#serenity and his chapter in consequences

[captain-ghost]

Me selling all of my personal belongings and my soul to James Moran:

[literatureloverx]

BSD MEN x their first time meeting their darlings

Characters: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Nikolai Gogol, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

BSD MEN x fem!reader

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You and Fyodor met at the museum.

He noticed you from a distance, intrigued by your beauty as you stood before a painting for longer than most would.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, he approached you to hear your thoughts on the artwork.

To him, you resembled a beautiful doll, exquisite and delicate, with a mind that radiated compassion toward his complex moral code and a heart that was both truthful and sincere.

Your gentle smile captivated him, sparking an interest that went beyond mere admiration; it stirred something deeper within him.

The full scenario is HERE

Dazai Osamu

You met Dazai either in his Port Mafia or in his Armed Detective Agency era. I will go with the second option, because PM!Dazai is more complicated.

Dazai encountered you on the beach at dawn.

It had been another sleepless night for him, and he was wandering aimlessly, as he often did after consuming alcohol without a care for the consequences.

The cool sea breeze tousled his hair, and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

Thinking the fresh air would help ease his slight headache, he walked at a slow pace, allowing the serenity of the beach to wash over him.

Scenario

As he wandered, he spotted a bench facing the beautiful water, where the dawn reflected brilliantly like molten gold. Without a moment's hesitation, he settled onto the bench, feeling the rough wood beneath him as he gazed at the horizon.

The sun began to rise, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the sky, but even that beauty couldn't quite pull him from the fog of his thoughts.

He yawned, a weary reminder of yet another night spent in restless contemplation, unable to escape the burdens that always seemed to find him.

A few moments later, someone sat beside him on the other side of the bench. His eyes widened in surprise as he turned to see you, a soft smile gracing your lips, almost apologetically.

The way the morning light played with your features was mesmerising, and for a fleeting moment, Dazai forgot the weight of his troubles.

Your gentle, melodic voice cut through the sound of the waves and reached his ears, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. "I hope it's okay for me to sit here? I also came to watch the sunrise."

The sunrise cascaded across your angelic smile, illuminating your hair as if each strand were made of stardust.

Dazai felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest, a sensation he hadn't expected. He studied you, taking in the delicate way your eyes sparkled with the early light, and the calmness that radiated from your presence.

It was as if you were a breath of fresh air amidst the heaviness that often surrounded him.

"Of course," he replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. "I can't say I mind the company of such a beautiful young lady, especially at a moment like this."

You smiled, but didn’t answer.

As you both sat in silence, watching the sun rise higher into the sky, Dazai's mind raced.

The tranquility of the moment was refreshing, and he felt drawn to you in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling.

He was self-aware enough to know that this was no simple attraction he was feeling; it was something deeper, something he didn't quite know how to handle.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya likely knows you either from his childhood—perhaps through the sheep—or your family has loose ties to the Port Mafia, and you happen to cross paths by chance.

I prefer the second option because it excites me more and is easier to write. (I’m really excited about this and want to write a full story with various chapters, but unfortunately, I have too many requests to finish right now.)

You know those Wattpad stories where the main character's dad has ties to the mafia, deeply indebted?

One day, the handsome mafia boss appears out of nowhere, demanding the money back—or worse, the daughter of the man. Well, this is not how Chuuya operates. He is a gentleman, after all.

Due to certain circumstances, instead of Akutagawa, Chuuya—the mafia executive himself—takes on the mission to collect the debt.

The jewelry mart of the mafia is under his care, and he decides to handle the matter personally this time.

It's a rare move for him, but something about the situation tugs at his instincts.

He circles your house, a sleek black car parked discreetly down the street, as he assesses the scene with a discerning eye.

The neighborhood is quiet, almost too quiet, and he can't shake the feeling that something is off.

The thought of confronting someone who owes the mafia money doesn't faze him, but he feels a sense of responsibility creeping in.

He pushes the thought aside; his focus is on the task at hand.

Storming in with a show of force, Chuuya enters your home, flanked by eight other men meant to intimidate.

But everyone knows that Nakahara Chuuya is a one-man army.

Scenario

The tension in the air is palpable as he strides toward your father, who stands pale and trembling.

Without hesitation, he forcefully pushes your father to the pavement, making him bite the concrete.

"You've made a grave mistake," Chuuya growls, the weight of authority lacing his words.

Your father stammers, trying to explain himself, but the panic in his eyes only fuels Chuuya's anger.

As Chuuya raises his gun, ready to make an example of your father, a pleading voice interrupts him.

You, a young woman, are being held back as you desperately try to reach your father.

"Please, don't!" you cry, your voice breaking.

Your teary eyes strike right through his heart, leaving him momentarily dumbfounded. Here's someone ready to sacrifice herself for her family.

You.

In that instant, he feels something shift within him—a stirring he hasn't experienced before. He doesn't understand what is happening; he can swear he's never felt this way before, and it unnerves him.

"Who are you?" he asks, trying to mask his confusion behind a façade of coldness.

"I'm his daughter! Please let him go! Take me! Take me instead!"

Your words are infused with desperation and bravery, resonating deep within him.

Everything else—the chaos, the noise—fades into silence. He is entirely focused on you, captivated by your beauty and your courage.

Chuuya can't help but admire your spirit. You're not begging for mercy out of fear; you're standing tall in the face of danger, ready to take your father's place. It strikes him as both foolish and incredibly brave. The dichotomy fascinates him.

As he lowers his gun, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him. He looks at your father, then back to you, and realizes he doesn't want to be the monster in this story. Not before your eyes, at least. Not now.

"Enough," he says, his voice steady but softer than before.

He knows he doesn’t need to be doing this. He can take the debt in more than one way. He has many options, but he chose this one because it was the quickest. However…things changed.

Without a second thought, he lowers his weapon and releases your father, taking a step back. The shock in your father's eyes mirrors the confusion swirling in Chuuya's mind, but he knows he's made the right choice.

As you rush to your father's side, Chuuya feels an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. You’re so…mesmerising.

The way you move, the way you talk, the way you cry…he could stand there and watch you for hours, maybe even days. In fact, he felt like he could watch you for all eternity.

He tries to shake this weird feeling off.

"Consider this your lucky day," he adds, turning on his heel, his heart pounding in his chest. "But next time, you won't be so fortunate."

Nikolai Gogol

He either encountered you during a mission, where you were merely an unusual target that intrigued him, or he met you before he joined the Decay of the Angels.

For the narrative, I would lean towards the idea that "he met you on a mission where you were an odd prey."

For Nikolai to become interested in someone (be it romantically or platonically), he would need to sense a connection between the intricacies of his mind and your understanding of this complex moral system.

You were likely an unassuming office worker, perhaps even a part-timer, blissfully unaware of the corruption that plagued your workplace and why it could become a target for a terror attack.

How naive of you.

When he sees your innocent, almost silly face, he would smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he prepares to do something whimsical.

Scenario

Nikolai approached you, flashing his trademark grin—one that held a hint of danger mixed with playful charm.

"QUIZ TIIIME!!! Guess what I'm about to do to youuuu, little dove?!—“

He moves forward, his nose almost touching your cheek. His theatrical chuckle echoes through the halls left behind.

The floors are covered with blood and shards of glass, and you’re the only one remaining alive—together with this madman.

“—Yes indeedy! I'll make you feel free like a true bird! Free from everything! I’ll free you from the cage of your emotions, so that you can live as a credit to our race, a truly free homo sapiens!!"

His voice danced with mischief as he leaned against the doorframe, tugging slightly at the ropes bound around your wrists.

"P-please..." you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying your anxiety. He ignores your quiet plea.

"Do you happen to like birds, little dove?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. Your startled expression was delightful to him.

You nod, and he follows up with, "Why is that?"

You have no idea what this strange clown wants from you. The only thing you want now is to flee—to run away, to go home, to survive. You’re not sure how you’re going to reach that goal, but you’re willing to do anything.

That’s why you start making up excuses to occupy him with your chatter for as long as possible. You’re hoping to get rescued… or at least to receive his mercy.

"Some birds are free in that sense, while others are made to remain in their cages…"

Nikolai leaned closer, intrigued by your perspective, his whole presence threatening every fibre of your being.

"So you believe that some birds are meant to be clipped, little dove?"

"N-no," you replied, trying to steady your voice despite the flutter of panic in your chest. "They are meant to be free. But even if the bird is free to go wherever it wishes, freedom is nothing but an illusion.—“

You were scared, and you didn’t know if what you were doing was the right thing to do in this situation. Your voice trembled.

“—Because even if the bird is freed from its cage, it won’t be truly free to go wherever it wishes. The laws of nature still apply—it can’t abandon its flock.”

Your heart raced, and you felt exposed, as if you were revealing too much of your own fear. His unnerving heterochromic eyes scare you, you're trying to make something up, to avoid his gaze.

"—A bird that has never known freedom won't long for it; it is simply content with its cage and the comfortable life it provides—“

You aren’t sure if this is working, but he isn’t hurting you, and he’s certainly listening. You gasp as he tugs at the ropes again, speaking in his usual whimsical manner.

“Can you think of any reason why a bird born in a cage would crave freedom? A reason for the bird to detest its own—“

He giggles.

“…’comfortable’ cage?”

“I…I don’t see a reason for that to happen…unless that comfort turns into terror—"

His façade seems to crumble for a moment. Your voice wavers, the weight of his gaze amplifying your anxiety.

"—unless the bird has been abused in its very cage, sir..."

He stepped back, contemplating your words. The thought was foreign, yet it resonated with an undeniable truth.

Too real.

It felt way too real for him.

"You're quite insightful for someone so naive.”

"Please... just let me go," you whispered, your heart pounding.

He giggles again. It’s just one of the many unnerving qualities he possesses, as you recognize.

"I can't do that," he said softly, his tone shifting. "But I can promise you this—your voice matters to me now, little dove."

"After all," he added, his grin returning with a hint of mischief, "what fun would it be to let you go without revealing some of my tricks first? Riiiight??!!"

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

He either met you during a pivotal, life-altering event, like when he was gravely wounded (edgy and intimate), or in a more everyday setting, like a grocery store or shopping mall (wholesome and adorable). I’ll go with the second option, just as you’ve chosen.

He coughs as he takes the shopping bags into his hand, nothing more than some snacks placed inside.

He feels particularly weak today, and he knows it’s best if he returns to a safe space.

It’s time to go home.

As he walks, his thoughts swirl with a familiar frustration.

Weakness gnaws at him, contradicting everything he knows he needs to know—survival of the fittest, strength above all.

He can’t even enjoy something as simple as crisps without feeling the sting of inadequacy, a reminder that he constantly strives to prove himself strong despite the frailty he sometimes feels.

However, a certain someone might change this mindset of his at some point. It’s you.

Scenario

“Excuse me!”

The soft voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns around, annoyance bubbling to the surface.

He dislikes attention, especially in public spaces. It serves no purpose, and as a mafioso, he values his ability to blend in, to move through the world unnoticed. Drawing any kind of attention to himself, especially when he feels vulnerable, is the last thing he wants.

He scans the area, irritation rising when he realizes there’s no one in sight. His first thought is that he’s hallucinating—another sign that he needs to retreat to his quarters before the nausea overwhelms him.

But then, out of nowhere, you appear. Right in front of him.

His eyes widen slightly, just enough to betray his surprise.

His shock is mild but undeniable as he takes in the sight of you, someone warm and inviting, standing confidently before him. What could someone like you possibly want from him?

Akutagawa’s gaze flickers over you, searching for a reason, a threat, something to explain why you’re in his path. The unfamiliarity of the encounter makes him uncomfortable, and his guard instinctively rises.

“You dropped this…”

Your voice, kind and genuine, takes him off guard for the second time. Two moments of confusion in a single encounter—he’s already feeling off balance.

It would be a sight to behold had you known who he truly was—one of Yokohama’s most feared mafiosos.

You’re holding out his handkerchief. The one he uses to cough into.

His gaze shifts to the cloth in your hand, then back to your face. The urge to dismiss you rises quickly, but as he looks away, something unexpected happens.

Your eyes meet his. His cold, grey stare, which normally repels others or leaves them frozen, meets your gaze, and for a brief moment, something inside him stirs. The sensation is strange—something between discomfort and intrigue—as if, for just a second, he sees you differently. Not just as a stranger, but as something… more.

He’s not used to this. The feeling tingles at the edges of his awareness, unsettling and foreign, making him question what it is about you that sparked this unfamiliar warmth in his chest. In that instant, he feels the weight of his ideals—the relentless pursuit of strength and dominance—shift slightly, as though something in him yearns for connection despite the ferocity with which he clings to his principles.

Akutagawa hesitates, caught off guard by the genuine kindness radiating from you. He can feel the knot in his chest tightening as he grapples with the implications of your presence.

He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “… Thanks,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper.

The handkerchief hangs awkwardly between you, and he feels a surge of irritation at the vulnerability it represents.

You smile at his gratitude, and he can’t help but find the expression both refreshing and irritating.

“You didn’t have to bother. It’s nothing important.”

You tilt your head to the side. What could he mean? Nothing important as in ‘just a handkerchief’? It looked expensive. It definitely didn’t look like something you’d throw away after using it once.

“I wanted to,” you reply, your tone light and genuine. “I couldn’t just leave it there.”

He narrows his eyes, instinctively defensive. “Most people wouldn’t bother,” he retorts, his annoyance flaring up.

Oh, he wasn’t trying to blend in at all. He was being impolite.“They don’t care about things that don’t concern them.”

Your gaze wavers slightly, making him feel uncomfortable, which catches him off guard.

“But I do care. Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter.”

He scoffs, an edge to his voice. He mumbles, ready to leave any moment. “Little things? They mean nothing.”

You either survive or you don’t.—Is what he told himself. He recognised that he stepped out of the line. The nausea surely wasn’t helping him.

“Maybe,” you say, unfazed, “but that doesn’t mean we have to give in to that. We can choose to be different.”

Akutagawa’s chest tightens at your words. What were you yapping about? Like that stupid weretiger. He shifts his weight, irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

“You think you can change anything?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone. He wants to leave. Your presence is making him feel uncomfortable.

“I believe we can,” you answer, your conviction steady. “Even if it’s just for one person at a time.”

His heart races, battling against his instinct to retreat into his shell. He studies you, trying to dissect your motivations, to find the weakness in your resolve.

“And you think you’re that person?” he challenges, his eyes cold.

“Why not?” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re open to it.”

His cheeks flush slightly. He feels an unexpected pull toward you, and he knows that he needs to leave. Now.

[cloudtransprncy]

"One Night Only"

Word count: 11210 Jennie x Male reader

Consequence – That word reverberates through my mind, echoing off the plush walls of this hotel suite. Each decision, every whisper of action, carries its own shadow, trailing behind it. I know this, deep in my bones. Yet, life, in its fleeting dance, seems to mock the very notion of permanence. The only certainty we hold is the silent, inexorable march towards an end we'd rather not face. We push it aside, cloak it in disbelief. Life, in its relentless stride, continues until reality, unbidden, jolts us awake. So, we find refuge in the fleeting – in the amber embrace of liquor, the smoky tendrils of a cigarette, the heady rush of desire. For a night, just this night, we silence the whispers of tomorrow.

Jennie's breath, a ragged symphony, plays against my lips. Our kiss, a dance of longing, tastes of sweet cherries laced our sharp kiss. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, pull us closer, our bodies becoming one in the moon's silver gaze.

Commitment – that once-venerated word now feels like a stranger's tongue. The thought of being tethered, bound by invisible threads of promises stretching across a lifetime, seemed more a prison than a haven. I've always been a creature of flight, a heart unmoored. Maybe that's why she drifted away – a preemptive strike against a future steeped in resentment. In protecting us from the chains of unfulfilled promises, did I sever the only tie that mattered?

Her skin, a canvas of warmth under my fingertips, ignites a trail of desire. As I explore the landscape of her body, each curve, each hidden valley, I lose myself to the moment. Her whisper, a confession in the dark, "I've missed this," binds me tighter than any vow.

Beyond the confines of this room, the city stretches out – a tapestry of steel and dreams under the night sky. Each light, a star in this man-made constellation, speaks of what could be. Once, as a child, I found solace in the stars, in the steady presence of Virgo among the celestial sea. Jennie, like that favored constellation, has always been the light I orbit, the gravity I cannot escape.

In the lunar glow, her face is a serene oasis, her breaths soft sonnets in the stillness. As I trace the lines of her neck, her back arches, a silent plea etched in moonlight. When our gazes lock, in that infinite moment, I see it – the reflection of myself, of us, in the depths of her eyes, a constellation not in the sky but right here, in this room.

--

She'll come. She always does.

In my mind's eye, I knew she was entwined with someone new, a high-profile actor whose name evades my memory. Insignificant, really, in the grand tapestry of our story. He's but one of many, a star in the vast firmament of an industry pulsing with life. His mark on the world may be noteworthy, but in her universe, he's merely a passing comet, fleeting and ephemeral.

We had drifted apart, yet fragments of our souls lingered, delicately preserved within the vases of our hearts. Months had passed since our last encounter, since our fingers last brushed, our eyes last locked. Though a year had unfolded since our parting, the invisible threads that bound us remained unsevered. When she called, I became all ears; when I reached out, she was always there. Our souls, entwined through seasons of love, could not fully disentangle. She may have sought refuge in another's arms, yet a piece of her essence, like a sacred relic, remained eternally mine, as mine did hers.

The revelation of her presence in New York unfurled as I was poised to board my flight from Chicago to Toronto, the next chapter in my tour's melody. A spare day, a gift of time, whispered the possibility of a detour – a rendezvous in the city that never sleeps.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing my suite in a golden haze, I reached out to her. The skyscrapers below sparkled like jewels under the twilight's caress as I dialed her number. She answered, a silence that spoke volumes, a canvas upon which our history was painted. Our conversations had become a dance, a playful chase of cat and mouse, with words unspoken yet understood.

"I'm in the city for one night," I murmured, the words hanging in the air like a promise, a temptation. Her silence lingered, a delicate pause on the other end, filled with the muted symphony of her world – the distant chatter of her entourage, the soft clicks of cameras capturing fleeting moments.

"I got a room for me and you," I continued, my voice a blend of hope and certainty. "This is for one night only." The details spilled out, coordinates to our secret haven, as the line hummed with the electricity of anticipation before falling silent. But my heart knew – she would be there, drawn to me as I to her, in this city of dreams and shadows.

A knock fractured the stillness of the midnight hour, a subtle intrusion into the suite where I stood, lost in thought. Above, the sky had donned its nightly regalia, stars scattered like diamonds on black velvet, while the moon – a coy dancer among the celestial array – cast a playful glow upon the city's silhouette. Clouds, thin as gossamer, shifted in the sky, their movements like silk curtains in a soft breeze, alternately veiling and revealing the moon's luminescence. The hour was ethereal, suspended between the remnants of the day and the possibilities of the night.

As I opened the door, she materialized before me – an enigmatic vision at the threshold. She stood there, robed in a chic, form-fitting black dress that gracefully embraced her figure, ending mid-thigh in a delicate declaration of allure. Encircling her legs were knee-high socks, culminating in a daring thigh garter – a subtle yet bold statement of her unique style. Her presence was a striking contrast to the muted opulence of the hotel suite.

Her hair, a cascade of dark, silken strands, framed her face in a perfect balance of elegance and wildness. It fell around her shoulders like the night itself had woven a mantle of shadows to adorn her. The dress clung to her form, outlining her slender arms and the gentle curves of her body, a testament to her poise and the understated power of her presence.

Her makeup was an artful composition, her eyes highlighted with a subtle precision that spoke of distant lands – a hint of an exotic narrative told in the language of beauty. It was understated yet impactful, enhancing her natural features with an artistry that suggested a story deeper than what the eye could see. Her lips, painted in a soft, natural hue, invited a second glance, a lingering focus.

As her gaze met mine, it was electric, a current of shared history and unspoken understanding passing between us. Her eyes, dark and inscrutable, held a depth that was both inviting and impenetrable. The air around her was perfumed with the rich scent of roses, intermingling with the sweet notes of her perfume, creating an aura that was at once intoxicating and comforting.

Her smile unfurled, a familiar softness that painted her features with an intimacy known only to those who had once shared everything. It was a grin that reached back through time, stirring a sea of memories within me.

"Hey," I found myself saying, my words emerging with a hint of a smirk, a reflex born of countless shared moments.

"Hey yourself," she echoed, her voice a melody laced with history. Her fingers, delicate yet assertive, found my chest, pressing gently, urging me backward into the realm we had once known so well. The sensation of her touch was like a key turning in a long-locked door, opening pathways to a past we had carefully navigated.

"It's been a while," her words floated through the air, a statement hanging between us, laden with unspoken narratives.

"Indeed it has," I replied, my voice a soft echo of our shared past. The click of the door sealing us within the suite marked a threshold crossed, a silent herald of a journey into realms both familiar and uncharted.

In that simple exchange, a current of anticipation began to build. The air between us became charged, a palpable tension that spoke of things unsaid, of paths once walked and now revisited. The weight of our history and the uncertainty of our present wove together, creating a tapestry rich with possibility and fraught with the complexity of our intertwined past.

In the soft, muted light of the suite, it didn't take long for our reunion to transform into an entwined embrace on the couch, a fusion of longing and familiarity. The kiss was a deluge of suppressed desires, a fervent torrent that left no room for ambiguity in our intentions. Her body against mine was a juxtaposition of the known and the novel, a comforting familiarity found on unfamiliar terrain. Our tongues, engaged in a private waltz, rediscovered a rhythm that pulsed with both nostalgia and excitement.

My hands roamed her form with an eager curiosity, tracing the familiar yet rediscovered contours of her body. The sensation of her skin under my fingertips was a tapestry of memories and new sensations, each touch reigniting a forgotten connection. The urgency in our movements was palpable, a frantic energy that surged against the sands of time since our last entwining. We were an orchestra of motion and sound, a harmonious blend of sighs and soft moans, a tempest of passion and need. The air around us was thick with the scent of our mingled perfumes, a heady aroma that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

She dug her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer with a forcefulness that stoked the flames of my arousal. The pressure of her lips on mine intensified, her tongue dancing with increasing urgency. A soft whimper escaped her throat, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Our tongues fought for dominance, fueled by the heat of our desires.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Jennie as my hands found their way, cupping the curves of her ass with a gentle firmness. The motion drew her closer still, eliminating any space that lingered between us. Through the thin fabric of her dress, I could discern the outline of her response, her nipples hardening under my touch. A physical testament to the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. Her body’s reaction, tangible and immediate, sent a wave of anticipation coursing through me.

The texture of her dress under my palms was a subtle contrast to the warmth of her skin, a reminder of the thin veil that still separated us from total surrender. Each breath she took was a melody, harmonizing with the quiet symphony of the night around us.

Jennie's retreat from our kiss left a tangible, connecting strand, a fleeting bridge between us that shimmered in the dim light. Her eyes, dark and enigmatic, bore into me with an intensity that felt as if it could unravel the very fabric of my being. Those eyes were like portals to uncharted depths, brimming with unspoken tales of desire and yearning.

"I've missed this, Owen" she whispered, her voice a soft rumble, resonating with every fiber of my being. She grinds against me, her hips moving back and forth, a tangible expression of her yearning that seeped through the barriers of our clothing. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, drew me back into her orbit, our lips crashing together in a kiss that was as fierce as it was profound. The intensity of our connection, raw and unbridled, engulfed me.

Consumed by her presence, the taste of her lips, the feel of her pressed so close, my hands roamed with a mind of their own. They journeyed beneath the hem of her dress, venturing over the smooth, warm terrain of her skin, each inch revealed a revelation in itself. The sigh that escaped her, a breathless affirmation of the moment, reverberated in me like a symphony.

Our bodies moved in tandem, a harmony of action and reaction, each caress, each undulation building on the next. Slowly, inch by inch I pushed her dress upward, revealing the subtle, sensual landscape of her form. Jennie's breath quickened as her hips rolled, grinding with an increased fervor against me, her nipples stiff and pronounced, brushing against my shirt, an exquisite combination of restraint and liberation. Her arms stretched upwards into the air as I pulled the fabrics of her dress, away from her, lifting its grip from her form, and over her head, which she then tossed casually to one side.

As Jennie's dress slid away, her figure, a stunning tapestry of curves and lines, was unveiled in the lunar glow that seeped through the windows. The moonlight played upon her skin, casting it in an ethereal shimmer, transforming her into a vision of porcelain radiance. She stood there, an embodiment of confidence and sensuality, a modern-day deity framed in a chiaroscuro of shadows and light.

My gaze lingered on her breast, tracing the contours of her physique – the gentle slopes and the pronounced curves that defined her form. Each aspect of her body, from the graceful arc of her waist to the delicate structure of her shoulders, spoke of a silent grace, a beauty that was as natural as it was captivating. Her skin, smooth and luminous, seemed to capture the very essence of the moon's glow, reflecting it back in a soft luminescence that highlighted her every move. My hands, acting with a fervor born from deep within, eagerly explored the expanse of Jennie's skin, a landscape I had once known intimately. The sensation of her beneath my fingertips was exhilarating – a cascade of textures and warmth that set every nerve ending alight. Her skin was soft, yet firm, yielding under my touch with a gentle resilience that beckoned for more exploration.

As I traced the contours of her body, every curve and dip spoke volumes. The softness of her breasts contrasted with the smooth, firmer feel of her abdomen, each sensation a paragraph in the story of her body. The way her skin responded to my touch, with subtle shifts and sighs, was like conversing in a language of sensation, each caress a word, each touch a sentence.

As my hands continued their journey, Jennie's responses turned into a symphony of their own. Her moans, soft yet resonant, were like notes rising from a well-tuned instrument, each one a melody of pleasure and surrender. The sound of her voice, humming in contentment, filled the room with a music that was deeply personal, an intimate concert shared between two souls.

Her moans ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of my touch, crescendos of sound that matched the increasing intensity of our connection. They were not just expressions of pleasure; they were communications, telling me without words how each caress, each gentle stroke was received. Her hums, low and melodic, were the bassline to the higher notes of her moans, creating a harmonious blend that was as compelling as any melody.

After savoring the sensation of Jennie's skin beneath my hands, an innate longing surged within me to delve deeper, to explore her with the intimacy of my lips. I began at her collarbone, a spot often overlooked yet brimming with delicate sensitivity. My lips traced its subtle contours, each kiss eliciting a gentle sigh from Jennie, her skin warm and soft under the tender pressure.

As I journeyed to her shoulders, the texture of her skin subtly shifted, becoming smoother, more resilient. Her responses grew in intensity, her moans a testament to the changing sensations my lips invoked. The scent of roses from her perfume grew stronger here, mingling with her natural fragrance to create an intoxicating aura.

Gliding down her arm, I reveled in the silkiness of her skin, each kiss a discovery of her unique topography. But it was at her armpit where I lingered, captivated by the uniqueness of this hidden enclave. The texture here was more intimate, the skin softer and imbued with a deeper scent that was unmistakably Jennie - raw and personal. Her reaction was more pronounced; her moans louder and filled with a depth that spoke volumes of the pleasure she felt.

As my lips finally reached the crest of Jennie's chest, the change in texture was profound. Her breasts, tender and full of life, responded to each kiss with a symphony of sensation. The delicate softness beneath my lips felt like the most luxurious satin, each touch deepening our connection. The subtle firmness of her nipples, aroused and beckoning, contrasted with the yielding flesh around them.

Gently, I let my tongue dance over the stiffened peak, and Jennie's reaction was immediate. A shiver coursed through her, a physical echo of the pleasure that resonated within. Her breathing became a series of rapid, shallow waves, a delicate soundtrack to our intimate ballet.

Meanwhile, my hand ventured to its twin, mirroring the actions of my mouth. The sensation of rolling and lightly flicking her other nipple elicited from her a chorus of sensual sounds, each moan a note in our crescendoing duet.

When I enveloped her sensitive peak with my mouth, Jennie's moan - "Oh my god" - reverberated through the room. The meticulous circling of my tongue around her was a focused ritual, each motion deliberate and attuned to her responses. The flavor of her skin was a delicate blend of sweetness tinged with the saltiness of her arousal, a tantalizing taste that drew me deeper into the moment. Her chest pushed forward, eager to meet the onslaught of stimulation with an intuitive abandon.

"I forgot how good you feel," I murmured, my voice tinged with a deep arousal, the words escaping almost involuntarily.

"I want to feel you too," Jennie responded, her voice a breathless mixture of playfulness and desire, sending a jolt of longing straight through me. Her eyes, deep and enigmatic like the midnight sky, held mine with an intensity that spoke volumes. Her hand traced a path up my arm, gliding over the contours of my shoulder, then wrapping around to my back with an electrifying touch that felt like a firebrand on my skin.

With an urgency that mirrored our rising passions, she tugged at my shirt, a silent beckoning for me to shed the last barrier between us. In a swift, seamless motion, Jennie peeled my shirt away, her hands immediately finding the warmth of my bare chest. Her initial feather-light touch quickly intensified, her fingers becoming more assertive, tracing and exploring my skin with a growing fervor that matched the beat of our racing hearts.

