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spencerreidwifey · 1 month ago

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Tied Up - Spencer Reid

MDNI! 18+!

Summary: Spencer reveals his private red room to the reader, but when unexpected guests arrive he’s forced to leave her alone, leaving tension literally hanging in the air.

Masterlist!

Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Smut 🔥

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: MDNI! 18+! softdom!spencer, sub!reader, pre-established relationship, pre-established safe words, SLOW BURN, chains mentioned, whips mentioned, blindfold mentioned, flogger mentioned, handcuffs used, use of ‘Good Girl’, use of safe words, thigh riding, no sex, just teasing (sorry).

WARNING: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FIC, PLEASE BE NICE

The room felt like it was closing in on her, each item on display mocking her—mocking the reality she’d always known. She was no stranger to the darker corners of the human psyche, but this? This was something she hadn’t expected, especially not from Spencer. The chains, the whips, the cuffs... it was all laid out in front of her, each object far too intimate, far too raw, like a slap to the face. A stark contrast to the quiet reserved Spencer she thought she knew.

Spencer Reid, the FBI genius with a shy smile and a brain that could unravel the most complex cases, had always been hard to understand. But this—this—was not the Spencer she’d known, and yet, in a way, it was exactly the one she’d feared existed beneath the surface. Prison had changed him, she knew that. He’d come back with a quiet storm inside him, a part of him more ferocious than she’d ever expected. But this... this was far beyond what she had prepared for.

Her heart was racing, the intensity of the room’s atmosphere mixing with the intensity of the moment itself. She could feel the weight of his presence behind her, his breath brushing against her neck, as he stood close enough to make her skin tingle with a strange combination of dread and anticipation.

“Spencer…” She whispered, more to herself than to him, the words barely escaping her lips. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of everything. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid, or if curiosity was beginning to outweigh the fear.

He was so close now, she could feel his fingers brush the fabric of her shirt, his touch sending a jolt of heat across her skin. His hand snaked around her from behind, settling at the opposite side of her waist. The touch was firm and possessive, and as he pulled her just a little closer, she felt a surge of heat flood her body despite herself. He was patient, letting the moment simmer, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder as if giving her time to process.

"I understand it’s a lot to take in, but one night is all I’m asking," he murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. There was an undeniable edge to it now—a darker, rawer version of him she hadn’t known existed. The boy who had always been awkward, and uncertain, was gone, replaced by someone much more confident, much more determined to get what he wanted.

His words made her heart beat faster, but the undertone of desperation—the need in his voice—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t just asking. He was pleading for release, and it was clear that he wanted her to be the one to give it to him.

“We don’t even have to do anything, just let me give you a test run.” He spoke with a growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The room was heavy with tension, and she could feel herself beginning to crack under the weight of it.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to process his words, her mind racing for a response. “A test run?” she echoed, her voice barely audible, still stunned by the shift in their dynamic. Her eyes darted nervously over the room again, the chains hanging from the walls, the whips draped over chairs as if all of it were daring her to make a decision.

The silence between them stretched, and still, neither of them looked at each other. Spencer knew better than to press her immediately, but his presence was undeniable. He was waiting, and though she felt that familiar sense of control over herself slipping away, she was too caught up in the moment to make a move just yet.

Her breath hitched as she felt the undeniable pull of the man behind her—no longer the shy, reserved Spencer, but something darker, something that called to a part of her she’d never fully acknowledged. Something she couldn’t resist.

Her mind was spinning, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Spencer’s words hung between them, heavy and deliberate, his tone steady, but there was a hidden hunger underneath it, something primal. He wasn’t asking anymore; he was offering something—daring her to accept, to take a step into a world she had only seen glimpses of, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She looked at him, his features sharp in the dim light, his posture exuding confidence, like a predator who had set its sights on its prey. Spencer Reid, the brilliant, often timid genius of the FBI, had always been a puzzle to her, but now, standing in front of her with that cold certainty in his eyes, he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.

“We’ll do something light for tonight,” Spencer continued, his voice unwavering, almost as if he were reading a script. “If it’s something you’re not interested in, we’ll never speak of it again. But if it is something you want…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing the weight of it hung in the balance.

The offer, the challenge, the invitation—it was too much for her to process at the moment. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what he was asking, what he was proposing. Spencer had always been a curious soul, someone who explored the depths of the human mind, but this was different. This wasn’t a case to crack open, a mystery to be solved with intellect. This was something visceral, something rooted in control and power, and she was the one he wanted to bend.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to wrap her head around it. Spencer was brilliant, yes, but he was also deeply sensitive, a man who had been through so much, and who had struggled with his own demons. How could he possibly want her, of all people, to be the one he could dominate?

She couldn’t help herself. “But why me?” Her voice cracked slightly, caught between disbelief and a tinge of hurt. “You know me. I’m not the one you want to be your submissive. I’m the complete opposite.”

She could feel the heat of the room pressing in on her, the walls lined with tools and items meant for pleasure, for control. But none of them made sense to her. They felt foreign. She was a woman who took charge, who fought for what she wanted, a woman who refused to bend to anyone's will.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t falter. He understood her hesitation, but it didn’t make him waver. In fact, the challenge only fueled his desire.

“I know you’re strong-willed,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper against the backdrop of her doubts. “That’s exactly why I want you. I’ve had plenty of submissives before, but they were always too easy, too willing to give up control. I want you because you’re different. I want to break through that hardness, make you see things from my side.”

His words hit her like a wave, and despite herself, she felt a strange shiver of anticipation. The thought of submitting to him, of allowing him to have control, was so foreign, so against everything she had known about herself. She was passionate and forceful, a woman who never let anyone hold power over her. But there was something about the way he spoke, the unrelenting force in his words, that made her question everything.

“I want a challenge,” he continued, almost as if he could read her mind. “I want a submissive who doesn’t make it easy for me. I want the fire, the resistance. The satisfaction of breaking down those walls. The pleasure is in the struggle. In bending you, forcing you to surrender just a little of that control.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She knew Spencer—knew the parts of him that others didn’t. But this side of him? This darker, more dangerous side that wanted to claim her, to make her submit… it was something she hadn’t seen coming.

“You want to break me?” She scoffed, trying to muster some strength, but her voice faltered, betraying the crack in her armor. “I’m not some project for you to fix or control, Spencer.”

He stepped closer, not breaking eye contact, his presence overwhelming. “No,” he murmured, his voice almost tender despite the command in it. “Not to fix. To free you. You’re just as much in control of this as I am. But I’m not going to let you hide from what you really want, from what we could be.”

The air between them was charged now, the boundary between challenge and desire blurred. Her pulse raced, and even though part of her was telling her to walk away, another part—one that she hadn’t acknowledged before—was intrigued, fascinated by what he was offering.

Spencer’s smirk was soft but knowing as if he had already won, as if he was certain that, in time, he would break through to her. His words weren’t just an invitation; they were a promise.

And for the first time, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she was ready to walk away.

“Just try, for me,” Spencer murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and commanding. He pulled back with a lingering look, walking toward the plush red velvet chair. He eased into it with an air of deliberate confidence, stretching out as he sat, his legs parted just enough to make his intention clear. The subtle yet calculated display was meant to unnerve her, to draw her in, and it was working.

(Y/N)’s gaze faltered before inevitably settling on him. How could she not? Every move he made seemed to be a challenge, a dare meant to test her resolve. Her pulse quickened, the crimson glow of the room amplifying the heat already building in her chest. He was playing a game she wasn’t sure she knew the rules to—but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to play.

“Take off your top,” Spencer commanded his tone firm but not harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room. The words hung in the air like a tangible weight, their presence making her heart race. She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered near the hem of her shirt. The space between them seemed to shrink as his voice softened, yet grew more intoxicating. “Slowly, (Y/N). Play with me a little.”

Her breath hitched, the words wrapping around her like silk, pulling her deeper into his control. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her nervousness melding with a flicker of boldness. If this was a game, maybe it was time to stop being afraid of losing.

Her fingers trembled as they softly grasped the hem of her shirt, toying with the fabric as though deciding whether to commit to the moment. Slowly, she began lifting it, teasingly revealing the soft curve of her stomach, inch by deliberate inch. The fabric slid higher, grazing her skin, until it passed over her chest and finally slipped free of her head. The shirt fluttered to the floor at her feet, abandoned yet heavy with the weight of what it represented.

She could feel his gaze on her, hotter than any spotlight, tracing every contour of her body with an intensity that made her stomach churn. Spencer didn’t need to move, didn’t need to say a word—his eyes alone held her captive. Shame bubbled in her chest, threatening to spill over as she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, fighting the urge to cover what she’d just exposed. Her head dipped low, too afraid to meet his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.” His voice was gentle but unwavering, carrying a reassurance that seemed to cut through her self-doubt. She risked a glance up, her breath catching at the warmth in his expression. He wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t scrutinizing—he was admiring, revering her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You’re doing so well,” he added softly, his tone both a compliment and an encouragement. But then, he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and his next words were lower, more intimate, pulling her further into his world.

“Do you trust me?”

The question hung in the air, a fragile thread between them. Her heart hammered in her chest, her body torn between the vulnerability of her situation and the strange, undeniable comfort his voice offered.

She gave him a soft nod, her movements tentative, barely perceptible. Her vulnerability was written across her face, her uncertainty etched into the way her hands lingered at her sides as if still debating whether to shield herself. But that wasn’t enough for Spencer.

“I need verbal confirmation, (Y/N),” he pressed, his voice calm yet firm, each word carefully measured. His gaze didn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, like a lighthouse cutting through the fog of her doubt.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated, the weight of his demand bearing down on her like a physical force. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first—just a shaky exhale. His head tilted slightly, his patience an unspoken challenge, silently urging her to cross the threshold.

“Yes,” she finally stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and resolve. “Yes, I trust you.”

The words came out louder than she intended, almost like a yelp, as though speaking them had taken more courage than she thought she possessed. Her cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth spreading down her neck.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his expression softening. The tension in the room shifted, not lessened but transformed—where once there had been uncertainty, now there was something unspoken yet undeniable: her surrender, her choice.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum as he leaned back in the chair, savoring the moment like a victory he’d been patiently awaiting. Then, with deliberate ease, he rose to his feet, his movements measured and purposeful, each step echoing faintly against the room’s silence.

Spencer approached her, his hand finding the small of her waist, the touch firm yet oddly reassuring. He guided her gently but unyieldingly toward a ring mounted to the ceiling. Her pulse quickened as she followed his lead, her eyes darting nervously between him and the strange, ominous apparatus.

His hand never left her waist as he reached up, his other arm brushing against her as he brought the cuffs down to her height. The metallic clink of the chain echoed softly in the space, and her breath hitched when he lowered them to dangle just above her reach.

“You want me in those?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the tremor betraying the fear laced in her question. The vulnerability in her tone was unmistakable. She glanced at the cuffs, then back at him, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to escape the unknown. Yet something else—something she couldn’t explain—anchored her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the magnetic pull of his presence.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, his darkened eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He could see it all: the hesitation, the conflict, the desperate tug-of-war inside her. And he could see something else, too—that faint flicker of desire she was too scared to voice.

“Yes,” he answered finally, his tone steady but softened by a hint of reassurance. “You’ll have a safe word. If you use it, I promise I’ll stop immediately. No questions asked.”

His words were firm yet kind, grounding her in the moment. For a fleeting second, she almost believed that he could see straight through her fears and into the part of her that wanted to trust him, wanted to let go.

“You’ll be safe,” he added, his voice dipping lower, the sincerity in it undeniable. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the cuffs. The urge to flee still clawed at her, but so did the pull to stay. As the silence stretched between them, she realized that it wasn’t just the situation that kept her rooted—it was him.

She hesitated, her breath shallow as she wrestled with the decision swirling in her mind. Finally, with a slow exhale, she raised her hands above her head, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the cuffs that dangled just out of reach. It was a gesture of tentative surrender, a signal that she was ready—or at least, willing—to take this step.

But Spencer wasn’t done with her yet. He wanted more, needed more. The dominance he had craved for so long wouldn’t be satisfied by half-measures.

“Take off your bra,” he instructed, his voice low but commanding, the words settling over her like a velvet chain. He stepped closer, his towering presence casting a shadow that seemed to engulf her. The way he looked at her, with that quiet, unyielding intensity, made it clear—this wasn’t a request.

Her eyes widened as his demand sank in, the weight of it making her heart race. “I thought this was supposed to be a test run,” she managed to say, her voice shaky and uncertain, her gaze darting between him and the cuffs above her.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his eyes dark with purpose. “How will we know if you like it or not,” he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a hint of teasing, “if you don’t show some skin?”

The words hung in the air, both a challenge and a justification. He wasn’t just pushing her boundaries; he was coaxing her toward something she hadn’t fully admitted to herself that she wanted.

She swallowed hard, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves. Deep down, she knew this was coming. She’d known from the moment she stepped into his suite that her imagination—the fantasies she’d entertained but never dared voice—was inching closer to becoming reality.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

Her hands drifted downward, brushing against the clasp of her bra as her breathing quickened. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, his gaze like a magnet, pulling her in even as her mind screamed at her to stop. There was no turning back now; the pull was too strong.

In that moment, she let go—let go of the armor she wore so tightly, the hard and unyielding persona that shielded her from vulnerability. She surrendered it all to Spencer, letting him strip away the control she clung to so desperately. Deep down, she knew she could trust him. The knowledge that he would stop the moment she uttered her safe word was her anchor, the thread that allowed her to take the plunge.

With trembling fingers, she unclasped her bra, the fabric loosening its hold on her body. Gravity took over as it slipped from her shoulders, fluttering softly to the floor between them, pooling at their feet like a quiet surrender. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the cool air grazing her bare skin, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Instinctively, she wanted to shield herself, her arms twitching as if to fold over her chest. But she resisted. Instead, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze locked with Spencer’s, refusing to break the connection. His eyes were steady, dark pools of intensity that seemed to swallow her whole. They didn’t stray—not even for a second—to her newly exposed form. He stayed focused on her, his stare grounding her, holding her in place.

Her vulnerability hung heavy in the air between them, but his expression wasn’t one of judgment. It was something deeper—reverence, maybe, or an almost predatory satisfaction at her willingness to give herself to him. The heat in his gaze burned away the edges of her lingering shame, replacing it with a strange, electrifying mix of fear and exhilaration.

Slowly, she raised her arms above her head, her movements deliberate, her breaths shaky but resolute. The cold metal of the cuffs grazed her wrists, the chill jolting her skin as she settled them in place. Her fingers curled slightly, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to lock her into place.

Time seemed to stretch as she stood there, exposed and open, the chains rattling faintly with her unsteady breaths. Yet, despite the vulnerability of the moment, she felt an unexpected calm settle over her. She had let go. The control was no longer hers, and somehow, that made her feel free.

Spencer’s hands moved deliberately, reaching above her head to secure her wrists in the waiting cuffs. The faint metallic click echoed in the stillness as he locked her first hand into place, his movements measured and precise. Her breathing hitched when he reached for the second cuff, the soft brush of his fingers against her skin sending a shiver racing through her.

“Is that too tight?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur, grounding her in the moment.

She gave an experimental tug on her restraints, testing the give of the chains, the slight pull on her wrists making her hyperaware of her position. The cold metal pressed firmly against her skin, but it didn’t hurt—at least, not yet.

“My left one feels a little too loose,” she admitted softly, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and trust.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting into one of careful focus. He adjusted the left cuff with precision, tightening it just enough to hold her securely but not uncomfortably. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he understood the weight of her trust and carried it with care.

“Try that,” he said, stepping back slightly to give her room to test the adjustment.

She pulled again, her wrists shifting slightly in the cuffs, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. “That’s good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the words carried a finality that made her pulse quicken.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes darkening with intent. The moment hung between them, heavy with anticipation, as the last barrier between her and his desires dissolved. She was bound now, completely at his mercy, and the realization sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t quite name.

He stepped closer, his presence commanding, yet his movements were unhurried, savoring her surrender. She felt the heat of his body near hers, the air crackling with a tension that made her stomach twist in a dizzying blend of nerves and excitement.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that made her knees feel weak. But there was an edge to his tone, a promise of what was to come.

She knew now there was nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back from taking what he wanted—and, as much as it terrified her, she realized she didn’t want to stop him either.

“This will be the only time I give you a choice in what we do,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet unwavering, the firmness in his tone underscoring his sincerity. “Would you like to try a blindfold as well?”

He spoke with an unusual gentleness, a kind of care he rarely extended to anyone in his role as a dominant. But with (Y/N), it was different. She wasn’t like the others who had stepped into his domain, already accustomed to giving up control. This was her first time, her first step into uncharted territory, and he felt an overwhelming need to ensure she felt safe every moment of the way.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the flicker of panic in her eyes. It was subtle but unmistakable—the way her body stiffened slightly, the way her lips pressed together as if to hold back the truth. Spencer didn’t need her to say it aloud; the answer was written all over her face.

He knew it would be a no, and yet it wasn’t a simple refusal. It was a no that carried a weight, one wrapped in a quiet fear of disappointing him. The realization sent a pang through him, a reminder of how much trust she had placed in him and how fragile that trust was.

“It’s your decision,” he said softly, stepping closer, his tone warm and reassuring. “Whatever it is, it will never disappoint me.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to settle over her like a calming blanket. Still, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor, focusing on their feet—the stark contrast between her bare toes and the polished leather of his tuxedo shoes. The image felt oddly symbolic to her: vulnerable and exposed next to his commanding presence.

Her breath wavered as she shook her head, the gesture small and hesitant. She forced herself to speak, her voice trembling but audible. “No,” she said, her tone heavy with a mix of shame and relief, as though the simple act of voicing her refusal felt like an act of rebellion against her own self-doubt.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying her with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” he said gently, his lips curling into a faint, approving smile. “You don’t need to feel ashamed for setting a boundary. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Her shoulders eased slightly at his words, her breathing evening out. At that moment, she realized that he wasn’t disappointed—far from it. If anything, he seemed pleased that she had trusted him enough to speak her mind.

Spencer reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a touch so tender it made her heartache. “You’re doing perfectly,” he murmured, his voice like a balm against her lingering doubts. “This is about you, not me. Always.”

And for the first time since she’d stepped into this world of uncharted sensations, she began to believe it.

Spencer’s fingers moved deliberately, brushing lightly against the curve of her hip. His touch was soft, almost featherlike, the kind of teasing that sent shivers skittering across her skin. He wasn’t rushing; this was about exploration, about seeing how her body reacted to him, how far she would let herself go.

Her breath hitched, and a quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past her lips. “That tickles,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, tinged with both embarrassment and restraint. She didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to break the moment or risk displeasing him. But her body betrayed her, shifting slightly out of instinct, as if it had a mind of its own.

Spencer’s hand stilled for a moment, and then he withdrew, his touch trailing away from her hip. Her heart sank at the loss, but before she could fully register the absence, his fingers were under her chin, tilting her face upward.

The movement was firm yet careful, guiding her gaze to meet his. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist and her knees feel weak. There was no need for him to speak; the demand in his expression was unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Somehow, she already knew what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Her voice came out as a breathy whisper, soft but resolute. “Yes, you can touch me.”

Her words hung in the air like a confession, and Spencer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t a grin of triumph but of satisfaction—a confirmation that she was willing to give herself to him, step by step, in her own time.

He leaned in slightly, his hand still resting lightly under her chin, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, a reward in itself. The praise sent warmth flooding through her, melting away the last of her hesitation.

Spencer’s hand moved again, slow and deliberate, tracing her skin with the kind of care that left no doubt—this wasn’t just about control. It was about connection, about her trusting him enough to let him take the lead.

Spencer moved slowly, his touch deliberate and teasing, each contact designed to heighten the ache, the need growing in both of them. He knew how badly she wanted him to touch her, how much she would beg for it if he pushed her to that point. And yet, he was patient, letting the anticipation simmer, knowing that the slow build-up would make the moment more intense when it finally arrived.

He started at her cuffed wrists, his fingers trailing softly over the restraints. His touch was tender at first as if savoring the sensation of her restrained form. Slowly, his hands moved lower, tracing the line of her forearm, and the soft skin of her upper arm, each motion lingering longer than necessary. The gentle caress was almost maddening—he could feel the tension in her body, how her muscles tightened, waiting for the next move.

When his fingers reached her shoulder, he paused, deliberately drawing out the moment. Her breath hitched in anticipation, her body tensing as she prepared herself for the next step, expecting him to move downward, to give her the relief she craved. But Spencer, ever the tease, left her waiting. He chose to wait just a little longer, knowing that the suspense would make her feel every second of it.

Instead, his fingers danced across her shoulder, up her neck, tracing the curve with a soft, almost reverent touch. Her skin shivered under his fingertips as his hand moved slowly to her face, cupping her chin gently but with authority, guiding her to meet his gaze.

His eyes were dark, almost cold, as he took her in. He studied her carefully, noting the way the microfit shorts clung to her body, and how they outlined the contours of her hips and thighs. He could see the way her breasts stood out, her nipples hard against the chill of the room, a soft flush of color on her skin. Her stomach, ever so slightly bloated from the meal earlier, gave her an endearing vulnerability that only added to the beauty of the moment.

She was perfect to him. Every detail, every inch of her body, was etched into his mind. And as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wish that she could see herself the way he saw her—vulnerable, beautiful, and entirely his in this moment.

The silence between them stretched, thick with desire and the tension of what was to come. Spencer’s fingers lingered on her face, tracing her jawline, his thumb lightly brushing her lips. He didn’t need to say anything. His touch spoke volumes—he knew she was waiting for him to give her what she needed. But for now, he wanted to make her wait just a little longer, drawing out the ache until she couldn’t take it anymore.

As Spencer’s thumb grazed across her lips, a gentle shudder ran through her body. She couldn’t help herself, the desire bubbling up inside her, compelling her to lean forward and softly kiss the pad of his thumb. She longed for more—wanted to kiss him fully—but the cuffs that bound her to the ceiling kept her restrained, her arms stretched above her head, leaving her helpless in the moment. Still, the kiss she gave him, so subtle, was enough to send a shiver of satisfaction down Spencer’s spine. It was a silent reassurance to him, a sign that she trusted him completely, even in this position.

“Tell me what you want, Darling,” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, low and commanding, yet there was a softness to it that matched his intent. He wanted her to be brave enough to voice her desires, to speak up if she needed something, to never feel as though she couldn’t communicate with him.

Her breath caught as she swallowed, taking in the weight of his words. There was no hesitation now, only the quiet realization of how far she had come in this moment. “A kiss? Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She reminded herself of the rules she had read about submissives—about the importance of politeness, of asking for what they wanted with respect.

Spencer smirked, amused and pleased by her request, the politeness of her words making the moment all the more enticing. He moved toward her, bending down to her height with a teasing, almost taunting air. The position she was in—her arms bound to the ceiling, her feet barely able to touch the ground—made her feel both vulnerable and desperate for him. She had to balance precariously on her toes, her body trembling from the strain as she waited for him to make his next move.

When he leaned in, his lips capturing hers with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her, she melted into the kiss. It was deep and consuming, full of longing, with a quiet urgency. She didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, and her hands instinctively reached for the chain of her cuffs, her fingers gripping it tightly to ease the strain on her arms. The discomfort was sharp, but she pushed through it, lifting herself slightly off the ground. As her legs wrapped around Spencer’s muscled waist, she pressed herself against him, a quiet plea in her actions.

But Spencer was not so easily swayed. He pulled away, his lips lingering just out of reach. “Ah uh. Good girls don’t misbehave,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. The smirk on his lips deepened as he felt her thighs wrap around him, trapping him in place, her body pressing against his with a force that betrayed her desperation.

His hands moved to her hips, steadying her as her legs held him in place. He could feel her warmth through their clothes, the way her breath quickened with need, and it made him pause, letting the silence between them stretch. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, her every reaction amplifying the tension in the room.

For a moment, Spencer basked in the control he held over her, the way her body clung to him so desperately, her breath shallow and uneven as if she couldn’t bear to let go. His dark eyes lingered on her face, taking in every flicker of emotion—the need, the vulnerability, the surrender. She was entirely at his mercy, and he reveled in it.

But then, with deliberate care, he reached down, his strong hands firmly but gently prying her legs apart. His touch was commanding, yet never harsh, guiding her movements as he unhooked her feet from around his waist. Her thighs trembled as they released their grip, the strain and tension of holding herself up now giving way to his control.

As her feet found the ground again, Spencer softened, ensuring she landed with grace rather than force. His hands remained steady at her hips, holding her in place as her weight shifted, grounding her. The contrast between his earlier teasing dominance and the tender way he lowered her back down was enough to send a fresh wave of heat through her body.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. He lingered close, his presence still overwhelming, his hands resting on her hips for a moment longer before finally releasing her. The intimacy of the moment was undeniable—every movement calculated, every gesture leaving her yearning for what he might do next.

Spencer straightened, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to test him again, to see how far he’d let her go before taking back the control she had so briefly attempted to seize.

“You need to be punished,” Spencer said, his voice low and eerie, carrying a dark promise that sent a chill down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he turned away from her, leaving her bound and vulnerable as he walked toward the imposing wall of floggers and tools. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the floor seemed deafening in the heavy silence of the room.

Her heart pounded as she watched him run his fingers along the neatly arranged implements, his touch dragging across the leather strands and polished handles. Each one swayed slightly at the friction of his movements, the gentle creak of leather making the air feel electric. Spencer cast a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Which one should I use?” he mused aloud, more to himself than her, the teasing in his tone unmistakable. His fingers hovered over one flogger before moving to another, keeping her guessing, keeping her on edge. The deliberate slowness of his movements was maddening, a calculated way to build her anticipation—or her dread.

Finally, he stopped, his hand resting on a flogger with sleek black leather strands and a braided handle that looked almost elegant in its design. His fingers curled around it as he pulled it from the wall, his eyes flicking back to her. The way he studied her, the intensity in his gaze, made her stomach churn with a mixture of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. Deep down, she knew Spencer wouldn’t actually use it on her tonight. He wouldn’t push her that far, not on her first time in the red room. But in that moment, her logical mind gave way to raw emotion—fear and uncertainty clawing their way to the surface.

“Yellow!” she blurted out, her voice trembling as panic took over. The safe word slipped past her lips instinctively, a desperate plea for him to stop. She tugged against the cuffs in a frantic, almost futile attempt to ground herself, her mind racing as she tried to ease the discomfort that had taken hold of her.

Spencer froze instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. The teasing smirk disappeared from his face as he set the flogger down on a nearby table with a quiet thud. Without hesitation, he turned back to her, closing the distance between them in a few quick, purposeful strides.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice now warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the dark playfulness from moments ago. He cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over her cheeks as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“You’re alright,” Spencer murmured, his eyes softening as he searched hers, his concern evident. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to use it, I promise.”

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture so gentle and intimate that it made her heart ache. His touch, his voice, everything about him in that moment was designed to bring her back to a place of safety and trust.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to,” he reassured her, his voice calm and soothing. “You told me how you felt, and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you. You’re safe with me.”

Spencer stayed close, his hands never leaving her face as he waited for her breathing to slow, for the tension in her body to ease. And when it did, when her eyes finally met his with a glimmer of trust, he smiled softly. The flogger was forgotten, left behind on the wall as Spencer refocused all his attention on her.

“I just want to be touched by you tonight, please,” she murmured, her voice trembling and fragile. She knew how it sounded—pathetic, almost desperate, as if she were bargaining with a man who held all the power, especially here in his sanctuary, his carefully curated pleasure room. But wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to speak her desires, to get comfortable expressing herself in this space without fear of judgment?

Spencer’s eyes darkened at her plea, but his expression softened. “I can make that happen,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, a promise laced in every word. His fingers moved with practiced precision, brushing lightly against the waistband of her black fitness shorts. He didn’t rush, didn’t assume. He lingered there, his fingers barely dipping beneath the fabric, waiting—no, insisting—that she give him permission to continue.

“Yes,” she breathed, the word escaping her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he sank to his knees before her, moving with deliberate grace. From her vantage point, cuffed and bound, the sight of him kneeling was intoxicating, his presence commanding even as he took a submissive position at her feet. His hands rested gently on her hips, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her slightly bloated stomach.

Her breath hitched, the tenderness of the gesture catching her off guard. Slowly, Spencer hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down inch by excruciating inch. He took his time, letting the cool air brush against her exposed skin, adding to the anticipation. When the fabric finally pooled at her ankles, he left her standing there in nothing but her underwear, vulnerable and exposed.

But Spencer didn’t rush to the end goal. Instead, he moved with agonizing slowness, lowering his head further as his lips ghosted over the curve of her knee. His kisses trailed upward, soft and teasing, his warm breath brushing her skin as he made his way to her inner thigh. Each kiss lingered, igniting a spark that spread through her body like wildfire.

Her body betrayed her, straining against the cuffs, her hips shifting slightly as if to draw him closer. The chains rattled softly, her quiet plea for more unmistakable. Spencer noticed, of course—he noticed everything.

When his lips reached the sensitive skin just below her hipbone, he paused, pressing a lingering kiss to her lower abdomen, dangerously close to the edge of her underwear. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as the tension built.

“You can take them off,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She thought that was what he wanted, thought that her compliance would please him.

But Spencer only chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver through her body. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head to look up at her, his dark eyes locking with hers.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of authority and amusement. “I want you like this.”

The statement hung in the air between them, final and undeniable. It wasn’t about rushing to undress her fully—it was about savoring the moment, the anticipation, the power exchange. And in that moment, she realized that Spencer wanted her exactly as she was: bound, vulnerable, and entirely his.

