream I made up, and I’m finally awake.”

“It’s not a dream.”

Matt spoke more firmly this time so you couldn’t mistake the sincerity in his voice. His chest ached when he felt the lump forming in your throat, his entire face falling as he tasted the salt from your silent tears. He gently turned your body to face him, slotting himself between your thighs, and delicately brought your hand up to place your palm against his chest over his heart.

“This is real. You being here, with me, is real. Feel my heart. I want you to try and match your rhythm with mine, like we practiced. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Your shaky fingers gripped tightly onto Matt’s bicep as you dug your blunt nails into his chest, closing your eyes to try to focus on the strong rhythm thumping against your palm. You leaned forward to rest your head on Matt’s sternum, melting further into his touch as he cradled the back of your head and held your wrist.

“There you go. That’s perfect. You’re doing so well, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

“I can still see their faces…”

Matt could feel tears building up behind his own eyelids at how small and broken your voice sounded. He let out a shaky exhale, hugging you even tighter to his chest. 

“Listen to me. That wasn’t your fault. That was not you. That is not who you are. I know that. I trust that. You can’t blame yourself for things that were out of your control.”

Guilt was an emotion Matthew Murdock knew all too well. He knew how heavy it could weigh on someone’s chest to the point where it made it difficult to breathe. He knew the agony of making a remorseful decision or an inadequate effort. He felt hypocritical telling you something that even he had a hard time believing and practicing himself. But he had always had the luxury that you never did; a choice. 

Questions of morality and faith guided his feelings of guilt, not an absence of autonomy.

“If you truly were the darkness they tried to create, you wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse. You wouldn’t have dedicated your life to helping people the second you were able to make a decision for yourself. You are a light, my love, and you bring that light to everyone you meet and help. You put the goddamn sun to shame.”

“So…if people stare at me too long, they go blind?”

“What do you think happened to me?”

A breathless laugh cut through your tears and Matt found himself letting out a deep sigh of relief, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you tipped your head back to look up at him.

“Uh…you said you had an accident as a kid?”

“I’m full of shit. I saw you smile for the first time and next thing I knew, I was blind. I just, you know, made up that story so you wouldn’t feel guilty.”

You were trying your hardest to contain your giggles as you shook your head, and Matt couldn’t help but grin victoriously. 

“Oh, okay. So you decided to make me feel guilty when I’m already feeling guilty?”

“Guilt cancels out guilt. Isn’t that how math works?”

“It’s a good thing you’re such a pretty lawyer.”

“In my defense, I only took about 2 semesters of math.”

“Mm, it shows.”

As the storm calmed into a light rain outside, Matt could feel the sky opening up in your chest. There wasn’t a lingering trace of fear in your veins, and your heart had steadied to a relaxed rhythm that matched his. Matt sent a silent prayer up to his God that he was able to bring you back easily tonight. 

He wrapped his arm around your waist as he held you protectively against his chest, cradling your face gently in one of his hands.

“Hey, everything is okay. You’re home. You’re safe. I would never let anything happen to you, you know that right?”

“I know, Matty.”

You gave his bicep a gentle squeeze, something you did to reassure him you were back in a good headspace, as you leaned into his touch for comfort. Matt lightly traced the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone, leaning in to press your foreheads together.

“No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

A tiny proud smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you chased Matt’s lips for a soft kiss, whispering against his mouth.

“Not unless they wanna meet the Devil.”

A crooked smirk lifted at the corner of Matt’s lips as he bumped his nose against yours. 

“Not even God could help them if they did.”