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quietstormxr · 1 month ago

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Found You Again

You'll Survive - Part 2

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Angst/Violence/PTSD

Minor Iron Flame spoilers

Summary: After Garrick finds you still alive, you both have to deal with the consequences of torture, the coming war, and your relationship.

Word Count: <10k

A/N: Get a beverage and get comfy, this is going to be a long one. Got a little carried away with this one, so it's going to be three parts. I have a few more scenes I want to add and didn't want to cram them all here! Hope y'all don't mind.

All it takes is a moment and you are shooting up from the bed that you had apparently been laying in. A scream still tearing from your throat as you scan your surroundings frantically. There are beads of sweat pouring from your temples and you can feel your heart beating a rapid staccato that you can’t seem to control.

As you continue to heave breaths in and out you wildly search from left to right for any threats, the lingering phantom of hands holding you down ghosting across your skin.

Your eyes finally snag on another pair staring at you with agonizing sorrow. You can’t help the way you scramble back out of the bed and as far away from the figure as you can. Your brain tries to remind you this figure won’t hurt you, but you can’t seem to connect the thoughts with the remnants of your dream that felt more like reality.

Your back finally hits cold stone and that makes you turn and jump again; memories of your head being smashed into the same type of stone only days ago vivid in your mind.

As the present slowly comes into focus and your dream fades away, your heartbeat slowing to a more reasonable rhythm, you finally begin to process the room in front of you.

There’s no longer the smell of rotten earth and the metallic iron of dried blood, the floors are clean and there’s a large window showing the beginning cracks of sunlight rising from the horizon. You try to continue taking deep breaths as your gaze finally sweeps back to the pair of eyes that had you scrambling back before.

You meet the hazel gaze that shines with unshed tears and a sorrowful look on his face that you had never seen before. No one could miss the way that he is holding himself to the chair that he has been sitting in, obviously an effort not to move or scare you. You can hear the wood of the chair creaking under the pressure and his knuckles turning his pale skin even whiter.

You both stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, neither one of you speaking seeming to not want to break the spell that you’re both in.

You slowly begin to straighten yourself from the shrunken in shape you had taken when waking from your nightmare. As you do, you notice that you are no longer in your torn and shredded flight leathers you were tortured in. Now, you are in oversized training clothes that you know must be Garrick’s. Your hand moves to your hair and the strands slide through your fingers. Someone must have bathed and changed you after you were mended.

You continue to look around the room you are in and take in the way that it looks lived in and has notes of Garrick all around. There’s a tapestry over the large inner wall that has a desk in front of it and a weapons rack right next to it. You can’t help the way you notice the number of swords that are littered on the other wall making rainbow of glittering sharp weapons.

Out the corner of your eye, you can see Garrick’s form slowly move from grasping the chair with a death grip to relaxing his hands in his lap. You swallow, noting the scratch of your throat as you do. The memory of the scream you awoke to striking in your mind. You bring your hand up to your throat and tap, hoping that he will understand the gesture and get you some water.

Garrick gives you a short nod before he moves to the small table that is beside the bed. You watch as he pours a glass of water before turning back to you and slowly making his way to where you stand. Neither one of you deigns to speak as if either of you do the spell will be broken.

As he hands you the glass, you give him a curt nod before taking a few steps out of his reach. His eyes continue to look pained, and his arm falls back to his side as if in defeat.

You slowly take sips of the water trying to relish in the way the liquid quells the scratch of your throat. It doesn’t escape your notice that something that was so trivial now seems to be such a luxury. The use of your hands, a mended body, the ability to move away from someone whether a threat or not. You hold onto the glass with both hands as you continue to drink the water while walking back to the bed. You sit on the side and let your body drop back in relief of not being restrained.

Emotions hit you hard suddenly and you look at your hands noticing the way they’ve begun to tremble. You let yourself slide from the bed onto the floor carefully placing the glass at your side. As you finally make contact with the ground, you clasp your hands together trying to steady them. Leaning your head against the mattress, you can’t control the gasp that leaves your mouth as your throat constricts and tears begin to stream down your face. You continue to take gasping breaths as the tears fall and your head stays firmly planted against the mattress.

As the fog of emotion slowly begins to clear, you hear carefully measured footsteps come towards you. Turning your head slightly, you watch as Garrick comes towards you slowly. He crouches down not far from where you’ve melted into the floor, and you notice the tear streaks that mar his pale cheeks. Your gazes collide and there’s nothing but raw, charged emotion hanging in the air. If the last week had never happened, you would be laughing at the way the mountain of muscle before you had become so tentative. Gone was the bravado and over-confident air that seemed to follow him around.

“C-Ca-Can I touch you?” He questions stammering, his tone quiet and reserved.

Your mind is suddenly a cacophony of thoughts. The anger that you’d been clinging onto burning bright, the fear of anyone touching you in any way, and the undeniable want to be held close and safe by the man in front of you waging a war on every front.

“P – Please don’t.” You whisper as the fear and then anger win out over the softer emotions roiling within you.

You know that the fear you’re feeling must have leeched into your voice, because it’s almost as if you can see the heart of the man in front of you breaking as the words leave your mouth.

“What can I do?” He mumbles as he seems to waver on how exactly to move forward.

You look at him with a mix of sadness, resolve, and anger in your features before replying. “Nothing.”

The fear and helplessness you were feeling moments ago morphing into the relentless anger that you had harbored for the man sitting next to you. It’s with that spark of fire that ignites in your body that you find yourself getting up from the floor and marching towards the door.

“Wait!” Garrick calls from behind you as you go to open the door. You’re immediately met with a barrage of sounds that cause you to shrink back. Your eyes wide with pure fear, darting back and forth among the cadets that seem to be milling about wherever you are.

You immediately close the door again, your breaths coming in ragged pants as you plaster yourself to the back of the door. Terrified eyes look back up at Garrick before the questions start rapid firing in your mind.

“Wh-where are we?” The question coming out with pure confusion laced in your words. You knew you couldn’t be at Basgiath, but all those people couldn’t possibly be lieutenants.

“You’re at Riorson House in Aretia.” He says in a calm tone.

“Who are all those people?” Your brows furrow trying to make sense of everything that’s happening all at once.

“They are all the cadets that defected when Riorson and I came for Violet.” As he continues to explain, you watch as he slowly moved forward. His hands are fisted at his sides and look as if they are trying to hold him in place.

“When I finally found you again.” He continues as if the thought of getting to Basgiath for anyone but you wasn’t worth his time to dwell on. His hand starts to reach out for you of its own accord, but he finally realizes, and it falls back to his side.

As the facts start taking shape in your mind, you can’t help the confusion that seems to blanket you as well.

“Defected? Are you telling me that you took me, injured, from the little protections that Navarre does offer?” You incredulously look back at him, your eyes boring into his soul.

Garrick seems taken aback by your phrasing of the question and rage flashes in his eyes. “What protections?” His voice starts to raise slightly as the anger builds.

“Do you really think torturing you within an inch of your life is much protection? Of course, I fucking took you! I wasn’t leaving you with those sadistic fuckers.” He hisses, the switch to anger turning palpable as you see memories haunt his face.

He stops just a few steps from you and brings his face down to be level with yours. “And I would fucking do it again if it means knowing you are safe. I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not.”

Your face contorts into a sneer as the anger you felt before being taken roars back to life. But you aren’t complaining because at least the anger can drown out the fear. With that knowledge, you turn again back to the door and fling it open while Garrick tries to grab your arm, the fear you had shown him forgotten as he tries to catch up with you.

You have no idea where you are going, you are just moving down the hallway trying to get away from the man that is yelling your name. You slink through the cadets that are milling about as fast as you can, using your smaller agile frame against Garrick’s herculean form. You descend the stairs and find a door open to the left and swiftly enter trying to escape.

Unfortunately, it seems Zinhal has other plans for you today. As you suddenly come to a halt you look around and see that you’re obviously now in a training room that regrettably contains Bodhi, Xaden, and Imogen. The three of them turn to you with slight shock on their faces before you can hear Garrick’s voice burst into the room.

“Y/N.” He breathes in an exasperated breath before looking at the other three gathered as well. His eyes seeming to zero in on Bodhi.

You watch as Garrick stomps over to Bodhi with deadly intent. His uncertainty on how to handle the situation with you crumbling all the restraint left to his anger, fear, rage, and powerlessness to fix the torture you had to endure.

“You.” He growls menacingly while staring at him with a murderous gleam.

“You knew she was fucking alive and didn’t think to tell me!” He roars. “I never thought my ‘brother’ would keep something like that from me.”

Bodhi’s face falls completely and that’s when you know that you must step in. You may not be overly friendly with Bodhi, but he doesn’t deserve to be treated badly because of the spot you put him in. You walk in between the two right before Garrick goes to grab Bodhi’s collar. You push Garrick’s hand aside and look up at him with a fire dancing in your own eyes.

“I made that decision for him.” You utter coldly.

Garrick finally removes his gaze from Bodhi and looks down at you, the anger in his eyes softening in some of its sharpness.

“Bodhi told me to write you the minute he saw me land at Basgiath, but I tied his hands.” You explain with no hint of remorse. “You left me behind, all while your little pink girlfriend smirked at me in smug satisfaction. You showed your cards to me, remember?”

Garrick’s anger seems to evaporate, and his entire expression turns into regret, but this time you aren’t swayed.

“Then I went to Eltuval and found myself alone on patrol and learning that venin and wyvern were real. Alone. Something I believe you know a little about.” You add sarcastically as you gesture to the expanse of Riorson House.

Your anger at the whole situation and what you had to face alone comes rushing back. A derisive laugh bubbling up at the predicament you find yourself in.

“You left me behind, told me I would survive without you, then I was left alone on watch and became the number one target for a massive wyvern doing its own patrol of Navarre’s borders.” You revealed while the anger and level of your voice began to rise.

The expression on Garrick’s face is laughable to say the least. You watch as his regret turns to disbelief back to anger and finally lands back on regret.

“That – That’s impossible.” A female voice stammers from behind you.

You huff a humorless laugh and turn towards the voice. You narrow your eyes in a glare at the girl staring back at you in disbelief.

“Tell that to the scars on my back from the wyverns razored feathers.” You say as you stalk towards Violet with an ominous look in your eyes.

“Did you think that your little group was the only one who found themselves the victim of the cadre’s wrath? Did you think they were only after your precious Wingleader?” You spit the derision in your tone obvious as you gesture towards the brooding shadow wielder.

“You are more naïve than I thought if you believe that Colonel Aetos was only going to go after the marked ones alone.” You asserted as you walked into Violet’s space, looking down at the girl who was a few inches shorter than you.

You couldn’t help the mocking laugh that slipped past your lips when you noticed Xaden step up to her back as if you intended on hurting the girl in front of you.

“Don’t worry, Riorson. I have absolutely no intention of hurting your dear girl. I just want her to realize that you weren’t the only ones that the cadre had an issue with.” You sneered with boredom lacing your tone.

“Now if your little family gathering will excuse me.” You gesture towards all the ones gathered there making a circling motion with your hand. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

You take three steps away before you feel a large, calloused hand wrap around your upper arm. You can’t help the way you flinch and your eyes flash at the touch.

“You can’t go out there by yourself. It’s dangerous and anything could happen to you.” Garrick explains sounding like he’s trying to reason with you. You forcefully pull your arm from his grip before turning around.

“No, see here’s where you’re wrong.” You purr with conviction while thrusting your finger into his chest forcefully. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I die,” you shrug your shoulders conveying your nonchalance “then so be it. At least I won’t be haunted by the nightmares any longer.”

“I will not let you put yourself in unnecessary danger.” Garrick barked blocking you from your path.

You take your time looking back directly into those hazel eyes. “You, my dear Garrick, lost your fucking privilege of caring about what I do about five months ago. Why don’t you go rut with one of the other mares in your stable and leave me the fuck alone.”

As you swiftly turn your body and continue your walk, there was no way to avoid hearing the shocked gasps at the words you said. Even though you knew you still loved Garrick, your heart was walled off to him after he became just another one of the men who continued to disappoint you.

Right before you closed the door, you couldn’t help overhearing Garrick’s loud curse and a roaring bang that you surmised must have been a punch to the nearest punching bag or possibly a wall. A small, satisfied smirk crawled across your face when you realized that you could successfully still get under Garrick’s skin.

As soon as you were outside the heavy wooden doors of the fortress, you looked down and noticed the shifting of shadows.

“Leave me the fuck alone Riorson.” You spit while stepping over them.

As you kept walking, you found yourself entering the small, reconstructed town of Aretia. You had heard stories of the burning and due to your interest in geography and history had more knowledge than your average cadet. However, you had no idea where you were going; you just knew that you needed to get away.

You continued along the path, but still noticed the wisp of a shadow that followed you. Clearly Xaden wasn’t going to let you be alone, so you knew what you would have to do to throw off your wisping tail. Without much thought, you walked into the nearest shop that was bustling with townspeople trying to do their daily shopping.

The minute you stepped in, you changed your entire appearance with the aid of Diomat’s power. You made your hair shorter and darker, your eyes a shade of sapphires you hadn’t seen anyone else have and reduced the look of your height. As soon as your looks were fully disguised, you walked back out of the shop. Taking a deep breath when you were finally away from the crowd, and you stepped into the shade of the nearest tree. Looking around for your unfortunate addition, you were happy to find that you must’ve slipped the shadows notice.

When you confirmed there was no longer a wisp following you, you proceeded to continue your walk into town.

You couldn’t help the smile that immediately lit up your face as you watched children playing and mother’s going about their days. Something about seeing this domesticity made your resolve about fighting in the coming war harden. You knew there was no way that you would let these people suffer if you didn’t have to. Especially after experiencing what torture could be doled out from your own cadre, let alone an enemy.

After walking a while, you found a small café and ordered a hot chocolate while sitting at one of the small tables. You sat there watching the calm lives of the civilians outside and continued to smile in your revelry of the small things. You were so engrossed in your own daydream that you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Looking up in a swift turn, you are surprised to find a pair of liquid silver eyes staring back at you. You couldn’t help the way you appraised the stranger. You had never seen a man with such mesmerizing eyes. You continued to stare at the man in front of you, now noticing his raven hair and warm honey skin.

“Can I help you?” You asked as you continued appraising the stranger in front of you.

“I’m sorry to bother you. But I had to ask as I was unsure if I was hallucinating. Did you change your appearance in that shop across the road?” He queried you while giving a slight tilt to his head indicating the shop you had left.

You turned a little sheepish not really knowing how much you should reveal to the man in front of you.

“I don’t mean to catch you off guard.” He continues with a placating tone. “I’m a guard at Riorson House and by the clothing, I assumed you were a rider, and obviously noticed you before the hair and eye color change.”

You shake your head in acknowledgement before giving him a reply.

“Yes, I did. I was just trying to shake a little shadow and have some time to myself.”

He nods in acceptance obviously realizing what exactly you are insinuating.

“Ah, yes. The real question is why Lieutenant Riorson is needing to follow you around.” He added pure curiosity in his face.

“If you’re asking if I’m a threat, I can assure you I’m not. After days of torture, I’m not sure how much of a menace I could be right about now.” You muse not afraid to share your misfortunes.

“So, are you the Sorrengail or Lieutenant Tavis’ interest?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the remote possibility you could be Violet Sorrengail.

“I’m not naïve enough to be Sorrengail. Besides, do you really think Riorson would let her out of his sight?” You criticized seeing that you can’t imagine how someone who was hailed at being so smart couldn’t imagine that the cadre of Navarre wouldn’t just take out anyone they saw as a threat in any way.

“So, you’re the one that Tavis thought was dead.” He surmises.

Your eyes widen slightly and then narrow in suspicion.

“And exactly how do you know that?”

He gives a small smile before continuing. “I promise I mean you no harm and I don’t report back to Riorson or Tavis if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“If that’s the case. How exactly do you know all of this? I can’t imagine that the love lives of mere lieutenants are the subject of gossip.” You can’t help but question this man that has seemingly popped up out of nowhere.

He nods in understanding and gestures asking to sit at the table that I’ve taken residence at. You offer the seat, and he immediately sits down across from you.

“You’re right in one instance. People aren’t normally interested in the love lives of the Lieutenants. However, I’m guessing you are aware of why people would be concerned with Riorson’s life.” You give a slight shift of your head confirming your understanding.

“Being that Riorson is the most important person to the Tyrrish people, it does not escape them that Tavis is his right hand. Therefore, both of their lives are heavily scrutinized from the Assembly, hence my knowledge on the subject.”

He goes on to continue to regale you with stories of both men, including Bodhi in the bunch. He takes time to explain how the Assembly learned of your existence since you were apparently a wrench in their plans. No one expected Garrick to be entangled with anything more than physical, let alone a first year.

You also learn that this man’s name is Fabien, and he has been a guard at Riorson House since about two years after the Apostasy. His family owns the café that you are currently sitting in, but they had previously been servants at Riorson House as well.

Oddly enough, you begin to let your guard down and find yourself being drawn into the grey eyes and warm personality of the man in front of you. It has been a while since you had met someone so open and willingly trusting.

You could only think that a person like Fabien would be torn down immediately at Basgiath. The sad reality that the thought even crossed your mind crashing into you.

Soon enough, the light of the sun began waning into the horizon beyond the cliffs. You looked out at the setting sun and something in the shift of your facial features must’ve given away your decision to get back to Riorson House.

“I know it’s getting late, and I imagine that you need to get back. Would you mind if I escort you back to the fortress?” Fabien asks as you both rise from the table.

“I’d hate to be a bother, especially if you weren’t planning on going back today.” You say giving him an easy out from his ask. Although you were hoping he would still want to as you were slightly unsure of how to get back to the fortress.

“I insist. I’m more than confident you can handle yourself, but I will feel better if you’d allow me to escort you.” He declares.

��I expect you to accept his offer, Bold One.’ Diomat slithers into your mind, reminding you that she’s watching out for you as well.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ You sass back, smiling at the exasperated huff you hear down your bond.

You nod your head in agreement and push in the chair that you had been relaxing in all day. As soon as you step into the night air you can’t help the shiver that crawls up your spine, the oversized training clothes not doing much to shield from the chill of the October air. Fabien must see your discomfort because not even ten steps later, he has thrown his cloak over you and closed the middle clasp. You give him a small thankful smile before you both continue your saunter back towards the doors of the fortress.

As you walk with him, you find yourself continuing to fall into conversation and chat about anything and everything. He takes great care to point things out around the town and let you know little stories from both his childhood and the ‘three musketeers’ that ran terror around the town growing up. In return, you tell him stories of your childhood growing up on the coastline and the scuffles you got yourself into with your siblings.

As you both get to the gates of Riorson House, you can’t hold in the boisterous laugh that tears from you at a particularly funny story involving three small children and a two-tiered chocolate cake. As you round the corner, you see a tall, muscled figure pacing back and forth in front of the wooden doors. The minute the sound of your laugh touches his ears, you watch as he turns to look directly at you.

Garrick’s eyes twinkle at the sound of your laugh before his gaze follows to the person that is standing next to you. His eyes immediately harden at the man standing next to you. You watch as he strides towards you with clear purpose.

Without giving him too much attention, you turn to Fabien and go to unclasp his cloak. However, before you can undo the clasp, Fabien touches your hand stopping you.

“Please keep it.” He says while looking out the corner of his eye, obviously watching the mountain of muscle that is marching straight towards you.

“You don’t have to do that.” You go to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I know I don’t have to, but I’d like if you would.” He states. “I’d also like to see you again sometime, whenever you aren’t too busy.”

You go to respond to him, but you are cut off by a gruff voice replying before you. “She’s too busy all the time.”

You turn a glare at the man that has decided he needed to put himself between the two of you. You step around Garrick and give him a glare that he doesn’t acknowledge.