As Spencer rose from his kneeling position, his hands moved with purpose. One cupped her breast, his palm warm and firm against her soft skin, while the other snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and keeping her from shifting under his touch. His fingers worked skillfully, kneading her breast with just the right pressure, his thumb brushing over her nipple in deliberate, teasing strokes. Every so often, he pinched the hardened peak, eliciting sharp gasps and soft whimpers that fueled his own satisfaction.

His other hand began its slow descent, gliding down her waist, pausing briefly to caress the curve of her hip before finally settling on the fabric covering her aching core. Spencer’s movements were slow and deliberate, his thumb pressing against her clothed clit in slow, torturous circles, testing her response.

The moment his touch found the perfect rhythm, (Y/N) couldn’t help herself. Her head fell back, her lips parted in a shaky exhale as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her body strained against the cuffs, her wrists aching to be free so she could touch him, pull him closer, beg for more.

“Spence, please…” she whispered, her voice soft and pleading, tugging futilely on the chains above her head. “Keep going.”

Her desperation sent a thrill through Spencer, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew she wasn’t in any position to demand, but something about the way she begged him stirred a dark satisfaction deep within him. His fingers continued their torment, experimenting with pressure and motion, coaxing whimpers and moans from her that only grew louder with each pass of his thumb.

But just as she began to lose herself, Spencer’s hand abruptly left her throbbing clit, the absence of his touch almost painful in its suddenness. Her whine of protest was cut short as he swiftly clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark and commanding as they locked with hers.

“Be quiet,” he growled, his voice low and rough, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he’d been touching her moments before.

His dominance was unyielding, and it left her breathless. She nodded faintly against his hand, her wide eyes filled with both submission and unspoken desire. Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfied with her obedience.

Without another word, he shifted his stance, lifting one knee between her legs. The movement was deliberate, his thigh pressing against her clothed core as he resumed the rhythm she craved. He applied just enough pressure to drive her wild, the fabric of her underwear adding a delicious friction as he moved his leg.

Pinned between the unyielding cuffs above her and Spencer’s strong, unrelenting presence, (Y/N) had no choice but to give in completely. Her muffled moans against his hand were filled with a mix of frustration and pleasure, her body trembling under his control.

Spencer leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to dictate how this goes. I decide when and how you get what you want.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with every passing second just how thoroughly he intended to own her tonight.

She was teetering on the edge, her body trembling as waves of pleasure built with every calculated movement Spencer made. His knee continued its agonizingly slow, circular motions against her clothed clit, and the dual sensations of his hand teasing her sensitive nipples and his other muffling her soft moans were driving her mad. Her breaths came in short, erratic gasps as her release approached, her body betraying her desperation to finally let go.

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” Spencer murmured into her ear, his voice low and smooth, sending a fresh surge of heat coursing through her. As he spoke, his lips brushed along her jawline, placing soft, deliberate kisses that only heightened her arousal.

The pet name unraveled her completely. Her head fell back, a muffled cry escaping against his hand as her body arched into him. Gathering herself, she tilted her head forward again, locking eyes with him. Her gaze was pleading, her response a breathless, trembling, “Mmhm.”

Her release was seconds away, her body tightening in anticipation. But just as she was about to tumble over the edge, the unmistakable sound of his apartment door opening shattered the moment.

“Spencer! Henry’s here for your sleepover tonight!” JJ’s cheerful voice rang out from the front of the apartment, oblivious to the scene she had interrupted.

Panic shot through both of them. Spencer froze for a split second, his hands and knee pulling away from her in one fluid motion. The sudden absence of his touch left her aching and unfulfilled, her body still straining against the cuffs in frustration. Their eyes met, wide and panicked, as reality crashed down on them.

“Spencer!” she whispered harshly, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t leave me like this!”

But Spencer, acting on instinct and clearly rattled by JJ’s unexpected arrival, turned away without a word. He moved quickly toward the door, leaving her suspended, nearly naked, and vulnerable. The lock clicked as he exited the red room, sealing her inside.

Her heart pounded, a mix of humiliation, disbelief, and residual arousal swirling in her mind. “Spencer!” she whisper-yelled again, tugging futilely at the cuffs. She tried to free herself, twisting and pulling, but the restraints held firm.

Panic bubbled up inside her as she realized the absurdity of her predicament. Left hanging in the red room, her body exposed save for her panties, she cursed herself for insisting earlier that the cuffs be tightened.

She squirmed in frustration, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The sound of distant voices from the other room filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of her helplessness.

Her mind raced as she considered her options—or rather, the lack of them. There was nothing to do but wait, stuck in this mortifying position, and hope Spencer would come to his senses and return before JJ—or worse, Henry—wandered too far into the apartment.

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Masterlist!

#spencer reid #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x you #smut fanfiction #mgg x you #mgg x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #anastasia writes

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holdmytesseract · 2 months ago

Note

dad-to-be!Daryl absolutely pampering reader. She's just started experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions and she's scared about the real deal happening soon, so Daryl takes it upon himself to help her relieve some stress. Bathing her, making her food—or, well, trying to—painting her nails with some nail polish he got from Maggie or someone, etc. just sweet Daryl all around.

Love you if you write this, love you if you don't! Don't feel pressured at all, love 💜

In This Together

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: Starting to experience Braxton Hicks, your archer is more than adamant to be by your side.

Warnings: usual TWD stuff? fluff, pregnancy stuff, mentions of a injury and a fight, bit angst, protective!Daryl

Set in the beginning of Season 9!

Word Count: 3,3k

a/n: Here we are. Dad-to-be!Daryl! 🥰

Thank you SO much for sending me this, @dixons-sunshine ! I LOVED writing it! 🧡 I hope you don't mind that I, uh, drifted 'off-topic' a bit. The writing department in my brain just has its own mind... 🫣

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"So... This is nothing I have to be afraid of?" You asked hesitatingly; voice still thick with concern. Siddiq gave you a bright smile, which was a clear attempt to nip your worries in the bud. "No, Y/N, absolutely not. It's perfectly normal and important to experience Braxton Hicks. And besides it's an indication that my estimations are correct. You're about twenty-eight weeks along now, I'd say - in time frame for that to happen." You nodded; finding Siddiq's reassuring words truly helpful. "O-Okay... But there's nothing I can do about it, right?" "No, sorry. You just have to go through them." You gave the doctor another nod, "Alright..." and moved to sit up on the makeshift examination table; Siddiq immediately offering you a hand to help you up - which you gladly took. "Thanks." The man smiled at you once more and stood to his feet as well; placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Just remember, it's important for your body. It's practice." "Yeah," you answered; rubbing the back of your neck. "Won't change that Daryl's gonna be worried sick... Dunno if he knows what Braxton Hicks are." Siddiq chuckled; knowing exactly what you meant. He got to know the archer way better the past months, and knew what he was 'capable' of...

"Explain it to him like I did to you. He'll understand." "Mhm, yeah, gotta try." You offered the man opposite you a last smile, patting your thigh to gain the attention of your furry, four-legged friend and headed for the door; "Thanks, Siddiq!" Dog following close behind. "Sure thing, Y/N." The doctor watched you leave, before he returned to his work.

You made your way slowly back to the basement apartment you and the archer shared. It took you about two times longer now to head from the infirmary back home; due to the pregnancy and its side effects. Your feet were swollen and hurting, just like your back now and then. It could be quite frustrating from time to time, especially when your husband wasn't around to give you endless foot rubs and massages - just like at the moment. Daryl was stationed and working at the bridge since almost two weeks now... You missed him - a lot. The daily conversations over the walkie-talkie weren't just enough anymore.

Knowing he'd be away for at least a month, he left Dog with you; trusting the faithful canine to keep you safe. He did and seemed to understand exactly what his dad asked him to do. Dog was like glued to your side; never leaving. You thought it was adorable and utterly precious.

Closing the door of the basement behind yourself and Dog, you grabbed the walkie-talkie and plopped down on the sofa with a sigh. Since the sun had started to sink, you hoped that Daryl could spare some time for you now to talk. Sure, he always did, but you hated to keep him from important things. After all, he was an important figure in this whole construction Rick and everyone else had built over the years. Daryl wasn't 'just' a right-hand-man anymore... He was a leader - and you weren't just talking about the Sanctuary.

"Daryl?" You pressed the button of the radio and called out his name, before letting go of said button again; waiting for an answer. After a few moments of silence, you tried again. "Dar? You here?"

It took the archer another few moments to answer. "Yeah, 'm here," his slightly static voice suddenly sounded from the small device in your hands; giving you a little scare. "Sorry, sunshine. Been wantin' ta get away from that bridge first 'n into my tent." He paused for a short moment.

"Everything a'right with ya two?"

You smiled; already loving to hear his voice. Dog's ears perked up as well, before he quickly joined you on the sofa and snuggled against your left leg; head resting on your thigh. Your free hand immediately went to give the canine some well-deserved head scratches.

"Hey, baby. Yeah, we're good; just missing you..." An adorable grunt could be heard from the other end. "Don get me started on how much 'm missin' my girls."

Your heart clenched at his words; bottom lip wobbling dangerously. What you would give to curl up in his arms now...

Somewhat between a sob and a laugh was escaping your lips. "Baby, you gotta stop that, or you're gonna make me cry, what in return in going to make our munchkin even more sad." "Even more sad? Whaddaya mean?" Daryl asked; his attention falling on his unborn child in concern. You smiled sadly and started to absentmindedly caress your baby bump; letting go of Dog, who was dozing peacefully.

"She's very unsettled and... antsy. I can feel it. She kicks more than usually a-and well... I think it's because she misses her daddy. She's used to hear your voice, you know, and now it's not there. Over the radio isn't the real thing..."

All you could hear for quite a few moments from 'the other end of the line' was silence. You frowned and just opened your mouth to say something, when you heard his voice again. "'M comin' home," Daryl stated. Your eyes widened. That wasn't your intention... You knew that he had to stay. Rick needed him there, but his words were also so tempting... And the fact that he was willing to drop everything just to drive back to Alexandria in order to calm his unborn daughter caused your ovaries to explode.

But you knew better, unfortunately.

"No, Daryl. You gotta stay. Rick needs you." He scoffed. "But our munchkin needs me more..." Well, damn. That was actually the truth. Valid point. "I know, baby, but I got it, okay? It's only two more weeks..." "Yeah, 's two weeks too much," he grumbled in return. "I know, but look... After that is done you won't have to leave us again until the birth. Rick promised, remember?" Daryl sighed; remembering his brother's words.

You were sure you had convinced him with that; already celebrating your victory over his stubbornness internally, when your body decided to throw a wrench in the works... Hitting you with a Braxton Hicks contraction.

Of course, you didn't see it coming - how could you? And therefore left a loud hiss your lips, followed by a small, yet painful cry, before you were even able to stop it.

You knew right away that you were screwed now. That wasn't how you planned to tell him... Fuck.

"Y/N?!" His panicked voice instantly urged to your ears. And Daryl wasn't the only one worrying... Dog had woken from his sleep by your cry; ears perked. He was wincing and repeatedly nudging you with his wet snout.

"Y/N!" "I-I'm here, Daryl," you radioed back as soon as the mild contraction subsided. Taking a deep breath, your free hand returned to the canine curled up against your side; petting his fur. "I'm okay, Dog, I'm okay..." You reassured Daryl's animal companion.

"Wha' wrong?! Are ya in pain?! Please talk ta me, woman!" You swallowed; redirecting your attention back to your worried husband. "I'm good, don't worry. It's just... I, uh, started having Braxton Hicks..." "Braxton wha'?" "Braxton Hicks... Those are, um, mild contractions. It's something that occurs between the twentieth and thirty-fifth week of pregnancy. My body is, uh, practising for the birth," you explained; biting your lip, before quickly adding: "Siddiq says it's a good thing a-and perfectly normal."

There was silence on the other end for a long moment, before the click-clacking sound of the little device in your hand announced Daryl's voice again. "'M comin' home," he stated once more; now drop-dead serious. "Packin' my stuff right now."

Damnit...

"Baby..." "Nah. Ya ain't talkin' me outta this, Y/N. Yer in pain, havin' fuckin' contractions! 'M comin' home." You sighed; knowing that starting yet another 'discussion' would be most likely fruitless. You couldn't stop him. Not again. "Imma talk ta Rick first thing in the mornin' 'n leave as soon as I can." "I won't win another argument, will I?" "Nah, ya ain't."

You sighed again, but ultimately gave in. "Alright... I'll see you tomorrow then... Be safe and drive carefully, yes?" "Of course, sunshine. Don worry 'bout me. You stay safe, ya hear me?" "Promise." "Good. I love ya. Both 'a ya." "We love you, too."

With yet another sigh, you put the walkie-talkie aside; placing it on the small coffee table in front of you. You didn't want Daryl to cut this 'mission' short just because of a few cramps, but on the other hand, you couldn't deny that you looked forward now to see him again. Two weeks felt like ages.

You smiled; cupping your baby bump once more. "You heard that, munchkin? Daddy's coming home tomorrow."

Daryl had a hard time sleeping that night - naturally. He was way too worried, and therefore just decided to spend the rest of the night on watch; waiting for the sun to rise.

Once the other people in the camp had started their day as well and the place was literally bustling with members of all the various communities, the archer sought out his brother...

"Rick." Said man was currently talking to Cindy and Beatrice from Oceanside as Daryl approached. The former policeman's eyes travelled shortly to Daryl, before he ended his conversation with the two women and shifted his attention. Cindy and Beatrice passed Daryl by; giving the archer a nod, which he answered with a curt jut of his head.

"Mornin'," Rick greeted his brother; hands on his hips. "You good?" The leader was indirectly referring to the last remains of a fight his friend had with Justin - a Savior, few days prior. Daryl had clearly won that argument, but a very prominent cut above his upper lip was the price he had to pay.

The archer put Rick off; "'M fine." quickly dismissing the topic. "But we gotta talk." Rick nodded and gestured at the huge tent only a few yards away, in which everything else got usually discussed as well. Wordlessly, Daryl followed him; stepping through the flaps of the dark green tent.

"I gotta go back home." He didn't beat around the bush. Why should he? "Y/N's experiencin' those... fake contractions, 'n the baby's very restless; givin' 'er a hard time as well. She needs me," Daryl explained; biting the inside of his bottom lip. "I know ya need me 'ere too, 'n 'm sorry, but-" "Y/N and the baby are your priority, I know," Rick interrupted the archer and gave him a smile. "As it should be, Daryl. They're your family. Go home. We got this." He nodded; head lowered. "Thanks, man." Rick smiled once more and gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. "Be safe, yeah?" "Ya too."

Not even ten minutes later was Daryl kneeling beside his bike to strap his crossbow on the vehicle; ready to leave. The camp was bustling with people, and yet found him a specific pair of eyes...

"You're leaving?" Carol asked as she came to stand beside him; arms crossed over her chest. "Without saying goodbye? Shame on you." Daryl looked up, almost apologetically. "Yeah, 'm leavin'. Y/N needs me," he explained; getting to his feet. "But I was gonna say goodbye. I ain't jus' leavin' ya." A frown carved itself immediately in the woman's forehead. "Is everything alright? Y/N and the baby are fine, right?" The archer nodded. "Yeah, jus' some fake contractions 's all, but I wanna help 'er through this. 'Sides the lil' munchkin 's missin' me," he explained; shrugging his shoulders and moving to mount his bike.

Carol gave him a cheeky, yet happy smile. "I think you're the happiest I have ever seen you, you know that? It's good, pookie." "Pf," Daryl scoffed and grunted; couldn't stop his cheeks from reddening. "Stop." His best friend smiled even brighter. "No, 'cause it is a good thing. You deserve this. To be happy. You do." The smile he gave Carol then was nothing but sincere. He wasn't a man of much words, but the woman knew, of course.

Daryl started the engine and exchanged a last look with his best friend, before he drove off.

Since you knew that Daryl was returning sometime this morning, you decided to take on Michonne's watch. It took you all the convincing skills you had, but in the end gave your friend in. Some fresh air was always a good thing, right? And all you wanted was to see your husband approaching safely the gates.

You didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but you were pretty sure it had been a few hours, until you heard that familiar sound of an approaching motorcycle. Standing up from the comfortable camping chair Michonne had gotten up on the wooden tower only for you, you watched with a smile how Daryl drove up to the gates - which got immediately opened for him. The archer had seen you, of course. A short eye contact was enough to display the feelings exploding within the both of you. Especially happiness and love.

Well, it had been two long weeks...

Your husband drove past the gates; immediately turning off the engine and dismounting his beloved vehicle, while you moved to slowly climb down the wooden ladder - step after step. You were carrying precious cargo, after all. About halfway down, you suddenly felt two big palms settling firmly on your hips. "Careful, sunshine," the archer's deep, smokey voice urged to your ears. You smiled; his touch and voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. Planting both feet firmly on the ground again, you immediately turned to hug the man as tight as your baby bump allowed.

"Daryl...," you breathed; inhaling his scent and fighting the tears - kudos to your hormones. "Hey, sweetheart." He held you just as firm, before he pulled back to gaze concerningly in your eyes. "Wha' were ya doin' up there?" He nodded at the watch tower. "Waiting for you, of course." Daryl grunted in clear dislike. "Ya shouldn't be up there. 'S dangerous. 'Specially alone."

You appreciated and treasured his protectiveness, but in that very moment was the watch tower the last thing you thought about.

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you cupped your husband's cheek. "Shut up and kiss me." Daryl still wasn't entirely comfortable of displaying affection in public, even after all those years - what you didn't mind, of course, but in that very moment, he didn't give a fuck. The longing and the ache in his heart after having to be away from you for so long was taking over.

He grunted in fake annoyance, before he dipped his head to meet your lips halfway in a deep, longing kiss. "I missed you so much, Dar," you whispered against his lips and bestowed another sweet, short kiss upon them. "Missed ya, too, sunshine." You smiled; his cheeks still cupped by your hands, as your eyes roamed his handsome face. But your happy expression got quickly replaced by a frown as you noticed the small injury above his lips.

"Where did you get that cut, baby?" Daryl shook his head; hands squeezing your hips in a reassuring manner. "'S nothing, sweetheart. Jus' got in a fight a few days ago 's all." Your eyes darkened. "One of the Saviors?" He nodded. "Justin. He was bein' an asshole. Couldn't let tha' slip." You sighed; nodding. "Does it hurt?" Concern flamed up within you once again. "Nah. Not anymore."

You wanted to answer him, but another cramp shot through your lower abdomen; causing you to grimace. Daryl's grip tightened again on an instant. "Contraction?" "Y-Yeah..." You confirmed; luckily feeling the period cramp like pain subsiding again. "C'mon, sunshine. Let's getcha back home. 'M here fer ya two now. Ain't gonna leave again."

You weren't the only one being happy about Daryl's return. Dog was happy too; almost taking the bulky man off his feet with the force he threw himself on him; paws connecting with Daryl's broad chest. You only watched with a smile; hands supporting your baby bump.

Speaking of... The tiny girl living in your womb was ecstatic to hear her father's voice again. You could feel it. Once you had cuddled up with Daryl on the sofa, to catch up on the lost time of physical contact and conversations, you felt her move; recognising Daryl's voice and seemingly that the hands around her home weren't yours as well... Daryl was about to tell you about working at the bridge, when a tiny foot connected with the palm of his hand. "Was tha'...?" You giggled; nodding. "A foot, yep. She got super active within the last hour. She knows her daddy is back. Told you she missed you." A breathless laugh left your husband's mouth; his thumbs starting to caress the clothed skin of your stomach. "Hey in there, lil' munchkin. I missed ya too, ya know."

He received another strong kick in return.

"She's got bigger 'n stronger. I can tell." "Yeah? You think so?" You asked; turning your head to gaze at the archer over your shoulder. "Yeah. Can feel it. 'S different." You just smiled at him; loving how observing he was and cuddled further into his arms; enjoying every second of your reunion.

"Daryl?" You asked after a few minutes of pleasant silence. "Yeah?" You swallowed; picking at your nails. "Those Braxton Hicks I had the past days... They kinda, uh, gave me the creeps a little bit. I-I mean... I know now that the birth isn't very far away and that the real contractions will be way worse. That's... scaring." The archer nodded; biting the inside of his lower lip. "'M sorry 'bout that, sunshine.... Wish I could take tha' fear away, but... 'm afraid too. 'M scared of losin' ya or her, or hence even both 'a ya. But we gotta make this somehow, right? We're in this together. You 'n me. I ain't ever leavin' yer side."

To hear that Daryl had his fears as well was weirdly reassuring for you; knowing that you were truly not alone in this - in every aspect.

You laid your hands on top of Daryl's, which were still resting on your baby bump. "W-We gotta make it, yeah. You and me. Together." You felt Daryl nuzzling your neck; his goatee scratching your skin and his chapped lips aiming for a kiss. "Like we always do."

The following days and weeks were spent by the archer to help you through the Braxton Hicks contractions whenever you got hit by one, and through the pregnancy in general, of course. He was even more attentive and protective than in the beginning and was doing everything in his power to take away the stress and make you feel as comfortable as possible - which included pampering you. Endless foot rubs and back massages, running countless baths for you, getting you your latest craving - even in the middle of the night, and of course cooking food for you. The cooking wasn't always successful, but you loved the man for all the effort he put in. Daryl took you on walks around Alexandria regularly as well; making sure you'd get some fresh air. Certainly not outside the walls, but he'd accompany you everywhere you wished inside the walls.

Daryl even agreed on painting your nails, which ended in a mild disaster, but it definitely didn't fail to put a big smile on your face.

And when the tiny miracle inside you finally decided to see the light of the day and Daryl's hand was tightly locked with yours as you went through labour, you knew that everything would be alright, because you got Daryl and Daryl got you.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon fan fiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #twd fanfiction #twd fic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic

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silaslich · 2 months ago

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Absolve me of my sins, won’t you?

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader x John “Soap” Mactavish

Wc - 4k

Summary - Johnny gets a taste of what he missed out on at the safe house. Part 2 to this

Cw - 18+, smut, threesome[m,m,f], bondage, blowjobs, face-fucking, masturbation(f)

He’s no stranger to the feeling of bindings.

Johnny isn’t a puritan. Not by any stretch, but he has to admit- these circumstances feel worlds away from anything he’s indulged in before. His pulse leaps under his skin, throat bobbing as he swallows his doubt. He’s nervous. Knee jerking up and down in rapid succession as the chair he’s bound to creaks at the slightest of movement-groaning under his weight when he shifts.

Then her hands are there, nails scratching over his skin, skating up over his shoulder blades to sink further into his flesh then running down his collarbones and over his pecs.

She’s at his ear, smiling into his skin, the smell of her drifts and catches in his nose; geranium and jasmine. It’s sweet and mild, milky on her skin. As soft as she is.

“You’re so tense, Johnny” she coos as she presses her lips to his throat, smiling against him when he shivers.

He’s not sure what’s led him here or how on Earth he’s ended up in this room- with the two of them.

It’s murky in between. The time since the safe house, since listening in on them fucking, spilling in his own hand to the sound of them together- he’d been caught out. Ghost had loomed close after that. Watching Johnny’s back a little too long for his liking, eyes lingering when he thought Johnny wasn’t looking. Yet, Johnny knew, could feel the shift and could feel his gut stir whenever he was within their proximity. It was jealousy, a need of his own, a desire fuelled lust that kept him awake in his bunk at night.

However, he surprised himself, he’s never been a man to put a label on his preferences, but he’s more then a little on edge to realise he’s jealous of them both. He’s greedy. He wants it all, needs it like it’s a lifeline, like it’ll cure the ache in his chest and the boiling curl of heat in his gut.

Sitting here now- it feels surreal, like it’s all one big joke at his expense. Then Ghost shifts from where he’s sitting right across from Soap. The bed creaks and both her and Soap look up, meeting his eye, watching as he stands and begins looms closer. Johnny feels the way she smiles into his skin, it’s more a smirk, really, like she knows what’s about to happen. Because of course she does, he reminds himself, she’s accustomed to this, used to Simon- probably knows exactly how tonight will go.

It had been her suggestion after all. The three of them a few drinks too deep and more then too distracted to care about the football match that everyone had gathered in the rec room to watch. It had started with a drifting hand on Soaps thigh, shadowed in the dim light, lip bitten between her teeth as she feels his hips shift. She’d been doing this since the safe house, teasing him, purposefully getting under his skin only to leave him high and dry. Without any release. Ghost was the same, his glances, his hand placements and his words, unless someone was looking- they wouldn’t catch the change in Ghost’s demeanour, but Johnny has been around him long enough to notice.

“I think we should play nice with him, Si” she mewls. Her hands clutching at Soap’s abdomen from where her arms are circled around his waist, still pressing her body and lips into him as if she’ll melt right under his skin and into his bones. Ghost hums in thought, deft mind ticking over and calculating like always. Johnny doesn’t feel small under his lieutenant’s gaze, he never has, never afraid to speak his mind to him because he knows Ghost values his input even if he doesn’t agree with it. This? This is different. Duty has been left at the door, because inside Simon’s quarters- they’re everything but soldiers.

The mask means Johnny can’t read Ghost’s expressions, but his eyes are bare, smudged in black grease paint but so transparent; every emotion plays through them. Tonight his pupils are blown wide with lust as he comes closer, stopping when his boots are between Soap’s. He cranes his neck down to meet Johnny’s gaze, a big scarred hand reaching up to thumb over his cheek and then down his jaw. Acknowledging him, toeing the line of too much intimacy but throwing caution to the wind regardless. This is all or nothing now, they’re past the point of return, but it’s clear none of them wish to retreat now.

Ghost lifts his hand to his own face to hook his thumb beneath the mask to tug it up to the bridge of his nose, leaving only his jaw and mouth free. Soap watches, intrigued, he’s seen Simon’s face only once, some time ago- seeing a glimpse of it again now jogs the memory. The notch of scarring at the bridge of his nose from multiple breaks and the stubble lining his cheeks, the cut of a scar through his right eyebrow and the line of scar that slices through the same side of his lips. It floods back- let’s Soap put the image back together piece by piece in his head.

Simon’s face is only an inch away now, eye to eye, flitting from Johnny’s gaze and back to his mouth. “You all in, Mactavish?” He asks, his voice low, almost a whisper. Johnny nods before the words have fully left Ghost’s mouth.

“Aye, sir” Johnny breathes- barely a beat after Simon’s spoken.

Simon tastes of nicotine and danger. His tongue is spiked with the burn of it, the warning of a dire demise- broken apart by his hands and barely put back together. But Johnny wants to be broken, his hands itch to clutch at his lieutenant, to fist his shirt in his fingers as his tongue curls into his mouth. It’s everything- the feeling of Ghost’s palms cradling his face, almost tenderly, a forbidden fondness Ghost had made room in his chest for. She’s back again, watching as Simon slips his tongue across Johnny’s filthily. She squirms as she watches because it’s the hottest thing she’s sure she’s ever seen. Her lieutenant and sergeant getting off like teenagers, panting into each other’s mouths when Ghost breaks away- taking a breath.

Her fingers don’t stop their path across Soap’s skin, running up his arms, over his chest, cradling his neck- she wants to have explored every inch of him. Not a single spot left untouched and unloved. Her hand cups his jaw, angles him so he’s looking at her from over his shoulder, then she connects their lips. It’s tender. Worlds different to Simon, she’s timid, relinquishing the control to him, letting him take it all. The chair scrapes when he presses closer to her, licking into her mouth, tasting his own sweat on her tongue where her lips have pressed indents of adoration into his shoulder blades.

“You taste so sweet Johnny” she huffs, pecking his lips once more before she’s sliding away, closer to Simon. Johnny’s smile is drunk, silly as he watches her go, the way the flesh of her arse bounces as she goes. She’d stripped off as soon as they’d all tripped through the doorway, too hot and bothered and horny to keep the layers on. She’s only in her panties now, bare chest marked by Ghost’s teeth long before tonight. Johnny reminds himself he’s just a guest here. He’s shameless as he watches her. Watching Ghost’s big deft mitts clutch at her hips when she rises on her toes to kiss his cheek, then his neck, rubbing her cheek into his skin like a cat scenting it’s property- much like she had already done to Johnny. Ghost catches her off guard, his hands at her throat to tug her mouth to his- smirking into the kiss when she squeals. His hands root into her flesh, so deep it’ll bruise, Johnny feels his cock swell at the sight. Wishing someone would clutch him so tight he’ll wear the brand of their fingertips for days to come.

She breaks away to sink her teeth into Simon’s throat when his hand palms her ass, taking a handful and squeezing. She’s beautiful, Johnny thinks, the way she looks at Simon is something to admire, the warmth of her soul radiates from the inside out. Heaven incarnate. Johnny’s too enthralled in his own mind to notice she speaks, she’s closer now, stood between his spread thighs.

“You look lost, John” she smirks as she sinks to her knees. “I hope we haven’t lost you just yet” she thuds softly to the floor, knees spread as her palms skate over his thighs. He chucks his head back, heart racing, he still can’t believe what’s happening,

“Y’could never lose me, bonnie” when Johnny opens his eyes Simon is suddenly in his vision, stood over him as he moves catch the side of his face to force his eyes upright again.

“Eyes on the prize, Johnny” he rumbles low in his chest, hand now falling from the side of his head to the base of his neck- holding him in place as he watches her closely.

She thinks of teasing. It plays on her mind, but it’s short lived, her and Ghost have waited this long- what’s the point of a few more minutes? She palms johnny through his jeans, her torso slotted between his thighs, then she’s pulling his belt loose and his zipper yanked down too. Soap hisses when their skin meets, her soft palm, the heat and weight of him in her hand. She grips and squeezes his cock between her fingers till his chest crowds forward- tugging against his binds, they’re the laces from her shoes.

