#she could be the woman of my dreams me thinks

[cannibaliist]

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right. 

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather. 

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night. 

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you. 

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket. 

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep. 

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer. 

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter. 

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.” 

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?” 

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.” 

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones. 

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you. 

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before. 

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming. 

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.” 

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way. 

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”  

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you. 

“Hurry, please.” 

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her. 

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate. 

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.  

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt. 

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her. 

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps. 

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble. 

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her. 

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her. 

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue. 

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego. 

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”  

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.” 

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it. 

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra. 

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind. 

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both. 

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob. 

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips. 

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point. 

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else. 

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again. 

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you. 

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again. 

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.” 

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress. 

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard. 

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw. 

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion. 

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic. 

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you. 

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.  

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again. 

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.” 

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly. 

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep. 

~~~~

[spiderb00]

- BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL

Sophia Laforteza x reader  | (request)

"You and Sophia hate each other, but maybe it's not quite like that..."

Genre – Fluff        Warnings – Not reviewed (sorry, I'm sleepy) 

Now playing – Still Into You, by Paramore 

A sigh of breath came from your lips as soon as you parked your car in front of the house of one of your childhood friends. The moonlight illuminated part of the street and when you turned off the headlights of your car everything seemed to have become a little more tense. Getting out of the car, you took a deep breath, bottle of red wine in hand to at least say that you brought something to the small party.   

When you rang the doorbell, your whole body shuddered, not only because it was a little cold outside, but because of the anxiety of seeing all your childhood friends together again, especially one of them.  

When the door opened, you froze, staring intently at the person who had opened the door for you. Sophia Laforteza, in all her glory. Many might say you were sworn enemies in high school, but you couldn't disagree more.   

"Oh, it's you..." Her tone showed that maybe she hadn't let go of the little disagreements you had.   

Giving an awkward smile, you watched Sophia move out of the way, a silent permission for you to enter. The house was full of conversation and laughter, and before you could think of what to say to Sophia, one of your longtime friends clung to you.  

"YN!" Maya screamed, hugging your neck with excitement. "I didn't know if you would actually come, you seem to be always so busy with your company. Come on, come in." the woman said, pulling you by the wrist.   

If you had turned your face, you would have seen Sophia roll her eyes, walking up to one of the closest friends she had at school and collapsing next to her on the couch. 

"Wow, it feels like you've come back with one of the heaviest energies I've ever felt in my entire life. Who was at the door? O Nosferatu?” Abby, Sophia's friend, asked.   

"Worse, Yn." Sophia said, crossing her arms like a tantrum child.   

"Yn? Like, that girl who had a crush on you?" Abby asks, taking a sip of her martini.   

"She didn't have a crush on me, she hated me. She always tried to steal my roles in school plays. Not to mention when she tore up the letter someone wrote to me on Valentine's Day." Sophia's gaze was watching the kitchen, maybe she wasn't in her right mind, and just maybe she wanted to throw the hollow of the coffee table on your head.   

"Girl, that girl liked you, I'm not crazy. By the way, I'm always right, remember?!"   

"What? Don't you remember how it happened?" 

- High School, Manila – six years ago. 

At that school, every sixteen-year-old's dream was to get a Valentine's Day letter. It was a school custom for a post office to be made during Valentine's Day, so when the day came, everyone would write letters to the people they had a crush on, and that letter would be delivered to each other's lockers during class.   

With the classroom still empty, Sophia and Kylie talked freely, cheerful and super excited to see if their passions had sent them something.   

"I don't know, I just wanted Yn to stop being so boring and like me, at least a little bit." The young Sophia said, organizing the materials for the next class and leaving them metrically positioned on the table.   

"I've already told you that I think she only does all that to get your attention." Abby said, looking at herself in the mirror as she smeared lip gloss.  

"You'll still admit that I'm right, Sophie." Abby said, making Sophia roll her eyes at the nickname. "Do you think Dylan likes my lip gloss?" The girl asked.   

"He'd be an idiot if he didn't like it." Sophia says, making Abby laugh. "It seems lovely to receive a letter from him."  

"He's adorable." Abby said, a cocky tone coming out of her words.   

"I don't think he likes me." Sophia said, pointing to a pencil, so she wouldn't have to do this during class.  

"Of course he likes you, he's just shy." Abby said, not wanting her best friend to think bad things about her boyfriend.   

"yes, it could be." Sophia said, not paying much attention to the words of the girl next to her.   

"Anyway, let's hope you get your letter today." Abby said, making Sophia laugh lightly as she shook her head.   

While Sophia and her friend laugh at the conversation, Yn enters the room, accompanied by Zack, one of the nerdy boys who always hung out with her. Choosing Sophia's back seat, Yn sat down, and the Filipino girl observed the girl's different behavior.   

 "Have you finally decided to pay attention in class instead of sleeping in all of them?" Sophia asked, her tone sounding too sarcastic for Yn.  

"Why don't you take charge of your life." Yn said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, making the Filipina furrow her brows at her. Turning in her chair, Sophia missed something very important, the sigh and the look of sadness that Yn had on her face.  

After school was over, young Sophia was crossing her fingers. Sophia had asked her faithful friend, Abby, to open the door to her closet, wanting to be quick to pick up the letter, but too afraid to look first. The Filipino girl had her back turned, and when she heard the soft creak of her closet door, only one question crossed her mind.   

"And then? Is there something in there?" Sophia asked, the tone of her voice evidenced how nervous she was.  

"Yes." Abby said, positioning the letter she had ordered inside Sophia's closet, in front of the Filipina's face. 

Sophia's breathing was quickened, her hand rose and her hand was aching, tingling to have the letter finally in her possession. As Sophia's fingers brushed against the envelope's paper, a gust of wind hit her, and along with it Hurricane Yn. On top of her battered skateboard, Yn had just stolen the letter from Sophia's hands, paddling her feet faster on the ground, practically flying with the board on wheels.   

"YN! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"   

Passing like lightning through the students, maneuvering and dodging all possible things, Yn tried to go faster. Looking back, the problem girl saw Sophia running towards her, like an angry bull, a bomb about to explode, like anything that could hurt a lot, and Yn was the target.   

Luckily, some students passing through the front door of the school kept it open, giving Yn easier access to the parking lot. With the passenger door open, Yn's nerdy and rich friend, Zack, was waiting for her, nervous that one of them would get into serious trouble. When the boy finally saw Yn coming towards him, he quickly shouted, warning Yn that Sophia was right behind her.   

"YN, COME BACK HERE!" Sophia screamed, still trying to reach the girl, who was now hanging from the door of Zack's Jeep.  

"SORRY!"   

It was the only thing Sophia heard Yn say before the car accelerated. 

"Now do you remember? You ran with me, the whole school thought we were crazy!" Sophia said, finishing remembering the story to Abby.   

"It doesn't matter, we were children. I remember very well how you wanted to receive a letter from her that day." Abby countered Sophia's line, making the woman roll her eyes. "You always rolled your eyes at me in high school, and I was always right."  

"There's no way she'll like me." Sophia muttered.   

"There's no way she'll like me." The same phrase was repeated in the kitchen.   

Yn, who had now begun talking to Maya and Zack about her complicated relationship with Sophia, took a big sip of the beer she had in her hand, trying to forget what a little disaster she was when Sophia opened the door.   

"I never understood, why did you steal her letter anyway?" Maya asked, making you look at Zack.  

Seeing as you were looking at him, the man quickly prepared a shot of tequila for you, which you readily accepted. The liquid burned your throat, and when you finished feeling the consequences of alcohol in your system (just for now), you hit the small empty shot glass on the counter.  

"Let's go..." 

Games has always been one of your favorite topics of conversation with Zack, but when you got close to the classroom, something a little more interesting caught your eye.  

"He's adorable." Abby said, a cocky tone coming out of her words.   

"I don't think he likes me very much." Sophia said, pointing to a pencil, so she wouldn't have to do this during class.  

"Of course he likes you, he's just shy." Abby said, not wanting her best friend to think bad things about her boyfriend.   

Stopping abruptly, you began to pay attention to the girls' conversation. Zack, slightly confused by your extravagant, looked at you as if to ask what was wrong. 

"What are you doing? Let's go in." Before he made the presence of the two of you recognized there, you grabbed him by the back of his shirt, putting your hand on his mouth as he tried to protest.   

"Shut up and listen." You whispered aggressively, causing your friend to raise his hands in surrender.   

"yes, it could be." Sophia said, not paying much attention to the words of the girl next to her.   

"Anyway, let's hope you get your letter today." Abby said, making Sophia laugh lightly as she shook her head. 

That was it, all was lost, your plan to deliver a letter to Sophia and finally confess your feelings to her was over. Every time you tried to do projects in pairs, discreetly changing the teacher's list of names, or every time you auditioned for the male role in a play just because Sophia would narrow down as the princess who needed to be saved, all of that had gone down the drain, she liked another boy.   

Finally understanding what was happening there, Zack put his hand on your shoulder, your sad look made the boy feel bad for you.   

"I'm sorry, Yn." Zack said, trying to comfort you about your first broken heart. 

"Alright, I mean, at least she doesn't know I like her, it would be a clime." You said, laughing falsely as you tried to mask your pain.   

When Zack was going to tell you not to pretend, your eyes widened, a sensation taking over your body, making you shiver from head to toe, the only thing your mind weighed was that Sophia could NEVER see that letter.  

"Zack!" You whispered aggressively, grabbing the shoulders of the boy in front of you. "She can't see the letter!" You said, shaking your best friend's shoulders.   

"Hey, I'm going to get dizzy..."   

"As soon as class is over, wait for me in the parking lot with your car running! I have a plan." You said, dropping Zack and entering the classroom.   