“We’ll see each other again.” You say looking at the man who has treated you as more than a beautiful annoyance all afternoon. “I’ll make sure to stop by when I get some free time. In the meanwhile, thank you so much for the wonderful afternoon, stories, and the cloak.”

Fabien gives you a slight bow and nod with his smile before he turns on his heels and you watch as he walks outside the fortress walls. You spin on your heels and head towards the doors. As you go to open the door, a large hand covers yours and turns your body to face them.

You look up at Garrick with a face of exasperation your eyes turning tired.

“How did you slip past Xaden’s shadows?” He questions.

“That’s none of your business, Lieutenant.” You snap at him.

“Why won’t you just talk to me? I’ve been sitting next to that bed for three days waiting for you to wake up. Praying to any gods who would listen to make sure you’d be alright.” He explains while running a hand through his hair.

“Will you ever give me another chance?” He says quietly.

“What chance do I need to give?” You snarl back harshly. “You made your decision and told me that I would survive without you, didn’t you? So here I am, surviving without you.”

You watch as he rakes his hand through his hair again and blows out a growl of utter frustration.

“Yes, I said that, and I was a fucking idiot.” He starts as he moves closer to you. “You don’t know how much I regretted those words the moment you mounted Diomat and left me behind. Hell, the moment they left my mouth.”

His hand rises to your face and cups the side of your jaw, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over your cheek.

“Then I flew back to Basgiath after Resson and the only bright light I could think of was your face.” A faraway look clouds his eyes as the memory fizzles inside his mind.

“When everyone was trying to play their part to make sure no one knew the truth, I kept searching formation for you. I looked up and down every row, every face looking for your eyes.” He recounts. “I was standing there trying to breathe and keep my composure so that we could sell our story. But the only thing I wanted to do was run down to your squad and ask every single person where you were.”

You take a deep breath as you stare into the worried hazel eyes that seem to dart all around your face as if cataloging every detail.

“What do you want from me Garrick?” You ask tiredly not knowing whether you’re willing to give the man in front of you anything anymore.

“You.” He says breathlessly while bringing his forehead to rest on yours. “I fucking want you.”

You can feel how tense his body is from holding himself back from rushing to crush your body to his. Every muscle in his arms seem to sing with want to move and not let go, but you aren’t convinced.

You push yourself back from him and take his hand from your face. You bring it down and let it fall limp next to his body.

“You of all people knew how many men in my life have let me down.” You reply, drawing your gaze down with the tears that are beginning to fill your eyes. You lift them back to Garrick and let him see your eyes shine with held back emotion.

“I was expecting better from you. I was expecting to be your priority, but I wasn’t. Not to mention you were keeping secrets. I feel like I don’t even know you.” You tell him as a single tear slips down the side of your face.

Garrick’s face becomes a whirlpool of emotion as your words crash around him. He knew all the ways men in your life had failed you, yet he let himself do the same.

“I was tortured because of your secrets that you didn’t see fit to tell me.” You can’t help the small shake of your head in disbelief and the haunted look of your eyes. “You knew that I would keep any secret and take it to my grave before putting anyone in danger, especially you. However, you chose to take my agency. You chose what you thought was best, with I’m sure some assistance from your friendly shadow. But, at the end of the day, you made your decisions.”

You begin to walk towards the heavy doors again before turning back towards the man that held your entire heart.

“Now it’s time for me to make my own decisions. It will be on my terms if anything else happens between us.”

As you enter the fortress, the realization that you have nowhere to go dawns on you after remembering it was Garrick’s room you woke up in. As if in answer to your question, Xaden steps out of one of doorways in the hallway in front of you. With purpose written on your features, you walk up to your previous Wingleader.

“I need a room to stay in.” You say unceremoniously to the man standing in front of you.

He looks at you with a hint of confusion on his face, before nodding his head and walking further into the fortress. You follow him and hope that you’ll be able to keep the talking to a minimum.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to stay where you are?” He asks while continuing to walk forward, though he does turn to glance back at you. “The rooms in the family wing are significantly larger than those in the barracks.”

“I’m sure.” You can’t help the terse way you respond.

Suddenly he turns and faces you. The quick way he moves and turns towards you has you retreating and running into the wall. You can feel the way that your face has twisted in fear at his movements and watch as the brooding man before you softens uncharacteristically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He softly says while taking a few steps back. “We’ll get you assigned a room, but you should know that Garrick isn’t going to like being separated from you after everything.”

Your eyes roll at the statement and Xaden looks at you with a sad understanding.

“Trust me when I say that both of us have said and done things in the past year that we deeply regret.” He starts in a rare moment of vulnerability from the hard man he usually is. “I’m not going to try and convince you to be with Garrick, but I do want you to know that it wasn’t Garrick’s call to leave you for War Games. It was mine.”

“I know that.” You argue. “It wasn’t the not being taken, it was the way he handled it and the words he said.”

You huff a cynical laugh before continuing. “I’m sure even Violet would admit that every girl wants the man that she’s with to show a little fight when it comes to her.”

It was then that Xaden blew out a huff of his own. “You may think that he didn’t fight for you. But you didn’t see him after he saw you in that chamber. When Aetos caught you after you fainted,” He stops shaking his head while recollecting the memory. “I’ve never seen Garrick move so fast to get to you and wrap you in his arms. When flying back here, he wouldn’t even let anyone else touch you.”

“Not to mention, you need to realize that sometimes a man makes a decision purely on the thought of keeping the woman he loves safe.” He catches me before I can open my mouth to argue back. “Whether or not she may like what that decision is. Sometimes he may prefer her to hate him if that means she’s safe.”

You look into the eyes of the man in front of you and his face is nothing but open and serious. You give him a curt nod noting your understanding before he turns back around, and you both continue down the hallway.

Good to his word, Xaden finds you a room and even though you expected to be in the barracks, your room ends up being on the floor underneath the family rooms. You thank him for helping you and close the door to your room.

You heave out a large breath before unceremoniously dropping yourself onto the bed. You turn and let your eyes drift to the ceiling of the room trying to quiet your churning mind.

______

Due to the amount of mending that you had to have after Varrish’s particularly brutal forms of torture, you were given some time off before having to join in with the rest of the cadets. However, after learning of your fate in Eltuval, you were summoned to the Assembly to explain exactly what you saw.

As you walked into the large room, you couldn’t help but notice the long table that ran the length of the room with several members lining each side. However, the thing that really took your attention was the large chair sitting slightly higher than all the rest and not just the chair, but the man lounging in it.

There was Xaden sitting in the half-burned chair, legs stretched out in front of him with a bored look on his face. And if there was any question left in your mind about where Garrick fell, it was answered today. There he was stood behind the chair with his twin swords strapped to his back, arms folded across his chest looking as if he was assessing each and every person and the threat they may pose.

A General guarding his King.

Garrick’s eyes met yours and you watched as his stance softened ever so slightly, the same way it always would at Basgiath. A sad smile sprawled across your lips as you shook your head slightly at the memory.

“Cadet L/N.” You looked up as a man with auburn curls called your name and motioned you to take a seat at the middle of the table. “We appreciate you talking to us about your experience in Eltuval. Feel free to begin whenever you’d like.”

You make your way to the seat and tentatively sit down. You heart begins to flutter in your chest and nerves begin to make you stomach tighten. You place your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking and take a deep breath to try and steady yourself.

“I’m not sure how much information that I have to share that will enlighten you more than what you already know.” You start, suddenly feeling very self-conscious with all of these older riders.

“I was given orders to patrol a specific area within the borders of our position at Eltuval. Diomat and I proceeded to the area and began our patrol as normal. About a half an hour into the watch, there was a large roar from the northwestern part of our patrol.” You take another fortifying breath before the assembly seems to fade and your eyes become your memories.

“As I looked towards the sound, blue flames erupted from the mouth of the beast. I consulted with my dragon, as I wasn’t sure what exactly I was looking at. Diomat confirmed that it was a wyvern and confirmed that I could kill it with a blade that Lieutenant Tavis had previously gifted me.” As you finish your sentence, your eyes involuntarily flick to the man in question.

“Diomat then flew towards the wyvern as it headed straight for us in return. As we made our way there, I utilized my signet to be able to get down on the wyverns back. Once there, I slammed the blade in and was able to slash through half of its neck while it flailed.”

“Regrettably, I was thrown into its razored mane before I was flung into the air. Luckily, Diomat was able to catch me, and we returned to the outpost. From there, my wounds were tended to, and I told the cadre that I was hurt from falling from Diomat’s back.” As you finish, you look around the room at the eyes staring back at you. A mix of disbelief and astonishment fixed on all their faces, all but one. Garrick is looking as if he might be sick from the recounting of your tale.

“Are you saying that you jumped on the back of a wyvern and killed it with your own hands?!?” A man with a hawkish nose barks out incredulously.

Your head immediately whips to him and your eyes narrow. “Why the hell would I lie?” You challenge the man.

“Why should we believe this tale? The whole thing sounds of fairytales.” A woman with an axe strapped to her back argues back.

“I thought venin and wyvern were fairytales, yet here we are in an Assembly room that is trying to figure out best way to beat them.” You fume as you gesture to the people sitting around the table while standing up from your seat.

“And even though I shouldn’t have to fucking qualify my story for you to believe me, how about I fucking show you.” The anger at their accusations has turned your body into a raging wildfire.

With that fire burning in your veins, you turn around and lift the back of your shirt. There’s no way to ignore the gasps of horror that leave the mouths of the people in the room. You know what they’re seeing, large scars that bisect through the part of the relic that Diomat placed on your back.

“So yes, I jumped on the back of a damn wyvern and killed it. And no, it wasn’t a fucking fairytale.” After you finish speaking you bust out of the room, the fire in your veins still burning brightly.

You know from experience there are only two ways to burn the fire licking at you. You decide that its been too long since you’ve seen Diomat and find yourself immediately making a beeline for the large front doors. Just before you are about to grab one of the handles and swing the door open, a large hand wraps around your arm.

You are immediately tugged around and enveloped in large arms. Your anger is still burning hot on the surface so thankfully the fear of being restrained hasn’t bubbled up.

“Gods.” Garrick breathes as he holds you tightly. “It’s so much worse than I thought it was.”

“What did you think I was making it up too?” You huff out cynically. He moves one of the hands from the hug and pulls back slightly to grab your chin in his hand.

“Of course, I didn’t. I was just hoping it wasn’t as bad as I thought. But apparently, it was worse.” He answers his eyes serious with a hint of sadness. The next thing you know he’s huffing out a small laugh. “I don’t know whether I want to be angry with you for risking your life so recklessly or just be in wonder at how astonishing you are.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You can be both, but I need to get out of here.” With that you turn from the man and make your way outside of the fortress.

You’re thankful that Diomat shares your mind, because without you even having to ask, she touches down in the large courtyard upsetting the guards and garden below. Without caring, you mount your dragon and immediately take to the skies.

After a few hours, your lack of flight leathers begins to wear on you as you become colder and colder.

‘Diomat, how close to town can you get me?’ You ask your dragon hoping that you can finish of this tiring day with a warm cup of hot chocolate.

‘I can take you to the edge of the woods. Due to the civilians, they ask the dragons not to get too close and scare them. If you walk the path, then you should be at the town in about ten minutes from what Chradh says.’ She confirms down your bond.

You look down giving the back of your dragon’s neck a raised eyebrow as you hear her mention Chradh.

‘Why are you speaking with Chradh all of a sudden?’ Your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

You hear a huff of amusement in your mind before she replies. ‘I suppose because his rider keeps pestering him about my whereabouts, and therefore yours as well.’

You can’t help the snarking laugh that you let out while Diomat begins to descend into the woods. ‘Well how about you just let him know you’re going back to the valley and leave me out of this one.’

As you begin walking away, Diomat huffs a blast of steam at you before nudging you with her maw. You glance back at her and give a wide smile.

As you begin your walk into town, the anger seems to bleed out of you again as you enjoy the day-to-day activities of the people around you. Soon enough, you find yourself outside of the café again and a smile breaks across your face as you see Fabien wave you in from the window.

“Come in.” He says as he steps out from behind the counter. “I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon.”

“I didn’t anticipate a visit today, but I’m in need of a warm beverage.” You admit. “Preferably, one of those delicious hot chocolates.” You say sheepishly.

A genuine smile breaks across Fabien’s face. “Of course, that’s no problem at all.”

You watch as Fabien disappears behind the counter to make your hot chocolate. Settling into the chair, you let your head fall to stretch your neck muscles from the flight and take a deep breath. Suddenly you feel someone tapping on your shoulder and you go to move your head expecting to see Fabien looking back at you.

Looking up, you are met with a pair of light green eyes. The snarl that formed on your lips was purely instinctive. Why couldn’t this little group just leave you alone when you wanted to be alone?

“Why can’t you all just go the fuck away?” You sighed exaggeratedly.

“Because you are going to stay seated and listen whether you like it or not.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the commanding tone that Imogen takes.

“Well, I don’t like it. So how about I don’t listen.” You were in no mood to listen to anything the girl in front of you had to say.

“Look, I’m not here for you. I’m here because I love Garrick.” You can’t help the way your eyes widen and look back at Imogen when she finishes her statement.

“Oh-kay.” You say unsure on how to proceed. “We aren’t together, so I’m unsure as to why you need to talk to me about him. If you want to tell him you love him, shouldn’t you be saying that to him.”

Imogen rolls her eyes at you while beginning to sit in the seat across from yours.

“The bastard is more than aware of my feelings.” She replies tersely. “But that doesn’t matter when he only has eyes for you.”

“I know that Xaden has already talked to you.” She goes on to explain and you quirk your eyebrow at the girl in front of you. “Don’t look so surprised, we all talk. Besides, its time to get off your high dragon and forgive the man.”

“Excuse me.” You say incredulously. You honestly can’t believe Imogen would have the gall to say that considering she wants to be with Garrick.

“Look, I get it. He was an asshole. Welcome to Garrick and his best friend Xaden for that matter. If you wanted the sweet one, you should’ve gone for Bodhi.” She continues. “I know Xaden told you that Garrick was doing what he thought was best, but it wasn’t only that.”

“He was doing what he wished he could’ve done for his own family. His mother. He’s always pushed women away because of losing his mom, but you somehow broke through that barrier. You’re the only girl I’ve ever seen him care about as more than just a friend or good fuck.”

“I’m not saying you should give him a free pass.” Imogen admits. “But I am telling you to let him in. Let him grovel and work for you. He needs that, needs you, just like Riorson needs Violet.”

You let your gaze bore into Imogen’s and see the hard set of her face and eyes, even though she can’t hide the flash of pain. In that moment, you can’t help but hate the whole situation that seems to have formed between the three of you.

“Imogen, I’ll give what you’ve said some thought.” You say seriously. “But I want you to know I am sorry. I never meant to show up and take anything from you, regardless of if you believe me or not.”

Pale green eyes look straight at you and a sad smile crosses her face fast before it falls, and she moves to get up.

“Don’t throw away a chance at happiness over some heated words.” She urges before sharply turning and walking out of the doors.

As she walks off, Fabien shows up with your hot chocolate and a small smile. You thank him and take a sip relishing the way the warmth of the drink seems to flow through your body.

As you finish your drink and bid Fabien good night, you begin your walk back to the fortress and let Imogen’s words ruminate. Between her and Xaden, you could feel the anger in your heart for Garrick lessening day by day.

As soon as you arrive back at the fortress, you look up to see the man with the auburn curls from the assembly looking back at you.

“Ah, just who I wanted to see.” He says and you look around checking to see if anyone else is there.

“Yes, Cadet L/N. I’m speaking to you. I just have a few more questions to ask.” He explains as he beckons you back into the same room you were in earlier.

You look around and notice that now you are the only two in the room that was previously filled. He turns back around to look at you and motions to a chair.

You sit as he begins to speak. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. I know we didn’t get to introductions earlier.”

“No, he’s my brother, Brennan Sorrengail.” A female voice breaks in from the doorway. You watch as the man in front of you rolls his eyes as Violet moves into the room as well.

“Either way, I wanted to ask you about your signet.” Brennan continues. “You said that you used it to drop onto the wyvern but didn’t explain what exactly it was.”

You look around at both people in the room and can’t help the uncertainty you feel at revealing your secret, even Carr wasn’t privy to all that your signet could do.

“I can change my appearance.” You begin to explain. Both of the faces in front of you widen in shock as you begin to detail the fact that you can change your entire body and clothing to replicate anyone.

“With encouragement from Diomat, I – uh – I shifted to look like a venin I remembered from a book that was read to me growing up.” You say tentatively.

“Tha -That’s incredible.” Brennan speaks up after the shock begins to wear off. “And the wyvern didn’t think anything of you being on top of it while shifted to look like a venin?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think so, but I wasn’t there long before I sliced the blade into it.”

As you look back at the man in front of you, you can’t help as you watch the gears in his head turn through his eyes.

“Could you show us?” He asks curiously.

“I can.” You reply in turn. “But – “

“But, what?”

“You have to remember that it’s me and not an acutal venin.” You croak worried that you’re about to be seen as a threat.

“Understood.” He confirms as Violet goes to stand next to him.

After taking a long deep breath, you reach for Diomat’s power and let it flow through your body. You let your mind drift to the illustration in the book and feel as your fingers tingle. When you look back up, you see two sets of eyes as wide as saucers and know what it must look like to the people standing in front of you.

Before anyone has time to speak, the door to the Assembly room opens and you can sense two people have entered.

“Violence, I –“ The voice stops and suddenly you feel yourself being hoisted up by your throat, your hands reflexively going up to try and grab at the obstruction. However, when you try, there’s nothing to grab onto and you’re left kicking and flailing your arms. As the fear of being held begins to grip you, the hold on your power leaves and you’ve changed back into yourself.

“Xaden! Stop!” You hear Violet shout a second before you are dropped to the floor. You try to take a breath, but the fear has you in a cloud you can’t escape. You hear footsteps rushing towards you as you continue to take gasping breaths, your hands wrapping gently around your neck.

“Y/N. Love, are you alright?” You shrink back as inescapable fear comes barreling in and your eyes blow wide. You look back into hazel eyes, seeing pure concern laced there.

After what feels like hours, your heartrate finally slows again, and you can take full breaths. Looking up, the room around you feels frozen in time. Looks of horror and sorrow gracing each person’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Xaden breathes quietly as if afraid to speak. You sit there with your hand around your neck and stare straight back at the man not really registering his words.

“I – I’m going to go upstairs.” You croak through your abused vocal cords. You try to slowly get up on your feet and as soon as you’re standing, you feel your legs giving out. Before you can fall to the ground, you can feel a strong arm grip you around your waist.

Looking to your side, you see Garrick looking back at you cataloging each blossoming bruise on your neck. His brows furrow as his concern grows. You can feel the bruising already and know that they must be turning a mottled shade of purple.

Before you can think much more, you find yourself being scooped up into Garrick’s arms as his face turns hard and he begins walking up the stairs. Even though you are tense, you try to let yourself settle into his arms. You close your eyes for a second and before you know it, you can feel Garrick dropping to a bed with you still cradled close.

“Why does it always seem that my family and I are always hurting you?” He rumbles lowly while dropping his head.

“It wasn’t Xaden’s fault.” You rasp, your voice feeling like its grating against sandpaper.

Garrick looks back at you and brings his hand to your chin, tilting your neck up. Soon the blue green of his hazel eyes disappears, and they become a molten shade of gold, hard and angry.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” He seethes as you watch him catalog the bruises along your neck. A sad smile blooms on your face and you bring your hand to his jaw, moving his face to look directly at you. You shake your head no before swallowing hard to speak.