“You’re fucking massive, Johnny” she gasps. It isn’t feigned, it’s not to boost his ego or inflate his head. She’s honest and tugs at him lazily as she works his jeans out of the way, getting comfortable as she shifts on her knees. He’s been hard since he walked through the door, since she’d laid her hand across his thighs in the rec room, like a sad-horny little teenager. So it’s no trouble when she pulls him free from his boxers and finds his cock stood to attention, cold air meeting hot skin- he shivers again.

“Fuck” he mutters, more to himself, it catches her attention when her eyes flicker to his, leaning forward to lick a long stripe from the base of him to his head.

His hips stutter- he’s struggling not to keen into her grip, to fuck his hips up into the heat of her mouth; just to be closer. Her plush lips wrap around the head of his cock, teasing just briefly before her hand begins to pump the base of him, reaching where her mouth can’t when she begins to work at taking him deeper down her throat.

The noises are obscene. Wet sounds of her lips closing around him, all slick with her spit and precum that he’s already leaking for her.

“Shit” Johnny spits, hips jerking, gagging her again, tears springing her eyes. “Fuck- lass ah-h shit” his vision doubles when his hair is curled around a fist and yanked upwards. His mohawk is overgrown and Simon uses the leverage to his own advantage. Johnny’s vision swims, refocusing on Simon when he speaks.

“Think you can handle me, sergeant?” The meaning is open, up for debate, but Johnny has never nodded quicker in his life. His brain is in his cock, all the blood pooling there as she sucks him off, lathing at him with her skilled tongue- she’s sucking the life out of him.

“Fuck- lass” Johnny stutters, smiling lazy as he rolls his neck in her direction, watching her head bobbing up and down, focused only on making him feel good. She lets his cock drop free from her mouth with a wet pop, sucking air in through her teeth. She’s breathless, sweat damp hair line askew as those deep lustful eyes look at him through her lashes.

“Feel good, Johnny?” She asks, fingers wrapping tighter around his cock. “Hmm?” She pokes at him, needing the validation, seeking praise that Simon usually lets her eat up so freely. Before Johnny can register any words that might please her, his hair is caught again, tugged at in Simon’s direction where he meets the sight of his lieutenant staring intently down at him with his cock to hand. Johnny’s mouth gapes, eyes flickering from Simon’s cock to his eyes, never intimidated, waiting for the go-ahead. Johnny bucks his hips up when she ever-so-slightly scrapes her teeth around the girth of him, humming around his cock at the satisfaction it gives her to see what’s unfolding in front of her. Johnny opens his mouth and lets his tongue drop free, never letting his eyes leave Simon’s, he hears when his lieutenant sucks a sharp even breath into his chest.

His hair is tugged at again, neck craning down slightly to allow Simon to close the distance more fairly, he uses his hold on Johnny’s hair and his free hand to guide his cock into Johnny’s waiting mouth. The Scot’s tongue slides across the underside of him, catching a prominent vein and Simon almost fucking loses it. “Shit- Mactavish” he bites, hips jerking when Johnny doesn’t shy away, this clearly isn’t his first time, and that thought alone makes Simon’s spine arch.

Then she makes a noise, a surprised little yelp that catches both of their eyes, she releases Johnny’s cock from her mouth with a smile. “Do that again, Simon” she huffs, breathless, “you’re making him twitch” she seems so pleased with that, her lieutenant making her sergeant’s cock tremor in her throat as she sucks him off. Johnny moans around Simon’s cock and the Brit only tightens his hold in Johnny’s mohawk, fisting the hair around his fingers.

She takes a moment, continuing to pump Johnny in her hand while her free hand dips between her own legs, rubbing herself as she watches Simon fuck Johnny’s throat- maybe watching them tongue each other isn’t the hottest thing she’s seen.

Simon throws his head back, stunting his hips, not wanting to choke Johnny on his cock, maybe not yet at least. Yet, the sergeant seems to want it, chasing Simon’s cock as he tries to retreat, taking more of him down his throat with a filthy moan that makes all three of them shiver with want.

The sounds they all make bleed together. Johnny’s choking on Simon’s cock and she’s whining as she fucks herself on her fingers to the sight of her lieutenant fucking her sergeants throat. It’s any wonder they haven’t been caught, a neighbouring soldier bashing his fist against the wall for them to shut the fuck up - but it’s Ghost’s quarters, so it’s more likely that they know better.

Simon tilts his head, watching her as she works her fingers into pussy while she watches his cock disappear into Johnny’s mouth. She’s mesmerised, but Ghost seeks to sweeten the arrangement. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” Funnily enough, both of them nod, both her and Johnny nodding like cock drunk idiots. Simon smirks to himself. He jerks his head at her and she gives him all of her attention, “come up ‘ere and fuck yourself on his cock, sweetheart”. She stills, both her hand on Johnny’s cock and the one that’s dipped beneath her panties, then she’s moving- no need to be told twice.

The chair is standard, rickety and made of plastic and metal, and Johnny’s huge thighs don’t leave much room for her. Yet, she finds a way, presses her knees into the tops of his thighs to balance herself as she settles her weight on him, eyes still transfixed by watching as he sucks Simon off. Her hands settle onto his shoulders, pulling herself flush to him, leaning forward to his his throat, wishing she could feel the thrust of Simon’s cock against her lips there. “You’re doin’ so well, Johnny boy” she coos, biting her lip with a smile when he groans. Then she’s reaching between them to pull her panties aside, tugging his cock and pressing it against the glistening wetness of her folds.

Simon groans too. “Fuck- Johnny” he rumbles, tugging him closer, pressing his cock deeper until Johnny’s nose meets the tuft of hair below his navel, chocking him with a sound Simon could find himself getting used to. “Jus’ like tha’, Johnny” Simon’s words slur, he’s close, punching his hips forward as Johnny sputters and moans around his cock- she sinks down onto Johnny’s cock in one deep push.

Their moans are strangled together, tied in a knot as she presses her forehead to his collarbone, too much all at once. It stings, buried so deep it feels like her organs shift, he’s bigger then Simon- just slightly in length where Simon makes up for it in girth, but it’s still an entirely new sensation to adjust to. “Ahh- ah shit” she whines, rolling her hips, leaking around Johnny’s cock already, drooling for him. She starts to move, knees pressed into his thighs, nails biting into Soap’s chest till they leave indents in his skin- likely to break skin and bruise.

Johnny has tears in his eyes, moaning around his lieutenant’s cock, his sergeant bouncing on his dick- he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven, or maybe it’s hell, because after this- that’s exactly where he’s headed.

Simon spits something at Johnny that he doesn’t catch, hissed behind his teeth, when he’s forced to say it again Simon snaps- snatches a hand around Soap’s throat and squeezes hard. “Gonna cum in your throat, sergeant” he tells, eyes wild as he pushes his hips forward, rhythm slowing, Johnny tries to nod around him, humming around the girth of Simon’s cock like it’ll cure all of his ailments. As if provoked, Johnny presses his tongue against the underside of Simon’s cock, feeling the thrum of his blood through the veins, beating like a drum. “Fuck” Simon growls, both hands flying to clutch at the hair on Johnny’s head, one last cruel thrust into Johnny’s mouth before he cums down his throat- it’s hot on Johnny’s tongue and it feels never ending.

“Thaaaat’s it Johnny” she moans, sweetly, “swallow it all for us” she leans forward again and kisses his neck, talks him through it with so much sickly-sweet praise it makes his cheeks set alight.

Ghost sounds like a wounded animal, snarling as he cums, vision white and blinding as he comes down from the high, hips slowing completely as he holds Johnny in place for a few drawn out seconds before pulling his mouth off of him entirely. Johnny is given only a brief second to catch his breath, eyes drifting to where his cock disappears into her cunt, swallowed in the tight wet heat of her perfect pussy as it gushes and weeps around him- spoiling his jeans. Before he can even open his mouth the grip on his hair returns, pulled to Simon’s mouth, a tangle of teeth and tongue as Simon licks into his mouth- tasting his own cum on Johnny’s lips.

It’s filthy. Down right fucking disgusting, yet they all moan at the sight and the feeling. She grows wetter, fingers teasing at her own clit as she watches them both, and Ghost can’t seem to get enough of it all. Even while he’s kissing Johnny he reaches out his hand, pushes hers out of the way so he can thumb deftly at her clit- making her squeal.

“Ooh- fuck” she squints her eyes shut, rocking against Simon’s fingers, pussy stretched impossibly for Soap’s cock as she rolls her hips. Both men disconnect the kiss, eyes falling to her, the way her tits sway and bounce as she fucks herself on her sergeants cock, the sight of her pussy gushing for them both, beyond turned on at watching them get off.

“Jesus Christ, lass” Johnny moans, hands desperate to touch her, to tweak her nipples and take hold of her throat, bring her lips to his so he can swallow every single noise his cock punches out of her.

“Gorgeous isn’t she” Simon says, no question about it, a shared thought, one he knows to be true. Johnny nods and throws his head back, fucking up into her now.

“Y’both are” Johnny huffs, chest swelling as he chants a series of curses, losing himself to the pleasure.

Simon isn’t caught of guard, not in this situation, she does it all the time. Tells him how beautiful he is and how good he is to her- but hearing it from Johnny is a whole other feeling, likes it not just her pity or her looming orgasm talking, like it could partly be true.

He sees her smile at Johnny’s words, arching forward, hands splayed across Johnny’s chest as she sinks her teeth into his exposed throat. “I try to tell him Johnny” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for them all to hear, “he just won’t listen to me” she’s smirking when she pulls back, admiring the welt that swells under Johnny’s skin. She throws her head to the side, arching her back and meetings Soap’s thrusts now, matching the sloppy rhythm as their orgasms loom. Simon still works at her clit, pressed close her side, then he catches her lips, let’s her taste him, both of them. “Make me cum” she breathes, panting against his lips, and although he would usually deny her for his own sick and twisted amusement- tonight isn’t the night.

Johnny straightens. “Whatta‘bout me?” He smirks, eyes lazy when he leans forward, she smiles and Simon’s eyelids grow heavy, his chest feeling just as. She circles her hips to make Johnny squirm and she’s throws her arms around both of their necks, bringing the three of them impossibly close. It doesn’t really work, their foreheads knock together but they catch one another’s lips, it’s more teeth and bitten lips, but Johnny’s cock grows even harder inside her at the attempted three-way kiss- Simon is the one to break it.

Something cracks open in his chest, a free space, it’s warm and inviting and it’s getting out of hand. But he can’t stop his hands when they reach out for Soap, guided towards the shoe laces that hold his hands behind his back. He tugs at them until they snap away, one falls the the floor while the other bites into Johnny’s wrist, the frayed remnants of it handing loosely off the chair. Before Johnny can clutch for purchase at either of them, Simon grabs his hand and guides it to his mask, he watches the emotions play out on the Scot’s face. Confusion, intrigue and adoration when Simon guides him to fully remove the mask.

Just as Johnny remembers him - tragically beautiful. Scarred and marked by his life, but gorgeously rugged and handsome nonetheless.

Johnny smiles and thumbs over Simon’s cheek as his hand is held there, something shifts right there and then, something beyond fucking and sharing spit. Simon leans forward and Johnny thinks it’s for a kiss, but Simon presses a finger to his lips instead. “Cum in her pussy, Johnny”.

Soap’s eyes harden, as if challenged, and there’s nothing he can’t set his mind to and complete.

His free hands clutch for her now, at her thighs and her hips, leaning forward to close the space, to fuck her with abandon as she stutters her words- clutching for both Simon and Johnny when they both set their hands on her. Simon presses his chest to her spine, loops his arm around her and goes for her clit again, matching the rhythm with strokes of his fingers. “Oh my god” she whines, throwing her head back against Ghost’s shoulder. “F-fuck” she’s crying now too, probably for more then one reason after tonight, but Johnny fucks her through it.

“Cum f’me lass, come on now” his teeth are grit.

Simon pushes her over that edge, he’s done it hundreds of times now, he could do in his sleep with his hands tied behind his back, he knows her body as well as he knows his own now- if not better. The feeling of her orgasm brings Johnny there too, clamping around him, squeezing around his cock so tightly it feels like the circulation will cut off. He howls like a wounded dog, hips punching up, seating his cock as deep as it will go when he finally cums inside of her.

They’re all panting. Breaths twining as the room spins and the muggy smell of sex and sweat lingers in the air, stifling and groggy.

She shifts, Johnny’s cock barely softening inside of her and she laughs, dazed and eyes wide.

Johnny whistles as he catches his breath. “Fuck me” he huffs with a lopsided smile, still breathless.

Simon laughs- something dark, meeting Johnny’s eyes with a smirk.

“That an order, sergeant?”

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cryslut · 3 months ago

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Yandere 6reeze | Headcannons

「 Venti ~ Xiao ~ Scaramouche ~ Aether ~ Kazuha ~ Heizou 」

- in which you get lucky enough to be trapped in an abandoned building that you decided to explore alone, with no way out, why? you'll find out.

- gender neutral

- modern au, stalking, obsession, unhealthy dynamics, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, potentially ooc

- not proofread so probably grammatical errors

↳ Venti

This guy is a sucker for you. When he first laid eyes on you, he couldn't help but follow you around. Using the wind to find your whereabouts. He knew the scent of your perfume like the back of his hand. He knew every detail about you so he used this to his advantage.

Especially when you, decided to go explore an abandoned worn down walmart in your city. No one knew why it's been shut down, you wanted to go find out. Venti following your every move, lurking behind every corner, you being completely oblivious to this as you tended to be all the time.

It was the only way he could get close to you in a public environment after all. Cause it's either this or he watches you sleep, right?

You walked aimlessly around the place, seeing the place completely trashed. The cash registers void of any change or bills. The place was dark, you turned the flash light on, the one you actually brought.

You kept hearing noises, but no one was in sight, it began to scare you. Making your way towards where you came in, it was completely blocked off, almost like someone boarded it up. There was no way, maybe you went the wrong way.

You being there for hours until you finally found a way out. That was a lesson from Venti to never go alone. He didn't have to tell you that though, you figured you wouldn't go exploring without a friend ever again. That's all he wanted, was for you to be safe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

↳ Xiao

This man couldn't bear to ever admit his feelings for you. You two were close friends and almost did everything together. He decided to go exploring with you to an abandoned building.

At some point he completely wandered off and you didn't know where he went so you of course, became very afraid. Until eventually he came back. You didn't know where had gone. You wanted to leave the building after some time, as you two got close to the exit, it was boarded off, completely shutting you two off from getting out and from anyone getting in.

"What do we do now? It's completely boarded up?" panic began to settle in, breath hitching. A lump like feeling stuck your throat, "It's okay, I can call Hu Tao, she can come down and help us get out?"

"Are you sure you wanna get her in trouble?" He nods his head at you, he begins to tap on his phone, dialing the very familiar girls number.

Eventually waiting for Hu Tao's arrival for her to rescue you both. It gave Xiao the time to grow closer to you, little did you know that he intentionally did this just so you two would be together longer and alone.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

↳ Scaramouche

You had received word from a friend of a friend that there's an abandoned building with little activity around it so the chances of being caught would be quite low. What you didn't know is that Scaramouche, the man himself, paid off someone to get that knowledge to you just so you would go alone.

You walked through the giant broken down building that was boarded up, it was an old mall that had shut down due to unfortunate circumstances. Scaramouche was following you the whole night, without you even realizing.

Until he finally made himself known, playing it off like he wasn't stalking you the whole time, "Weird seeing you here," he says nonchalantly. Your relationship with this man was just somewhat friends, you met him through a close friend, Tartaglia.

You turn around to follow the voice, your gaze meeting a very familiar indigo haired man. You were shocked but somewhat relieved that he was here. The abandoned mall was quite eerie after all, "Oh, hi Scara," you say excitedly.

Scaramouche took note of your tone, inside he was smirking and grinning but he kept a composed expression and remained the same way, "You're all alone in a place like this? I didn't even know you explored abandoned buildings," his voice coming off bratty and stern.

"Yeah, I love exploring. It's one of the many things I do in my free time, not a lot of people know about it I guess now that I think about it," you smile gently at him.

For the remainder of the night. He got closer with you, that's what he wanted. To gain your trust and bond with you more, so that one day, just maybe he could have a chance. But if he didn't, then bad things may just happen to you, or someone else entirely.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

↳ Aether

You never knew that people were disappearing just because of some simple jealousy. Those same people you had spoken to days ago. Aether wanted to help you get your mind off the recent events so he decided to force you to tag along with him to go explore an abandoned building, it wasn't really obvious what it was as it was completely trashed.

When you decided to go on ahead and look at something out of pure excitement, Aether took the opportunity to completely shut you two in the building together. There was only one exit and he just wanted to be alone with you, no matter where you two were.

Keeping you locked up in there for hours with him, talking normally as if nothing were going on until you realize. You two were further from a lot of people so you the smart little cookie that you are, put two and two together, your intuition saying it's in fact, Aether himself doing this.

Once he had realized that his plans had been interrupted, he knocked you out cold. Waking up the next morning in the comfort of your bed, you only thought it was a mere nightmare, nothing more. Aether's cover no longer had been blown.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

↳ Kazuha

He's such a gentleman at heart, so sweet and the most romantic poet you'll ever meet. You were his biggest weakness, he had written so many poems about you, they weren't ordinary though. One day he did write something for you though, sending it your way.

It was an elaborate ruse to get you to go off exploring a place that hadn't been touched in years. He wanted one night with you, and he will have it whether you like it or not. So he sent a sort of letter, a riddle as well. Luring you into an abandoned broken down museum.

Following your every move the whole night. He craved being closer to you. So eventually he sealed off any exit pretty well, just so he could "coincidentally" bump into you and well spend the night with you until he "helped" you two escape the treacherous place.

Since you were so startled by the event itself, due to Kazuha convincing you that someone might've locked you two in there, you were on edge and so paranoid. So he put the idea into your head you should stay a couple days with him just in case anyone was going to try and harm you, and his plan worked so well.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

↳ Heizou

Heizou is a detective so he can easily get away with things, brushing everything off. He's quite the master in psychology so messing with you is no brainer for him. After all, when you're vulnerable in front of him, he gets glimpses of who you are. That being said, through one of these moments and fleeting glimpses, he knew you loved dark and mysterious things, this goes for exploring abandoned buildings.

He discreetly followed you throughout the night of an abandoned warehouse, one he actually recently had the pleasure of solving a mystery of a series of murders in. It was only natural he would follow you here, right? He had to make sure his beloved was safe after all. He didn't let you know once that he was present.

Sneaking and covering tracks was not a difficult task for this man. And you made it easy to trap you inside this building. Heizou is not one for psychological torture but sometimes when he's provoked, he will do something to mess with you, without you ever realizing it. Using the abandoned warehouse, by sealing off the exits to his advantage, it scared you into submission until you finally were able to run out of there, telling yourself you won't visit an abandoned place again, at least not alone.

This was just his simple, fun way of trying to get you to come to him for help. You two were close after all. It's only natural.

220 notes · View notes

pasukiyo · 5 months ago

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LEECH: PULLING ME DOWN

| a collection of one-shots. collection masterlist.

DISCLAIMER: this fic is simply a work of fiction and is in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

** none of these fics necessarily need to be read in any sort of order **

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose “leon kennedy” in the character list.

💿// collection songbook

leon kennedy x fem!reader word count: 7,386 warnings: leon is a stalker, themes of dark!leon, smut, mentions of maggots and leeches, blood, leon purposefully tears his stitches, brief almost-sex in a public restroom, car sex, fingering, biting, choking, unprotected p in v sex, perhaps a bit of corruption, spitting synopsis: months of pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into leaving her ghosts behind fall into fruition when the one that’s haunted her the most shows up in the hospital she works at in a city she thought she’d be safe from him in. as the day unravels, she realizes that perhaps she was wrong to spend so long trying to forget him. and that’s what she’s afraid of.

She dreams of maggots.

She dreams of blood, of teeth tearing through flesh, of teeth in her neck. She dreams of drowning, her head below water, sinking deeper and deeper into blue that soon begins to fade into black. She dreams of screaming but not really screaming, because her head's underwater and there is no one to hear her, no one to save her.

So she dreams of rising to the surface, only, when she reaches the top, she finds that the water she’s been swimming in has changed. She dreams of swimming in a lake of blood and then she dreams of teeth in her neck, tearing at her flesh. She dreams of screaming— genuine, true screaming this time— and when she reaches for her neck, she finds a maggot. And then she finds another. And another. Creeping, crawling across her skin.

Terror rattles her bones and her hands move out of pure instinct, swatting at her neck, splashing blood about with every slap. She dreams of hearing her name in a ghostly whisper that curls around the shells of her ears, cold enough to send shivers creeping down her spine. She scans the pool of blood around her, watching the lifeless bodies of the maggots she’d crushed drift along the surface.

She hears her name again and it echoes, like she’s trapped in the midst of a canyon, and if she screamed, no one but the walls would hear. She moves to spin around and find the owner of the voice but she feels something slither over her shoulder so she peers down, searching for the source

A little, black leech rests on her shoulder and she wrinkles her nose, pinching its slimy thin body between her middle and forefinger, peeling it away from her skin. It wriggles around, twisting to try and ground itself on her palm but failing. She’s about to toss it as far away from her as possible when she hears her name again, only, this time it quite literally rumbles the lake she swims in, the voice so loud now she lets go of the leech to press her palms against her ears.

Her heart pounds against her chest and she squeezes her eyelids closed, as if to will herself away from this nightmare she’s somehow found herself in. She hears her name again so she squeezes her hands against her ears tighter, the pressure against her head near deafening.

This time when the voice calls her name, a hand finds her shoulder and spins her around. When she snaps open her eyelids, she sees blue so dark it’s almost black, melting into the oblivion in its midst. She’s seen this color before and she thought she’d never see it again.

Leon Kennedy calls her name again, his hands on either of her shoulders, shaking her as if trying to break her from a trance. Her hands remain on her ears and her eyes widen with terror as she shakes her head.

“No,” she can’t even hear the whisper as it leaves her lips. Leon’s lips move to form her name, over and over and over again but she does not hear it, does not want to hear it. “No!”

Leon’s hands push her down and she finds her head beneath the surface again, but this time it’s only red she sees. Leon’s hands wrap around her neck and hold her there and she slaps his wrists repeatedly, desperately trying to pry them away. She kicks and thrashes all the while screaming, “no! No! Nononononononononononononononononononono!”

And then the sea of maroon begins to darken and she dreams of fading away, of dying…

…she wakes with cold sweat beading down the sides of her face, her palms flush to the mattress as she pushes herself to sit upright. The alarm clock at her bedside plays that annoying high-pitched sound that makes her brain rattle and she sighs, dipping her chin. Her heart still pounds against her chest as she cards her fingers through the mess of hair atop her head, moving them away from her face. She leans over to her bedside table and slams the side of her fist against the top of the clock so finally the wretched alarm ceases its incessant beeping. She’s left to sit in silence, which silence is good. She can think in the silence.

She grumbles as she peels the covers away from her body, every muscle in her body pleading with her to stay in bed despite her brain reminding her she has to get ready for work. She groans. She hates thinking.

She falls into routine: get out of bed, brush hair, brush teeth, put on any makeup she does or doesn’t need, get dressed, get something in her system, grab purse and keys, then leave.

The ghosts that haunt the long hallway of her floor aren’t active in the day time, so she pads down the corridor with an air of ease. She makes her way down the stairs leading to the ground floor, pawing at her tired eyes as she fits her car key into the driver’s side door, yawning as she steps in, slamming the door closed behind her.

She turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life while she drops her bag into the passenger seat. When she looks up, she swears she sees something move around the corner of the apartment building, veiled by shadows. Her brows draw together— maybe it was the trick of the eye kind of thing, perhaps she was simply seeing things. It could’ve been anything: an animal, someone who was just passing by.

It doesn’t have to mean anything’s necessarily wrong.

She quells the dull pounding of her heart almost as soon as it begins to pick up its pace and shifts her car into reverse, peeling out of her parking space and away from the apartment complex before she could think anything more of it.

Oh how Leon’s grown to hate missions.

He used to not mind them, even somewhat looked forward to them— or rather, looked more forward to the distraction than anything else. They were great outlets for him to pour every emotion, every thought, every feeling into. All his frustrations, all his anger, all his heartache could in turn be used for something actually useful.

But now all they felt like was a waste of time, like a mere roadblock in the way of where he really wants to be. Time is a thief, stealing hours from his days, minutes from his hours, seconds from his minutes. He’s spent every single day since the day he saw her last— the night he left her closet— counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until he could see her again.

He got his first glimpse in the morning as she was stepping into her car, and he made a vow there that that certainly wouldn’t be his last of the day.

Things were going to change today. He would see her again, he would talk to her again, he would have her back. After all, it’s where she belongs— with him.

So he walks along the sidewalks of the streets her car passes, making his way towards the hospital she works at. He loiters around a building down the block for thirty minutes after she arrives, giving her time to clock in and settle into her shift before he lifts his sleeve, tracing along the scars that have begun to fade on his arms before he finds his most recent wound. His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek as he tugs at his stitches until the wound oozes blood again. He hisses through his teeth as he flicks what stitches he manages to pull out before padding down the sidewalk to the hospital.

The middle-aged woman at the front desk blinks up at him, a rather uninterested look upon her face as she recites her everyday, automated greeting. Leon holds up his arm, now dripping with blood.

“Tore my stitches,” he says simply.

Fortunately, it was sooner rather than later that he was being led down one of the hospital’s long hallways, which looked the same as every other one— each had the same tan walls, the same white and beige tiles, even the open doors and rooms inside looked the same.

Except for one.

Leon had been walking so fast that he almost missed her, standing in the middle of one of the rooms with a clipboard in the crook of her elbow, counting out things in the cart in front of her with a pen. Her hair was pulled back the same way he used to always see it back at the training grounds and the same few wisps framed her face now.

Leon’s feet are glued to the ground below him and he thinks the nurse who had been guiding him is saying his name but he’s not listening, for all he can see is her.

For so long he’s waited for this moment, the moment he finally sees her— up close— again, the moment he can talk to her, potentially even touch her again. He’s waited months for this moment but now that it’s finally here, he feels like can’t speak.

Goddammit, why can’t he talk?

“Mr. Kennedy?”

The nurse behind him says his name and he watches the instant recognition in her eyes when she blinks up, staring at nothing in particular as the gears shift in her mind.

“Mr. Kennedy, you’re bleeding on the floor,” the nurse reminds.

His lips part and he releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been keeping as the girl he’s spent months fighting his way back to turns, their eyes locking across the room. It’s something he’d only been able to dream about happening but this is the real thing— and fuck, it’s even better than he’d imagined.

Her lips press together as her spine stiffens, fingers clutching her clipboard so tight, Leon’s certain her joints must be aching. Neither one of them speaks, and the silence must be deafening, because the nurse behind him places a wary hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Kennedy, are you alright?”

The woman he can’t peel his eyes away from blinks between him and the nurse, blinking with the realization that she has to say something, seeing as Leon won’t. She clears her throat and the nurse peers over to where she stands.

“Actually Isa, I can take this one from here,” she says, voice feeble and prone to breaking. The nurse, Isa, cocks an eyebrow to her coworker as she nears, wiping her palm not holding her clipboard against her scrubs.

“But, I—“

“Just… finish counting these out for me, will you?” She interrupts before Isa even has the chance to speak, pressing her clipboard into her chest before glancing back to Leon. Their eyes meet again but she’s so much closer than she was before, Leon finds he has a hard time breathing. “Follow me.”

His eyes follow her as she steps over the spots of blood he’d made on the floor and he certainly doesn’t hesitate to follow.

It feels like a thousand eyes are boring into her skull. She swallows the boulder-sized lump within her throat as she guides him into one of the hallway’s many rooms, gesturing for him to sit. She doesn’t turn to face him, her trembling fingers searching for the materials she needs to patch up his wound. She’s shaking so bad that she can’t even pick up the tiny piece of thread and she— quietly— slams her fist down onto the countertop, palms flush to the surface as she leans back on her heels, focusing on her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks behind her and she curls her fingers into fists, brows drawn as she spins around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” She questions, ignoring his previous inquiry. Leon blinks, almost as if he doesn’t know how to answer. She simply stares at him as he holds his bleeding arm in his lap, blood dripping like rain down to the floor.

He glances down to it then back to her. “Well, I’m ble—“

“No, what are you doing here?” She reiterates. “Out of every fuckin’ city in America, in the entire fuckin’ world, how do you end up in the same one as me?”

Leon blinks again and sighs, pressing his lips together. He doesn’t speak for a moment and she simply waits for him to answer, locking her gaze on his despite how badly she was shaking inside.

“Stationed he—“

“Bullshit.”

Leon’s brow dips and she scoffs, shaking her head. Her hand rises to scratch at her scalp as she paces back and forth, her opposite fist on her hip. She should’ve known this would happen. She should’ve known that Leon Kennedy wasn’t just going to let her go so easily, should’ve known that he was going to find her eventually— Lord knows he has the resources at his disposal.

Yes, she should’ve known but never once did she think that he actually would. Perhaps some part of her hoped he was better than that, that he was above that. But she sees him now, sitting before her, bleeding all over the floor of the hospital in a city she never thought she’d find him in and thinks that maybe she was wrong.

Or maybe she is wrong.

Maybe he is here on business but then, what business could he possibly have here? As far as she knew, this place was clean— in the dark, supernatural, evil sense, anyways. She’d even been told before she left her previous job to come here that it was, so then she thinks that no, she’s not wrong.

It’s just all bullshit.