As Jennie began to mirror the way I had cherished her body, the intensity of the experience magnified. Her lips traced a path down my neck, each kiss a delicate imprint that seemed to sear into my memory. The sensation of her mouth moving across my skin was both soft and fervent, a contradiction that sent waves of pleasure through me.

Her hands, emboldened by her desire, explored the landscape of my torso. The contrast of her delicate fingertips against the firmness of my muscles created an exhilarating dance of sensations. The pressure of her touch varied, sometimes feather-light, other times more assertive, mapping the contours of my body with an attentiveness that was almost reverent. Each caress seemed to speak volumes, communicating her appreciation and desire in a language beyond words.

As she reached my chest, her exploration became more intense. The sensation of her lips against my skin was like an electric current, each kiss a spark that ignited deeper, more primal feelings within me. Her breath, warm and uneven against my skin, her soft murmurs and occasional sharp expletives, added to the crescendo of sensations, making every moment feel more heightened, more vivid.

In the midst of this exchange, a thought flickered through my mind, unbidden yet insistent. I wondered if her nights with her boyfriend held the same intensity, the same unbridled passion that we were experiencing. Was there the same depth of connection, the same exploration of senses? The thought was a sharp contrast to the immediacy of our encounter, a jarring reminder of the reality beyond this room.

Yet, as quickly as the thought came, it was swept away by the tide of our passion. The here and now was all that mattered - the feeling of her hands on me, the taste of her lips, the sound of her soft exclamations. In this moment, nothing else existed but the intensity of our rekindled connection, a fervor that seemed to eclipse all else.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie's voice was thick with desire as she slid off my lap. Her hands, eager and insistent, found their way to the waistband of my sweatpants. With a swift, almost ravenous movement, she tugged them down, freeing my aching arousal. It stood, hard and throbbing, just inches from her face. Her eyes, alight with a fiery blend of lust and hunger, locked onto mine.

"You can have it tonight," I responded, my voice a deep rumble of desire, as her small, delicate hands encircled me. The contrast of her soft touch against my hardness only heightened the moment.

"All of it?" Her question was laced with a seductive confidence, her eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of her desire. I could only nod, caught up in the moment's gravity.

Leaning forward, Jennie's lips parted slightly, and she drooled over a thick glob of saliva that landed precisely on the tip. The warm fluid began to trickle down, glistening in the dim light. She deftly used her fingers to spread it, coating me in a sheen that was both slick and inviting. My entire being was alight with sensation, every nerve ending attuned to her movements as she began to work her hand along my length. Her grip was firm, her movements measured, each stroke a deliberate act of provocation.

Jennie's movements became more intense as she tilted her head, sweeping her hair to one side with a free hand while maintaining her fervent stroke. Her gaze remained locked with mine, a fiery blend of intensity and curiosity as she leaned down. The first sensation was the heat of her breath, a hot, moist whisper against my skin. Then came the slow, deliberate touch of her tongue, tracing a circle around the tip. The electricity of her touch sent a tremor through my body, a visceral reminder of our past intimacy.

As Jennie's lips enveloped the crown, the sensation was both familiar and overwhelming. Her tongue skillfully danced and teased, each movement deliberate and laden with sensation. The warmth and wetness of her mouth enveloped me further, each motion a blissful exploration. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the world outside our bubble ceasing to exist in the wake of her expert ministrations.

Her soft moan, vibrating around me, amplified the sensation, sending shockwaves through my body. I was caught in a spellbinding haze of pleasure, each movement she made bringing me closer to the edge of surrender. The combination of her lips, tongue, and the soft vibrations of her moans created an indescribable tapestry of pleasure, leaving me utterly enraptured.

"Holy Shit!" I couldn't hold back the moan as I found support against the couch's frame, my arms stretched out for stability. The intensity of Jennie's movements sent waves of pleasure through me, causing my head to thrash back in ecstasy. My heart raced uncontrollably, every beat echoing the mounting need within me.

Jennie's hair, a dark cascade, framed her face as she moved with a precision that was nothing short of masterful. The sensation of her lips, sliding rhythmically along my length, was unparalleled. Her ability to take me fully, her breath steady through her nose, spoke of an expertise that was both awe-inspiring and deeply arousing. The way her cheeks hollowed, the hungry suction, the repeated swallowing of my length – it was a dance of intensity and passion.

She occasionally paused, deliberately choking on the tip to gather saliva, which she then used to lubricate my entire length, enhancing the ride with each slick, smooth movement. Every action, every technique of hers was a testament to her skill, her dedication to the act transforming it into something akin to fervent devotion. The pleasure she bestowed was not just physical; it was an experience that transcended the mere act, elevating it to a form of worship.

As I felt the tide of climax beginning to rise within me, I instinctively wanted to prolong this intense experience, to savor more of Jennie's body. Gently, I tried to guide her head away, signaling my intention to pause, but she was resolute. Her determination was clear; she was intent on bringing me to the edge right then and there.

My attempts to ease her off were met with a firm slap of her hand against mine, a silent but emphatic message that she wasn't done yet. "You're giving this to me now, and you're giving me more later," she declared with a commanding tone that brooked no argument. Her eyes, alight with a fierce desire, locked onto mine, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Jennie intensified her movements, her lips and hand working in perfect tandem. The sight of her, so engrossed in the act, her hair framing her focused expression, was utterly captivating. Each movement of her head, each stroke of her hand, was a masterful balance of pressure and rhythm, pushing me closer to the brink.

The sensory overload was overwhelming - the sight of her dedication, the feel of her mouth and hand, and the sounds of our shared pleasure filling the room. Jennie's technique was a perfect symphony of movements, each one bringing a higher crescendo of sensation, making it impossible to think of anything but the imminent and intense climax.

As the moment approached, a feeling akin to a tempestuous sea churned in my stomach, a wave of pleasure building, threatening to crest. Jennie, attuned to my nearing edge, let out a moan that mingled with the surge within me, intensifying the inevitable release. Overwhelmed, I succumbed to the climax, an eruption of sensation, met by Jennie's unwavering embrace. Her lips formed a perfect seal around me, her rhythmic strokes ensuring not a single moment was lost.

Her gaze remained locked with mine throughout, a mirror of pure satisfaction as she swallowed, taking in every part of the experience. In her eyes shone a prideful gleam, a recognition of her own prowess in guiding me to this point of surrender. Her delight was palpable, a silent celebration of the control she wielded, the pleasure she had drawn out.

As the waves subsided, leaving a trail of bliss in their wake, Jennie finally drew back, the connection gently severed, leaving us both in a state of breathless reprieve. She then picked up my shirt from the floor, using it to delicately wipe away the remnants of our encounter from her mouth and hands, her actions as deliberate and composed as they had been in the height of our passion.

Reeling from the intensity of my climax, I found myself being gently but firmly drawn back to the present by Jennie. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was soft yet charged, the taste of myself on her tongue adding a complex layer to our connection. This was more than just physical; it was an exchange of unspoken promises, a dance of intimacy and understanding.

"I'm not done with you. You brought me here, we're gonna make the most of it," she whispered against my lips, her tongue playfully darting out to trace my bottom lip. With a sudden shift, she grasped my hand and led me towards the bed, her movements fluid and purposeful.

As we moved through the suite, the sounds of the city outside filtered through the windows – the distant hum of traffic, the soft murmur of voices, the occasional siren. These were the symphonies of the night, the backdrop to our unfolding story. The room's lighting cast a soft, ambient glow, painting everything in a hue of warmth and intimacy.

As Jennie gracefully made her way onto the bed, her back presented a captivating sight. The arch of her spine flowed into the gentle swell of her hips, each movement accentuating the allure of her lower back and hips. Clad in a small black thong, her hips were teasingly framed, the fabric nestled seductively in the crevice, hinting at the hidden treasures yet to be revealed.

As she reached the center of the bed, Jennie slowly maneuvered herself into a captivating position. Her legs, long and elegantly toned, were raised and folded in a 'W' shape, an enticing display of both vulnerability and invitation. This pose accentuated the length of her legs, the curvature of her hips, and the delicate symmetry of her figure. The knee-high socks she wore added a contrasting element of innocence and playfulness to her otherwise exposed form.

Then, as if compelled by a force beyond her control, Jennie's hands embarked on a tantalizing exploration of her own body. They traced the contours of her breasts with a languorous care, each touch a study in self-adoration. The slow, deliberate movements of her fingers were hypnotic, accentuating her allure in the dimly lit room.

The transformation in Jennie's appearance since our earlier encounter was striking. Her makeup, now smudged and spread, lent her an air of wild abandon, while her hair, disheveled and untamed, framed her face in a chaotic halo. This raw, disordered state only heightened her appeal, lending her a captivating, almost intoxicating aura of realness.

Reclining gracefully, she ran a finger tantalizingly over her lips – lips that still bore the evidence of our previous passion. She continued her seductive journey, her finger tracing a path down her neck, over the gentle swell of her chest.

"come here..." she gestured over for me to join her on the bed, her tone both commanding and inviting. She turned to lay on her back, the sight of her body beckoning me forward.

Still covered by a black thong, her most intimate area was teasingly concealed, yet the way she moved hinted at what was to come. As I stepped closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull of her presence, Jennie reached down with a tantalizing slowness. Her fingers hooked onto the thin fabric of the thong, sliding it off in a motion that was nothing short of seductive. The removal of this final barrier revealed her in full, a breathtaking vision of desire laid bare before me.

In a move that was both deliberate and revealing, Jennie reached down, her hands delicately pulling at the skin on her inner thighs. This gesture was an open invitation, a welcome for my eyes to feast upon her most intimate self. As she gently parted her skin, the hidden beauty of her entrance was unveiled, a sight that was both intensely private and undeniably captivating. Her entrance glistened, its moist perfection a testament to the intensity of her arousal.

As I crawled forward onto the bed, the sensation of the soft, plush sheets against my hands was immediately noticeable. The fabric was smooth and fine, a stark contrast to the fervent energy that filled the room. Each movement I made caused the sheets to shift ever so slightly, creating a subtle but distinct sensation against my skin.

The bed itself was an island in the midst of our passion, its surface both yielding and supportive, a perfect backdrop for the intensity of the moment. As I found my place between Jennie's legs, the bed seemed to embrace us, its softness enveloping us in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy.

Jennie's body was a canvas of desire, painted with the colors of her own passion. Her skin, creamy and fair, glistened with sweat and moisture, reflecting the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Her hair framed her face in a halo of darkness, accentuating her delicate features. Her breasts, small and plump, rose and fell with each shallow breath she took, their nipples hard and erect beneath the thin sheet that covered her.

As I looked at her from my position between her legs, I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. She was naked and vulnerable, yet there was a strength in her that spoke volumes. It was as if she had shed all pretenses of modesty and embraced her true self - a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.

Jennie's hands moved with purpose across her body, tracing lazy circles around her nipples before dipping down to explore the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her fingers were long and slender, each one ending in a sharp claw that seemed to dig into her skin with every movement. She moved with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and intimidating - a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

As I watched her touch herself, my own body began to respond to the sight before me. My heart raced in my chest as I felt my own erection begin to stir beneath my sweatpants. The thought of being with Jennie again - of feeling her body against mine - was enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through me.

I couldn't help but feel drawn to her entrance - that intimate place where she had given herself so completely to me before. As I crawled closer between her legs, I couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the sight before me. It was as if I were witnessing something sacred - something that belonged only to us two.

Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie.

As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie. As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I closed my eyes and let out a low moan as I savored the scent of her pussy, allowing it to permeate my senses and fill me with a desire that was both insatiable and exhilarating. My tongue darted out, eager to explore the fleshy depths of her entrance, and I licked the outer folds with a gentle, exploratory motion. The taste was unlike anything I had ever experienced before - sweet and salty, with just a hint of tanginess that spoke of her natural chemistry. It was intoxicating, addictive, and I found myself wanting more and more with each passing moment.

As my fingers delved deeper into her fleshy thighs, I felt a surge of pleasure course through me. The sensation was electrifying, sending shivers down my spine with each lick and suck. Her body pulsed beneath me, her hips undulating in rhythm with my movements, as if we were two dancers in perfect harmony. The sound of her soft moans filled the air, adding to the sensory experience. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the texture of her flesh beneath my fingertips, and the taste of her juices on my lips. Every sensation was amplified, every detail was vivid, and I found myself completely immersed into her.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the view before me - it was as if I were witnessing something holy - something that belonged only to us two. With each flick of my tongue, a symphony of sensations unfolded, like a tapestry of flavors and textures. I navigated the labyrinthine depths of her crevices, discovering hidden chambers and secret alcoves that ignited my senses. The taste of her essence, both sweet and musky, mingled with the salty tang of her sweat, creating a heady elixir that intoxicated me. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. The taste intensified, the sweetness fading into something richer and more intricate - a taste that spoke of depth and complexity that mirrored our own bond.

As I delved deeper into her entrance with my flicking tongue, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what we were doing together. The world outside faded away, leaving only the raw, unapologetic sensations that coursed through our veins. Our bodies were connected by desire and passion, and we explored each other's with a sense of freedom and abandon. The taste of her essence was intoxicating, and I couldn't get enough of it. The salty tang of her sweat mingled with the sweetness of her body, creating a heady elixir that left me dizzy with pleasure. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. It was a moment of pure sensory exploration - an exchange of pleasure that transcended words or actions. It didn't matter that she was with someone, all that mattered was what we both wanted - needed..

"Oh my God!" As her slender fingers delved into the silken strands of my hair, a guttural moan escaped her lips, echoing through the dimly lit room like a siren's call. Her touch was a symphony of sensations, each caress sending shivers down my spine. It was as if she was weaving a spell, ensnaring me in a web of desire with every delicate pull and tug. "You're so good at that, Owen" Her teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, drawing a crimson bead of blood. The skin of her neck tightened, corded muscles standing out like delicate ridges beneath the surface. A low, guttural growl escaped her throat, a primal sound that reverberated through the room.

My tongue, a fervent explorer, ventured beyond the silken folds of her womanhood, tracing the contours of her hidden desires. Each delicate stroke ignited a symphony of sensations, a chorus of whispers reverberating through her core. Her body, a finely tuned instrument, responded with a tremor, a ripple of anticipation coursing through her limbs. She writhed in agony, her limbs trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. Her stomach twisted and churned, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within her core. Her head lolled back, her eyes rolling with ecstasy as her body surrendered to the sensations coursing through her veins.

Her head arched back, a gasp escaping her lips as my tongue ventured forth, seeking the epicenter of her desire. My lips moved in a circular motion, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub, each revolution igniting a fiery burst of pleasure that rippled through her body. Her legs tightened around my head, her toes curling in ecstasy as her hips bucked involuntarily. One of my fingers slipped down between the silken folds of her entrance, circling and probing, adding an extra layer of stimulation. The combination of my tongue and finger was too much for her, sending her spiraling into the abyss of ecstasy.

The room filled with the symphony of her moans, a primal melody that echoed off the walls. Her body writhed beneath me, her curves undulating like waves crashing against the shore. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom. My finger continued its relentless assault, tracing the contours of her entrance, teasing and probing at its delicate folds. My tongue flicked and danced across her clit, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She was a marionette in my hands, her body contorting and twisting at my every whim. Her fingernails dug into my back, leaving moon-shaped marks on my skin. I basked in the pain, a manifestation of her unyielding passion.

Diving deeper into Jennie's silken depths, I felt her body tremble beneath me, her breath hitching in ragged gasps. My tongue danced across her heated folds, swirling and teasing like a mischievous sprite. Each touch sent shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through her core, her moans escalating into a desperate symphony that filled the room. Her hips arched involuntarily, seeking more of my fervent ministrations.

With one hand buried between her legs, I reached up with the other, exploring the smooth expanse of her toned stomach. My fingers traced the contours of her abs, teasing and tormenting her sensitive navel. She arched her back, her hips bucking wildly as my tongue danced across her clit. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom.

As I continued to lick and suck at her clit, I slipped a finger inside her. It slid in easily, coated in her wetness. I began to pump my finger in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her clit. Jennie's moans grew louder, more frenzied, her body trembling with anticipation. I could feel her muscles clenching around my finger, a sign that she was close.

With my free hand, I reached up to cup her breast, squeezing gently as my tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. Her nipple hardened in my hand, a dark, erect bud that begged for attention. I pinched it lightly between my fingers, eliciting a sharp gasp from Jennie. Her hips bucked wildly, her body writhing beneath me as I continued to finger and lick her.

I could feel her heat and her wetness increasing, a sign that she was on the brink. With each relentless thrust, I quickened the tempo of my finger, driving it deeper into her slick, welcoming depths. I could feel her body responding, her muscles clenching and unclenching around my eager digit, a symphony of anticipation and surrender. Her breath hitched in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center. My tongue danced across her clit, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub. Jennie's moans grew louder, more desperate, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

In the hallowed chamber of our love, anticipation hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the promise of ecstasy. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her whispered words barely audible above the fervent rhythm of our bodies. "Owen," she breathed, "I'm so close," and I could feel the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles.

We were dancing on the precipice, so close to the edge, and I couldn't resist the urge to push her over. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender.

As I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center, I could feel the tension building, the anticipation growing. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The rhythm of our bodies was in sync, our movements fluid and graceful, as we danced on the precipice of ecstasy.

I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the beat of her heart echoing in my ears. Her whispered words of desire were like music to my ears, fueling my desire to bring her to the edge. I could sense the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles, as she surrendered to the pleasure.

As I felt her body convulse around me, I knew that I had pushed her to the edge, that I had brought her to the point of no return. The intensity of our lust was overwhelming, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations that left me breathless. I could feel the warmth of her skin against mine, the softness of her hair, the taste of her lips on mine.

Her body, a symphony of rapture, throbbed beneath me, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the room. I had taken her to the precipice, and now she was free-falling into the abyss of pleasure. Her face, a canvas of desire, contorted with delight as she surrendered to the sensations that consumed her. I watched, enraptured, as she arched her back, her body trembling with the intensity of her climax. It was a moment of pure bliss, a communion of souls that transcended the physical realm.

As she finally descended from the tempestuous heights of her orgasm, Jennie lay there panting, her body still trembling like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. The aftershocks of ecstasy rippled through her, her skin flushed and damp with the nectar of our lovemaking. I moved beside her, my heart thrumming in my chest like a war drum, its beat echoing in the silence of the room like a primal chant. As I gazed into her eyes, I felt a raw, primal energy crackling between us, an electric current that coursed through our veins and ignited our souls.

After a moment, Jennie gathered herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looked at me with a mix of desire and longing, her eyes locked onto my erection. Without a word, she reached out and spit on it, her saliva glistening on the tip as she began to stroke me. I moaned softly, my body responding to her touch with a fierce intensity.

"Now, for the real thing," Her breath, a warm caress against my ear, whispered promises of forbidden pleasures, unspoken desires. In the hushed tones of a seductress, she confessed, "I've been thinking about this"

My heart raced as she climbed on top of me, her body pressing against mine with a force that was both

exhilarating and terrifying. As Jennie descended upon me, I was captivated by the sight of her pussy swallowing my length whole, her muscles contracting around me with a ferocity that left me breathless. The feeling was ineffable, a surge of ecstasy that coursed through me like a tempestuous storm, electrifying every fiber of my being. Her gaze bore into mine, a mixture of passion and rebellion, as she claimed my cock in her body.

Jennie's body was a sight to behold, her curves accentuated by the soft, ambient light that bathed the room in a moody, atmospheric glow. Her breasts, full and firm, swayed gently with each thrust, their dark, rosy nipples standing erect against the cool air. Her hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, her muscles flexing with each deliberate motion as she rode me with a fervor that left me breathless.

The view was breathtaking, Jennie's face a picture of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment. Her eyes, dark and expressive, were filled with a raw, primal hunger that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

As we moved together, the room was filled with the symphony of our bodies slapping against each other, the wet, slick sounds of our flesh meeting in a frenzied dance of desire, like waves crashing against the shore. The air was thick with the scent of our arousal, a heady mix of sweat and sex that filled my senses and heightened my pleasure, intoxicating me with its primal allure. The rhythm of our lovemaking echoed through the room, a percussive symphony that pounded in my ears and set my heart racing with each thrust.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," With a guttural moan, I plunged further into Jennie's depths, my body consumed by an insatiable hunger.

"And you're so big, you're stretching me out," Jennie moaned in response, her hips bucking wildly as she rode me with a fierce intensity.

"Do you like that? do you like my cock inside you? you've missed it dont you?" I asked, my voice thick with desire as I looked down at Jennie.

"yes! yes! Yes! Fuck!" Jennie cried out, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was the intense sensory experience that was unfolding before me. Jennie's body was a symphony of pleasure, her every movement a testament to the raw, primal power of desire. And as I lost myself in the rhythm of our bodies, I knew that I was experiencing something truly transcendent, something that would stay with me long after the last echoes of our passion had faded away.

As she began to move, I felt myself being drawn into a world of pure sensation. Every thrust, every movement, was a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate deep within my soul. Jennie's eyes never left mine, her expression a mix of desire and determination as she rode me with a fierce intensity. I could feel her muscles clenching around me, a tight, wet heat that seemed to pull me deeper into her body with each passing second.

With a sudden surge of energy, I flipped her onto her back, guiding her legs apart as I positioned myself above her. Our eyes locked in a heated gaze as I plunged deeper into her, my body responding to her cries of desire with a feral intensity.

In this newfound position, I was able to control the depth and pace of our lovemaking, driving myself into her with an insatiable hunger. The headboard creaked against the wall in time with our frantic rhythm, the room filled with the wet sounds of our passionate union. Her hands gripped my back, nails digging into my skin as we moved together as one.

With each thrust, our bodies collided in a symphony of sensations – the slickness of our skin meeting in a primal dance, the soft moans escaping Jennie's lips as she arched her back to meet my every movement. Sweat glistened on both our bodies, beading on our skin like liquid diamonds under the dimmed lights. Her breasts bounced with each impact, nipples hardened and begging for attention. I reached down to tease them roughly, eliciting a gasp from Jennie that spurred me onward.

I could feel every ripple and fold of her wet heat enveloping me, clenching around my length like a vice. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – fueling the fire that burned between us. As I watched our reflection in the mirrored ceiling above us, I marveled at the sight: two bodies entwined in an age-old dance, seeking solace and release in each other's arms.

As I pushed into her further, I raised Jennie's elongated, slender limbs by their ankles, spreading them outward for my access. The visual before me was captivating - her toned thighs glistening with perspiration, her delicate toes curling and uncurling as I kissed and licked upon them. Her thin arms quivered with ecstasy. One hand clung tightly to the bedsheets, the other meandering down to manipulate her breasts, pinching and tugging at the firm nipples that stood upright against the cool atmosphere. Her eyelids were shut, her visage a blend of pleasure and agony as she yielded herself to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her entire body.

Jennie pulled me down to kiss her, her lips soft and warm against mine. Our tongues danced together in a frenzied rhythm, mirroring the movements of our bodies below. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, her breath hot and heavy in my ear as she urged me onward. My thrusts did not stop, my body driven by a primal need to claim her once more.

Her nails raked down my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, fueling the flames of our passion even further. Our bodies collided with an intensity that belied the passage of time, as if we were two souls trapped in an endless loop of desire and need. The room was filled with the sound of our moans and gasps, a symphony of lust that echoed off the walls. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – as we raced towards that elusive peak together.

In this moment, there was only us – two people lost in a sea of passion, seeking solace and release in each other's arms. As I looked into her dark eyes, I saw the same longing and desire that burned within me.

Soon after we switched positions, Jennie was on all fours, presenting her luscious ass to me as I entered her from behind. I couldn't help but admire the view before me – her toned backside, the delicate dip of her spine, and the way her hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of ebony silk. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, accentuating every curve and contour of her body.

As I positioned myself behind her, I marveled at the sight of my cock sliding into her wet heat once more. The sensation was indescribable – hot, tight, and wet; it felt like coming home. With each thrust, I could feel every ripple and fold of her inner walls clenching around me, as if she were trying to hold onto me forever. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, a primal symphony that echoed off the walls.

In this position, Jennie's body took on an even more alluring form –  hips curved in invitation; and thighs spread apart in wanton display. Her back arched gracefully, accentuating the perfect curve of her spine and emphasizing the delicate line of her neck. It was a breathtaking sight, truly awe-inspiring - this beautiful creature beneath me, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her breath hitching with every thrust I made. Her moans, they were like sweet music to my ears, filling the room with an erotic symphony that echoed off the walls. They were desperate pleas for more, whispers of pleasure intermingling with the rhythmic crescendo of our bodies colliding. The sight and sounds of Jennie in the throes of ecstasy was intoxicating, pushing me further to the edge.

Every thrust was a desperate attempt to fuse our bodies together, to become one with this woman who held my heart captive. Our bodies collided with a force that belied the tenderness of our earlier lovemaking, a raw and primal display of unrestrained passion.

I reached down, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her spine, feeling the soft texture of her skin beneath my fingertips. Her body trembled beneath my touch, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. I leaned down and kissed her neck, my lips trailing a path of fire down to her collarbone. She moaned softly, her head tilting back to give me better access.

My hands slid down her body, cupping her firm buttocks. I squeezed gently, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch. Her hips moved involuntarily against mine, a desperate plea for more. I responded by thrusting into her with renewed vigor, my body driven by a primal need to claim her.

Jennie's body trembled beneath me, her muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance of ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she neared the precipice of release. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat as she writhed beneath me.

I could feel it too, the heat and tightness building between us, the overwhelming need to explode in a symphony of pleasure. It was like a volcano ready to erupt, the pressure building and building.

"Owen," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

Her hushed murmurs were barely perceptible over the symphony of our pounding hearts and the wet slap of our bodies colliding in a rhythm as old as time itself. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, intoxicating me with every breath I took. I carefully parted the supple curves of her ass, my gaze transfixed on the provocative sight before me: myself buried deep within her slick, welcoming folds.

"I'm close too, fuck! I'm gonna cum" I surrendered to the primitive instinct within me, my hips driving against her with newfound urgency. The soft, supple curves of her back molded perfectly against the harsh angles of my chest and abdomen. Her skin was a living flame beneath my fingertips – hot, slick, and glistening with sweat that clung to her like a second skin. The intoxicating taste of salt and woman filled my mouth as I pressed kisses along the graceful arch of her neck, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from her lips in response.

Such sweet music she made – soft sighs and whimpers that danced in harmony with the symphony of our bodies colliding in rhythmic unison. They were notes on an erotic sonnet, each one resonating deep within me, igniting sparks that threatened to consume me whole.

As the intensity of our coupling began to overwhelm me, I felt my legs quivering, the pressure mounting and threatening to spill over. With a firm grip on her shoulders, I channeled all my strength into thrusting against her - plunging into Jennie with an urgency borne of pure desire and unbridled lust. Each thrust resonated deep within me, stirring up a tempest of emotions that swirled in harmony with the rhythm of our bodies colliding. The sweet friction generated by our union was as intoxicating as it was maddening.

The intensity of her orgasm was like a tidal wave, crashing over me and pulling me under. I could hear her screams of pleasure, echoing in my ears as she came undone beneath me. Her body trembled and quivered, every muscle taut and tense as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Her nails dug into my back, leaving crescent moons etched into my skin as she held on for dear life. The sensation of her walls clenching around me, milking me for all I was worth, was almost too much to bear. I felt myself losing control, my own climax building rapidly as I thrust into her with abandon.

"Fuck, you're so tight," I groaned, my voice strained and desperate. "I'm gonna cum."

"Oh my God, Owen!" She cried out, her voice a desperate plea. "Fill me up!"

With a final, desperate thrust, I let go. The pleasure exploded outwards from my core, a blinding white light that consumed me whole. I felt myself spill into her, my release warm and thick as it filled her to the brim. Her body shook beneath me, her walls milking me for every last drop as she came undone once more. With a surge of desire, her inner walls gripped me tightly, milking every inch of my throbbing cock as she pressed herself against my groin. Her body trembled beneath me, the rhythmic motion causing her juices to mix with the heat of my own release, filling her to the brim with my essence. The sensation was overwhelming and intoxicating, a swirl of pleasure and wetness.

The culmination overwhelmed us, a torrent of delight that teetered on the edge of being unbearable. This peak, an oft-experienced sensation, was a mass consumption of joy that stemmed from my very essence. It was like a dazzling white glare, a flood tide crashing over me and pulling me under its swell. The impact nearly felt scary, but in the most positive way. It was as if each sensory neuron in me had been ignited, a harmonious symphony of sensations that left me breathless and quivering with fulfillment.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, I collapsed onto the bed beside her, my body spent and satisfied. I pulled her close, my arm wrapped around her waist as I pressed kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body was still trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

I looked into her eyes, and what I saw there was a mixture of pleasure and longing, a deep emotional and physical satisfaction that mirrored my own. I held her in my arms, her body still trembling from the force of our climax. Her hair was plastered to her face, sweat sticking to her skin in a way that only added to her allure. She was breathtaking – a sight that I knew I would never grow tired of. As she lay there in my arms, panting and heaving, I couldn't help but think about what could have been between us.