“It wasn’t his fault. I knew it would be a risk to show them. I just didn’t think anyone would walk into the room before I could change back.” You finish before you end up coughing trying to coat the damage to your vocal cords.

As you finish, you feel the way Garrick’s face nuzzles into the hand that is still placed along his jaw. You look up to see his eyes closed as if he is trying to drink up every moment. A lost man wandering the desert for a drink of water.

Something about the gesture causes a crack in the wall that you’d built around your heart for the man that still has you cradled close. You realize that this is the first time you’ve seen the worry, tension, and stress melt from his face since War Games.

A sudden knock at the door brings you both out of the moment. Garrick looks down at you and as if he can’t resist, brings his lips to the side of your head and gives you a quick kiss. He then sets you down gently on the bed and goes to open the door.

“I thought Y/N could use some mending.” You hear a male voice call from the other side of the door. You watch as Garrick nods his head slightly before opening the door and letting Brennan in. Brennan shuffles in and with sad eyes looks at the bruises across your neck.

“Would it be okay with you if I mend you?” Brennan asks tentatively. You give a curt nod before he is standing before you and you tilt you head back for him to get a better view of your neck. You shut your eyes tight as the tears silently flow down the side of your head, the burning sensation of mending filling your head.

Almost as soon as it begins, the pain seems to lessen slowly, little by little. You finally blink open your eyes and slowly lift your head back.

“Better?” Brennan questions as he rises back up to his full height.

“Much. Thank you.” You confirm.

“I know after what just happened, you may want to say no.” Brennan starts. “But I think it would be beneficial for everyone to get the visual of what they may be dealing with on the battlefield.”

You know where he’s going with his comment and your immediate response is to shake your head. However, wading through the panic, the logic starts to win out and you take a deep breath.

“Would you mind doing the same thing when most of the Lieutenants and all the cadets are present? The Assembly all agrees that it would be best for everyone to have a real feel of the enemy.” Brennan finishes in a tactician’s voice.

You go to open your mouth, but you’re immediately cut off.

“NO. You can fuck right off if you think she’s going to do that again.” Garrick growls while stepping into Brennan’s space. “Did you not just see what fucking happened? And then you want to put her in a room with untrained cadets who don’t even know how to use their signets and hope someone doesn’t have a bad reaction.”

Undeterred by Garrick’s reaction, Brennan calmly responds to the threat in front of him. “I understand your reservations Garrick and hers as well, which is why Bodhi and Mira will be on hand to make sure that no one responds the same way.”

You stand from the bed you were seated on and walk up to the two men that are still looking at each other trying to calculate who is going to make the next move. Instinctually, you raise your hand and place a comforting hand on Garrick’s forearm. You can’t help but feel the tense set of his muscles and crack a soft smile to reassure the hulking man.

“Gare.” You say and his eyes immediately dart to you as you use the nickname for the first time in months. “Brennan is right. Everyone needs to see what they’re going to be facing. It’s better than sending everyone out without having any idea.”

Garrick’s eyes search yours looking for any hesitation, seeming to hope that you aren’t really considering this. Immediately his shoulders sag when he realizes that you’re serious.

“I’ll just need some forewarning to get myself in the right headspace, so maybe not the next couple of days.” You confirm with Brennan as he shakes his head in agreement.

“You’ll wait until I’m back here.” Garrick asserts as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Brennan. “You’ll do it after I’m back from patrol. She isn’t going to do it without me being present.”

You roll your eyes at his protective demands but you’re grateful that he’ll be there, if only for a sense of safety.

“That can work. We will do it during a battle brief class and will catch the lieutenants while they are switching patrols.” Brennan affirms while he begins to walk towards the door.

You both watch as Brennan leaves and closes the door behind him. Garrick immediately moves forward to you lifting your chin to check for any lingering bruising.

“I’m fine.” You say quietly to try and quell the anxiety burning in his eyes.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He quips back.

“You do realize that we’re both about to be thrown into a war that most likely will take both of our lives, right?” You sass back, getting irritated with his hovering.

“Not if I can fucking help it.” He grumbles at you. You snort and roll your eyes at the over-confident man that he’s turned into again.

“Promise me you won’t do that again, unless absolutely necessary.” The earnestness in his eyes a plea for you to listen. “I don’t want you to be a victim just because someone can’t decipher you from friend or foe.”

You sigh and let your gaze soften. “You don’t think I already know that shifting myself to look like a venin is dangerous? You can ask Brennan or Violet, but I was hesitant with them both before I did it. And what followed just proved why my theory was correct.”

“You of all people should know that I’m smarter than that. I wouldn’t shift into that form unless absolutely necessary. Brennan just asked to see why the wyvern didn’t react to my landing on its back, so I showed them.”

Realization dawning on him seems to do nothing to quell the fire in his eyes. Fire to protect and shield evident on every line of his face. You realize that no words seem to be cracking through the thick skull of the man in front of you, so you utilize your best weapon, your touch.

You bring your hands to his face, cupping each side and rubbing soothing circles on his stubbled cheeks. He takes a deep sighing breath and his gaze bores deep into you.

“I don’t think you understand how terrified I am of the actual reality of your death.” He divulges as both of his arms snake around your waist tugging you to him. “Ever since I laid eyes on you again, I wake up every day busting through my door to search for just a glimpse of your form.”

“Having to face a reality again where you aren’t there is the absolute worst thing I can honestly imagine.” He brings his forehead to yours leaning in and breathing a deep, calming breath.

A sad smile begins to crawl across his face. “And being so close to you, but far away at the same time is eating at me more than you know.”

You give him a sad smile back in return. “I know.” You whisper, your walls cracking even more with the tenderness and vulnerability seeping from Garrick’s every fiber.

“I need you to know that I’m working on it.” You tell him while bringing your hands down to grab his own, rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. “We aren’t there yet, but I can promise you the more you let me in, the more you show up for us, then eventually maybe we can get back to before.”

Garrick’s eyes search yours, probing for an alternate meaning. You just look back at him with the honesty you feel at his words. You’re unsure of what you’re looking for to be able to let him completely in again, but you know that you just aren’t in the right space at this moment.

__________

Taglist: @smashee0789 @batboygirlie @gayandfairycore

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing x reader #xaden riorson #bodhi durran #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick fourth wing #garrick tavis x oc #the empyrean fanfic #the empyrean #fourth wing xaden #bodhi fourth wing #fourth wing #fourth wing fic #iron flame #iron flame fanfic

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rapturously · 11 months ago

Note

can i please request paul from lost boys and stockings, this has been ingrained in my mind, anything else is up to you

➾ pairing ; paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), paul wears a choker in this fic, groping, making out, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), face-sitting, stocking/hosiery kink, scent kink, marking, biting, hair-pulling, paul is a boob guy for sure, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), tiddy sucking, body worship

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this request was ridiculously sexy and changed the trajectory of my life ngl :’) so thank you for this because I had a ton of fun writing it !!! as always, thank you all so much for your love and support! I’m still trucking on with requests!

Vibrant strands of ribbon held a sizable black box together as it sat directly in front of you, poised along the edge of your makeshift vanity. It was intended to be a surprise — if you could even call it that.

Paul made some offhand comment about wanting to see you in something sultry, dolled up in lace and frilly garters — you wanted to fulfill that for him. You couldn’t tell if it was serious or simply a colorful joke intended to make you flustered.

Out of sheer impulse and the desire to shock Paul, you’d bought lingerie at a shoddy boutique down at the boardwalk, complete with sheer, black stockings. You wondered if he’d care about it when he saw you — it was going to come off, anyway. What was the use?

Candlelight danced across the cavernous alcove of your nest, casting flickering shadows across the tapestry-covered walls. The box seemed to call to you like a siren’s song, tempting you — you hadn’t even tried it on yet, either.

A gilded mirror sat soundly amongst your belongings, as if coaxing you closer. Curiosity and the desire to see how you looked in such risqué garments got the better of you, prompting you to push yourself up from your mattress.

You had time — Paul was out hunting, and you could do a little twirl in the mirror and take it off.

You clamored toward your vanity, hastily plucking the box from its perch as you unraveled the spool of ribbon that held it all together. It fluttered toward the foot of your bed, preparing to be long forgotten as you unveiled the sheet lace and black fabric.

Satin and lace glided between your fingers as you caressed the material, holding up the set toward the glower of orange light. You promptly undressed, not that there was much to begin with aside from an oversized shirt. It smelled of stale hairspray — Paul, no doubt.

It felt strange, putting on a getup that you never envisioned yourself in to begin with. Admittedly, your confidence had blossomed since being with Paul — he was unapologetically himself, and that had some effect on you, too.

Once you shed your shirt and undergarments, you reached for the lingerie, tugging it on with a bit of brute force. It was tight — unnaturally snug, but you assumed that it was intentional. You sat down on the edge of your bed, tugging the stockings on until they perched around the middle of your thighs.

Your reflection was nothing short of stunning — a goddess incarnate. You stepped closer, twisting and turning every which way, occasionally plucking at the placement of the fabric. Some of it felt itchy and uncomfortable, as if it’d strangle you.

Smoothing your hands across your stocking-clad legs, you continued to twirl, catching glimpses of yourself in the glittering glass. You contemplated keeping it on, maybe throwing a robe over it, but it seemed a little too tacky for your taste.

“Woah,” You nearly jumped out of your own flesh at the sound of Paul’s voice. You couldn’t see his reflection — he ceased to exist in the mirror, standing at the entrance to your nest with a dumbfounded expression. “What’s all that you got on, babe?”

Heat crawled over your flesh, causing you to burn with embarrassment. You bit at your lower lip, deliberately swiveling around until you faced him. “It’s nothing.” You mumbled, reaching for the corner of your blanket in an attempt to cover yourself up.

Paul was swift, as fast as a bolt of lightning as he flicked the blanket aside, circling around you like a wolf would a lamb. He let out a whistle of approval, clearly reveling in the sight of you. “Nothing? C’mon, you’re not serious, are you? You look gorgeous.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” You confessed, twisting your hands together as you rocked up and down upon the balls of your feet. “I know you said something about wanting to see me in lingerie. I wasn’t sure how you’d like it.” With a soft exhale, you felt his hand brush against your waist.

His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, eyes bright with obsession and adoration. There was something mildly crazed about his expression, but he was beyond thrilled with the visual feast he was being treated to. “How I’d like it?” Paul inquired, seemingly bewildered.

There was a sudden softness to his tone, as if he cared little for what he thought. To Paul, you were nothing short of delectably gorgeous — it didn’t matter what you wore.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I suppose so. I mean, it’s just lingerie. I figured you’d rip all of it off anyway.” You mused, watching with intrigue as his countenance contorted into a look of shock.

“Might rip some of it,” Paul smirked, digits hooking themselves into the front of your panties. “But these?” He gestured toward your stockings, which rose up to the middle of your thighs. “These are gonna stay on.”

With a sense of finality, Paul grabbed your hips, sitting down on the bed with you planted firmly in his lap. He ran his hands over the sheer material covering your thighs, feeling his cock twitch inside of his jeans. You were elated, draping your arms around the back of his neck.

Your fingers dove into his stiff, coarse mane of blonde tresses, raking through until you’d grabbed at the roots. Paul kissed you hard, open-mouthed and deliciously sloppy as he grabbed at the swell of your ass. Your breasts looked perfect in that brassiere, but he preferred to see them unclad.

“Shit, baby, you smell so good,” Paul groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, littering every inch of flesh with sloppy kisses and bites. “You look so fuckin’ hot like this.” He murmured, and that made you shiver in delight, attempting to press your thighs together.

A swirling, molten heat sank into the pit of your stomach, causing your back to arch into his embrace. Your mouth clamored for his, your lips colliding with one another’s as he groped at your thighs. Paul thoroughly enjoyed the way you looked in stockings — mesmerizing, really.

The gesture was thoughtful — as much as Paul found some sentiment in it, he cared more for fucking you within an inch of your life in those stupid stockings. His mind veered off with lascivious thoughts, all of them purely unholy as he swept his tongue across your lower lip.

Those wandering hands of his immediately reached for the clasps of your brassiere, but instead of trying to properly remove it, he simply tore it apart. You gasped, watching as he discarded the material somewhere on the ground, absentmindedly licking at his lips.

“Paul,” You huffed, able to feel his erection grinding into your core. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine as his hand danced from your back to your hips, digits skirting underneath the waistband of your panties. A soft moan escaped you when he made contact with your aching cunt. “Please.”

A thin sheen of slick coated his eager digits, and Paul wasted no time in touching you. He was grinning, appraising you with a look of passion. “Wet for me already, babe?” He crooned, pressing his mouth against the column of your throat.

Your head bobbed up and down in a lackadaisical nod, lips agape as a simpering moan escaped you. “Feels so good,” Without missing a beat, his thumb grinded into your clit, dragging around the bundle of nerves in agonizingly-slow circles. “I need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” His voice emerged as a tantalizing purr, tongue sweeping across your jaw. Your flesh tasted velveteen, saccharine upon his tongue. There was nothing sweeter than you — his human, his mate. “Need you more.” Paul teased, nipping at your earlobe.

The ghoulish choker adorning his neck served as the perfect anchor as you hooked two fingers beneath it, dragging his mouth back to yours. The enthralled look within his eyes made your breath hitch, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing at all.

Heat and pure tension bled between the both of you, and Paul’s eyes became dilated with lust, glistening with a golden sheen. He kissed you hard, fingers burying themselves between your thighs as he pushed two digits inside of you.

A pleasured gasp escaped you as you rocked atop his hand, savoring the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of you. The heady, honey-thick scent of your arousal was a delectable smell to him — and Paul wanted so much more.

His attention with kissing was notoriously short-lived as he kissed his way down to your chest — his favorite. Paul licked his lips as if he were preparing to have the most delicious meal, pursing his pouty mouth around one of your nipples.

A calloused palm encircled your other breast, groping and kneading into the soft, pliant flesh. He pinched and tugged at your nipple, mouth suckling at the other. His hand was gingerly rocking back and forth between your legs, pistoning in and out of your tight cunt.

“P—Paul!” A whine tore past your lips, hips jolting and surging into the rhythmic ministrations of his hand. Whatever had gotten into him, you loved it — you wanted him to destroy you. Your hands tugged on his mane of sandy-blonde tresses, head rolling backwards.

“You’ve got the prettiest tits, sweet thing,” Paul groaned against your flesh, mouth hotly returning to your chest. He sucked and nibbled until you were squirming, deciding to switch sides and shower the rest of you in attention. “Wish I could stay here forever.” He mumbled.

Another wave of heat rolled through you, your expression a concoction of pleasure and embarrassment. His compliments were delightful, but sometimes you didn’t believe them. One of your hands fell into his lap, palming at his jean-clad erection.

“Can if you want.” You uttered, feeling his lips curl into a devious grin around your breast. You kept one hand curled into a tight fist, grabbing at his hair as the other wrangled his belt off. It felt unfair that Paul was doing everything.

Paul thoroughly enjoyed listening to your thoughts whenever the two of you fucked — and he didn’t feel like he was doing everything. He wanted to, anyway. “Lookin’ so gorgeous in these,” He huffed, hand dropping to your thigh as he hooked it behind your knee. “Could you wear them all the time? Just for me?”

It was hard not to giggle at Paul’s subtle demand, though the noise quickly tapered off into a moan when his teeth grazed your nipple. His digits slowed, sluggishly rutting in and out of your cunt, thumb focused on playing with your clit. You whimpered, unable to keep from writhing atop his lap.

When he tore his mouth away from your breast, he continued his path of bites and hickeys, leaving behind a trail from your collarbone to sternum. Paul knew what he wanted, shedding his jacket as he tugged his hand away. You groaned, grabbing at his wrist in an attempt to redirect him.

“Please don’t stop,” You whined, feeling his body vibrate with soft chuckles. Paul wasn’t one to edge you like this, but he seemed to have something in-mind. You watched as he moved back on the bed, laying down all the way. “What are you doing?”

Paul grinned, wolfish as could be as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and pulled — the sound of fabric being torn asunder reverberated throughout the alcove. He bumped you up towards his chest, hands hooked behind your knees, digits caressing the material of your stockings.

“Lettin’ you sit,” He mused, and when you were close enough, he kissed your inner thighs. “Unless you don’t want to.” Paul’s nose wrinkled in amusement when you immediately shook your head, knowing exactly what he had intended for you.

“Please,” You bucked forward, desperate to sit on his face. “Paul, please!” You begged, shamelessly pleading with your boyfriend to let you ride his mouth. He hadn’t done something like this before — the opportunity was far too tantalizing.

Through thick lashes and a cheshire smirk, Paul deliberately moved you forward, handling you as if you weighed nothing at all. He bit and kissed at your thighs until he sat you down on his face, wasting no time in lapping at your aching cunt.

If it were up to him, he would’ve stayed here, glued to you for the rest of the night. He was notoriously sloppy and messy, tongue greedily lapping along your slit, hands caging you in behind your knees. You moaned, fingers twisting into his hair, hips rocking forward just slightly.

His cock throbbed within his jeans, feeling confined and uncomfortably snug. Paul was unabashedly passionate, lips sliding from your cunt to your clit, stubbled jaw grinding against your inner thighs. He could feel your nylon-clad knees squeeze toward his head.

Your stomach felt like mush, a pit of heat and swirling warmth as you nearly collapsed altogether. His lips pursed around your clit, suckling and teasing that sensitive clutch of nerves before he returned to lapping at your core, interchanging the two.

“Paul,” You moaned, knowing that you wouldn’t last in this state. Every fiber of your being burned with something incredible, a sense of ecstasy that made you shudder in delight. Paul urged you forward, mouth relentlessly assaulting your cunt until your legs quivered. “Paul!”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, as if it were the only word you knew how to say. It was a chant, burned into the recesses of your mind as you rocked forward, feeling his hands relocate to the swell of your hips.

In one movement, he had you pinned down on your back, face buried between your thighs. Your legs involuntarily locked him in, threatening to suffocate him — not that he cared in the slightest. Paul’s palms clapped into the pliant flesh of your thighs, fingers slipping against your stockings.

He ate you out like a man starved, tongue raking hot embers across your aching core, hips haplessly rutting themselves against the mattress for a shred of friction. He was painfully hard, getting off on the feeling of nylon pressing into his face and the taste of your cunt.

Your back arched, hands clawing at his unruly tresses as he sucked at your clit again, a low groan stuck within the back of his throat. “M’close,” You slurred, dizzy and drunk with desire as you pushed your hips forward, feeling him drag you onto his tongue. “Fuck!”

Paul loved it when you had a mouth on you — the expletives meant that he was doing a good job. It was all the encouragement and spurring-on that he needed to help you finish, tongue dipping toward your entrance before returning to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Paul crooned, licking his lips like a dog as he raked his nails over your leg, letting them snag on the nylon. He was enthralled by the way that you looked — naked save for those stockings of yours. “You taste so good.” He sighed, unbuckling his jeans with a sudden haste.

Between the white-hot explosion of your orgasm and Paul’s manic undressing, you composed yourself just enough to get your hands in his mesh shirt. You wanted it off, tugging at it with a sense of urgency as he stooped down to kiss you — it was hot and messy, accompanied by a barrage of tongue.

His cock was pretty, just like the rest of him.

“You really like these, don’t you?” You mumbled, hooking a leg around his hips. There was a visible spark within his eyes when you did that, chest rising and falling with a flurry of excitement.

Paul nodded, mouth tilting into a dazed, lopsided grin. “Yeah,” He confessed, shamelessly grabbing your other leg in order to hitch it up around his hips. “Fuck, you just look so good in them. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, hand falling to knead at your swollen breast.

The orange glow of candlelight bathed him in a series of softer hues, igniting his hair with a peculiar shade. You kept your legs locked around him, hands moving toward the column of his throat as he pushed his cock into you, being deliberately gentle, to start.