"After that, I think she started to hate me even more." You said, taking one more shot. Grabbing a plastic cup with something Zack mixed.   

"But you know what, I don't care, I don't feel anything..."  

Without paying much attention, you ended up missing the moment when Sophia entered the kitchen, turning around just in time and spilling all your crazy drink on her clothes. Her mouth was open, the perfect shape of an 'o', just like Zack and Maya's.   

"Sorry, I..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, the Filipina was already going up the stairs towards the bathroom.   

 With a sigh of defeat, you rubbed your hands over your eyes, thinking about why you couldn't do anything right when it came to Sophia.   

"Go over there." Maya said, pointing with her drink towards the stairs.

"I can't, she'll tear me apart." You said, crestfallen. 

"Or you can finally have a conversation as adults and sort out whatever high school craziness you have to sort out."  

Taking Maya's words as an encouraging, you walked determinedly upstairs. When you came face to face with the bathroom door, leaning your body completely against it, you let out a deep sigh, before finally knocking.  

"It's Yn..."  

"Go away, Yn."  

One more sigh. Maybe those shots were a bad idea, now your head hurt.   

"I'm sorry. Not just for the drink, for everything. I was really stupid, I just thought it was the best way to get your attention, but then you started hating me, and I can't shut my mouth." You keep talking as you slide through the door, sitting in the middle of the hallway.   

"It was all a bad idea, I shouldn't have stolen the letter from you, I shouldn't even have sent it..."   

As soon as you closed your mouth, the bathroom door opened. You fell on your back with a dull thud and groaned as your head hit the ground with some force. As you sat down again, you were sure that those shots were a bad idea.   

"Were you the one who sent the letter?" Sophia asked, genuinely interested in what you had just said.   

"It's... I..."   

"Yn, was that letter yours?" Sophia approached, lowering herself to your height and looking at you with a look you had never seen on her face.   

"Yes." You confessed, another sigh coming from your lips, followed by a sob, which left you half embarrassed. "I heard you talking about another guy that day, you know, when I was walking into class." You confessed, another sob coming out of your lips, making you lower your head so that Sophia wouldn't see how embarrassed you were. 

"Wait, man? I wasn't talking about any guy..."   

"Yeah, you were talking about how sure you were that he didn't like you, and then Abby made sure he did. I was just scared of ruining something you really wanted."  

Analyzing your words, Sophia couldn't believe it. You liked her too, you were both hiding your real intentions for fear of something silly getting in the way. Finally remembering the conversation she had with Abby that day, Sophia started laughing, it was a little funny and sad to think that the two of you could have been together all this time. 

"I was talking about Abby's boyfriend, you stupid." Sophia said, pushing your chest, making you look at her with a confused expression.  

"So you didn't like any guys?" You asked, making Sophia deny it with her head.  

"No. In fact, I really wish you had sent me a letter that day, if you had arrived a little earlier to eavesdrop on my conversation, you would have listened." Sophia said, sitting next to you and touching her shoulder with yours.   

"You know, I never wanted to go into the theater to steal your role in the cast." You said, another letting a sob escape. "I wanted to be your date."   

Smiling, Sophia looked at you, the Filipina's gaze going down your chest, until it landed on your hands, which were on your lap. With a slight smile on her face, Sophia took your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers, making you look into her eyes for the first time.   

"Do you still want to be?" 

Hey guys, sorry for the delay with the requests, I'm trying hard. But lately I've also been very busy taking care of my farm and my WIFE Haley, we have a son now, her name is Ani (like anora)

Anyway, now seriously, I'm trying to make the requests, but I'm trying to enjoy my vacation, in a little while my college classes start and then it will get more complicated.

I also created another profile to write about women outside of kpop, the name of the profile is Sipderb00bs (in honor of the anon who always read my name wrong), I will be receiving requests there too, in case you want to take a look.

Stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

[vampiresbloodx]

arcane characters react to you flirting with them;

characters included; mel medarda, caitlyn, vi, sevika.

a/n: it ended up being more of a confession for the most part :q

Mel medarda;

Mel is used to men hitting on her all the time. It happens more than you think and more than she likes. Even during times where it's less appropriate. When Mel first met you, she thought you were strange, in a good way, she liked you instantly. You were friends with Viktor. You had your wits and humor, she liked talking with you and spending time with you when she was supposed to be doing her work.

She couldn't help but linger around you more, you probably thought she was being a creep, but you didn't seem to mind her presence, in fact, you welcomed it.

The night she wanted to come and see you, you had surprised her with your own visit.

"hi-"

"hello-"

you both paused, smiling to yourselves as she stiffs a chuckle in amusement.

you stood there, biting down on your bottom lip.

"mel-"

"yes?" mel said, giving you her full attention.

"I think... you're the most beautiful woman ive ever met, i know you probably get that a lot, but your beauty goes beyond your looks that most people only seem to see of you, i cant blame them, you're a walking goddess, i dont even know why you would even speak to me.... I" you paused, closing your eyes as she felt her heart pick up a pace, as she watches you carefully gather yourself. "I like you. I know i could never be worthy enough to actually date you..."

before you could say more you felt arms wrap around your neck, pulling you in as you smelt her rich scent, you inhaled it in, hoping if this was a dream you wouldnt wake up.

"I've been hoping you'd come to me, I was going to tell you regardless, I'm so glad you told me."

then she kissed you. her lips felt way better than in your dreams.

Caitlyn;

You see a blue haired beauty sitting in a table not far from where the bar is, the place wasnt that loud tonight, which was weird for you. You've grown so used to the noise that the silence is a bit too much.

your other co worker, who was your friend, had finished their shift already and you were the last one left for close. people still hung around until late, business men, bikers, truckers coming in for a drink stop, group of girls coming in for some fun.

The usual.

You thought youve seen it all, then you laid eyes on her.

she was prettier than the night sky.

you wondered why she was sitting by herself looking so pretty in that blue dress, did someone set her up? did her date not come? that seems hard to believe why would anyone miss out on that.

You decided to go over to her.

"Did they not decide to show?" you started up a conversation.

Light and easy.

she looked up, not expecting anyone to talk to her.

"canceled last minute, i hope they crash."

you couldnt help but laugh at that, she smiled.

"Why would they cancel on someone as beautiful as you?" you asked, out loud, god you hoped she didn't think you were a creep.

"are you trying to fill their spot?" she asks boldly with a raised eyebrow, you stared into her gaze.

"I finish in 5."

you lied.

"Doesnt this place stay open for another hour?" she questions.

"so is that a no?"

"I never said that, see you in 5."

Vi;

usually vi would be the one to hit on girls, asking them out, taking them out on dates, flirting with them. but that all changed when she met you, a biker she fell in love with at first sight.

you had come into the bar she was already at, drinking away, she was in a mood, she had gotten in a fight and couldnt be bothered dealing with more idiots.

but you came walking in and stole her whole heart.

she thought you were a creepy man at first, trying to get in her damn pants, when she heard someone sit on the stool next to her, she wanted to curse.

but when she looked and saw you taking off your helmet, her heart stopped.

you caught her staring.

"Hi? is there something on my face?" you asked, nervous.

she wasn't expecting that.

"ah, i got it" she watched you wipe a bit off dirt away from under your eyes, she was captivated by you. "Can i get you a drink?" you asked.

thats usually her line. wait, did you just flirt with her? and she wasnt the one calling the shots?

she froze, blushing hard.

"you okay?" you asked, worried.

"yeah, yeah, uh, its nothing. ill have a whiskey."

"you like whiskey too? youve got taste" you hummed, she bit down on her lip hard.

she let you take her back to yours that night, and she doesnt regret it. neither do you.

sevika;

Sevika wasnt one to take compliments. But secretly, she had a soft spot for them. On the outside, shes rough, shes still rough on the inside, but she only shows those certain softness for those she really cares about.

She knew you for a lil while, you had come in working for Silco, she was obviously wary of you at first and kept her distance.

And a part of her always wanted to be near you.

It started with that and then it turned into something more, she couldn't stop thinking about you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off her whenever she was in the room, you felt your breath leave your body, she was a goddess.

After a few drinks, you couldnt stop yourself from going to the woman who sat by herself, you caught her eyeing you throughout the night.

Deciding your fate, you sit in the chair next to her.

"Sevika, I think you're really pretty.... like so pretty. You can hate me forever if you wanna, but I like you so much" you spilled everything to her, the whole truth, as she sat in silence and watched intensely. "wow, the power of alcohol, im.... ignore what i said, fuck, Ill leave you-"

you felt a strong grip grab your thigh, making you turn your attention back to her.

"Who said I wanted you to leave?" Sevika said with a grin, rubbing her hand on your skin causing your body to shudder from her touch. "You wanna follow me, hm, baby?" she murmured.

You nodded.

and happily followed her into the night.

[softdrabbles]

processing the fact that carmen had been with someone after they had left was hard enough but they were not prepared for what was to follow that information regarding who it was she had dated. of course they knew who charlotte was, everyone did. it made daxton sick, the woman was practically perfect in every way. they'd even joked with ashton numerous times about how attractive she was whilst they watched sports broadcasts together over the years. it was clearly visible that the gears were turning in daxton's brain as they comprehended what carmen was saying. that they had been the cause behind their parting of ways. carmen could have had everything, a life far from anything they could provide for her and yet that wasn't enough for her.

"why?.... why would you do that?" they asked finally, their mind still stuck on the fact she could have lived comfortably with someone who adored her. "why would you give up an incredible life with someone so stable in every way? someone who clearly loved you? for me. the idea of me. i'm just some junkie fuckup and she's - she's charlotte fucking spencer, carmen." she had no idea if they'd crossed paths again and gave that up for what? a hope that daxton would come home? "she could have given you a life i could only dream of providing you." the thought of meeting the woman made daxton feel even more nauseous, knowing the woman knew way too much about them for their liking. "if i were her i'd hate my guts. i can't even hate her for being with you because she helped you be a person again after i fucked everything up." hearing the two were good friends didn't surprise them, carmen was so easy to like and get along with and charlotte sounded like a breeze to be around but that meant meeting the woman was inevitable, yet their brain also couldn't move past the chemistry the two supposedly shared and daxton was a jealous person. "i think i need a little time before i meet her."

admitting the relationship she had after daxton was almost painful, but she didn't regret the relationship. carmen learned how to love again and learned to slowly put down her barriers. she loved charlotte but she wasn't daxton as mean as that sounded. but even charlotte knew that deep down but still was willing to be with carmen. carmen shook her head at daxton's question. " no. they moved here from the city years ago. she's a sport newscaster. you've probably seen her on tv." thankfully their relationship had been lowkey that there was no media tabloid to expose their relationship. that is what she loved about her small town. they didn't care much unless it was something scandalous (i.e. the matthews twin being booted from their home, or her family moving into the neighborhood). carmen cleared her throat. " charlie spencer." they were silent for a moment before speaking up again. " she came into the cafe a lot and ashton thought i should shoot my shot with her cause i guess we had chemistry or whatever." she shook her head. " anyways, we both mutually separated. it wasn't fair for me to date her when my mind was still on you after all these years; and she knew that but didn't say anything because she was enjoying what we had. we both still have a lot of love for each other but as friends. im sure she would love to meet you."