“I’m stationed here,” he begins again and she rolls her eyes but humors him, waiting for him to continue. “Needed to lay low. I ended up here.”

Her tongue rolls in her cheek and she shakes her head, uncertain what she should believe. Leon eyes her up and down, still clutching his bleeding arm. A drop of blood meets the floor in a smack and he holds it up for her to see, as if she’d forgotten it.

“Stitch me up before I bleed to death?” He asks and she sighs, turning to grab her materials.

She plops herself down onto a stool before him and grabs his arm, inhaling sharply his skin meets hers. She swallows to quell the erratic beating of her heart as she cleans up his wound, warily working around the tender flesh. She turns and leans over to the counter to grab the needle and thread, resisting the urge to look at him.

Leon’s knee bobs up and down as she tries to work and she eventually has to glance up at him, brow dipping in annoyance. “Be still or you’ll make it worse,” she says and he grasps his kneecap in order to keep it still.

Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments but she tears her gaze away, focusing on her task at hand. Leon’s inhales and it sounds like a laugh, “been awhile since we’ve done this, huh?”

She made no attempt to hide her breathy laugh. Her mind drifts to the secret government training facility she spent the past few years of her life working at, recalling the many times this exact scenario has played out. She remembers late nights treating Leon’s wounds, remembers the rush of sneaking kisses when no one was around, of sex in the med tent when they’d found a moment of alone time.

As much as she tries to deny it, the memories still make her feel something, still make her heart pick up its beat in her chest, still make her stomach feel warm and fluttery. She hates herself for it— but she’s still somewhat fond of the man in front of her.

She knows she shouldn’t, knows that it’s wrong— for either of them— and knows that it’s like taking three huge steps backwards after having made a giant step forward. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for Leon, especially not under these circumstances, when she was still sure he was only feeding her lies, or at the most, half-truths.

“I kinda miss it, you know,” Leon continues and she blinks up at him for the briefest of moments, continuing to stitch up his wound. “Not so much getting my ass handed to me just about everyday or the missions but… this. I miss this.”

He pauses and she inhales, preparing herself for what she knows he’s going to say next. But no amount of preparation could soften the sharp end of the dagger his words take to her heart.

“I miss you.”

She cuts the end of the thread and pulls away, hands on her knees to anchor herself. Her heart stutters a little in her chest at his words and she almost, almost feels her resolve slipping.

“Leon…” she sighs, shaking her head. “I…”

He leans forward, finding her hand again, clasping it between either of his. She presses her lips together and she can hear her heartbeat drum inside of her chest when she looks up at him, and suddenly, she feels like she’s back in her dream.

The ocean waves crash over her head and she tries to keep herself afloat, flailing her arms. A storm swells in the sky overhead and the sea rages as it thunders. She sputters, kicking out with her legs and pushing out with her arms to stay above the surface. But even before the next wave crashes, she can already feel the dark, murky blue waters pulling her down and soon, she’s engulfed.

She doesn’t go down without a fight.

Blue begins to fade to black and she thrashes around under the water, trying to claw her way back to the surface. She knows this is wrong, knows she has to find her way back up, knows she can’t keep sinking. But it’s so hard when the darkness is so warm, so tempting, so inviting.

It’s all she sees when she stares at Leon and as she feels the last of her resolve slip, she shivers— because that’s exactly what she’s been afraid of.

“Please,” his voice drops an octave and her breath hitches in her throat. “I can’t stand being away from you anymore.”

“Leon, look, I…”

“No,” he squeezes her hand when she moves to pull away and she draws her gaze back to him again.

And then she knows she’s really done for.

“I can change,” he almost stammers over his words, a sort of desperation laced in every syllable that she just can’t resist when he looks at her like that: brows knit, eyes as bewitching as ever, his pink lips trembling. “I can be better. Just please, give me a chance. Let me take you out to dinner. Sushi, you’ve always liked sushi, right? Let me treat you right, let me buy you sushi, just please, don’t make me let go again.”

It’s a reflection of the last words she’d spoken to him before she left. The past haunts her with a ghostly breeze upon her skin and she shudders with a sigh, blinking down to her hands.

She knows she’s making a mistake.

But she knows that at that moment, there was absolutely no chance she was going to say no.

So, she doesn’t.

The door to the men’s bathroom bangs open and it slams back closed when Leon presses her against it, a hand on her ass, the other in her hair. They could only handle so much of their legs brushing against one another underneath the table, so much of their fingers brushing when reaching for rolls of sushi, so much of Leon’s palm resting on her knee cap before their lips itched to be on one another.

Leon is burning.

He’s not sure if he’s ever felt more alive than at this moment. He guesses must’ve been the last time he had her like this, it was as if his heart had simply stopped beating the day she left and he was only now getting the color back in his face now that she was here where she belongs with him. There wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross to get to where he is now.

The firestorm within him erupts into a volcano, hot magma pouring over him with each clash of teeth, each grinding of her hips against his, with each tug on his scalp. He burns at the realization that she’s missed him as much as he missed her and they melt into one another until they pool together in lakes of lava.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” He asks against her skin as his teeth drag down to her jaw and she hisses when he sucks a mark into her flesh. “How long I’ve waited to kiss you again?”

His mouth clamps and his teeth are in her neck, her fingernails etching crescents into his shoulders, even through the leather of his jacket. Her head lolls backwards and he cups the back of it in one of his palms, the other kneading her hip through her jeans. He swirls his tongue over the blemish he’d made on her neck, his breath hot against the cool saliva on her skin.

“Too long,” he mutters, peppering kisses along the expanse of her throat. Her mouth parts and a small gasp slips past her lips as his kisses work up to her chin, then all the way back down to her collar. “Every day you’ve haunted me since the one you left.”

His fingers toy with the waistband of her jeans, toeing along the edge until they reach the button at the center. He can hear her breath shudder and he peers up at her through his lashes, his gaze darkening as it zeroes in on her, sucking air back into her lungs.

“What about you?” He asks, his finger skirting away from the button of her jeans and she releases a shaky exhale, slowly blinking down at him. Her brows dip and she tilts her head. The corner of Leon’s mouth twitches. “Have I haunted you just the same?”

He still remembers that night a few weeks back, his cock in his fist as he watches her through the cracks of her closet door, hand between her legs, lips moving to form his name. He remembers the way her fingers moved against her clit, the way she moaned his name so loud, it echoed through the entire room. He remembers the way her back arched and her toes curled and her voice shook as she called his name in tune with her release. He remembers it all. He remembers everything.

He watches the quiver of her bottom lip as the pad of his forefinger teases at the button of her jeans again, hooking over the edge to prod her skin. Her eyes are drawn back to his and she whimpers, nodding.

“Yes,” she admits. “Always.”

He fingers open the button of her jeans, pinching the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, slowly easing it down, little by little, inch by inch. His hand slips beneath her panties and dips until they reach her center, the pads of his middle and pointer fingers featherlight against her clit.

Her lips part for a breathy “oh” to release, her back arching until her chest meets his. Leon kisses up her shoulder, past the teeth marks on her neck, up her jaw until he reaches her lips. His fingers rub achingly slow circles against her swollen bud and he pulls away from her lips to stare down at her face. He watches the dent form in her brow, her eyelids close, her teeth pinching her bottom lip. His fingers pause their circles to trace a line from her clit down to her entrance and she gasps, hand instinctively clutching at his wrist.

Her eyelids snap shut again and Leon stops, his fingers in the middle of her slit.

“What is it?” He asks in a quiet murmur and she exhales, pressing her lips together. He watches as she drains the lump in her throat, fingers still lingering around his wrist.

“I just…” she trails off and her eyes drift away but Leon moves his head to follow them, catching them in his gaze. She stares up at him again and he sees it— a wavering light he hadn’t seen before.

He’s not sure what to make of it— for a moment, it almost looked like fear, like reluctance, but in the next, it was gone, replaced with glimmers of what looked more like want, like need. It was such a smooth transition that he’s not for sure whether it was the same gleaming the entire time, a trick of the light or different.

Her fingers loosen their grip on his wrist and slither up to his bicep, squeezing him through the leather sleeve of his jacket.

“Not here,” she says, glancing around the bathroom, a little awkwardly. Leon blinks and she finds his eyes again. “But the car…”

It’s all Leon needs to hear.

He rips his hand away from her panties, not bothering to zip nor button her jeans back up as he grabs her hand, pulling open the door and leading her through the restaurant. If anyone gave them any looks, Leon didn’t see, nor would he care if they did. He guides her past the door— thankful he’d already paid the bill before they broke for their little bathroom excursion— and she fishes her car keys from her pocket as they near the vehicle.

Fortunately, the parking spaces around her car were empty (and again, Leon wouldn’t have cared if they weren’t), so he shoves her into the backseat once it’s unlocked. She flips herself onto her back just as Leon climbs in on top of her, slamming the door closed behind him. He steals the keys from her hand and leans over to turn them in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, the air from the AC frosting over their skins.

He towers back over her and she reaches around the nape of his neck to draw him down to her mouth. His lips swallows hers in a sloppy, near desperate kiss and it couldn’t have been any less than heaven for him. He pulls away and a string of saliva bridges their mouths together, dipping lower until it finally breaks as Leon shrugs his jacket off, struggling a bit in the cramped backseat of the car, tossing it into the passenger seat.

She watches from below, unmoving and seemingly frozen as she blinks up at Leon with a mix of awe and lust. Leon reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, tossing it aside before he collapses forward, steadying himself with one hand on the seat beside her, the other on her cheek.

There is a rumbling in the depths of his belly, the roar of a beastly hunger he’s kept locked away all this time, now coming to fruition. It’s a devil who dwells within Leon with an unholy desire for sadism, a primal yearn for her flesh between its teeth, for sloppy lips-to-lips, for pussy around its cock. The devil’s roar thunders and quakes his bones as Leon kisses her, pinching her bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away, letting go when she whimpers.

“Fuck,” he mumbles at the sound she makes and it’s like pouring gasoline over the blazing fire that’s already cooking him alive. He practically stuffs his face in the crook of her neck, kissing over the already sore marks on her skin, etching his teeth into untainted parts of her flesh to make new ones.

She squirms beneath him like she’s a worm underneath his boot and her fingers thread through the hair at the back of his skull, her nails scraping his scalp when she curls them, tugging at his roots. His palms soothe up her thighs all the way to the waistband of her jeans, fisting the hem of her shirt and pulling it up along the plain of her stomach. It bunches at her breasts and he pulls away from her neck to tear it away from her body altogether.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Leon groans, cupping her breasts through the cups of her bra. She mewls, arching into his palms, canting her hips upwards into his, searching for friction. He blinks up to leer at her, her head back against the seat, lids closed and mouth wide to draw in air. The pads of his thumbs run over the fabric of her bra, right over where her nipples are underneath and her entire body shakes when she shivers. “Still have the prettiest tits in the fuckin’ world.”

His gaze darkens as a thought slithers into his head that makes the beast caged away within him bare its teeth and snarl, gnawing at the bars of its prison. His face rises from the mounds of her chest and a hand reaches forward to smooth the pad of his thumb over her closed eyelids. They flutter open in his touch’s wake and the pupils at her eyes’ center smalls.

“Tell me,” he says in just barely over a whisper that’s like a phantom breathing across her skin, and he can see the gooseflesh erupt over her flesh from the bottom of his vision. “Has anyone else touched them? Did you let someone else have you like this after me?”

The mere thought of it is painful and he almost wishes he didn’t ask her, in case the answer isn’t what he hopes for. Still, he watches her, unmoving and waiting for her response. She audibly gulps, shaking her head as she admits, “no.”

There’s a sliver of his brain, a tiny rational part of him that tells him it’s wrong for him to be relieved, selfish of him, even.

But that’s just the thing.

To be selfish is the vow he’s already made with himself. He’s already vowed to be the leech that clings to her skin, the blood-sucking parasite that sinks its teeth into her flesh and never lets go. There was no line he wouldn’t cross to honor his vow and frankly, he’s well past the point of no return.

So rather than feeling disgusted with himself, his lips curve into a vile smirk as he sinks, head dipping lower until his mouth is against the valley between her breasts. She gasps and he takes the moment she arches her back as his opportunity to unclasp her bra, tugging the straps down her arms until he can fling it, too, into the front seat.

His tongue swirls one of her peaked nipples and he squeezes the flesh, sucking her tit into his mouth. Perspiration leaks down her skin but he laps it right up, gathering spit and saliva onto her nipple. She hums and his lips buzz with the vibrations as he pulls away, letting go of her tit with a wet ‘pop.’

“Fuckin’ taste like heaven,” he says and grins, breathing a laugh. As if he’d have any idea what true heaven was like. “You’re perfect for me.”

She’s no time to answer, for his mouth is already on her other breast, a hand sliding down her belly and past the unbuttoned denim, slipping beneath her panty-line, just like he did before. Her breath catches in her throat when the pads of his middle and forefinger find her clit again, her grip tightening in his hair when he circles it, gathering her slick.

“Leon,” she whines and squirms, further arching into his mouth as he suckles at her nipple, peering up at her as his tongue swirls the bud. His fingers trace the same line he had earlier in the bathroom down to her entrance, using the slick he’d gathered to push his middle finger in. “Leon!” She cries and he pulls away from her breast, watching her face wrinkle as he slowly pumps his digit back and forth. His forefinger teases her slit just above his middle and she’s shuddering, gasping for breath.

“Have to get you ready for my dick, baby,” he murmurs, a featherlight kiss landing on her nose. “You can take another finger, hm?”

Her brow dips and her eyes round while she presses her lips together and there’s just something about how submissive she looks that makes him… feral. There’s something about how easy it would be to break her, how something so simple as just one finger inside of her was enough to almost make her shatter that made him feel… powerful.

Leon’s never lusted for power before. But as he slides another finger into her sopping hole and a broken cry rips from her throat, he starts to think that maybe he should. To be drunk on his own libido is enough but to be drunk on power, to be drunk on how it feels to have someone’s dignity like malleable putty in the palm of your hands— it’s fucking electric.

“Fuck, have you always been so tight?” He asks as he adds a third finger that reduces her to a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “can’t fuckin’ remember. Been so long, too long since the last time I had you.”

Three fingers knuckle deep in her pussy has her lashes fluttering open and closed, her eyes rolling into the back of her bead, her head swaying as if she’s spinning. Leon licks a stripe from her sternum to her throat and lifts until he casts a shadow over her face, curling his fingers inside of her like he’s digging her orgasm out of her. Her walls cave on his fingers and her body quakes beneath him, a string of unintelligible mumblings spewing from her lips.

“Hm?” He hums. “What’s that? You’re gonna come?”

Fucking bastard.

Speaking is fruitless, so she bobs her head up and down vigorously instead, reaching down between their bodies to grasp his wrist. It doesn’t slow his pace, if anything, it eggs him on more.

He clicks his tongue. “Do it then,” he growls, reaching for her throat with his unoccupied hand, pressing the pads of his fingers into the side of her neck. Her eyelids snap open and stare into him, wide-eyed. “Come all over my fingers, then I’ll fuck you properly.”

He watches the shift in her eyes and it’s the moment she lets herself go, body spasming on his fingers and their unrelenting pace. Her cries permeate the car but fall only on his ears as she comes and warmth envelopes Leon’s digits.

“Shit,” he mutters as he continues to drill his fingers in and out, even as she kicks and squirms beneath him. His hand tightens around her throat, inexorable despite her crying of his name, her thrashing about. It’s only when his arm grows tired and aches for a break that he lets go and her chest heaves as she sucks in a deep breath, coughing as air floods her lungs.

Leon pulls his fingers out of her pulsing cunt, mumbling a string of curses as he glances down at his fingers, glistening with her cum even in the dim light of the car. He wastes no time in plunging them into his mouth, the nectar that’s come straight from her body coating his tongue and he hums as his taste buds soak in the flavor. He pulls his fingers out from his mouth and a bridge of saliva strings them and his lips together.

“Goddamn,” he growls, exhaling a laugh. “You taste better than I remembered.”

Her lids are heavy against her eyes but she still blinks up at him and he finds her gaze beside his fingers, tongue swiping between his lips to gather any remnants he’d missed. He hums as he swallows, tittering.

“Sorry. I’d let you have a taste but it’s been awhile,” he titters, leaning down to capture her lips with his. His tongue swirls her mouth and hers does just the same, their wet muscles doing a waltz but it’s Leon who inevitably comes out victorious in the end.

It’s a sloppy kiss, a languid kiss. It’s a stark difference from the ones they’d shared earlier but fret not, because Leon is not fully satiated yet. It’s simply a breather, a moment of tranquility because although Leon may be an animal— a fact he’s now starting to accept— he still cares. Dark and twisted, perhaps, but it’s still care. It’s still love.

He knows it’s still love.

Because it has to be.

Leon begins to pull away and her lashes flutter as she stares up at him, round eyes illuminated like the night with starry skies. She stares and it’s like he’s the thing she knows she should look away from but can’t, like he’s the cause of her morbid fascination. He’s sure he’s seen this look on her face before, somewhere back in that godforsaken training facility when their dynamic was simpler and she was his.

He tries to cling to the dying embers of what their relationship once was, but the shift is undeniable. Change is inevitable.

He thinks he can see her coming to terms with that in her head through her eyes.

And she still wraps a hand around to the nape of his neck to push him down into her, to bring his lips to hers.

She kisses him and he can feel the stirrings of revolutionary ardor with every swipe of her tongue over his, with every clash of her teeth against his. He kisses back with an urgent need, an equal fervor to hers. He is a candle and she is a flame, melting him from the center, heat coursing through him, washing to his toes. Her kiss is like a pull from the tide, pulling him in deeper, further away from the shore. It further urges him over that edge, the one that leads straight to the depths of his stomach where that devil resides, looming, waiting.

His lips lower and press open mouthed kisses to her throat as he works at the buckle of his jeans, pulling the leather through the loops until it joins the pile of clothes strewn across the front seats. His fingers find the button of his jeans and then the zipper, his tongue lapping at the many marks he’d tainted the flesh at her throat with, almost like an apology.

Almost— because he still pinches her skin between his teeth before he pulls away to push down his pants.

It’s difficult to pull them off in the little space he has behind the passenger seat but he manages, tearing them off his ankles before he tugs at hers. He strips her legs of her jeans, flinging them, along with her underwear, towards the windshield, uncaring of where any of them ended up.

They are naked before one another and it’s just like old times. Ghosts of their past life always come back to haunt him, and it’s more so now than ever. They’re naked before one another and it’s almost like they’re back in the training facility, in a med tent, in a utility closet, in his bunk. They’re naked before one another and he can pretend that it’s simple, for the sake of nostalgia.

“Leon,” she calls his name and it’s like a whisper from the past with a ghostly hue that chills his skin. Oh, how he’s missed her. How he’s longed for a moment just like this every second he’s been away from her. He whispers her name back and she shivers, her gaze dropping down his body then dragging back up. “I… I want you inside.”

Her nerves make it sound like she’s unsure, but her eyes harden when they meet his and he knows that it’s untrue. She wants him. She wants him and that’s all that’s ever mattered.

So, he takes his cock in his fist and pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, letting go for a quiet “fuck” to utter. He eyes her swollen clit and the way her entrance pulses, having just been fucked but already looking so eager for more. He kneels until he’s eye level with her cunt, admiring what’s his before he rightfully takes it.

Her scent wafts back into his face and he inhales, a low rumbling resonating deep inside his chest as it only adds more fuel to the fire, starving the poor, hungry beast within. He squeezes his dick in his tight grip and leans forward to press a kiss right on top of her clit. She whimpers, squirming.

“The prettiest pussy and it’s all for me,” he whispers, mostly to himself but her center aches anyways as he pulls away, guiding the head of his cock to her sobbing entrance. He eases just the tip into her and she’s so tight, her walls have to adjust to fit around him. She cries out his name and he tosses his head back, a long “shiiiiiiiiiiit!” ripping from his throat.

“Goddammit!” He exclaims once he’s successfully gotten half of his length inside. “It’s been so long but you still fit around me just like you were handcrafted for me.”

It feels like it’s true.

Her walls cave around his length but it’s like she’s the perfect mold, a perfect cock-sleeve, just for him. Leon slowly pushes himself forward, filling her inch by every little inch until he’s seated fully inside, successfully sheathed in her cunt and he sees white.

She’d almost forgotten how perfectly they fit together.

She can feel every vein protruding from his cock prodding against her walls, can feel every single centimeter of him inside of her, his ruddy tip reaching a delicious spot deep within her. Her fingers find his arms and her nails etch shapes into his skin while she arches her back, drunk on the pleasure of no longer feeling hollow.

Leon settles like an infection in the marrow of her bones, harmless at first but dangerous the longer he’s inside, and she’s riddled with sickness when he begins to move. Back and forth, his hips rock, and his tip continually meets that spongy spot inside of her. Her eyes squeeze shut so hard, her vision litters with stars and she succumbs to his poison, letting him pull her further down.

Each thrust breaks her and puts her back together before repeating. She is glass and he’s a hammer but he’s also glue all the same. She’s rapt in his tempest, stuck in an endless loop of breaking and mending, breaking and mending, breaking and mending until she’s so used to the feeling, all she can do now is lose herself in the pleasure.

His hand slithers around his throat again and she moans, blinking up at him. She finds that blue so dark it fades into black again and it’s like her dream, only this time, she isn’t fighting.

“Open,” he demands, thumbing at her bottom lip as he pounds into her and she complies, parting her lips. He gathers saliva on the tip of his tongue and leans in, spitting into her mouth, tightening his hand around her throat. She hums, closing her mouth and Leon watches with a primal fire in his eyes as she swallows. “Fuck,” he mumbles.

It’s wrong. She knows it is. She’s spent months fighting demons that attempt to drag her back to the past, spent months fighting the maggots that tore through the rotting flesh of her decaying corpse, spent months restoring the color to her face and bringing herself back to life.

Months she spent pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into gone all in the blink of an eye, all because Leon Kennedy managed to crawl his way back to her, like a leech on her shoulder, sinking its teeth into her skin and bleeding her dry for all she was worth.

And that’s when her worst fear comes true.

Because she finds that she likes it.

a/n; AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I'M SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS INSTALLMENT WITH YOU ALL! i truly feel good about my writing here for once, not to mention it's been months since i last updated this collection (my apologies 🥴)

so, a couple things i want to put out there:

i'm not sure if anyone's noticed, but my writing style has slightly changed! i'm still going back and forth on whether i want to edit the first two installments to match my new writing style, so i'm not sure whether i will be doing that yet or not.

i will be uploading this collection and all future installments on ao3! i will start linking to where you can read it there, if that's what you prefer :)

thank you to everyone who has been patient for this next installment to come out and for reading. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍✨

💿 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🤍

TAGLIST

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@glovesandhorror

@angelstargel

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#pasukiyo's leech collection #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon x you #leon x reader #leon x y/n #resident evil #resident evil smut

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daenysx · 7 months ago

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hi I can’t stop thinking about an aemond fic with his girl graduating university. I graduated today and can’t stop thinking about how supportive your modern aemond would be!!

thank you for requesting, angel! i'm sorry, this is a bit short but i hope you enjoy, congratulations!! requests are open

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader ♡

aemond watches you take your make up off as he does every night.

this time, it's a bit different. the hour is later than usual, you are a little tipsy because of the celebration drinks but you insist on completing your skin care routine. he lays in bed, his eye following your movements in the little bathroom attached to his bedroom. you give him a smile when your eyes meet, he likes being the person you smile at night.

you apply your night cream on your clean face and turn off the lights as you leave the bathroom. aemond adores how your face looks without any make up on, he likes it either way but your clean face reminds him how safe you feel with him. you trust him enough to create a night time routine with him, it's so nice to be the person you sleep and wake up next to. he opens his arms, you willingly lay next to him, your head on his chest and your arm wrapped around his waist.

"you don't have classes tomorrow." he says. "how does that feel?"

you sigh, nuzzling closer. "it's so weird. i don't think i ever remember a time when i don't continue studying after summer."

"you'll get used to it." he graduated three years ago. "and you can always continue studying if you want."

"i feel free." you say. "and i'm kinda proud of myself. i mean at some point it was really hard like it's never gonna end."

aemond is proud of you. so proud, he can still remember how his posture got straighter the moment you finally graduated. he is the person who has been with you all the time when you were studying, when you were crying because of your papers, when you were finding out about your grades and celebrating them. now, it's all over. you finished another important part of your life and he is one of the main characters. such a nice feeling, he thinks.

"i totally remember that point." he smirks. he does remember the time of your final week during your last semester at uni. it's safe to say he won't let you forget it either. it was a hectic week, you don't remember you ever studied harder in your life. one night, you were literally talking about your lecture notes in your sleep and aemond had the pleasure of learning your class.

"it happened once, aemond." you roll your eyes. "i can't control what i do when i sleep."

he changes your positions to be on top. he kisses your nose, your cheeks. he feels delightful tonight, you cup his cheeks to start a kiss that plays with his heartbeat. he brings his finger to your chin, tilts your head back for a deeper angle. you are both very tired but aemond thinks he can kiss you for an eternity. it makes him feel like he's the lead of one of those cheesy romcoms but he can't help himself.

"do you think it's gonna be okay?" you ask him, breaking the kiss. he knows you are nervous about what to do with your life now, university was hard but it had consistency. your every day was planned, routines were safe. right now, you need to build yourself a new life, it's a new chapter. beginnings are always scary.

"of course it's gonna be okay." he says, playing with your hair. "no matter what you decide to do, i'll be here."

"i think i'm afraid of stucking into a thing i'll hate and then never being able to change it."

he smiles, your pout has always been this cute. "trust me, sweetheart, you can change it. if you ever feel like you're stuck into something, i promise i'll help you with the change you want."

your pout turns into a smile. there she is, his brilliant girl. he kisses the corner of your lips fondly.

"i'm so proud of you." he says before kissing your forehead.

"thank you." your eyes are shining, you kiss him as a way of telling how much his words mean to you.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #modern!aemond #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #modern!aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #modern!aemond imagine #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond fic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Consequences | Five

Word Count: 6.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond, graphic depictions of medieval abortions, choking (and not in a kinky way), p in v, facefuckin (oral, m receiving), choking (in a kinky way), fingering

Series Masterlist

A/N: okaaaay let’s go, please for the love of god, read the warnings. Apologies in advance to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for this one ily 😚

Everything had changed.

King Viserys was dead. Aegon thrust on his throne in place of Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. And the maidservants and staff had been locked up for the entirety of it, to quell the spread of rumours. Only when the staff pledged their allegiance to Aegon II as their rightful King before the now Dowager Queen Alicent, were they allowed back to their duties, threatened with death on the basis of treason if they were found to be doing anything they shouldn’t.

It was the most surreal, frightening experience of her young life. To be clutched at Hedi’s side, shaking and trembling, wondering if she’d ever see her siblings again.

She wondered if her brother had succumbed to his illness and if her sister was winding herself to the ground with grief, as she had when their parents had died.

She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for.

Everything had changed.

Aemond pulled her body up from the bed to rest on her knees, to support her weight on her shaking arms and the motion had his cock brushing rather uncomfortably against her cervix. Her entire body felt hot, a stagnant, heavy feeling filled his chambers, as if it were humid inside. His thrusts were harder than they’d ever been before, making her skin ripple with movement of his rhythm.

A series of hurried and half-pained breaths are all that left her, her cheeks stinging with heat as her tears ran over them.

“What are you crying for, sweet girl” he grunts, delivering a particularly hard thrust, his large hand slapping her buttock and gripping tightly, “I know you like your Prince’s cock, don’t you, you little slut”

Slut.

Whore.

She whimpered, his fingers digging into the meat of her skin roughly, hoping it would be enough of a response for him.

Since his father had died, plunged into a civil war between his family. He’d been unpredictable. He would start the day calm enough, sometimes frighteningly so. But now that the days were becoming shorter with the weather, a looming dark cloud forever over King’s Landing, as if the Gods knew the trouble that was afoot, Aemond temper came with the storms and the rains.

Destructive. Washing away everything living thing in his path.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, roughly pulled her back up to meet his bare chest. Aemond’s fingers curled so tight around her neck, that for a split second, she thought that he might actually lose control and snap. But he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingertips harshly tearing at her thin and delicate skin, “Fucking answer me”

He adjusts the endless thrust of his cock up into her, now they are controlled, deeper, as if trying to hide further and further inside.

She could feel her air stuck beneath his hand, desperately trying to break free. Felt her head begin to get hot and foggy, vision blurred and her lips move but a barely audible sound is all that came out.

“Yes…” she whispered. Just saying whatever she could to appease him.

She had been afraid of him before. Many times. But now, the way he was now, she feared that he might actually harm her and that the damage might be irreparable.

Aemond laughs against her back, the vibration of it humming uncomfortably in her body.

Still with one hand around her neck but loosening his grip so that she can breathe once again, she almost weeps at the relief. Aemond chuckles darkly and pushes her back against the bed, grinning when he sees the familiar sheen of tears on her cheeks, watching her breasts rise and fall with the intensity of her breathing. He eases his other hand down her body, over her feminine hips, taking the meat of her thigh in his grasp to spread them apart once again, sighing contently at her glistening cunt, ready to take him again.

“You are a terrible liar, sweet girl” he coos down at her, lowering his face so that his hair brushes against her nipples. A flash of fear passes her face, but Aemond seems to revel in it.

He did say once, he would have her fear if nothing else.

He pulls her by her hair to the edge of the bed, where her head briefly hangs over the edge. She whimpers at the tug on her follicles and it sends a prickling pain down her spine. He no longer holds back his grip like he used to. He swats her cheek, again not in the usual soft manner, but as a means to punish her for the outburst.