He looked perfect — that choker he wore around only made him prettier.

You coaxed him close for a kiss, open-mouthed and full of an unrestrained need as he began to fuck you at a steady pace. Paul could get rough and wild if he wanted to, but this time, he seemed fixated on slow and steady — that was more than enough for you.

Your nails raked across the nape of his neck, twining one fist into the roots of his coarse, stiff tresses, the other applying pressure against his neck. The groan he released into your kiss made your cunt clench around his cock, body simmering with another pleasant wave of heat.

Paul bit at your lower lip, sharp enough to withdraw a pearl of blood. He lapped at it before you could say anything, grinning like a wolf, eyes lascivious and stirring with lust as he moved forward. His pace increased into a steady rhythm, fucking you with an incendiary passion.

“Don’t stop.” You whispered, voice hoarse and strung-out with desire. Your chest blossomed with adoration, meeting his cerulean-eyed gaze as your hand trailed from his neck to his jaw. Paul appeared mesmerized and transfixed, hues glistening with a golden sheen.

With another roll of his hips, you lifted your body just slightly, colliding with him. A soft moan escaped you, heat crawling across your flesh, stomach turning to liquid. Your legs tightened around his hips, feeling his lips kiss their way down to your chest once more.

Paul shamelessly took one of your breasts into his mouth again, lips pursed around your nipple as he sucked and bit at the sensitive bud. The steady roll of his thrusts soon increased in pace, cock rutting into you as he reached every perfect spot imaginable.

You whimpered, back arching off of the wrinkled, tousled sheets and into his ministrations, eyes fluttering shut. He showered your swollen chest in constant attention, alternating between suckling and kissing as he hungrily bit at your collarbone. The crescent-shaped indents were merely extensions of his affection.

“So perfect for me, baby,” Paul mumbled against your silken flesh, fucking into you with a noticeable fervor as you squeezed his his hips again. The scratch of your nylon stockings against his skin made him shiver, bucking into you as he kissed at your tits. “Fuck, you’re all mine.” He groaned.

His noises were like music to your ears, breathy grunts and sighs, shameless praises that made your entire body tingle with bliss. You tugged on his tresses again, whimpering when he dragged his cock out nearly all the way before pounding right back into you.

Inch by perfect inch, he filled you up, littering your body in countless marks as if you were a canvas, made just for him. His hands grabbed at your thighs, kneading and groping at the pliant flesh there as he rocked forward, huffing and grunting as he picked up speed.

A dizzying sensation washed over you, ecstasy intermingled with love. He was all over you, consuming you like a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and you didn’t want to.

Between the flurry, rushed clamor of lips, tongue, bodies, and heat, your scent was emblazoned within Paul’s mind, burned there for days to come. His senses swam with only you, something so overwhelmingly intoxicating for him. The excitable thrumming of your heart made him exhale, fucking into you again and again.

A moan tore past your parted lips, feeling Paul’s rutting slow to a crawl as he pushed into you one last time. A soft grunt escaped him as a few ropes of hot seed filled you, but he pulled out halfway through, painting your stomach and tits in a sticky sheen.

He was aiming for your chest — mostly.

You came in-tandem with him, cunt clenching around nothing at all as you dropped one leg from around his hips, regaining your composure. You caught your breath, letting out a soft huff as you watched him roll away from you.

“You should clean up your mess.” You giggled, grabbing at the corner of one of the blankets strewn across the ground. Before you could clean yourself up, Paul returned with a cloth — wherever he’d gotten it from, you had no idea. He perched himself in front of you, wiping away his cum from your body.

“M’not sorry, babe. You look pretty like that,” Paul smirked, hair a disheveled, crazed mane of flaxen-gold as he tossed the rag elsewhere. He unceremoniously fell onto the mattress in a heap. “You’re keepin’ these on — permanently.” He flicked a finger against your stockings to make his point.

An amused chuckle escaped you as you shrugged your shoulders, settling down beside him. Paul sluggishly crawled over to snuggle, resting his head atop your chest as he’d done several times before. “I don’t know, I like surprising you.” You mused.

Paul snickered, tracing idle, sweet patterns into your leg, other arm hitched around your hips. “Oh yeah? You got any other surprises?” It was an open-ended invoking of a challenge — and you had some ideas.

“A few. You’ll have to be patient.” A gasp left you when Paul playfully bit at your jaw, unable to keep his hands and his mouth off of you. The nest smelled like you — and the scent of sex. Those were his favorites.

“I don’t know about that, sweet thing,” He uttered, squeezing into your hips with a lascivious expression. “I’ve got a few surprises of my own.”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #paul tlb x reader #paul tlb x you #tlb paul x reader #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys #paul tlb #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Flames in the West (for better or worse)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: his rock

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

The journey back to King’s Landing was marked by golden sunlight filtering through the trees, the steady clatter of hooves on the dirt path, and the ever-present bickering between you and Jason Lannister. The man seemed utterly incapable of silence, trailing your horse like a particularly persistent shadow.

“Really, Princess,” Jason began, his tone teasing, “do you always wear such practical clothing? You’ll find Casterly Rock has little use for muddy boots and hunting gear.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your reins. “Forgive me, Lord Jason, but I hadn’t realized I needed to start dressing for an audience of stone lions.”

Jason chuckled, his golden hair catching the light. “Stone lions, real lions—it’s all the same. A lady of your standing deserves silks and jewels to match her beauty.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “I suppose you think I should be draped in Lannister crimson as well?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jason replied with a grin. “Red and gold suit you.”

“Red and gold suit you, my lord,” you shot back. “I’ll wear what I please, and you can thank the gods I don’t show up at Casterly Rock in dragon scales.”

Jason’s laugh was loud and genuine, earning a few glances from the Lannister retainers riding behind. “Now that’s an image,” he said, clearly picturing it. “You’d frighten the servants half to death.”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” you quipped. “It would make up for the fact that I’m being dragged to your oversized pile of rocks.”

Jason placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oversized pile of rocks? Princess, Casterly Rock is a marvel of the Seven Kingdoms! Wait until you see it—you’ll change your tune.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you muttered, though your lips twitched in amusement.

The banter continued for hours, ranging from the superiority of lion sigils versus dragon banners to the merits of hunting stags versus boars. Jason seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, his grin never faltering no matter how sharp your words became. You suspected he was intentionally prolonging the exchange, as though every quip of yours was a treasure to him.

By the time the Lannisters reached the fork in the road where they would part ways to return westward, the procession slowed. Jason dismounted, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he approached your horse.

“This is where we part, Princess,” he announced with exaggerated solemnity. “For now.”

You tilted your head, feigning surprise. “You mean I’ll finally get a moment’s peace?”

Jason smirked, looking up at you with those ever-confident eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be preparing Casterly Rock for your arrival.”

“Preparing it?” you echoed, your tone skeptical. “What does that even mean? Polishing the stones?”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Hardly. I’ll have the halls filled with music, the chambers adorned with the finest tapestries, and the kitchens stocked with Dornish wine—all to make it worthy of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, leaning slightly forward in your saddle. “You’d better be careful, Lord Jason. If you keep this up, I might start to believe you.”

“Good,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “Because I mean every word.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily without a retort. Jason seemed to notice, his grin widening once more. He took a step back, bowing with dramatic flair.

“Until next we meet, Princess,” he said, mounting his horse with practiced ease. “And when you see Casterly Rock, you’ll realize what an excellent decision you’ve made.”

“You’re assuming I’ll even make it that far without changing my mind,” you called after him, though your tone was more playful than cutting.

Jason turned his horse with a flourish, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll take my chances.”

As the Lannister party rode off, Rhaenyra pulled her horse alongside yours, a knowing smirk on her lips. “He’s relentless, isn’t he?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Relentless and insufferable.”

Rhaenyra laughed, clearly unconvinced. “And yet, I’ve never seen you smile so much on a journey.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Instead, you turned your attention to the road ahead, Jason’s laughter still echoing faintly behind you.

The sun rose over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting its light over the sprawling fortress as its lord, Jason Lannister, paced through the Great Hall with all the grace of a lion trapped in a cage. Servants scurried around him, their arms laden with tapestries, wine casks, and golden candelabras, while Jason barked orders like a commander preparing for battle.

“No, no, no!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at a newly hung tapestry depicting a lion surrounded by roses. “This is all wrong. Where’s the one with the lion and the dragon? The dragon, Roderick, not a bloody garden party!”

Roderick, the steward of Casterly Rock, adjusted his spectacles and sighed. “My lord, the lion-and-dragon tapestry is still being embroidered. It won’t be ready for another fortnight.”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do with roses? She’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

Tyland Lannister, who arrived one moon ago to assist his twin, leaned against a nearby pillar, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk. “Perhaps she’ll think you’ve developed a love for horticulture. Isn’t that charming?”

“Not helping, Tyland,” Jason snapped, gesturing wildly at the hall. “This has to be perfect. The princess deserves the finest welcome Casterly Rock has ever seen.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, sipping leisurely from a goblet of wine. “And you think she’ll notice the difference between one tapestry and another? From what I’ve seen, she’s more likely to mock you for fussing over it.”

Jason paused mid-step, his expression turning thoughtful. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tyland replied, clearly enjoying himself. “But don’t let that stop you. Your suffering is highly entertaining.”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned to a group of servants struggling to arrange an elaborate floral display in the shape of a lion’s head. “Higher on the mane! It looks like it’s sulking! And where’s the gold thread for the eyes?”

A young maid curtsied nervously. “My lord, the gold thread is being used for the banners in the courtyard.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Banners? Who’s looking at banners when there’s going to be a lion made of flowers in the hall? Priorities, people!”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to exhaust half the servants before she even arrives.”

Jason shot him a glare but didn’t have time to retort as the steward returned with a scroll listing the preparations. “The kitchens are finalizing the feast, my lord,” Roderick reported. “Roast boar, Dornish pears, and the finest Arbor gold. We’ve also prepared a selection of the princess’s favorites, including lemon cakes and—”

“Wait,” Jason interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you confirm she actually likes lemon cakes?”

Roderick frowned, adjusting his spectacles again. “Er… no, my lord. I assumed—”

“Don’t assume!” Jason barked, pacing again. “What if she hates them? What if she’s allergic? Gods, imagine if she took one bite and—”

“And choked to death before the wedding?” Tyland offered helpfully. “Now that would be memorable.”

Jason groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Tyland replied, clearly unbothered. “But do go on. This is the most fun I’ve had in moons.”

Ignoring his brother, Jason turned back to Roderick. “Forget the lemon cakes. Just stick to the Arbor gold and the roasted boar. And don’t burn anything!”

As the hours passed, Jason inspected every corner of the Rock, from the newly polished golden lion statues in the courtyard to the lavish guest chambers prepared for the royal family. He even ventured into the kitchens, where the head cook waved a ladle threateningly until Jason backed out, muttering about “artistic temperaments.”

By the time the sun began to set, Jason was standing atop the walls of Casterly Rock, his crimson cloak billowing in the sea breeze as he scanned the horizon. Tyland joined him, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tyland remarked, gesturing to the distant road winding through the hills. “Still time to add a few more flowers.”

Jason ignored the jab, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement on the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing. “The royal procession.”

Sure enough, a long column of banners and carriages was snaking its way toward the castle, the Targaryen sigil gleaming in the fading light. Jason’s heart raced as he imagined her among them, her sharp tongue ready to flay him alive if anything was out of place.

Tyland clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, brother. If you’ve survived her insults this long, a wedding should be easy.”

Jason let out a breath, his nerves warring with excitement. “Easy for you to say. You’re not marrying a Targaryen.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Tyland quipped. “Good luck, Jason. You’re going to need it.”

Jason stood tall, a determined grin spreading across his face. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Casterly Rock is ready.”

The procession drew closer, the banners fluttering in the wind as the Lannisters prepared to welcome their royal guests. Jason adjusted his cloak one last time, his heart pounding as he prepared to greet the woman who would soon be his bride.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was a hive of activity as the royal procession finally arrived. Jason Lannister stood at the gates, flanked by his brother Tyland and an entourage of Lannister bannermen, their golden banners billowing in the warm breeze. The royal party entered in a slow, regal procession, the sound of hooves echoing against the stone walls.

King Viserys rode at the head, his crown glinting in the sunlight, followed by Queen Alicent, holding a fidgeting Prince Aegon. Rhaenyra rode close behind, her fiery gaze scanning the courtyard with faint amusement. The Targaryen knights followed, their armor shining as brightly as the dragon banners trailing behind them.

Jason stepped forward, his expression carefully composed, though his heart pounded in his chest. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing deeply to King Viserys. “Welcome to Casterly Rock. It is an honor to host you and your family.”

Viserys smiled warmly, dismounting with some effort before clasping Jason’s shoulder. “The honor is ours, Lord Jason. You’ve prepared magnificently.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he straightened to address the rest of the royal party, his eyes scanning the procession. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Where is the princess?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with curiosity.

Rhaenyra smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief as she swung down from her horse. “Missing her already, Lord Jason? My sister will arrive soon enough.”

Jason frowned, glancing at her, then at Viserys. “She didn’t travel with you?”

Viserys chuckled, his tone reassuring. “There’s no need to fret, my boy. Y/N is… making an entrance.”

Jason blinked, his mind racing. “An entrance?”

“On dragonback,” Rhaenyra said, her voice laced with humor. “Surely you didn’t expect her to leave her dragon behind?”

Jason’s jaw slackened slightly, but he recovered quickly, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Tyland, standing beside him, muttered under his breath, “Well, you did say you wanted a dragon.”

Jason shot his brother a glare, but before he could respond, a deep, resonant roar echoed across the sky. The Lannister bannermen shifted uneasily, their horses whinnying in protest as the sound reverberated through the courtyard.

Jason turned sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon. “What in the Seven Hells—”

Rhaenyra interrupted with a smug grin. “Ah, there she is.”

A shadow passed over the sun as your dragon, Sylveris, appeared on the horizon. She was a magnificent she-dragon, her scales shimmering like molten silver in the daylight, flecked with faint streaks of gold that rippled as she moved. Her wings were vast, their translucent membranes catching the light and casting shimmering patterns over the ground as she soared closer. Her long, sinuous tail ended in a sharp, golden barb, and her golden eyes burned with intelligence and fierce pride. The spikes along her back glinted like a crown, and her roar was like thunder, commanding and unyielding.

Sylveris descended gracefully, her massive claws kicking up dust as she landed just beyond the gates. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her weight, and the Lannister knights instinctively stepped back, their hands tightening on the hilts of their swords.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring up at the beast with a mix of awe and apprehension. “By the gods…” he murmured.

Rhaenyra leaned toward him, her tone mocking but amused. “You didn’t think she’d come in a carriage, did you?”

Before Jason could reply, Sylveris lowered her neck, allowing you to dismount with practiced ease. You stood tall, your riding leathers bearing the Targaryen sigil, your silver hair flowing in the breeze. The confidence in your stride as you approached was unmistakable, and the faint smirk on your lips suggested you’d been looking forward to this moment.

“Lord Jason,” you greeted, your voice calm but commanding. “I hope my arrival hasn’t caused too much of a stir.”

Jason quickly gathered himself, bowing deeply. “Princess Y/N,” he said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Casterly Rock is honored by your… dramatic entrance.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Dramatic? I thought it was appropriate. Sylveris insisted on accompanying me.”

Jason glanced nervously at the dragon, who was now watching him intently, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I see. She’s… magnificent.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly from behind you. “Get used to it, Lord Jason. Sylveris doesn’t leave her side.”

Jason straightened, his confidence returning as he met your gaze. “I look forward to seeing more of her,” he said, his tone earnest. “And of you, Princess.”

You inclined your head, though the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “We’ll see how you fare, Lord Jason.”

As you turned to join your family, Jason remained rooted to the spot, his gaze shifting between you and your dragon. Tyland stepped closer, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“Well,” Tyland said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You wanted a dragon, and now you’ve got two. Congratulations.”

Jason exhaled slowly, straightening his doublet as he watched you disappear into the castle. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he muttered, though the nervous edge in his voice betrayed him.

Behind him, Sylveris let out a low rumble, almost as if in answer.

The great hall of Casterly Rock had never been more resplendent. Crimson and gold banners bearing the Lannister lion draped the towering stone walls, interspersed with black and red sigils of House Targaryen. Hundreds of candles flickered in ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea of assembled guests. The air was filled with the mingling scents of freshly cut roses, polished wood, and roasted meats from the kitchens below.

Jason Lannister stood near the altar, flanked by his brother Tyland and several Lannister cousins, his palms slightly damp despite his composed demeanor. His golden doublet was embroidered with a roaring lion, and his usually unruly blond hair had been tamed—though Tyland had already teased him about the absurd amount of effort it took.

“You look like you’re preparing to face a battle,” Tyland whispered, smirking.

Jason shot him a look. “It feels like one.”

Tyland chuckled, adjusting his own cloak. “If you faint, just try to fall gracefully. The guests might assume it’s part of the ceremony.”

Jason ignored him, straightening his shoulders as the crowd quieted. The sound of the great doors opening echoed through the hall, and every head turned to see the procession begin.

King Viserys entered first, his crown gleaming as brightly as the smile on his face. He walked beside Queen Alicent, who carried a squirming Prince Aegon, who had managed to smudge dirt on his tunic despite her best efforts. Behind them was Rhaenyra, radiant in crimson and gold, her smirk evident as she scanned the hall. Jason caught her eye briefly and immediately regretted it—her expression promised trouble.

And then, you appeared.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stepped forward, your gown shimmering like molten silver. Threads of red and gold wove through the fabric, catching the light with every step. A delicate crown rested atop your silver hair, and your piercing gaze swept the hall with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect they had. Behind you, the faint scent of dragonfire lingered, a subtle reminder of Sylveris, who had taken to perching atop the highest cliff of the Rock.

Jason’s breath caught as he watched you approach, his nerves momentarily forgotten. You met his gaze briefly, your expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’re doomed,” Tyland murmured beside him, though there was no malice in his tone. “She’s magnificent.”

Jason didn’t respond. He already knew that.

The septon stood before the altar, resplendent in his robes, though he seemed slightly nervous. Perhaps it was the presence of King Viserys, or the looming shadow of Sylveris visible through the arched windows, but his hands trembled slightly as he began the rites.

“Today,” the septon announced, his voice echoing in the hall, “we join two great houses: the mighty lion of Casterly Rock and the indomitable dragon of House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra leaned toward Alicent, whispering something that made the queen purse her lips. Jason, standing at the altar, tried to ignore it, though his curiosity burned.

As the septon continued, Jason risked a glance at you. You stood beside him, composed and regal, though there was a faint gleam of mischief in your eyes. When the septon asked if you accepted the union, you tilted your head slightly, as though considering it, before answering.

“I do,” you said, your voice carrying across the hall.

Jason’s heart nearly stopped when the crowd chuckled softly. Even in this moment, you were playing with him.

“And you, Lord Jason Lannister?” the septon prompted.

Jason cleared his throat, managing a steady, “I do.”

Tyland coughed behind him, muttering, “Barely.”

As tradition dictated, the septon wrapped a ribbon of red and gold around your joined hands. The ribbon, woven specially for the occasion, was said to symbolize the blending of fire and gold—a union of strength and passion.

“May the Seven bless this union,” the septon intoned, though he seemed to be glancing nervously at the arched windows again, where Sylveris had let out a low rumble moments earlier.

Jason tightened his grip on your hand slightly, and you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Nervous, my lord?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jason replied, though the faint sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him.

“Liar,” you murmured, your lips twitching into the faintest smile.

Finally, the septon raised his hands. “You may seal your union.”