The intensity of our connection flooded my mind with memories and regrets. I thought back to our time together years ago, when things were different. When the possibilities between us seemed endless. Back then, I had felt the magnetic pull towards her – the urge to give myself to her fully, to commit everything I had. But the fear always held me back, gripping my heart like a vise. I was terrified of losing myself in her, of the vulnerability that comes with true intimacy. So I held back, keeping her at arm's length even as we shared our bodies and souls.

She had wanted more, I knew that even then. I could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at me – that simmering desire for the whole of my heart. But the fear was too strong, the habit of self-protection too ingrained. And so she eventually moved on, leaving me bereft and full of remorse.

Now here she was again, trembling in my arms like she belonged there. The old longings came flooding back, mingled with regret. If only I could go back and choose differently, give her the love she deserved. But it was too late for that. The best I could do was cherish these stolen moments together, even as I knew deep down that I would inevitably pull back again. She was my North Star, my guiding light – but one that I could never fully reach no matter how hard I tried. The thought filled me with equal parts bliss and anguish. I held her tighter as she drifted off to sleep, wishing I could freeze this moment forever. --

I draw an elongated, languid pull from my cigarette, allowing the nicotine to seep into my bloodstream as I linger on this balcony, my perch above the dazzling, pulsating cityscape of New York. The night air is sharp, a crisp contrast to the lingering warmth that still clings to my skin—a souvenir from our passionate interlude.

Inside, Jennie is nestled in the land of dreams, her petite frame delicately cocooned in the luxurious hotel sheets that still bear the scent of our shared desire. I ought to join her, to envelop her in my arms and surrender to the beckoning call of sleep. However, a restless energy pervades my being, my mind a volatile whirlpool in the aftermath of our tempestuous coupling.

Jennie, a beautiful enigma, belongs to another now—Yet, tonight, we merged in a wild conflagration of raw desire, our bodies entwining in a dance as old as time itself, lost in a sea of ecstasy. I staked my claim on every inch of her, driven by a primal need to etch myself into her memory, an indelible mark she'd never be able to erase. Her nails etched a path of fervor down my back, her cries a symphony spurring me forward as we hurtled towards the precipice of oblivion. And when that moment of release arrived, it was a cataclysm—a searing flash of divine perfection that shattered us, only to rebuild us anew.

Commitment has always been my Achilles heel, a specter I avoid with the agility of a seasoned matador. It terrifies me, this concept of vulnerability and surrender. The lessons life has imparted have taught me that nothing golden remains, so I seize my moments of joy with a fierce grip, refusing to hold too tightly lest they slip away. I prefer to exist in a world of beautiful fragments, a mosaic of fleeting moments, rather than be tethered to a monotonous eternity. These thoughts weave their way through my mind as I exhale the ashen smoke from my lips, the remnants of my vice liberated from the confines of my lungs.

I flick the cigarette over the edge, its glowing cherry tracing a fleeting arc in the obsidian night, a dying star lost in the city's neon abyss. Jennie, she is my Polaris, an immutable point of light guiding my aimless wanderings even when she's a universe away. The distance between us may stretch into miles, yet I find myself perpetually ensnared in her cosmic pull, tethered to the irresistible gravity of her radiance.

Perched high above the city, I cast my gaze downwards, drinking in the nocturnal theater below. A ceaseless ballet of headlights, the urban arteries throbbing with life—cars darting like metallic fish, blaring horns that sing a discordant symphony of the city's pulse. Amid the clamor, a melody tiptoes into my consciousness, a haunting siren's song birthed from the events of the night. My next creation, a symphony of sentiments woven into delicate prose, stands ready to unfurl. It's an intimate piece of my soul, a whisper of my essence, something to bare and share with the world. A tapestry of words dipped in the hues of my deepest longings, a lingering echo of my heartbeat, yearning to resonate in the hearts of those willing to lend an ear;

I'm in town for one night, one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

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My first fic, hope you guys like it.

[fawnindawn]

for a moment, can i hold you? (luke castellan x fem! apollo reader)

series masterlist - everything in between (every part can be read as a stand-alone!)

summary: After your return from a failed quest, Luke is intense with his attention and anything but his usual self as he looks after you and your healing injuries, and you come to realise your absence has changed him drastically. When he asks you to make a promise, you don’t realise just how much he is asking for.

content: luke is overprotective and clingy, caretaker luke, soft luke, pining, paranoid luke, kronos tries to manipulate luke, hint of manipulative! luke, fluff, kissing

a/n: this chapter was redone so many times but at long last. the delicate sprinkle of kronos slowly pulling the strings in luke's mind because he can't bare to lose the only person he can't live without was an enjoyable process to write.

pairing: luke castellan x fem! apollo reader

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His hands traced over the outline of the scars on your back, unbeknownst to you as you laid asleep beside him, wrapped in his blanket from your hips downward. Your face was serene, and he felt his heartbeat calm down watching you breath in and out, painless and at peace.

Kronos was growing more invasive every night, something Luke had not expected now that you had returned to camp alive. If anything, your presence had heightened this need in him to protect you and not let you out of his sight, his mind still taunting him endlessly with dark images of your limp body in his arms, your pulse barely beating under his fingers.

Regardless of how much you’ve tried to convince him it wasn't his fault that he wasn't there to stop these scars from happening, that he wasn't there to save you and you had to make the journey back to camp all on your own, he didn't believe it. That he couldn't have done more to protect you.

The titan that crept in his nightmares fed on his fears eagerly, and he would fall asleep to dreams so tangible, vivid recreations of your lifeless face, always being just out of reach of saving you before something gets to you first. He would wake covered in cold sweat and shattered pieces of his heart as his hands immediately goes to find you, heaving a shaky breath at the sight of you still asleep beside him. He pulled you close to his chest, crying silent tears as he repeated to himself that you were safe. Alive and warm. Beating life in your pulse as his fingers wrap around your wrist.

'I can help you save the girl.' The titan had crooned before, watching over Luke in his dreams as he cradled your lifeless body with indescribable mourning, choking on his sobs as he muttered your name, broken and haunted. 'There will be a new world that shall dawn on us, and no half-blood shall face the consequences of their mortality, and you will never have to see her suffer again.'

Luke watched you now, admiring your features as his hands wrapped around your waist, slowly pulling you closer in an effort to not wake you. Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he felt his heart thump at the soft crinkle of your nose at his touch but your eyes remained closed, unaware of the adoration that was bestowed on you.

"I'm going to keep you safe." He promised softly, because failing once had already costed him nearly everything and he wasn't going to let anything happen to you again. Even if it meant betraying everything he knew, the belief that he could create a world, one you would live in without having to worry about death constantly at your doorstep was worth everything he was going to sacrifice.

Minutes go by in silence, the most quiet and peaceful it had been for him in weeks. If it wasn't the chaos that came with trying to control a cabin filled to the brim with his siblings or those who were unclaimed, the noise would come from within in his own mind, filled with dark murmurs that stirred his paranoia into a mixture of anger and bitter hate. Now, it was none of that. Only the sound of your breathing, which he had been focusing on as of late whenever he was trying to sleep.

His eyes caught you stir, turning to rest your head deeper into the pillow, and his heart rate quickened watching you blink open your eyes, struggling in your effort not to fall back asleep again. You yawned, opening your eyes to meet his, and he caught the momentary confusion that one always faced when just waking up before your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled at him in recognition.

"Hi there." You muttered, and he swore he never loved you more, just watching you exist in the small corner of his cabin he had snuck you into, only because he couldn't bare to sleep without you after you returned half-dead.

If any of his siblings suspected the soft footsteps way past curfew, avoiding stepping on others as the two shuffled their way to his mattress in the dim moonlight, none commented on it in the day where there would be the mysterious tousled sheets and an empty dip beside Luke, even if everyone knows he never uses a blanket.

Luke found it impossible to sleep without you. If he couldn't feel your heartbeat near his, his mind would overthink and before he knew it, a panic attack would be on the edge of his mental state, only soothed once he had you in his sights again, alive and breathing.

"Go back to sleep, sunshine." He whispered, eyes on you as you shuffled around so you could be closer to him, resting on his shoulder and allowing him to inhale the vanilla body shampoo you liked to use. He automatically accustomed to your touch, shifting his shoulder so you could rest more comfortably, his chin resting on top of your head.

"No, I want to stay awake with you." You mumbled, pressed to his side and enjoying his cool skin as compared to the warmth of yours. "Why are you still up?"

He hesitated, unsure of whether to reveal to you about his recent dreams, or of his deal with Kronos. He didn't want to stress you on his dilemmas when you were still on the brink of recovery, even if his heart demanded him to tell the truth. Despite being the son of a god who was known for thievery, equipping his children with the ability to slip lies as easy as breathing, he had never hidden anything from you. Lies and deceit now tasted bitter in his mouth from the frequent use, and he wanted to confide in you and let his guard down for once.

"I've been having nightmares." He spoke, a half-truth he had settled for.

You looked up at him then, noses only a few inches apart, concern visible through your half-lidded gaze. "Again? What was it about?"

You. He wanted to say. Always you. He tried to push the thought away and come up with some flimsy excuse, because he couldn't tell you that. Not without making you feel guilt over something you had no control over. If anything, your father was to blame. Had he not sent you on a useless quest that put you in high risks of being exposed to creatures out to kill half-bloods, you wouldn't have been put in such a life-threatening situation. He had almost lost you.

Some days, that simple thought was enough to make him go mad.

He tried to quiet down the anger that threatened to arise, focusing on you instead as his hand went to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear, eyes flicking over your features. "Don't worry, sunshine. It's nothing I can't get over by the morning."

Lies, a nasty habit of his. He knew you could sense it too with the way you frowned at his response. Your fierce eyes met his own hesitant gaze, and it was like you could see right through him. Then again, you always could.

"It was about me, wasn't it?" You asked, hitting right on the spot of his worries.

He remained silent, and upon realising you were waiting for his confirmation, he sighed. "Sometimes I wish you wouldn't know me so well."

"Then I wouldn't be your other half, would I?" You responded with a solemn smile. "What happened?"

His mind flashed back to the gory images of his self-made torture in subconscious. "I never get to save you." He started explaining. "I'd always be too late, or I wouldn't be able to find you but I would hear your voice screaming for me. I'd go crazy trying to get to you but every time I finally reach you, it's too-"

He cut himself off, feeling the corner of his eyes burning as he tried to swallow past the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. He blinked back his tears, and he tried to avoid your gaze. "I'm afraid it'll come true." He muttered. "That something will happen to you again and despite everything I try to do, it won't be enough."

"Luke." You tried, but he was already in another world, distant eyes so tortured and guilty you feared he was drowning in his own self-doubt. You pushed yourself up, out of his hold and grabbed ahold of his face, forcing him to face you instead. "I'm not going anywhere."

He stilled at that, but he didn't seem to quite believe it.

"I promised, remember?" You reminded him, your fingers tracing the slight raise of his scar near his cheekbone, trying to get him to come back to you. "I'll be here till we're both nothing but bones and dust, and even then, I'll follow you anywhere you go. To the next life and the next."

"How are you so sure of that?" He asked, weak against your optimism, his own heart struggling to find the belief you seemed to have that everything would turn out alright.

"You think for one second I'd leave you alone in peace?" You scoffed. "You keep thinking I'll leave when you should be worried about the opposite. I'm not dying unless you're doing it with me, co-dependency and all."

He snorted at that, but the darkness in his eyes had not fully risen, his mind still stuck on a certain promise you'd accidentally uttered a few seconds ago, and he wouldn't rest till he figured out just how far you were willing to go in your promises.

He swallowed, trying to find his words as yours repeated in his mind. His hands went to rest on your hips, holding onto you and your gaze so intensely, like he believed you would really disappear if he took his eyes off of you. "You promise you'll follow me anywhere?"

"Yes." You answered with no hesitation and he let out a sigh, akin to relief over something that seemed to have been holding a dark cloud over him the past few weeks since your return.

"You promise." He stated more than asked, begging for a promise you didn't quite understand, not knowing your words had already been etched into a dark corner of his mind that you had no hope of pulling him out from.

Your brows furrowed as you wondered why he was so insistent, but if it meant soothing his worries, you'd do anything. "I promise." You muttered, sealing your fates together till the end of time.

His eyes wandered over your face in lovesick adoration, unsure of how he was so lucky to have met you. "I love you." He declared, and before you could say it back, he leaned in to kiss you, hands slipping under your shirt to rest his cold hands on your hot skin, which always leaned on the warmer side due to your father's influence, and you felt electric shocks at the sudden contrast as he pulled you back into bed, laying you on top of him as he kissed you in fervor.

"I love you." He repeated, tracing his lips down the outline of your jaw, making you shiver in the intensity in which he made his confession.

"I love you too." You finally made out, but it was less clearer than his as you struggled to focus against the heated feeling of his mouth on your neck and his hands on the outstretch of your back, still hidden under the fabric of your shirt.

He chuckled at that, the sound making your cheeks flush at how attractive he could be when he was this intense. "Trust me, sunshine. You don't know how crazy you've made me."

Your mind spun when he went back to trace his lips over your skin before slowly making his way back up to your lips, kissing you slowly and passionately, taking his time in making you squirm for breath. You should've noticed something was unusual in the way he acted, the red flags raised over his choice of wording and in his growing intensity the moment you promised you'd follow him anywhere.

It was Luke, you could trust him with anything. With your life. With your heart. You pushed back those thoughts, and you let yourself fall lost to the feeling of his lips on yours and his curls gripped through the gaps of your fingers.

At some point, you needed air more than the feeling of his lips on yours and you broke the kiss off to breathe, pushing at his chest when he tried to lean in for another kiss with that wicked grin of his.

"That's enough for tonight, pretty boy." You panted, and despite his disappointed pout, he relented and pulled you back into his chest, falling back into the mattress and grabbed for the blanket to lay it over your body so you wouldn't feel cold.

"Goodnight then, sunshine." He whispered affectionately, a particular softness in his tone that he always reserved for you with that adoring nickname he had initially started using to annoy you. Yet, somewhere along the blurry lines of getting to know one another, the mocking stereotype turned into something else entirely. Something more personal, the warmth of familiarity between the two of you.

You settled on his chest, tracing outlines of shapes on his shirt as your mind wandered towards a future of you and Luke, together. You had never really thought too far across the borders of camp, where monsters lingered in wait to devour half-bloods like the two of you. Yet, his words spun a record in you, playing imaginary situations of the two of you in a world where gods and monsters were the least of your worries and you had a normal life instead, with him.

"Wait." You spoke, causing him to stir, looking down at you.

"Yeah?" He murmured to signal he was still awake, waiting for you, always.

"Speaking of dreams.." You continued, hesitating to cross a border neither of you had really discussed on yet. Normal human life had always been taboo, only because the two of you understood the struggles you would have to go through to try and achieve even half the sense of normalcy normal people had. Yet, you couldn't help the curiousity over what Luke would want, if he wasn't a god's son. "If we ever get out of here one day, and hypothetically, we were to live a normal life.. outside of camp. What would yours be?"

He remained silent, and you wondered if you had stepped too far into a pitiful hope many half-bloods had given up on ages ago. Especially for Luke, who was one of the oldest surviving half-bloods in camp, with you not following too far behind.

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it." You stepped back from the topic, but he shook his head.

"I've never really given it too much thought." He muttered, trying to imagine a life without a sword in his hands, no scar taking up half his face only to come up with a blank. It was all blank. His heart churned with frustration as he realised all the years of running and surviving made his personal advancements, like education and a normal teen life be placed on the backburner. He had no ambitions that could be considered normal for his age, no graduating college or getting a job.

His eyes moved from the wooden boards of the walls back to you, who waited patiently for his response. His thoughts of his own future were a dead-end but when he looked at you.. he could picture something. A dream further ahead in time outside of the confinements of camp. Being at your side while you explored new cities you've never been before, made the future seemed more doable.

He vaguely remembered you mentioning how you've never been to the Big Apple, having grown up in a state too far to see it. He could take you there, experience your awed joy and take it in for himself to keep. If a dream was meant to be something to keep him going, there was no way you wouldn't be in the equation.

Luke rested his palm on the nape of your neck, and placed a kiss on the top of your head. "Anywhere with you, honestly. I'm sure I could come up with a million things to do if we make it that far. And as long as I get to watch you achieve your dreams..."

"That's awfully cheesy of you." You teased, hoping he couldn't feel your heart racing through your ribcage.

"It's not cheesy. I'm being serious." He retorted, cheeks flushing slightly at your teasing.

"You know.. if I didn't meet you in camp, I could picture crossing paths with you in a café or something." You admitted.

"Oh really?"

"Mhm. You would be walking in with some of your friends after playing basketball, and you'd catch my eye." You continued. "I'd probably do something reckless, like ask for your number right off the bat because I would be scared of losing the chance of getting to know you."

"I'd give it to you in a heartbeat." Luke answered, a giddy smile slipping through over the thought of you approaching him so boldly. A counterfeit situation, a daydream only those who were foolish enough would partake in, but he was willing to dream if you wanted to.

"Then, we'd go on our first date around the city, and you'd show me your spots while I'd show you mine. We'd probably spend hours outside because neither of us wanted to leave."

“And then?” He asked, unable to hide the desperation in his tone.

“Then we’ll take it on together.” You muttered with a smile. “Life.”

Luke waited for you to continue, but you yawned halfway through and he huffed in amusement. "Go to sleep, sunshine. Your dreams won't run away anytime soon, I'll make sure of it.”

“Our dreams.” You corrected him.

“Ours.” He repeated.

You nodded, satisfied and muttered a goodnight to him before closing your eyes, following the beat of the heart that belonged to a boy who owned yours, listening to the constant rhythm of life before slowly succumbing to sleep.

Luke traced over the outline of your spine, and his mind ticked over the possibilities of the future. He wasn't wrong, he was going to make sure your dreams would come true. Whatever you wanted, he would help you achieve it.

He could see it, the two of you going on dates like a pair of lovesick teenagers, then growing into adults and living past the well-known lifespan of a half-blood. To grow old, and to watch wrinkles catch in the crinkles of your eyes over a life well lived. He was going to make all that happen, but there was something he needed to do first.. and he could only hope you would forgive him for it.

You could never fathom how this night would change everything, kickstart the course of the next few years that would eventually bring you back to the promises you've made and the haunting of his own devotion.. to you.

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taglist: @stars4birdie @elysiandumbash @kehlanislefttoe @mqg125 @madzlovez @0revna0 @auroraofthesun1 @idli-dosa @buubsii @kaylasficrecs @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @itsdragonius @moonlightfoxs-cantina @inkpot-winters @vanessa-rafesgirl

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 16 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

You needed to rein in your anger for now. Jinwoo needed to defeat Baran as quickly as possible to obtain the ingredients necessary to cure his mother. Even though he might not yet know whether it would work, you did. The future you knew was enough to justify setting aside… whatever this was for the time being.

It was clear that Jinwoo wanted your support; otherwise, he would have already gone to the Demon Castle. You should have convinced him to go solo. According to the story, he’d be fine. Your interference might bring troublesome consequences, yet you wanted to help him—perhaps selfishly this time.

You still blamed yourself for what happened to his mother. You knew her eternal slumber was meant to drive Jinwoo to grow stronger. But you had the power to prevent it, to cure her, and yet—

At one point, you unconsciously began to feel that helping him was a way of making amends—for your helplessness, for things out of your control. Not just his mother [Why do you blame yourself?] but also for not arriving sooner from the garden. For being too late to save his father, even if the system might have stopped you anyway. You could have tried. Yet you were too late [it’s not your fault]. Too late to save his father. Too late to help the people devastated by Kamish.

[It was out of your control.]

---

The garden was as serene as ever, a tranquil oasis filled with blooming flowers and butterflies flitting through the air. The soft hum of nature provided a soothing backdrop, yet the tension inside you was anything but calm. You sat at your usual spot by the gazebo, sipping tea from a delicate cup, waiting for him to arrive via the invitation you’d sent with your butterflies.

When Jinwoo stepped into your domain, the portal sealed behind him.

Was it just you, or did he look more haggard than usual? Was it because of your… disagreement? He shouldn’t care that much about you. You needed to be sure of that. Otherwise… you didn’t know what would happen to this story.

"(Name), I'm sorry—" Jinwoo began, his voice tentative, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

"Sit," you said simply, taking another sip of tea. Your tone was measured, calm, but there was no room for argument.

To his credit—or perhaps his detriment—Jinwoo sat immediately, like an obedient dog, responding to its master’s command.

You laughed, and he flinched, thinking he’d done something wrong again. But you laughed because of the irony. Here sat the soon-to-be strongest man in the world, obeying you like a lost puppy. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, feel exhilarated, uneasy, or all of the above.

It was both endearing and unsettling.

You needed to address this situation—quickly.

But for now, Jinwoo needed to focus.

"Let’s set that aside for now," you said, waving off his attempt at an apology. You noticed him opening his mouth again, perhaps to protest, but one sharp look from you silenced him effectively. Lovely.

At least he listens when it matters.

"You need to return to the Demon Castle to gather the final material for crafting the Holy Water of Life, correct?"

"Y-yeah," Jinwoo stammered, caught off guard by your directness.

"Then why are you still here?" Your voice held a firm edge. Why hadn’t he already gone? He didn’t need you for this, not really.

"I—" Jinwoo faltered, the words dying in his throat. He was going to ask you to accompany him, but why? Why didn’t he use this time to leave, to step away from your anger? He couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but leaving without resolving things with you felt… wrong.

Running away from this felt wrong.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. The tea in your cup swirled as you tilted it slightly, your thoughts as restless as the liquid. "I’ll help you," you said at last, the words measured but sincere. "Though I’m not sure how much help I’ll actually be. Just give me time to prepare.”

He clearly hadn’t expected that. “You don’t have to—”

"I don’t," you interjected, cutting him off once more. Your gaze softened as you set the teacup down and folded your hands on the table. "But I want to. Let’s just leave it at that."

Oh.

Jinwoo felt an odd sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of the past, back when he was weakest. When he didn’t know anything about his mysterious benefactor. When he didn’t know you.

Thank you. He wanted to say it, but it didn’t feel like enough. It never did.

You took his silence as agreement, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

---

The silence stretched on, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Jinwoo fidgeted slightly.

“I—” Jinwoo hesitated. Should he bring up that dinner? No. It wasn’t the right time, not when you were setting your fight aside for his sake.

“Hm?” you prompted.

“…Can you train Tusk?” Jinwoo blurted out, summoning the High Orc Shaman before he could stop himself. The towering figure of Tusk knelt immediately, his glowing eyes filled with both reverence and curiosity as he regarded you, and… confused by his nervous master.

You arched a brow, eyeing the orc, setting down your teacup with a soft clink.

Jinwoo scratched the back of his neck. “He’s good at casting spells—” He winced at his poor wording. “I… I thought he could learn a thing or two from you—”

You moved, and Jinwoo stiffened. Standing from your seat, you approached the kneeling Tusk, your footsteps soft against the gazebo’s stone floor. Tusk, to his credit, remained perfectly still, though his glowing eyes followed your every move.

Reaching out, you placed a hand gently atop his head, patting him lightly.

The orc blinked. Jinwoo blinked.

"Alright," you said simply.

You smiled—a genuine smile that Jinwoo hadn’t seen in days.

It was meant for Tusk, sure, but his shadows were an extension of himself. And Jinwoo… Jinwoo clung to that small glimmer of hope.

---

“Enchanting equipment?” you asked, your voice cool and composed.

“Yes.” Jinwoo nodded, carefully pulling two items from his inventory. “A few days ago, I bought some gear in preparation to return to the Demon Castle.” He handed you the wind-attribute robe and the nameless ring imbued with a water-attribute.

You regarded the items with a practiced eye, fingers grazing the surface of the robe before both pieces floated midair, enveloped in your signature silver aura. Jinwoo watched as your shoulders relaxed, your eyes fluttering closed.

His gaze remained fixed as your butterflies began to swirl, seamlessly merging with your aura as they danced around the equipment. Your hair swayed gently with the magical currents, and for a moment, Jinwoo was captivated.

The light flared momentarily before dispersing, the butterflies scattering back into the garden. The robe and ring floated down gently into your open hand. Without a word, you handed them back to Jinwoo.

Out of curiosity, he activated the system to inspect their stats, and his eyes widened in shock. The equipment’s overall defense had tripled. Not doubled—tripled!

The robe’s magic resistance and affinity were leagues beyond its original state, and the ring now pulsed with latent power, its water attribute refined into something far more potent. Even the overall quality of the items had improved dramatically.

“You’re… you’re really amazing,” Jinwoo said, awe dripping from his tone as he examined the equipment.

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your focus had already shifted to your butterflies, idly letting them land on your fingers and shoulders.

You still weren’t looking at him.

Oh right. Jinwoo’s expression faltered as the realization hit. You were still giving him the silent treatment.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Jinwoo’s reaction—his head tilted down, his shoulders slightly slumped, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked like a dejected puppy, an image made even more comical by his flickering gaze, which kept darting to you as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment.

Your butterflies noticed, fluttering inquisitively toward Jinwoo before retreating back to you. Jinwoo’s shadows, peeking through the faint dark mist at his feet, mimicked the butterflies with exaggerated shrugs, clearly as lost as he was about what to do.

You didn’t react.

---

Yeesh.

Jinho shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, glancing between the two of you as the car sped down the road. The silence inside was suffocating—not quite as unbearable as the last time he’d seen the two of you together, but still tense enough to make him itch for some form of normalcy.

His Unnie sat by the window, her head resting lightly against the glass, staring at the passing scenery. She hadn’t said a word since they left. His Hyung, seated in the opposite side of the passenger seat from her, occasionally flicked his gaze toward her, his brow furrowing ever so slightly before his focus returned to the road.

The tension was palpable.

Jinwoo cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Were you able to sleep well?” he asked, addressing Jinho.

“Yes, Hyung-nim. Unnie is really a great host!” Jinho replied, his tone overly chipper as he tried to ease the atmosphere.

For the briefest of moments, he caught the smallest of smiles gracing your lips. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there. Before he could even process it, your expression returned to its usual steady, composed look.

The silence resumed.

This time, it was Jinho who cleared his throat awkwardly. “By the way, what business do you two have at the World Tower this early?”

“We’ll be going,” Jinwoo answered curtly.

Your gaze flickered to Jinho, and you added, “Take care of my shop in my absence, okay, Jinho?”

“Wait, what—?” Before Jinho could even finish his sentence, both of you were gone.

Jinho blinked, staring at the now-empty car. “Huh?” he muttered to himself, still processing the abrupt departure.

He sighed, leaning back in the seat. “Well… at least the tension’s gone now…”

---

“As we practiced, Tusk!” Your voice carried across the battlefield, clear and commanding.

Jinwoo stood at a safe distance, watching as the shadow of the high orc shaman obeyed your order, prepared to unleash a spell. Tusk raised the Orb of Avarice high, the artifact shimmering as it expanded to match his increased size.

“Fire!”

The command was punctuated by a deafening explosion of power. The beam tore through the battlefield, obliterating every demon in its path, only leaving a charred crater. The heat from the explosion rippled outward, stirring dust and debris, carrying with it the echoes of decimation.

Jinwoo whistled in appreciation, folding his arms as he observed the carnage. Behind him, his shadows shifted, and your butterflies fluttered in synchronized patterns, as if admiring the display.

Meanwhile, you floated upward, your butterflies swirling protectively around you. Once you reached Tusk’s massive head, you landed lightly, patting the shaman’s forehead.

“Well done!” you praised, your voice warm. A neon blue butterfly followed your gesture, landing on Tusk’s—well, tusk.

The shadow rumbled in satisfaction, his massive shoulders relaxing as he basked in the praise. Jinwoo couldn’t help but chuckle

Yeah, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips, leaving Tusk’s training to her was definitely the right call.

---

“Say, can your butterflies level up?” Jinwoo began as his dagger sliced cleanly through a demon, sending the dark creature crumpling to the ground. “Like my shadows?”

You were a short distance away, directing a volley of butterflies toward a cluster of demons. The faint hum of system constant notifications rang in Jinwoo’s mind as both your forces and his defeated demons across the floor in the coordinated teams.

“Yes, they can,” you replied, casting a spell that sent silvery light streaking toward Jinwoo. His health bar filled rapidly, minor scratches on his arms close up. A boost in mana regeneration and overall speed left him feeling reinvigorated as he flexed his fingers.

“They gain power differently, though,” you continued, spinning your scepter once to clear some demons encroaching on your position. “Instead of receiving direct experience points from defeating enemies, they grow stronger by feeding on lifeforce. It’s a continuous process, and it takes significantly more time.”

Jinwoo hummed, parrying a claw strike from a nearby demon. He glanced back at you as you effortlessly destroyed another group with a volley of silver projectiles.

You nodded. “They also have ranks similar to your shadows, but the system referred to them as stages of metamorphosis. Egg, Larva, Pupa, and Adult. Their forms change at each stage. Sometimes they grow larger, sometimes their colors or wing patterns shift, and so on. The last time I maxed them out, though, the ‘Adult’ stage was locked, so my strongest children remained in the ‘Pupa’ stage.”