“Shut up” he commands, standing in front of her.

She looks up at him from where she’s laid as Aemond stands before her, holding his cock proudly by the base, shining with her slick. He prodded his tip against her lips, looking at her wide eyes beneath him. He smelled of sex, of her and his arousal mixed with one another. His hand comes down to her jaw, thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth and Aemond sighs when he feels her hot, shuddered breath against his cock, twitching with excitement.

He does it slowly, and plunges into her mouth, watching how his cock disappears down her throat, where the skin around her neck bulges where it's nestled. He feels her breathe through her nose and smirks, knowing that she’s doing as he had instructed her the first time, grinning at her endless obedience.

“Good, sweet girl…” he growls, burying himself to the hilt within her warm and wet mouth, the head of his cock rammed down the smoothness of her throat.

Hand still at her jaw for leverage, he cants his hips slowly, grunting heavily at the friction he gets from this angle and the sound it makes. But she herself makes no sound. Not even when his heavy stones sit warm against her face, briefly blocking off her air. Aemond watches as she takes it, her saliva coating his cock just as her slick had.

Continuing to use her mouth for pleasure he runs his hand down her body, cupping his hand at her sex and running his fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness on them.

“Perfect fucking cunt”

He sinks two digits inside of her, his palm delivering friction to her clit at the same time, and he both fucks her mouth and her sex with the same rhythm, taking immense pleasure in the way her body responds.

It’s out of her control. He plucks the pleasure from her without her even thinking about it. She whimpers around his cock, deeper than she ever thought he could be in her mouth. Her neck bobs with his shallow thrusts and his other hand rests against it, pleasuring himself through it.

“Fuck-take it” he moans loudly, nearing his climax with accelerating and shocking speed. He fucks his fingers into her faster, intent on making her shake and writhe beneath him. Aemond increases the intensity of his thrusts with it, outright moaning as her mouth trembles around him.

She whimpers, her insides clenching uncontrollably, painful pleasure taken forcibly from her core, but any sounds she makes are stuck in her chest with the slow, methodical drag of Aemond in her mouth.

Aemond smirks when her body shudders with overstimulation, more sounds muffled in her chest, giving her some reprieve when he pulls his fingers free and her body sags once again against the bed. Not a moment later, Aemond pushes his hips flush against her face, his seed painting the walls of her throat with a shuddered moan. He feels her gag a bit, still with his cock in her mouth, but he enjoys the slight friction it gives him.

He stays seated in her mouth for a moment, his hand running through her hair.

“You are so good to me” he breathes as he comes down from the high.

She felt the warmth slide down her throat, the proof of his twisted, sick attraction to her.

And when Aemond pulled her up, to kiss her on her lips, she wanted to weep. It was too sacred. A kiss. Something that should be done before all the things he had done to her. Something to bind a love, a marriage. A respect for one another.

But he had kissed her so fiercely, to taste himself on her mouth, and she had known then there was no love. No care. No respect.

“You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

There were few things in her life that were consistent up to now.

But her moon's blood had always, always arrived on time.

No matter how many times she willed it to come, stepping into the privy multiple times a day to find her hand completely dry, void of the usual slick of red, it would not come.

Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay.

That was when that hurtling drop of panic erupted in her gut.

She didn’t understand at the time, what Princess Helaena had said. And she thought of how foolish and stupid she’d felt.

Cold Tansy.

The womb quickens.

Tansy tea. In other words.

Moon Tea.

The liquid that so many women used and still used…had to be prepared with a flame before consumption. Had to be brewed fresh.

She felt dizzy.

She hid in the privy, so unbearably torn apart by the revelation that she almost made herself sick. Bile rose in her throat but it never came free, and she wretched, her body tearing her apart from the inside. She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine.

She tried to muffle her cries with a hand over her mouth, but the hurried sobs inevitably broke free.

Alanna flung the privy door open and upon seeing the crumpled mess of her bedfellow on the floor, promptly shut it again with both of them inside.

"Gods…" Alanna whispered, bringing her into a hug, a friendly hand stroking her back.

If the maidservant hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed. Alanna didn't like to be hugged, or any physical contact at all, even going so far as to lay on the far side of the bed to avoid touching. She found it uncomfortable.

But right now, it was needed. And the maidservant flung her arms around Alanna, tightening her grip on her as if she was the last person in this realm to be on her side and help. Her hands had clamoured at her back, needing this closeness so badly it hurt. Alanna only shushed her and allowed her to sob.

"Please…do not tell Hedi…" she begged, with tears still streaming down her face, voice thick with despair. Alanna pulled her face back and sighed, using her thumbs to wipe her cheeks.

"We have to tell the Quee-"

"No, I-I need…I need this job. I have to-" she stammers through her weeping, struggling to catch her breath, emotions running higher than they would normally, "-my siblings, th-they need me. They will send me away without my wages and no reference, I-”

"Shh, shh, alright I will not tell Hedi or the Queen" Alanna cooed, rocking her shoulders softly.

"Do not tell anyone, please…I-I could not bear it…" she cracks her bleary eyes open, her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm again. Her lashes are all stuck together from her tears, cheeks red raw.

"Who is it, the man? You could not marry?..." Alanna asks carefully.

It was a nice thought. But one that would never happen.

She shakes her head, "I cannot say…"

Alanna sighs, obviously quickly running out of ideas.

"I can deliver it. I helped my mother when she had my brothers-"

Everyone would see. Everyone would see you are the Prince’s whore. A child with silver hair.

"My condition will soon start to show…" she says, resigned. Her hands shake against one another, held as if in prayer to the Gods, "Hedi has such sharp eyes…what am I to do…"

Alanna was quiet for a long time, trying to wrack her brain for what to do. She knew she could not have the baby, nor could she tell another living soul in the Keep as it would mean she would no longer have a job, no more funds to send to her family and an even smaller chance of a future.

“Have you any money?” Alanna asks, “there is a woman in Flea Bottom who helps whores when they need it…but…” she says carefully, watching her fellow maidservant’s reaction.

“What are you suggesting?...” she responds with a weak and shaky voice, her grasp on Alanna resting at her arms. Alanna looks visibly pained by the suggestion. Every one of them were devout, pious, to even suggest such a thing as…

“How much is the procedure…” she asked, making Alanna widen her eyes, surprised that she was considering it.

“One gold dragon, but it is dangerous-”

“I cannot afford one gold dragon, ‘tis more than I earn in a year!”

Alanna sighed, “Whoever the man is, go to him. Appeal to his better nature…he cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all”

She really appreciated Alanna’s advice, but there was a twisting pain in her gut at what had been suggested. It was something she had heard of women doing before, in desperate times. It could be dangerous. But this woman had done this procedure plenty of times, on women who survived and lived to keep on working.

There was a chance.

There was a chance she could keep the job. In servitude still of Aemond, but with the knowledge that she could just drink Moon Tea, prepared correctly, and never have to do this again.

A future.

One gold dragon was an incredible amount of money for a common maidservant, well over a year’s wages. It was entirely intentional, gold dragons as a currency was something specifically reserved for the upper classes, and if she was to be found with it…it would arouse suspicion.

She had to be careful.

Should she approach Aemond…?

…How would he react to it?

Would he dismiss her? Send her to the streets, her and her bastard? Left on the cobblestones to die.

He cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all.

Appeal to his better nature.

It cannot be.

The words of Princess Helaena were like an incessant bell, echoing around her mind. It was all-encompassing and it took every little bit of strength she had left to not crumble under its weight.

There was only one problem.

Aemond was nowhere to be found.

The Dowager Queen looked out at the skies, darkened and stormy. The rain was loud and oppressive. Thunder and lightning clapping across the sky, sending an intolerable humidity and uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to sweep about the Keep like a disease. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, opting to fiddle with them instead of destroying herself.

Her heart was filled with worry.

Aemond had not returned.

She waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, not knowing if a day had passed or not. The sun had yet to make its appearance, stuck beneath layers and layers of clouds, towering high above King’s Landing. It was impossible to see a thing. Despair hung so low to the ground that it obscured everything.

Alicent’s nervous face met the gaze of Ser Criston, who had knocked and walked past the threshold of her chambers.

“What is it?” she asked nervously, unsure if she wanted the reply.

Ser Criston stood straight, hands at his side, one perpetually on the handle of his sword at his side, “Prince Aemond has returned”

She moved swiftly through the Keep, the skirts of her deep green dress in her fists and rushing to find her second son.

Something was wrong.

Down the long corridor, Alicent came to a halt halfway, her chocolate brown eyes wide at what she saw. Aemond had rounded the corner, absolutely sodden through his clothes, hair wet and tangled, trying with an annoyed air about him to tear his leather overcoat off his person. A maid followed closely behind, picking them up from where he’d thrown them.

His eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face, which was still covered in drops of rain. His jaw was forever clenched, his lone eye ablaze with fury but also something deep and worrying inside. Shoulders hung on him, as if he had the weight of the world on them.

“Aemond…” Alicent’s soft voice called to him, hoping to break him from his darkened trance. But he continued on, long legs striding to his one comfortable place. His one haven in the hellhole he had made.

Her son towered over her as he strode by and she knew something horrible had happened. A mother’s gut feeling never wavers, not once. She knew her boys, in her bones. And she knew Aemond had a temper, but rationales that there was always a reason for it.

She held his forearm to attempt to calm him. To bring him back.

Aemond didn’t say a word, huffed and tore his arm away. Not even the soft embrace of his mother could help in what he had done. The sin he had committed. His failure.

He refused to stop, to explain what he’d done. Everyone would know by the morrow and he need not be there for it, he reasoned.

Right now, he wanted the safety of his chambers and the warmth and security of being buried inside her. She offered an indifference, a closeness he could not get anywhere else.

His mother attempted once more to reach out, and without looking at her he roared, as if cornered, “Leave me!”

He dared not to see the broken and disappointed look on her face, as he knew she would have by the morning. He felt like a child all over again. Weak and feeble. He remembered the way he had crawled to his mother’s arms and found solace.

But he was not a boy anymore.

Instead he would find solace the way a man would.

The way a man should.

At least as far as Aemond was concerned.

The little maidservant had jolted noticeably when the chamber doors slammed shut with a force that shook the very stone walls. She held a jug of warm water in her hands, instructed to draw a bath upon Aemond’s arrival, and with the sheer shock of him storming past the threshold had some of it fall onto the stone floor below.

With parted lips in surprise, her eyes met his form, standing before the now locked and closed doors. He was tall and foreboding, like looking at a wild animal, especially with how uncharacteristically unkempt he looked, with that fierce look in his one eye. His body vibrated with an unseen rage, his chest rising and falling quickly like he had been running. He smelled what she thought was dragon, a musky animal-like smell that clung to his riding leathers.

He said nothing.

“Your grace…” she greeted with a quiver to her voice.

She would never see the internal battle in his mind. The pendulum swinging between kinslayer and dutiful Prince.

Kinslayer

Kinslayer.

She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles were white.

“Undress me” he commanded, with a low growl.

She swallowed hard and set the jug aside, brushing her hair that she had unbraided over her shoulder. Daring not to meet his eye, she stepped forward, shaky hands reaching out for his leather doublet, the silver clinking quietly in the chambers. Aemond closed his eye, inhaling deeply when her scent flooded his very being.

So feminine.

Weak.

He was about to drift into the calming waves that her presence offered, floating idly in the depths of her touch when-

“May I speak plainly, your grace…” she asked meekly once she dropped the leather from his shoulders.

She had never asked to speak out of turn. Not once. And Aemond opened his eye again, half lidded and looked down at her, his gaze remaining in its stoic manner. But she didn’t meet it, too afraid to, as she folded his doublet over the armchair.

“Speak then”

Her hands found one another, fiddling nervously with the skin at her palm, her head lowered.

“I…wondered if I might request some-”

“Look at me when you are speaking to me” he interrupted.

His voice drove fear, deep into her core and she felt the dragon in her womb begin to wake from its slumber. He took her chin in his fingers once more and forced her to look up at him. Her wide, glassy eyes finally met his and she could feel her entire form tremble, and thought, he must be able to feel it too.

“I wondered if I might request some funds from you” she finally said, in a quiet, mousy manner.

She had known then. That now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. But by then it had been too late. His fingers tightened on her chin, to keep her there, to watch him as his brows furrowed in frustration.

“You said you had sufficient funds”

He said in an accusatory way. As if her chance before had vanished.

She inhaled, filling her lungs with the last bit of courage she had.

Her lips quivered, and the words left her mouth too quickly.

“I am with child”

His entire form seemed to go cold, as well as his expression, hooded even further in what she could only assume was anger.

“You are lying” he dared to accuse, with a firm and ever-tightening grip.

You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you sweet girl.

She felt the tears hot in her eyes, entire body shaking. The babe within was hot in her belly at the proximity with their father.

“I am not” she responded with a quiver to her voice, “I…do not have the funds to…have the procedure…to…”

It was difficult for Aemond at this moment to pin down a specific emotion. So much had happened in the course of a mere few days. For him, for the realm. For the lives of every soul in Westeros it felt like.

In the morning, everyone would know what he was. A disappointment. Weak. A failure to his family. He would see the sullen look on his mother’s face, when she found out that her entire bloodline was now thrust into danger, on account of what Aemond had done.

He would lose his place in his mother’s good graces.

Fathering a bastard. A blatant disregard to his duties as a Prince.

Just like Aegon had been.

He could not bear it. To be a kinslayer as well as that.

He wanted control, something that had been slipping ever so carelessly from his grip since Lucerys was crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. He wanted control of his life.

Of her.

And her admission didn’t give him the safety he so craved.

To think of a bastard in her belly. His bastard. The storms returned to Aemond’s one eye at the thought of even seeing her swell with it. It could not happen. It could never happen. To be reminded of his failures.

She gasped loud, breath caught in her lungs, as his hand gripped her throat and squeezed. Previously, in the throes of passion, he had squeezed the sides of her neck, so as not to cut off her air entirely. But this time, his grip around her was so tight that his thumb pressed against her pulse point. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to his to pry his hand off her. But he never relented. Not once.

Ordinarily, a primal part of his brain would adore to see her swell with his child. To see her breasts grow heavy with milk and her stomach taut with his little dragon inside. If she were his wife. If she were highborn, a real lady.

But she had dared to exist in a moment of Aemond’s most tumultuous times.

The realm had played a game. Aemond was a loaded cannon and the game was to see which gunner could fire his rage in the right direction.

And it had been her. Her mere existence as a woman.

She could feel her head become heavy with the lack of air, her hands clamouring desperately at his to let her free, fear climbing its way up her spine, both at the situation and the look in Aemond’s eye. Calm but with a white hot rage inside.

He shook her by her neck, “You are mine” he growled at her face, his grip tightening.

“Until the day you die, you are mine”

She wished she could die.

He would never let her go. He would never let her truly live. She would never have a husband. Have children to raise. No ordinary life.

Gods, take me away, she prayed silently, closing her eyes, as if she felt Aemond might kill her right here and now.

He pushed her away forcefully, wanting to be rid of her presence as if he could by the click of a finger. Could not bear to see her and her supposed betrayal of his servitude to his family.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand around her neck from where he had grabbed her tightly. The stone floor hit hard on her body, air flooding her head. Aemond, frustrated and wronged, scrambled for the purse on his side table, unknowing and uncaring of the contents. All he knew was there were sufficient funds there.

He threw it to her crumbled body and watched as she wept on the floor, thinking her pathetic, naive. Weak.

He huffed and began to unlace his breeches, the only thing now on his mind was a bath, to wash away his sins of the days past.

“I expect you to return to your duties tomorrow” he said flatly.

She gasped, choking on her breath as she cried, staring ahead at the purse full of coins.

“Now leave”

Not wanting to look at him any longer, she shakily took the purse and held it to her chest. Somehow regaining the use of her weakened legs as she stood to lunge herself towards the doors. Away from him.

Only when she had regained her breath and strength from the force of her crying, did she look into the bag Aemond had given her.

Four gold dragons and several silver coins.

It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. And would likely ever see all at once. She lost her breath at the sight of it, something foreign curling in her gut.

What she could do with this much money.

She could leave. Leave this job and go somewhere far. Perhaps even across the Narrow Sea. Away from him, from this life of being his whore. Something for him to release his violent temper upon in the hour of the wolf.

She held the purse tight to her chest and decided. Made a decision, for the first time in her young life.

Promised herself that she would have the procedure and flee, far away.

No more of this, she thought to herself, stroking her sore neck and walking with purpose back to her quarters. For the first time, she’d felt anger at herself, for putting up with the torture for so long. Felt overwhelmed by what the past few days had given her as her fate.

It cannot be.

Sleep didn’t find her that night.

A red painted house with the curtains drawn, ask for a woman named ‘Sarria’, is what Alanna had instructed.

She had kept her hair down and wore a dress she would normally wear to prayer, not her maidservant uniform, not wanting to be recognised as staff for the Red Keep.

She clutched the purse close to her chest, the coins jingling softly inside with every step she took. It was like he had given her life. A chance. How unfortunate that it had to come from him.

The air was crisp and it was an overcast day, still so early in the morning that the sun was barely peeking through the narrow alleyways. She had decided to come early, before the market stalls had gone up in Flea Bottom, before the rush of customers would flood the streets. Less chance of being seen entering the home. Perhaps less chance of the Gods knowing what sin she was about to commit.

But the Gods were everywhere. Could not be caged in as men could.

After a moment of deliberation, she knocked on the narrow door, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. The red painted house had their curtains drawn even though it was morning, as Alanna had said, perhaps to hide the sins inside. Like a brothel.

A woman with greying hair had answered, standing in the doorway but not quite showing her entire body, possibly in a manner of guarding. She had bright blue eyes, framed by wrinkles of her years, and she looked impossibly tired from what she had seen over the course of her life. The older woman had looked upon her with curiosity, seeing such a small delicate thing at her doorstep.

“What can I do for you, child?” the woman asks in a soft, gravelly voice.

“I wish to see Sarria” she answered quietly.

The woman’s face fell into a soft frown, a sad one. And her eyes looked her from head to toe, swallowing thickly.

“Come in, child, quickly”

Wracked with anxiety, she stepped across the threshold, greeted by a familiar earthy and minty smell that emanated through the home. It was dark and dank, from years of not seeing the sun. The woman shut the door quickly behind her, placing a bolt across it to lock.

Rather surprisingly, she took her cloak and folded it over an armchair in a friendly gesture, now finally being able to see her young face.

She guided her to the opposite side of the house, where the smell of mint was stronger. The kitchen was somewhat dusty, but well used. She saw two stoves, lit, with a pot of something brewing hot on top, with the stench of something akin to mud.

Moon Tea.

“You have coin, I assume” the woman says, capturing the maidservant's gaze from the pots. The maidservant inhaled sharply, clutching the purse still, fingers gripping it tightly as if it were the last thing in his world. Reluctantly, she nodded and handed the purse to her with shaky hands.

The woman eyed the contents, perturbed.

“Are you a whore?” she asked.

“Excuse me?...” she asked, not quite sure what she meant. The words of the other maidservants clear as water in her mind.

“At the brothels” the woman said, to which the maidservant shook her head quickly.

“No…”

The woman furrowed her brows, “Only whores receive gold dragons, child. Where did you steal this from?”

She swallowed thickly at the accusation, “It was gifted to me, I swear…” she answered meekly.

The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, holding the purse in her hand as if weighing it. Humming, she took one gold dragon from it and put it in a pocket inside her apron, reluctantly giving the purse back to the maidservant.

“Tell nobody of this, and if you do, I shall deny ever having seen you. Understood?”

She nodded in return, too scared stiff at the moment to speak.

The older woman led her to a back room, separate from the rest of the home. A room with no windows and a wooden dining table in the middle. She watched as the older woman spoke to another, much younger woman, one who had long dark hair, also wearing an apron.

The younger woman approached her with a solemn look, but a reassuring smile, and took her hand to lead her to sit on the dining table. The table was clearly cut from one large piece of wood and weathered over the years, with a big burn mark in the middle of it.

“This is my daughter, Cassia” the older woman says, “she will assist you, make sure you are comfortable”

Both of them were soft spoken, careful. It was like being inside a Sept, it was so quiet. They tiptoed around her, like she was a terrified animal, fleeing at the littlest sound.

They covered the table lengthways with a blanket and propped some hefty cushions at the top and middle.

“Lay down” they instructed.

She felt the first signs of fluttering fear in her gut when she laid her head against the pillow, her hands fisting her dress in nervousness as she laid flat against the table. The older woman adjusted the other pillow beneath her bottom, raising her hips. The maidservant swallowed and flinched when the woman named Cassia began to stroke her hair, whispering ‘relax’.

But it did nothing to quell the nerves.

“Bend your knees” the older woman said in a soft tone.

Reluctantly, she raised her knees, but unconsciously clenched them together in sheer terror.

“Will there be pain?” the maidservant asked through hurried breaths.

“There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again”

Cassia held one of her hands and she squeezed back tightly, grounding herself to where she lay, memorising the pattern of the beamed roof. Counting from one to ten over and over in her head as a means to calm herself.

This was freedom. After this, she would never go back.

She would leave.

Cassia and her intertwined hands, her pupils shaking as they stared up at the ceiling.

“Will…you tell me what you’re doing?” she asks, without moving her eyes as the woman gently parts her legs and carefully lifts her skirts.

The woman was quiet for a moment, “It is best not to know” is all she answered.

Cassia held a cup of a warm, milky looking liquid to her lips, gesturing for her to finish the cup before the procedure, her other hand stroking her hair.

“What is it…?”

“It will dull some of the pain” Cassia’s kind eyes looked down at her. There was that reassuring smile again.

As she drank the musty liquid, feeling her muscles eventually relax, Cassia gave her a wooden pestle, covered with a rag.

“In case you need to scream”

She took it graciously, holding it near her chest tightly.

The patterned ceiling began to blur, and all she felt was the cold touch of the tool against her insides, travelling impossibly further up inside her. Eyelids heavy and breathing hurried but calm, there was only the uncomfortable feelings of a stranger on her most intimate and forbidden of areas. The milky substance left a film on her tongue, seemingly numb now, as were her limbs from the effect of it.

All the while, she felt the soft caress of Cassia’s hand in her hair, soothing her.

Cassia guided the wooden pestle to her mouth.

Her body tensed when the sharp object was cutting, tearing, something inside her. And she’d bit down harshly, her screaming and crying muffled somewhat by the rags that were tied around it. She could feel the little dragon within her fight back, their flames licking at her insides in desperation. A deep desire to exist.

It is here she realised what Cassia was actually here for. She was not here for comfort, or to make her feel reassured.

She was here to hold her down.

And she did, a solemn look on her face as she refused to look down at the little maidservant in pain.

She nearly made herself sick with the screaming and crying, praying for the pain to stop. And it didn’t stop, not even when the old woman visibly placed the small, slender knife into a steaming bowl of water, the thick waves of steam lingering to the floor and blood slipping off the blade in ribbons. It was a dull, deep ache, in a new place, somewhere chasmic within. It felt like a hole had been torn open, blood pouring from within.

It was all she thought about as she felt a familiar sticky red liquid begin to coat her inner thighs.

A knife, the weapon.

Cassia took the pestle from her mouth and began to prepare the bandages. The little maidservant stared up at the ceiling, praying in a quiet whisper. For forgiveness. From the Mother, for not allowing her babe to be born. To her own mother, for she’d be disappointed in her eldest daughter, for what she’d done to protect herself and allowing herself into this situation. To her sister, for not being there to protect her, knowing all she does now.

Knowing truly what men want.

Carefully, and with a deep, warm thrumming pain in her core, both women sat her up. The maidservant shook excessively, deeply troubled by the experience, and her glassy eyes went everywhere else but their eyes, not wishing to see the judgement in them.

They pressed a red rag against her, as women do with their moon blood, and kept it there while more bandages were wrapped around her legs and hips to keep it there, to stem the ever heavy bleeding.

There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again.

All will be right again.

She didn’t forewarn her about the pain in her heart though.

The two women pulled her skirts down, pressed her cloak to her back and gave her the purse again, and she clutched it tightly. Now that it was done, she would go back, sleep, pack her things and be gone by the next morning.

“Rest now, child. Heat a brick for the pain” the older woman said.

And without looking into her eyes, the maidservant nodded, and pulled the hood over her head, “thank you…”

Should she thank them for such a sin?

Her vision never quite returned to normal the entire journey back to the Keep, and several times she had caught herself from tripping over herself. It felt as if every single pair of eyes that walked through Flea Bottom were trained on her, as if knowing all the dark, sinful things she had done, walking around her in silent judgement that was reserved for women only.

The pain in her core seemed to dull as she walked through the Keep, quickly making for her quarters. Alanna was at the front door before she could open it, having just finished her night shift, with wide eyes, looking about her form, but settling on her pale expression.

“Prince Aemond has requested y-” she starts.

No more.

“Tell him I am not well” she replied flatly, softly pushing past Alanna into her quarters and shedding the layers of her clothes, the call of her bed and the sheets too great to refuse, “I have been ordered to rest”

Alanna swallowed, “I shall take your shift, for today only”. It was clear Alanna has no desire to do it, for he frightened the other maidservants significantly.

If only she knew.

They lock eyes for a moment and Alanna can see the utter exhaustion behind her eyes. She squeezes both her hands, giving her some semblance of comfort and the little maidservant wonders at all if she should tell Alanna about her plans.

To leave this wretched place once and for all.

“Thank you, you are a good and kind friend…” she replied with a shaky voice, giving a sad, reassuring smile to her fellow maidservant. Alanna gave one back and immediately put her apron back on, leaving the little maidservant to herself in the quarters to recuperate.

She placed the heated brick beneath her mattress and shed her clothes down to her chemise, the front slightly tainted with a patch of blood where she had begun to leak through. So she placed some dark blankets against the sheets and placed herself finally in her bed, pulling the linen up to her chest and allowing herself to sink into it.

Hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the thought of what she had done, feeling the evidence of it sliding in warm blood out of her. She thought of her family and how she longed to see them again, hoped that her little brother was alright and recovering.

This was freedom, this choice she had made.

And she thought of where she might go. Somewhere where the sun shines all the time, where the clouds are light and fluffy, where she can feel the sea breeze against her skin.

Somewhere away from him. Where he could not find her. Torture her.

Sighing happily at the thought, she sank further into the mattress, closing her eyes to rest off the uncomfortable ache and drained emotions of the day she had so far.

Sleep, the calling.

She felt her heartbeat softly in her chest, calmed. And her breath, slow and relaxed. Felt the warmth of the brick beneath the mattress soothe her and the soft hand of sleep curling around her body to take her. It felt like floating into nothingness, airy and free.

Her name.

Someone was calling her name, somewhere.

Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound.

“Mother…”

Grief breeds grief.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost @heavenly1927 @madislayyy

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

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multimilfs · 19 days ago

Text

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (7/?)

Chapter 7 - Stone's Embrace

Summary: Traveling into the Eastern Pass brings old friends and with them, new fears.

AO3

Words: 11.8k

A/N: This chapter was the hardest for me to get written, but it is hands down my favorite so far. It also contains my favorite scene I've ever written for this story.

I have a LOT more to say but I threw it into the end-note on AO3! So if you'd like to read that, you'll find it all there. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused @white--lillies @h-doodles @vii-v @anxiousgoldengirl @shinkomiii @danvers97

Warning(s): Blood, Mild body-horror, Self-harming behavior, Knives

Previous Chapters

“How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?” L. Cohen

Stones warmed by the sun wait, but for what is undivined. The citadel paths are absent of any traffic save for the movements of one witch. As she wanders the length of the eastern wall, she closes her eyes, savoring the light and heat sinking into her skin.

Her feet traverse the distance, the divots and grooves in the path like silent beacons guiding her forward. Then, she feels it—the missing stone, the one that tries her right ankle.

Beside a window-like gap in the wall, she opens her eyes.

No crowds fill the streets of The Cradle today. Below, there are a few stragglers—wanderers, like her—but they don’t tarry long, not when there is warmth to be found indoors. All is quiet.

The only bit of noise is visual; the proud, gray castle on the horizon, standing with its tattered banner still just hanging on. Most have fallen by now, the once-blue fabric collected and dropped on the citadel steps to be burned. Yet the last still remains clinging to the lowermost spire.

“Maiden Calderu.”

It is not the title that prompts her flinch—though it will always sting—but the voice, belonging to one such witch that Lilia had prayed to never again see. Yet, Chaos has a funny sense of humor.

She turns, ever the picture of poise, “Mother Elara.”

The witch has not changed a day. Still with her wide, sharp jaw and gray eyes, mouth pinched in a scowl so fierce Lilia’s not sure she has ever smiled. Her navy robes, near black even in the sun, cast a sickly look over her skin.

She could have been identical to her sister, had she possessed even half of her grace.

“Fair meeting. I did not expect any to linger today.”

The words are even, monotone.

“Fair meeting. There is work that requires my eye, I’m afraid.” Lilia says.

A mean upturn of her lips, “Greater than the joy of Light’s day, Maiden Calderu?”

Lilia cannot help it, but she sticks out her chin, unwilling to stoop an inch. She folds her hands behind herself to hide the flares of yellow.

“I work so others may know peace on such days.”

“Ever the nimble servant of the people.”

“Such is my duty.”

“Duty.” Elara chuckles.

The weight of the castle looms at Lilia’s back, casting an impossible shadow. Elara eyes her like she can see how it stains Lilia’s soul.

A shift in stance sees the light catching on the pendant around Elara’s neck; that damning silver sword. Sighting it alone turns her stomach. Its weight has always pressed against her neck, but now she feels how it threatens to pierce through the heart of her.