Jason turned to you, his heart pounding. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both tentative and reverent. The crowd erupted into cheers, though Jason barely heard them. For that moment, it was just the two of you, the fire and the lion.

When he pulled back, you arched an eyebrow again. “Not bad,” you whispered. “For a lion.”

Jason couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the ceremony concluded, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding as you and Jason turned to walk down the aisle. The combined banners of House Lannister and House Targaryen hung above the hall, and the guests murmured among themselves about the strength of the union.

Rhaenyra caught your arm as you passed, leaning in to whisper, “He looked like he was about to faint.”

“I noticed,” you replied, smirking.

Jason overheard and shot Rhaenyra a pointed look, but she merely winked and stepped back, letting you and your new husband continue your procession.

As you left the great hall, Jason glanced at you, his smile softening. “You didn’t make that easy.”

“I didn’t intend to,” you replied, though your tone was lighter now, the edge of amusement lingering.

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your expression unreadable once more. “You’ll have to do more than that, my lord. But perhaps you’ll surprise me.”

And with that, the dragon and the lion stepped into their new life together, the roar of Sylveris echoing faintly in the distance as if to mark the occasion.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock was ablaze with music and laughter, the echoes of revelry bouncing off the gilded walls. The grand feast stretched out before the assembled lords and ladies, a decadent display of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and golden goblets brimming with Arbor gold. Lions—real lions—sat in golden cages positioned around the hall, their low growls occasionally punctuating the festivities.

At the center of it all sat the newlyweds. Jason Lannister and you occupied the high seats at the head of the table, framed by the banners of your respective houses. Jason leaned casually toward you, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, Lady Lannister,” he began, swirling his goblet of wine, “how does it feel to finally join the pride?”

You arched an eyebrow, your own goblet resting untouched in front of you. “It feels remarkably similar to being badgered by a persistent lord.”

Jason chuckled, undeterred. “Persistent, perhaps. But successful.”

“You only succeeded because the alternative was never hearing the end of it,” you retorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I had to accept, if only for my own sanity.”

Jason raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And here I thought it was my charm.”

“No,” you replied simply, though the glint in your eye betrayed your amusement. “It certainly wasn’t that.”

Jason laughed, leaning closer. “Admit it, Princess. You’d miss me if I hadn’t tried.”

“I’d miss the silence,” you quipped, sipping your wine as Jason placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning offense.

Further down the table, King Viserys observed the exchange with a bemused smile, his goblet resting comfortably in his hand. Beside him, Otto Hightower leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. “Lord Jason certainly spared no expense,” Otto remarked, gesturing subtly to the caged lions and the extravagant decorations. “The pomp of this wedding rivals even King’s Landing.”

Viserys chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you and Jason. “It’s clear the lad wanted to make an impression.”

“And yet,” Otto continued, his tone slightly dry, “they seem more interested in bickering than anything else.”

Viserys’s smile widened as he watched Jason lean closer to you, clearly enamored despite your sharp retorts. “Ah, but that’s the charm, isn’t it? A lion and a dragon—they’ll keep each other entertained.”

Back at the high table, a string of lords began stepping forward to offer their congratulations. The first was a balding lord from the Westerlands, his doublet embroidered with a modest sigil of a burning tree.

“Lord Jason, Princess—ah, forgive me, Lady Lannister,” the man stammered, bowing deeply. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring strength and prosperity to both your houses.”

Jason nodded graciously. “Thank you, Lord Denys. Your loyalty is always appreciated.”

The man turned to you, his nervousness evident. “My lady, if there’s anything the Westerlands can offer you, you need only ask.”

You inclined your head politely. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

As Lord Denys stepped away, Jason leaned toward you once more. “You’re already charming the lords of the Rock.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you replied, your tone dry. “He’s terrified of the lions in the cages.”

Jason grinned, glancing toward one of the massive beasts lounging lazily behind golden bars. “A fitting addition, don’t you think? Nothing says ‘welcome to Casterly Rock’ like a lion or two.”

“Or ten,” you muttered, glancing around the hall. “I half expect one to escape just to prove a point.”

Jason laughed, clearly delighted. “If it does, I’ll protect you, of course.”

“How brave of you,” you deadpanned, earning another hearty laugh from your husband.

As the next lord approached—a stout man with a nose that seemed permanently red from drink—Rhaenyra caught your eye from further down the table. She raised her goblet in a silent toast, her smirk unmistakable. You narrowed your eyes at her briefly, knowing full well she was reveling in the sight of you seated beside Jason.

The stout lord launched into a rambling speech about the glory of House Lannister, but you barely heard him. Jason had leaned in again, this time under the pretense of adjusting his goblet, and you could feel his attention entirely fixed on you.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Am I?” he asked innocently. “Perhaps I’m just admiring my bride.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Jason grinned, leaning just a fraction closer. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

At the other end of the table, Viserys chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The man’s completely smitten,” he said to Otto, who only sighed.

“He certainly doesn’t lack for enthusiasm,” Otto replied.

The feast continued, filled with laughter, music, and the occasional roar from the caged lions. And though you wouldn’t admit it, you found yourself smiling more than once—not just at the festivities, but at the ridiculous, endearing man seated beside you.

The feast at Casterly Rock reached its crescendo as the last of the dishes were cleared away and the minstrels struck up a lively tune. The hall echoed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the occasional roar from one of the caged lions, who seemed less impressed with the festivities than the guests. Jason Lannister sat beside you at the high table, his golden goblet raised as he toasted yet another well-wisher. You were beginning to feel the weight of the evening, though Jason seemed buoyed by the sheer energy of the crowd.

As the music swelled, a particularly boisterous lord from the Reach stumbled to his feet, raising his goblet high. “A toast!” he bellowed, his voice slurring slightly. “To the lion and the dragon! May their union be as fiery as it is golden!”

The hall erupted in cheers, and Jason leaned toward you with a grin. “It seems they’ve taken a liking to us.”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your goblet. “Or they’ve taken a liking to the wine.”

Jason laughed, though the mirth in his eyes flickered briefly into something more cautious as another lord—a Lannister bannerman this time—rose to his feet.

“And now!” the bannerman shouted, his cheeks flushed with drink. “It’s time for the bedding ceremony!”

The room erupted in a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and laughter. Lords pounded their fists on the tables, and ladies covered their mouths with their hands, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Jason froze, his goblet halfway to his lips, while you raised an eyebrow, your expression cooling into something dangerously calm.

Jason recovered quickly, holding up a hand in mock protest. “Now, now, surely we can skip that tradition this evening.”

“Skip it?” a burly knight called from a lower table. “What’s a wedding without a proper bedding? It’s tradition, my lord!”

The crowd roared its agreement, and you turned to Jason, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, Lord Lannister, it seems your bannermen are eager to see this through.”

Jason chuckled nervously, setting his goblet down. “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” Rhaenyra interjected, stepping forward from her seat at the king’s table, her smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. “It’s not every day my sister gets married. Why deprive us of the entertainment?”

“Rhaenyra,” you said warningly, shooting her a glare. “Don’t.”

She held up her hands innocently. “What? I’m merely supporting tradition.”

Before Jason could reply, a group of lords surged toward the high table, clearly emboldened by the call for the ceremony. The ladies weren’t far behind, their laughter ringing out as they began plotting how best to assist you in the “removal” of your wedding attire.

Jason stood abruptly, raising his hands in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Friends, let’s not get carried away!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started!” a younger lord from House Tarbeck shouted, grinning wickedly.

Two burly knights grabbed Jason by the arms, dragging him down from the high table despite his protests. “You’ll regret this!” he called, though his laughter betrayed him as he was swept into the throng of revelers. They cheered loudly as they began pulling at his doublet, the golden fabric slipping free as Jason half-heartedly struggled against them.

Meanwhile, the ladies turned their attention to you, their smiles deceptively sweet as they approached. “Come, Lady Lannister,” one of them cooed, her hands reaching for the delicate fastenings of your gown. “It’s all in good fun.”

You stepped back, your expression one of cold defiance. “If any of you touch this gown, I’ll set it—and you—on fire.”

The group hesitated, glancing nervously at each other. Rhaenyra, however, was thoroughly enjoying herself. “Let them try,” she teased, sipping her wine. “I’d pay to see Sylveris crash through the roof.”

The mention of your dragon seemed to give the ladies pause, and you seized the opportunity to step forward, your voice commanding. “Enough! This is ridiculous. The bedding ceremony is a relic of drunken lords with too much time and not enough sense.”

From across the hall, Jason—now missing one sleeve of his doublet—called out, “I agree with my wife!”

The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as you turned to the group surrounding you. “If you want to carry someone to bed,” you said dryly, “feel free to toss Lord Tarbeck into the sea.”

Jason, still caught in the chaos, raised a hand. “Or Tyland! He deserves it more.”

Tyland, seated smugly at a nearby table, merely raised his goblet. “I’d like to see them try.”

Eventually, King Viserys stood, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, though his tone carried more amusement than authority. “Let the newlyweds retire in peace. I’m sure they have… important matters to attend to.”

The crowd erupted into laughter again, but they began to disperse, releasing Jason from their clutches. Disheveled but grinning, he made his way back to the high table, adjusting what was left of his doublet as he sat beside you.

“Well,” he said, breathless but amused, “that went well.”

You shot him a look, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “You call that well?”

Jason shrugged, pouring himself another goblet of wine. “We survived, didn’t we? And besides, I think it’s safe to say they love us.”

“They love a spectacle,” you corrected, leaning back in your chair.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet in a toast. “To spectacles, then.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, though you clinked your goblet against his all the same. The feast continued, the chaos subsiding into a warm, golden glow of laughter and music, and for the first time that evening, you found yourself relaxing—if only slightly.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n #flames in the west #house lannister #house targaryen

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oaksgrove · 23 days ago

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A Place to Call Home

pairing: Keegan Russ x Reader

synopsis: After months of deployment, Keegan finally returns to the apartment you’d both barely settled into before he left. What was once an empty, impersonal space is now a warm, inviting home filled with your touch. As the two of you reconnect over dinner, the love and comfort you’ve created together remind him of what he’s been fighting for.

warnings: None, just tender, heartwarming fluff.

word count: 1805

a/n: is all about love in the little things. Hope you enjoy this cozy slice of domestic bliss!

The apartment was empty, save for a few boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner. The walls were bare, the hardwood floors scuffed, and the faint scent of paint still lingered in the air. You stood in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, surveying the space that would soon become your home.

“It’s a bit… sad, isn’t it?” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Keegan.

He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. “It’s a blank slate,” he said simply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll make it ours.”

You grinned at his optimism, turning back to the room. “Ours,” you repeated softly, the word wrapping around you like a warm hug.

The two of you spent the next few hours unpacking, your voices mingling with the sound of tape ripping and boxes being shuffled around. Keegan insisted on doing the heavy lifting, even though you playfully argued that you were just as capable.

By the end of the day, the apartment still looked sparse, but there were signs of life—a cozy blanket draped over the couch, your favorite mugs lined up on the kitchen counter, a Polaroid of the two of you pinned to the fridge.

Keegan pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s a start,” he murmured.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, leaning into him.

But perfection was fleeting. Just weeks later, Keegan was called back to duty.

The morning he left was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood at the door, your arms wrapped around yourself as you watched him lace up his boots. His duffel bag sat by the door, a stark reminder of the goodbye you were about to say.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, his voice steady, though you could hear the tension beneath it.

“You better be,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’m not finishing decorating this place without you.”

He stood, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that time would fly by.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“You too,” you replied, your fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed against your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, your voice trembling.

And then he was gone.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The apartment felt cold without him, the silence oppressive. You threw yourself into work, into little projects to pass the time, but it was never quite enough.

Until one day, you decided to change things.

You started small—string lights hung above the windows, a tapestry on the wall to add some color. You printed out photos, memories of the two of you, and pinned them up in the hallway. You found an old record player at a thrift shop, and soon the soft crackle of vinyl filled the apartment, chasing away the silence.

Piece by piece, the space transformed. It wasn’t just an apartment anymore. It was a home.

The apartment smelled like garlic and rosemary, the faint crackle of something sizzling on the stovetop breaking the silence. Keegan stepped inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his boots heavy against the polished wood floor. He froze just past the threshold, his breath catching at the sight in front of him.

You stood at the counter, your back to him, swaying slightly to the soft hum of music playing from the kitchen speaker. The oversized sweater you wore hung loosely off one shoulder, and your hair was messily tied back, strands framing your face.

It wasn’t just the sight of you that rooted him to the spot—it was the warmth of the apartment itself.

The last time he’d been here, the walls had been bare, the furniture sparse and impersonal. The place had felt like a waiting room, a temporary stop in the chaos of life. But now, it was something else entirely.

String lights curled along the edges of the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow. Polaroids covered one wall—pictures of the two of you smiling, laughing, caught in quiet moments of joy. A tapestry hung behind the couch, its rich, earthy tones adding depth to the room. On the side tables, lamps with warm light bathed the corners, pushing away any lingering shadows.

It looked like home.

Keegan couldn’t stop watching you. The way your hands moved so naturally as you stirred the sauce, the way you hummed a tune softly under your breath—it all felt like a dream. Every movement, every little detail, reminded him of how much he’d missed you, of the pieces of himself that had been scattered while he was away.

He let his gaze wander again, taking in the transformation of the apartment. On the coffee table, he noticed a candle, its flame flickering gently, filling the air with the comforting scent of vanilla. A knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch, the kind you’d pull over yourself while reading or watching a movie. Small details like these made the space feel alive, vibrant in a way it hadn’t been before.

And you—his heart ached just looking at you. It had been months since he’d last seen you, months since he’d felt your arms around him or heard the way you whispered his name like it was the only word that mattered.

Keegan cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. "Hey."

You startled, spinning around with wide eyes, but the moment you saw him, the surprise melted into something radiant.

"Keegan!" you gasped, abandoning the knife on the cutting board as you rushed toward him.

He dropped his duffel just in time to catch you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you leapt into his embrace. The familiar scent of you—lavender and something sweet—filled his senses, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

"You’re home," you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. "I’m home," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face. "You didn’t tell me you were coming. I would’ve—"

"Didn’t want you to wait on me," he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Wanted to surprise you."

You smiled, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You’re a good kind of surprise, Keegan."

His gaze drifted around the apartment, taking in every detail—the photos, the lights, the small touches of you everywhere. "You did all this?" he asked, his voice soft with wonder.

You followed his gaze, a hint of shyness creeping into your smile. "Yeah. I wanted it to feel like… like us."

Keegan shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It’s perfect," he said, pulling you close again. "You made it perfect."

The timer on the stove beeped, and you pulled back with a laugh. "Dinner’s going to burn if I don’t get back to it."

"Let it," he said, his hands refusing to let you go.

You rolled your eyes but kissed him gently. "I missed you too, but you’re not starving on my watch."

Reluctantly, he let you slip out of his arms, watching as you returned to the kitchen. He followed, leaning against the counter as you fussed over the meal.

"Can I help?" he asked, though the thought of doing anything other than watching you felt impossible.

"Just sit there and look pretty," you teased, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before grabbing a chair to sit by the kitchen island. His eyes never left you as you moved around, his chest full of a peace he hadn’t felt in months.

Your smile softened, and you stepped closer, holding out the spoon. “Taste this for me?”

He leaned down, letting you guide the spoon to his lips. The flavor was rich and comforting, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the food.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice rasping slightly.

You grinned, pleased, and turned back to the stove.

Keegan stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You stilled for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace, leaning back against him.

“I missed this,” he murmured into your hair.

“Me too,” you whispered. “I kept trying to imagine what it’d feel like when you finally came home. I don’t think I imagined it being this good.”

He tightened his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “This is better than I ever could’ve imagined. You’ve made this place… you’ve made it feel alive.”

You turned in his arms, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “It didn’t feel alive without you, Keegan. It didn’t feel like home.”

The weight of your words settled over him, his chest tightening. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your back. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“You’re here now,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

The oven timer went off, breaking the moment, and you laughed lightly as you pulled away. “Go sit down. Dinner’s ready.”

Keegan watched as you plated the food, every movement so familiar, so effortlessly you. The table was already set—another small detail that tugged at his heart. Candles flickered in the center, their warm glow adding to the cozy atmosphere.

“Do you like it?” you asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Like it?” he echoed, his voice quiet. He gestured to the room around him. “I love it, sweetheart. I love everything you’ve done here. It’s… it’s us.”

As you both sat down, Keegan reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For all of this,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “For waiting for me. For turning this place into something I want to come back to. For being you.”

Your eyes shimmered, and you squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Keegan. This is what we do. We’re a team.”

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt at peace. Sitting there with you, in the home you’d created together, he knew—this was where he belonged. This was everything he’d been fighting for. For the first time in a long time, Keegan felt like he could breathe. The apartment, the food, the warmth—it wasn’t just a place to return to.

It was home. And so were you

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #keegan p russ #cod keegan #call of duty keegan #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ

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marlequinncos · 8 months ago

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Cosplay Build Guide: Marko's Jacket from The Lost Boys (1987)

I am a lover of the horror genre; horror movies, books, games, you name it! And one of my favorite horror movies is the 1987 classic “The Lost Boys”, which focuses on a gang of motorcycle-riding vampires in the fictional California town of Santa Carla. I'm also a big fan of thrifting and modifying items for cosplay. I decided to combine those two things and make a garment that has lived rent-free in my head since I first saw the film: the colorful patchwork jacket worn by the vampire Marko.

I'm going to walk you through how I made Marko's jacket, breaking down the different parts that comprise the garment.

Marko’s outfit is made up of several components: a white cropped tank top, light wash denim jeans, leather chaps, custom painted leather moto boots, fingerless motorcycle gloves, a black skull earring, and of course, that iconic and extremely loud jacket.

All four titular vampires have a signature jacket they wear in the movie, and Marko’s is by far the most elaborate and distinctive. It consists of three main parts: the base jacket, the Italian tapestries, and the patches. Because of the nature of this build, I had to do a ton of intensive research to determine the individual and highly specific parts of the jacket. My main references were photos from movie memorabilia auction sites whenever one of the original jackets went up for sale, since they photograph the jacket from all angles.

Part 1: The Base Jacket

Marko’s base jacket is, according to my research, a men’s black Levi’s denim jacket in a size 40, which I believe translates to a medium. Now, I’m a petite woman (5’3”, athletic but slim), so I knew that the exact jacket would be too big for my frame. Instead, I found a men’s black denim jacket in an extra small; it's very similar in style to the original, but a little better proportioned for me. It's still very much oversized though. The first things I did were remove the buttons and pockets, and I cut off the hem of the jacket and the sleeve cuffs. Then I tossed the jacket in the washing machine to fray the edges.

Part 2: The Tapestries

The hardest part of the jacket by far was finding the tapestries, for two reasons. The first is that the tapestries were all from the 1960’s and 1970’s, meaning I had to scour vintage stores and websites to find the right ones. The second is the variation. Six jackets were made for each Lost Boy in the movie; this is standard for a film, since some jackets would be used for closeups (the”hero” jackets) while others were used for stunts, and a few even have intentional holes in them for harness rigging. Because of that and the thrifted nature of the jacket, the Marko jackets for the film all differ slightly in the placement of the tapestries and patches.

There are five tapestries in total. Three are velvet: the matador, the peacock, and the leopard with the messed up face. These are impossible to dupe via Spoonflower or Contrado (custom fabric printing websites) due to the fact that these three are essentially small rugs. The other two, chariot lady and cat lady, are dupable via Spoonflower or Contrado printing since they aren’t the same fabric as the others.

The two pin-up tapestries are nearly impossible to find, more so than the velvet ones. In my months of searching, I never found either pin-up tapestry, so I had them printed by Contrado, along with the collar trim.