[novaursa]

Caught by Fire (the meddling)

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the gem

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

The gardens of the Red Keep were alive with the soft sounds of birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. The sun shone brightly, its warm light filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows across the cobblestone paths. You sat beneath a sprawling lemon tree with Princess Rhaenyra, a small table between you laden with a pitcher of chilled wine and two goblets. A faint floral scent hung in the air, mingling with the crisp citrus tang of the nearby blossoms.

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair, swirling the wine in her goblet with a lazy hand. Her silver hair, always meticulously arranged for court, was looser now, the soft waves framing her face. She looked at you with a mischievous grin.

“So,” she began, her tone teasing, “how many lords have declared their undying love for you today?”

You laughed softly, setting your own goblet down on the table. “Only three. I must be losing my charm.”

“Only three?” Rhaenyra said, feigning shock. “You’ll have to try harder. I had at least five this morning alone.”

“Were they all trying to outdo each other in their flattery?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. “Or was it a competition to see who could bow the lowest?”

“Both,” Rhaenyra replied with a laugh. “One of them compared my eyes to the stars. I nearly told him he should spend less time stargazing and more time improving his swordsmanship.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “They’re all the same, aren’t they? Empty words, grand gestures, and nothing of substance.”

Rhaenyra sighed, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. “Exactly. It’s as if they think we’re prizes to be won rather than people with minds of our own.”

“Perhaps they’re afraid of our minds,” you suggested, your tone light but with a trace of bitterness beneath it. “After all, a clever woman is far more dangerous than a sharp sword.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “True enough. But it’s exhausting, isn’t it? Having to listen to the same rehearsed speeches over and over again.”

“Exhausting doesn’t even begin to describe it,” you said, reaching for your goblet again. ��I’ve started to wonder if any of them see us as more than Targaryens. Do they care about who we are, or just what we represent?”

Rhaenyra’s smile faded slightly, her expression turning thoughtful. “Sometimes I wonder the same. Do they want me, or do they want the Iron Throne? Do they want you, or do they want to tie themselves to our House?”

You nodded, the weight of her words settling over you. “It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? But I suppose that’s the game we’re meant to play. Smile, nod, let them think they’re winning us over.”

“For the sake of the realm,” Rhaenyra said, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“For the sake of the realm,” you echoed, your voice dry.

There was a pause as you both sipped your wine, the comfortable silence broken only by the gentle hum of the gardens. Finally, Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice quieter now.

“Have you ever considered what it would be like… to marry for love?” she asked, glancing at you from beneath her lashes.

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet. “I have. But it feels like a dream, doesn’t it? Something we’re not allowed to have.”

Rhaenyra sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Sometimes I envy the smallfolk. They don’t have to deal with all this—alliances, politics, endless suitors. They can choose who they want, without worrying about the consequences.”

“Or they have no choice at all,” you pointed out gently. “Their lives are hardly free.”

“True,” Rhaenyra conceded, a faint smile returning to her lips. “But at least they’re spared the poetry.”

You laughed, raising your goblet in a mock toast. “To freedom from bad poetry.”

“To freedom from bad poetry,” Rhaenyra echoed, clinking her goblet against yours.

The two of you shared a laugh, the tension of the conversation easing for the moment. But as you sat together beneath the lemon tree, the weight of your shared reality lingered, unspoken yet undeniable. You both knew that your futures were not entirely your own, that the choices ahead would be dictated by the needs of the realm rather than the desires of your hearts.

Still, in that moment, it was enough to share the burden with someone who understood.

The Tower of the Hand was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Otto Hightower sat at his desk, his hands clasped together tightly, staring down at an untouched goblet of wine. His usually immaculate desk was cluttered—scrolls askew, ink stains smudging the corners of his notes. The precise order he prided himself on was unraveling, much like his thoughts.

He exhaled deeply, pressing his fingertips to his temples. His mind raced, a chaotic storm of questions and self-recriminations. How had it come to this? When had he allowed himself to be so… distracted? It wasn’t supposed to happen—not to him. He was Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, the steady anchor of the realm.

And yet, here he was, a man brought to the brink of madness over a princess he had no right to even think about.

The knock on his door came too soon, shattering the fragile quiet he’d managed to build around himself. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

The door creaked open, and in sauntered Jasper Wylde, his face alight with mischief. He didn’t bother to wait for an invitation, plopping down into the chair opposite Otto’s desk with all the grace of a man entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, well,” Jasper began, leaning back casually. “I thought I’d find you here, wallowing in your thoughts. And judging by the look on your face, I was right.”

Otto’s glare could have cut stone. “If you’ve come to gloat, Lord Wylde, spare me the theatrics. I’m not in the mood.”

Jasper grinned, unbothered by Otto’s irritation. “Oh, I can see that. The great Otto Hightower, undone by a silver-haired princess. Truly, the gods have a sense of humor.”

Otto groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “You are insufferable.”

“I prefer the term ‘perceptive,’” Jasper quipped, gesturing to the wine. “You should drink that. Might loosen you up a bit.”

“I don’t need to be loosened,” Otto snapped. “I need the realm to stop conspiring against me.”

Jasper chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “The realm isn’t conspiring, Otto. It’s you. You’ve spent so many years focusing on duty and propriety that you’ve forgotten you’re human. And now, one spirited princess comes along, and suddenly you’re questioning everything.”

Otto’s jaw tightened. “I am not questioning everything.”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Jasper said, his grin widening. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like a man seeing sunlight for the first time. It’s almost poetic.”

“This is not amusing,” Otto growled, his voice low. “If Daemon—or worse, Viserys—suspected even a fraction of what you’re insinuating, it would mean disaster.”

Jasper shrugged. “Then don’t let them find out. But you can’t sit here pretending you don’t care. You’ve already sent her a gift. You’re already in deeper than you want to admit.”

“That was a gesture of gratitude,” Otto said firmly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

“Gratitude?” Jasper snorted. “Please. That hairpin was practically a love letter.”

Otto shot him a withering glare. “If you value your position, you’ll keep your mouth shut about this.”

“Oh, I won’t tell anyone,” Jasper said, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eye. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy watching you squirm.”

Otto groaned again, his head falling into his hands. “Seven hells, why am I even entertaining this conversation?”

“Because deep down, you know I’m right,” Jasper said smugly. “You’re in the middle of a crisis, Otto. And it’s glorious.”

Otto sat up, fixing Jasper with a look of pure exasperation. “I am not in the middle of a crisis.”

“You’re brooding in your tower, snapping at everyone, and questioning your very existence over a woman,” Jasper said, ticking off each point on his fingers. “If that’s not a crisis, I don’t know what is.”

Otto stared at him, his patience hanging by a thread. “What do you suggest I do, then, Lord Wylde? Profess my undying affection and hope for the best?”

Jasper laughed, loud and unrestrained. “Gods, no. You’d terrify her. Just… let it play out. Stop trying to control everything for once in your life.”

Otto scowled, but the words lingered uncomfortably in his mind. “Your advice is bleak,” he muttered again.

“And you’re hopeless,” Jasper countered, standing and clapping Otto on the shoulder. “But that’s what makes this so entertaining. Good luck, my friend. You’re going to need it.”

With that, Jasper left, his laughter echoing down the corridor. Otto sat in silence, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him once more. He stared at the goblet of wine, considering Jasper’s words even as he tried to dismiss them.

The gods, it seemed, had decided to make him the punchline of their grand joke. And he hated that part of him—small and traitorous though it was—didn’t entirely mind.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with the quiet murmur of courtiers and the occasional clink of goblets. The day’s business was light, and the nobles of King’s Landing milled about in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and gossip. Otto Hightower stood near one of the tall windows, his posture as rigid as ever, though his mind was anything but.

He had spotted you earlier, a flash of silver hair and a vibrant blue gown catching his attention as you entered the hall. You moved with an effortless grace, your presence commanding attention without even trying. Otto, against his better judgment, saw an opportunity—a rare moment when you weren’t surrounded by Rhaenyra or a gaggle of noble ladies.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way toward you, rehearsing his words in his mind. Casual. Polite. Nothing more than a conversation, he reminded himself.

You stood near one of the side tables, inspecting a goblet of wine with a faintly amused expression. As he approached, you glanced up, your eyes meeting his.

“Lord Hightower,” you greeted, inclining your head. “I didn’t expect to see you among the courtiers today.”

Otto offered a faint smile, bowing his head slightly. “Even the Hand of the King must indulge in lighter company from time to time.”

You arched a brow, a trace of amusement in your expression. “And here I thought you thrived on the weighty matters of state.”

“Perhaps I do,” Otto replied smoothly, “but even the most steadfast ship requires calm waters now and then.”

Your smile widened, and you gestured to the goblet in your hand. “Do you indulge in wine, my lord, or is that too frivolous for the Hand of the King?”

“On occasion,” he admitted, a flicker of warmth in his tone. “Though I find my indulgences lean more toward conversation.”

“Then I’m honored to provide it,” you said lightly, setting the goblet down. “What shall we discuss, Lord Hightower? The state of the realm? Or perhaps the poetry of the Reach?”

“Whatever pleases you, Princess,” Otto said, his voice steady despite the faint flutter in his chest.

Before the conversation could deepen, a young lord approached—Lord Gawen Corbray, his dark hair neatly combed and his tunic embroidered with the sigil of House Corbray. He bowed deeply, a practiced smile on his lips.

“Princess,” Gawen said, his tone warm and confident. “It is an honor to see you gracing the court today.”

You returned his bow with a polite nod. “Lord Corbray. How kind of you to say.”

Gawen’s gaze flicked briefly to Otto, his smile tightening ever so slightly. “Lord Hightower,” he said with a nod, his tone respectful but pointed.

“Lord Corbray,” Otto replied evenly, his expression unreadable.

Gawen turned his attention back to you, his confidence returning. “I was just speaking with my father about the recent tourneys. Have you had the chance to attend any, Princess? There have been some truly spectacular displays of skill.”

“I have not,” you admitted, your tone polite but distant. “Though I’ve heard the tales.”

“Ah, a shame,” Gawen said, his smile widening. “Perhaps the next one, then. I’d be honored to escort you—if you would permit it, of course.”

Before you could respond, Otto spoke, his tone measured. “The princess’s time is often occupied with matters of far greater import than tourneys, Lord Corbray. Though your offer is… thoughtful.”

The subtle weight in Otto’s words was not lost on Gawen, who straightened slightly, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. “Of course, Lord Hightower. But surely even a princess deserves moments of levity.”

“And yet,” Otto said smoothly, his gaze unwavering, “it is the princess herself who decides how best to spend her time.”

You glanced between the two men, sensing the unspoken hostility. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you addressed Gawen. “Your offer is most gracious, my lord. I shall keep it in mind.”

Gawen’s smile returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am at your service, Princess.” He hesitated, then added, “Lord Hightower, I’m sure the matters of the realm demand your attention. Perhaps I might have a moment with the princess to discuss… lighter matters?”

Otto’s expression remained composed, but his eyes sharpened. “The princess and I were already engaged in conversation. I trust she will let us know when she wishes to change the subject—or company.”