That would no doubt please Elara to see.

“Might I be of any service to you?” Lilia offers.

Any trace of amusement is wiped from the witch’s face. Her eyes are hard as stone—harder.

“No. You’ve done enough.”

Lilia does not tremble, but it is a near thing, “Good day, then, Mother Elara.”

“Good day, Maiden Calderu.”

Retracing her steps away from the spot and back to the citadel center, she holds her shoulders taught, head high. Yet she deflates the second she reaches the winding staircase taking her down. Once safely inside her lonely office, she slumps against the door.

There’s an ache in her chest she can never fully forget. A deep, gnawing wound that won’t heal. Her legs tremble.

A beating of wings and the click of talons on stone draw her from the feeling. Tight, greying curls are pushed back and away from her face. She pales.

“No.”

Yet Aquila flutters into the room regardless. She settles on the edge of Lilia’s desk, leg baring her letter held out. Lilia flinches. She pushes off from the door, but doesn’t approach the desk, choosing to walk around it.

“Beat it.”

No movement beyond the tilt of the raven’s head. Then, a warble.

Lilia’s hands are fists at her side, “Tell her I could not be found. Tell her anything. There are some things time cannot erase.”

The response that earns her is scolding. Aquila shakes her leg until the ribbon unravels, the letter sliding over the desk to rest atop the papers there.

Lilia stares, eyes missing nothing. Magic clings to the letter and she tilts her head; Agatha’s magic, yet unlike what she remembers.

Aquila ruffles her wings, impatient.

Throwing her hands up, a muttered complaint is issued to the Divine Mother. She searches for anything to offer the raven that will satisfy and send her on her way.

She comes to an abrupt stop, eyes closing. Aquila waits. Lilia’s hand snaps toward a drawer she’s sure hasn’t been touched in ages. It opens to reveal no small amount of dust and old parchment, among it all a large beetle scuttling for cover—the second Aquila sights it, she pounces. The exoskeleton cracks in her beak.

As the raven enjoys the fruits of her nagging, Lilia is frozen, stuck and staring at the hand that moved. The old wisp of magic that’s eluded her for centuries is… real, tangible. She grasped it as if it had always been so clear.

She shakes her head. Curls bob around her face, the movement grounding, yet her mind still wanders. Light help her, she cannot be considering this.

Eyes follow every movement.

Lilia shoves down the wayward desires of her past and schools her features, “I will not see her.”

Aquila bows her head. A beat, a flash, and she is gone.

“We await your order on when to march, Your Majesty.”

For all the snarking and teasing she does, Agatha does pay attention. Her gaze is sharp. So when your eyes glaze over at Captain Thena’s words, she notices; just as she had noticed you could barely stomach part of breakfast, and the sallow pallor of your skin.

“On the hour.” Agatha answers in your stead.

She senses the flare of suspicion in the Captain’s mind. True to her training, she only nods and bows, walking off to relay the order.

You sigh and relax back into your seat.

“I’ve been told I’m excellent in bed,” Agatha drawls, eyes alight with mischief, “but rendering a woman speechless even days later is new. I’m flattered.”

She braces for the snap of your eyes to hers, that delicious fury that she can taste in the air. She welcomes the twist of your beautiful face into something like a sneer.

Will you rattle off some small insult for her to twist, or level her with your wit, forcing her onto the back foot? Her magic itches in her skin at the anticipation.

When your eyes snap to her’s, her magic crows with delight. But your emotion is muted. You look at her as if looking through.

You wave a hand, “Is there anywhere you don’t find flattery?”

Agatha’s magic quails at the lack of fight.

“Of course not. I possess the advantage of being superior in all aspects of life, I’ve grown used to it.”

No change. No challenge. Something like fear grips her heart.

She reaches out with her magic, skimming your mind. It’s the same makeup of indecipherable color and shape that she’s unable to grasp. Though, it’s muted. Pulses of what should be emotion bring only waves of numbness.

If anger isn’t working, she has to pivot. The usual choice would be to prod your never-ending well of grief, but it seems that something already has. That leaves… care.

Agatha slips into the role. It’s a relief to find that it’s easier this time around.

“Dear,” she waits until you look at her, “talk to me.”

An opening, a lifeline. She doesn’t really want to hear a woe-is-me monologue, but if that’s what she has to endure to fix whatever this is then fine. Never let it be said she is incapable of doing the hard work.

Something shifts—a flicker, really. It’s enough to soothe her.

“I’m going to die.” You say, hollow.

She raises a brow, “Everyone dies eventually.”

You shake your head.

“After these fourteen days, She’s going to kill me.”

The words settle over Agatha like something comfortable; too comfortable, like an inescapable truth, and it chafes. It awakens something primal. She feels like an animal being backed into a corner.

She wracks her brain for the proper, wifely thing to say. Empty words displaying affection should do the trick—if she can pinpoint the right ones. Not without going through me would be the closest to the truth of the matter. I won’t allow it would also be truthful, even appeal to whatever skittish part of you is seeking reassurance of safety.

Instead, what comes out is;

“No one gets to kill you but me.”

Agatha’s statement cracks like a whip. Upon impact, she freezes. You’re going to fall to pieces in her hands and then she’s going to have more of a mess to deal with.

You freeze. Your eyes snap back to Agatha, full of fire.

Oh, good girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play coy, dear, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Coy?” You echo, lip curling deliciously, “We’ll see how coy I am when I bury a knife in your chest.”

“Promise?”

The first thing you can close your fist around, you grab, and aim. Agatha sidesteps the too-wide swing. Her magic purrs in her veins. God, you’re glowing with rage; it’s almost enough to make her eyes roll back in her head.

A dagger is eased from beneath your pillow and stops her up short. That hadn’t been there when she checked.

You advance on her in a few quick steps. Agatha’s eyes don’t leave the dagger, which is why she misses the kick until it lands against her knee, straightening her leg with a crack that reverberates and unsettles her footing. She snaps her fingers before she can fall and feels the weightlessness of travel.

Smugness of being poised for the kill settles in her as she reforms at your back. But it withers when your smoldering eyes are already there, locked on hers, with the tip of your dagger at her throat.

She should really stop underestimating you.

“Impressive,” her voice comes out more husky than she intends, “but you can’t kill me.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever. Unless, you meet me at my level.”

Agatha leans into the tip of your dagger until she feels the warmth of her own blood. A small moan escapes.

She waits for realization to strike. Your eyes are so bright this close, thoughts passing behind them, searching her own. Agatha grins. You’re so close. Your brows furrow.

Come on.

Your eyes widen. She blinks, and the expression is gone; the knowing gone with it. You’re just as wary and confused as you’ve always been.

“I’m afraid I like being above you too much.”

The dagger is hidden in your skirts as you pull away and move to exit the tent, though not before snapping at her to pack everything away so you can leave on time. Agatha watches you go without a word.

Her purple rears its head. It itches inside her, begging to be free and aimed at your retreating back, to poke and prod until it brings forth and consumes what she knows you’re hiding. Just one little fight couldn’t hurt… could it?

Agatha muzzles it.

She snarls and packs up the royal tent with a wave of her blackened hands as her mind works. Something is plaguing you enough to make you numb, near-negligent; a dangerous thing to be in these circumstances. And negligence is one thing Agatha can’t allow. Not when it comes to you.

The barrier ripples. The surface twists.

James grabs Darcy’s arm, pulling her back, though they already stand a fair distance away. The ravens shriek in their cage. He lunges forward and grabs that, too.

There is an odd, distorted cracking as the barrier ripples again, and a figure pushes through. Feminine in form. Short, though not disarmingly so.

Her face almost looks like Agatha’s, but it’s off. Wrong. There is a gaping, raw wound in the center of her throat. The features of her face are warped—stretched, pulled, as if trying to melt off.

She tilts her head and grins with a mouth full of too-white teeth. Her voice is raspy and distorted, changing volume rapidly as her vocal chords strain and snap.

“I need you to relay a message for me.”

The Eastern Pass is a long, winding path cut directly through the center of the mountains. And it is the coldest place you’ve ever known.

As far as the eye can fathom brings nothing but the same gray rock. In the warmer hours, there’s the shine of water running down the walls, but it has gradually hardened over the day as sunlight fades; the warmth fading with it.

Past the base of Nethys’ Peak there is said to be a large cut-out from the Pass, large and with space enough to hold nearly your entire host. If you push through in the night you should make it halfway to sunrise. Yet there is already a distinct bite to the wind in the fading hours of daylight—what damage will it do in the dark?

A flash of purple above your head draws your eye upward. In a cloud of black smoke, a raven appears. They play and twist in the wind before arcing down to Agatha at your side.

She intercepts the raven on her shoulder without flinching, “And?”

There’s a lengthy stream of song and sound. Agatha nods along like she understands every bit, face neutral.

“Well, we expected as much. Where?”

A low, hesitant reply.

Agatha laughs. It’s not her usual wild cackle, but something muted; bitter. You take in the angry set of her jaw with wary interest.

“Of course.” She says, resigned, “Well done.”

The raven cuddles into the offered hand. Agatha’s expression melts into one so tender you have to look away; the reminder that she does possess a heart twists unpleasantly in your chest.

How is it that she can be unapologetically wicked, yet still trick pure-hearted creatures into loving her?

Weight unsettles your balance, causing one shoulder to droop. Dark eyes look back from said shoulder. You know in an instant who the raven is and a small bolt of joy cracks through the numbness.

“Hello, Aquila.”

Aquila trills. She nuzzles the side of your face with her head, all soft feathers and warmth. Your Grandfather had been fond of dogs in your youth, bringing his around on his rare visits; they would show affection similarly. How lovely it’d be if humans also relied on action, rather than the emptiness of words.

Your shoulders straighten as you adjust to her presence. She continues to nuzzle at you, occasionally stopping to pick through pieces of your hair.

She pulls out one of your silver clips with a practiced yank. The piece of hair it’d been holding back falls forward into your eyes.

“Aquila.” Agatha scolds.

The raven only preens, prize held in her beak.

“You can have this one.” You say, meeting her eyes, pointedly ignoring Agatha, “The rest are mine.”

A tilt of her head. Then, she bows, as if nodding. You scratch at the soft plumage of her skull and carefully avoid knocking the clip from her hold.

“You shouldn’t encourage her.”

“Oh, so rewarding poor behavior is frowned upon, is it?”

Agatha’s eyes narrow, “Something you’d like to say, dear?”

“It’d fall on deaf ears if I did, I’m sure.”

Aquila’s head swivels between the two of you.

“Pot, kettle.”

You bark out a humorless laugh, “You love to hear yourself talk. It’s only natural I’d block you out after a time, dear.”

“Is it my fault I’m the only one worth listening to?” She snarls.

“Most fools think themselves philosophers in one form or another.”

“And you think yourself a God.”

“I do not—”

“Oh yes you do—”

The bickering is stopped as you both jolt in your saddles, coming to an abrupt stop. Aquila lets out a little noise of surprise and readjusts her footing.

Captain Thena has brought your host to a halt.

You twist to see the front line, but can’t see beyond the heads of those in front. The lines of your host are locked tight.

Between those before you, the barest hint of Thena’s white-blonde hair finds its way to your eyes. Her head is turned, relaying something to the Knight on her left, before someone shifts and blocks you again. You go so far as to stand in the saddle but find yourself glued to it. Blinking, you spy the tell-tale wisps of black and violet curling around you.

With Aquila on your right shoulder, you have to turn your entire body to glare at Agatha, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are focused straight ahead.

“Aquila.” Her voice is sharp, commanding, “Bring me answers.”

Your right shoulder is much lighter as she takes off and aims for the front line. Faint though she may be, you can see her circling. You don’t have time for this.

Being stuck in the saddle may keep you from leaving it, but it doesn’t stop your mount from going anywhere.

“Are you incapable of doing anything yourself?” You throw at Agatha. Digging your heels into your mount’s sides, you call, “Let me through!”

A ripple goes through the interlocked forces. Like a wave, they part, allowing you to pass at a trot to where Thena leads. You’re intercepted by a Knight a few paces from the very front; the same you’d seen your Captain speak to.

It takes a moment before recognition dawns on you. She’s different than when you last saw her—no longer covered in a layer of soot, hair grown back in.

“Sir Maria, why have we stopped?”

The Knight glances behind you for a brief moment before focusing back on you, sitting taught in the saddle. Her armor gleams in the dying light of the day.

“The Captain is handling a complication, Your Majesty.”

“What kind of complication?”

“There are riders in the path. Captain Thena is attempting to speak with them, Your Majesty.”

“Attempting?”

“Their common is poor, it is taking some time.”

You nod, accepting and putting the information away when you see it; the Knight fidgets in the saddle. Suspicion takes root.

“What aren’t you telling me, Sir?”

She looks over your shoulder again. You don’t have to turn to know Agatha is coming up behind you, you feel it; the way her presence sucks out the air.

Agatha comes to reside on your right once again, face fixed in a scowl. Aquila no longer circles the skies, nor is she anywhere on Agatha’s person.

“Spit it out.” She demands.

Every rider around you shifts in their saddles.

“They’re demanding to speak with you, Your Majesty. They won’t speak with the Captain.”

“They’ve asked for me by name?” Your brows shoot up.

“Not quite.”

You resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose—only just. When did speaking plainly become so difficult?

“You’re trying my patience, Maria.”

The Knight has the decency to look chastised. Her eyes dart behind you and widen for a second before they return to you. You file the action away for later.

“They won’t speak to her because she isn’t the true commander. Without speaking to you, they won’t allow us to pass.”

That brings you pause. True as it may be that you’re the genuine source of power among the host, you’re unsure how anyone else would know. Your journey here wasn’t planned. There has been no word sent ahead of your impending arrival; a misstep on your part, but helpful from a tactical standpoint.

Daylight is fading and fast. Annoying as it may be, you need to handle this yourself, lest you lose anymore time.

“Let me pass, Sir.”

She looks to Agatha, as if searching for permission. Your lip curls. In your lap, you white-knuckle the reins.

You are not a child to be minded.

“It was not a request.” You strain to keep your voice civil.

At your side, Agatha nods. Maria steps back and out of your way. You offer your own terse nod, moving to the front. Those standing at the front line aren’t so open with their shifting at Agatha’s arrival but you can taste the unease.

Beyond the Captain, three riders stand in the Pass.

Sitting high on bone-white horses without saddles, they sit side-by-side in perfect rank. Pigment clings to different parts of their mounts, illustrating pictures you can’t quite grasp. Long, grey manes trail over the shoulder of each horse, of which the ends have been dyed green.

The riders themselves are tall and wide. Long, dark hair is tied above their heads in intricate styles, showing off the rich furs draped across each set of shoulders. Each wears a similar marking of paint; a stark yellow line horizontal across the bottom lip, with a vertical counterpart traveling from the cupids bow down the neck and out of view.

One on the right, whose additional paint boasts powerful blue lines and grey dots, leans over to the man in the center. The language you hear is familiar. You startle.

You’ve never met them, but you’ve heard enough of the Netueht to feel as if you have.

Russet-colored skin glowing with life and strong noses make them more enchanting than any story could tell. You find yourself compelled to stare at the proud image they make. But you’re keenly aware of the chill biting at your ears.

Long has it been since you’ve spoken their tongue, but you pull on your hours of study to call out as you step forward, “I am Queen of Lucia, daughter of Nethys and Daris. How might I be of service?”

Every head on your side of the path turns to regard you. Some wear shock, others interest. Even the Captain blinks before remembering herself. You pay them all no mind.

The man in the middle steps forward. He is by far the most painted; bearing a proud swatch of green on his forehead and filling in his bottom lip. A collection of blue dots align with the edges of the green on his forehead. But the most striking is the blue over one eye.

If he is impressed by your knowledge, he does not show it, “Chieftain Aly’Liwen bids you welcome, daughter of Nethys. What is your purpose in The Pass?”

His speaking is far smoother than your own. The syllables rumble forth from his throat as a deep, simmering note that swings up and back again. You could listen to him speak for ages.

“Passage. We’ve come from the West to return to Greymont.”

A swift incline from all three as they accept the information.

“We were not informed of your coming.”

“This was not our original path. I beg your pardon and that of your Chieftain.”

The two others murmur to the leader, swift and low enough that you cannot follow. His expression does not change as they speak.

“Should you and your people respect The Pass, we will trouble you no further. We bid you safe passage.”

His tone brims with finality. The three turn to return the way they came and something grips you—knowledge from lessons hammered in by your Mother, courtesy so be remembered, but above all the feeling of rightness in their presence. They alone have soothed the simmering anxiety that has chased you since the barrier.

That cannot be a coincidence.

You call at their retreating backs, “Should Chieftain Aly’Liwen have room, it would be my honor to fill the table.”

They turn. The leader does not show any visible surprise, but one of the others does, if only for a moment.

The Netueht do not observe Queens and Kings; to them, all but a few are sons and daughters of the grand scheme; and all children know hunger. Breaking bread, providing, assuaging that hunger—there is no greater act of respect.

A common man could have allowed them to leave, but for a leader—a Mother of the people—to do so would have been a slight. And while said slight would not have been punished, it also would not have been forgotten.

“Are you friend or foe, daughter of Nethys?”

You can’t help your grin, “Do foes often name themselves so easily?”

Then you see it; a crack, the beginnings of a smile on the man’s face.

“Only the foolish ones.”

A laugh leaves you, swallowed up and carried across the space on a cold wind. Despite it, you feel warmed.

“I am a friend.”

“Then you and your closest may follow. Friends are always welcome at the table.”

You turn to Captain Thena, whose gaze flickers between you and the Netueht with interest. Her expression is not quite wary, but on the brink of it.

“Captain, you’re to take the host and continue through the Pass. Half-way to sunrise you’ll reach a settlement large enough for all of you to rest.”

“Your Majesty—”

You hold up a hand, “Agatha, myself, and the Guard will remain to break bread with the Netueht. Continue on and make camp near the village at the base of the mountains. We will follow a day behind.”

Thena opens her mouth to speak, but pauses.

The world has frozen.

Behind you, Agatha snaps, “Are you out of your mind?”

You turn your destrier around to face her, “I think you’ll find I’m perfectly in control of my mind. Now put the world back, I wasn’t done.”

“You have less than fourteen days to see your kingdom protected and you’re running off with the locals.”

“The Netueht are an ally hard won.”

“You need witches to beat a witch.” Agatha explains like one would to a child, “The Netueht are not an ally that you can afford to waste time on.”

“They have to know something. They’ve been around since the First Men.”

“So have cockroaches.”

“You can commune with them while I speak with the Netueht, then. I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing your family.” You respond, voice sickly sweet.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, “We’re continuing with the host.”

You can’t. There is something in these mountains, something connected to the Netueht that you need; you know it as intimately as you know breathing.

“There is something here, I can feel it.” You say in a tone just shy of begging.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like… like standing outside a library and knowing the answer you seek is inside.”

Agatha’s mouth twitches into her signature smirk. Her head tilts as she thinks, eyes roaming, fingers tapping idly at the horn of her saddle.

“I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” You reply immediately, “But will you follow them?”

“No, but I will follow you.”

You blink, “You mean it?”

“Don’t get soft on me. Whether I like it or not, I’m your magically-bound shadow.”

“Fitting since you’re always in the way.”

Agatha waves off the comment, “We’ll delay no longer than a day. That’s all we can afford.”

“Alright.” You nod.

“Should we seal the deal with a kiss?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a look the comment deserves. She laughs. You turn to face the Captain. Then, with a snap of her fingers and a wisp of violet, time resumes.

In however long you and Agatha existed outside of time, you’ve been distracted enough to forget you’re mid-conversation with Captain Thena.

“I do not think that would benefit, Your Majesty.”

You blink, fighting to recall what exactly the conversation had been and where it’d been going. Agatha snickers behind you. You want to throw something at her.

“It was not a suggestion, Captain. You’re to continue on as instructed.”

The Captain looks past you and you know she’s looking to Agatha for confirmation. This is the second person within the hour to do so. You fight to keep your face neutral.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. I bid you safe passage.”

“And you, Captain.”

The wind whips your cheeks as you advance, following a few paces behind the leading Netueht. Agatha settles into the space at your side comfortably while your Guard follows at your back.

The Netueht are swift riders. The Pass is a winding, singular road blurring around you in the fading light until it isn’t—until a second, slimmer carving through the rock appears, and they race inside without fear. It is only wide enough to ride two-wide, but the Netueht traverse it single-file, and you mimic them.

Agatha grumbles something behind you.

Were one to travel any slower through this new path, a normal individual might find themselves struck by the fear of the rock walls closing in; but you’re not normal, and you find yourself struck by said fear even as you ride fast enough to rival the wind.

All it would take is one misstep to send you careening into one of the walls, one step to deepen an unseen crack until it splinters and brings a mountain of rock down on you. You white-knuckle the reins in your grip.

If you make a mistake, even a small one, it could lead to an end, and you can’t die here—you don’t want to die here. Would anyone find you beneath the rock? Would anyone know if you were beneath it, clawing for freedom, desperate—

A path wider than The Pass is where the Netueht guide, and you feel the panic in your chest loosen.

Arched openings line the new passage. The walls are shorter, boasting tufts of grasses and plants atop them, the roots curling down on either side. Color clings to the walls in pictures you can’t decipher as you race by.

Cutting off the path ahead is a wall of stone.

Like traversing a long hallway, you gradually come to a stop at the end. You’re surrounded on three sides; and on each side, an identical arched doorway cut into the stone.

All three Netueht slide from their mounts and land on sure feet. The leader turns to you.

“We will return for you.”

He vanishes through the doorway ahead. His companions split, one going right, the other going left. Only their mounts remain as evidence of their presence.

With the heavy hoofbeats on stone silenced, quiet descends over your party. There’s little wind to be found in this tucked-away corner. It’s nice, even if the air does still possess a bite.

Agatha and her mount shift, restless, eyes darting across the landscape, “I don’t like this.”

“We’re not in any danger.”

“Dreykov, Belova, Romanov.” Agatha barks, ignoring you, barely turning to regard them lest she put her back to any of the doorways, “Moving Her Majesty to safety is to be your only priority.”

You don’t have to turn to know they all nod.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Your new friends tell you that?”

“We’re safer here than we were in The Pass.”

Agatha scowls, clearly skeptical. But something like joy has settled over your shoulders. There’s a tug in your abdomen as you run your fingers over the rock wall, not unlike what you felt in the river. For a moment you swear the stone hums beneath your touch.

Can you hear it, like you could the river? Does it, too, have a voice?

The Netueht leader steps from the same doorway he vanished through. Warmth dances in his eyes like that of the torch in his hand, “Come.”

He remains on foot, leading his mount by the bridle through the doorway. You’re the first to step down from the saddle and mimic his actions. The members of your Guard follow suit.

Agatha remains in the saddle.

You roll your eyes, “I hope you hit your head.”

“Though a kiss is capable of fixing many things, I don’t think that will extend to brain damage. You’re welcome to try.” She teases.

“With the brain damage you already possess, I’m of the hope that something will be knocked back into place.”

“What more could you desire from my personality, darling?”

“We don’t have nearly enough time for that.”

She presses a hand to her chest in faux-hurt. A grin pulls at the edges of her mouth. You shake your head at her antics.

Through the arch reveals a tunnel of stone.

You cannot see ahead; the tunnel winds, snake-like through the mountain. Your guide is sure of every step. He walks with a swiftness that he has to rein in every now and again, as if remembering that he’s leading guests.

The air is still. No movement can make it past the initial curves of the path, and it feels stifling. You grip the bridle of your horse in a shaking hand. Even as the path widens and grows taller you cannot raise your eyes from the floor.

It’s as if the stone is compressing, moving in toward you on all sides. Your breath comes in short bursts that you try fruitlessly to even out. They can’t see your weakness, any of them—they can’t see you fall to pieces over something so trivial.

They can’t see. Please, you beg, though unsure of who you’re begging, don’t let them see.

If it all comes crashing down there is no escape, no way out. You’ll be extinguished beneath the weight—

You dig your nails into your palm until you draw blood. It releases some of the tension in your chest, opening your lungs as breathlessness abates.

Darkness settles on your left side and your eyes dart to find the source. Agatha has settled into step at your side, her destrier walking to the left of her. They’re a striking pair. Agatha, all blue eyes and fair skin but with an aura of darkness clinging to her; her mount, deep black across every inch, as if he has siphoned the darkness licking at her fingertips.

Weight settles back on your chest. You focus on the ground before your feet, nails digging in deeper, but it doesn’t offer the same release as before.

You’re safe, you tell yourself. The Netueht walk these paths often and they’ve remained standing.

But what if this is the time—

You focus on Agatha again, blurting, “Have you named him?”

“Who?”

“Your horse.”

She frowns, “Is that a requirement of riding one?”

Her brows are pinched. She looks between you and her mount.

“Of course not. But he’s going to be with you for a long time, it seems silly to call him ‘horse.’”

Silly and disrespectful, though you keep the second thought firmly to yourself.

A long stretch of silence settles between you. Agatha regards her four-legged companion with the calculated gaze you’ve come to expect. Gently, she scratches at the side of his face with her free hand, pleased when he leans into the contact.

“Inanis.”

The purr of her voice sends a shiver down your spine. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks.

“What does it mean?”

Agatha grins, “Inanis was the horse Darkness rode into battle, a void given shape.”

You don’t have time to unpack that. You’re not even sure what it means. She mentioned Darkness during your time near the river, didn’t she? The reverence in her voice feels similar.

“He does look void-like.” You settle on.

A sidelong glance, “And yours?”

“Oh, I didn’t name her. She was my Mother’s.”

You run a fond hand down her face. She huffs against your palm, leaning into the contact. Her nose presses, searching, just like she did when you were a child, but you hold no treats in hand.

“I see.”

Something in her voice makes you stiffen.

“Do you?” You ask, defensive.

“Your Father’s throne. Your Mother’s horse. Their legacy. Is anything in Lucia yours?”

You balk. You have your home, the love of your people, your friends. You’ve earned it all on your own merit.

Right?

You recognize the lies as soon as you think them.

All the time you’ve spent nitpicking Agatha about her own lack, when in reality, you’re no better; at least the power she wields is her own, rather than that which you borrow under your title. Cold settles into your bones.

“What is her name?”

You blink, drawn from the maw of emptiness threatening to consume you. Agatha watches you expectantly.

“Pardon?”

“The horse, what is her name?”

“Sundrop.”

You run your hand over her nose again, admiring the buttery yellow of her color, though its flecked with patches of gray.

Agatha’s lips twitch.

Noise, bouncing off the tunnel walls and to your ears, beckons both of you to look forward. You round a final corner to find there is no tunnel left.

You’re led into a grand, cavernous space. Before you sits an expansive rock ledge teeming with people. Beyond that, two winding stone staircases lead down and out of sight. Walls curve around you in a great circle and boast countless doorways; though unlike those outside, they’re decorated—personal.

Curling overhead is an impressive overhang of rock that draws every sound into an echo. Amongst the cacophony of people you hear water and birdsong—life hidden away in this great cave.

Children race past, screaming with joy, not sparing you a glance. Some of the older Netueht regard the group of you with curiosity. None of them appear surprised to have company.

“These are our visitors?” A smooth, feminine voice asks.

Your eye is drawn to a tall woman with a diamond-shaped jaw and an elegant hooked nose. Long, dark hair flows around her, inlaid with tiny braids. The ends of her braids are dappled with green.

She examines you with keen chocolate eyes. Her lips are downturned at the edges.

“She certainly looks like a Queen.” She adds, seeming unimpressed.

You’re surprised, only just able to hide your grin.

“Pleased to meet your expectations.” You say.

Her eyes widen a fraction, darting to the man who led you. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. Cheeks flushed with a bit of pink, she hits him on the shoulder, hard, but he doesn’t seem phased.

“You could have told me they spoke our tongue!”

“And miss you making a fool of yourself?”

“Awful man!”

A third voice cuts in, “What an example you set, Mallinali.”

Coming up behind her is a tall, lithe man. He bears no paint besides that they all seem to share; the yellow marks across the mouth. His hair lays behind him in an undisturbed curtain, displaying the same hooked nose, but a sharper jaw.

It is not the set of said jaw that gives away who he is, nor the way he holds himself—but his eyes, kind yet ever-so detached; a look you’ve seen gazing back from the mirror often.

“I hope my sister has not offended you.” He says.

“Not at all.” You smile.

Holding out your arm palm up, you offer your name. He clasps your wrist, your arms rotating in unison, both of your hands feeling the pulse of the other through your veins before releasing.

“Pleased to welcome you. I am Aly’Liwen.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, “And the sharp beauty at your back?”

“My wife, Agatha. And our Guards Yelena, Natalia, and Antonia. We are at your disposal.”

His gaze settles back on you, amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth, “Waman said you were formal, but I didn’t expect the old formalities.”

“Much of the new hasn’t reached our people in some time. If you’d like me to observe different courtesies, I would be pleased to do so.”

“I didn’t expect it, but it is not unpleasant. I haven’t heard them since my Mother was Chieftain.”

“She is likely the reason I know them.”

Aly’Liwen is thoughtful, before nodding, “She would have taught them to your Mother.”

“Yes. Aly’Ajei was held very dear to my Mother’s heart.”

Something softens in his eyes at that. The detached look lessens. You notice Mallinali perk up at the mention of their Mother’s name where moments before she’d been hissing at the other man—Waman.

Waman does not watch you, though—he watches Aly’Liwen with a knowing gaze and something else; a careful fondness. Ah.

They make a striking pair.

A small smile comes to your mouth. When you look back to Aly’Liwen, an unexpected fondness lingers in the way he regards you.

“You are Little Sun.”