If you go searching for the velvet tapestries, you'll notice that there are several different versions of each one, with slight changes in color and placement of things in the art. How accurate you want to be is up to you. My peacock and matador are accurate to the tapestries on one of the stunt jackets, whereas my leopard is the correct color but wrong direction. That's doesn't bother me much, personally, especially since the leopard is the hardest of the velvet tapestries to find by far.

Once the tapestries were acquired, I measured different sections based on the dimensions of the jacket, mapped it out using washi tape on the tapestries, and then cut them all out. There was a decent amount of math involved here, specifically regarding scaling the sections of tapestry down by a few inches since my jacket is smaller than the original. I then arranged them all onto the denim jacket and pinned them in place before hand sewing them (yes, you read that right; I hand sewed this whole thing) on in the correct overlap. I also added the rhinestones to the cat lady.

I recommend using embroidery needles and upholstery thread to attach the tapestries to the jacket, due to the thickness and the weight. I also sewed along the designs in the tapestries themselves to better hide the stitching within the image.

Part 3: The Patches

Marko’s jacket has a total of 26 different patches on it, most of which are motorcycle or punk themed. For these, I found a seller on Etsy who makes 24 of them, and I used Contrado to print the remaining two (the anarchy symbol and the large skull) on canvas and added the stitching. You could thrift and find the patches as well, but here's the thing: while some of these patches are pretty easy to find, others seem to be nonexistent, to the point that I wonder if some were made exclusively for the movie. That's why I went and purchased my patches instead of hunting them down. My personal favorite is the “Screw U” one. One fun fact about the patches is that the large winged skull on the back is a leftover from the movie “The Warriors”.

I once again hand sewed these all on as per the references from the movie. You might think that ironing the patches on is an easier method, but there's a few reasons why that won't work: 1) the patches in the movie are sewn on; if you zoom in, you can see the stitching 2) I'm not sure the patches would even adhere to the velvet and velour of the tapestries and 3) if you decide you don't like the placement of a patch that you sewed on, you can just seam rip the stitching and adjust it, which you can't really do as cleanly with an ironed-on patch.

Part 4: The Tassels

The tassels on the jacket’s shoulder are not tassels at all; they’re squid skirts (a type of fishing lure), which is something I never knew existed until I started researching for this build. For these, I found a fishing tackle website that had the closest match to the colors I needed, a blue-grey/orange and a yellow/green. Both squids also have glitter and little eyes painted on.

Part 5: Weathering and Finishing Touches

Lastly, I weathered the jacket to give it that lived-in look. For the dirt/dust on the patches, I used powder eyeshadow. I also picked at the edges of the tapestries to fray them a bit. And to make the patches less stiff, I just broke the jacket in by wearing it around my house. The great thing about this jacket is that the more I wear it and the more it weathers, the better it'll look.

FAQ

How heavy and warm is the jacket?

The jacket is made of denim and rugs, so its pretty warm and heavy. It honestly feels like wearing a weighted blanket, which is a nice bonus if you're anxiety made flesh like I am. It makes a lot of sense for the jacket to be on the heavier side, because if you’ve been to Northern California, you know how cold it can get on the coast, especially at night (not sure if vampires can feel cold, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

How long did it take you to make the jacket?

I don’t time my cosplay builds, but I can guess based on the amount of TV/movies/podcasts/playlists consumed as I was working on it. I'm also pretty fast when it comes to hand sewing. By my estimation, the jacket took me about 45-50 hours of work, and that’s not counting the time I spent searching for the tapestries.

Can you make me one?

Sorry friend, I don't take commissions. Even if I did, there's no guarantee I could find the exact tapestries again. I appreciate the interest though!

One of the most useful resources for making this jacket is the Replica Prop Forum! There's a ton of information there, as well as discussions and troubleshooting about the construction of the jacket.

I hope you enjoyed this walkthrough of Marko's jacket! This was a fun build and I'm really proud of the finished product. I'm going to make the rest of Marko's outfit + wig to complete the cosplay, so stay tuned for that!

If you have any other questions, feel free to plop them in my inbox! In addition to tumblr, you can also find my cosplay work on instagram and bluesky @/marlequinncos

#this might be my favorite thing I've ever made #the lost boys #marlequinncos #marko tlb #cosplay #my cosplay #marko the lost boys #horror #horror movies #80s movies #long post #build post

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robin-evry · 3 months ago

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Reading your demigod post, I liked it. I actually want demigod! Yuu who is related to Hestia.

sure thing, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐃 ( 𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀 ) 🔥

A demigod is a divine mythological figure, a god who is either part human, or a minor god. In ancient Greece, dead heroes were sometimes thought of as demigods. Greek and Roman mythology have their share of demigods, and so do many other ancient religions and traditions.

Demi god!Yuu takes immense pride in making Ramshackle Dorm a welcoming space for everyone. It’s not just a place to live—it’s a home. They have an almost magical ability to keep the fire always burning in the hearth, no matter how cold or chaotic things get. Ramshackle smells of baked bread, warm spices, and something uniquely comforting whenever demi-god!Yuu is around.

Their magic is centered around protective fire. Their flames never burn destructively unless they wills it—they warm, soothe, and shield. During fights, they conjures a dome of fire around their allies, and they even use smaller flames to guide lost souls through dark places, like a guardian light.

They also have a talent at food magic, the food that they always make held magical capabilities, they are able to heal, enhance and banish anxiety. Their cooking has the ability to rejuvenate and heal the bodies and soul of those who ate it.

They also have a habit of finishing their food in half of it and then throw the unfinished in the fire, when multiple students ask why they did it, they said it's a way to say thank you to their mother.

Demi-God!Yuu is the grounding force in Grim’s chaotic life. Their relationship is much like a motherly bond—Grim causes chaos, and they quietly fixes it. Despite Grim’s mischievous nature, he often finds himself curling up by their side when the day is over, soaking in the warmth and comfort only they can provide.

Ramshackle has been transformed from its previously rundown state into a warm, inviting space. They have added soft, plush furniture like oversized couches, armchairs, and thick rugs, making it perfect for lounging or gathering with friends. The walls are decorated with warm earth tones and rustic, simple decor—wooden shelves, woven tapestries, and small plants give the dorm a homey, lived-in feel

.In the spirit of family and unity, there’s a large, handcrafted wooden dining table in the center of the kitchen, where they often serves meals to friends. The table is always set with mismatched, yet charming dishware, and they keeps it stocked with fresh bread, fruit, and snacks. Meals at Ramshackle are a communal affair, with friends from different dorms often dropping by for food and conversation.

The central feature of Ramshackle Dorm under Demi-godYuu care is a large, ever-burning hearth located in the common room. The fire never goes out, providing warmth and comfort to anyone who enters. The flames are magical, casting a gentle golden light that fills the room with a sense of safety. It’s both literal and symbolic, representing their connection to their mother and their role as the heart of the dorm.

Ramshackle has become a popular spot for study sessions under their watch. They’ll prepare snacks, light the fireplace, and create a quiet, warm environment perfect for focusing on schoolwork. The other students find it easier to concentrate when their around, as their calm energy balances the stress of academics.

The kitchen is the heart of Demi-God Yuu’s hospitality. It’s an open space with hanging pots and pans, shelves lined with herbs and spices, and a large brick oven where they bakes their famous bread and hearty meals. There’s always something cooking, filling the dorm with the scent of fresh-baked goods and simmering stews. The fire in the oven is controlled directly by their magic, ensuring perfect heat for every dish.

During free time trey, Jamil and them would try new baking and cooking recipes. You would always expect them at the school's kitchen or at the ramshackle kitchen cooking a hearty meal for students to enjoy.

Btw behind ramshackle holds a garden filled with vegetables and fruits Demi-God!yuu grow by themselves during free time you can always find them tending to the vegetables and for those who steal without permission is gonna suffer from their raft.

Ruggie enjoys their present, since they always give him free food. Or when he's tired and needs a place to rest you can always find him in ramshackle enjoying a meal prepared by Demi-God!yuu.

They love organizing small celebrations or get-togethers for special occasions. Whether it’s someone’s birthday or a dorm victory, they’ll create an event with homemade food, decorations, and warm fires to keep everyone cozy. These small festivals quickly become a favorite tradition among their friends, who look forward to their thoughtful touches.

They have a habit of collecting small, comforting objects from their friends and surroundings—little tokens like handmade charms, smooth stones, or dried flowers. These trinkets serve as reminders of the bonds they’ve formed with others, and they often places them on shelves or keeps them in pockets to carry that warmth with them.

At the end of the day, Demi-God yuu has a ritual of sitting by the fire, quietly meditating or reflecting on the events of the day. They’ll let the flames dance in front of them, using the soft crackling sound to clear their mind. Sometimes friends will join, creating a peaceful, bonding moment before heading off to bed.

They also often crafts small protective charms out of clay, fire, and herbs, infused with a spark of their divine power. These charms are designed to ward off harm and bring good fortune to those who carry them. Many of their friends have one, often worn as a necklace or tucked into a pocket. The charm glows faintly when danger is near, reminding everyone of their protective nature.

Though demigod-Yuu is kind and gentle, they are fiercely protective when it comes to their friends. They don’t always show it, but they’re constantly aware of everyone’s well-being, ready to step in if something goes wrong. Their quiet but vigilant nature means that danger rarely catches them off guard. When someone threatens those they care about, their flames burn hotter and more intense, transforming them from a peaceful caretaker into a protector.

Demi-God Yuu has an incredible emotional intuition, able to sense when something is off with their friends, even when they try to hide it. Whether it’s the way someone’s aura feels cooler than usual or how they’re behaving more distantly, they will pick up on the smallest shifts and offer quiet support. This makes them a comforting presence, as people don’t have to explain themselves for them to understand.

They can channel their fire magic into healing flames. When someone is injured, they place their hands over the wound and allow a gentle warmth to radiate, accelerating the healing process. These flames don’t burn or hurt but instead bring a soothing, regenerative warmth that makes physical injuries heal faster and leaves the person feeling rejuvenated.

Their clothing is enchanted to be fireproof, both for practical and aesthetic reasons. They often wear outfits that are warm and cozy, like oversized sweaters, soft scarves, and long skirts or pants. Their style is practical but has a rustic charm, blending comfort with the feeling of being always ready for action. The clothes seem to emit a slight warmth as well, making others feel comforted when standing close to them.

They also carries a small, portable cooking kit that includes a tiny pot, a collapsible spatula, and a few spices. While it may seem strange, this kit is perfect for impromptu cooking, whether it's brewing a quick soup or making tea. Their always ready to cook, no matter where they are.

Demi-God Yuu can communicate with fire spirits and small ember-like creatures. These spirits sometimes act as helpers or companions, flitting around them, providing warmth, guidance, or even playful company. These little spirits are drawn to their hearth-like energy and often appear when they need a reminder of home or emotional support.

While they are known for their warmth, they carry a deep sadness from feeling like an outsider. Their divine heritage often makes it difficult to fully connect with their peers, leading them to struggle with feelings of inadequacy or not belonging. They share their feelings only with their closest friends, who help remind them of their worth and the positive impact they have on those around them.

Demi-God Yuu has a collection of unique candles from different places, each with its own story. They love to light these candles during study sessions or gatherings, filling the room with various scents that evoke memories and feelings of comfort.

They carrie a small, intricately designed keychain shaped like a flame that their mother gave them as a child. It serves as a reminder of Hestia’s love and protection and brings them comfort in challenging times. They often hold it when feeling anxious.

Malleus has a soft spot for them, often visiting their room to enjoy the warmth and peace it provides. He feels a connection to their hearth-like energy, which calms him in moments of solitude. They share a special bond over their understanding of loneliness.

Demi-God Yuu holds various superstitions related to their heritage, such as always carrying a lucky charm or lighting a candle before an important event. They believe these rituals help them connect with Hestia and bring them good fortune.

Demi-God Yuu has an affinity for puns, especially ones related to fire or warmth. Their friends groan at Demi-God Yuu’s dad jokes, but they can’t help but laugh because of their contagious enthusiasm and genuine joy in sharing them.

They enjoy spending time with Lilia, as he appreciates the warmth they bring to any gathering. They often have deep conversations about life, family, and finding purpose, bonding over their shared experiences as guardians of their respective communities.

They also keeps a journal filled with recipes from around the world. They aspire to learn about different culinary traditions and eventually host an international potluck at NRC, encouraging everyone to share their heritage.

#not canon #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenario #disney twst #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu au #demigods #hestia

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wolven91 · 10 months ago

Text

Inventors

When humanity joined the rest of the races amongst the stars, it was a cause of celebration across the stars as they paraded the humans through the GC ring world, regardless of the gaunt and tired faces that the ticker tape and confetti fell upon.

The celebration was confirmation that there was yet more to the universe to see! The melancholy that had plagued the races for two hundred years was over! There was yet more life in the galaxy! What humanity learnt in the coming weeks and months, was the reason *why* humanity being found and brought into the fold was so important.

It was because the wider galaxy; had stagnated.

No new ideas were being made. No new technology besides mild improvements of what had already been there. No new fashion, just old things recycled again and again. Not even concepts that were commonplace and obvious to humanity had been even thought about by the wider GC. It was so bad, for so long, there was a statement that confused most humans when they heard it. The galaxy was so stagnant, that not even so much as a new recipe had been discovered in over a hundred years.

So, when humanity appeared, most of the races didn't even *think* of asking them whether they had any new ideas they wanted to share with the galaxy, they assumed that the races had not only thought of everything, but that humanity couldn't have possibly discovered new things on their own.

In the end, it was little things that were slowly added to the combined technology of the Galactic Community.

An 'umbrella' was created on a planet that only ever had rain. A blanket with sleeves in was invented for a long-haul transport trip.

'Unique' and 'inspired'.

So obvious most of the races from the stars merely blinked and wondered how they could have possibly missed such marvellous and simple ideas.

Humanity! The little inventors that *could*!

It was brilliant PR for the little race to buck off the sombre knowledge they were nearly extinct to add their own work into the tapestry of the GC. The heads of state even gave a small speech of how, regardless of whether in a hundred years humanity was still with the GC, their little contributions would mean they were remembered forever!

The console screen snapped off and the remote thrown across the room, hitting a cushion with a solid 'thud'.

"Fucking twats." Growled the human, still glaring at the now blank screen, fuming.

A canid's head popped around the doorframe at the outburst with his ears perked and eyes attentive. The human was facing away, but the tense shoulders and anger in Ted's voice told Kiv that the human needed him. The scent was acidic and figuratively burnt the back of Kiv's snout.

"You okay Teddy?" Asked the canid, quickly washing his hands and running them down the messy grey fur of his thighs to dry them. Padding into the room, the human now had his hands on his hips but was staring at the blank console screen mounted on the wall. From Kiv's perspective, he was like an ursidain; a living mountain. The tight green shirt running along and highlighting the corded muscles of his back, neck and shoulders.

"Teddy?" Asked the canid again, gently. He stepped around the oversized sofa and tapped the tips of two of his claws together, holding his hands in front of his chest as a nervous tick. Kiv was a nervous soul and despite doing nothing to earn the ire of the human, there was still a part of the canid that blamed himself for anything negative in the world around him.

The human turned to face Kiv and the mostly fleshy face broke into a tired smile, easing Kiv's fears.

Kiv was not your average canid. He was an outlier by a large margin. As a canid, he was considered 'disabled' despite being perfectly capable to exist in society without the need for help. But Kiv wasn't considered 'capable' in his own species' eyes.

Kiv was a runt. Incapable of serving the military or even private security in any capacity.

At barely 5'5, the canid had to look up at the 6'3 human who dwarfed him in all ways. Kiv practically had to bend his back and crane his neck just to look his fellow canids in the eyes, saying that they could reach up to 10 feet in height. The human blinked and sighed through his nose before speaking.

"Sorry Kiv, I got... annoyed at the TV." Replied the human, gesturing with a limp arm and allowing the tension that was in his broad shoulders to melt away with another sigh. The human merely turned to the canid and wrapped his arms around the short, furry alien. Kiv closed his eyes and rumbled into the nap of Teddy's neck, relishing the thick broad arms of the human, holding him in place. The human, without issue of effort, lifted the wiry canid from the floor and flopped down onto the sofa. It had been built for the titan-esque ursidains in mind; the furniture barely noticed both the human and the tiny canid.

Relaxing into Ted's hug, Kiv didn't know what a 'TV' was but could guess that it was the news that had annoyed Ted. It usually was.

"What were they saying?" Kiv asked quietly after a moment of them both laying there.

"Congratulating us poor, helpless humans and how we're doing *super* and that if we die out, that's okay; we invented stuff." Ted replied with a gruff, annoyed tone. It still made Kiv nervous. The mere tone was enough to set him on edge despite Teddy never *once* raising his voice in anger for frustration at the canid.

Kiv's ears laid flat as he gazed up at his human longingly. Kiv never believed he could be a real canid before meeting Ted. Canids each had an instinctual drive to protect and defend others. It mostly meant one's pack, but when Kiv simply wasn't included in a pack, all he wanted was someone who could rely on him, despite being a runt.

Then he had bumped into the mountain of a creature that was Theodore. Ted or 'Teddy' for short. Kiv liked how only *he* was allowed to call the human 'Teddy'. The human had mistaken Kiv for a cub at first, which the canid couldn't blame the human for. But after that crash introduction, the pair of them had become close friends. Kiv had shown the human around the station in a manner not approved of by the administration and the human had met an equal, one that didn't treat him like a lesser being. Kiv had to admit that he had fallen for the human almost instantly in the beginning...

Moving in together had been pragmatic. Sharing each other's bed was merely the natural progression of things, much to the canid's absolute joy. He had never dreamt that he could have had such a wonderful life when he was growing up.

Kiv gently licked the underside of Teddy's chin, pulling the hulking figure out of his thoughts again.

"You don't need their approval. Since when have you needed anyone's?" Asked the canid carefully, pointing out the truth. The human grinned and planted his soft lips against Kiv's leathery nose once. Kiv licked it as a habitual response.

"You are the only one that matters to me. Just annoyed. I feel called out." Replied the human, merely articulating his feelings for the alien.

"Don't! You're a brilliant inventor! Your invention is going to change the stars! Every canid from here to Anul-6 is going to want one! Even if you only sold them for a single credit; you're never going to have to work another day in your life! We could-"

But Kiv stopped himself and laid his muzzle flat against the human's chest, preventing him from spiralling and talking too fast and too much. He had a habit of getting excited then speaking so much that people found it annoying. Kiv didn't want to annoy Teddy...

"Hey! Hey, hey hey..." The human coaxed, aware that the canid was once again silencing himself. The human used his arms to hug and squeeze the canid to get his attention. Ted was aware that Kiv was used to being shut down by others, merely because his opinion was worthless to them thanks to his size. "What was it? 'We could' what?" The human asked calmly.

"You'll laugh." Accused Kiv, nervous and feeling vulnerable.

"Never at you darling. *Never* at you. What could we do if this works?" Promised the human, using his finger and thumb to being the canid's head up and catch his gaze, holding it; silently promising nothing but respect and love.

"We could... get a little plot of land..." Whispered Kiv in a tiny voice.

"Oh? That would be nice... Whereabouts?" Whispered Ted right back.

"...I always liked the looks of the ursidain forestry worlds... They sell little parcels... I... um... That was my dream. To earn enough to buy one..." Mumbled the canid directly into the chest of the human, the insides of his ears turning a bright pinkie red, that had the human grinning from ear to ear.

"Alright then. That's the goal." Ted said with a firm tone and a curt nod.

Kiv's head snapped right back up, nearly clocking the human under the chin with the canid's skull.

"But what about you?" The furry, wolf-like alien demanded.