Gawen’s jaw tightened, though he quickly masked it with a bow. “Of course. My apologies, Princess Y/N, Lord Hightower. I shall take my leave for now.”

As Gawen retreated, Otto allowed himself a small, satisfied exhale. You turned back to him, your expression unreadable.

“That was… bracing,” you said, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“My apologies if I overstepped,” Otto said, his tone measured. “I only wished to ensure you weren’t subjected to unnecessary… distractions.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “Is that what he was? A distraction?”

Otto met your gaze, his composure steady. “I would never presume to speak for you, Princess. But I value a conversation of substance over empty flattery.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile. “As do I, Lord Hightower. As do I.”

The conversation resumed, the earlier tension fading as you discussed lighter topics—the gardens, the history of the Keep, even a brief exchange about your shared admiration for Oldtown’s architecture. But as you spoke, Otto couldn’t shake the lingering warmth in his chest—a quiet, insistent reminder of the treacherous path he was treading.

The royal solar of the Red Keep was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft clink of goblets on the table. King Viserys sat in his high-backed chair, swirling the wine in his cup with an air of exasperation. Across from him, his brother, Daemon Targaryen, lounged in his chair with his usual blend of arrogance and ease.

Viserys studied his younger brother for a long moment, his expression a mixture of weariness and frustration. Daemon, as always, seemed entirely unbothered, his silver hair loose and falling over his shoulders, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“You know why I’ve asked you here,” Viserys began, his tone heavy with the weight of responsibility.

“Oh, I can imagine,” Daemon drawled, taking a slow sip from his goblet. “The same tiresome subject you’ve been hounding me about for weeks.”

“Because it’s important,” Viserys said sharply, setting his goblet down with a thud. “She’s your daughter, Daemon. Her future is not something you can dismiss with a wave of your hand.”

“And yet, that’s exactly what I intend to do,” Daemon replied, leaning back in his chair. “The so-called lords of the realm have no claim to her.”

Viserys let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. “You can’t keep rejecting every proposal. These are not petty knights or minor houses, Daemon. These are paramount lords—Lannisters, Tyrells, Baratheons. Marrying her to one of them could strengthen the realm.”

“And weaken her,” Daemon countered, his tone calm but firm. “Do you think she’d thrive as the lady of Storm’s End? Or Casterly Rock? Tied to some lord who sees her as little more than a broodmare?”

Viserys frowned, his fingers drumming against the table. “You’re being unreasonable. A match with one of these houses would elevate her, protect her. It’s what’s best for her.”

“What’s best for her,” Daemon said, his voice taking on an edge, “is to remain where she is, with her family. Not shackled to some pompous lord who only wants her for her name and her blood.”

Viserys sat forward, his frustration boiling over. “She’s not a child, Daemon! She’s a woman grown, and the longer you keep her unwed, the more chaos it invites. The court is already teeming with whispers about her suitors, and every rejection you make only fuels the fire.”

Daemon smirked, clearly unfazed. “Let them whisper. What do I care for their idle tongues?”

“You should care,” Viserys said, his tone rising. “The realm needs stability, and her marriage could bring that. Or would you prefer her name to be dragged through the mud, her reputation tarnished because you refused to act?”

Daemon’s smirk faded, his eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t care about her reputation? About her future? I would burn this castle to the ground before I let anyone harm her.”

“Then stop treating her like a pawn in your game against the lords of the realm,” Viserys shot back. “You’re not protecting her, Daemon. You’re isolating her.”

For a moment, the two brothers stared at each other, the tension between them thick and heavy. Finally, Daemon leaned forward, his tone quieter but no less firm.

“Do you know what she said to me the other day?” he asked, his voice almost conversational.

Viserys frowned, caught off guard. “What?”

“She told me she’d rather have no husband at all than be married to one of these fools who parade themselves before her,” Daemon said, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. “She sees through them, brother. Every flowery word, every empty promise. And she despises it.”

Viserys’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained. “She’s young, Daemon. She doesn’t understand what’s at stake.”

“She understands more than you think,” Daemon said, standing and pacing to the window. He looked out over the city, his hands clasped behind his back. “She has her mother’s spirit. Wild, untamed. You can’t cage that, Viserys. You shouldn’t try.”

Viserys sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “So what, then? You’d have her remain unwed forever? What kind of future is that for her?”

Daemon turned, his expression hard. “One where she’s free. Free to choose her own path. Free to decide what she wants.”

“And what if what she wants is something you can’t give her?” Viserys asked quietly.

Daemon hesitated, the question striking a nerve. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Viserys stood, stepping closer to his brother. “I know you love her, Daemon. I know you want what’s best for her. But you can’t shield her from the world forever. Sooner or later, she’ll have to face it—and you need to let her.”

Daemon’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands tightening into fists. After a long moment, he looked up, his dark violet eyes burning with determination. “If she faces the world, she’ll do it on her terms. Not yours. Not mine. Hers.”

Viserys studied him for a moment, his frustration giving way to resignation. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Daemon said with a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

The king sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the table. “We’ll revisit this conversation soon. Until then, I hope you’ll think on what I’ve said.”

Daemon said nothing, his gaze returning to the city below. As Viserys left the solar, the silence that followed felt heavier than before, filled with unspoken fears and unresolved tension.

Daemon stood alone, staring out over the city as the sunlight faded into the haze of the horizon. Whatever the future held, he knew one thing for certain: he would do whatever it took to protect you, even if it meant defying the realm itself.

The gardens of the Red Keep were quiet in the early morning, the dew still clinging to the petals of roses and the air fresh with the scent of lavender and lemon blossoms. You sat on a stone bench near the edge of the fountain, a book open in your lap, though your eyes were more focused on the rippling water than the words on the page. The tranquility of the moment was a welcome reprieve from the bustling chaos of court life.

The sound of soft footsteps drew your attention, and you glanced up to see Queen Alicent approaching. She was dressed in a gown of emerald green, her auburn hair falling in neat waves over her shoulders. Her expression was warm, but there was a trace of hesitation in her eyes as she drew closer.

“Good morning, Princess,” Alicent greeted with a small smile, her voice soft.

“Your Grace,” you replied, closing your book and standing to curtsy. “You honor me with your presence.”

Alicent waved a hand dismissively, gesturing for you to sit. “Please, no need for formality. I thought I might join you for a while. The gardens are much more inviting than the throne room at this hour.”

You nodded, resuming your seat as Alicent settled beside you on the bench. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the gentle bubbling of the fountain filling the space between you.

“You’ve been the subject of much conversation lately,” Alicent said after a pause, her tone casual.

You arched a brow, glancing at her. “Have I? That’s hardly unusual for a Targaryen at court.”

“True,” Alicent admitted with a faint laugh. “But even among our family, you’ve drawn considerable attention. The lords seem particularly… enamored.”

You sighed, leaning back slightly. “If by ‘enamored,’ you mean relentless, then yes, I suppose they are.”

Alicent smiled, though there was a flicker of something more serious in her eyes. “And yet, you don’t seem impressed by any of them.”

“Should I be?” you asked lightly. “Most of them seem more interested in my bloodline than in me.”

Alicent tilted her head, studying you for a moment. “You’re perceptive. It’s no wonder my father admires you.”

The mention of Otto caught you off guard, though you quickly masked your surprise. “Lord Hightower has been kind,” you said carefully. “He’s a man of great wisdom.”

“Wisdom, yes,” Alicent said, her gaze drifting to the fountain. “But he’s also a man who carries many burdens. Sometimes I wonder if he ever allows himself to set them down.”

You hesitated, unsure where the conversation was leading. “He does seem… dedicated.”

“He is,” Alicent said, her voice quieter now. “Ever since my mother passed, he’s poured himself into his duties. The realm has always come first for him, even at great cost to himself.”

You turned to her, sensing the shift in her tone. “That must have been difficult—for both of you.”

Alicent nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. “It was. He was all I had after she was gone. And while I know he loved her, I think her death left a void he’s never truly filled.”

The vulnerability in her voice caught you off guard. Alicent was always composed, always measured. To hear her speak so openly felt almost… intimate.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked gently.

Alicent hesitated, her hands clasping in her lap. “Because I see how he looks at you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I see how he’s changed since you came to court. He’s… different.”

You blinked, startled by her candor. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Alicent said quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I just… I suppose I wanted to understand. What do you think of him?”

The question hung in the air, and you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “He’s… complex,” you said finally. “He has a keen mind and a steady presence. But he’s also distant, guarded. It’s hard to know what lies beneath the surface.”

Alicent smiled faintly. “That’s fair. He’s always been that way. But I think, deep down, he feels more than he lets on.”

You glanced at her, studying her expression. “And what do you think of this, Your Grace? This… interest he has?”

Alicent sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t know. It feels strange to even speak of it. He’s my father, and I never imagined… But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life is rarely as simple as we wish it to be.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. “It’s a complicated matter, to say the least.”

“More than complicated,” Alicent said with a soft laugh. “But I thought you deserved to know. Whatever comes of it, I only hope… I only hope he finds some measure of happiness.”

The vulnerability in her words struck a chord, and you found yourself seeing Alicent—and her father—in a new light. The weight of duty and expectation pressed heavily on all of you, and in that moment, you realized just how deeply it shaped your lives.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said quietly. “It means more than you know.”

Alicent reached out, briefly touching your hand. “You’re a remarkable person, Princess Y/N. And I think… my father sees that more clearly than anyone.”

With that, she rose gracefully, smoothing her gown as she prepared to leave. “Enjoy the gardens. They’re far more peaceful than what awaits us inside.”

You watched her go, her words lingering in your mind like the faint scent of roses in the air. The morning sun continued to shine, but the warmth it brought felt strangely distant as you turned back to the fountain, lost in thought.

Otto Hightower sat in his chamber. His desk was meticulously organized, as always, though his mind was far from calm. Reports from the Reach lay before him, but he hadn’t truly read them. His thoughts were elsewhere—always elsewhere these days, and he hated himself for it.

A soft knock at the door broke his reverie. He looked up, straightening his posture. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, and Alicent stepped in, her movements graceful yet hesitant and her expression was uncharacteristically nervous. Otto immediately noticed the tension in her posture.

“Alicent,” he greeted, his tone curious. “What brings you here at this hour?”

She closed the door behind her, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I… I need to speak with you, Father. About something important.”

Otto’s brow furrowed as he gestured for her to sit. “Very well. What is it?”

Alicent hesitated, then crossed the room to take the chair opposite him. For a moment, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts, her gaze fixed on her hands. Otto’s frown deepened. Alicent was not usually one to mince words with him.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked, his tone softening slightly.

“I spoke to her,” Alicent blurted out, looking up at him.

Otto blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “To whom?”

“To Princess Y/N,” Alicent clarified, her voice quieter now.

The blood drained from Otto’s face. He leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests. “What exactly did you say?”