The name slams into you like a battering ram, but you nod. You try to hide the flinch that has Agatha’s hand pressing to your lower back.

“I am.”

His face splits into the most wonderful smile. Were you not otherwise inclined, you could find yourself falling at the mere sight of it, and the deep sound of his laugh.

“My Mother used to read the letters to me. You were more of a handful than my sister.”

“This I must hear.” Waman grins.

You flush, “Oh Gods.”

“I was not that difficult.” Mallinali defends, “Even if I was, I’m far better now.”

“Barely.”

“Waman, on my Mother I will see you silenced.”

“He is Hawk, Malli, his tongue is spoken for.” Aly’Liwen pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “But forgive our manners, you and yours must be tired. There is time to rest before we eat.”

The additional doorways along the walls, as it turns out, are rooms. Chambers. Your Guard are led to one just to the right of the one you and Agatha are offered. Agatha inclines her head politely before strutting inside as if she owns it.

Even the thought of entering the chamber makes you tremble. Despite how tired you may be, you’ll handle that problem later.

“Would you mind terribly if I shadowed you?”

Aly’Liwen looks surprised, but shakes his head, “Of course not. I want to know the full story behind the worm sandwiches you served to Lady Valentina.”

You groan. He laughs, the sound echoing beautifully in the cavern.

An arm is held out and you accept it with a smile. Belova falls into step behind you.

“Waman expressed my intent to hunt for your people?” You ask.

“It’s why you were allowed here.” He leads you across the main space and toward the downward-sloping staircases you noted earlier, “We will have to wait out the darkness. Tonight, you and yours are at our hospitality, and at first light we will be at yours.”

Nearing the edge, the scene below draws a gasp. At the bottom of the stone staircases sits the true mouth of the cave, teeming with life on all sides; flowers and herbs and even trees. The Netueht have cut all the way through the mountain to the forest on the other side.

Inside the cave mouth, the life is more uniform—cultivated in rows and warmed by the few careful fires some of the Netueht sit around.

Birds linger on rock ledges clinging to the ceiling. Most are nestled down in their nests, silent. A few are trilling their final song of the evening. They’re common birds, sparrows and crows and larks… except one; a large, solitary hawk.

He notices you just as you notice him. He blinks, his head tilting.

Aly’Liwen guides you toward the staircase and down. You focus on every step, careful not to stumble, but find yourself distracted by the warmth of his arm in your own.

Upon reaching the bottom step, the space rumbles, and you tense. Panic flares. You were right, this place is unstable, its going to collapse inward and what will come of you then—

Two massive stone wheels are rolled from the edges of the cave, pushed by a few men each. They roll until they meet and close off the cave mouth from the forest lying just outside. The rumbling ceases.

You offer Aly’Liwen a questioning glance.

“The predators in these mountains would ravage us in the night.”

“There are many?” You ask, racking your brain for what wildlife they have.

“Bears and large cats and wolves. Not overwhelming to us, but we do not tempt them.”

“Greymont only has wolves.”

“Direwolves, so I hear.”

You’re not sure how valuable a distinction it is, but nod.

“They’re more scarce than they once were, but yes.”

He shivers, “I cannot imagine sharing a home with direwolves.”

“You have bears!” You say, unable to help your laugh.

“Bears are more reasonable and easier fought.” He defends.

Waman appears, a sly grin on his lips as he passes, “For you, maybe, but only because I’m the one doing the fighting.”

The noise the Chieftain lets out can only be described as indignant. It comes out in a squawk that has you covering your smile to preserve politeness. Waman only throws a smug look over his shoulder as he moves along.

“Do not listen to a word he says.”

You’re guided to the small fires in this space, introduced to all the people lingering and working. Aly’Liwen is a courteous host. What startles you is that he doesn’t introduce you by name, but as Daughter of Nethys. Hearing her name said so casually is blow and balm both.

Something of her lingers here; perhaps it is the fondness she had for these people, maybe it is the ease with which you find yourself falling into joy with them like you once did with her.

Each person greets you with the same clasping of hands. You don’t know the last time you’ve been touched by so many. It’s overwhelming.

Awareness prods your senses. You’re being watched.

You glance around in a quiet moment and spot it; the only solitary bird besides the hawk is a raven. Aquila.

The Netueht gather on the upper rock ledge, surrounding a great fire on benches. You hand a stack of woven bowls off to Isi—Mallinali’s daughter—who darts off to pass them out.

Mallinali comes from the fire carrying roasted meats. She sets them on the table where you’ve come to stand, arranging them to the side of all the roasted roots and greens.

“You’ll never be rid of her now.” She comments.

“Who would ever want to be?”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a sly smile, “You may not feel that way after she’s had sweetleaf.”

You shake your head. Isi, while precocious, is a delight. She’s eager and sweet and has no shortage of interests; many of which she has regaled you with details of.

Like moths to a flame, Waman appears over Mallinali’s shoulder with Quidel, her husband. Both make sly attempts for pieces of the meat near her hands while she’s focused on you. She doesn’t bat an eyelash as she slaps the hands viciously.

Quidel says nothing, seeming unfazed. Waman cradles his hand dramatically.

The latter exaggerates, “You’ve broken it.”

She shakes her head and turns to regard them, arms crossed over her chest. You stifle a laugh.

“Would serve you right.”

“Is this anyway to treat your Hawk?”

“No, but it is how I treat my brother’s bonded.”

“No mercy for your family. You see how we are treated, Little Sun?”

The nickname seems to have been well known to most you’ve come into contact with; and they’ve taken to using it like your true name. You’ve become used to it enough that you don’t flinch, but it does still hurt to hear.

“The consequences of your own actions.” You shrug.

“Another ally lost to Mallinali. I’m beginning to wonder if I should change sides.” Quidel muses, face unchanging from its stoic look.

Mallinali pats his cheek, “If you know what is best for you.”

A tug on your skirts draws your attention from the interaction. Isi has returned and is holding out her arms with a grin.

“More bowls, please!”

“Coming right up, your greatness.” You tease.

She giggles, showing off a great big grin. The offered bowls are near-snatched from your hands as she bounds away again.

When you look away from where Isi has gone, you see her.

Agatha has appeared on the other side of the fire, closest to the chambers you were given. She’s changed out of the ornate dress she traveled in to one that is more understated. It softens her edges.

Romanov stands at her back, taking in the scene. Agatha’s eyes are searching, darting over the faces of those in the space. When they land on you, they do not stray. The dress hasn’t softened the electric blue of her eyes.

She weaves through benches and bodies to come stand before you.

“You have kept busy.”

You blush as you remember the state of your appearance.

Somewhere in the midst of pulling roots for dinner, you shed your outer jacket, haphazardly rolling up your dress sleeves. Dirt still lingers under your nails despite scrubbing at your hands. You unpinned your hair, too, opting to tie it up with a braid of sweet grass someone had offered. A far cry from your usual look.

“Many hands make light work.” You offer.

Agatha smirks, “That’s not the only thing they do.”

You roll your eyes, swatting at her lightly.

“Behave.”

“I always behave. Just not for you.”

Ignoring the comment and the infuriating amusement paired with it, you hold some of the bowls between you, “Make yourself useful.”

She purrs, looking you up and down, “Where do you want me, darling?”

Despite doing everything you can to keep it from happening, you feel the hot flush in your face.

“Go.” You grit out.

Agatha throws her head back in a laugh. She wanders off to hand out the bowls, a rare mercy, and you relax against the table. You hate the things she is capable of doing to you.

The purr in her voice has gone straight between your thighs. The rasp, the barely-restrained desire hidden under the teasing… it feels all too similar to a few nights past, when she’d taunted you to your breaking point. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, your body aches for it, but you can’t have it; the moment in the river had been a one-time indulgence you won’t risk again.

You’re drawn from your thoughts by more meat, fresh from the fire. Waman and Quidel have since given up on their crusade for taste-tests, leaving you behind with Aly’Liwen and Mallinali. The three of you make quick work of any lingering preparations.

Silence descends over the three of you as you work. It’s so unlike the stifling silences in Greymont, where it brings the feeling of a million eyes. This silence is freeing, comfortable. You find yourself lost in the work until the two push you to go sit.

You spy the familiar, unruly head of hair around the fire. She’s chosen a bench that is back away from the flames; not quite secluded, but not front and center, either. None of the Guard linger near her.

Agatha watches the room as she watches everything else; with intense, unwavering focus. It allows you to slide in next to her almost unnoticed.

“Where are the Guard?” You ask without thinking.

“I don’t need them, dear.” She drawls, then her demeanor takes on something more pointed, teasing, “After all, someone was rather adamant that we were in no danger.”

Your opinion on that hasn’t changed; you feel safe here, but powerful as Agatha may be, you don’t like the thought of anyone being without extra protection.

“The Guard is here for a reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about little old me?”

“I like having the extra layer of defense between my hands and your neck. It helps to curb the urges.”

Agatha leans closer to you, voice dropping to a heated murmur, “Tell me more about these urges of yours.”

You’ve pivoted in the past, made threats, attacked her, even. Anything other than acknowledging her more risque taunts. Now you want to see her surprised. You lean closer, mind conjuring all the filthy things you could whisper to catch her off guard, when movement catches your eye.

Aly’Liwen has come around with a grin, bowl in hand, “For all your assistance, you forgot one for yourself.”

You blush and back out of Agatha’s space. With a grateful nod, you accept the offering. He wanders away.

The charged feeling has dropped, leaving you uncomfortable with her proximity. But you don’t move out of her space, unwilling to give even a hint that you’re backing down. Her interest lingers in the air, in the way she regards you from the corner of her vision.

Whether it is the emotion of the moment or the still-present draft, you shiver.

Agatha sighs, long-suffering, and snaps. A flash of violet brings a weight that settles over your shoulders. You sit up straighter, looking down at yourself; Agatha has summoned a warm fur and draped it over you.

A gasp sounds from your right.

Isi stands steps away, cradling a food-laden bowl. Her eyes are wide, mouth dropped open, looking between you and Agatha. You bristle and stand to do damage control. She drops her food onto the bench and turns, running off.

But it isn’t fear that colors her voice, it’s delight, “She’s magic! She’s magic!”

A gaggle of children follow behind Isi as she comes racing back. They surround Agatha—and you by extension—staring up at her in awe. Only Isi is brave enough to venture into her personal space and grab her hands, jostling them for emphasis.

“Make magic!”

You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. You sit forward to translate when she poises her hands before her. A crackling beam of power extends between her palms, held like rope. Little sparks fly from the display before she pulls it back.

Netueht rolls from her tongue like honey from the comb, “What is the magic word?”

That earns her half a dozen voices crying out ‘please!’ and her smirk deepens. You’re staring at her in astonishment.

Her hands twist and the rope of magic unravels into a hundred bolts of lightning, dancing and lashing. When they sneak from between her palms they erupt into puffs of smoke. Said smoke curls at the faces of the children, making them erupt into giggles.

Agatha’s just as smug as ever, but the set of her posture is softer; she’s taut with awareness, holding her power steady, yet she grins as she leans forward to acknowledge every child who shows interest.

The children have opted to make Isi their spokeswoman, whispering questions for her to ask. Agatha answers every one as if she were holding court in Greymont. For some of the more complicated questions, she’ll conjure items or images with magic.

The rest of the Netueht watch. A few crowd around, displaying the same interest as their children.

She is totally in her element with an audience. And when she turns and catches your eye in the midst of it all, she winks.

Something in you stops. You’re seized by an emotion you can’t name. You need to move—anything to work out this feeling in your veins making it hard to breathe.

You go to offer her a smile and find you’ve been smiling.

Rising gracefully, you pick Isi up and plop her in your seat. She squeals with delight.

“Keep her out of trouble for me.” You whisper conspiratorially.

Isi glances at Agatha briefly and says with utter seriousness, “I will.”

It takes longer than you expect to weave through the gathered crowd, and it feels even longer before you reach the table laden with food. You feel you can breathe the second you reach it.

What was that?

You’re not alone at the table; Quidel standing near, focused on you. His expression is just as stony as always but his eyes hold an interest.

“Not fond of crowds, Little Sun?”

Understanding dawns. The odd feeling in your chest, the need to move—it was fear. You’d felt the Netueht pressing in like stone walls and your body had registered what your brain couldn’t; too distracted you were by Agatha’s display.

“Not especially.” You say.

“Your bonded handles them well for the both of you.”

“Yes, she does.”

A glance finds her still entertaining the group, lips moving to explain something you can’t hear to one of the children. Your eyes fall on the empty bowl in her lap.

Has she eaten?

She had breakfast with you, but you were too caught in your own mind to notice her behavior. She touched nothing on the journey here. And when you wandered with Aly’Liwen she likely took the time to rest.

You load your own with double the food. You eye the roseberries with desire, but ultimately avoid them; Agatha’s face always twists at their flavor.

Every step back toward her makes that feeling inside you grow. You can veer off course and leave her to handle herself, she hasn’t noticed you yet; but the idea of how ravenous she must be drives you forward. Is it not your place to assuage the hunger of those here?

Agatha catches your eye. Concern softens her features and you quickly school your own.

Mallinali clears away the crowd of onlookers and admirers. Your place on the bench is once again wide open as you slide next to her, careful to maintain a healthy distance. You set the bowl between you.

Agatha hesitates, then begins to pick at it. You avoid her eyes.

You groan, “I was a child.”

“That only makes it all the more damning, darling.” Agatha grins, “Children are the truest form of being.”

“Oh, please. And what were you like as a child, then?”

“A delight, naturally.”

“Delightful terror is probably closer to the truth.” You muse.

“Says you, young overlord. You know what they say about casting stones, dear.”

Aly’Liwen and his people are natural storytellers; and there is no better excuse for storytelling than to entertain visitors. Over the course of the evening you’d even been prompted to share a few of your own. A mistake, it seems—at least in relation to Agatha.

Your bickering with the witch has brought you to your chamber door. Agatha waltzes right in, utterly unafraid. You stop in the opening.

Amusement is quashed beneath the weight settling on your chest. Drawing breath feels impossible. Your hands come to clutch the arch of the doorway. If you can just take one step inside, you’ll be fine. The fear will fall away.

You put one foot through the door and can’t move any further. The step has made it worse. Oh Gods.

The opening inside is snake-like to protect from any wind, but it only makes it worse. You can’t assess the room from here. Though it’s a positive that Agatha can’t see you fall apart.

Briefly you consider not entering at all and finding a place within the cavern to sleep; but you’re not a commoner. Finding a way to enter the chamber is inevitable.

You pull one hand from the doorway and sink your nails into your flesh, hoping for the sweet reprieve the pain can bring. Nothing. The fear doesn’t ebb—if anything, it grows worse. Gods, you just need to step into the chamber.

You have no choice.

“H-Harkness.” You call into the chamber, cursing the break in your voice.

Shuffling, feet on stone. The wild, dark mane of her hair comes around the curve, blue eyes curious. The sight of her is a comfort.

She raises a brow.

“I…I can’t…” You whisper.

You don’t know how to put it into words—the lack of breath, the impossible weight on your chest, how you tremble like a child. Every fear in your mind is alive and whispering terrible things in your ear. You don’t know how to tell her that you can’t silence them.

Your eyes are glassy, casting a blurry haze, but you still see the cruel smile that forms. It feels like a twisting knife in your chest.

Agatha coos, mocking, “Something wrong, dear?”

The knife pierces deeper. You can’t do this. This isn’t a fight you can rise to—you can’t even breathe.

You flinch back. One of your hands leaves the doorway as you prepare to retreat, to find anywhere to bide your time until the morning, logic be damned.

Humor drops from Agatha’s expression. Worry stains her proud features and she crosses the distance in a blink. She comes to stand before you, hands held between your persons.

You hardly see them through your blurred vision.

“Give me your hands.” Agatha orders.

The order drums up annoyance. It’s comforting—the heat of your defiance, low as the temperature may be.

If only you had more of it, perhaps you wouldn’t need her.

Finger by clenched finger, you peel your grip from the doorway. They ache from the force at which you held on. Blood rushes back to the appendages, but you still feel cold.

You’re forced to take a step forward to grab her hands. They’re warm and dry. You’d flush at the sweat on your palms if you weren’t otherwise distracted.

Her blackened hands grasp your own tight.

She takes several steps back into the pathway until you’re forced to take more to follow. It’s a slow, terrifying dance. One step for you, several for Agatha, and so on. You stare at your joined hands.

In your periphery, you can see the walls on either side, and you can see exactly when they widen into what is the dedicated chamber.

You’re rooted to the spot.

There is a great woven rug over the floor, tapestries and painted scenes covering the walls, a modest bed in the center of the room. It’s beautiful, but the walls are too close, the ceiling is too low—

Agatha has stepped away far enough that continuing to clutch her makes you lean forward at an odd angle. You need to move forward, but you can’t. You won’t.

You can’t stay in this room.

She leverages your uneven footing and yanks, hard. You stumble a few steps forward and feel a shriek clawing up your throat. It’d escape—if you could catch enough air to make it so.

You only manage to whimper.

She pauses, then steps close. Too close. You can’t push her back; the overwhelm of having all of her so near blocks out the vision of the room—the too small room with all the shadows with all the weight—

One hand is extracted from your own. You cry out, clawing at it, trying to catch it with your own. She can’t let you go. She can’t.

The words leave you without your consent, “Agatha, please.”

Her hand settles in the center of your chest, over where your heart beats. Agatha’s gaze traces your features; over the pleading look for safety, for her to fix this one thing you can’t face. Carefully, she pulls her other hand from yours, and instinctively you latch onto fistfuls of her dress, desperate to anchor yourself.

“Close your eyes.” Her breath is warm over your skin.

You’re helpless to do anything but obey.

It helps when your eyes fall closed; you can’t see the shadows crawling over every corner of the room. All you feel is the heat of Agatha so close, the firm press of her hand over your heart.

Then, frisson. A bolt of electricity.

“Feel her.” Agatha says.

Her voice echoes, carrying a depth just like it did in the center of the river.

And then, you do.

Your senses expand outward. The gentle hum you felt through the stone is alive and real, something closer to a steady breath. You feel the tug of every root clinging to the stone, the reverberations of every step taken upon it. Despite so much weight and movement there is no yield. No give. She does not budge even an inch.

“She won’t hurt you.”

Caught up her instruction, in the feel of the mountain coursing through you, the whispering fears in your mind go silent. You’re safe.

Tension melts from your limbs. You slump forward, a shaking breath escaping. Your front is pressed fully against Agatha’s. The warmth exuding from her helps calm the shaking in your limbs. You’re grounded by the pressure of her. It’s nice to be held.

A hesitant hand comes to hold your waist. Two of her fingers trace careful patterns.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

Agatha hums.

“This isn’t what I expected from you.” She admits.

“It’s my place to keep you on your toes, isn’t it?” You laugh, a bit of bitterness creeping in.

You shouldn’t be showing her this weakness. Of all the people to see you at your lowest, she should be the very last. This weakness shouldn’t exist, let alone have seized you enough to override your faculties.

His words echo in your mind; a Queen never loses control.

The weight of the dagger under your skirts is a promise; control is just within reach. You release a fistful of Agatha’s dress and reach for it.

You press the tip of the blade into her side.

Her hand releases your waist and two fingers crook under your chin. You meet her eyes, defiant.

“You’re getting predictable.” Agatha murmurs.

You smile, but you don’t feel any joy. You need to regain what you’ve lost.

You need control.

“If I’m predictable, why let me so close?” You whisper.

Agatha leans in, barely a breath between the two of you, “Because it’s your place, angel.”

The dagger is extracted from your hold faster than you can blink. She doesn’t turn it on you. Rather, with a grand flourish, she sinks to one knee, and pushes up your skirts.

You watch, frozen. Her flesh is warm against your own. The length of the blade is cold where she slides it back into your garter.

She chuckles low. As she stands in a fluid motion, she winks. One of her hands pats your thigh.

“Sleep well, darling.”

Your prior fear feels miles away, now. As you tuck in for the evening you burn with the lingering feeling of her flesh on your own.

The slant of light tells you you’re dreaming. You sit beneath a tree, back pressed against it. Above you the branches sway in the wind. Yet, the sunlight doesn’t change; unmoved despite the jostled branches.

You hold a book in your hands and a heavy weight in your lap. The weight is familiar—comforting, even, like you’ve always carried it with you.

“Mother?” The weight asks, voice high and youthful.

The book is lowered to reveal wild hair and blue eyes one could drown in. Her face is serene, but she’s aware; eyes a whirlpool of thought. You smooth a hand over her cheek.

Since when do I have a child?

“Yes, my beloved?” You murmur.

“Where are my sisters?”

She leans into your touch like a starved animal, even as she delivers the question. For some reason it feels like a blow to the chest.

Sisters? No, there is only her… my baby. My only baby. Right?

“You don’t have sisters.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve just forgotten. You always forget.” She sits up, “Remember. You have to.”

“My beloved, there are no sisters to remember.”

The words settle something incorrect in your chest. You claw at it absentmindedly.

“Yes there are! She’ll help you find them again.”

Your thumb had been stroking little circles on her cheek. It freezes. Tilting your head, you regard her closely.

“Who?”

Her weight vanishes. She’s gone from beneath your hand, round youthful cheeks and all. The slant of light dims, the shadows lengthen, and the sky is painted from golden to crimson. Beneath you the earth is charred, dead—just like…

“Turning the water against me was clever.”

You turn and stop. She stands a few feet away, hands folded in front of herself, waiting. The skin of her face is as if someone grabbed and pulled. No bone is revealed in the wake of it, but void; endless nothingness.

The light, golden and sweet, drips from the branches overhead like rain. It sizzles upon meeting the blackened earth.

Her voice… like pulling a thread too thin, an auditory example of pure anticipation and fear. It bobs up and down but always too tight. The sound is almost impossible to bear.

“It wasn’t my idea.” You say.

She looks as if she means to smile, but the melting flesh on her features doesn’t move to accommodate the action.

“But it was your intent.” She says, slowly advancing on you. You resist the urge to back away, “Do you think Agatha could do this?”

You see it, then. The carnage wrought upon her throat. A gaping wound through, the edges black and festering. Snapped chords hang limp through the opening, but a few remain; you watch them tighten as she speaks, itching with the knowledge that it could snap before your eyes.

Gripping your middle, you feel light-headed. You’re going to be sick.

“How are you even here?” You ask, eyes averted to the ground.

Agatha had told you that your mind was guarded after everything at the barrier; she’d handled it herself, meticulously weaving magic and latin around you. And you had felt Her fall away from your mind. You know you had.

“We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I—woven of the same thread. Agatha cannot fathom us so she cannot keep us apart.”

“We are nothing alike.”

She shakes her head, sighs. The sound is strangely human; out of place coming from the horror of this witch.

“I don’t want to be your villain.”

You feel a pull to believe her. You shove it down.

“You have an odd way of showing it.”

“I’ve been kind, haven’t I? Haven’t I been merciful? I didn’t touch your people when you came to me. I offered you a way to free yourself and your kingdom.” She surges forward, hands outstretched as if to grab your own and make you see. She stops when you flinch back, “I even tried to give you what you wanted.”

Your prize under the deal you could have made; freedom from Agatha. Despite you spitting in the face of her deal, she’d gone ahead and given it to you anyway—or attempted to.

Something in you is pulled toward her beyond logic and reason. A part of you—the part you share—wants to believe her. It begs you to just trust.

You stare at the golden-stained spots on the charred ground.

“Why?”

Why do any of it? Why appear now? Why does she want Agatha gone?

“I loved something. Someone.” The grief staining her is palpable, overriding the tension created by her vocal horror, “I…I want him back.”

Love of the romantic sort is not a privilege you’ve ever known. Still, you feel the lack she experiences. It threatens to drown you. How has she been carrying this so long?

“Why not tell me this to start?”

She sighs again. Her eyes close, like she herself is fighting to stay above the grief washing over her. When she opens them, she’s steady again.

“Please… please, will you help me?” She whispers.

One of her hands reaches out, palm up. The edges of her hands match the earth. Her eyes, empty and dark as they may be, hold a pleading glint.

You reach back.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha all along x reader #agatha all along fanfiction #agatha harkness fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #dec2024 #multimilfswritings

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insanely-lovely-and-random · 8 months ago

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Sorry sorry saw Challengers for the fourth time and just had to write a few things I thought down before I lose them.

This time around I was looking at the characters and noticing their major flaws. Like not actions just character flaws. Art is easy cause the movie points out one major flaw of his, confidence or lack of it. Also I'd say related to this said confidence issue is that he represses parts of himself he's not ready to face and here's where it gets interesting to me, that is one of Tashi's biggest flaws as well. See the first few times I watched it was easy to see the similarities between Patrick and Tashi but now I actually think Tashi is actually more similar to Art.

Tashi and Patrick share an outward confidence but I'd say this is actually in a lotta ways a flase confidence on Tashis part. Don't get me wrong, when it comes to tennis Tashi exhudes the stuff but when it comes to personal relationships? I think she wants the power in them but this backfires on her. With Patrick it's because he won't allow her to have all the power and because their young and bullheaded the relationship collapses. Sure Art had his part in it but that fight was inevitable. When Patrick leaves the room her faces crumples, then she has a disaster during the match. Because I think when it comes to people alot of her confidence is more a false bravado so when she loses tennis on top of that? Well I think she hardens her walls. She won't let people see how vulnerable she is, she represses that part of her.

And then we come to Art. He and Tashi are so similar in the sense that Art, I believe has feelings for Patrick from the beginning. But unlike Patrick he's clearly not ready to face them. Just like he's not ready to face that he's losing his marriage. He's ready to hide in what's easy and comfortable because he's afraid of change and who he really is. I think at the start he'd rather stick with the idea what he and Pat have is just friendship because it's the safer option. I think he doesn't want to lose his marraige because it's what he knows. Art does not want to be left alone and left out, I think when he sees Tashi and Patrick getting closer he panics and messes up, just like Tashi did. Art likes to be safe and have somone else take the lead. When he was young it was Pat, in the present it's Tashi but I think there's something else Art wants that he's not even aware of himself. It's that he's okay having somone be in charge, he just also wants them to see him as an equal. But during most of the movie he can't be seen by Patrick or Tashi as one because he doesn't have the confidence to prove himself as one. And I'm not talking just on the court but in life as well.

Now during the sauna scene I think just like Tashi what's he's putting on isn't a real confidence and surety in himself. It's just a hedgehog putting up spikes because he's afraid, afraid of Pat not because he's threatened but because Patrick inspires real feelings in him and that means looking at a part of himself he's spent a better part of 13 years repressing. He lashes out because he's so unconfident in his old friendship that he can only see Patrick being their as a cruel thing not the desperate reaching out and trying to break down walls between them that it is and so.... Patrick.

Patrick I'd say ironically is the heart of the movie and the group. Patrick's major flaw isn't his ego, it's not his confidence, it's not even his immaturity. It's that he's the most open and honest character in the movie EXCEPT when it really matters. (And sorta his obliviousness🤣) Look Patrick is honest about himself in a lot of ways from the beginning, he actually IS confident in himself at the beginning. He knows he can be a dick. He is self aware. He's more honest than the other two but he doesn't trust them enough to be honest in the real ways that matter.

Patrick clearly has feelings for Art at the beginning but he also either knows or thinks that Art isn't ready to face them and so he doesn't push past those boundaries. They're all over eachother yeah but there's an unspoken thing between them. Art denies it with words but Patrick never does but he also never says it, he won't rock the boat. But then like a child who can't get what he wants he seems to treat Art almost as a toy. Now don't get me wrong not in a callous way but in way that if he can't have Art the way he wants, at least he has the control over him. He's in charge of course until he isn't. He pulled Art's pigtails one too many times and then he's gone to the other person who he loses his relationship with. Tashi.

Pat's right when he says Tashi sees herself in him and she doesn't want to face it. And he's right and that's really what both of them have with him. They see something about themselves in Patrick that they're too afraid to face and so they cut him out.

Now Pat and Tashi are interesting, like I said on paper their the similar ones. And in the a lotta ways yeah. Their both dominant forces and with no Art to balance them they eventually clash. Patrick clearly cares for Tashi but he pushes back when she asserts dominance, Tashi doesn't see him as her peer and he can't stand that. Which is ironic because he (I do believe loves Art) but he doesn't see him as his peer until the end. In fact I think that's what he realises, he begins to in the sauna and it really comes to him at match point. They are all unbalanced, they all have things they need but he needs to level the playing field. Their relationship is a mess because of power imbalance, because of fear and because of dishonesty.

Tashi and Art won't face their true selves. And Patrick hasn't pushed hard enough because he had his own fear. He was afraid of losing them and in the end that fear lost him them both anyways. When Patrick is asked somehting he doesn't want to answer he simply doesn't answer. Tashi asks about them two while Art denies Patrick just looks away. Whenever Art and Tashi are asked questions in the movie they're unsure of they answer with a question. They deflect.

"Who wouldn't be in love with you?"

"What else could I want?"

They. Won't. Face. It.

And so it's Patrick who has to make them.

Patrick realises what they need. They need to be honest. With themselves and with eachother. Cause it wasn't just Art and Tashi who were afraid all those years ago. It was him too. He was afraid he'd lose Art if he tried changing their relationship and brought the unspoken in the open. He was afraid he'd lose his power in the relationship if he backed down in his and Tashis fight so instead he ran away because it was safer. And it all went wrong anyways.

So when he's thinking about pulling the move of laying it all out in the open? It's risky. It's dangerous. It could mean he loses them both all over again for ever this time, but then again... he's already lost them before by being dishonest.