Teddy snorted.

"Like I had a 'plan'. Until you came along, I didn't have anything, or anyone left to make plans *with*. At least now..." He touched his nose to the canid's muzzle again. Kiv licked again. "I have someone to dote on."

The pair laid there for a time on the sofa, merely enjoying each other with their eyes closed. Eventually Ted sighed and with a single hand, reached out to the coffee table where one of his prototypes laid there. Grasping it, he held it up in one hand and turned it over.

'This is so stupid' Ted thought to himself, only to have Kiv, seemingly read his mind and pipe up.

"They're brilliant you know. I mean it."

"You really think they'll be popular?" The human gave it a squeeze and physically felt the response from Kiv as he laid on the human. The rubberised material deformed in the human's grip and forced the air out of the hollow insides through a squeaker. The high pitch squeal gave one note, then drawled another as air flooded back in once Ted had relaxed his grip.

His eyes flicked to the canid, who despite living with these things now for a few weeks, was still; completely and utter enraptured by the object. His eyes and ears were locked on and as Ted held the toy still, raised above the canid, Kiv could help but lick his chops and begin to shake in anticipation.

Ted broke out into laughed and scooped the canid up into a hug and rolled the alien against the back of the couch as he began peppering the smaller creature with kisses, his foul mood; long forgotten.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #werewolf #canid

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factorytapestry · 2 years ago

Video

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fantasticsandwich · 5 months ago

Text

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 1)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

The dull hum of the museum’s air conditioning blended with the soft shuffle of footsteps, hardly alleviating the stifling heat that clung to your skin. You trailed behind Cillian, gaze lingering on a serene landscape that seemed worlds away from the cramped gallery you occupied. However, instead of succumbing to the immense discomfort of being perceived, Cillian was in his element, angling his body to capture the perfect selfie, his phone held aloft.

“Stand over there,” he directed without looking your way, focused on capturing his reflection in the glass protecting a centuries-old portrait. “I need more light.”

Yielding an ungodly ring light, you shuffled into place, feeling the tight pull of your blouse as you dangled it over your head. Struggling to hold it in one hand, you fidgeted, tugging at the fabric, wishing you could blend into the walls and disappear. Your oversized glasses slid down the bridge of your nose as you glanced at Cillian, who paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before flashing another practiced smile at his phone. Or rather, yours, because he thought pictures always looked better through your lens despite the inferior quality.

A couple cast a glare in your direction, clearly annoyed by the disruption. You watched Cillian wave dismissively at the glaring onlookers, his attention never straying from the image on his screen.

“Can’t have them ruining the shot,” he murmured.

As Cillian lined up another photo, your thoughts churned. The museum had become a stage, and Cillian, its sole performer. Every sculpture, every painting—they were merely props for his endless stream of portraits. You wondered if he saw anything beyond the likes and comments each picture might garner.

“Isn’t it hot in here?” you ventured, seeking some acknowledgment of the discomfort you felt. “The light isn’t helping. Maybe we could enjoy the art without—”

“Comfort doesn’t get followers, Y/N,” he interjected, his tone light but firm. “You know how it is. Image is everything.”

“Right, of course,” you answered, your cheerful facade slipping into place as easily as your sleeves slipping down your arms. “Image is everything.”

In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the sound of Cillian’s camera shutter, the art around you—a tapestry of colors and emotions—seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the one-sided performance playing out before it.

His silhouette morphed with the statue beside him, his body language shifting from casual to statuesque in a heartbeat.

“Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Stand next to that one. I want a photo. It looks like you.”

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the contours of the marble goddess before her: poised, serene, and eternally graceful. You glanced down at your own trendy and curated, yet slightly mismatched attire.

“Um, sure,” you replied, stepping forward with a forced smile. Your limbs felt awkward as you raised an arm, trying to emulate the statue's elegant gesture. The solid chill of the museum air wrapped around your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of how out of place you looked.

“Just like that,” Cillian encouraged from behind the camera, his voice smooth as silk. The device made a soft click sound as it captured the moment.

“Did it turn out okay?” You asked, hoping your performance had been convincing enough to meet his standards.

“Let me see,” Cillian murmured, tapping on the screen with slender fingers. A pause stretched between the pair, filled with the hum of distant conversation and the subtle clicks of camera shutters from other visitors. “Perfect,” he declared, the word dropping from his lips like a verdict. He switched off the camera, his eyes not meeting yours. “Just perfect.”

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and unease. His approval was something you couldn’t help but crave, despite the cost. His hand brushed against yours as he handed back the device, leaving a trail of cold uncertainty in its wake.

“Thanks for helping,” he said with a smile. “Let me treat you to something.”

Exiting the viewing hall, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the muted whispers of other patrons as you and Cillian found your way to a secluded bench in the museum's on-site cafe. A sigh escaped you, your shoulders slumping slightly as you settled onto the cool metal seat, Cillian taking the booth. Already, he held his phone. His thumbs flicked across the screen, dredging forth a gallery of images.

“Look,” Cillian said, holding the phone between them. On the screen was a photo of him standing confidently next to a marble statue, both strikingly handsome, distant and untouchable, cold in their own regard. “Which is prettier?”

You hesitated, your gaze flitting between his expectant eyes and the image of the two figures frozen in time. You zoomed in to inspect their expressions. The statue’s face was one of great speculation, perhaps even sorrow. Cillian, though undeniably attractive, seemed haughty, almost too aware of his beauty. You experienced a surge of jealousy when you realized his skin was as pale as marble and his eyes were as clear as the glass protecting it from view. Adorned by a light blush, his cheeks were not untouched by the heat. Still, not a single hair was out of place. Not a single blemish or dark spot on that noble farce. His skin was smoother than porcelain.

Meanwhile, spotting your bespeckled reflection on the screen nearly caused your heart to stop. Little flyaway strands plastered against your forehead and splay out across your flushed cheeks. Sighing, you turned your head away, pressing against your shoulder to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. You felt a dull ache as your lips parted to answer, only for the words to tangle in your throat.

“Hard to choose, right?”

“Both are remarkable,” you managed to say, your words carefully neutral. You hoped your voice didn't betray the unease that coiled within, the sense of being tested. His smile widened, but there was a sharpness to it that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you wondered if your response had been enough to satisfy.

“Of course,” Cillian replied, the word drawn out like a soft purr. “But I’d prefer you say I’m living art.”

Your gaze lingered on the screen as Cillian flicked to another photograph, this one a close-up of his profile silhouetted against a canvas of Renaissance art. His nose stood out. Roman, straight, and perfect, casting a shadow that seemed sculpted by the same hands that had carved the figures they admired all afternoon.

“You are. You look like a statue,” you murmured, voice laced with an involuntary admiration that made your stomach clench. Why weren’t you as pretty as him? Was some cosmic force punishing you for a misdeed in a past life?

“Yeah?” Cillian reveled in your praise, leaning closer. “And what about my other features? Do you think they’re just as perfect?”

You glanced at the high curve of his cheekbones, the arch of well-groomed brows, and how his smile never appeared to belong to you.

“More so. It could’ve been modeled off of you, but you’re still incomparable.”

Abruptly popping out his seat, Cillian muttered an excuse and bolted to the counter. He swiped your desserts up and returned in three long strides. Carefully, he placed them onto the table. Humming cheerfully, you swiped a spoon off the table and guided its tapered head to the dessert.

“Wait,” he said, hand blocking the spoon’s path. “Take some pictures.”

Sighing, you yielded and accepted his phone. The parfait was already melting into a puddle of unappealing, inedible goo, but you slid it across the table. When you pulled back from the lukewarm glass, sugary residue clung to your fingers. The strawberry syrup was congealing, slowly sinking to the bottom to mingle with the yogurt, bleeding pink.

Staring at the mess, you licked your lips. You longed to steal a spoonful, but you couldn’t even consider eating until Cillian decided they had enough pictures. Already, you had snapped fifteen at every angle possible. Upon request, you even shimmied out of your seat to take more.

To think, you could’ve been at home, studying, doing anything else instead of practicing your still-life portrait skills. You shouldn’t have been so excited to be invited out by Cillian. Excitement only brought disappointment.

Popping upright, your knee nearly knocked against the underside of the table. At the last second, Cillian reached out, slotting his hand between to lessen the impact. His skin was warm and soft against yours. His palm enveloped the entirety of your knee. You winced and nervously laughed at the contact, swatting him away.

“Tell me what you think about them,” you said, passing the phone back into the hands of its owner.

Your beaded keychain snagged on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your ponytail. Wincing, you halted to allow Cillian to detangle it. Once free, you moved to stand at his side, peering over his shoulder as he flicked through every photo. One by one, Cillian kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out to focus on a minuscule detail. Not a single pixel was free from scrutiny.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he sighed. His hands snuck out across the table, then his gangly arms followed. Elbows resting on the table, he cradled his face in his palms. His gaze rose, narrowed onto you, startlingly innocent.

Although it enhanced his features during photoshoots, you loathed his opaque expressions. Even after several years of knowing him, it was impossible to gauge his response, to anticipate his next word. Fortunately, most of his requests were only minimally irritating to fulfill.

“Can you take a few more pics on your phone? Maybe they’ll turn out different.” He requested, peering up from his device. Neck craned back to view you, his hair flopped over, billowing out into disarray.

A stray strand brushed against your nose, tickling. His roots were growing in, stark against his bleached strands. You pursed your lips, urging your attention elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d ask what you were looking at, and you’d have no choice but to answer. Since that apparently wasn’t a solitary task, you could expect to dedicate an additional hour to helping him pick a shade then dye his hair.

Self-conscious at the proximity, you stabbed your fingers through your hair, tugging the thick mop back. Prodding through knots, you felt the sweat of your scalp melting through your fingertips, boiling into your skin. Mournfully, you realized you would have to take another shower. And to think, you finished your favorite shampoo the morning prior. You’d ask him to buy more and call it a photography fee.

Feeling more coerced than inspired into the act, you sighed and snatched your bag off the back of the chair. Rummaging through the contents, you plucked your phone out. Cillian eyed the keychain with a small grin.

You inhaled for the sake of your patience. Lowering into another awkward position, you guided the camera around, searching for the perfect angle as he posed, arms thrown over the back of the plush seat.

He was rather opinionated about composition; he liked either having his face centered in images or leaning more to the right-hand side. Rule of thirds, symmetry, and whatnot. A simple photo became a portrait, something meant to rival baroque image. You clicked another picture when he scooped a glob of the parfait onto the spoon. Another, when he took a bite, then another when he pressed the spoon to his lips, and another when his eyes fluttered shut.

At some point during the ten-minute extension, a drop of the watery yogurt slipped past your trained eye, dribbling onto his chin. You set the phone down and moved to grab a tissue off of the table when he prompted you to continue. You complied. At last, Cillian decided to grant your wobbly arms mercy as he finally picked his final pose. To end it, he winked and blew a kiss.

You grumbled, plotting back onto your seat. You winced when the cold metal touched your thighs. “Pay me.”

“An air kiss isn’t enough? Want a real one?”

“Pass. I’d rather gut myself.” You swiped your hair over your shoulder and grabbed a stack of napkins to fan yourself with. Hoping to experience a reprieve from the heat, you reached for your dessert and was sorely disappointed to discover that it had liquified. Only the precipitation clinging to the cup was cold. You grabbed the cup and sloshed its contents around, watching globs spill over the edge. You looked over at Cillian’s dessert and sighed upon discovering that it was in an even worse state. His big, warm hands had cradled it for too long.

Opening up Instagram, you slumped over, assassinated by a surge of jealousy. Posts about vacations in Granada, California, and Rome filled your recommended feed. These broke college students shouldn’t have been partying abroad, living it up. And why were they on vacation when there were still two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? How? Could you still get in on the action? Oh well; it wasn’t as if you had money for plans anyway.

When you were done imposing misery upon yourself, you handed your phone to Cillian. He accepted it with the grace of a dog snagging meat.

“I appreciate it,” he said, attention glued to the screen. You saw the images flash across his eyes, his own face superimposed on his retinas as he zoomed in, pinching and frowning. After browsing and sending the photos, he placed your phone down on his lap. Ignoring your sudden anxiety, he rested his hands on the table and smiled. “I mean it. No one else does this for me. Thank you.”

You observed the rings on his knuckles. Glinting like teeth in subdued laughter, he tapped against the table. So pretty and shiny, gleaming with sunlight… And that face… If you became rich enough, you would consider asking him for fashion and skincare advice. He’d taken to giving you gifts at random, and all the products were from expensive brands you couldn’t pronounce.

The perks of having a trust fund, you supposed.

“You’re leaving the country soon, right?” You leaned back against the chair and splayed out your legs, recoiling when your foot made contact with his shim.

A trickle of sweat ran past your neck, seeping down to the plunge of your shirt. Contrarily, Cillian was dressed to attract the sun; he wore a dark dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. The top few buttons were unfastened to reveal the black designer t-shirt trapped beneath. His jeans were black, with slices at the knees.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Why do you ask? Are you going to miss me? Already feeling the crushing weight of my absence? Don’t worry. I’ll text you everyday. I’ll even bring you souvenirs.”

“No.” Firmly, you shook your head. “You’re the one who’s going to miss me.”

“Get WhatsApp so I can text you without getting charged. It’s about time you finally downloaded it.”

“So you can spam my messages with even more pictures of yourself? No thanks. You have a mirror, and my gallery is already filled by you.” You narrowed your eyes. “Even if I wanted to, how can I download anything if you have my phone?”

“You mean this thing?” Teasingly, Cillian brandished the device. When you reached for it, he leaned back, toting it out of reach. “I can figure out your password and get it for you.”

He typed random combinations of numbers until he successfully unlocked it. You rose from your seat, more serious about retrieving it. To counter, Cillian hunched over, shielding the screen with his body.

“Relax,” he said, head disappearing beneath the table. Self-conscious again, you tugged your skirt down. “I’m sending myself the photos you took of me.”

Red with anger, you joined him, ducking beneath the table. With the slit of your phone screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your messages and replying with a selfie of himself.

“Cillian…” You grasped his shoulder. “Stop being a cunt. I’m not getting WhatsApp if you’re going to keep acting like this.”

Ignoring you, he abruptly stood. In y ourhaste to follow, your head slammed on the underside of the table. With a hand pressed against your scalp, you rose, only to encounter your frazzled expression staring back on the screen.

“Say cheese!”

Holding the phone over his head, Cillian snapped a selfie of you. As usual, he was smiling, sparkling, while your hair was frazzled and your face was sullen. Although you begged him not to, he promptly posted the picture to your Instagram, accompanied by some of the parfait and himself.

“Cillian,” you tried again. Shaking his shoulders, you groaned when he refused to budge. “Alright, then. I guess I’m just gonna get your phone.”

As if shocked by lightning, he jolted upright. He stared at her, eyes peering into your soul. “Go on. I don’t have anything to hide. But why don’t you want me to have yours? Do you have something to hide?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.” He shot you one of his infamous, heart-melting smiles. “Since I already looked at yours, we can look at mine together. It’d please you, right?”

There were moments when he sounded peculiar. Was it something in his tone, or was it his irregular phrasing? Regardless of the strange feeling’s origin, you felt a guilty caution and were inclined to dishonesty in his presence. You wouldn’t want to be a bad friend by misinterpreting his overly-zealous intentions.

Swiping his phone off the table, Cillian placed it into your palm. He relayed the password, but his hand remained enclosed around yours, so you punched in the code with your thumb. Chewing your cheek, you scrolled, hesitantly tapping onto a conversation, utterly disinterested until you saw the strange memes passed between Cillian and his friend.

“Here,” you said, resigned as you handed the device back.

He smiled. “See? Nothing to hide.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shrugging, Cillian retrieved your phone from his pocket again to scrutinize the photos in your camera roll, trained on his appearance as he glided between filters and toyed with the saturation.

You futilely observed him before redirecting your thoughts to something more productive, the upcoming final exams. Soon thought, you began to daydream about fast cars and countryside estates, forgetting how, with the new year’s onset, you watched self-help videos, browsed countless articles to curb your materialistic tendencies.

You took up new hobbies with your friends, painting and snacking on charcuterie and wine. You denied yourself the pleasures of theaters, of restaurants and shopping hauls. But when your paycheck arrived, you found yourself partitioning it into tuition costs, then different discretionary categories.

Your mother incessantly begged you to enjoy your youth. One day, you’d have a fulfilling hospital job, packed with plentiful hours. Even then, there was an expected exchange of currency; time for a pay stub. So, at some point, you lost the desire to save and smartly concluded, that whether for necessity or whim, people only made money to spend it. Money was entertainment. Money was activity. Money was the tears in your mother’s eyes when you paid for half of your snot-nosed brother’s school fees.

Money was whatever you needed it to be, and it was all you lived for. You had tried amending this mindset countless times, but no other inspiration stuck. It was fortunate that you were friends with someone who had too much of it. Cillian spoiled you on excursions, with gifts. So, if he had money, then money was him, and by proxy, you were getting that bag while being in his presence.

Once, during your final year of secondary school, you turned to Cillian for advice. You purchased a shirt from a designer brand and wore it to his birthday party, only to have his younger cousin spill juice on you, Rianning it. On the verge of a breakdown, you stormed to the kitchen. As you furiously scrubbed your shirt with a dishrag, you heard footsteps in pursuit. Teary-eyes, you turned to him and asked to hear his truth of the world.

He hadn’t been rich back then. He was only the boy in the council house next to yours, your life-long friend. He knew you better than you knew yourself. You were attuned to his every quirk.

“I’m so tired of buying, buying, buying, but never feeling like I have enough. How do you get through it? Feeling like you’re enough without having it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a small clasp mirror, the kind that comes free from stores with a hundred-dollar purchase, and unceremoniously presented it. “You’ve got to love yourself.”

“And how do I go about that when I haven’t the slightest clue?”

“It’s simple.” A light red tinted his cheeks. “You tell yourself ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,’ and know that’s what you’re always meant to be. At the same time, you need to know you’re insignificant no matter what you do. Only relationships define you, and no one wants to be around someone pathetic. You’ll only be used like that, so you need to change to protect yourself.”

Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the glassy surface to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he were still tracing the contours of his every feature through the glare of the spectacles perched on you nose.

“People say beauty is on the inside, but if you’re ugly on the inside, then you know it can be manufactured.”

Cillian still hadn’t stopped staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him. He’d still stare so deeply into your glasses, at his reflection in your eyes and you still wondered if he was searching for a mirror that would twist his form into something beautiful.

You were snapped out of the memory when he voiced a request.

“Your turn,” he said suddenly. “May I?”

“May you… May you do what?”

“You looked at me earlier. I want to do the same.”

“I mean, you’re already looking at me…” You felt his stare and winced. “But it’s… alright? Yeah, go ahead.”

The air was thick as you waited, trying to anticipate his thoughts, unsure of what he had in mind. Cillian observed you with an intensity that felt almost palpable, his scrutiny a tangible force that rendered you immobile—a specimen under a microscope, a subject in a frame.

“Such pretty features,” he commented softly. His fingers slid along the curve of your cheek, coming to rest on the bridge of your nose. Before you could comprehend his intentions, he plucked your glasses off with a swift, almost surgical movement.

The world around you dissolved into a wash of colors, each brushstroke of reality smearing into an indistinguishable palette of hues. Sounds seemed to amplify in the absence of clear sight, the distant murmur of museum visitors swirling around like wind rustling through autumn leaves.

“You look better without these. You can’t see without them.” He dangled the glasses just out of focus, the lenses catching the light and casting ghostly reflections onto the blurred canvas. “But when I’m this close, can you only see me?” He leaned in, noses almost touching. “Sometimes, I like when you wear them, too.”