Jinwoo tilted his head slightly, avoiding a beam of light that zipped past where his head had been moments before. The shot hit its mark, incinerating a line of demons behind him. He didn’t bother turning to check the scorched corpses. His focus stayed on you.

Your scepter glimmered in your hand, its tip still smoking faintly from the spell. You ran a hand down its length, your expression calm and calculated as more demons circled you and him.

“To ascend to the next stage, each butterfly requires specific ascension materials. The materials differ depending on the field I want them to excel in—whether it’s devouring, illusions, healing, or something else entirely,” you continued. Your voice was steady, even as you broke into a sprint straight toward him.

Jinwoo remained perfectly composed, lowering one hand, bracing himself. Without hesitation, you plant your foot in his palm, and he used his strength to propel you into the air. The dagger held in his other hand slashed cleanly through the demon hot on your heels.

Midair, you spun gracefully, casting multiple magic circles that hovered around you like constellations. Beams of concentrated light erupted from them, carving through the horde of demons surrounding Jinwoo with pinpoint accuracy. The spells struck true, decimating the creatures while leaving Jinwoo untouched in the center.

You landed gracefully, the silver aura around you dispersing as your butterflies fluttered back to various parts of the battlefield, supporting Jinwoo’s soldiers.

“It was something I gave the system feedback about. It’s why your shadows only need your permission to rank up.” You brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

“A single Larva-stage butterfly is more than equal to an entire kaleidoscope of its siblings still in the Egg stage. And that comparison holds for the higher stages as well.”

Jinwoo’s eyes followed the graceful movements of your butterflies, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So… when do you get to name them?” he asked casually, flicking the blood from his blade.

You turned to him sharply, your expression almost scandalized. “My children are living, sentient beings, Jinwoo. I name them as I see fit.”

Jinwoo smirked. “You’re telling me you memorize all their names? From the look of it, you’ve got hundreds—no, thousands of them.” He chuckled, expecting you to roll your eyes or laugh.

Instead, you looked at him blankly, reply just as flat, “Yes.”

Jinwoo opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. After a second, he closed it again and shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Of course, you do,” he murmured, bemused. Honestly, he should’ve expected that. It was just so you.

A voice echoed in your mind, soft and respectful.

My Lady, Sir Jinwoo’s shadows have located the entry permit. We can now ascend to the next floor.

“Red informed me that Igris’ team found the entry permit,” you relayed to Jinwoo.

He raised a brow. “Red?”

“The child who always hovers to my right,” you said, and as if on cue, Red fluttered down to your shoulder. You patted her wings lightly, murmuring, “Well done.”

Igris materialized behind Jinwoo, confirming the butterfly’s report with a respectful nod.

Jinwoo made a mental note to ask you more about your telepathic connection and the mechanics of how your butterflies were born. For now, it was time to ascend.

“Let’s move.”

Together, you ascended to the 80th floor.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [18/11/2024] -

[baelarys]

𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚, 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚

Aegon II targaryen x Reader Sister targaryen

word count :

Warning : anguts, Chapter 5 spoilers, Insest

Author's note : I honestly felt very bad for Aegon in chapter 5

Your stomach turned and a grimace of disgust adorned your face as you saw the head of the imposing creature being paraded like a trophy through the streets of King's Landing. Followed by this, a wooden box that contained the body of your husband, Aegon.

“The gods are going to punish us,” you said contemptuously, drawing the gaze of both Aemond and Alicent.

Aemond approached you, his expression cold and controlled.

"It's the nature of war, Y/N. We must accept the consequences," Aemond said in a firm voice, showing no apparent interest in the matter

You looked out at the crowd, your hands tightening their grip on the small stone wall of the balcony.

"They see us as gods, they see the dragons as deities," you said in a suppressed voice, your words echoing with a mixture of pain and frustration. "But they will realize that we are only flesh, as fragile as they are."

You looked away at your mother, Queen Alicent, who also looked worried. Without another word, you retreated, moving towards Aegon's room. Upon arrival, the guards made way for you, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

The room was full of maesters bustling around, trying to do everything they could to tend to Aegon. Alicent followed you closely, her anguished expression reflecting the weight of the situation. She approached Maester Orwyle, who was carefully cleaning Aegon's burned and ash-covered face.

"Its alive?" Alicent asked, her voice heavy with restrained desperation.

“His Majesty remains with us for the moment,” Orwyle explained, his professional tone trying to convey a glimmer of hope.

You watched uneasily as the maesters lifted the Valyrian steel armor from Aegon's chest. The sight of his skin lifting up, revealing fresh, sticky flesh, made you make an involuntary grimace of disgust.

Aemond entered the room and stood next to you. You hadn't noticed until then that Blackfyre was hanging from his belt next to his sword. You little bastard, you thought to yourself.

"He can recover , Maester Orwyle?" You asked, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Orwyle paused for a moment, assessing the extent of the injuries before responding.

"It is difficult to say with certainty, my lady. The injuries are serious, but we will do everything in our power to ensure your improvement," he said, his tone full of caution.

You left the room to give the maesters space while they tended to Aegon's wounds. Crossing the threshold, your eyes met Helaena, who was standing next to one of the pillars in the hallway. His face, usually serene, reflected a mixture of anguish and concern.

––––––––

You returned to Aegon's room once the maesters had finished treating his wounds. Entering, you approached the bed carefully, watching Aegon with a heavy heart.

Half of Aegon's face was burned, and his fractured leg was nearly split in half. He shifted a little in his bed, letting out a small moan of pain. The sight of his suffering moved you deeply, but you knew you had to maintain your composure.

“Aegon, I'm here,” you said softly, taking his hand tenderly.

Aegon opened his eyes slowly, his gaze searching yours. Although his features were distorted by pain, he tried to muster a smile.

“Y/N…” he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible.

"Don't talk, you need to rest," you advised, squeezing his hand gently. "The maesters have done everything they can. Now you must focus on recovering."

"If only you had listened to me," you said softly, your voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and reproach. "But you are a fool, Aegon. Always so stubborn."

Aegon let out a soft sigh, his gaze meeting yours, filled with regret and something that might have been regret. You knew that arguing about what had happened wouldn't change anything, but you couldn't help but feel the frustration that had been building.

"I'll take care of ruling while you recover. You don't have to worry," you added, leaning down to place a small kiss on his lips before taking a seat on the other side of the bed.

The thought of Aemond taking control filled you with unease. Aegon might be a stubborn and reckless king, but Aemond would be an implacable and ruthless ruler. You couldn't allow his rigid and severe vision to prevail in these delicate times.

Aegon tried to respond, but exhaustion and pain overcame him. He surrendered to sleep, his breathing still labored but calmer.

As you stood by his side, your mind filled with resolutions. You would not allow Aemond to give a single order. You would temporarily take the reins of the kingdom, ensuring that decisions were made with wisdom and compassion.

For all you knew, Aemond had taken over as Prince Regent, but you wouldn't let him take all the reins of power. You walked quickly to the council room, where the meeting had already begun. The guards opened the doors for you when they saw you stop in front of the room.

The lords stood up when they saw you enter, except for Aemond and Alicent, who watched you with interest.

"Your Majesty, what are you doing here?" asked Ser Criston, who now held the position of Hand of the King. Aegon's choice to put someone who only knew strength in such a diplomatic position had always struck you as a questionable decision.

You walked to the center of the room with natural authority, eyeing each member of the council before answering.

“I have come to ensure that the kingdom remains in order during King Aegon's recovery,” you said in a firm voice, making it clear that you were not there to argue.

Aemond watched you with a mix of challenge and curiosity. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined not to give up even an ounce of power that could result in reckless decisions.

“With all due respect, sister, I am already taking charge of the affairs of the kingdom as Prince Regent,” Aemond said, his voice filled with cold authority.

"I know, Aemond. But I am the queen, and it is my duty to rule in the king's absence," you replied, looking directly into Aemond's eyes with unwavering determination.

Aemond frowned, clearly irritated by your statement, but before he could respond, you raised your hand, cutting him off with studied calm.

“Get up from my chair,” you said, your voice resounding with a mix of firmness and serenity.

The silence in the council room was palpable. All eyes were on the two of you, and the air was thick with tension. Aemond looked at you with fierce intensity, but finally stood up with a sharp gesture.

You approached the chair with quiet grace, taking your place at the council table. The lords, recognizing your authority, sat back down, while a servant brought you a new cup which they filled with wine. Aemond, after a tense moment, took a seat in the chair across from you, his gaze fixed on you.

"Ser Criston, what is our position?" you asked, your voice firm.

"We have taken control of Rook's Rest," Ser Criston answered, his tone confident.

"And the head of Princess Rhaenys's dragon?" you inquired, as you leaned back in your chair, taking in the information, your fingers tapping lightly on the rim of the glass.

“The traitor's dragon,” Aemond interjected, clearly annoyed, his voice sharp.

You turned your gaze to him, your eyes shining with a mix of determination and authority.

“Traitor or not, Rhaenys was a Targaryen, and she will be given a burial like any other dragon rider,” you declared, your voice echoing firmly in the room.

Aemond frowned, but did not immediately reply. The lords exchanged nervous glances, while Alicent watched silently, evaluating every word and gesture.

"We cannot allow our own blood to be treated with disdain, even in times of war. We must show respect and maintain our dignity," you continued. "I will order that the remains of Princess Rhaenys be prepared for a proper burial."

Ser Criston nodded, taking note of your words.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he responded, his voice showing renewed respect.

Aemond finally broke the silence, his tone still filled with defiance.

"Let's not forget that we are at war. Showing respect is one thing, but we must be ruthless with our enemies" he said, his gaze fixed on you.

"I know, Aemond. And we will be ruthless," you replied, your words filled with steel. "But our strength also lies in our ability to maintain our principles and our humanity."

After ending the meeting, you stood up gracefully and left the council room. Arriving at Aegon's room, you found that he was still asleep, his pale and serene face contrasting with the visible wounds that were still healing.

You carefully approached the bed, feeling a lump in your throat seeing him in that state. You sighed softly, letting go for a moment of the weight of the war and politics that now consumed you. You took a seat next to the bed, watching his calm and regular breathing.

You carefully stroked his head, your fingers gently sliding through his blonde hair, now messy and dull. With each caress, you felt a deep connection, a longing to offer him comfort and protection in the midst of his fragility. His skin, still warm to the touch, responded slightly to your touch, as if his body recognized the security that only you could provide him.

You leaned towards him, placing a light kiss on his forehead. You stayed there, with your face close to his, listening to his breathing and feeling his presence. The silence in the room was almost sacred, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his breathing and the beating of your own heart.

While your fingers continued their journey through his hair, your other hand gently rested on his chest, feeling the weak but constant beat of his heart. You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself a respite in that small sanctuary of peace.

Your movements were slow and careful, each touch loaded with love and dedication. You didn't need words to express what you felt; Every caress, every kiss on his forehead and cheeks spoke of your commitment and devotion. You leaned slightly, resting your head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in the physical closeness, feeling his warmth and the soft movement of his breath under your cheek.

Time seemed to stop as you stood there, wrapping Aegon in a cocoon of tenderness and care. Despite the wounds and the pain, in that moment, in that silent intimacy, you felt a renewed strength, an unwavering certainty that together you could face any adversity.

With a final sigh, you lifted your head and gently kissed his forehead again, sealing a silent promise to always be by his side. You stayed there, not moving, allowing the tranquility of the moment to settle in your heart.

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 20:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Medical Whump, mention of needles. Got some nice fluff in this one though ❤️

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

Pain.

Excruciating and white-hot.

It pierced with daggers that chiseled through your bones, burrowing their icy blades deep inside. It ripped you away from the tantalizing grip of unconsciousness.

“No… please…” The unconscious plea slipped over numb lips, as nothing more than a weak cry.

That peaceful serenity had so nearly been yours, but cruelly, you found it no longer so easy to fade. Voices carried loudly, echoing through the cavern. Shouted orders cut through your skull like a hatchet, exploding with a nauseating, icy sharpness. Rockets fired behind your eyes, jumbling their words between that constant, shrill ringing.

“Tech! ….ere…”

Hunter's voice rumbled, muted behind that deafening noise. Despite the tumbling chaos of fragmented thoughts and twisted noise, one thought repeated, focused and unmuddled.

Alive. He's alive. He's alive. He fell too, but he’s alive.

You found your hand drifting almost as an instinct, finding purchase in the ground, nails carving desperate paths through the dirt.

Alive. He's alive.

An icy panic drove its claws around your throat, wrenching ragged gasps from constricting lungs as your searching fingers found only cold rock.

Don't leave. Don't leave me here!

The nothingness you had so desperately craved before no longer felt peaceful. Instead, it loomed ominously below, violent and cold.

You could feel it clawing its way up your throat, pulling you relentlessly back down as though punishing your resistance.

No! You wanted to scream. I won’t leave them! You couldn't do that to Hunter. Not now. Not after everything was alright again.

Blinding, piercing waves of icy fire shot down from the base of your neck, ripping a choked scream through gritted teeth, as you tried to turn your head in an urgent attempt to find the man whose voice you clung to so desperately. A pair of strong, steady hands, held your head, stopping any semblance of motion. Tears, sudden and unbidden, trickled down your cheeks before you even realized you’d been crying. A part of you knew why he held you, so still and unmoving. The prickling electricity of pins and needles down your limbs were slow to fade - a consequence of your sudden movement. Purposed, shallow breaths did nothing to dull the sharp, grating agony that flared from your chest at every breathy whimper.

“Hey…shh… Don’t move.” He rubbed gentle circles along your jaw with his thumbs. “I know it hurts… I know. I'm right here, okay?”

You knew that voice. It felt safe, it was something to hold onto.

Hunter.

The deep baritone of his voice cut through the fog.

“Breathe. Look at me. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“A-again…” came the whispered response, lips twitching into some semblance of a half conscious grin. Some part of you registered the ironic humor in your situation, having been in the same predicament only hours ago.

Hunter gave a small huff, unable to stop the brief smirk of relief. “Yeah again. You gotta stop doing that.”

Your eyes drifted closed again, unable to bear the burning intensity of his headlamp any longer. He seemed to realize this and reached up to direct the beam away from your face.

“I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

“...can’t… too dizzy.” It felt like you were yelling, trying to be heard over that damn incessant ring.

“I know, cyar'ika. But if you keep your eyes closed, you have to keep talking to me, okay?”

The ringing was growing nearly unbearable again, drilling through your head, ripping and tearing your thoughts to shreds, pressing, squeezing until you were sure if it kept on, you would burst. Hunter’s voice was fading in and out in an endless cycle. The darkness behind your eyes whispered seductively once again only to be forced back as reality sunk its poisoned fangs deep into tissue and bone. Voices echoed down into the crevasse where you lay, concerned sincerity distorting into deriding laughter as if to mock your futile attempts to stop the pain.

Hunter called out to one of them.

“... on't…. move her…et!”

“...er…have to… help…”

Nimble fingers felt like sandpaper scraping on already raw skin and then a light, assaulting in a forced agony with blazing daggers.

“... pupils un… head…jury”

Tech. A distant part of you knew that voice. Always analyzing, ever observant. Careful but quick.

What was he saying?

There was a brief pause in which even that horrible noise had dissipated as though granting you one last relief. One last comfort before it came roaring back in the full force of overloaded senses. You could feel their frantic touches, voices overlapping one another in some sort of garbled nonsense.

Hands clenched over your leg. They gripped your head, over your chest. Ripping you violently to a blinding focus. Tearing, pulling and twisting daggers of ice into explosions of white hot pain. Hands ripping, tearing at clothing. Hands everywhere, feeling, gripping, holding you in place though you tried desperately to escape - lips parting to beg them to stop, that it hurt too much, but no words would come.

Stop! Please stop! Hunter, make them stop!

And it did seem to stop, though slow and fleeting. That nauseating intensity blurred dangerously with the icy chill, settling through your bones in a gentle numbness - the body’s merciful way of protecting nerves that fired and sparked beyond their perceived capacity.

Maybe it was the weakness of wishful thinking, or maybe it was some lingering strength fueled by a need for control. Whatever the cause, that infantesimal sliver of relief brought with it an inkling of hope that maybe you could survive this - like you were dangling from a precipice, waiting for that outstretched arm to pull you to safety.

“C'm… ack… can't lose…. plea…”

There were hands again - gentler this time. Fingers running through your hair brought a sense of comfort, though muddled and distant voices cut like blades as they danced and echoed through the rocks.

“...ere you go. Good. …ay with me, …kay?”

The iron grip that pulled you from the edge, that baritone whispering.

“Good, cyar’ika. Breathe. Listen to my voice.”

They were Hunter’s hands that gently held your head again. Steady and strong - yet kind and grounding.

That deeply penetrating hurt once again wracked violently through abused bone and seizing muscle, blooming through a daze as though attached to waking consciousness. But at least it was something to hold onto and the touch of Hunter’s ungloved skin was something that made sense in this tumult of fractured thoughts and heightened senses. A feeling of peace - a cool breeze on burning skin.

***

Hunter watched as your eyes rolled back into your head, fading once again into a pained unconsciousness.

I’m sorry. He wanted to shout. I’m so sorry.

Tech scurried about, kneeling over you - packing you securely splinted, while Wrecker had taken over holding your head steady. All he could do was stare - dazed as if watching the scene unfold from above like some sort of cosmic intruder.

It should’ve been me. I should’ve protected her - cushioned the fall. Something. Anything.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, tugging him gently back. Echo’s face swam before him, concern written on his features. “You okay?”

First confusion, quickly swallowed by a sudden anger that overcomes the sudden realization of his own aching side. How dare you! How dare you look at me when you should be focused on her!

“I’m fine.” Hunter snapped, the sharpness of his words matching the shooting pain that accompanied them.

Echo narrowed his eyes, Hunter was lying, but he nodded curtly in professional acknowledgement. He’d deal with him once they were safely back on the Marauder. He turned back to where Tech had finished securing the makeshift stretcher to cables that acted as a pulley system that would allow him to safely bring you up and out of the pit without causing too much unnecessary movement. He grimaced at the agony etched onto your face, heart aching in his chest at the way your eyelids fluttered open and closed. Fear. Pain. Confusion.

Echo didn’t have to imagine what that felt like.

We’ll get you out of here soon, he thought. You looked so fragile, so young - so vulnerable. Did I look like that when they rescued me?

“Echo, we're ready.” Tech’s matter-of-fact tone pulled him from his thoughts.

“Good. Let’s get her out of here.”

***

I am dead. Dying. Living. Unknown.

Flashes of a distant reality, all edged with an all-consuming torment; blurry glimpses of stone and rock; that treacherous, dusky sky; Tech’s helmet and cold, unforgiving plastoid. Hunter’s hand still clenched tightly in your own.

Floating. Moving. Securing. It all pulled you along as if rocking you to sleep. The agony that gripped every part of you was unbearably cruel and cold - but as long as those strong hands stayed by your side, there was hope.

A piercing, stabbing pain shot through your neck suddenly, drawing a barked cry from a dry throat. You jerked away, only to be held fast by those same comforting hands.

“Traitor.”

That mumbled annoyance protesting the betrayal of comfort, drew a soft chuckle. “Sorry, cyare. You’ll be okay.”

The awful, burning sensation that traveled down through your veins, soon felt warm.

---

Hunter watched as you fell asleep. Your exhausted muscles finally able to relax despite how securely you lay, splinted and immobilized, wrapped up in a blanket and thoroughly packaged by Tech’s meticulous hands.

“I’ve contacted Rex and he knows of a medical facility we can take her to safely.” Echo spoke as he strode over to the rack where Tech had settled you. He stood awkwardly before falling instinctively to a resting stance, arms loosely tucked behind his back.

Hunter nodded stiffly. “Good.”

Echo shifted, “You should get some rest, Hunter.”

“I’m fine.” The immediate reply was sharp and decisive, meant to scare away any sense of logic or concern that might take him away from your broken form. But Echo was not so easily swayed. He doubled down.

“You’re not.” He stated. “You can’t take care of her if you don’t take care of yourself.” His lips pulled tight in sincerity, eyeing the Sergeant up and down. He had worked with Hunter long enough to see through the callous facade. Hunter was a good squad leader - listed among the best that Echo had worked with throughout his career - and like a good leader he’d always put the needs of his squad above his own. It was both a strength and a weakness. “You need to rest, Hunter. At least sit down and let me take a look at your side.”

Hunter shook his head and leaned forward, grunting as he brushed a stray hair from your face. He could hear Echo’s words and the truth that they carried, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to make his hand move from where it curled around yours. He could feel the pain of his own injuries but they paled in comparison to yours.

He was of no consequence. You were his world.

It felt like he was standing on a cliff face and some mockery of doubtful anxiety convinced him that if he let go of your hand, he would fall plummeting further and further away.

He didn’t want to respond. It was too hard to admit that he was terrified - too hard to admit that he'd grown so accustomed to working with you, living with you, and that the prospect of losing that connection would be like losing a part of himself.

It was you who’d been there silently beside him as the weight of the rapidly changing galaxy tore apart everything he’d ever known.

That was why he couldn't let go.

You mumbled something in your sleep, eyes fluttering open.

Another pair of hands set the quivering muscles of your body on edge for an instant before loosening at their familiar touch.

“Hey, shhh… It’s just me.”

“Hun’er?” Your words came slow and unfocused, slipping out unfiltered and raw.

“Yeah?”

“...love you too…”

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

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[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

THE HIDDEN ONE-PAUL ATREIDES

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 Paul Atreides discovers Y/N, a mysterious woman caught between humanity and machines, created as a weapon by his family. As they grow closer, their bond challenges destiny. 𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The desert winds howled across the surface of Arrakis, carrying the endless whispers of fate and prophecy. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the still, vast expanse of sand. A new chapter in the Atreides lore was about to begin, one that had been written long before Paul Atreides was born. And though his mind had been consumed by visions of a future yet to be realized, there was one vision he could not shake. Her.

Y/N. The hidden one, a name he had never heard but whose presence seemed to loom over him in every moment of clarity. Her image, striking, enigmatic, with eyes that shimmered an unnatural blue, had appeared to him in fleeting moments, in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness. He had seen her in the most unexpected places: in the stillness of the desert, in the heart of the Emperor's court, in the shadow of a battle not yet fought.

The visions had become so vivid that they haunted him, each one more real than the last. It was as if she were calling out to him, from a time long past, from a place hidden beneath the sands.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The day Paul Atreides found the secret room was an accident. He had wandered the halls of the grand Atreides stronghold, as he often did when lost in thought. His steps echoed off the cold stone walls, and the flickering lights from the chandeliers cast their soft glow across the polished floors. It was in this quiet solitude that he stumbled upon the door. It was hidden behind a tapestry, an old relic that seemed out of place, yet remarkably well preserved.

He pulled aside the fabric, revealing a narrow passage. The air was thick with dust, as if the door had not been opened in centuries. Without thinking, Paul stepped inside.

The room beyond was a stark contrast to the rest of the castle. It was smaller, and its walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient texts, cryptic diagrams, and machinery that seemed impossibly advanced for the time. But there, in the center of the room, was something that caught his attention.

A pod. It was sleek, metallic, and humming with an energy that felt...familiar. As Paul approached, his breath caught in his throat. Inside the pod was a woman, beautiful, serene, yet impossibly still. Her skin was pale, almost ethereal, and her eyes, those blue eyes, were closed, as if she were merely sleeping.

The moment Paul’s fingers grazed the surface of the pod, her eyes snapped open. She stared at him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You...” she whispered, her voice a blend of wonder and recognition.

“Who are you?” Paul managed to ask, his heart pounding in his chest. He had known, somehow, that this was the woman from his visions.

“I am Y/N,” she said softly, her gaze never leaving his. “And you…you are Paul Atreides, the one who will lead us into the future.”

Paul’s mind raced. How did she know him? How had she been hidden away for so long? He had so many questions, but the answers seemed to elude him.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

Unbeknownst to Paul, his father, Duke Leto, had known of Y/N’s existence for many years. In fact, it had been the Duke who knew about this generational secret that his family holds, far from the prying eyes of the galaxy and the political machinations of the Imperium. The truth was that Y/N was more than just a person. She was a being caught between humanity and the machines of the past. A living testament to the forbidden thinking machines, who had been altered and preserved as a weapon, a safeguard for the Atreides legacy.

Paul’s discovery of Y/N did not come without consequence. His visions had led him to her, but the Bene Gesserit, who had their own plans for Paul’s destiny, had long known about Y/N as well. They understood her significance; she was the key to breeding the Chosen One, the one who could wield the powers of the Kwisatz Haderach. But what the Bene Gesserit did not anticipate was the bond between Paul and Y/N, one that ran deeper than any political or genetic manipulation.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

“You’re...not just a woman,” Paul said, his voice breaking the silence between them. “You’re something else. Something...ancient.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her robotic blue eyes glinting with a knowing sadness. “I was meant to be a weapon, Paul. A part of a forgotten war. But I am human too, just like you. I’ve been waiting for you, for this moment. I knew you would come.”

Paul stepped closer, a mix of curiosity and awe tugging at his chest. “Why? Why wait all this time? What’s your purpose?”

Y/N's smile deepened, and she reached out, her hand hovering near his. “I am here to help you. To guide you. To stand by you. Together, we can change the course of history.”

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with the weight of their shared destiny. Paul reached out slowly, his hand brushing against hers. The contact sent a shock of warmth through him, a connection he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, all the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty seemed to melt away.

“I don’t know how,” Paul whispered, his eyes searching hers, “but I think I’ve been waiting for you too.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Then let’s face the future together.”

They stood there, their hands intertwined, as the weight of their fates settled upon them.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The Bene Gesserit, led by the determined and calculating Lady Jessica, were not pleased when they learned of Y/N’s existence. For years, they had sought to control the bloodlines, to ensure that the Kwisatz Haderach would be born according to their plan. But Y/N was a variable they had not accounted for a wild card in the grand scheme of things.

Jessica, ever the loyal servant to her Order, confronted Paul in the halls of the Atreides stronghold.

“You have to understand,” Jessica implored, her voice tense. “The Bene Gesserit have spent decades grooming you, Paul. You are the one they’ve chosen, the one they’ve trained. And yet, this...this machine is not part of the plan. She is a threat.”

“I don’t care about the plan anymore,” Paul said fiercely, his eyes blazing with a resolve that surprised even him. “I know who I am. I know what I’m meant to do. And Y/N...she’s a part of it.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, a hint of fear flashing in her gaze. “You don’t understand, Paul. The Bene Gesserit will stop at nothing to see their vision realized. If you side with her, you’ll bring war to us all.”

Paul’s heart wavered for only a moment. But when he thought of Y/N, of the way she had looked at him, the way they had connected, he knew he could not turn away. He would not.

“I’ve made my choice, Mother,” Paul said, his voice firm. “And I will not be swayed.”

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

As the conflict escalated and the sandstorms of war swept across Arrakis, Paul and Y/N stood together. In the quiet moments between battles, when the world seemed to hold its breath, they found solace in each other. Their love, born of destiny and choice, grew stronger with every passing day.

One night, as they stood beneath the star-streaked sky of Arrakis, Y/N turned to Paul, her robotic eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

“You’re afraid,” she said softly.

“I am,” Paul admitted, his voice low. “But not of the war. Of what I might become. Of the power I have to wield.”

Y/N stepped closer, her fingers brushing his jaw, a gentle touch that grounded him. “You are not alone, Paul. Together, we can face whatever comes. We can change the future, together.”

He pulled her into a kiss, soft and lingering, a promise of what they would build. As their lips met, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their love, their power, and the future they would shape.

In that moment, Paul knew that he had found something worth fighting for, not just the throne, not just power but something deeper, something eternal. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would face them with Y/N by his side.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The days stretched into weeks, and the conflict on Arrakis escalated as the Atreides’ struggle for control of the desert planet became all encompassing. The war raged on, against the Harkonnen, against the Emperor’s forces, against the very forces of fate itself. Yet, in the midst of it all, Paul and Y/N’s connection deepened.

Their secret moments were stolen between battles, hidden in the shadowed corners of the Atreides stronghold, or beneath the sprawling, endless skies of Arrakis. Despite the danger, despite the world crumbling around them, they clung to each other, finding solace in the love that had sprouted between them, unpredictable yet undeniable.

One such moment arrived after a particularly brutal confrontation with the Harkonnen forces. Paul had returned from the battlefield covered in dust and sweat, his face drawn with exhaustion. Y/N, ever the constant, found him as he entered his chambers, her presence like a steady flame in the darkened room.

Paul’s eyes softened when they met hers, and he exhaled deeply, releasing the weight of the day. His once clear blue eyes, now the same shade as hers, spoke volumes of the battles fought and those yet to come.

"You’ve been fighting all day," she said, her voice gentle, yet laced with concern. She stepped toward him, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble. "You need rest."

"I don’t know if I can," Paul replied, his voice distant, conflicted. "Every moment is a step toward the future, but I can’t see it clearly. There’s so much uncertainty...I see visions of us, of you but they are fragmented. Some of them...they frighten me."