“I… I asked her what she thought of you,” Alicent admitted, her cheeks flushing. “And I told her about you. About how you’ve been since Mother died.”

For a long moment, Otto was silent, his expression a mixture of disbelief and horror. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled. “Alicent. Please tell me you’re jesting.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, leaning forward. “I thought she should know, Father. I know what I’ve said before, about pursuing her not to be a wise choice. But you’re clearly… invested in her. And she has a right to understand—”

Otto stood abruptly, pacing to the window as he ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “Gods above, Alicent. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I was trying to help!” Alicent protested, rising to her feet. “You’ve been so… different lately. I thought if I spoke to her, if she understood, it might—”

“Might what?” Otto snapped, turning to face her. “Encourage her to pity me? To humor my foolishness? This is not some courtly game, Alicent. This is a matter that could destroy everything I’ve built.”

Alicent flinched at his tone but held her ground. “You care for her. Don’t deny it.”

“That is irrelevant,” Otto said sharply. “She is Daemon’s daughter. A Targaryen princess. Whatever… feelings I may have are entirely inappropriate.”

“Father,” Alicent said, her voice softening. “You deserve happiness. You’ve given so much to the realm, to all of us. If there’s even a chance—”

“There is no chance,” Otto interrupted, his tone cold. “Do you think Daemon would ever allow it? Do you think Viserys would? The very idea is absurd.”

Alicent’s eyes filled with frustration. “Why must you always think of duty above all else? You’re a man, Father. Not a machine. You’re allowed to feel.”

Otto exhaled sharply, his hands gripping the windowsill. “Feeling has no place in politics, Alicent. It’s a luxury I cannot afford.”

“And yet, you feel,” Alicent said quietly, stepping closer. “I see it every time you look at her. You’re not as cold as you want the world to believe, Father.”

Otto turned to her, his expression weary. “What did she say? The princess—how did she respond to your… meddling?”

Alicent hesitated, then sighed. “She didn’t say much. She was surprised, of course. But I think she… understood.”

Otto groaned, rubbing his temples. “Understood? Gods, this is a disaster.”

“It’s not,” Alicent insisted. “She didn’t reject the idea outright. If anything, I think she admires you.”

Otto gave her a sharp look. “Admiration is not the same as affection. And even if it were, it doesn’t matter. The consequences—”

“The consequences are worth the risk,” Alicent said firmly. “For once, think of yourself, Father. Not the realm. Not the court. You.”

Otto stared at her, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. He wanted to lash out, to tell her she had overstepped. But beneath his anger was something else—a flicker of hope he despised himself for feeling.

Finally, he turned away, his voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

“Perhaps not,” Alicent admitted. “But I couldn’t stand by and watch you suffer in silence. You’ve done so much for everyone else, Father. You deserve something for yourself.”

Otto closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. He hated the vulnerability they stirred within him, the dangerous yearning they awakened.

“Leave me,” he said quietly.

“Father—”

“Please,” he said, his tone softer but no less firm.

Alicent hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish.”

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Otto remained by the window, staring out at the fading light of the evening. His thoughts were a tempest, and for the first time in years, he felt truly uncertain.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Well friends I think it was a very close thing this time. I was cold and having trouble falling asleep and so I was on my phone watching YouTube videos (Adam Rose, the guy who reacts to funny video clips as if he's in them) when it happened. Heart attacks are supposed to be painful. I didn't feel any pain. I just remember getting suddenly very warm and sleepy and hearing my heart monitor alarm but from a distance. To be honest, I thought it was someone else's in another room. While I was out I received visits from six people, all of whom are gone. My parents, my two youngest 'older' sibs, the only woman I think I ever truly loved and wanted to marry and my stepfather. In general these reunions were happy though I'm struggling to remember what was said. But the sight of my stepfather triggered a different response. Rage. I yelled at him to get out of my room. I was so wound up that I think, if I could have gotten out of that bed I would have assaulted him. That bothers me. I thought I'd forgiven him for all the abuse he heaped upon my mother and we kids. But clearly there's some unresolved stuff and work for me to do. The doctor told me it was dreams and I was on some really potent drugs. She's probably right. But they didn't feel like dreams. Seeing Jake's posts broke my heart. He wouldn't have came here unless he was just about certain I was leaving him. I hate that I put him through that. Thank you all for being kind to him. With the exception of a handful of old church friends and less than a dozen blood relations you are all he and I have family wise. I'm really tired and want to sleep a little but also wanted to say hello. God bless you all and all my love. Back here soon.

[e-vay]

Your Music Suggestions

I received a lot of messages in my inbox for music recommendations or song-related asks and instead of commenting on them one-by-one I figured I'd lump them together! Enjoy and thanks for sharing!

Anon asked: Have you listened to "Waiting For The Night" by Armin Van Buuren? If not you have to it's so good🤭 I go right to sleep when I listen to it😴

E: I had never heard of that before. That was super pretty! It's interesting that it makes you sleepy, whereas I think it's a song you'd hear at a club to get you pumped. Either way, thank you for sharing!

Anon asked: So I don’t know if you heard of Epic the musical. But there is a song called “Would you fall in love with me again?” And I can picture Shadow and Aurora in the context of the song. Especially if shadow had just finished dealing with the Black Arms for good and isn’t sure if he would ever be himself. If you haven’t heard the musical, I highly recommend it

E: YES I know Epic and I love it! (and I'm regularly going "🎶𝔭𝔢𝓝𝓔𝓵𝔬𝔭𝓮𝓔𝓔𝓔🎶" because of it haha). That song makes me cry! And now I'm crying even more that you put it in the context of Shadora 😭 Yes I think that's a perfect fit, especially because no matter what, Shadow will always be Shadow! AH! Thank you for sharing that with me!

Anon said: Hey Evay! Give a listen to Stupid Heart by Sorana! This song reminds me so much of an Amy pov, in the beginning before she eventually does end up with Sonic 😊 This artist is actually Romanian, which is what language the original song is in! The lyrics used translated in English is: “You want to leave but won’t take me with you, won’t take me with you, won’t take me with you | Your face and the love in the linden tree reminds me of your eyes” The original song is hard to translate apparently but it’s about love at first sight :) I thought that was pretty cool lore added to an internet classic haha (I’m assuming you must know of the numa numa guy, considering you’ve been on the internet for a long time like me!)

E: I could totally see what you mean by saying this song makes you think of Amy. That was really catchy! And it played on my nostalgia for sure, because yes I am very familiar with the original "Dragostea Din Tei" song haha. Thank you so much for sharing!

Anon said: you’ve probably been sent this a thousand times but I need to know that you know about this (also I love your art 🥹❤️)

E: "My Favorite Thing" IS my favorite thing! The first time I heard it I had to pinch myself because I was like "Is this real or am I dreaming right now?!" I know it's not canon and that Jun'ichi Kanamaru and Taeko Kawada only sang it for fun, but oh my god it fills my heart so much. And it's canon to ME! Also thank you so much, I'm so happy you like my art!

mariahdoby13 asked: What if Aurora listens to die with a smile by Lady Gaga featuring Bruno Mars what was her reaction while listening to the song?

E: That was beautiful! That's definitely one of those songs she'd be listening to on repeat and just crying her eyes out haha

lucidheart3 said: Recently I stumbled upon the song Yours by Post Malone and it reminded me of Shadow and Sonic’s dynamic and wanted to share it with you alongside my thanks!

E: Oh my GOD 😭 These father-talking-about-his-daughter-getting-married songs are KILLING ME! I do think this song is especially fitting, since even though the song is emotional, it's actually kind of threatening haha. VERY on brand for my depiction of Overprotective!Sonic. Thank you so much for sharing, it made me cry!

theaussieblue said: I was reading your comics when this came on, and for some strange reason all I could think of was Shadow's endless journey through space for the woman who had taken his heart.

E: Whoa. I'm really honored that this song made you think of them and I can totally see it too! There's such a haunting sadness to the music that really resonates with that portion of my AU's story. I know I always kind of answer asks with a blunt "Shadow's been in space for most of my AU" but without having written the story into a proper fic yet, I don't think I've done a great job of emphasizing how sad that is meant to be. In trying to find the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, he ends up spending decades on his own in the loneliest place imaginable: outer space! I'm thankful that you were able to feel what I was going for, even if it was with the aid of music. Thank you for sharing, I added it to my Shadora playlist.

Anon said: Have you ever heard the song Not Now by Blink 182? Man, ok idk if this is going to make sense so try to stay with me haha but I was listening to it the other day and the lyrics remind me soooo much of like, a scenario of what Sonic’s inner struggle might be trying to control Dark Sonic & it’s (the lyrics) directed towards Amy. Please tell me you understand and see the visionnnnn!! Lmao I have no one to share this with and I’m going feral over it 😂 (I looove me some dark sonic sonamy struggles )

E: First of all, you had me at Blink 182 lol. You're speaking directly to my alt/punk rock heart! Secondly, I LOVE that little music video you have in your head and I can totally see it! Ahh don't you just love how our brains are able to make up these cinematic pieces to songs?! I hope you have the encouragement you need to write this into a fic or make it into a drawing some day because I'd love to see it! I, too, love the drama of either Sonic or Amy succumbing to the darkness and it's the other that is their lifeline to returning to the light. 😩🤌❤️ Thanks for sharing your vision with me!

inkheartart said: Hi, just curious if you're still taking suggestions for your Sonamy Playlist because I have few. If that's all right. Stand by you - Rachell Platten | I really like you - Carly Rae Jepson | Wildfire - Smash Into Pieces | Love me like you do - Ellie Goulding | Sledgehammer - Fifth Harmony | Love's just a feeling - Lindsey Stirling

E: So many of your suggestions are on point! Admittedly, "Stand By You" is one of those songs that I repeatedly add and remove to the Sonamy playlist. It is 100% them but the only reason I sometimes take it off is because I end up hearing it too many times haha. Also "Sledgehammer" is seriously Amy's unofficial theme! 😍 Thank you so much for sharing these with me! I even added a few of them to the playlist 😊

blueblur4 said: Sonic sings Golden Hour by JVKE to Amy, saying how she looked in his eyes when he first met her, meaning he's confessing his feelings for her. Than on their 30th wedding anniversary Sonic sings it again for Amy for an anniversary gift. When Sonic finishes Amy says, "I remember you singing me that" or "I haven't heard you sing that sing in forever." Meanwhile Aurora is surprised that her dad can sing.

E: That's such a beautiful idea! I really like the idea of Sonic choosing to sing the same song to her at such a milestone anniversary, because I'm sure Amy might have thought he'd have forgotten something like that. It's so sweet!

saphstories said: NO BUT LISTEN I JUST HAD THE CUTEST/FUNNIEST IDEA FOR SHADORA: Shadow goes over to Aurora's house either to pick her up for a date or just hang out and sneaks up to her window (he just seemed a little bit comfy on the window sill in FPS so me theorizing that's a normal thing) and she's listening to music and singing along (Rory being Rory) but Shadow is /shook/ that she's listening to Crush 40...Specifically I Am All Of Me. He doesn't know whether to laugh or be embarrassed but as always when Aurora sings or something he enjoys the show and she's so swept up in it that she doesn't even realize he's there watching her...until she turns around and his sudden appearance scares the bejeepers out of her. Now Shadow starts laughing and Rory's like "Oh yeah?" And to get him back starts BLASTING AT FULL VOLUME: "All Hail Shadow." Singing and dancing so exaggeratedly that Shadow gets embarrassed but goes in to have fun with her (whatever that looks like, dancing and singing or even some air guitaring?)...and then they both get busted because "AURORA TURN THAT DOWN!"

E: LISTEN. If the themes from the games exist in Sonic's world for real, the second Aurora discovered "All Hail Shadow" not only would that song would be blasting NONSTOP because internally she's like "Hell yeah that's my beau" but she would ABSO-LUTELY tease Shadow about it. I just adore this scenario you've described! You totally get the fun energy that I try to build between the two (in addition to the more sappier, romantic stuff). This made me smile!