You blinked, trying to force clarity back into your vision, but it was futile. The room felt larger, more intimidating, as if the ceiling had stretched away and the walls were leaning in to listen. You were acutely aware of your heartbeat, a tumultuous rhythm against the backdrop of this disorienting scene.

“Cillian?” Your voice quivered slightly, betraying your unease.

“Shh,” he hushed, the sound slicing gently through the air. “Just look at me.”

You tried, oh how you tried, but his face was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, his features lost in a fog. He loomed over you, a specter made of shifting shades rather than flesh and bone. The faint scent of his cologne, usually so comforting, now seemed overpowering, filling your nostrils and clouding your thoughts.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, though whether he spoke of you or to himself, you couldn’t tell. The air was charged with a strange energy you couldn’t define. “Can you see me?”

“Only… only shapes. Outlines.”

“Like an abstract. Can you read me? Do you know what I mean?”

“No?” You said, uncertainty. “If you want to talk art, give me a day to talk to that one upperclassman who keeps begging to paint you.”

His presence was static, pointillism in slap-dash dots, yet there was a sharpness to it, like the glint of a knife hidden beneath silk. Suddenly, Cillian's hands cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“You’re cute.” A soft laugh escaped his lips. The familiar sensation of being pinched and appraised was oddly comforting in its normalcy.

“Alright,” he said briskly, pulling away and breaking the momentary spell. Your gaze fluttered up, onto him. He stood, legs screeching against the ground as he jammed his chair under the table. “It’s about time to leave. We’ve got places to be.”

You blinked, trying to focus on his voice as it cut through the disorientation of your vision. “Can I have my glasses? And my phone?” you asked, reaching out in the direction of his voice, fingers grasping blindly at the air.

“Your glasses?” Cillian teased, dangling them just out of reach. “But you look so adorable without them.” His laugh held an edge, like the thin crack running down a perfectly glazed vase.

“As you know, I need to see,” you said, the words coming out more plaintive than intended. You felt for the spectacles once more, movements uncertain without sight to guide you.

With a sigh that suggested he was granting a favor, Cillian finally placed the glasses in your outstretched hand. The world snapped back into sharp relief as you slid them onto your nose, the cafe and its patrons coming into clear view once again.

“And this?” Cillian echoed, his tone playful. Retrieving the device from his pocket, he waved it around. “I’ll give it back, but you need to promise that we'll look at these together tomorrow. I want to coordinate our feeds.”

“Sure, yeah. We’ll align our online synergies tomorrow,” you echoed, using buzzwords and nodding although a part of you screamed in protest.

Standing, you snatched a few napkins and wiped down the photo shoot's debris. On the way out, you tossed the melted goo into the trash and bid him goodbye, slouching as you turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk, almost immediately surrounded by a torrent of pedestrians. You surged ahead, elbowing your way through the crowd.

“Hell is other people,” Cillian mindlessly commented. You instantly pinpointed his melodic voice amidst the throng. “Want me to give you a ride? Or walk you to the bus stop?”

Halting, you spun around, wrapping your hands around your mouth to shout. “No thanks. It’s not that far. You should also get home before it gets dark.”

“Alright. Be safe. Don’t get kidnapped.”

“Walking with you could endanger me. Someone would take you for ransom.”

“And you’d pay for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I need to get my paycheck first.”

“Y/N,” he whined.

“You’re not Caesar, so why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and turned away, finally bidding you goodbye. His arms dropped to his side, madly swinging. You watched for a moment as he pranced, caught in his cool-guy act that he pursued it even as he stumbled over a curb. You chewed your lip to stifle a laugh, allowing yourself a final glance at his strange gait. You began at a leisurely pace, loosening up to let your arms swing like him. Maybe he was happy because he allowed himself to live so freely.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #how tf do I make a master list 😭#cillian

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

Text

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Angst.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Oh lordy, we all need a friend like Helaena don't we? She is just such a sweet angel. Here is the next chapter, hehe. Enjoy <3

Chapter 12: The Red Keep

The flight to the Red Keep was quick, and you had been almost horrified when the driver had driven you onto the tarmac at the airport and up to a small jet. Your eyes had widened, and the driver had to insist on you getting out of the car and into the private plane.

You had sent Helaena some nervous texts, promising to pay her back, feeling guilty about how much it would have cost, to which she had replied that it was Viserys’ money and he had plenty of it.

It did little to quell the guilt that built within you, but you thanked her profusely in the air anyway, wifi available on the flight.

It felt weird to be surrounded by sudden wealth, Helaena never usually opting to use it and making her own way in life. If this was what she had at her fingertips, you wondered why she didn’t use the convenience of it more often.

But then again, you grew up with no money, and she didn’t. This could be as mundane as a bus trip to her.

The flight would have been barely over an hour long, and when you had landed, you were met by a sleek black Mercedes on the small and private landing strip amongst rolling green hills.

Criston Cole sat in the driver seat, a tanned man with dark curly hair and darker brown eyes, dressed head to toe in a black uniform, greeting you politely by your last name as he took your bag for you, putting it in the boot swiftly before opening the door for you to get in.

The Keep was situated outside of the city, a large estate on many acres of land, surrounded by sea, rolling green hills and forests. It was a historical site that had been passed down through the Targaryen family for hundreds of years, with almost a hundred rooms within to match. They even had their own private botanical garden with the rarest of plants within, that housed one of the oldest trees in Westeros.

It was extravagant, and you felt a sudden sense of anxiety as you drove up a long and winding path, large gates opening automatically as you jiggled your leg in your seat. The Keep towered atop a hill, red brick work looking like they had been soaked in blood in the dark of the night as the car rolled up, headlights shining at two large wooden doors to the entrance.

Helaena was standing in the spotlight, large slippers on her feet and oversized lavender sleep shirt sliding off of one shoulder. When you jumped out of the car she let you walk to her quickly, throwing yourself into her arms as she held you, soothing your back as tears threatened to fall once more, apologising meekly into her neck.

“Shhh,” She cooed, gentle fingers running along your spine, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I could never be mad at you.”

“But I-“

“-I’m mad at my brother. Not you. Let’s get some sleep, hm?”

You let Helaena drag you up through the Keep, Criston following closely behind with your bag. You had tried to turn and take it from him, but he had given you a stern glare with his handsome face, insisting he carry it for you.

The walls of the Targaryen’s Keep were tall and made of stone, various portraits of Targaryen ancestors strung on the walls, and tapestries of art from across the years and realms hanging delicately for decor. You couldn’t help but notice some newer editions to the Keep, heavy green works and sigils of the Seven Pointed Star that almost outnumbered the Valyrian traditions.

When you reached Helaena’s room, it was larger than your entire apartment. It had four poster bed with draped lavender and cream curtains in the centre, and its own sitting room. A writing desk was pushed into the corner on a far wall near a large stone fireplace. She guided you to sit on the bed, taking your bag from Criston before she thanked him and dismissed him for the night.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shh.” Helaena’s voice came out sharper, “Go to sleep, bug. I don’t want to hear another apology from you, okay?”

The way she spoke reminded you so much of Aemond.

You nodded sadly, and pulled back the sheets, crawling beneath before Helaena joined you, turning the lights off as she settled against her pillow. She let you cry beside her, and stroked a soothing hand up and down your arm.

Eventually the both of you fell to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake or cry any longer.

When you woke the next morning, it was to light streaming into the room from Helaena’s sheer curtains, the bright suns rays warming the room already. You stirred, looking beside you to find Helaena already awake and on her phone.

She turned her head to look at you, scrunching her nose, “You snore.”

Your mouth gaped, “I do not.” You blushed, feeling embarrassed.

Helaena hummed cheekily, before her face turned more serious, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You grumbled, tummy aching as you remembered your forgotten noodles uneaten and left behind in your room.

An uneasy quiet settled around you as she watched your face, phone set flat against her chest as she took you in. Her lilac eyes bored into your own, and you fought the urge to not wriggle in the spot.

“Do you love him?” Helaena asked abruptly and you felt your mouth turn dry.

Love him?

Did you?

It was too soon to tell.

But there was no denying there was something powerful that you felt for her brother.

“I don’t know.” You said quietly, and Helaena looked at you as if she knew the answer herself.

The silver haired woman shifted in the bed, sitting up before she ripped the sheets away from you, “Right. No more moping. You had one night and one night only for the sad girl special.”

You looked at her incredulously.

“Hel, what the Hell?”

“You hungry?” She ignored your comment, crawling out of bed, stretching high on her toes to stretch her spine, long arms in the air.

Helaena was giving you an out.

A distraction.

And so you took it.

“Starved.” You chirped back, though the tone fell flatter than you intended.

Helaena turned around and lifted a brow at you, “Come on, let’s go eat before the boys demolish everything in sight.”

You nodded in agreement, going to stand before you followed her down to a large open kitchen at the bottom, back doors opening up to a grassy garden which led to a tiled area with chairs and tables littered here and there. A creamy white gazebo was seen a few ways away, and the sitting area bled into a large swimming pool, spa nestled beside it.

“Woah.”

Helaena, noticing your eye line scoffed, “I know right? Talk about gaudy. Mum had the pool upgraded. Not that she needed too. It’s only her, and she doesn’t even use it.”

Two chefs moved about the kitchen quickly, large island in the centre being gradually filled with food of all kinds. Pastries, meats, breads, fruits, eggs. It was almost a buffet style.

You felt strangely out of place.

“Morning.” Helaena greeted the two chefs, to which they turned and nodded 'morning' back to her. Her face met yours and she grimaced.

You were glad she felt just as uneasy as you.

At least you had each other.

You grabbed a plate, following Helaena and piled it full of food that you wanted to eat, asking your friend where you could make some tea. Hel pointed you to a kettle, and you felt grateful that you would be able to make your own tea for breakfast. Though there was a sting in knowing that a certain silver haired man hadn’t done it for you.

“Good morning, girls.” A voice chirped from behind you, and you turned to face the auburn haired woman you had come to know well.

“Morning mum.” Helaena returned, eyes not lifting from where she piled another pancake upon her already high stack.

Alicent Hightower stood in a green dress shirt, darker green blazer thrown over the top, matched with a pair of black slacks and heels. She wore a dark red lipstick and gold jewellery, nails matching her lips.

You couldn’t help but notice a similarity between her and Alys, but shrugged it away.

“Y/n,” Her hands were held in front of her, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Alicent stepped forward to kiss at the air beside both of your cheeks, a blush rising along your neck as you awkwardly and stiffly returned it. Her long curly hair was pulled back away from her face with a butterfly clip at the back of her head, and against her chest was a Seven Pointed Star.

You shook your head, “Thank you for having me. I’m sorry I-“

“-None of that.” She chastised in a motherly way, “You are always welcome here at any time.”

You wet your lips and nodded, “Thank you.”

“It has been a while since I saw you last. I trust you know your way around?”

“Kind of.”

“Not to worry, Helaena can make sure you don’t get lost.”

Helaena groaned, and Alicent shifted on her feet.

“I’m leaving for the day, have some work I need wrapped up.”

Your lips parted, about to apologise for leaving your job on such short notice.

A job at her firm no less.

She eyed your sudden shift and dismissed you, “No need to worry about this week, I have already informed Larys you are on carers leave for family business here.”

Carers leave?

But that was paid leave.

“Alicent I-“

Her look stopped you in your tracks.

There was no arguing.

“Thank you.” You said again, feeling sheepish and all too overwhelmed with both her and Helaena’s generosity.

She nodded as though she approved of the way you had responded, as if it was the way that you should have responded, as though it was a response that had been written down in a book to be studied, ‘Duty to guests and hosts.’

Alicent Hightower stepped over to Helaena to kiss her cheek. You watched as her daughter shied away from it slightly, but allowed it nonetheless with a stiff spine.

“Behave.” She warned her, before casting you one last smile, “If you need anything, let Criston know." And then she set off with a click of her heels.

Helaena rolled her eyes, grabbing her stack of pancakes as you finished making your tea.

You both made your way outside to sit at a large table, eating your breakfast with hungry speed. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone warmly down on you, the sounds of birds was loud in the distant trees, and the softest of breezes rolled over your bare arms and legs.

“So, did you bring your swimmers?” Helaena asked, mouth full of pancakes.

You nodded in affirmation, “Uh huh.”

“Good,” She smiled, “We can claim the pool first if we hurry.”

“Claim? Hel, It's huge.”

She swallowed the chunk of pancake she had been chewing on, syrup on the corner of her lip that she licked off with a quick swipe of her tongue, “Yeah, and the boys have been having a pissing war with each other, calling dibs on the pool. It’s been driving me insane.”

You laughed softly, imaging Aegon and Daeron bickering amongst themselves, “Is Jace and Luc here yet?”

Helaena smiled, “Yeah, and they’re the worst of all.” She snickered, “Can’t know a moment of peace with those two. They’re so chatty. Not that Aegon helps. Daeron is more observing than usual which is nice.”

You were excited at the prospect of seeing Luc and Jace again, but you worried that the news of your arrival, the reasoning behind it would only cause more family rifts than there already were.

“Don’t worry," Helaena began, her sixth sense picking up on your sudden quiet, “I won’t tell anyone what’s happened, okay?”

You nodded, “Okay.”

Helaena swiped a finger through the syrup on her plate. How she managed to inhale all seven pancakes in one sitting amazed you. She brought the sticky digit to her lips which she sucked clean.

“Let’s get changed and have a pool day!” She beamed, and her excitement rubbed onto you.

You laid in the sun for hours side by side, intermittently jumping into the pool to cool off.

Helaena told you about how her dad was doing, and from the sound of it, they expected him to pass any day now, which made you feel selfish in having intruded on their pre-mourning. But Helaena had shrugged, and told you that he had been sick for a very long time, most had already mourned his loss despite him still being there. It was a waiting game. And each morning they waited with bated breath to see if he would rise from his sleep.

It was brutal, but honest.

Warmth spread over your body as you laid on your back in a pool chair, the heat of the sun almost pulling you into a nap from how comforting it was. It was nice to not be at work, and to be away from your apartment. To have a moment of respite and relaxation.

A shadow crossed over your body, and you frowned.

Damn cloud.

“Boo.”

You shrieked, jumping up from where you lay, eyes wide and darting up to a short silver head of hair, wild smile on his lips.

Aegon.

“Egg, you prick.” Helaena groused, turning onto her side to look up at her brother, book long forgotten and large floppy hat tilted sideways on her head.

You sat up higher in the chair, looking up at Aegon as he smiled down at you, “Miss me?” He teased, waggling his brows at you.

You pulled a face.

He was in his swim shorts and nothing else.

Aegon was wider, stockier, and shorter than Aemond or the other siblings, who seemed to be made of long, graceful limbs. And Aegon was anything but graceful. His face was softer too, looking much more Alicent than any of them did.

Aemond was the outlier with his sharp jaw and nose.

“Like a hole in the head.” You teased back, standing to hug him tightly.

His embrace was warm, snug, and not at all as flirtatious as it once had been.

“Enjoying the Palace goodies?”

“Go away.” Helaena whined, falling back onto her back, long groan pushed out of her chest.

“Am I not allowed to say hello to our guest?”

“You’ve said hello. Now say goodbye. It’s our pool today.”

Aegon mock gasped, and you had to chew your cheek to not laugh, “What would mother dearest say? ‘Sharing is caring, Helaena.’”

The silver haired woman huffed, “You share a bit too much…” She grumbled quietly.

“What was that?”

A slender hand lifted and presented a solitary finger in Aegon’s direction.

His laugh was contagious.

Aegon sat himself down in the chair beside you, catching up on the both of your lives, bar your recent escapades with his brother, and you learnt that Aegon was considering studying at Kings Landing University but was undecided on what he wanted to do.

You watched as he eventually pulled himself to stand, looking down at you, “You coming in?” He asked, hand held out to you in invitation.

“Nah, not yet. In a minute though.”

“Lame.”

Aegon ran and jumped, diving, ungracefully, into the water with a large splash near the edge, though it was more like a belly flop with arms that bent downwards to enter the water first. Water splashed out of the pool and small droplets landed on you, where as a large splash crashed onto Helaena.

“Ah!” She cried, “You fucking asshole!”

Aegon came up, tossing his wet hair away from his face with a laugh, smirk pulling on his lips as he came up to the edge slowly. There was no denying that he was handsome, white teeth peeking through soft pink lips.

Helaena sat upright, “No.”

Aegon’s smirk only widened.

“Aegon, don’t you fucking dare.”

His violet gaze flicked to you and then back to his sister.

His mind was made up.

His arm crashed against the surface of the water, sending it flying at Helaena.

It soaked her in her seat, frustrated growl falling from her lips as she stood, throwing her soggy hat to the side.

Aegon’s smirk dropped.

You couldn’t control your laughter, stomach clenching as you watched Helaena jump nearly on top of Aegon’s head as he tried to swim away from her, her hands slapping at him and pulling his hair childishly.

“Okay, okay, okay!! Mercy!” He cried, finally throwing Helaena from his back and into the water again.

She emerged with a scowl, wet hair slicked backwards, “Douchebag. You ruined my book.”

“Buy another.”

“Ugh.”

“Did you see mother this morning?” Aegon looked at you finally, swimming over to you as he watched you sit on the waters edge, legs dangling into the pool.

You nodded.

“Oh good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “She was worried she wouldn’t catch you. The twins will be here soon.”

“Thank the Gods.” Helaena praised, “I need a break from you and the boys stench.”

Aegon frowned, “Who says we stink?”

Helaena dipped her head into the water, sucking some into her cheeks as she spat it at her brothers face, his hand coming to shield it poorly, “Me.”

Aegon turned to face you again, “Do you see how mean she is to me? How do you even stand her?”

You smirked, biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t know what your talking about.”

His eyes narrowed, “The Stranger will get you for your lies and deceit.”

You spent the rest of the day in the sun, Aegon settling beside the two of you, his presence clearly annoying his sister, but you acted as a buffer and indulged him in minor conversation. Daeron had joined you a while later, and you had hugged him tightly to you.

When the day grew long and you had spent more than enough time in the suns rays, Helaena took you back to her room and the ensuite joined to it, insisting you shower and get yourself ready for some dinner.

You washed your hair, running shampoo through it to get the smell of chlorine out. Helaena jumped in straight after, talking to you as you began to put some light makeup on in the large mirror at the double sinked basin.

This was something you had missed in her absence. Getting ready together, talking and chatting mindlessly, playing music as loud as possible as the both of you sang as loudly as you could. You didn’t know just how much you had missed her until that moment, and a wave of sadness crashed over you.

She wasn’t the only person you missed.

Your mind strayed to Aemond. You wondered what he was doing. How he was feeling. You wondered if Alys was back in your apartment now that you were gone.

Did she stay the night?

Was she in his bed with him?

Did she-

“Oi. Cut it out.” Helaena’s voice broke you out of your revery.

She was wrapped in her towel, cheeks flushed pink from the sun and hair dripping down her back.

You smiled at her sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“If I hear you say sorry once more, I’ll drown you in the pool.”

You held your hands up in surrender as she came beside you at the mirror, pulling down her skin care to rub moisturiser into her face and body.

“What are you wearing tonight?” She asked you, long pale finger rubbing circles into her cheek as her lilac eyes locked onto your face in the mirror.

“Dunno. Something casual?”

Helaena screwed the lid of her moisturiser back on before putting it in its spot on the shelf, “Hmm. No. Wear something nice. A cute dress. Tonight we are letting loose.”

You chuckled at her, brushing mascara over your eyelashes, “I don’t need to dress up to let loose.”

“No, but I’m not having you mope about. Got enough of that as is from my mother and Eggy. Dress up for me,” She turned to you, putting on her best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip sticking out, “Please.”

Shaking your head you snickered, “Fine. So needy.”

“Yes!”

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