Y/N’s gaze was unwavering as she stepped closer, her fingers softly tracing the curve of his jaw. "I am not afraid of the future, Paul. And neither should you be. We’ve waited for this moment, for this bond to come together. We can walk through it, side by side."

Paul inhaled deeply, absorbing her words. The soothing calmness she radiated began to settle his thoughts, grounding him as only she could. She was the anchor in the storm that was his destiny. He could no longer deny it.

"Stay with me," Paul whispered. "Help me make sense of all of this. You’ve been a part of the plan since the beginning. But I’ve changed. I’ve seen the possibilities of the future. I know I am meant for something greater than I can fully grasp. And maybe...you are too."

Y/N’s smile was soft, warm with affection. "I am no longer just a weapon, Paul. I was shaped for a purpose, yes, but now I am a part of something more. With you, I can feel it. Our bond is not one of politics or control. It is one of love, of choice. I choose you, Paul. I have always chosen you."

He looked at her, his expression softening into something tender and vulnerable. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. "Then I choose you, Y/N. We face this together. We will rewrite the future."

And as they stood together in the quiet of the night, the sounds of war distant yet ever present, they shared a moment of peace. Paul kissed her then, a kiss that spoke of promises made, of destinies intertwined. It was a kiss full of longing and hope, a silent vow to never let go, no matter the challenges ahead.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The Bene Gesserit had been watching. They knew Paul was growing increasingly unpredictable, his visions, his growing bond with Y/N, all of it had stirred something in the fabric of their plans. Jessica had felt the tension for months, but now, with each passing day, it became clear that Paul’s path would not align with their carefully laid designs.

One evening, Lady Jessica arrived in Paul’s chambers. The air was thick with tension as she met her son’s gaze. “Paul, we need to talk,” she began, her voice calm, but there was an undeniable urgency in it.

“I know what you’re going to say, Mother,” Paul said, his voice heavy with resignation. “You want me to turn away from Y/N. But I won’t. She is part of me now.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed with frustration. “She is a dangerous variable, Paul. The Bene Gesserit have been tracking her for decades. She was not meant to be part of your story.”

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be anyone’s story but ours,” Paul replied, his voice unwavering. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Y/N’s eye. She stood just behind him, watching with quiet strength. “You don’t understand what she means to me. I’ve seen it, Mother. Our future together is more than just a bloodline. It’s about love. It’s about choice.”

Jessica’s gaze flickered to Y/N, the woman who had long been a mystery to her, whose presence now threatened the balance of power that the Bene Gesserit had worked so hard to maintain. “You think love is enough to change everything?” she asked, a sharp edge to her words. “You think that will stop the Bene Gesserit from ensuring their plans come to fruition?”

Y/N stepped forward then, her voice steady as she met Jessica’s gaze. “I don’t care about the Bene Gesserit’s plans. I care about him,” she said softly, her hand resting on Paul’s shoulder. “And he cares about me. The future is not set in stone, Jessica. We can make our own destiny.”

Paul nodded firmly, his hand covering Y/N’s in silent support. "She is right. We make our own fate, and we’ll face the consequences together."

Jessica’s eyes softened, but there was still a trace of doubt. "I never wanted this for you, Paul. I never wanted you to be caught in the middle of their games."

Paul met her gaze with newfound strength. "You’ve taught me to trust in my own power, Mother. And I will. With Y/N by my side, I will forge a new path for Arrakis, for our family, and for the future."

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The rebellion against the Harkonnen forces reached its peak as the Atreides rallied their allies, with Paul and Y/N leading the charge. They stood side by side, not just as rulers, but as partners in every sense of the word.

The desert winds whipped around them as they stood atop a dune, gazing out at the battle unfolding below. Sandstreaked warriors fought with determination, their cries lost in the chaos of war.

"Are you ready?" Paul asked quietly, his gaze never leaving the horizon.

Y/N turned to him, her eyes gleaming with fierce resolve. "I’ve been ready for this moment for centuries."

And as the battle raged, their hands found each other once again, strong, steady, bound by something deeper than any political alliance or royal bloodline. They were united, not just by destiny, but by love and choice. Together, they would change the course of history.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The dust of war settled in the wake of the battle, and though the future remained uncertain, one thing was clear: Paul and Y/N had carved their own path. A path that led to the throne, yes, but more importantly, a path that led them to each other.

As the sun set on Arrakis, casting a golden light across the desert sands, Paul and Y/N stood together, looking out at the world they would shape.

"We will face everything that comes, together," Paul whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

Y/N smiled, her eyes shining with the certainty of their shared future. "Together, Paul. Always."

And as the winds of destiny swirled around them, they knew that no matter the trials ahead, they were stronger than the sum of their parts. The love between them would change the universe one choice at a time.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The days following the victory over the Harkonnen and the fall of the Emperor’s forces were filled with the quiet hum of change. The Atreides now stood as rulers of Arrakis, the planet once lost in the sands of time, now the heart of a new future. The desert winds, ever constant, whispered of the shifting tides of power, but beneath it all, a new dynasty was being born.

Paul Atreides sat upon the throne in the grand hall of the Atreides stronghold, his blue eyes reflecting the weight of leadership. But beside him, always beside him, stood Y/N. His equal. His partner. The one who had walked through the fires of destiny with him, not just as a symbol, but as the very core of his strength.

Their love had altered the very fabric of the universe. No longer merely a woman of mystery or a weapon of the past, Y/N had become something more, an integral part of the new world they had forged. Together, they had defied the expectations of those who had sought to control their fates. And together, they had emerged victorious.

The Bene Gesserit had retreated into the shadows, their plans thwarted, but the fear and control they once wielded had no place in Paul and Y/N's new vision for the future. The choices they had made were their own, and the consequences, while great, would not deter them. They had rewritten history.

In the halls of the stronghold, as night fell across the vast expanse of Arrakis, Paul and Y/N shared a rare moment of peace. They stood on the balcony, the dim orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows over the endless desert, now a symbol of their rebirth.

Paul’s fingers traced the curve of Y/N’s hand, their palms pressed together. "Do you ever wonder, after everything we’ve been through, what the future will hold?" he asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken questions.

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the horizon, her blue eyes reflecting the twilight, the endless sands stretching before them. "I do," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "But not in the way I used to. I used to fear it. The unknown. The path laid before us, and the one that others expected us to follow."

Paul turned to her, his brow furrowing slightly. "And now?"

"Now," she said, her voice steady, "now I believe in the future we’ll create. A future we shape with every decision we make, with every choice we embrace together."

Her words carried weight, a promise not just to the empire they ruled, but to each other. They had been to the edge of the abyss, had touched the core of their destinies and come out stronger. Their bond, forged in the fires of war, was unbreakable. They were not just rulers, they were a symbol of what could be achieved when love and fate intertwined.

As they stood in silence, the stars began to appear above them, shining brightly in the night sky. It was a beautiful sight, the same stars that had guided their ancestors, that had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. But tonight, they were witness to something new. A new beginning.

"Together," Paul whispered, as if affirming to himself the weight of his words. "We’ll face whatever comes, side by side."

Y/N’s smile deepened as she turned to him, her hand resting over his heart. "Together," she echoed.

The universe may have shifted, but in that moment, with the stars above them and the vast desert stretching before them, Paul and Y/N knew they had already won the greatest battle of all, not for power, not for control, but for their love, for their shared vision of the future.

And as the winds of Arrakis continued to blow, carrying whispers of a new era, the world below them stirred with the promise of change. A new era of peace. A new era of unity. A new era of hope.

And they would rule it together, not as mere monarchs, but as something far greater. A force unstoppable, for the power of their love could conquer even the harshest desert winds.

As the first night of their reign fell, Paul and Y/N stood together on the balcony, hand in hand, looking out at the world they had conquered and the future they would build.

The sands of time had shifted. And the dawn of a new era had begun.

Together. Always.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap six/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

I Don’t Know You, But I Want To

summary: Sometimes curiosity has consequences.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, mentions of death, hints on how Steve’s wife died, bouts of self consciousnesses.

authors note: sorry guys, you knew this chapter had to happen. i promise i’ll make up for it! enjoy a few more easter eggs from @carolmunson ‘s orange colored sky in here. I’ve had so much fun talking about these two old men’s friendship with you!

🌇 <- chapter five -> chapter seven

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

End of June

You didn’t realize when Steve asked you to water his plants, that he meant in just three short days after the almost kiss in his kitchen. The opposite schedules the two of you seem to always work made it so you hardly got a glimpse of him before he and Bandit disappeared to Starved Rock for what you learned was their annual camping trip.

The Good Morning Tough Girl texts started the next day after your number exchange, waking you up with a kaleidoscope of butterflies twisting and turning in your stomach and a smile so big it made your cheeks hurt. It helped you get over only getting to physically see him one time through your living room window before he left. Your phone had vibrated at your feet while you watered your now flourishing Ivy thanks to the new curtains you were proud to say were installed by yourself. You chanced a glance down at your lit up screen, his name flashing with a text that said: How’d I never realize how pretty my view is from the front yard?

The corners of your mouth twitched, flames licking underneath your cheeks when your eyes caught his out your window. The big dopey smile that took over his face made you giggle as he waved eagerly, dressed nice like he had been the morning you ran into him last week. You wiggled your fingers, biting your bottom lip at the way his dark navy button up looked tucked into the waist of his black slacks. The leather belt looked nicer than the last one, the silver of the buckle blinding in the setting sun. His hair was freshly done, free of any signs of those big hands of his. The stubble on his jaw was gone again, but you learned that was never for very long. 

Another buzz: Going to dinner with a client, wish it was fish tacos with you instead.

Steve feels like he won the lottery when he can see the way your face lights up from his spot in his front yard. Eddie’s voice rings loudly inside his head, sticking to every single one of his negative thoughts like glue telling him it’s okay and he finally starts to believe it, especially when he gets a text back from you.

Maybe next time 😉

It’s thunderstorming the day you go over, the key tucked away in a lockbox by his door. He gave you access by texting the code the night before with a promise to take you to dinner as a thank you when he got back. The nerves that dance inside you feel like they did the first time you came here when you stand in front of the stained glass of his front door even though he’s five hours away. 

It’s quiet, the lively energy from a few nights ago gone with the man. The cedar of his candle still lingers thick in the air and you can’t help but inhale deeply. It smells like him. You leave your shoes and umbrella on his front porch, closing the door gently like you were scared to wake someone up. The pattering of the rain on his windows fills the silence, your shoulders dropping in the serenity. Pulling your phone from your back pocket you look through your texts with the list of the rooms the plants were in. 

Only three — his office and living room on the first floor and his bedroom on the second.  

The coffee white oak floors creak under your socked feet as you take your first apprehensive steps past the entryway. He left the watering can on the kitchen island just like he said he would, your skin pebbles when you’re brought back to the last time you were in here. The sun fights to shine through the thick storm clouds outside, making the lighting that bleeds through his windows soften everything up. The water from the sink hits the metal of the can, mixing perfectly with the rain. 

You wish he was here.

The can is heavy in your hands when you stop at the doorway of the living room, the contents inside sloshing around and daring to spill onto his floor. You curse under your breath with a pause to take in the room you only got a glimpse of before. There’s an electric fireplace, tall black steel that takes up most of the wall next to the sliding glass door that leads to his small backyard. 

Two large beige area rugs cover most of the wood floors in here, a cream frayed trim lining them. Bandit’s bed sits big, fluffy and dark brown nestled by the fireplace, giving him a perfect view out the window. Strands of his lighter hairs leave behind evidence that this might be his favorite spot in the house. A woven basket filled with various chew toys that look freshly tossed in isn’t very far from it. The rain comes down harder but you can still see the spots of lime green littering the grass where the rambunctious German shepherd left his tennis balls. Spoiled.

The cognac color of his leather couch set is rich, and it shines even in the dim lighting like it was freshly lotioned. It looks like the kind of comfortable where the cushions mold against the weight of your body - soft, inviting, the one in the middle looking a little more worn in than the rest. This must be Steve’s favorite spot. 

Your eyes meet the 65” TV mounted to the wall in front of it and realize why. The coffee table matches the dark color of the floors. The candle that was the culprit for the smell of his house sitting in the middle next to three remotes lined perfectly next to each other.

There’s a long, taller companion table that sits at the other doorway that leads back out to the landing of his staircase. Framed pictures, bottles of various liquors of all shades and crystal cocktail glasses cover the top of it. 

What does he think of your place?

You try to push the intrusive thought down as you make your way to the lush Monstera plant that sits in a white pot on top of wooden legs next to the sliding glass door. Its leaves hang heavy, clearly taken care of. The deep emerald of it reminds you of what Steve’s eyes look like sometimes. The soil takes what you give it greedily, barely leaving enough for the few smaller plants that rest on shadow shelves along his gray walls. A few of them make you stand on your tiptoes to reach.

Curiosity wins on your way to refill the can, crossing the room to look at the framed pictures. You aren’t surprised when you see one of Eddie and Bandit as a puppy, it looks like the first day they brought him home. Eddie’s dimples show in a bright smile as he looks at the camera with Bandit’s big bubble gum pink tongue pressed sloppily against a clean shaven cheek.

The other is of Steve and a curly haired boy at a college graduation, they both look like they were caught in the middle of laughing at something. You can’t help your own smile when you look at it. Steve looks a little younger, a little less gray in his hair like it had only just started. He’s wearing wire rim glasses, and that crisp white dress shirt you like him in so much. He looks happy.

The last one is of Steve and Bandit. A selfie taken at sunrise, Bandits tongue sticks out and you swear he’s smiling just like his handsome owner that has him pulled against his side. A part of a tent peaks over his shoulder and you wonder if this is where they’re at right now.

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when you open his office door, your thighs pressing together when you imagine him sitting in the big black leather chair behind an even bigger, matching colored desk. Glass cased baseball memorabilia takes space on one of his walls, along with plaques of achievements from his job. There’s framed pictures of him shaking hands of baseball players you couldn’t name, but you’re sure a normal person who liked sports could. There’s a tall bookshelf on the other side of the room. The spines all glossed, bright bold wording of sports memoir’s, marketing guides, and what looks like college course advertising books.

The floor of this room is carpeted with the same color as the area rugs in his living room. Your footsteps are a little more careful as you try not to spill any water on it as you make your way to the three hanging spider plants in the window that overlooks his front yard. 

Your nose catches a hint of the cigars you know he smokes as you get closer to his desk. He must keep them in here. A silver closed MacBook sits on top of it, another baseball — only this one is signed and kept safe in a glass case. There's a Polaroid of Bandit with a cubs hat on his head with a laughing Peach barely visible behind him. The obvious closeness of the three of them makes you realize how much he let you into his world the other night. 

A world where he wanted to kiss you.

You curse under your breath when you almost spill water on the carpet, too lost in realization of what this could be.

When you reach your final destination on the second floor, you stop at his closed door. Your hand hovers over the knob, heart hammering so hard in your chest like he was waiting for you on the other side. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you exhale through your lips - willing your nerves to give you mercy. There’s a soft click when you turn the knob and the quietest noise from the hinges when you push it open.

The crisp white of his fluffy duvet that covers his king size bed, mutes the gray of his walls. The olive green throw at the end of it that matches the area rug under the bed, the warmth of the color relaxes your senses. Your breathing evens out, your heart rate slows down. 

There’s another dog bed at the foot of his that matches the one downstairs and you wonder how often Bandit really sleeps in this one at night. The lack of hair on it compared to the other one tells you not very often. Your cheeks tingle fiercely when you see the mirror you got a glimpse of his bare chest through, your eyes quickly finding the bathroom he had come out of. 

“Jesus Christ,” you grumble to yourself, trying to push back the memory while standing alone in his bedroom. 

There’s another Monstera by his window that you can see your bedroom out of. The last one on the list. You have to pass by another large dresser on your way, even more pictures sit on top of it, taking up the space that was left next to a cherry wood watch box. Another cedar candle sits behind the framed pictures, the scent lingering in the air despite not being lit.

The plants take what’s left in the watering can, and you peek out the window just to see what he sees. The navy curtains you’d hung up are half open giving you a perfect glimpse into your room, the pile of dirty laundry you plan to do after this perfectly visible. You gulp audibly.

The can swings loosely in your hand when you walk to the dresser, a smirk already forming on your lips at the thought of what these ones will tell you about him. Your eyes land on one of him in between Eddie and Peach on what seems to be their wedding day, both of them placing sloppy kisses on either cheek. The big dopey grin face doesn’t hide the tear stains. The White Chapel sign behind them tells you it’s Vegas, and the way Steve is dressed as a much sexier Elvis only confirms your suspicions. 

Next to that one is a picture of Steve, only he looks really young- fresh out of high school young. Biting your lip into a smile at the volume of his hair, he’s leaning against a maroon BMW with pants so tight you're sure they made all the girls flustered. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes before taking in the brown curly haired girl sticking her head out of the back seat window. Another girl with honey waves pushing her head out in the small space next to her, you swear you can hear the giggles that are so evident on their faces.

Thunder cracks loudly outside, bringing you back with a jump. You’re dreading the short walk home. You glance out the window wearily before bringing your attention back to the little bit of Steve scattered over the top of his dresser. Then you see it. You see her.

The frame that holds the picture is silver, the words ‘always and forever’ etched across the bottom. It’s taken somewhere tropical and Steve looks like he’s your age in it, his jaw somehow sharper, his hair blonder. His smile is so big it shows all of his teeth, a bright yellow short sleeve button up that makes his skin look golden. The top two buttons undone revealing the chest hair you’d gotten a few glimpses of. He’s glowing. 

She’s just as beautiful, big bright green eyes and dark chestnut hair that falls in effortless curls down to her chest. They look natural, like she didn’t have to do it herself. She’s tucked into his side in what looks like seats in the back of a boat, the coral dress that flows over the curves of her body makes your stomach turn. The big rock on her hand rested purposefully on his chest tells you exactly what this picture is.  

Jealousy twists green in a tight knot inside of you, guilt you weren’t expecting makes you feel nauseous when you see what’s hanging off the corner of the frame. A dark teal rubber bracelet with the words Team ALS Chicago 2022 in white font.

Lightning flashes white hot, making something gleam and catch in the corner of your eye from his watch box. Taking a closer look, the tightening of your chest at what you find makes the air leave your lungs all at once when you see their wedding rings tucked in between the soft white cushions inside the box. 

The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. Steve had a whole life before he met you. A life with someone beautiful, someone he didn’t fall out of love with, someone who didn’t break his heart, someone who, if things were different he’d still be with.

If you moved next door in that reality, you’d just be someone he’d maybe wave to from time to time, not paying any mind to the thirty year old girl already suffering through a midlife crisis next door. The girl who moved to the city with no friends and no plan. The college drop out. The opposite of the well put together woman that belonged hanging off his chest like that, with a ring on her finger that could pay off your credit card debt and then some.

How can you compete with a ghost? The nagging feeling that you’ll always be second best already stings and he hasn’t even picked you yet.

You try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill out, feeling stupid for being this upset over what started off as a silly crush, it really shouldn’t hurt this much. The cedar that comforted you feels like it's suffocating now. Like he’s here. The thought of bringing the watering can down doesn’t even cross your mind when you leave it on the dresser to make your escape.

The breath that comes out through trembling lips is shaky, still, you're proud of the fact that you haven’t cried yet. 

Tough girl. 

When you open the front door, it's windier than when you first got here, the sun starting its disappearing act for the moon. It makes the summer storm match the one brewing inside of you. You shove your feet into your shoes before pulling the door shut behind you. You lock the key back into the box, before grabbing your umbrella. Your vision goes blurry but you don’t give into it, telling yourself it’s stupid to be so upset. The buzz of your phone in your back pocket is what stops you from taking the first step off his porch. 

Steve

Found a spot with some service on our hike, just wanted to check in. Hope you got into the house okay. Bandit says he misses you.

The dam that you’d worked so hard to build breaks, tears falling down your face like the rain falling from the sky. You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand before you reply to him for what you tell yourself is the last time. It’ll hurt less like this, it’s better for both of you this way. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself before you hit send.

Plants are watered 👍

beta’d by: @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

chapter seven

[semi-imaginary-place]

"This manga is heavily a Buddhist story, which is mostly the reason for the morals, choices, and consequences of the story falling flat for many westerners. It'd be too difficult to go into everything in one comment, but the most important thing is Ichikawa's criticism of Pure Land Buddhism.

In this branch of Buddhism, people can basically pray to get into the Pure Land, rather than having to do the work themselves. Gemstones also can't get into the pure land and thus are exempt from samsara, the karmic cycle, which was the main inspiration for the series and something Ichikawa sought to change in the story.

The story depicts Ichikawa's rejection of Pure Land Buddhism through Adamant's burden of existing solely as a tool to pray humanity away and his eventual breaking free of this role to be able to live with the gems full time during the 10,000 years. It also sort of paints the lunarians as lesser for convincing themselves that they need someone to pray them away when they didn't. But the biggest example is regarding which character actually got the better ending, because the way I see it, and the way Ichikawa seems to see it, everyone other than Phos got fucked in the end.

Over the course of the story, Aechmea paints nothingness as a serene realm of nonexistence that is free from the suffering of the living world, but by the end, it seems clear that nothingness is just another state of existence and everyone there is still a part of the eternal cycle of everything being remade into everything else. Taking this into account, why would you want nothingness when you can make peace with existence like Phos ended up doing? Despite everything he went through, it's only because he actually put the work that he was given the opportunity to find his purpose, reflect on his life and actions, and be happy with the pebbles. Things didn't go how he planned, but he did end up getting everything he wanted.

A lot of people will say that the message of the manga is that existence is suffering, but I think the ending makes a good point that it is equal parts suffering and happiness. Likewise, the manga does a good job painting humanity as a force of destruction, ignorance, and shortsightedness, but the ending shows that there is still pureness and wisdom in it.

Probably the biggest takeaway should be that good and evil and other black and white ways of looking at things are rarely any use in a world as nuanced as ours. And that seeing the world this way will only lead to confusion when those you see as good are getting punished and those you see as evil are getting rewarded, when in reality, the universe could not care less what you are. Everyone is just the result of their own actions and the influences of the world around them and we're all going to die and go back to being stardust eventually anyway."

"The lunarians were all able to pass on their own, but their insistence on someone else doing the work for them was an attachment that kept them from that. Shiro and the game board fulfilled their desire to see Adamant again and were able to go to nothingness without him praying for them."

"They got what they wanted, but what they wanted doesn't seem to be what they thought it was. Rather than a state of absolute non-feeling, it sounds like they're just getting put back into the karmic soup of the universe a bit sooner than Phos, Brother, the pebbles, and everything else eventually will. Except the lunarians and gems weren't wise enough to come to terms with that inevitability.

Most of this take comes from Brother's conversation with Phos in chapter 103 regarding living in the present and not worrying about the future that's beyond your control. But even ignoring this part of it, I still think the series makes a good case for existence, even including the worst of it, being a better deal than absolutely nothing.

This is not to say that Phos didn't experience far worse than anyone else in the story, only that the kind of growth he went through requires a degree of hardship. Phos post-prayer seems to agree that everything he went through, despite how unfair or traumatizing it was, was necessary and worth it for him to have the clarity and happiness that he has now.

A part of Buddhism is realizing that you can't change most things and accepting things the way they are. Basically, things don't always go the way you planned and finding value in the way they did rather than dwelling on things out of your hands is a form of personal growth that one should strive for.

Phos made peace with what he was dealt and used those experiences to make himself and those around him better off, spending eons of happiness with the pebbles. The lunarians rejected this way of thinking and endlessly sought to change their fate, wasting the existence they were given before inevitably getting thrown right back into a new one. They squandered their chance at what Phos attained and will have to start from scratch in their next form. When everything you have ends eventually, it's the present that really matters, not the outcome."

(CrashDunning)

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER 6 [PREVIEW]

06 : THE POTIONEER

← CHPT.5 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY | NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST

“I told you so,” you voice blankly and with an unamused face to match. Orion didn’t say a word — he couldn’t. He was already facing the consequences of his impatience as his stomach tried to eat itself from hunger. Dumbledore raises a questioning brow at the interaction but doesn’t say anything. Instead, the headmaster turns to Regulus with a kind smile and offers him the latest muggle sweet he’s grown a recent taste for, the password to his office, Pear Drops. 

“Try some, my boy, I promise they’re a delight,” Regulus looks to you, silently asking for permission. 

You smile softly and nod, “Go right ahead dear but you’ve had a rather hearty breakfast, why don’t you save it for a special treat later on?” Regulus nods and reaches for a small handful of the sweets to pocket in the meantime, however, his small, pale hand is smacked away by Orion who hisses angrily through clenched teeth. 

“No son of mine dabbles in any muggle sweets — it’s unbecoming, Regulus!” 

It was thankful that Orion was already clenching his teeth when you slapped him across the face or else he would have bitten straight through his tongue at the force of your firm hand. 

“Touch my son again, and you’ll be falling from the tower without your wand, Orion,” you threaten through clenched teeth of your own as the man stares at you in wide-eyed shock, his expression reflected onto the Headmaster. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sirius pays his father no mind as the pathetic man slams his hardened fist against Dumbledore’s wooden desk, “I DEMAND THAT THE SORTING BE REDONE! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” the frightening volume of your reprehensible husband’s words makes Regulus’ shoulders shake but you and Sirius were there for him. Flanked on either side of the youngest, you were able to bring Regulus into your side for a comforting sideways embrace while Sirius reached over to console his brother by threading their fingers together and clasping his hand tightly. Regulus immediately begins to calm down and smiles to himself at the warm feeling of protection surrounding him. 

“…It cannot be done, Mr Black,” Dumbledore states matter-of-factly in a serene voice that bodes no fear for the wrath of your husband. 

“EXCUSE ME?! CLEARLY THIS WAS A MISTAKE—”

“The sorting hat makes no mistakes,” Dumbledore was so firm in his statement, that Orion was left stammering with disbelief. It makes you smirk with a sort of evil satisfaction. What will he say next? 

“That’s impossible! For that tattered old thing to have made no mistakes whatsoever?!” Orion finally has the decency to lower his voice though, not by much. 

“You are free to doubt the sorting hat as you wish Mr Black but it is indisputable and Sirius will not be resorted,”

“Of course not!” you pipe up, pinning your husband with a harsh glare, “For the sake of your own ego and pride, Orion, how could you demand such a thing? This whole fiasco is far more embarrassing than our son being sorted into the house of bravery and courage. Get over yourself. Our son will miss his lesson at this rate. I apologise, headmaster, for my husband’s shameful behaviour, I assure you that my son will behave far more gracefully,” turning away from your staggering husband and the amused headmaster, you look at Sirius with pride. Leaning over Regulus to press a kiss onto his older brother’s forehead he’s able to hear your tender whisper of pride, “I’m so proud of you, darling,”

4th September 1971

You can’t get over how adorable the marauders look as first years. They might as well be little babies, their cheeks still possess some youthful plumpness and they look ready to grow into their school robes with much more fullness. However, as adorable as you found them to be, you have much more important and urgent matters that need tending to. You can’t believe how you’d forgotten such an important detail until now but seeing Remus was what you needed for the pieces to finally fit together. 

Damocles Belby. Inventor of the Wolfsbane potion in the 1990s. You aren’t sure about the exact year but it definitely wasn’t invented while Remus was in Hogwarts. That was why you were drawn to his quaint potions shop that day and why his name has been lingering in the back of your mind since that day.

Entering 12 Grimmauld Place, you were met with an eerie quietness. Searching for the time on the grandfather clock down the hall, you realise that Regulus would have finished his lesson a little while ago, nearing half an hour. The realisation jumpstarts your nerves and you’re rushing up the stairs to greet him at the Library; that’s where he usually goes to consolidate his lesson notes. You can vividly imagine him bent over a desk, carefully skimming over inky parchment as a plate of snacks and a cup of tea sit within arms reach of him, courtesy of Kreacher. When you peek into the Library, however, there isn’t a trace of Regulus anywhere. Where could he be? Regulus is fond of his routines and doesn’t normally stray from them, especially when it comes to his workflow study habits. 

Why do I have a bad feeling?... You think to yourself, placing a trembling hand over your thundering heart. The silence around you is deafening now and you have to hold back on rampaging through the house. Orion is home… In situations like this, you must stay calm. If Orion has done something to Regulus, it’ll be best if he doesn’t know you’ve come home yet. 

“Mistress! Mistress!” Kreacher appears out of thin air, tugging anxiously at his ears with eyes as wide as saucers. The panic in his watery gaze sets your own heart racing with apprehension. You already know what may be happening.

“Where is Regulus?”

“The vault, Mistress! The vault!”

A/N : because of a lovely suggestion from an equally lovely anon, i've been convinced to provide a preview of the next DOB chapter! it's up to 13k words long so i don't think I'm revealing too much with this preview (⁎⁍̴̛ ₃ ⁍̴̛⁎) i hope this helps you get excited about what will soon be coming -- there are also some events i'm keeping secret just so it feels more satisfying when you finally read the full update!

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Gale’s words shower over you like acidic rain. Could he really be speaking the truth? Could Astarion’s compulsion have been driving you down this path all this time? Even though you don’t need to breathe, it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you clutch at your chest as if it might help you feel a little less off-kilter.