Anon said: I have a recommended song from a YouTuber that I sometimes watch,it’s called puzzle park,you might like it.

E: I have no idea what this is but I tell you what, that was an absolute blast. I like villain songs and this was giving serious 'villainous vibes' so that was fun!

heroofchaos asked: Have you ever heard a country song called "The Painter"? its by Cody Johnson and I ask because about 3-4 weeks after it hit the radios I suddenly heard Shadow and Aurora in the lyrics.

E: Aw! I had never heard this song before you told me about it. I agree, I think it fits them very well! Aurora is very much an optimist and so she has a very different way of seeing the world than Shadow originally did. Thank you for sending that to me!

pellet-the-cat said: I cannot get this out of my head! Since you headcanon Jeremy Jordan as Rory's Voice, how cool would it be to have Gender Swapped Boon be voiced by Erika Henningsen?🤩

E: This message was not exactly related to a song but I wanted to include it because now it's completely changed how I think about "More Than Anything" (For the better!) 😭 Now when I listen to it, I'm picturing Rory and Boon singing it together (even if it doesn't fit their story, their voices sound so dang good together!). This was such a cool idea, thanks for sharing!

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Broken Angel |4| Mon Rêve

Pairing: Archdeacon! Jungkook x Romani! Fem! Reader

Summary: It all began with a mistake that followed you like a shadow on a sunny day. You crossed paths with the enigmatic Archdeacon of Notre-Dame, Father Jeon Jungkook, who promised to protect you from demons he couldn't fight. 15th Century, Paris. A lie. A stolen heartbeat and a confession that was never heard. He wanted you. You needed him. A secret turned into poison just as fate was cruel and it made him love you. Bounded by his vows and his position, Jungkook could only keep you as close as a dream at his reach. A cruel dream forged in a sanctuary of shadows and thorns.

Warnings: religious themes, dark romance?, forbidden love, AGE GAP (Kook is like 30-ish and oc is in her early twenties), angst,use of offensive slurs (not by koo), mentions/implications of rape, groping, pervy man, mentions of stealing, mentions of lying, talks about redemption/forgiveness, traumatic flashback, Jungkook is a priest 😳, oc is described as a petite woman, oc is described as being of Romani origin but no physical description is given of her other than her small stature (for canon purposes), injury, blood, implied attack on oc, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 5.1k words

A/N: I know it has taken me a lot to update this story and I am so sorry about that. I have good news tho, I just got my first job, darlings! I'm so happy to start on Monday and I'll do my best to keep on writing and posting here as you have all been a great support of my writing shenanigans.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter even though it is a bit more dense and it's longer than other chapters. Koo is a sweetheart (as always) and we'll finally see what has been going on with his woman all along!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments! You know I love to hear what you think of the chapter 🫶🫶🫶

Jungkook paced with anxiousness across his room. You lay on his large four poster bed. The covers were bundled at your feet while the physician examined and cleaned your wound. Your hair was spread out on the pillow, your body limp against the linens that were now stained with blood. 

The candles flickered yet his heart thundered. The room was quiet, but his mind was in chaos. Jungkook paced back and forth, back and forth in his room, his robes sweeping the floor. His hands tightened at his sides, fisting in helplessness. His nails bit at his sweaty palms and his eyes bore desperation in those dark pits of mysterious thoughts. 

“How is she?”

The archdeacon finally spoke. Stopping his pacing as he looked at the young physician. He was a friend of his, Kim Seokjin. A man that had travelled from far lands to learn medicine, picking knowledge from each place he set foot. 

Seokjin looked up, wiping his hands in a cloth as he turned to look at Jungkook. The slightly older man gazed at the priest with sympathy in his brown eyes. He put the cloth away, straightening up and walking towards him as he spoke in a soft voice so as to not wake you up. 

“I managed to stop the bleeding. The wound wasn’t deep, it was more of a slice on her side than an actual stab wound. She should recover with time. Let her rest.”

Jungkook nodded, swallowing the lump of emotions in his throat. It was a bitter gulp. For he was not afraid, not anymore. He was angry, furious at those who had dared to harm her, desperate to find answers. But most importantly, he felt a burning passion to protect her. To keep her safe, to keep her by his side. 

“Thank you, Seokjin.”

The physician nodded, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder in shared sympathy. 

“She’s stronger than she looks, Jungkook. But you must ensure that she doesn’t strain herself. Her body will need time to heal, and she’ll need care—gentle care.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over to your still form on the bed. The pale dance of the candle illuminated your beautiful features, shadows painted your face as if you were a delicate painting of gentle strokes. 

But the slight rise and fall of your chest was his reassurance that you were still with him. Still fighting, still clinging to life. His hands trembled as they rested at his sides so he clasped them behind his back, his grip on himself tight to control his emotions. These feelings that circled his heart like poisonous ivy yet he was already addicted to it. 

“I will. She will have everything she needs.”

And more. 

Jungkook spoke in a low and firm voice yet thought the last part to himself. Seokjin studied him for a moment. He observed the longing in his friend’s eyes, the swallow that bobbed his Adam's apple. The subtle purse of his lips. 

“It’s not just her body that will need mending, wounds like these… they scar more than flesh.”

Seokjin’s words were quiet, meant only for Jungkook to hear. The archdeacon looked back at his friend, his gaze hardening. Jin turned to look at you, sighing deeply at the sight of your limp form on the bed. 

“Whatever happened to her anyway?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his hands fisting by his sides as he lifted his chin in the air. It pained him to think what had happened to you. A part of him burned to know the truth. All the secrets you had been hiding from him. Yet the other half of his heart hesitated. Because he didn’t know what he was going to hear. He didn’t know what his reaction would be to that information. He didn’t know if he’d sympathise with you without wrecking havoc or burning down all of Paris for you.

“I don’t know. Not yet, at least.”

Seokjin nodded, looking back at the young priest with sympathetic eyes. He offered Jungkook a gentle smile, a resigned expression. 

“I hope you find out. Call for me if she worsens, be careful with her.”

The archdeacon dismissed the physician with a subtle inclination of his head and a gesture from his hand. Once alone with the door closed, Jungkook sighed to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trading through his brown and soft locks. His heart was a turmoil of questions and feelings he could no longer control. All the fear, the desperation as you had collapsed in his arms. The love, the lust, the guilt, the sorrow. They all mixed together, creating a cruel concoction of murky thoughts and shadowed desires. 

He walked to the bed —his bed— and looked down at your sleeping form. The sight of you like this, so fragile, so unlike the vibrant force you usually were, struck him like a physical blow to the heart. 

His eyes softened as he knelt by the bed, his knees pressing into the cold stone floor. His fingers hovered against yours, hesitant to touch you. Hesitant to harm you further. Weary of the feelings touching you would stir in his heart, the way they could taint his soul further with this burning desire he couldn’t suppress. 

But he was weak, in his temptation, in his religion. In his own boundaries when it came to you. His hand touched yours, enveloping in the warmth of his large palm. Your skin was cold, your hand limp in his grasp. 

“You should never have been hurt,”

Jungkook whispered, his voice breaking through the stillness of the room and the delicate cracking of the hearth. His fingers curled around yours, holding onto you, tethering you to him in this moment, in this instance of ardent emotions that seared through his soul. 

“I should have been there. I should have stopped this.”

His free hand moved to brush a stray hair from your face, his touch lingering more than what was necessary as his palm rested on your cheek. His dark eyes, normally so still and emotionless, were now tender and filled with worry that threatened to bleed out like tears of poison. 

The young archdeacon watched you with want, with desire. And a burning need to protect you. He took you in, the light shadow of your lashes against your skin, the curve of your lips, the shape of your nose. It looked as if you had turned more beautiful since the last time he saw you. As if you were the protagonist of one of the ethereal tapestries that hung on the cathedral walls. The candle at his bedside table flickered, the shadows sharpened your features. How beautiful you were. To him, there was no other beauty that could ever compare to him. Not the beauty of his faith, nor the one from the very cathedral. There was nothing as mesmerising as you. Mon Rêve. His dream. You were his dream. A perfect illusion of your soul.

“I swear to you,”

He continued, his voice low yet firm. It trembled with emotion yet it darkened with the weight of his promise. 

“I swear, mon rêve, over everything that is holy that no one will ever touch you again. No one will ever hurt you. Not while you have me, not while I breathe.”

His hand left your cheek as he adjusted the wool blanket that covered your frame on the large mattress. His other hand never let go of yours. You stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping your lips but you didn’t wake. Only God knew what you had been through. But he was going to protect you with everything he had now that you were in his domain. In his cathedral. In his life.  

Your eyes opened as a subtle groan left your lips. You looked around, your head hurt, drumming along the melody of your heart. You were first aware of the comfortable bed you were laying in. It was soft, cushioned beneath your weight. This was heaven. Perhaps you had died and your sufferment was over, perhaps you had died and this was the beginning of your torment. 

You looked at your right, spotting a large window of stained glass. The morning light streamed through it, making beams of scarlet, blue and gold reflect onto the stone floor. The room was tidy, austere but comfortable. At the far end of it there was a burning fireplace, the soothing sound of the cracking flames easing your mind. 

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself up on the bed. Pain shot through your side, a gasp escaped your lips and your eyes scrunched shut at the agony that seared on your abdomen. With a whimper, you leaned back on the headboard. Your hands fisted the dark silky sheets beneath you as the burning on your side subsided ever so slowly. 

The sound of a door opening made you look up, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him. 

Jungkook. 

He stood at the doorway holding a silver tray in his hands. His eyes locked with yours and you saw how his gaze softened. Relief washed over him as he saw you conscious once more,  or maybe a flicker of vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. He closed the door behind him with his foot, the soft thud resounding in the otherwise quiet bedroom. 

“You’re awake.”

His voice was soft but it carried that air of authority that made your sink further into the pillows behind you. His calming presence made you feel safe, he allowed you to relax in this world of shadows and secrets you were caught in. 

He crossed the room to you as you nodded. Not once did you take your eyes off of him. You couldn’t. His long, dark robes swished with each step he took, his hands were steady as he carried the tray and settled it down on the nightstand at your left where an extinguished candle lay as well. 

“Where… where am I?”

Your voice was laced with the remnants of your pain. It was soft, vulnerable. And you didn’t know how the sound of it tugged at his heartstrings. 

Jungkook sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight. He studied you with calculating eyes but his gaze softened as he took in the unnatural pallor of your skin, the slight tremble of your hands as they fisted the blankets and how your features were tense with what he could guess was pain. 

“You are in my quarters, it’s alright. You are safe here, no one will harm you now.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, but the memories still lingered, the way you had run, the burning in your lunds, the pain in your feet, the swinging of your long skirts; they were like shadows on the edge of your mind. You lowered your eyes, shame and confusion washing over you.

“How… how did I get here?”

He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to take your hand in his larger one. Jungkook remembered what had happened last night, the intruders, the panic in your voice. The pleading for safety. 

“You pleaded Sanctuary. You were injured, badly. I couldn’t leave you, I could never deny you.”