You glance at your husband, who has stumbled away from the altercation and is pressing his forearm against the wall, taking deep breaths to try and keep himself present.

That icy chill of the sensuous song howls through the bond and regresses into your bones, making them feel like your skeleton is splintering. The ambrosial chords of the melody beseech you to sink into it, let yourself be overtaken, and it swears an oath that it will provide you with unlimited serenity.

You know it lies—that it parades false hopes and delusions—but the promises are tempting nonetheless. There is a part of you that begs to give in, if only so you can be swept away from this dream turned nightmare.

There is a choice you have to make quickly, and you glance between Gale and Astarion. Who do you believe? Who do you put your faith in?

Do you pick Gale, who has never directly lied or tried to manipulate you and who still harbours some sincere feelings for you? Gale, who has been trying to save you from the consequences of your foolish decisions since he and Shadowheart took you in knowing the danger you posed. Gale, who has been working tirelessly to find ways to pluck you from the suspension of this deathless death and restore you to life once more?

Or do you pick your newlywed husband, who you know has manipulated you, compelled you, and could easily be doing so again without your knowledge? Your husband, who played your love like a lyre to secure himself a spot in your good graces. Your husband, who kept you locked away when you did not turn out to be as obedient as he hoped. Your husband, who carved into your flesh without a hint of remorse.

You’ve spent months connected to Astarion’s mind. You’ve felt his feelings, heard his unfiltered thoughts, and haven’t detected any indications of deceit, but that does not mean Astarion could not force your mind to forget or bypass anything that was there.

He made you forget your name, after all.

You try to reach out to Astarion’s mind, but he cannot hear you over the bellow of Cania clamouring in his skulls.

Do you love him? Or is that another trick of the Ascendant? Has his compulsion rooted him into your mind and grown from a sapling to a mighty tree? Shadowheart’s warning twists in the storm of your chaotic thoughts — He will always do what it takes to survive.

The fates have not bestowed the time to deliberate. The choice must be made. You must pick one or the other, and the consequences of choosing wrong are dire.

A dangerous game, indeed.

“No, Gale,” you condemn resolutely. “Whatever proof you think you have, I have no need to hear it. I know in my heart that what I feel is real and not a compulsion.”

A small voice, deep within you, whispers. Is it?

There is no need to hear the objections forming on Gale’s lips. Your choice has been made, and you choose your husband, for better or worse. You turn away, ruck up your dress, and hurry over to Astarion. When you place your hand on his shoulder, he jerks away and snarls at you like a cornered animal. Your hand wavers for a moment, but you place it back on him defiantly.

“Astarion.” You try to get a look at his eyes, but they are squeezed shut with a terribly pained grimace that contorts his face. “I can be your light. Let me in.”

His eyes crack open, and you’re barely able to make out the scarlet that peeks through the narrow slits. You grasp onto him, and he fumbles to try and push you away with rigid, ungainly movement that is so unlike his usual easy grace.

“You don’t understand!” Gale shouts. “You will always choose him. It’s exactly what he’s compelled you to do. If you will only give me a moment, I can show you.”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, the shrillness of your voice ripping your vocal chords. “I don’t care what you think you know, Gale. Leave. GET. OUT.”

Shadowheart grabs Gale’s robes, desperately trying to tug him away, but Gale shakes her off. “I’m sorry, my friend. You leave me no choice.”

Your brow quirks for only a moment before Gale shoots Dancing Lights high into the darkening sky, and you recognize the signal for aid from your adventures.

The high-pitched whistle of loosed arrows and the rush of marching boots are soon to follow. You quickly cast Wall of Stone and grab Astarion to drag him down behind the barrier. Numerous arrows hit the wall with a thunk. When the barrage finally ends, you peek around the wall to get a view of Gale’s apparent backup.

You’re stunned to see Gur filing into the space, bursting through all the doors, breaking windows, and lumbering over the fence of the terrace. Has it been Gale feeding the Gur information all this time? Did he nearly get Astarion killed?

Shadowheart stands in the midst of the chaos, mouth agape and completely unprepared, but you can see the golden light of her radiant magic illuminated on her fingertips. Whose side will she take? Gales or yours?

Astarion still pants beside you, his body practically vacillating the air with every one of his muscles quivering as he tries to fight the urge to sink into the song and languish in the abyssal prison of his own mind. You toe off your heels and unholster the spare dagger you know Astarion always keeps concealed under the leg of his pants. The sharp blade smoothly splits through the fine silk of your gown, and you tear away the bottom half of the skirt hastily.

The Weave fills you at your behest, and it coruscates around you in a roseate corona. You crouch, ready to pounce as the hoard of shuffling feet inch closer.

“Run, my love.” You hear Astarion’s strangled gasp as you take the first step out from behind the wall. “Run, and never look back.”

Though you understand the warning, you refuse to leave Astarion behind to be absorbed by the deceit of a devil. You once pledged to spill no more innocent blood, but it seems you cannot escape death. Rage burbles inside you, boiling over the edges. How many times have you tried to be good, do good, and where has it gotten you?

Perhaps it’s time to rise up like a lightning-ignited wildfire and fucking burn.

The first hunter rounds the corner of the stone shield with their crossbow aimed. You lash out, casting Fear, and the hunter cowers. Lunging forward, you grab their face, digging your fingers into their fleshy cheeks, and fire detonates from your palms. Flames liquify skin and burst from every orifice as they let out a strident shriek.

You hate that it feels good.

A battle axe swings in your peripheral vision. You duck, cast Magic Missile, pelleting the man with spiny bolts like a fleshly pincushion until he drops. Your grabbed from behind by a rough pair of hands and dragged backward away from Astarion. You growl, struggling against the constraint on your body. To your surprise, the hunters run straight past you, only meaning to subdue you.

You are not their target.

Sweat begins to drip down your forehead as you watch hunters barrel toward the wall protecting Astarion. You throw your head back, smashing your skull into the Gur’s nose, causing his grip to weaken, and wriggle out of his arms. You reel forward, fingers dancing, and a cloud of daggers bursts into existence, catching some of the hunters in their approach and cutting the rest off.

It’s all you can do before you’re thrust down and slammed into the boards of the terrace. Despite your attempts to fight it, the hunter manages to pin your arms with your palms flat against the rough wood. A knee digs into your back to cement you in place, and you’re helpless to watch as the hunters begin to descend on Astarion.

“Morere!”

You barely catch the flash of sickly green magic, feel the sudden jerk and shudder of the hands holding you down, and you’re released as the body slumps to the side. Shadowheart helps you to your feet, hauling you up with a surprising amount of strength.

There is no time to talk, and you nod in thanks as you sprint forward and rain Fireball down on the group nearing Astarion. Shadowheart tries to stick close to you, but in the chaos, you’re both bounced between bodies and separated once more.

The whiz of a blade slicing through the air makes your ears twitch, and you pivot just in time to catch the blade in your palm before it splits your skull in half. The sharp edge slices deeply into your hand as you strain against the sheer strength of a Fighter, and you must use both arms to block the attack.

Blood oozes down your forearms, coating your ashen skin in vivid red as you grapple, feeling yourself slowly fold under the brute force. Your eyes dart around for Shadowheart, but she’s locked in her own struggle across the terrace. Fire spits from your palms, heating the blade until it burns red-hot, and you can hear the sizzle of your skin and your opponents, but he does not let up or even falter.

“Not her!” You hear Gale shouting from somewhere in the disorder. “We had a deal!”

Your knees eventually begin to fold in on themselves under the pressure, and your arms shake as the tension mounts. The rigid boards creak as your knees are ground into them. You squeeze your eyes closed and let out a strangled cry as your arms begin to giveaway.

The stress is released suddenly. Your eyes jerk up, and your stomach sinks when you realize it’s not your husband’s brilliantly red eyes staring back at you, but the blunted maroon of his shadow.

He smiles hauntingly. “Shall we put our differences aside for a moment and deal with the more pressing matter at hand, or would you prefer I kill you now?”

You nod your grim acceptance of the offered temporary truce. He flourishes his dagger, grabbing your arm and yanking you forward into his chest. For a moment, you think the truce was another ruse, and he’s about to sink his blade into you, but it lodges deep into the temple of a hunter who is holding a stake that was meant for your back.

Thrusting yourself away from him, you turn and press your back against his in a reflexive habit formed during your adventure. It is a tactic you and Astarion used on many occasions when you were fighting hoards of enemies. He seems to remember it and holds his position while you cast Thunderwave to throw the incoming attackers backward.

“Can you slow them down?” He asks.

“Do you really need me to, Ascendant?”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Hardly. I was thinking of you, darling. It would be such a pity if one of these dogs had the pleasure of putting you down before I do.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to keep me alive.” You cast Web to slow the Gur down. It will allow you to cast at range, and Astarion should have the dexterity to negate the effects. “Right or left?”

“Left.”

Astarion bursts into mist, reappears behind one of the Gur, and his blade runs across their throat, slicing through skin and sinews like softened butter while he laughs maniacally. You go right, keeping yourself skirting around the borders where you are most proficient at casting at range. Spells skip across your lips, and the Weave flows between your fingers in a kaleidoscope of colours. Chain Lightening ropes between enemies in close proximity, turning them to little more than steaming husks. Scorching Rays buffets the chest of a hunter to your left, and Magic Missile skewers another.

You cast carefully, trying to keep track of Astarion from one minute to the next, but his speed makes his movements nearly incalculable. He blinks in and out of existence, often appearing out of thin air, running his blade from belly to neck like gutting a fish, and phasing out once more.

It would be impressive if it were not so incredibly daunting.

The click of a crossbow surprises you, and you hear the bolt whistling through the air as you turn toward the sound. It streaks toward you, only visible by the faint chromatic flash of the metallic arrow point, and your stomach sinks as you brace for the impact. Astarion appears in a flurry of red mist. He snatches the arrow out of the air, whirling to keep the momentum, and launches it back. The bolt imbeds itself into the eye of the woman with so much force that her head snaps back, and she’s reeled off her feet.

He smirks smugly with a wink and disperses again. You continue your death march, your eyes skipping through the crowd until you spot Shadowheart grappling with a hunter. If you don’t get her out of here, Astarion will target her when he’s done massacring the remaining Gur.

You run up behind the hunter, cast Disintegrate, and grab her arm, dragging her toward the door. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I didn’t do this, Illyria!” She shouts, pulling back. “I swear.”

“I know.” You cast Telekinesis and launch a hunter blocking your path to the door off the terrace. “Astarion’s gone. You must go.”

“I won’t leave you!” She growls obstinately.

A hand wraps around your arm. You snarl and turn with your teeth bared, ready to rip out the throat of whoever dares try and stop you, and see Gale’s rounded, solemn eyes. There is a part of you that wants to make him pay for this, but you know that his intentions are pure. In his eyes, he’s trying to protect you, and you cannot damn him for that.

You grab his sleeve roughly and shove them both into the foyer with all the force you can muster. “Leave. Both of you. Now.”

“Illyria.” Gale pleads, trying to grab your shoulder, and you smack his hand away. “Don’t you understand? It’s all been a compulsion. All of this, everything you think you feel, is a lie. If you would only give me a moment—”

“No!” You trample over him, and the truth sneaks out of your mouth. You look at him sombrely, tears pricking your eyes. “Don’t you understand?! I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”

“What?” He stares at you slack-jawed. “My friend, you cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The unfiltered truth is that you would rather sink into this fantasy than sink into despair. If it has all been a compulsion, a beautifully polished lie, you don’t want to know.

“Leave.” You thrust Shadowheart’s bag into her hands. “Both of you before Astarion—“

“Before Astarion, what?” Astarion appears, blocking the doorway, blood-drenched, and looking beyond crazed. “Going somewhere?” He pouts. “And here I thought we were all such good friends.”

You’re launched backward, sliding across the floor, and back out onto the terrace until you hit a mushy mass of flesh. You scramble to your feet, stumbling, and Shadowheart and Gale are likewise pitched out of the villa, their bodies thumping into the boards and skipping across them.

Your brain works to try and formulate a plan—any plan—but falls flat. Astarion is too quick to try and run from and too strong to try and fight head-on. Even if you could fight him, would you? Could you? Is this the poisoned loyalty that Gale is talking about or love?

Astarion glances around the ruined villa with a furrowed brow. “This is lovely. What party did I crash?”

“Our wedding,” you answer honestly.

“Gods,” he spits in limitless contempt. “He married his spawn? Idiot.”

Spawn…

It dawns on you that this version of Astarion has no idea that you’re not merely a spawn but a bride, which means he does not know you share a mental connection. There must be a way to use his ignorance to your advantage, but you don’t have very much time to figure it out.

“Well, all the more reason to rid myself of you,” he shrugs irritatedly as if his counterpart has left him a chore to do. “The wizard might make a fun spawn though, no? I wager he would be splendidly obedient. Unlike you, pet.”

Shadowheart gasps, bringing his attention to her, tucked away behind your legs. “The Cleric, too. She knows how to faithfully worship a God. Don’t you, flower? You wouldn’t even need much training. You already know how to get on your knees.”

You growl low and shout. “You won’t touch her or Gale for that matter, boy!”

Boy. What Cazador used to call him, and you know he despises. If you can enrage him, you might be able to get his attention completely on you. It’s a bad plan, a terrible one, but it’s the best you have right now.

“Pardon?” He hisses. “You best rethink that, pet, or I will make you suffer!”

You hate what you’re doing, but you try your best to reuse things you heard Cazador taunt him with. “I’ve known you for years. Have I not suffered enough?”

“Silence!” He orders, a tic working in his jaw, and his eye twitching.

“You are weak,” you snarl, pressing on even though it makes your stomach twist in upset. “You’re a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything. Even with all this power, you are still nothing.”

You see the quick flash of Astarion’s hand going for his dagger; see him lunge toward you as if in slow motion. The Weave glows in your eyes. You will fight to your last. If you’re lucky, it might give Shadowheart enough time to get herself and Gale out of here.

Astarion flashes across the terrace, disappearing into mist and reappearing only a step ahead of you. A flash of fire suddenly brightens the area, blinding you temporarily. The smell of brimstone and sulphur fills your nostrils, and your eyes snap open to see Astarion’s dagger millimetres away from your chest, but he’s held fast in a spell you recognize well.

Hold Monster.

You look to Shadowheart and Gale, but it’s clear neither of them are behind this because they look as bewildered as you.

“Quite the show this has been. A pity I had to step in and ruin the grand finale.” Mizora’s voice comes from behind you. She waves her hand, and a swirling, fiery portal opens up just behind you. “I can only get you to Avernus. You will have to find your way to Cania from there.”

When you don’t move, she rolls her eyes. “It’s now or never, pet. I cannot hold him forever.”

You can’t leave Astarion here, not like this. There is no telling what horrors this version of him will reap on Baldur's Gate. More importantly, he will no doubt target your friends. What good would saving him do if he cannot live with the guilt of his actions?

“He needs to come with me,” you murmur.

“That’s a very stupid thing to do.” Mizora snaps. “He will kill you as soon as you set foot in Avernus.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He cannot be left here.”

Her eyes narrow, and her brow creases with tension as the spell shimmers, wavering slightly. “You’re running out of time.”

“Let him go when I give the signal, Mizora.”

She huffs but nods. “Tick-Tock.”

“Illyria! Don’t do this!” Shadowheart grabs your ankle, but there is no time to debate.

“I have to.”

You position yourself several feet behind him and get ready. Before you can nod, Shadowheart scrambles to her feet, takes Gale’s quarterstaff from his hands, and tosses it and her bag to you. You catch them, secure it across your body, and grip the quarterstaff in both hands. Whatever the bag holds, it will be your only supplies. There is no time to fetch clothes or weapons. Even you can see that Mizora is struggling to hold him, and the cage has started to fissure and crack like stressed glass.

Nodding to give the signal, Mizora instantly lifts the spell, and Astarion reels forward. You sprint with all the speed you possess, slam into him, and use the momentum to propel you both through the swirling, burning maw of the portal.

Jagged, obsidian crystals slice gashes into your arms and legs when you crash into the treacherous terrain. The air is sweltering, acrid, and tastes heavily of ash. You push yourself up onto your wobbly legs. Before you have time to recover, Astarion’s hand wraps around your neck, lifting you into the air with no visible effort.

“What have you done!?”

Your words are cut off, and only strangled noises are able to escape your throat, but you cannot help the faint smile that quirks your lips up. Those dull eyes are filled with an unease and the slightest hint of fear.

He seems to notice and quickly steels his countenance back to that of a confident arrogance. His hand tightens a fraction, fingernails cutting into your bruising skin. His dagger flashes in his hand, twirling into his grip, and he presses the tip of the blade firmly into your abdomen. You’re surprised when the progression halts before it can do so much as cut you. He falters, the dagger wavering almost imperceptibly, and he scoffs, dropping you unceremoniously.

He glares at his hand with a puzzled twist to his lips and stows his blade. “I have half a mind to decorate the ground with your innards.”

His threats sound empty, or you have abandoned your fear of this version of him. He once told you that he would never kill you, and so far, that has proved true despite the ample opportunities he’s had.

“Why didn’t you then? Performance issues?”

“No!” He huffs in indignation. “I have a better idea.”

Astarion’s eyes glow, and the tendrils of compulsion take your muscles hostage. “Follow me, pet.”

You obey, getting to your feet, and hate that it feels glorious to assent. Astarion looks around, apparently settling on a direction, although you think it’s simply a random choice. There is nothing but hills and low, rocky mountains as far as the eye can see. He starts walking, and you quickly fall into place at his heels.

The land is covered in rubble and sharp stones of quartz and other crystalline-looking structures that gnaw at your bare feet, but you’re helpless to stop even as the pain mounts. Each step leaves a bloody footprint, dotting the charred wasteland. The side effects of the blood war can be seen spreading across the environment. Skulls and bones of creatures big and small litter your path, and it’s not long before you begin to see the crumbling remains of buildings, their walls blackened and caved in, stone strewn about, and large craters in the terrain from the impacts of the fireballs.

Clouds of red and black roil in the reddened sky, flickering with orange flames and fireballs that frequently race across the darkened heights. You stay quiet, staring at the back of Astarion’s head while you try to figure out how exactly you’re going to get your husband back. His ignorance of your mental connection could prove useful, but he will know if you attempt to go digging around in his head. That will have to remain a last resort.

Astarion only gave the order to follow, but he did not specify how closely, and you begin to fall behind. At first, it’s merely a small length, but the distance increases as your feet are chewed up by the ground.

“You’re quiet.” You hear him utter from ahead of you. “There was a time when I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Astarion glances over his shoulder, alerted to the fact that you’re lagging behind him by the quietness of your voice. “Quit dawdling.”

It’s not a command, and you don’t bother to quicken your pace but only roll your eyes at him with an exasperated scoff.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, scenting the air.

“Wow.” You transform your expression into one of mock awe. “Your powers of observation are truly a marvel to behold. Seven thousand souls have given you the great power of stating the obvious.”

“Cheeky. Be careful with that smart mouth, darling, or I’ll cut your tongue out. Now, hurry the Hells up.”

“I have no fucking shoes, Astarion!” You gesture toward your feet. “It’s like walking across hot shards of glass.”

He arches a high brow at you, looking rather amused or astonished at the insolence in your tone. “And whose fault is that exactly?”

“Yours.”

“I do not believe I was the one who pushed us into the fucking hells!” He snorts, crossing his arms. “Come on, pup. Walk faster. We haven’t got all day.”

“We’re immortal, Astarion. We literally have eternity.”

But you do, in fact, hurry up because you cannot fight his compulsion. The sharp rocks and stones rend the flesh of your feet, often jutting from the ground and piercing so deep you’re sure they glance off your bone. It doesn’t matter how carefully you try to place your steps; the ground is uneven and cluttered, and every step serves as another painful reminder of where you are and who you are with. The only reprieve afforded to you is when he stops to look around, where he once again appears to choose a direction at random. He leads you deeper into what appears to be a ruined fortress of some kind. Skeletons, big, small, and gargantuan alike hang limply, strewn everywhere the eye can see. Others look so old they’ve petrified, and you have to crawl between teeth that are twice your size.

It is beyond still in this fiendish graveyard, and the silence is so deep that you wonder if you might be able to suffocate in it. Whenever you trip over a rock or fall, it gives you the distinct impression that you’re disturbing the peaceful rest of the dead simply by existing.

When you once again finally step out into the ruined street, you can vaguely see the river Styx, slithering over the landscape like a scarlet snake with glinting scales. You don’t make it far when you notice a slowly moving shadow that seems to be increasing in size as if a dark cloud were drifting over you.

Your eyes flick upward and spot a mammoth fire-spewing boulder careening with the speed of a meteor. It takes you a moment to recall what you read when you were doing research about the layers of the Hells.

“The fireballs that race across the darkened sky of Avernus appear random at first glance, but be warned, they actively target motion.”

Shit.

Instinct kicks in, and you bolt toward Astarion, who is just beginning to notice the increasing darkness. For a moment, you’re blessedly free of the pain in your feet with the spike of adrenaline. Your arms encircle his waist, and you launch your body weight into him. He tries to catch himself before falling, but his heel catches on a rock, and he falls backward.

“You little shit!” He shouts.

The fireball hits with enough force that you can feel it vibrate the ground as red silt is blown outward like a wave. You close your eyes, feeling as it settles on your skin. When you’re able to open them again, dust falls off your lashes, and the earth is charred and smoking around the crater that lays just a little ways off where Astarion’s feet are.

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen on top of him until you glance back and see his wide eyes looking at the hole where he had been standing and back to you. For a moment, you think you see affection in those cold eyes, perhaps gratitude, but he chucks you off of him roughly.

“You did that!” He hisses.

The stones feel like needles against your palms as you push yourself up and give him an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would I do that and then save you?”

“You’re trying to toy with me, with my emotions, but it won’t work!” He growls, gesturing wildly. “I have been manipulating people for longer than you have been alive. Your games will not work on me, you wretched bit—”

His shouting is cut off when another shadow descends, the boulder whistling through the air, and Astarion has to phase into mist and back to avoid the strike. Both of you look to the sky, and your brows downturn, mouth slack-jawed, when you notice the swarm of them catapulting toward you.

“Shelter! We have to find shelter!” You scream.

You barely get the words out before they start thundering into the earth, each seemingly having a mind of their own. They force you to throw yourself to the side, back, forward, repeatedly to avoid being squished.

“The cave!” Astarion bellows, pointing toward a rocky cliff face.

Between the smoke and dust in the air, you can’t see a cave, but you attempt to start flinging your body in that direction. You can’t see where Astarion went, but you do feel the tug of his compulsion forcing your feet to move in a certain direction, which is interfering with your ability to evade the oncoming onslaught. That, coupled with the current state of your feet, your movement is dreadfully hindered.

A fireball slams into the ground behind you. The heat radiating off it sears your flesh before it explodes on impact, and you get caught by the shrapnel and thrown from your feet. Black dots march in your vision. You try to blink them away and get up, but the hellscape around you swells and dips like rough waves.

You can barely make out of vague darkening of the area surrounding you, and you try to drag yourself out of its path. Will it hurt, or will you be brought peace long before your brain can receive the signals for pain? You laugh softly at the prospect of being killed by a fireball after you’ve cast them countless times to do the same to your enemies.

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve fallen suddenly, and your world becomes a shapeless blur. A comfortable pressure encircles your waist, and before you know it, you’re enveloped in a deep dimness. When your eyes finally clear, you’re looking out the mouth of a cave, watching fireballs fall like hail from the sky.

Astarion stands with his back pressed hard against the stone, his eyes closed, and his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s covered in soot and rusty-coloured dust. He saved you? Hope blooms in your chest that when he opens his eyes, they will be the fiery sunset warmth of your husbands.

“Astarion?” Your voice is rough and hoarse from having inhaled the dirt in the air.

“Master to you, pet,” he purrs, his eyes opening slowly to reveal the lifeless maroon like a ruby covered by layers of dust.

Astarion watches you almost curiously for several minutes while you observe the chaos happening just outside the opening of the cave before he takes a seat. His forearms rest on his knees, and he twirls his dagger between his fingers, feeling the edge of it to judge the sharpness.

It’s nostalgic watching the way he assesses the blade and checks the weight and balance of it. How many times did you watch him perform the same inspections of his weapons in camp? You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. This Astarion is still Astarion, but this Astarion is composed of two centuries of darkness and Cazador’s tortures.

Opening Shadowheart’s bag, you dig through the contents. There are a couple of random scrolls, a potion of healing, and the sharp, glass scraps of whatever potion didn’t make it through. There is a small pouch of coin, though you think it will do little good here. Your heart swells when you see her trousers and shirt, apparently stashed after she changed into your dress. The masterpiece that was your wedding dress is ruined beyond recognition, and you slip out of it.

“That’s some positively scandalous negligee,” Astarion taunts. “I assume that was for him?”

You glance down at the strappy, lace nightwear you had meant to surprise your husband with. “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant for you,” you retort.

“And yet, here I am enjoying the view and not him,” he says sinisterly.

Astarion turns, grabbing your ankle and giving it a quick tug toward him. He crawls up your body with that sensual smile you know too well and dips his head to kiss your hipbone, below your belly button, and continuing upwards. Though your brain knows the difference between your husband and this imposter, your body does not, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You push hard on his shoulders, trying to push him away, and he brings his eyes up with a lazy, crooked smile. He rests his chin on your stomach, his hot breath fans your cold skin.

“I know you want me,” he purrs, his fingers playing with the straps of your nightwear. “You cannot hide it from me, little lamb, and it seems we have some time to spare.”

“I want him,” you correct. “I have no interest in you. Get off me.”

“Him. Me. What’s the difference?” He shrugs and places another lingering kiss in the soft spot between your ribs. “We are one and the same. I’ll even be generous. I’ll whisper the sweet little lies I’m positive he feeds you, and you can pretend I am him.”

“I said no,” you growl, letting your palms heat against his shoulders in a warning.

Astarion sighs, rolls his eyes, and pushes himself to his knees. “Gods above. Why are you such a drip? Honestly, it’s like you hate having a good time.”

Pulling on Shadowheart’s shirt and tugging on the trousers without acknowledging his goading, you grab your raw feet and cringe. The blood is starting to dry, your healing abilities kicking in, but there are still crystal slivers and shards sticking out of your toes and heels, nestled deeply in your skin and muscle. You grasp at them, managing to pull some out, but your fingers aren’t quite nimble enough or adroit enough at getting purchase on the smaller, thinner pieces.

Astarion watches you again, with an odd intensity that you find puzzling. He reaches for you, but you recoil and pull away.

“Let me help.” It borders between an order and an offer, as if he couldn’t decide which and never made a choice either way.

It’s either this or walking with crystal shards impaling your feet, so you reluctantly slide your foot toward him. Astarion’s hand wraps around your ankle, and he lifts your leg and places it on his thigh. His eyes scrutinize the wounds carefully, and though his face remains cold and impassive, when they flick to you briefly, you swear you see concern in them.

Astarion plucks out the remaining pieces one by one, easing them from your flesh with more care than you would have thought this version of him possessed. When he’s done, he scoops up the remains of your dress and cuts long pieces from the silk, wrapping them around each foot in some sort of makeshift shoe. It’s unlikely to do much in the way of protection from the elements and will likely get chewed to shreds as quickly as your skin did, but the gesture still leaves you dumbstruck.

You cannot help yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“I need you to be able to walk.” He states simply.

“Where are you taking me?”

He smiles ominously, predator-like, and it makes you such in a sharp breath. “We are going to bargain with Mephistopheles, of course. What do you think he will bestow upon me when I hand deliver the little snake who aims to reverse his arrangement?”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

We've finally made it to the Hells!

[olenvasynyt]

A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory fic

Chapter 11: The Cinnamon Lark

Fic Summary:

It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Read on Ao3

Start from the beginning

Excerpt:

The sound of a wagon made him turn.  Rattling round the corner was a farmer’s cart loaded with produce.  The lesser fae female from the market perched in the box seat; her bell earrings jingled with every jostle and bump of her cart, and a few loose strands of her hair swayed in the air.  She wore the same cloak and hat as before, but her dress is a lovely scarlet, glowing pleasantly in the setting sun.  

“Well, this is a surprise,” she said in greeting, pulling the reins to bring her horse to a stop next to him. 

“Quite a surprise,” he agreed.  The horse, a skinny mare with a wisp of mane and a graying snout, chewed on its bit.  He went to give it a pat.  “I’m guessing the lady and her horse are heading to another market?”

“She is.” The female adjusted her reins and looked him up and down, watching him pet her horse with an expression he couldn’t quite read.  Intrigue or amusement, with a mix of restlessness. “You know, you left my stand so quickly the other day that I didn’t get your name.”

Her brusqueness took him by surprise still, but it was refreshing to be able to lean into it. “It’s Lucien.”  He didn’t dare use his family name.  “And yours, my lady?” he asked serenely.

The female’s eyes sparkled as she grinned.  “Jesminda.”

Her horse nickered and shook its scraggly mane, pushing at Lucien for more pats.  The skinny beast was surprisingly strong, and he adjusted his stance to not slip in the mud.  Jesminda laughed.  “And this one’s name is Guldaudi.”

He smiled as he continued to stroke the horse’s neck.  “What a lucky beast Guldaudi she is.  She gets to tour the beautiful countryside and snack on more apples than a horse could dream of.  And her owner Jesminda has a sweet, gentle hand.”

The bow of her lip creased slightly in a smile. “Can I ask what you’re doing wandering the countryside at this hour?”

“It’s only sunset.”  He nodded to the buttery sky and jeweled forest that surrounded them.  The sun was already dipping past the trees, making the world shimmer in muted amber.  “And it’s a beautiful evening for walking.”

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged and gestured to the vague ending of the road in front of them.  

He wasn’t sure if the female was exasperated or amused.  Maybe a bit of both, judging by the way her thick brow cocked upward.  “Well, his side of the Court is dangerous at night.  There are monsters around these parts called the hiisi and they make their nests in trees.  Which are obviously everywhere here.” 

He hadn’t heard of that particular breed of monster, though the Autumn Court had more monsters than he could keep track of.  “What about you?  You’re a female traveling all alone; what if you stumble upon one of these hiisi?” He smirked and added,  “Or a vagabond on the road?” 

It was meant to be a jest towards himself,  but it was also a serious question.  This part of Autumn was safer than other darker corners of the Court; but Autumn was dangerous for females in the most sophisticated towns and cities.  He wondered where the male he saw her with was.

She crooned,  “If all vagabonds are like you, then I’ll happily take my chances.”

“No, not all vagabonds will be as gentlemanly as myself, lady.  There are bored soldiers, highway robbers…these hiisi you talk about. And if this side of the Court is as dangerous as you say, you should have an escort.”

“I’m smart enough to not wander around the countryside at night.  You, though, I’m not so sure.  And besides—” She flicked her cloak back to reveal a splitting axe sitting at her feet. A leather sheath covered the steelhead, and the long wooden handle was proud and well worn. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” 

Lucien imagined the lithe female swinging her axe at her unsuspecting attackers, and he gave a smile.  But he said more seriously, “Highway robbers and bored soldiers are different breeds of monsters.”

“They take the axe the same.  But if you are so determined to offer me protection, you can hop up and ride with me to the town,” she offered.

It was a direct suggestion, very unlike the coy remarks females usually made when night was approaching.  A smile and laugh at his teasing usually led to something more, but he had no idea what to expect with this female.  But there was… something there.  Lines felt blurred, and he wasn’t quite sure how to navigate it.

He forced himself to ease back a bit.  “Is there an inn in town?” he asked.

“You would rather sleep in a musty old inn than at home?  Which you can easily winnow to?”

Her bluntness caught him off guard yet again.  “I would rather sleep under a rock than in The Forest House.  Frankly it’s the same thing; it’s dark and damp and quite rough on my back.  So an inn is perfectly fine for me, however musty.”

There was a flicker in her eyes at the words ‘The Forest House’ .   “It’s lesser fae.”

She didn’t say it as an apology or an accusation.  It was candid and resounding, like the beginning of an important conversation that one usually struggled to bring up.  

A heavy knot formed in the pit of his stomach.  Hoping he sounded lighthearted and careless, he said, “That’s alright.”  He glanced at the wagon.  The majority of the back was covered in a burlap blanket, hiding the crates of produce.  “Do I get to sit in front, or do I have to ride with the apples?”

She laughed.  “You can sit next to me.”

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - IV

Chapter IV: Open Arms

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: I'm starting to upload this story here on tumblr, I am really sorry for clogging the tags.

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Masterlist

The forest around you felt almost enchanted, the air rich with the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet from the glowing fruits hanging from the trees. The dim rays of the setting sun filtered through the canopy, casting soft, golden light that danced with the faint bioluminescence of the undergrowth. Your torch, lit not long ago, flickered gently, its warm light blending with the natural glow of the forest. It was a scene that should have felt peaceful—almost dreamlike. But the tension in Odysseus's posture told an entirely different story.

The three of you walked in a comfortable silence, though even in the quiet, you could feel the weight pressing on him. He wasn't just tense because you were on an unknown island; his mind seemed to churn with burdens that had been piling up for years. The war—which he thanked the gods was won. What happened on that balcony back in Troy. The dwindling rations. The growing difficulty of managing his weary crew. And, though he never said it aloud, the constant, gnawing worry for your safety and wellbeing that hasn't left him since you'd all left Ithaca ten years ago.

The silence finally broke when Polites nudged a fallen branch out of the path with his foot. "Try to relax, my friend," he said, his tone light but deliberate.

Odysseus blinked, pulled abruptly from his thoughts. "Huh?"

Polites chuckled and shook his head. "I said, try to relax. I can tell you're getting nervous. Do yourself a favor and unclench before you scare the life out of the next poor animal that crosses our path."

Odysseus shot him an unamused glare. "I'm fine, Polites."

"Fine?" Polites raised an eyebrow. "If this is your version of fine, I'd hate to see you tense."

You couldn't help but smirk as you added, "Polites is right. You look like you're gearing up to fight a bear—or at least glare it into submission."

Though you couldn't exactly claim to be carefree yourself, walking alongside people you trusted with your life kept the worst of your worries at bay. The serene beauty of the forest helped, too. The shimmering plants and softly glowing fruits were a sight you'd never seen before, and you allowed yourself a moment to admire them.

Polites, however, was not letting Odysseus off the hook. "Aw, come on, Ody!" He slipped into a mock-serious tone, squaring his shoulders and furrowing his brow in exaggerated imitation. "'Hey, look at me! I'm the captain. Alright, listen up!'"

Odysseus stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at Polites. "What?"

Polites grinned. "That's what you sound like!"

Odysseus shook his head, muttering, "I don't sound like that."

You laughed, unable to resist joining in. "Oh, you absolutely do."

"I don't!" Odysseus insisted, looking genuinely offended now.

"You do," you said, smirking. "I've known you my whole life, brother. I believe I know what you sound like."

For a moment, Odysseus looked between the two of you, clearly debating whether to argue further. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shook his head. "I'm starting to regret bringing you rwo along"

Polites clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "You'll thank us when we make it home in one piece. And anyway, we should be celebrating! We're close, Ody. After everything we've been through, don't you think we deserve a moment to breathe?"

Odysseus glanced ahead, where the forest path seemed to open up into a clearing, the light growing brighter. For a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—barely—but it was enough to hint at a smile. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Polites groaned, throwing his hands in the air.

You couldn't help but laugh as the three of you pressed on.

Polites clapped Odysseus on the shoulder as they walked. "Come on, Ody, think about it—look at everything we've been through. We've survived worse than this, haven't we? We'll survive whatever comes next too."

Odysseus didn't answer immediately, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as his eyes scanned the forest around them.

Polites sighed, his tone softening. "I get it. You're tired of the war and the bloodshed. We all are. But is this really how we're supposed to live? Always on edge, bracing for the next fight?" He gestured to Odysseus's hand. "The way you're gripping that sword... it's like you expect the trees to attack you." Odysseus's gaze flicked to his sword as if noticing it for the first time.

He gave him a sharp look, but Polites didn't back down. "What if, instead of taking, we focused on giving for a change? You know, showing people we trust them instead of expecting the worst all the time? Sometimes, lowering your guard is the strongest thing you can do."

You chimed in, catching onto Polites's attempt to lighten the mood. "He's right, you know. We've been given a chance to adjust, to breathe. Maybe we should take it."

Polites grinned, spreading his arms dramatically. "See? Even your sister agrees. Come on, Ody, give it a try—it's not that hard."

Odysseus huffed, shaking his head, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You two are impossible."

"And you're insufferable," you shot back with a grin.

Polites laughed. "Ah, but at least we're keeping you grounded. Admit it, Captain—you'd be lost without us."

"Sure," Odysseus muttered, but his tone had lightened just enough to make the forest feel a little less heavy.

The three of you fell into another comfortable silence, the rhythmic crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot the only sound accompanying your steps. But as the glowing forest around you shifted and swayed in the dimming light, memories stirred in your mind. You glanced around, the bioluminescent flora and the gentle rustle of the trees tugging at threads of your past.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" you said suddenly, breaking the quiet. You gestured around with a sweep of your arm, inviting them to take in the forest as you did.

Both Polites and Odysseus turned their heads toward you, their curiosity piqued. That was your signal to continue.

"Do you remember, back home, when we'd run through the forest, looking for the biggest threat we could find? Well..." You smirked, tilting your head toward Odysseus. "You would run, and we'd follow."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for the jab he could sense coming.

You rolled your eyes, the memory vivid enough to draw a chuckle. "And by 'follow,' I mean you'd never let us get anywhere close to the action. You'd be charging ahead, all brave and daring, while we were stuck five paces behind, trying to keep up."

Your smile widened at the thought, but there was no denying the exasperation that lingered even after all these years. "You've always been like that—overprotective to a fault. Back then, it was all, 'Stay here, it's too dangerous.' And now? Well... not much has changed, has it?"

You cast him a teasing glance, but there was a warmth in your tone that softened the jab. As frustrating as it had been, you couldn't ignore the fact that his protectiveness had kept you safe more times than you could count. Not that you'd ever admit it to his face.

Odysseus let out a huff, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "Someone had to make sure you didn't get into trouble."

Polites snorted, chiming in with a grin. "Trouble? You mean like the time you nearly fell off a cliff while we were the ones actually following orders?"

"That was one time," Odysseus shot back, his tone defensive but his lips twitching with a reluctant smile.

"Or that time you almost got obliterated by that giant boar?" You added on.

Odysseus gave a half-hearted glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. "I wasn't about to let you two get hurt. Someone had to make sure you didn't get yourselves killed."

"Uh-ha"

Odysseus sighed, shaking his head as if resigning himself to your teasing. "Somebody has to keep you alive. Clearly, it's still me."

Polites grinned, chiming in. "Oh! don't forget the stories we'd make up to explain why we came back covered in mud and scratches. 'Oh, it was a mighty beast! Twice as tall as a man!'" He mimed a dramatic stance, making you laugh harder.

Odysseus finally cracked a smile, albeit a small one. "And mother didn't believe a word of it."

"She never did," you said, shaking your head fondly. "But she still let us tell our tales anyway. I think she liked hearing them, even if she pretended to be angry."

For a moment, the three of you walked on in silence, but this time, the quiet was filled with the warmth of shared memories rather than the weight of present worries. The forest seemed less ominous, its glow a little more welcoming, as if it, too, remembered simpler times.

After what felt like hours of weaving through the dense, glowing forest, you finally stepped into a clearing. The open space was a relief after the close, tangled pathways, but your purpose remained sharp in your mind. You had been searching for signs of life, for the people who were said to inhabit this mysterious island.

Cautiously, the three of you approached the edge of the clearing, each step deliberate, your eyes scanning every shadow and flicker of light. But as you drew closer, your hope began to waver. The space was eerily quiet—too quiet. There were no signs of movement, no voices carried on the breeze, no footprints in the soft soil.

Once you were fully in the clearing, the absence of life became undeniable. Nothing. Not a single soul, nor even the faintest hint that anyone had ever set foot here.

The three of you ventured toward the center, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover something—anything. You looked around, searching for a clue, a trace, a whisper of proof that this wasn't just another dead end. But no matter how hard you looked, your efforts were fruitless.

You broke the silence first, his voice low. "Well, this is... disappointing."

"Welcome."

The word echoed through the forest, but it wasn't one voice—it was a chorus, like a hundred tiny voices speaking in perfect unison. It sent a chill down your spine. The three of you whipped around in unison toward the source of the sound, your hearts pounding.

Odysseus was the first to react. Without a word, he stepped in front of you and Polites, his protective instincts kicking in like second nature. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and in one smooth motion, it was free form his side, the steel glinting faintly in the glow of the forest. He held the blade steady, pointing it toward the shadows from which the voices had come.

Out of the shadows emerged tiny creatures. At first, their shapes were hard to make out, but as they stepped into the faint glow of your torch, their features became clear. They looked remarkably like cats—except they walked upright on two legs and were slightly shorter than an average feline.

Their fur was a soft, brownish-gray, blending effortlessly with the forest's earthy tones. But what stood out the most—what truly caught and held your attention—were their eyes. Vibrant violet orbs gleamed in stark contrast to their muted coats, glowing faintly as if lit from within.

The creatures gazed up at the three of you, their faces seemingly locked in curious, almost playful smiles. They appeared utterly unfazed by the sword Odysseus was still pointing in their direction, either not understanding the gesture or not caring enough to react.

Polites broke the silence first, lowering his dagger slightly and tilting his head. "Uh...what are they?"

You stared, torn between disbelief and amusement. "I... have no idea."

Odysseus, however, wasn't lowering his guard. His grip on the sword remained firm, his sharp gaze darting between the strange creatures. "They certainly don't look like a threat," you ventured, though your voice carried more curiosity than certainty.

One of the creatures took a step forward, its tiny paw-like hand raised as if in greeting. It tilted its head and smiled wider, the violet of its eyes seeming to shimmer as it chirped, "Welcome."

"Stay back." The grip on Odysseus's sword tightened, if that was even possible. The small creatures echoed his demand.

You couldn't help but crack a small smile, though you kept your distance. "They don't seem dangerous," you said, casting a quick glance at Odysseus.

His stance remained defensive. "They don't seem like anything yet," he replied. "But that doesn't mean we should trust them. We're only here for food."

"Food."

At the word, the small creatures froze, their wide, glowing eyes shimmering with a mix of wonder and recognition. Their tiny faces lit up.

You weren't sure if they fully understood what he meant, but there was no mistaking the reaction. They recognized the word, perhaps even its significance, though their excitement made it hard to discern if it was joy, curiosity, or something else entirely.

"Six hundred friends are waiting for us to show our faces," Odysseus said, his voice low and wary.

"Food," the creatures chanted in unison, their voices eerie, almost melodic. The sound echoed through the trees, sending a chill down your spine.

A few of them tried to inch closer, but they froze the moment your brother raised his sword in a clear warning. His stance was unyielding, the blade gleaming in the faint light. Odysseus's eyes darted between the creatures, his body a shield between them and you.

"Stay back," he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. "I'm warning you."

You weren't sure if Odysseus didn't understand that these creatures probably didn't comprehend a word he was saying, or if his nerves had gotten the better of him. Either way, he seemed determined to make himself clear, even if the threats fell on deaf ears.

"Food," they repeated, the word somehow more insistent this time, as though they were trying to communicate something. One of them—a smaller, fluffier one—tilted its head, its wide, glowing eyes fixed on Odysseus. Then it opened its mouth and made exaggerated chomping motions, adding a series of "num num num" sounds for emphasis.

You couldn't tell if it was mimicking some human habit or simply giving in to its own hunger at the mention of food. Either way, it was adorable.

"If we don't get back safely," Odysseus said, his voice cold and deliberate, "my men will turn this place into blazes."

"Friend, we just talked about this. Greet the words with open arms," Polites said with a smirk, nudging Odysseus, whose sword still hung tensely in his grip.

Before you could comment, you felt a soft tap against your leg. You jumped back instinctively, your heart skipping a beat, but the momentary panic gave way to relief when you looked down.

It was the fuzzy critters—small, wide-eyed, and undeniably strange, yet somehow endearing. They were holding as many fruits as their tiny paws could manage, the glowing produce piled precariously in their little arms.

One of them tilted its head up at you, its bright eyes sparkling as it chirped, "Here you go!" It extended its bundle of fruit toward you, wobbling slightly under the weight.

You crouched down, hesitating for a moment, then carefully took the fruit from its tiny paws. Its warmth and slight glow reminded you of fireflies on summer nights back in Ithaca. "Uh... thank you," you said, unsure if it understood you but hoping the gratitude came through.

"Welcome" It responded and smiled as if it was proud of itself.

Another critter shuffled forward, offering its own collection of fruit. Soon, they were all crowding around, chirping softly and depositing glowing fruit into your hands like an offering.

Polites crouched down beside you, his grin wide. "Well, would you look at that? Guess they're not so bad after all, huh?" He plucked a fruit from the pile, turning it over in his hands.

Odysseus remained tense, his sword still raised slightly. "Or they're trying to fatten us up for something worse," he muttered, though the edge in his voice was softer now.

You gave him a pointed look. "Ody, not everything in this world is out to kill us. Sometimes, a gift is just a gift."

One of the critters tugged lightly on Odysseus's tunic, holding up a single glowing fruit with tiny, insistent paws. It chirped, "Friend!"

For a moment, Odysseus stared at it, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh that bordered on exasperation, he lowered his sword and took the fruit gingerly from its hands. "Fine. Friend," he said, the word sounding both amused and resigned.

You smiled, holding one of the fruits up to examine it more closely. Despite everything you'd faced so far, this moment felt oddly comforting—a small, unexpected kindness in a world that had offered little of it lately.

"See? Life isn't so bad when you give it a chance," Polites said, gesturing to the glowing fruit in his hand. "Whatever comes our way, we'll get through it—just like always. It's not about where we are; it's about what we do with it. And maybe... just maybe... it starts with letting our guard down once in a while."

Odysseus didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied the fruit in his hand, turning it over before tearing it in half. The glow from the inside was brighter now, revealing seeds that shimmered faintly, like tiny embers.

His jaw tightened. He knew this fruit.

It hit him like a blow to the chest: lotus.

His stomach sank as the weight of the realization settled over him. He glanced toward the critters, now scurrying about happily, their strange behavior suddenly making sense. If this fruit was their primary source of sustenance...

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with both understanding and unease.

You noticed the change in his expression immediately. "Ody? What is it?"

"This isn't just any fruit," he said, holding up the glowing half. "It's lotus."

Polites furrowed his brow. "Lotus?"

Odysseus nodded grimly, casting another glance at the creatures, who were still blissfully unaware of the danger they posed. "The lotus will make you forget everything—your purpose, your will. You'll fall into a haze, one that never really ends. And it'll trap you here, in their world. That's what we'd get with open arms"

You looked down at the fruit now heavy in your hands. "What do we do then?"

Polites' voice cut through the silence, calm but firm. "Lotus-eaters, I'd like to show my friend that true kindness is in courage, not in surrender." He stepped forward, kneeling down once more to meet their gaze with steady eyes. "Could you show us where we might find other food? We cannot eat these. Still, we appreciate your generosity."

The Lotus-eaters' eyes flickered, unsure whether to press further or let go. You could feel the weight of their gaze, a mix of pity and curiosity. Polites' calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the wild beating of your heart.

"Cave," They said again, in perfect unison, their voices filled with a strange, almost childlike eagerness. It was as though your refusal had no weight at all to them.

But one of them, the same one that gave you the first fruit, small and trembling, clung to your leg once more. The creature looked up at you with wide, violet eyes—eyes that seemed to shimmer with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Scary cave," It whispered, its voice barely a squeak, though the words were clear.

Polites smiled, grateful that he could show his friend that kindness still yielded results. "A cave! You're telling me there's a cave where we can feast? And where exactly do we sail to find this food-filled paradise?"

"East!" The lotus eaters pointed enthusiastically, their arms outstretched toward what you assumed was east. But one of them, still clinging to your leg, pointed in the opposite direction with surprising conviction.

"That way!" it declared, its voice a soft, almost sing-song quality. You opened your mouth, ready to correct it, but something made you pause. It was so earnest, so sure of itself, and a small part of you didn't want to burst its bubble.

For a moment, the little creature simply stared at you, its wide eyes filled with pleading innocence. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, it began to make grabby hands at you, reaching up with adorable urgency. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

How could you possibly resist? You reached down, scooping it up despite your better judgment. Its giggle was almost musical, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about the confusion of their directions.

"Thank you"

"Welcome!"

Polites placed a hand on Odysseus's shoulder, his grin speaking volumes. It was a playful 'see?' that he couldn't ignore. He looked amused but also exasperated, clearly not prepared for the teasing that had taken place within a few hours with the two of you.

"'Greet the world with open arms...'" he muttered, echoing Polites' earlier words. Maybe the philosophy wasn't so far off after all.

His musings were abruptly interrupted by the familiar sensation of his mind being pulled away from his body—a sensation he had grown far too accustomed to, thanks to a certain goddess.

Polites raised an eyebrow, watching Odysseus expectantly, waiting for him to respond, but all he got in return was silence. Odysseus was staring off into the distance, his gaze blank and distant.

"He's doing it again," Polites muttered, giving your arm a friendly pat. His gesture was meant to break your attention from the little critters that were now surrounding you, their tiny hands offering little flowers.

You waved him off, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It'll pass."

Polites glanced over at the creatures with a playful look in his eyes. "Should we take one of them to help us find the cave?"

You held up the lotus-eater in your hands, its soft, dewy eyes gazing up at Polites with a shy, almost innocent smile. "I say we take this one," you said, offering it to him as though it were some kind of precious trinket.

"What are we taking?" Odysseus's voice broke the stillness, and he seemed to have snapped back to the present.

"This little guy will guide us to the cave," you replied, now showing the lotus-eater to your brother. The creature smiled up at him, completely unaware of the skepticism in Odysseus's eyes.

"...That one?" Odysseus raised an eyebrow, looking around at the other lotus-eaters nearby. Many seemed just as eager, if not more so. The one you were holding, however, didn't exactly strike him as the sharpest tool in the shed.

"We're taking this one." you said firmly, not bothering to look at Odysseus as you cradled the little creature in your arms.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Dumbledore, Harry, and Y/N explore the Crystal Cave. Draco's mission proves to have dire consequences.

Part XI / Part XIII / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Oh man. Yay for the end of sixth year ? ... haha

The rocky ventricle of the cliff side was far less exciting than the seaside, but there was something beguiling about the dim green shine and wet black rocks of the cave. Harry was careful to maintain steady footing as you all hiked through the damp cave, soon finding a rounded dead end. 

Before you can question Dumbledore, he whips out a small knife from his robes, spinning on his heel to face you both. A small pang of panic shoots through your body before you realize that your headmaster was cutting his hand and not attempting to maul you both with the ornamental paring knife. 

Tilting your head, you search the man’s calm expression for an answer, “Sir?” Your voice trails off as he swipes his bloodied hand against the rocks beside him. 

The man turns to you both with an undisturbed smile, “To gain passage, a payment must be made. Payment intended to weaken the intruder.” 

You mask your bewilderment and simply shoot a fleeting glance at Harry, who did not even attempt to suppress his bafflement. 

As the blood seeps into the crevices of the rocks, the stone wall begins to flake and crumble. Stepping back as the rocks fall towards your feet, you feel your mouth drop open at the newly revealed sight of opaque crystals. The new cave pocket was alight with a dull gleam, displaying a likeness to a troll-size geode. 

“Voldemort never did skimp with such extravagances.” You muse, ignoring the unimpressed eyebrow raise Harry shoots towards you. 

As you all clamber over the seemingly endless hills of jagged crystals, you decide to reach out to Regulus, no longer able to ignore the persistent blaring of the hundreds of magical signatures around you. 

‘Reg, there are countless different magical signatures in here.’ 

‘I think I might know what this place is.’ Regulus’ words are hushed, clearly deep in thought as he tries to untangle the foggy web of memories that Sirius unlocked.

Darting your eyes around the darkness, you nearly slip as your concentration splinters into a dozen different directions. 

‘You do? How?’ 

‘The ocean. My human-self was immersed in research on some place called the Crystal Cave. Something about the beach and a hidden horcrux. Since you’re all searching for his horcrux, I can only assume my research was right.’  

Before you can coax Regulus for more answers, you stop behind Harry as Dumbledore peers across the vast darkness of the water. It seemed as though there was nothing left to explore, the eerily calm body of water expanding far into the void. 

Closing your eyes, you zone out of the conversation between Dumbledore and Harry, focusing on the overwhelming amount of magical signatures around you that seemed to be screaming for your attention. 

There was something familiar about the magic, it was almost like the magic around Regulus’ portrait except more potent with a tinge of something you couldn’t quite comprehend. Before you have time to contemplate these findings, you open your eyes as you feel a tug on your sleeve. 

Meeting Harry’s concerned eyes, you realize that Dumbledore had somehow managed to summon a small canoe from the waters and now both men were patiently waiting for you to collect yourself. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, gesturing for Harry to get inside before you. Dumbledore simply assesses you with a thoughtful look before turning to face the dark waters as you shakily step into the canoe. 

The journey across the waters is surprisingly serene, and you had half the mind to be cautious of enemies hidden in the darkness around you. It was troubling that you all hadn’t stumbled across any serpentine puzzles or tremendous creatures. 

If this place truly contains a horcrux, it would be best to be on guard. Underestimating Voldemort would only lead you to a swift death. 

As the canoe reaches the edge of a crystal island, you all part from the delicate boat quietly. Most of the journey had been spent in tense silence and you were beginning to get a sinking feeling from the cave, as if there was a large chunk of mystery you wouldn’t be privy to for a while. 

The three of you clamber towards the top of the crystal mound, circling around a particular crystal that emerged to form a basin. The depression at its center contained a cloudy liquid, an inky black fog swirling in the center to conceal the contents at the bottom. Dumbledore swipes his hand over the liquid, clearly trying to vanish it with magic. 

You feel confusion wash over you as the liquid warps under the pressure before merely repelling his hand. 

Dumbledore raises his head to look at Harry before turning to your questioning eyes, “It has to be drunk.” 

Stepping back from the basin, you nearly topple over as Regulus’ voice loudly rings in your head, voice strained with panic, ‘Don’t drink it! I remember now. The Dark Lord – he brought Kreacher here and did something to him. Kreacher barely made it out alive, but he was frenzied and told human-me he had drunk something.’

Regulus’ words come out in a huge rush and your nerves prickle from his uncharacteristic loss of composure. 

“Sir. I don’t think you should drink it.” Your words have both men turning towards you, clearly seeing no other way to access the horcrux. Biting your lip in contemplation, you decide to elaborate, “Headmaster, I’m sure you are already aware of my companion. He told me that the concoction nearly killed his house elf.” 

Dumbledore seems to consider your words before he drops his gaze back down into the basin, “I see. However, there seems to be no other way.”

Harry seems to be alarmed by your words and steps forward, “But sir–” 

Dumbledore holds up a hand and closes his eyes in resignation, “Conditions. There are conditions for you both that I failed to impart to you before we ventured here.” He opens his eyes and narrows them, “If something is to happen, you both must save yourselves. Do not worry about me.”

You share a look with Harry, before you reluctantly nod in agreement. They were not the most difficult conditions you’ve ever been given, between your headmaster and Harry, you would pick your friend, always. 

As Dumbledore and Harry fall into a hushed conversation about the conditions and the liquid, you slowly drift into your thoughts again. It didn’t make sense what you were feeling, how were there so many magical signatures around even with no sign of actual magical beings? You wanted to ask Regulus for help, but you knew that the boy likely knew nothing past what he told you. 

Exhaling shakily, you watch as Dumbledore scoops up some of the liquid before drinking it. The reaction is almost instantaneous, your eyes widen as you see his eyes darken, choked noises escaping his dry lips as he lightly convulses. 

“Professor? Professor!” Harry’s concerned words grow louder as the man grunts loudly, shaking more violently on the spot before tumbling down onto the ground. You lunge forwards, reaching out futilely as Dumbledore continues to grunt and jerk. It seemed as though he was no longer even aware of his surroundings, too enraptured by what the liquid was doing to his body and mind. 

Swallowing harshly, you feel fear prickle through your body as Dumbledore thrashes around before stilling suddenly. Harry turns to you briefly and your heart clenches at the sight of his horrified expression. 

Seeming to ground himself, Dumbledore sits up and jerks a hand towards the basin. Harry seems to understand what the man is trying to say and he rushes back to bring more of the liquid. 

You stay next to Dumbledore, helplessly muttering assurances to the man as he seems to be dragged back into his haze, beginning to groan and plead for something. Harry is able to keep his composure for the most part and continues to feed Dumbledore the concoction, rushing back and forth to try and empty the basin quickly. 

“It’s my fault!” Dumbledore’s wails are sure to haunt your dreams for the next coming months, and you’re faintly aware of the tears blurring your vision. It was one thing to face blood-thirsty creatures and other wizards in battle, it was another thing to be completely helpless in the face of psychological torment. You were barely strong enough for the former, you had very little training to cope with the latter. 

In the flurry of your panic, you’re unaware that you’ve been flooding your mind link with anxiety until you feel a sudden wave of comfort being nudged toward you by Regulus. The warm feeling of his magic wrapping around yours grounds you and you make note to thank him later.  Shaking your head, you push aside your dread and focus on the task at hand.

Just as your mind clears, you see Dumbledore cease in his hysteria, feeling Harry lean down towards the man from next to you. You both release an exhale of relief as your headmaster seems to be fully aware again, his eyes no longer glassy and unseeing. 

“Water.” His croak comes out dry and you shoot up from your spot to clamber towards the basin, eyes widening in relief as you see a pendant laying at the bottom. 

It worked, you had the horcrux now. 

Wrapping your fingers around the object, you’re struck with confusion almost immediately. The locket had no magical trace or signature whatsoever. 