Jungkook’s voice was steady, yet there was an unmistakable tremor of emotion that lingered beneath the surface. He watched as your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to speak, but the weight of your secrets seemed to silence you. He reached over to the tray, lifting the cloth that covered a bowl of soup and a plate of bread. The scent wafted through the air, warm and inviting, making your stomach churn with hunger.

“You need to eat,”

He said, his voice soft as he placed the tray on your lap with careful precision. His hands moved with a gentleness that contrasted with the sharpness of his gaze.

“You’ve been through enough. Your body needs strength.”

You hesitated, your eyes darting from the food to his face. There was something in the way he looked at you—a quiet intensity that made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, you reached for the spoon, your fingers trembling as they wrapped around it. Jungkook didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached for the edge of the tray and steadied it, his presence grounding you in this moment of fragility.

The first sip of the soup was like a balm to your aching soul. The warmth spread through you, soothing the emptiness that clawed at your insides. It was potato soup, the best meal you had ever tasted. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until now, and as you took another bite, Jungkook’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

“That’s it. Eat, my dear. You’ll feel better.”

He murmured, his voice low, you almost didn’t hear it. The bread was soft, the crust crisp as you tore off a piece and dipped it into the broth. You ate with a quiet desperation, each bite filling a void that had seemed endless. Jungkook remained by your side, watching over you like a sentinel, his dark eyes flickering with emotions he kept tightly under control.

As you ate, the silence between you felt heavy but not oppressive. It was as if Jungkook knew you needed this moment to gather yourself, to let the food and warmth begin to mend the frayed edges of your being. His presence was constant, unyielding, yet there was a gentleness in his proximity—a steadying force in the chaotic storm you had been swept into.

When you had eaten enough to dull the sharp ache in your stomach, you set the spoon down on the tray, your movements still trembling. Jungkook noticed immediately and reached out, his long fingers brushing against yours as he lifted it from your lap. The touch was fleeting, yet it grounded you in the present moment. He placed it on the nightstand with a quiet grace, his every movement deliberate, as if not to startle you.

“You were starving,”

His words made you swallow in nervousness. He wasn’t asking. He knew. And for that, you felt deeply conscious of your current situation, more so under his dark and sharp gaze. And yet, his voice was devoid of any judgement but in your self-reprimand, you didn’t notice the lace of concern that tangled with his words. His eyes locked with yours, searching but never prying for answers. 

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

You hesitated, your hands twisting the blanket in your lap. The memories of the past days—or had it been weeks?—were a blur of fear, exhaustion, and endless running. You couldn’t remember the last time you had truly stopped to care for yourself. Shame crept up your neck, painting your cheeks a faint pink. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“I don’t know… it’s been a while.”

Your voice was quiet, hesitant and embarrassed. It was nearly a whisper but it pulled at his heartstrings to hear speak with such vulnerability. 

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense. His brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. He wanted to ask more, to unravel the mystery of your suffering, but he held back, sensing that you were not yet ready.

“Drink some water,”

He said, his tone filled with authority despite the softness in his deep voice. Once again, he wasn’t asking you. He commanded. With his presence, with his voice, with those eyes that were so dark you could lose yourself in them if you let go of your sanity. The young archdeacon reached to the tray once more, his long hand circling a silver cup filled with fresh water.

He handed it to you, and this time, you couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked through your spine when his fingers brushed yours one more time. You took a sip, your eyes fixed on the bottom of the top as you felt his attention fully on you, the cool liquid managed to sooth your dry throat and after you finished it, you cradled the cup in your hands. You looked down at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world when in reality, Jungkook’s gaze intimidated you. Not because you saw the monotonous archdeacon, but because his eyes spoke feelings you were too scared to acknowledge. 

After a moment of silence, Jungkook leaned back slightly, his dark robes pooling around him like shadows. His gaze softened, but his expression remained unreadable. 

“I will never force you to tell me, I hate myself for even asking but (y/n), you are clearly running from something—or someone. I can protect you, but only if I know who wants to harm you.”

His words were a quiet plea, an offering of solace that you hadn’t expected. Your hands tightened around the silver cup as the memories threatened to resurface, as the walls you had so carefully built began to crack under his unwavering gaze.

“I… I can’t”

He sighed, leaning forward. One of his large hands covered yours over the cup you held, steadying your grip around it. Your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, feeling how your heart thumped in your chest. Your eyes filled with tears and his expression softened. 

“I only want to help you, (y/n). I do not wish to cause you harm, of any kind at all. You do not have to say anything if it pains you, but know that I seek to keep you safe.”

You bit your lower lip, breaking eye contact as you gazed at the still water in the cup. Jungkook pursed his lips, his hand tightened around yours before he let go and stood up, you clearly needed space. He didn’t want to seem like he was forcing you, he’d never force you to do anything but the moment he straightened up and his grip left your hand, your heart dropped. 

The moment his hand left yours, the room felt colder, emptier. Your chest constricted as fear bubbled up, overwhelming your senses. Before you could think, your hand darted out, grabbing his wrist with a trembling grip.

“Wait! —please…”

He looked down at you, his gaze cryptic. Your eyes filled with tears, pearls of sadness that reflected your frustration, your grief. Jungkook sat down on the bed, his hand still clasped in yours. You couldn’t hold your gaze, you couldn’t face him as you were about to pour out your soul, your secrets. You’d open your heart for the first time in your life. Your eyes were casted downwards, fixed on your hands that cradled his larger palm. 

“Can I be granted forgiveness?”

Your question made his heart seize, his posture relaxed and he did not make a move to take his hand away from your gentle grasp. 

“God forgives every sin, my dear.”

You bit your lower lip to stop it from trembling, the tears spilled down, the knot in your throat quieted your voice, making you speak in just a soft whisper. 

“Even for someone like me?”

Jungkook tilted your chin up, his thumb ran over your bottom lip, forcing you to stop biting it. You looked into his eyes, losing yourself in them for a moment. His eyes calmed your racing heart, your swirling thoughts. 

“We are all children of God, there are no outcasts in this holy place.”

You took a deep breath, the candle at the bedside table flickered. You saw the dancing flame reflected in his eyes and the deep compassion that shone brighter than the moon in a dark night. 

“I want to repent from my sins. I… I feel so guilty, so dirty.”

His hand left your chin and rested atop yours that still held his other hand between your palms. He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask you. He only gave you his silent comprehension. 

“The governor is searching for me, I-I took something from him. I have lied, I have stolen from the people who fed me, I have sold myself. I–I only want to live.”

A sob escaped your lips, the tears came again, unbidden this time. They flowed down your cheeks like rivers of grief as you mourned for your sins, the loss of your innocent soul and the tainted spirit you now carried with yourself. 

1 year ago…

“Must you always be on the way, gypsy girl?!

You bowed down at the governor as he shoved past you in the ornate corridor of his big mansion. The plain fabric of your long skirt crumbled under your clenched fists, you heard the old and fat man walking down the hallways before disappearing into his study. The air in the governor’s mansion was always heavy—heavy with disdain, with arrogance, and with a suffocating sense of entitlement that reeked from every corner. You hated it, but you had no choice. It was survival. You were nothing more than a servant—“gypsy girl,” as they called you—never addressed by name, never acknowledged as a person.

The governor’s sneer as he passed you was something you had grown used to, though it still sent a cold shiver down your spine. The weight of his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, and you hated how powerless you felt under it.

But it wasn’t just the governor who demeaned you. Every day was a constant stream of insults and sneers from the household staff and visitors alike.

“Filthy thing. Try not to stain the floors with whatever diseases you bring from the camps.”

One of the maids hissed at you as you scrubbed the marble floor, splashing dirty water onto your hands. You said nothing, swallowing the bitterness rising in your throat. Talking back would earn you a slap, or worse, a trip to the governor’s private chambers—a fate you dreaded above all else.

You remembered the first time it happened. It was silent and you were alone in the dining room one rainy evening. The sound of crystal chandeliers swaying above you as the faint hum of conversation drifted from the next room. The governor had entered, his steps slow, deliberate. Calculating. You hadn’t looked up. You weren’t allowed to. But if you had, you would have seen the evil smile that stretched over his languid features. 

“You have grown, girl.”

His voice was oily and oddly sweet. It made your skin crawl. His beady eyes ran up and down your form, despite the modesty of your simple dress, you had felt naked in that instant, wishing nothing else but to disappear and become one of the pretty ladies in the paintings that hung all over the manor. 

You had frozen in place, your hands clutching the rag you used to polish the silver. He had walked around you, circling like a predator cornering its prey.

“Do you know how lucky you are to serve in this house? To have a roof over your head, food in your belly?”

Your stomach twisted, you nodded, not uttering a single world. You felt him going behind you, your heart was drumming within your chest. As if it could somehow escape the confinement of your ribcage. His warm breath had brushed your neck as he took your hair and pushed it to the side, tears had gathered in your eyes. Tears of anger, of frustration, of helplessness. For you were alone in a world of wolves. 

“Then you will repay my generosity. You will obey, or you will find yourself back on the streets—or worse.”

He had whispered, his hand trailing across your shoulder, making your body recoil, your stomach twist and your heart to stop. 

You remembered the first time it happened. That night was your worst memory, your ugliest fear. You endured the cruelty of his perversion and the weight of his twisted mind.  It wasn’t just the physical torment—though that was bad enough—it was the degradation, the feeling of being stripped of your humanity. You were no longer a person; you were a possession, a plaything.

And yet, through it all, you had kept your mind sharp, your spirit quietly burning with a desperation to escape. You watched. You listened. You learned.

One night, you overheard him boasting to a guest in his study about a decree he had signed—an order to “cleanse” the city of your people. He laughed as he spoke, talking about how the Romani were a stain on Paris, how their removal would bring peace and order.

Your heart had pounded in your chest as you realized the danger looming over your family, your people. The thought of their camps being raided, of the children and elders being slaughtered, ignited a fire within you.

You knew you couldn’t stop it—not alone. But you could run. You could escape with the decree, use it to expose him or to bargain for safe passage out of Paris.

And when you saw your opportunity, you took it. Without hesitation, without mercy. Just like they didn’t have mercy on you. 

It came one night after the governor had stumbled back to his chambers in a drunken stupor, leering at you as you brought him his wine. His words were slurred while grabbing your wrist with an iron grip. “Stay. Entertain me.”

The memories of that night after he had said those words to you were a blur. You didn’t think much of that night, thanking that you were being protected by the obvious horrors your body and your mind had been exposed to in the hands of that bastard. 

You had crept into his study, the desk was a mess. And under the light of a single candle  your fingers quickly found what you were looking for: the decree. It bore his signature and the royal seal, its words a death sentence for your people.

You folded it, hiding it between the folds of your skirt. You had a second of hesitation, a heartbeat to think before you also grabbed the small, golden seal as well. Without it, the document was not valid and it was your opportunity of getting free passage out of Paris, this cursed city that had harmed your soul, taken your innocence and attacked your people. It was a promise of freedom that came with a signature of blood.