“Wait. Harry-” Your words get caught in your throat as you turn around and see Harry standing still, attention drawn to something in the water. Bringing the locket up to your face, you scrutinize it further, still feeling no residual dark magic. 

Gripping the chain tightly, you slowly pull it over your head and tuck it underneath your shirt, not perturbed by potential dangers as you realize it was practically just an ordinary necklace. 

You had seen cursed necklaces before, and you were fairly confident that it wouldn’t toss you into the air like Katie Bell or try and choke you to death. 

Great, you all suffered for nothing. 

“Lumos Maxima!” Harry’s shout distracts you from your thoughts and you begin to walk toward him, still not understanding what he was seeing. As you near the edge of the island, you gasp as you feel an onslaught of magic suddenly crash into you. 

Stumbling back, you watch as pale, gaunt figures begin to claw their way from the water’s surface and toward you both. The grisly creatures were all milky, but you could see some distinguishing differences between them all. 

What disturbed you most though was the fact that you could feel faint magic lingering around them. As you backed away, you realized that aside from the numerous unique signatures, there was a darker, suffocating magic that blanketed them all. 

Your mind started racing – They were puppets. Reanimated using magic. Not corpses, but not living. They were people. Perhaps a branch of necromancy.

It all clicked. “Inferi,” You gasp and grab Harry’s arm, dragging him towards a stunned Dumbledore.  

The inferi were far more harrowing in real life than in pictures from your textbooks. You could see the sunken skin that seemed to bloat around protruding bones, and wisps of hair that sprouted unevenly from their bulbous heads. 

Harry begins to fire off spells at the army of inferi and you reach around your jacket for your wand, eyes widening in panic as you realize they were surrounding you. 

“Fire! Harry, they fear fire!” Your shout is drowned out by Harry’s yelling and you groan in frustration. Grabbing your wand, you thrust it up and swing your arm over your head, “Pluvia Ignis!”

The heat of fire envelops you immediately and you blearily squint your eyes as a colossal ring of fire blazes up toward the cave’s ceiling, licking at the muggy air. Continuing to whirl your wand, you let out a sigh of relief as you see that you hadn’t burnt your companions to a crisp. The heat had the inferi receding back into the waters, but your celebration is cut short as you realize that the ring of fire was now consuming nearly every inch of the cave. 

Dumbledore stumbles towards you, one arm slung over Harry’s shoulders as the boy helps him find his footing. Ceasing your movements, you move to join the two as you watch the last few inferi dive into the water. 

Furrowing your brows, you feel a sudden pull toward the water. The pull was coming from your pocket and your hand, and you drew your hand back as you saw your finger gravitate toward the dark pool. Your ring was being attracted towards the water for some strange reason. 

Feeling the tug persist, you incline your head to look at your pocket. 

No, it wasn’t just your ring, but Regulus’ portrait as well.  

‘Reg?’ 

‘There’s something wrong. I feel…’ The boy’s words are shaky, but you can feel how his confusion mirrors yours as he trails off.

You have little time to ruminate further as you’re soon being dragged off by Harry as Dumbledore parts the flames. The inferno drags away into two tall walls, clearing a direct path back toward the other side of the cave. 

The journey back passes by in a blur as you’re busy with making sure Dumbledore wouldn’t keel over and die, while Harry moves the canoe along as quickly as he could. All along the way out, the tugging gradually faded and soon the conundrum was buried away in your thoughts. 

As soon as you all stumble out of the cave, Dumbledore grabs both of your elbows and apparates away from the shore. The warping of your body through the travel has you disoriented and mildly irritated, and you were mentally cursing your past-self for all the decisions that had amounted to the events of that day. 

The three of you touched down at the astronomy tower with a loud pop and muffled groans, your knees nearly buckling from exhaustion as soon as your heels slammed against the wooden boards. 

Harry helps guide Dumbledore to sit down, the man further weakened by the apparition. As you crouch down in front of the enervated headmaster, you both can barely make out what the man is mumbling. 

“Severus…Severus,” Dumbledore wheezes out. You share a look with Harry and usher him away with a wave of your hand, “I’ll stay and watch over him. You hurry and find Snape.”

Harry doesn’t look entirely convinced, but seeing no better alternative, complies with your words and quickly disappears behind a pillar and into the darkness. Before you can turn around to focus your attention on the pallor man next to you, you hear light footsteps slowly ascend the staircase. 

Turning your body to fully face the stairway, you reach for your wand and tense up in anticipation. To your surprise, you see Draco’s figure slowly round towards you both with his wand drawn. 

“Draco?” Your words are painted in disbelief, and you feel a pit lodge in your throat at the slytherin’s frantic eyes and white-knuckled grip. 

‘Reg, Draco is going to attack us.’ You clench your jaw and keep your hand on the hilt of your wand. 

‘Defend yourself, forget about Dumbledore.’ Regulus’ words are firm, with such strong conviction that you almost get whiplash thinking about how fraught he had just sounded in the cave. 

Shuffling away from the headmaster, you stand up shakily and draw your wand out to your side, not exactly rising up to the challenge, but ready to defend yourself. You were confident that you could hold up just fine against Draco. 

“L/N?” Draco sounds a tad surprised, as though he hadn’t seen you up until that moment, “What are you doing here?” His voice is now as panicked as his face, and you see his hostile demeanor falter slightly. 

Holding up one of your hands, you try to reason with the boy, “Draco, don’t do this. I know, okay. I know.”

Your words seem to only incense the boy as he practically snarls at you, “You don’t know! You don’t know what it’s like to be chosen!” With his last words, the boy is tearing the sleeve of his left arm upwards, thrusting his dark mark into your gobsmacked face. 

As your eyes drop down in resignation, you make eye contact with an alarmed Harry who was crouched on the floor below. Subtly shaking your head at the boy, you drag your eyes back up to look at Draco. 

The boy’s face was now twisted in something akin to pain, and you felt pity root you to your spot. Before you can open your mouth to speak, your attention is grabbed by the sound of a door opening in the distance. 

Frowning, you shuffle back to block Dumbledore, “You’re not alone?” 

“A passage. Vanishing cabinets that I repaired.” Draco’s words are embittered, but you knew it wasn’t towards you. . 

Noddin, you shrug one shoulder at him, commending him for his ingeniousness. Seeing that you were not going to reply, he lowers his wand slightly, “I don’t need you. Go. You need to leave. I only want him,” he jabs his chin in the direction of Dumbledore, who was still slumped on the floor. 

A large part of you did want to run, but you didn’t think you could ever look Harry in the eyes again if you did. 

‘Run, birdie. Listen to him. Protect yourself.’ Regulus’ pleads make your finger twitch and the urge to abandon your incapacitated headmaster grows stronger. 

“You know I can’t, Draco. Please don’t do this.” You step forward and reach out to him. 

The boy shakes his head fervently, “I have to. I have to kill him, or else he’s going to kill me.” His voice cracks with the last confession, and you feel your jaw clench at the cruelty of the situation. 

“I can help you. Blaise and I, we can protect you.” Your words are soft and you see Draco frown in conflict, eyes shining from unshed tears. He seems to almost believe your words — that you could possibly get him out of this predicament, but any semblance of resolve disappears as footsteps echo from the stairwell again. 

Looking down at the hole in the floor, you see that Harry is gone, possibly hiding or getting help. You shakily exhale before looking back at Draco. The slytherin looks at you like you’re about to be walked to your execution, and you can feel a stone of dread sink in your stomach. 

The first person to pop up from the staircase has your heart stuttering from fear, “Bellatrix.” Your voice is surprisingly firm, and you almost want to pat yourself on the back from how well you were standing your ground. 

The woman in question whips her head towards you and lets out a booming cackle, hands clutching at her stomach like she was just pronounced the heir to an enormous fortune. 

“Ickle, Y/N,” The crazed woman approaches Draco, peering over his shoulder, “and, oh! Dumbledore! Two sitting ducks!” She breaks out into more laughter and you avert your eyes from her hysterics to look at a distressed Draco. 

‘Y/N, leave. You can’t take on Bellatrix, she is utterly insane. Apparate somewhere, please.’ Regulus’ voice seems to fade out in your head as you go still from shock when you see Fenrir Greyback make his way towards you. Just as you regain enough sense to try and turn tail, the werewolf is hauling your figure towards him in a bruising grip, slamming you up against a nearby pillar. 

You gasp in shock and grit your teeth to stop from screaming as the werewolf moves a hand to grip your throat. Before you can try and hex the beast, a monotonous voice breaks through the tense atmosphere, “Enough.” 

Darting your eyes away, you almost want to cry in relief as you see a stone-faced Snape make his way out from the shadows. The grip on your neck slackens and you try to find your bearings by gripping the ridges of the pillar behind you. 

The rumors that Greyback was horrifying were not exaggerated by any means. 

Before you can breathe out in relief, figuring that your ex-Potions professor likely would spare your life, Greyback grips one of your arms tightly and stuffs his other hand in your jacket pocket, tearing himself away from you, Regulus’ portrait held victoriously above his head. 

“No!” Your scream is guttural, feral even, but the werewolf simply grins widely at your distress, pointed teeth menacingly peeking from his mouth. You try to lunge for the werewolf, wand drawn, but you feel someone slam into you before you can get far. 

Thrashing against the figure, you cry out as they twist your hand behind your back, making you drop your wand. Before you can plead with Morgana to send you the strength to hurl your assailant through the wall, you hear a voice harshly whisper in your ear, “Stop it. You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

You tense from shock and whip your head around to see a frustrated Draco glaring down at you in warning.  Pursing your lips together, you feel tears gather on your waterline as you turn back and see Greyback handing the portrait to a delighted Bellatrix. 

“Foolish child!” Her words stung, but your snarl only seems to amuse her, “And baby cousin, how disappointing.” Bellatrix’s smile is vindictive, like pure acid, as she appraises Regulus. 

‘Reg. I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry!’ Your frantic words pour out as tears begin to slide down your cheeks, eyes blurring violently from the endless onslaught of tears. 

‘It’s okay, birdie. It’s not your fault,’ Regulus' words are loud in your head, and you release a strangled sob, feeling Draco tighten his grip on you at the sound, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone as much as I’ve liked you.’ 

Blinking away the tears, you can barely process what was happening as Bellatrix suddenly draws her wand, “Bombarda!”

Regulus’ portrait explodes in a spray of gold, pieces of the frame clattering around the floor, and you see the canvas flutter to the floor between you and the madwoman. 

“Reggie!” You try to throw Draco off of you, but the boy overpowers you and keeps his iron grip on you. 

Regulus turns his gaze towards you and you see him flash a small smile at you, one full of longing and sorrow, ‘I’ll find you again, my love.’ 

“Incendio!” Bellatrix’s gleeful yell echoes throughout your head, deafening you, but you’re sure it was your screams that could be heard from the other side of the castle. You feel Draco flinch behind you, and you drop down onto the ground, taking the slytherin down with you. 

You hunch over, tipping your head onto the floor as you begin to sob, incoherently mumbling as the death eaters around you seem to direct their attention to Dumbledore. 

You knew you should have kicked Draco to next Yule and grabbed your wand to defend the weakened headmaster, but you could barely tie together a coherent thought, and when you did, it only revolved around Regulus. 

Regulus – who was gone, for good this time. Gone because of you. 

It would be a euphemism to describe the feeling as emptiness, because what you were feeling transcended any feeling you could precisely pinpoint. Bellatrix might as well have thrust her claws into your chest and wrung your heart to a bleeding pulp. 

You wanted to bang your head against the wood and beg for a redo of the entire day. 

It was all a terrible dream. 

Yes, it was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. That made sense, you would never be that weak, right? 

Yes. You were dreaming.

This had to be a nightmare. 

Opening your eyes, you feel your nails digging into your head just as black dots start to swim in your vision. You couldn’t find the strength to lift your head up. 

It all had to have been a dream. Otherwise, why would it be so silent around you? You could sense it, nobody was in the room with you anymore. 

The dark spots start to move more vigorously, blooming across the wood and overtaking your vision. As your sight waned and the rushing of blood in your ears settled, you heard a muffled voice reach you, “Shit! Y/N!” 

And then you knew no more than darkness. 

Yes, it had to be a dream. Just a bad dream. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @kingofsantafe01 @that-bitch-bri @ily2lia

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 1

*Chapter 1 written ahead of season 4 launching, this has been in my head a while ago, so it's amazing to find a scattering of similarities! Though as this will become romantic, it's obviously completely separate from any existing and future storylines.*

River decides, finally, that David needs some help at home, so sets about employing someone to do just that without really thinking of the consequences.

River Cartwright / Original female character (Seren is named, but feel free to insert yourself should you wish).

Masterlist

Chapter 1

River was late, of course. He'd tried to get out earlier, but he'd had to break up a fight between Louisa and Shirley. A full-on argument that had nearly escalated into physical violence and all because they were both stupidly stubborn. They’d patched things up when Shirley slid a cup of coffee onto Louisa’s desk along with the last of the Jaffa Cakes. They’d mumbled apologies and were laughing like nothing had happened when he’d ducked out. He tried not to dwell on his own stubbornness as he drove. He was already dealing with his lateness, and that was enough for right now. There was a small beat-up car parked alongside his grandfather's when he arrived, and the owner was nowhere to be seen, which meant she must have ventured inside. That was far from ideal. He hadn't had much time to broach the delicate subject with his grandfather, but he already knew from past attempts that it wouldn't be well received. The doctor had made the suggestion this time, though, that had to count for something? David had, of course, scoffed at the idea, but then two days later nearly burned the kitchen down whilst cooking dinner. Again. River was at his limit. With work so unpredictable, he couldn't be there when David needed him, and something had to change. He’d been loath to admit it, but then the doctor had passed the number to him, and he figured it was worth a try.

*

She'd answered on the second ring, bright and breezy.

“Hi, hello?”

“Are you… are you the person offering in-home support?” He asked hurriedly, as if his grandfather would overhear him despite the distance between them.

“No, Poppy, not the icing just yet, sweetheart. Sorry, yes, that's me. I'm just with a family at the moment. It's my last day so we're making cakes.”

“Cakes? I didn't know that was part of what you do?”

“Well it depends on the family, really. I've been looking after Poppy's mum, while she recovers from an operation, so this time it's been school runs, helping with homework, general domestic work. My last family before this one I was looking after an elderly couple, cooking, cleaning, administering medicines. My duties are often different depending on the people. I used to just sit and read aloud to one lady.”

“Oh.” He said quietly.

“You're new to this?” She guessed. “That's OK, why don't you let me know your circumstances?”

*

And so here he was, about to be in trouble on all fronts. His grandfather would hate that he was hiring help, and the woman he hired was about to bear the brunt of David's temper and his rapidly deteriorating mind, so of course, she’d end up hating River for that. He braced himself for a frosty welcome. He opened the old oak door with a soft click, trying not to insert himself immediately into the argument which was… not occurring? He moved quietly through the downstairs of the house, following the sounds from the library.

“And now, my dear, you see I have you in check.” His grandfather said, River could hear the smile in his voice. “We also have company at last. Come on in, my boy.” Rumbled. He peered around the door to see a teapot and three cups laid out on the table with two in use, and his grandfather sat across from a woman with the chessboard between them. “This young lady is from the book club at the local library. She’s trying to get me to sign up!” A frown crossed River’s face.

“Well actually,” the woman began,

“Sounds great, grandad. And you're… teaching her to play chess?” River interrupted.

“Exactly that. It's a curious game of logic and passion, everyone should learn it.” David replied gleefully.

“If I could just have a word, Mr Cartwright?” The woman spoke up again.

“Yes?” Both Cartwright gentlemen answered before River took the lead,

“Yes, of course.”

“Always turned by a pretty girl,” David rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for that, Grandad,” he muttered. “I'll put some more tea on?”

“Good man.” David settled back at the table and reviewed the chess board. “Don't go far, young lady, there's still a lot to learn.” The woman followed River to the kitchen where he braced his hands on the countertop with his head down.

“I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry I'm late.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Seren.” She offered her hand, and he shook it.

“Yes, yeah, sorry, that too - nice to meet you, please, call me River. He thinks you're from the library?”

“I did introduce myself, we started talking about books, so I think he must have mixed the conversation up a little. It's no harm, but we should let him know why I'm really here?”

“And we will, for sure, I just… he's… the Old Bastard isn’t going to be happy about this, so I need to do it in the right way. Names and faces are getting harder for him. I’ve lost count how many times he’s nearly burned this kitchen down. He sleeps with a gun by his bed for fucks sake. Sorry.” Seren stayed silent and he prayed to any deity he could think of that she wouldn’t walk out.

“It's best not to prolong the lie, it'll cause more confusion later on. If it helps, I have a lot of experience with this, I’m not scared of the outbursts and moments of confusion and I’ll be right here to remind him of that during his times of clarity.”

“I get that, I do,” he stopped, looking out at the garden. “I don't know how to do this.” He admitted sadly. Seren joined him at the window.

“No one does.” She said softly. “I recommend we start with keeping it very simple, very factual. Explain that you're worried and you think having someone close by will help put your mind at rest.” He nodded in agreement.

“Can't promise it'll go well?”

“I know you can't. Unfortunately, neither can I.” She reasoned. She let him lead the way back to the library where David was still plotting his next move.

“Grandad? I think there's been a mix up. I thought we could do with some help around the house, this is Seren. I’ve asked her to look in on you, maybe make a bit of dinner a few evenings a week.”

“A babysitter?” David’s previously amenable demeanour was gone in an instant.

“No, not… not a babysitter at all. Just some extra help, some company for you?” River held up his hands in surrender.

“Young lady, get out of my house,” David demanded sternly.

“Stay, please Seren.” River implored. The woman looked genuinely torn.

“Let me give you both some space,” she concluded, turning to River. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He nodded gratefully, the relief that she wasn’t leaving the house entirely was clear to see.

“Grandad, please?” River pleaded once they were alone. The elder Cartwright ignored him, turning his attention to the chessboard again. “I’m worried about you. Fires in the kitchen? A gun by your bed?”

“They’re always watching, we must remain vigilant.” His grandfather said quietly. River dragged a hand down his face.

“No one is watching you.”

“How would you know? Over with the rejects, out of the loop and fussing over parking tickets and unpaid licence fees.” River felt the blow. He’d worked so hard, or as hard as was allowed at Slough House, to prove to David that he was still a capable Agent. Someone who did have a future with the service. His grandfather had never doubted the Stanstead stitch up, in fact it was more proof to him that they were trying hard to erase the Cartwright name, but there was still an unspoken assumption that River could have and should have done more. River felt the pressure of it every day in the offhand comments his grandfather made. And those were only getting more frequent with David’s declining mental capabilities.

“You’re right. I don’t know,” River was forced to admit. “But the thought of you here alone terrifies me and I need you to understand why I’m doing this.”

“I won’t pay her.”

“I will.”

“I won’t speak with her or engage with her while she’s here.”

“Fine, I’ll let her know.”

“I don’t like this, River.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s happening. I’m sorry, but… I can’t take no for an answer on this. I’m giving her a key to come and go as she needs to. Speak to her or don’t, she’ll make sure you have food, she’ll collect your medications, she’ll be here whether you agree or not.”

“I think it’s time you left, don’t you?” David concluded, completing the chess game he’d ultimately ended up playing with himself. River placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he promised. He found Seren in the kitchen, as promised, her head deep in the fridge. She pulled out a few items and threw them into the open bin she’d pulled closer.

“Something stinks in here. I’m just getting rid of anything out of date and I’ll refill it tomorrow.” She told him, grimacing at the smell from the salad drawer. From a quick glance, he could see that the teapot and cups had been washed, the table was clear of clutter and crumbs and the grimey window had been pushed open to let in the last of the day’s sun. He released a long sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in.

“Thank you,” he began, not really knowing what to say. She’d done more in the ten minutes she’d been left alone than David had managed for the last six months or more. He took a key from his pocket, along with his wallet, and started counting out a few twenty pound notes. She closed the fridge and turned back to face him.

“The seal is gone on the fridge door. I’ll get a new one and fit it in the next few days.” She scribbled on a notepad he hadn’t spotted on the table, the makings of a to do list. He could already see clean windows and food shop on the list. He took out another twenty quid.

“This is all the cash I have on me right now,” he explained, holding it out. She took the notes from him, kept twenty and passed the rest back to him.

“This covers the shopping. We’ll work out the rest later.”

“He won’t give you a penny-”

“I know, and that’s fine. I can handle this.”

“He’s going to be mad at you when he’s with it enough to know what’s going on, and he’s going to be mad at you when he hasn’t got a clue who you are or what’s going on.”

“So he’s going to be mad at me. I’ll get over it.” She assured him. He stared at the woman in front of him, a smear of dust on her forehead and her hands on her hips. His grandfather’s comments rang in his ear; always turned by a pretty girl. River sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“Let me do my job, Mr Cartwright.” She told him, taking up her notepad and the key. “I’ll be over in the morning with some shopping, I’ll batch cook some meals and start some household stuff. I’ll keep out of his way unless he needs me for something.” And then she was gone, only the scent of her perfume remaining.

*

It became a ridiculous dance. More often than not, River would arrive in the early evening a couple of times a week to find Seren in one room and David in another. He would go between the two trying to determine whether it had been a good day, a bad day or just a day. By the end of the first week, River was convinced Seren hated him for dragging her into his mess. David wasn't speaking to either of them unless it was to shout at them (separately of course). Eventually River was somewhat forgiven enough that David would at least speak to him but he knew that the same could not be said for Seren. River found himself half dreading and half looking forward to his visits. His grandfather essentially ignored Seren which made for an unwelcoming atmosphere but she'd quickly become the highlight of his day.

“Is that for me?” She asked one month into the role. She'd been standing on a windowsill when he arrived, cleaning what she declared to be the final window. He'd set about making dinner and trying to convince David to at least be cordial. She came down a short time later, gathering up her book, phone, notepad and anything else she intended to take with her to find that River had three meals plated up.

“If you'd like to stay? Thought it might be nice?”

“Nice?” She looked behind her to check that David wasn't in earshot, “River, I have spent a month being ignored when he's lucid and shouted and screamed at when he's not. I've cooked, cleaned and fixed things. In that time he has not spoken a single nice word to me, and that's absolutely fine, that's his choice. But I'm sorry, I don't intend to stay a little longer because you've cooked.” He looked aghast.

“I'm sorry. It was selfish to think that you might want to stay.”

“No, it's… it's not selfish. It was thoughtful of you, thank you. I just can't stick around. I'm not wanted here, that's been made clear. I just want to do my job and go home and drown in the bath.” Images which would likely earn him a black eye filled River's mind.

“Leave the girl alone River, let her go home.” David said entering the kitchen. Seren took a big step back, River hadn’t realised how closely they'd been standing.

“Goodnight.” She mumbled and headed out the back door.

*

Seren rested her head against the steering wheel of her car. For six long weeks she’d been David Cartwright’s metaphorical punching bag. Unwilling to tolerate her presence when he was lucid, he was angry and rude, and then in moments when his memories and mind were not his own, the outbursts were worse. She wasn’t sure which of his personalities she preferred, neither were remotely nice to her. She’d transformed the house, fixed multiple broken household items - the fridge, the floorboard she kept tripping on in the hallway, the plug socket she’d been horrified to see sparks coming out of when she used it. Fortunately it had been a socket David hadn’t bothered using, if he had, she was fairly sure the house would have burned to the ground long ago. The fridge was stocked with easy to heat up meals and snacks, and every single surface and window had been cleaned. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she roused herself to retrieve it. River’s name displayed on the caller I.D.

“Hey, how did it go today?” He asked as soon as she answered. She sighed heavily,

“Yeah, fine. Same as usual.”

“Are you sure? Are you ok?”

“I’m sure.” She said firmly. They fell into silence.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” He asked. She stayed silent and swallowed thickly, her shaky breath giving away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Seren, I don’t… is there anything else I can do?” He begged.

“No. We’ll get there, it’s just taking some time. I’m fine, really.” She brushed the tears away, angry with herself for letting the situation get to her, angry with the Cartwright’s for being so stubborn.

“I’ll be there tomorrow.” He promised. She hung up without saying goodbye.

*

The next morning she let herself into the house as usual. She called out and made her way to the sitting room to offer a cup of tea, as she had every morning and as he’d ignored every morning. David met her in the hallway, a pistol in his hand pointing directly at her. Her hands went up immediately and she searched his face for whether or not he recognised her.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” He demanded.

“David, it’s Seren, I’ve been helping out for a few weeks? Cooking, making sure you’re taking your medication and stuff like that?” She spoke softly and tried desperately to keep the tremor from her voice and tried to bring down the tension.

“I don’t know you. I don’t want you here.”

“I know, I know. Believe me, that’s an ongoing battle for another time. Can we put the gun down, David, please?” She pleaded. She knew that he was still physically fairly healthy, strong enough to slam doors in her face and throw the odd mug of tea across the room when he so wished. He was at least as tall as River which meant he towered over her by nearly a whole foot. The gun shook in his hand and she began to fear that rather than pull the trigger on purpose, he would do it by accident. She backed up slowly, towards the foot of the stairs and as soon as she had space between them, she ran for the only room she knew had a lock on the door. Age on her side, she slammed the bathroom door as he reached the top step. She pushed the lock into place and dropped down away from the door, crawling under the sink. Her phone was still in the back pocket of her jeans so she dragged it out and dialled the number that had last called her.

“River, he's just pulled a gun on me. I thought you were making shit up before but he has a fucking gun!”

“Shit, shit. Is he… himself?”

“No, he has no idea who I am.” The bathroom door rocked on its hinges as David banged on it, causing Seren to scream down the phone.

“I’m on my way.”

“I need to call the police.”

“No, please, please don’t do that. I’ll be there in an hour. Less than. Stay down, keep the door locked.” He begged and hung up before she could argue. The door stopped shaking. She waited quietly,

“Get out of there before I shoot through the lock!” He bellowed, banging the door again. Seren flinched, hugging her knees. She knew full well it would take longer than an hour unless he broke every single speed limit on the way. Seren was eyeing up the window and trying to work out if she could manage the jump without breaking anything when the door banged again.

“Shit!” David called out, clearly in pain.

“David? Are you ok? What happened?” She asked as gently as she could, crawling back towards the door. She knelt in front of it and listened for movement on the other side. There was nothing but silence. “Shit, shit, shit.” She cursed, there was no decision to make, she knew what she needed to do but still dreaded it. She reached up to slide back the lock and opened the door a crack. David sat in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a bloodied hand in his lap. He looked up at the daylight spilling into the space and saw the tears on her face and the fear in her eyes. “What happened David?” She whispered.

“Oh. Oh my dear girl, I’m not sure,” he sounded confused and scared, no longer imprisoned by his mind, he recognised her. “Seren, I’m not sure what happened.” He admitted. She fell to her knees in relief at hearing him use her name. She moved close to sit by him and gently reached for his hand. A small cut ran from the side of his little finger down towards his palm, nothing serious but with all the banging and commotion it had bled probably a little more than a normal hand injury. He suddenly felt so frail to her and it was heartbreaking.

“It’s ok, I’m here now. I’ll help you get that sorted.” She said softly, carefully and kindly taking his hand.

*

When River appeared 57 minutes later, he had not expected to see Seren and his grandfather enjoying tea and lemon cake in the kitchen. Since the day he'd introduced them he hadn’t once seen them in the same room.

“River, what are you doing here? Should you not be at work?” David asked. River’s eyebrows landed somewhere in his hairline and it took a look at Seren and the barely visible shake of her head for him to recover. He noted the bandage on David's hand.

“Had some time to spare, thought I'd drop in.”

“Never missing out on cake, I see. Seren brought this from the bakery.”

“We can have a walk there tomorrow, if you like? Get something nice for lunch?”

“Now that does sound an excellent idea.” David smiled.

“D'you hurt your hand?” River asked.

“Aye, caught it on a loose hook by the bathroom door. Gave Seren quite a scare when she came out of there.” He explained.

“I'll bet.” River took his time sitting down, using the time to appraise Seren and the scene before him. He could see she'd been crying. She offered a small nod, acknowledgement that she was OK, but the sigh indicated that there was definitely a conversation to be had.

“Why don't I take the tea to the sitting room? You can catch up while I finish cleaning up upstairs. Go ahead Mr C, make yourself comfortable.” She helped him up from the table, he was clearly exhausted by his exertion of the morning. She piled up a tray which River returned for once his grandfather was settled.

“Well?” He asked impatiently.

“Well River, your lovely Pops pulled a gun on me at the front door and ordered me out of the house. I managed to hide in the bathroom where I called you and you begged me not to call the police. I think he scared himself when he cut his hand. It brought him back from,” her hand waved in the air above her head, “wherever. I think he scared himself enough to realise that I might actually be here to help.”

“And the gun?” She passed by him in the narrow space between the table and the counter and opened the freezer, pulling out the handgun.

“Didn’t know where else to put it that neither of us would use it.” She shrugged. “Anything like that happens again, and I'm gone, got it?” River nodded, suddenly grateful that he hadn't come across a crime scene. Even more grateful that Seren hadn't walked out and left them.

Chapter 2