The memories dissipated from before your eyes. Your hands were trembling as you had let go of Jungkook’s hand and were now fisting the blankets of the bed. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, the pain, the memories, the humiliation. Everything came crashing back down at you like a tsunami of darkness. You were screaming underwater, where nobody heard. You were walking in snow, where no path was left behind and your destination could not be seen at all. 

“I had to do it. I had to escape. If… if they hadn’t killed me first, I would have done it sooner or later; I couldn’t bear it anymore.”

Jungkook sat before you, his warm hands hesitating before finally resting over yours, still fisting the blankets. His touch was gentle, his fingers barely grazing your trembling knuckles, as though he was afraid you might shatter if he held you too tightly.

“You don’t have to explain, my dear. No one has the right to judge you for surviving.”

He whispered, his voice trembling with compassion. His thoughts were a dark concoction of emotions he had yet to decipher. Mon Rêve, what has been done to you? He felt a simmering fury bubble within his chest, but there was this icy sadness that enveloped his heart at the truths he just heard. 

But you couldn’t stop. The words spilled out of you like an open wound, raw and unstoppable. 

“They think I’m a thief, a liar, a—” your voice broke, and you choked back a sob, your chest heaving as the weight of it all crushed you. “But I was nothing to them—less than nothing. Just a gypsy girl they could use and discard. I was never going to matter to anyone… I had to matter to myself.”

Jungkook reached up, cupping your face. His thumbs brushed away the endless tears streaking your cheeks, but the warmth in his touch only seemed to make the flood worse. His eyes searched yours, desperate to hold you together as you crumbled before him like a beautiful glass doll that was cracked by the world’s cruelty. 

“You matter to me.”

He said firmly, his voice breaking on the last word. His hands shook slightly, betraying the storm he was trying so hard to conceal. Your eyes softened and you couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

“And to God, you are His child. You were never forgotten, even when it felt like the world had turned against you.”

You shook your head, the anguish and shame too deeply ingrained to believe him. 

“I am so broken. I have done terrible things, things that do not deserve forgiveness. I am tainted. Corrupted. I’ve become—”

“Stop.”

Jungkook said, his voice quiet but commanding. His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, holding you steady so you would hold his gaze. 

“You are not broken. You are not beyond forgiveness. You are not beyond redemption. You did what you had to do to survive. You are here now, and that is all that matters.”

The gentleness in his voice unraveled something within you. He untied the coil of your memories, letting them flow. Letting you cry as you sobbed. Your body shook and you whimpered and gasped and cried. Jungkook didn’t hesitate; he pulled you into his arms, his strong embrace engulfing your shaking form as he held you tightly against his chest. He let you cry, one of his hands rested on the back of your head as you screamed and wailed out your grief that had choked you for months. He rocked you ever so softly, his arms tightening around you, grounding your mind to the present, away from the memories that corrupted your soul and shielded you from your fears. 

“I promise you,”

He began, murmuring in a soft voice that seemed to come from the angels themselves. His words tangled in your hair as you clung to him like your only anchor in a sea of despair. 

“I promise you are safe here. As long as I breathe, no-one will hurt you again, mon rêve.”

The endearment slipped from his lips but you didn’t mind. His words felt fragile, fleeting, like a prayer cast into the wind. You clung to him, burying your face into his shoulder as the dam finally broke. The pain you had carried alone for so long poured out of you in waves, and he held you through every sob, every tremble.

“You are not broken, my dear. You are a survivor and I will always keep you safe. Always.”

January/23/2025

~ Masterpost

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[enden-agolor]

i dont know when i hit 2k followers, but apparently i did. here's some petra's to celebrate

[non-un-topo]

All it takes is a wee little nightmare to make you too scared to step foot outside for fear of Bad Things happening, like it’s an omen lol

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

I wonder what it is about breaking up with someone and starting new that I find so upsetting. I realize that people also find break ups heartbreaking, but I know I take it to an extreme. I've never liked the idea of having different partners throughout my life. The idea of having an ex has always been something I hated. The type of breakup didn't matter to me. That is to say whether we ended on good or bad terms didn't make the idea of ending a relationship better to me. I'm not trying to be pretentious about it, I'm just being fr about a sentiment I've held for as long as I can remember. I've never been the type of person who enjoyed the idea of hook ups or casual dating. For better or worse, I've always held the belief that romantic relationships should be all in and serious from the beginning.

I think this feeling is definitely exacerbated by the fact that I've been passed up for another person before so I know what it's like to have someone "move on" from you, and it genuinely sucks like all fucking hell lmao. So the idea of "moving on" and being with someone else has been incredibly tarnished for me.

[fumifooms]

Okay okay new flekille angle... Fleki joking about being a "dark elf" and Marcille being uncomfortable about it... Fleki saying it and teasing with it BECAUSE it makes Marcille unsure and uncomfortable.

No because okay okay rundown : 'dark elf' is a catch-all term for elves who show unsavory behavior or commit wrong actions, wether violence, theft, scamming or lying... It being a shorthand for criminals in general is a safe assumption to make, especially since they're classically demonized already.

"Okay but Fleki? Run me through the situation what does it have to do with flekille." Short sociology lesson, because of urgent needs being unable to be met through honest means & with the system favoring others instead, people from poorer more neglected social classes tend to fall into crime & bad crowds more easily. Having less ressources means the 'solutions' you do have are more extreme, wether it be for regulating your mental health or stabilizing your income or living situation. Here's a study link if interested.

Why I think Fleki may have been lower class, before becoming a prisoner? Okay stay with me here, elves are very hierarchal and xenophobic, even while being colonizers. Referring to the area guide blurbs, the northern central continent (NCC) is managed with more restrictions but also more valued in general than the southern central continent (SCC), which also has a widespread elven population. It's said life is "safe and easy" in the NCC, so alongside all the noble elves we have info for come from the NCC, we can see a dynamic form where NCC continent elves are from a higher safer social class than SCC elves.

Another hint of this is the characters' names. If you compare their name origins, a pattern starts appearing where... Well @room-surprise did the work and has more knowledge than me so, the way they put it: "It seems like every elf that has a clearly Germanic or Slavic name is either a criminal or a lower-class person and everyone who is higher class seems to have names that are Latin, Greek, or West/South Asian."

And this seems like a lot of large vague groups options that don't mean much, but this tidbit of info becomes more telling when knowing which races are more associated with what languages and cultures. For a full look into it I recommend this essay, but to get to the point here concisely: 'Fleki' is old norse. 'Otta' and 'Helki' are other elves with old norse names, but for what it's worth Otta is from the NCC, and who knows about Helki's origins. They're the only elves with old norse names at all, but three's a crowd. Who else do we know are scandinavian coded? That's right, Laios and his home region. Tallmen.

Prisoner/non-noble elves tend to have old norse names while none of the noble ones do. And wouldn't that be interesting if tied with tallmen being nordic, wouldn't it be a result of the cultural mixing happening in the less rich regions and the lower social classes, since noble elves are especially xenophobic and uppity about social classes?

Ironically, our protagonist Laios has a greek name, something associated with elves in Dungeon Meshi, but just like Anoutolid and Nussa (two of Laios' father's dogs) could have been picked as names because Laios' father likes names from myths, with the dogs this is canon but in case of Laios it's probably more of a meta joke. ANYWAYS! Go in the essay for more info, all I'm saying is, tallmen = nordic, elves having nordic names = possible cultural mixing, on the continent that canonically has more immigration and less restrictions but is also less safe and 'easy' to live in.

Elves concentrating all their efforts and wealth into the 1% is too real and it checks out. It's also hinted at and mentioned many times through canon and extra info (Misyl's Complete Adventurer's Bible blurb for one) that the canaries overpolice and charge criminals too heavily because they lack manpower, so they want people arrested and want them arrested for longer to have more canaries. Fleki was arrested because of possession and sale of ancient magic artifacts, and only got into ancient magic for the money. Look I'm just saying, it lines up that Fleki would turn to crime because her material conditions weren't great! And as a criminal, she's automatically fit to either having been treated as a dark elf or joke and taunt about it. Especially since the lore info extra on dark elves is set somewhere where tallmen approached unfriendly elves, while this could be a tallman unused to elves outside of rumors thus approaching them with a reckless idealized view, the casualness of it makes me think this is the sort of contact that was likely to happen in an area with a lot of elves and a lot of tallmen living nearby each other, ie the SCC.

Mentioning the Mithrun-Hareus parallels AGAIN but Mithrun and the canaries directly contrast Daltian Clan, it' holds up and makes sense a result especially of Mithrun being hareus' exact lookalike. It's fantasy vs reality of Marcille idealizing Daltian Clan and elven military through General Hareus and novels growing up, then realizing that the real elven military is miserable and very much not glamorous and general Mithrun is dehydrated, rude and after her life. So this plotline about idolizing vs demonizing elves as a race, stances that are very split within the dunmeshi cast, is very Marcille-centric within canon's story. She herself goes from associating with them a lot and being prideful about it & elven customs, to condemning their superiority complex and narrow-mindedness and being on the run from the elven military, before becoming an advisor for a short-lived tallman court, which is seen as dishonorable for elves, as Marcille the half-elf. There's a bit of an arc here, regardless of how much change she actually went through or if it was always just performance on her part that she wasn't really attached to.

So obviously this is all to say that Marcille having a romance with a very underprivileged elf, a "dark elf", would be not only compelling but relevant. FLEKILLE SUPREMACY!!!!!

Half-elf woman who drank the koolaid a bit growing up and idolized elves and tried her best to fit the image of one x woman who knows personally the shortcomings of that same idolized society and embodies that a bit, who breaks that elegant image by being crass and unapologetic and a criminal prisoner, who would have no problem breaking Marcille's fantasies about it, a full elf who still grew up disadvantaged and demonized. Marcille has been emulating elves all her life, perhaps in the hopes of being accepted more or feeling a bigger sense of cultural belonging, but Fleki is there, showing her hey, it isn't that great anyways, hey it doesn't matter squat if you're an elf or not people will always find excuses to mistreat you anyways. It's Fleki taunting and saying come be dark elves with me and Marcille coming to understand and replying no, we're both just elves.

[swagging-back-to]

finally went and got my GED diploma a year after i graduated :)))))

[just-spacetrash]

😖

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[ramayantika]

Yes, I won't be there around you all the time. I won't be able to wipe your tears with my fingers all the time. I don't miss you as much as you do when we are apart. I roam the world, with dreams and aspirations as huge and as wide as the sky. They tell me you haven't been a good wife forget being a good lover but it is you I want to come back home to. I will not be home for months but I will send letters, ten pages long for every month with a small love poetry that will only make sense to you. When I win the world, I am a star for them, a performer and artist in their eyes, a nomad who roams around leaving pieces of their creation everywhere but it's you I choose to come back every time every night in the warm bed that you make. It's your lips that I seek to steal a kiss from and it's your embrace that would take away all the tiredness from my limbs.