So he faces his own fear. And tell's Art the truth and Art is furious, he's shocked and then he's hurt. He's wounded. Tashi's just confused, knowing something has happened but not fully grasping what. Patrick has laid it all out.. and then? Art smiles. I think Art is relieved. Because this time? It's not like Atlanta, it's no longer a secret between Tashi and Pat because now he knows. He's included and Patrick finally shows he sees him as a peer. Not just somone he has to protect from the truth or lie to. And I think that helps Art breakthrough his own fear and face his true feelings he's buried all this time.

When that match breaks out they take eachother on as equals at last. And Tashi? She must see that they've broken free, they've finally reached that potential she saw so many years ago. And she too might just be ready to face her own self and let go of the pain she's held after losing tennis. She's witnessing something she's missed all these years and I think she probably realises she's missed the relationship between her boys as well because it was that, that helped make them be good tennis players.

I also read that due to touching the net the point may not count so it's truly inconclusive who won but I'll say it again. The match isn't what mattered. Its a game about taking the points that matter. It's game that required the confidence to risk it all and they all did. Patrick, Art, Tashi? They've won.

(All my own opinions and analysis, movie is very open to interpretation! That's why I've watched it four bloody times, I'm obsessed haha)

#challengers movie #challengers spoilers #challengers 2024 #zendaya #mike faist #josh o'connor #challengers #movie analysis #movie rant #film #bisexual

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milfjuulpod · 2 years ago

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hi!! can you do one of melissa x fem reader where reader just started teaching at abbott and melissa develops feelings pretty quickly after they become really close, but doesn’t know reader is dating someone. until reader’s partner starts visiting her at work & melissa gets jealous. little does melissa know that reader likes her back & wants to leave her partner cause they’re kinda shitty to her or whatever you think works best!! and with melissa & reader eventually getting together:)

i’m terrible at explaining skdjfhd but i hope it’s good enough!!! i love your work btw!!!<3

She’s Not You

summary: see req

content/warnings: heavy cursing, hinting at emotional abuse, fluff in the end tho duh

a/n: hello :p thank you for sending a req and for the kind words 🥺 i could cry. i hope you like this, i am not too happy with it so maybe i’ll revisit this prompt but for now, here u are! much love 🫶

Abbott Elementary quickly became your safe haven. After landing a job as a third grade teacher, you’ve gone from just another face to part of the family. Particularly, with Melissa Schemmenti. Your job opening was actually because of Melissa. Her meshed second and third grade classes proved to be too much for even Melissa and an aid, and somehow the driven teacher found money through the district to hire you.

Both you and Melissa felt indebted to each other, her basically giving you the job, and you saving her from the worst year of teaching yet. At least, that’s what the two of you kept telling yourselves. I’m just returning the favor.

That’s why Melissa offered to show you how to cook, why you invited her over to show her some cult classic movies, why the two of you became…close, to say the least. Even though the two of you shared some intimate moments, you never shared many intimate details. It wasn’t until your partner of three years started coming to your work that you realized you had never shared that part of your life with Melissa.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Melissa more about your life, you wanted to badly. But, you were afraid. The relationship between you and your partner was less than, in your eyes. Of course at the beginning it was all roses and smiles and kisses and whispers, but slowly the facade dropped, and you slowly began to meet the person you had dedicated way too much of your personal life to.

You knew the only reason Heather, your girlfriend, was coming by to work was because she didn’t have enough control. She noticed how much happier you were, how you were thriving. And since it wasn’t coming from Heather herself, she needed that to change.

The first time she came by, it was unannounced. You sat in the break room, in your usual spot a little too close to Melissa, the two of you working on a crossword together. Your thoughts of the clues were interrupted by a familiar voice that made your blood run cold. “Hey baby, happy to see me?” Heather announced herself to the room. You blinked a few times to ensure you weren’t dreaming, missing Melissa throw Heather the nastiest glare she could.

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” You asked Heather with a small smile, although you were secretly worried about her true intentions. She decided to make herself comfortable and pull up a chair next to you. Everyone else in the break room simply stared, worried for the girl who was unknowingly digging a deeper and deeper hole with the Italian teacher sitting a foot away from her.

“I missed you, wanted to bring you lunch. You didn’t eat breakfast this morning, or grab the coffee I made you. I woke up early for that, y’know,” she said to you, plopping the bag of food in front of you. To an outsider, it might’ve seemed like light teasing between a comfortable couple. But you knew that tone. The tone that meant she was going to bring this up later, start a fight, and then make it up to you before you could change your mind about finally leaving.

You muttered a quiet “thanks,” and took the food in your hand. “Why don’t I show you my classroom?” Before Heather could respond, you were out of your seat and guiding the two of you to the door.

“Who was that?” Barbara asked the room, although she gave pointed eyes to Melissa, knowing the two of you had grown close rather quickly. Melissa on the other hand, was angrily staring at the crossword in front of her. How dare this stranger come and interrupt the time she treasured with you, taking you away and-

Then she remembered the pet name, the mention of breakfast and coffee, and the dots connected. You had a girlfriend. A girlfriend Melissa knew absolutely nothing about. She didn’t even know you liked women. Sure, she had her suspicions, after all you weren’t very subtle about it. But you never opened up to Melissa about it, the loving of women or the girl you had already loved, and that made Melissa’s heart shatter more than she felt she could physically handle.

The redhead abruptly stood up from her seat and started gathering her things. She could not be around others right now, not in this emotional state. Melissa knew she had a crush on you, she just didn’t think it was this bad. To the point of making the usual hard-shelled woman fall to pieces at the sight of you with somebody else. In her haste exit, Melissa missed the many friends she had calling out to her, she couldn’t hear anything other than the thousands of thoughts in her head.

“Fuck,” Melissa muttered to herself, leaning against the wall in the hallway. She covered her face in her hands, hoping it would stop the tears from leaving her green eyes. She did her best to quickly pull herself together before anyone saw, and made the walk back to her classroom. Of course, she had to pass your room to get to her own. The sight of your classroom door made Melissa’s stomach turn. Usually it was because of butterflies, and now dread. She felt sick.

As she got closer, she could hear voices coming from inside. Melissa stood still for a moment, debating whether or not she truly wanted to know what was being said in there. Against her brain telling her to do otherwise, Melissa creeped towards your door, trying her best to listen for conversation.

“I make you coffee and you don’t drink it, I bring you lunch and you don’t eat it, what the fuck is your problem? Do you have no appreciation for those around you? Are you that fucked up?” The voice from earlier could be heard through the door. Melissa was shocked, angry, jealous, all rolled up into one storm. Which would explain why she swung open your door before she could tell herself no.

“Who are you? We’re having a conversation.” Heather spat at Melissa immediately. Before answering, Melissa glanced towards you. She had never seen you in such a fragile state. Sitting in your desk chair, in the dark, with so much fear in your eyes somebody might think your life was being threatened. “It’s a need to know basis kid, and you don’t need to know. Could I steal my friend for a minute?” Melissa asked, even though she was already taking your hand in hers and walking out the door with you.

She didn’t stop once she left your classroom either, not until she made it to the steps outside of the building. Melissa looked into your eyes for something, anything at this point. But you just sighed and looked away. “Please don’t yell at me, Mel,” you said quietly. You were ready for your friend to tear you apart for hiding your girlfriend and for letting her speak to you that way. “Yell at you? Honey…” Melissa said. She pulled you back close to her and wrapped her arms tightly around your body.

Quietly, you cried into her. You couldn’t help it, Melissa made you feel safe, and that wasn’t a luxury you could frequently afford. “She just…” You started, trying to explain everything to the woman who was trying to take care of you. “I can’t do it anymore Melissa. I’m sorry I never told you about her, or the fact I like women. It’s not that I didn’t want to, please don’t think that I just–” You stopped, lifting your head from Melissa’s shoulder to finally meet her gaze again. “I didn’t want you to see how small she makes me feel. I know I shouldn’t be with her, I just don’t know anything else. Not unless I’m with you but, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore,” you finally finished with a heavy sigh.

Melissa took a moment to respond, gently rubbing your back and taking a second to absorb everything you had just told her and everything she heard. “I know its easier said than done, but you and I both know you deserve better than that crazy ass bitch back in that classroom,” She gestured with her head to the door. You noticed the venom in her voice as she referred to your girlfriend once again, and if her eyes weren't the most beautiful shade of green, they would be red with anger. “I don’t know Mel…” you trailed off.

She scoffed, tightening her grip around your waist, and you tried your best to ignore the warmth growing in your chest. “Well I know. I know you should be with somebody who actually cares about you, who notices all the stupid cute habits you do all day and loves them, you deserve somebody who will give you that,” Melissa said honestly, more honest than she would have liked to be. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face, touched by the woman’s words. “Maybe I’ll find them one day,” You said, starting to walk back inside with Melissa. “But I don’t think I’ll find anybody who loves me quite like you do Mel.” Melissa’s heart jumped at that. “I don’t think you will either, sweetheart.”

———

The weeks following that first incident were strange to say the least. The air between you and Melissa became tense, like both of you had something to say but just couldn’t. Or rather, wouldn’t. The few times Heather popped by again, Melissa would always leave without a word. No goodbye to you or the others, and you quickly learned that for whatever reason, she had a hard time coming back to life after seeing Heather. You blamed it on her protective nature, simple explanation.

It wasn't until Heather had actually stopped coming around that Melissa spoke of the girlfriend without being prompted. The two of you sat alone in her classroom, grading papers before the weekend. “So, are things going any better with…y’know? Haven't seen her around much,” Melissa said without looking up from her papers. “Actually, she moved out. Last weekend. I was going to tell you I just, needed time, I guess,” You answered, looking up at Melissa, trying to read her mind through her eyes.

At first, they lit up, before Melissa could pull herself back together. “Well its about time you kicked her sorry ass to the curb. Nobody treats cuore mia like that,” She said, watching in real time how you melted at her words. “I- What?” you giggled out of confusion. Melissa returned to her gaze to her papers and quietly said, “my heart.” Your cheeks grew hot and you found your breath quickening, both at Melissa calling you such a sweet name, and the Italian she spoke it in. It was this moment that the puzzle pieces started fitting together in your head. Why Melissa was so angry and upset with Heather, and why you always preferred Melissa’s company anyways. The two of you were practically in love.

“If you want to call me pet names, at least do it in English so I know what you’re saying,” You lied to her. You couldn’t have her speaking in Italian to you, but not because it bothered you. In fact it had quite the opposite effect. “What, you don’t like when I speak Italian? Besides, you’ll learn soon enough dolcezza mia,” Melissa cooed, leaning over the edge of her desk to get closer to your face. If you could, you would kiss her right then and there.

So you did. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you cupped Melissa’s cheek and pulled her lips onto yours. Both of you were surprised at the sudden move, but neither pulled away. It was gentle, Melissa stroked the back of your head as she pulled you into her as well. She ran her fingers through your hair and used her position to lightly pull you away from her. “I’m sorry.” You both said at the same time before giggling like children. “Why are you sorry?” Melissa asked. “For kissing you, without asking. Why are you sorry?” You simultaneously answered and questioned her. “For kissing you back, I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Melissa said quietly, suddenly deflating.

You took her hand in yours, gently rubbing her knuckles with your thumb. “Melissa, you’re a very intelligent woman, but you’re acting like an idiot,” You laughed as Melissa furrowed her brows at you. “I kissed you, Mel. I wanted to kiss you I want to kiss you all the time, I didn’t realize until after you started helping me with…you know who,” Both of you grimaced at the mention of your ex. “Everything she should’ve been making me feel, is how you make me feel every day. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that,” You told Melissa truthfully. The grip on your hand tightened as she took in your words. “God, come here you,” Melissa said as she smiled, and tugged on your hand for another kiss.

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fics #lisa ann walter #reader fic #wlw #melissa schemmenti headcanon #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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lootsofathousandsworld · 1 year ago

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Flint x Reader Hurt Oneshot

Good lord I had this short story in my grammery for a long time. X'D

Anyway hope you like this folks. I'm trying to get my groove back on writing these stuff. I miss doing them :')

And as always sorry if you see any grammer errors.

“What the hell happened?!” You’ve gotten used to Flint’s temper after living with him for a while now. This time, however, he was yelling at his crew member after getting hurt from doing something stupid.

And oh man, this is probably the new record on his wrath that made your heart beat out of fright.

And also your wound wasn’t too bad. It was only a scratch on your palm. Not too long ago, you wanted to try that dagger trick after you saw someone performing it on the street.

But you accidentally cut yourself after your feet stumbled and grabbed the blades instead of the handle.

“S-sir we kept an eye on 'er!” One crew protested. "And to be fair cap'n, she wanted to perform this stunt. We didn't make 'er do it!"

"Is that so?" You saw him look at you coldly which made you bite your lips holding your hand where the wounded were.

He exhales his nostril in irritation and turns his men, mostly at his first mate, Billy. "Take 'em to my ship. I'll be there shortly."

"Aye, sir!" Billy replied. Then the Captain turns to you and grabs your arm.

"You and I going have a little talk on yer act," With that, you and he walked away from the crew. When you and he are alone in the dark ally he speaks lowly.

"Let me see yer hand,"

At first, your instinct tells you not to. Since you are afraid of what he’ll say or do to you. Then you hear your captain repeat in a strict tone.

“Let. Me. See. Yer. Hand.”

You show your wound nervously and you watch him examine it carefully. After about a few seconds he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Just what the hell were ye thinkin'?”

You lowered your head in embarrassment.

“It’s only a scratch,” You muttered.

“But that stunt could’ve gotten yourself killed ye know that?!” Flint almost shouts.

You flinch and manage to reply. “I know it was stupid.” You added while trying not to sound afraid. “I just. I only want to impress your men that’s all.”

In the corner of your eyes, you watch him shake his head and take a few breaths silently to calm himself. You then feel your chin gently lift and your face is looking at his.

His face was now a hint of worrying that he never showed this side to his crew. He also was on his knees so you can see his face better.

“ Lass you don’t need to show your impression on my men. Since you joined my crew ye been improved your strength and agility. That dumb stunt is never the bonus. My men and I were already impressed with your skills lass." He brushes your cheeks with his thumb-bony finger and finishes.

" And what impresses me more is your improvement over a month living on my ship,"

You felt your cheeks almost blush at his compliment on your endurance living on his ship. But then your face made a frown when your Captain said this.

"And from now on no more handling daggers unless yer supervised. “

“Then how am I going to defend myself without one?” You asked. Feeling upset you can’t have one after that stunt.

“That until you be taught how to handle it properly.” As he spoke he took out his ray cloth from his coat pocket and wrapped it around your palm to stop the bleeding.

“Now promise me you'll follow this order, for yer safe sake.” He looked at you long and you made a silent huff, looking down with disappointment.

Y/N." He spoke sternly.

"Okay fine I promise, swear to pirate code," You gave in. Not because of his tone. More of there's no point in arguing with him. You felt it wouldn't change anything the more you tried to argue with him.

Also, you want to be done with this situation. You were embarrassed enough by that dagger stunt. Instead, you muttered for him to hear.

"Can we go back now Captain?" You hear him make a slight chuckle and begins to lead you back to his ship. While on the way he spoke lowly.

"Once ye handle some daggers properly, I can perhaps give ya a few tricks of mine."

"And how long that'll be until?" You asked, looking up at him.

"A year."

"A year?" You almost laugh. "Come on can you give me a month?"

"No,"

"Please?" You did your best giving a puppy pleading, thanks to B.E.N. showing you how to do it. You watch him avoiding your gaze and he clinches his teeth in frustration.

Soon he rolled all his eyes, "Remind me to punish B.E.N. on teaching ye how to beg when we get back.

"So is that a yes?" You grinned.

He snorted. "Maybe." That made your hope up, knowing he'll change his mind once you and him are on his ship...or as he puts it. Maybe.

#my fanfiction #treasure planet #treasure planet x reader #nathaniel flint #self insert #self shipping #monster boyfriend #lol not too happy on how I did the ending but hope you enjoy it :)

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super-unpredictable98 · 4 months ago

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The Eighth Child (~TUA AU~) - Season 4

Chapter 1: Your Dreams Came True, Now What?

Warning: Strong language, guns

a/n: Hello everyone! I really missed The Eighth Child and I hope you all have as well. We can all agree this season was pure bullshit, so here I am with a very short series of chapters to fix it. Welcome to the final show, hope you all like it <3 also thank you so much @jozstankovich for supporting me and being my guinea pig beta reader

(The Eighth Child Masterlist)

"Of course we're coming, Dieguito!" Victoria said on the phone while trying to tame Fortune's big curly mane. "Tunnie is very excited to play with Gracie and the twins. Alright, see you later!"

"Lunch is ready," Klaus called from the kitchen. He wore a frilly apron on top of his completely normal and absolutely not flamboyant outfit. "No no no! Fortune, don't run, we don't wanna get hurt, right?"

"Right, a safe girl is a happy girl!" She repeated what her father always said.

Something about the pandemic mixed with Fortune growing into her own person, realizing Victoria was no longer indestructible, and Klaus staying fully sober, made him into a complete nut job. He was scared of absolutely anything and everything that could harm him and his family. The idea of dying and not being there to raise his kids was too much for him to even think about.

"You too, Liebling, you're in no condition to run," he caressed her baby bump.

Victoria and Klaus started off their married life as happy as can be, but the real world was right ahead and with his new sobriety and paranoia, it became harder and harder for her to... how should one put it... feel attracted to him.

Klaus was a completely changed man, his wife didn't necessarily like that. But alas, every once in a while, they still had some romance and of course she got pregnant by chance one of those times.

"I'm not sick, Klausie. Don't you remember when I was pregnant with Fortune and we would party all night in the clubs near campus? I was fine and so is she."

"I know, I know, but we were totally irresponsible! The world was different too, no COVID for starters..." He shivered before taking a bite of his risotto.

Victoria sighed, looking at the several cardboard boxes surrounding them. Right after marrying, she used her saved money to rent the apartment she used to rent back in her college days with Klaus, she loved that place and it was special to begin their new lives there.

After about a year, she made enough money with her bakery for a downpayment on the apartment. But now with their second child on the way, it wasn't viable to live in such a tiny place, even though it hurt to let it go.

"Something wrong, Mommy?" Fortune asked, seeing her mother's face. Sadness, conformity, longing, and a little disgust in her eyes.

"No, baby, I'm okay," Victoria sighed, but her husband also noticed that look. It had started about two and a half years ago when he was really focused on his sobriety journey, she seemed to simply lose interest in the person he was becoming.

Every morning, he woke up afraid she'd be gone. Every day when she left for work, he was scared she'd meet someone more exciting that would fill that void he unwillingly left behind. He was terrified she'd leave him like she did back when they were younger.

"Hey, Schatzi, since Fortune is having that sleepover with Gracie tonight, we should do something special," Klaus suggested.

"Like what?" She gave him that vacant look like she was dead inside.

"Romantic dinner, watching a movie, some... special cuddles," he winked.

"Sure," she sighed. Something horribly dangerous happens when your dreams come true... You're stuck with them.

"Die Hard!" Diego opened the door to Brigaderia Oito, Victoria's bakery. "How's it going? How's Klus?"

"It's alright, he's... sober," she mumbled. "Ah Dieguito, married life isn't what I signed up for."

"Trouble in paradise, huh? It's tough, marriage is hard work. I feel like everything I do is meaningless, but in the end, we're with the people we love, and we have amazing kids. We built something good."

"I guess so," she nodded, giving him his usual carrot cake with gooey brigadeiro on top. "I just wish Klaus would go back to being... Klaus. Not the drugs you know, but the wild nature, it's like he's broken. We barely ever have sex anymore."

"Ew! I don't wanna hear about that!" Diego pretended to gag. "My two siblings having sex? Barf!"

She rolled her eyes and placed her hand on her belly before turning to get Grace's birthday cake. She baked it and decorated it herself with cute jungle animals.

"Oh, it looks amazing!" He gasped. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, it's part of her present. Only the best for my goddaughter."

"Thank you so much, Vicky," he smiled, giving her a hug over the counter and giving her belly a pat. "Already know if it's a girl or a boy?"

"Not yet, we'll get to know on the next ultrasound."

"Hope it's a boy this time, my little man needs more friends, he's drowning in estrogen."

She huffed and gave him a playful shove. "Keep the cake in the fridge."

"Thanks a million, Vicky! I'll see you later."

"See you later," she turned to pick up the phone. "Hello, Brigadeiria Oito, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Schnucki!" Klaus said into the phone. "I just picked up Fortune from school, she choked on the pulp of her orange juice."

"What? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's okay now, she just had a little coughing fit and was back to normal... it's just, that she got scared and wanted to come back home."

"Klaus! I can't believe you pulled our daughter out of school because she lightly choked on juice! You're gonna ruin her with all this coddling!"

"She was scared!"

"Because she sees you scared all the damn time!"

"We can talk about this later after the party. She's here now and listening."

"Why did you put me on speaker?"

"Holding a cell phone close to your ear isn't good because the temperature-"

"JESUS CHRIST! SHUT UP!" She shouted and only then she noticed there was a client waiting for her. "Just a second, I'll be with you in no time..."

"Why are you like this? Pregnancy hormones driving you crazy?" He asked.

"No, Klaus, you are! Talk to you later, I have to work... someone has to work in this household!"

"Why is Mama mad at you?" Fortune asked as she rode in the back of Allison's car with Claire and her father to the party venue.

"Mama is nervous because she's pregnant, that makes mommies a little angry sometimes," Klaus said, adjusting her seat belt for the millionth time.

"She said it wasn't because of the baby."

"Alright... you know, sometimes daddies and mommies fight, my Tunnie baby, but that doesn't mean it's forever and it doesn't mean something bad is gonna happen."

"What if you two split?" The little girl frowned.

"That's not happening, your parents have been attached at the hip since they were toddlers," Allison chuckled. "It was kinda disgusting."

"If you're Aunt Vicky's sister and Uncle Klaus' sister... does that mean they're siblings too?" Claire asked.

"That's a very long very lovely story for when you're a little bit older, Claire-bear" Klaus said before turning back to his daughter. "My little princess, don't worry about mommy, okay? I'm always here for you, and she'll always be here for you too, we love you more than the entire universe. It's just that things changed a little, but nothing that cannot be fixed."

"Hey, guys!" Victoria waved at them once they parked, she was bringing four boxes of party sweets, Brazilian style of course... beijinho, brigadeiro, bicho de pé, ninho e nutella, casadinho.

"Hey! Hey! Don't go around carrying that! You're in no condition!" Klaus took his car helmet off and rushed to help her with the boxes.

"Relax, she's pregnant, not dead," Lila came right behind with the huge bottles of soda.

"Leave it to me," he insisted.

Once they were inside, Grace and the twins came running to meet Claire and Fortune. Victoria hugged her nieces and nephew, as did Klaus before Diego gave them a look and pointed with his eyes to the doll house which was secluded and empty.

"We need to talk," she mumbled.

"Yeah... don't take your eyes off Fortune, Claire," Klaus asked. "Don't let her eat or drink anything with red 40 or 4-MEI!"

"You say as if we didn't sneak out at least three times a week to stuff our faces with doughnuts at Griddy's..." Victoria sighed as she pulled him to the doll house.

"We had superpowers and it was a different time, we were young and dumb."

"We enjoyed life," she sat down on a tiny pink chair. "We don't need to feed our child crack, but if she drank a little coke once in a while, she'll be fine!"

"What happened to us?" He looked up with puppy eyes. "We haven't fucked since we conceived this baby, you look at me like I'm a pile of cow shit, you turn your face when I go to kiss you..."

"It just hurts to see what you became. This isn't the man I married. You need therapy."

"This again? No therapy! I don't need it and we probably can't afford it."

"You're going insane!"

"Give me a chance, okay? I promise I'll make it right tonight when we get home."

She nodded, wanting more than anything to believe him. "Alright, let's see about tonight."

When the couple left the doll house, the entire family was already there, well almost the entire family.

"Oh give me a break... fake Ben is here? Who invited him?" Victoria huffed, she never really accepted Sparrow Ben as a part of the family, because he wasn't. She was even a little happy when he was arrested, meaning he'd stay away.

"Believe me, I didn't wanna be here either," he rolled his eyes.

"Come on guys, no fighting!" Luther emerged from the ball pit. "It's a family night."

"Yeah, you're right, can't let him ruin it... Cincooooo!" She went to hug Five. "Look at you, all grown up! It's like every day you get bigger, come here, little CIA man!"

"I'm not a damn child, you know?" He reluctantly hugged her back. "And I'm not little!"

"Where's Viktor?" She asked.

"He said he was coming," Luther smiled.

"Victoria, can we go outside for a little bit? I'm hyperventilating, this place is so full of people and nobody's wearing a mask," Klaus whispered.

She shook her head defeated. "Just take deep breaths, honey, it's okay. Did you see fake Ben is back? Look, our brothers are here, we're still waiting for Viktor though."

"Vicky!" Diego called from a corner while holding a piñata.

She was happy to leave Klaus to calm down for a moment and join her other brother. "What's up?"

"Does this look like a West Side piñata to you? I mean, it's clearly East Side, right?"

"Um... what's the difference?"

"The fringe, the eyes, the colors! And the fact that Lila told me she'd be on the West Side today and this looks like an East Side piñata."

"Oh Dieguito... don't overthink, it's probably a misunderstanding, let's not jump to conclusions, alright?"

"Maybe you were right, you know? I work all day and it kills me, the kids suck whatever energy I have left, and the in-laws... I'm glad they're alive in this timeline, but I don't want them living in our house."

Victoria nodded, understanding the feeling, but she didn't want their marriage to end because of her own doubts.

"Hey, cariño, come on... I know I didn't like Lila when you first got together, but she really grew on me. She's a good mom and she really loves you. It's just a rough patch."

"Liebling, please... can we step out just a little bit?" Klaus approached them.

Accepting her fate, she nodded and took his hand so they could get some fresh air. But the moment she stepped out, she knew something was wrong, there was a wrapped gift on the pavement and she picked it up.

"From Uncle Viktor?" She read the card.

"Why would he leave the gift on the street and take off?" Klaus wondered.

She started looking around for clues and after some inspection, she found a note on her windshield.

"Your brother Viktor has been kidnapped. Follow my exact instructions and no harm will come to him," she read the contents of the note. "Fucking shit cunt ass motherfucker... let's get the others."

After leaving Lila's parents in charge of the party, the old Hargreeves clan and Lila jumped into Diego's van and they headed to the address written on the note.

"Everyone stay behind me, I got a gun," Five announced, pulling his revolver as they entered the dry cleaner corresponding to the number they were given.

"Did you bring a gun to a children's birthday party?" Klaus hissed, his face covered by a gas mask. "Can you smell this? This place is a chemical wasteland."

"Says the man who made me swim in the fucking sewer six years ago," Victoria huffed.

"It's Viktor!" Luther pointed at the short man tied up to a chair with a bag over his head.

She ran and got the bag off. "Oh hey, Vik, long time no see!"

"Hey Vic yourself..." he mumbled as she started untying him with the help of Luther.

"Who kidnapped you? Dad and his goons?" She asked.

"I doubt it, this is amateur hour," Five shook his head.

"I apologize if my methods are a little crude, but it's my first kidnapping," A man came from the back. He looked harmless enough, but he held a gun, so out of instinct, Victoria stood in front of Klaus like a shield. "Hopefully it'll be my last, but I need your help."

"Kidnapping our brother and pointing a gun at us won't buy you much goodwill," Five murmured, pointing his gun at the man.

"It was the only way I could make sure you came here, all of you. I couldn't leave anything to chance, especially when it comes to the Umbrella Academy."

"Wow, haven't heard that name in years!" Victoria scoffed.

"Sorry pal, the Umbrella Academy doesn't exist," Five said.

"Only in our hearts," she completed.

The man put the gun down and opened a box full of artifacts, pictures, newspaper articles, masks, action figures...

"Oh look! The time we saved the Eiffel Tower! Remember?" Vicky smiled. "Zombie Gustav Eiffel!" She said in a silly voice.

"Where did you get this?" Diego asked.

"It was all in this box in the back of my daughter's car. Her name is Jennifer."

"Ugh, I hate that name," Victoria groaned, she had hated this name since the incident that took her brother's life.

"I don't know where she got it, but about a year ago she met these new friends and she started going to these strange meetings. Some very strange people, call themselves The Keepers. And then over time, she stopped talking to me, I believe something terrible happened, because we were very close."

Klaus picked Dave's dog tags from the box and frowned, which made Victoria's blood boil. She was very understanding of that whole thing when it happened, but lately, she didn't need much to get angry at him.

"Put that shit back!" She snagged the chain from his hands and threw it in the box.

"Sorry, sorry..." He mumbled.

"How did you find us?" Luther asked.

"I saw you on TV, Toss N' Wash," the strange man pointed at Allison.

"Ha! See? No small parts," Klaus poked his sister's shoulder.

"I've been watching you for a while actually and I apologize. I'm so sorry! I know you'd probably kill me if you could," the man looked at Victoria. "But she's all I have left, you must know what that feels like."

"I actually do," she sighed. "But we're not the same as we were, we don't have powers anymore."

"Yeah, we're not special," Diego agreed.

"Speak for yourself, tubby," Ben whispered under his breath and earned a punch in the shoulder from Victoria.

"I might not have powers, but I can kick your ass!"

"Give us 24 hours, we'll find your daughter," Five took the box quickly.

"Yes! Thank you!" The man cried. "Thank you very much, Umbrella Academy! I think you're special!"

"Five! What are you doing?" Allison hissed, following him outside. "You know we can't help, why did you do that?"

"Because... of this," Five pulled out a jar of marigold from the box.

"What I wanna know is how the daughter of a dry cleaner ends up with a jar of marigold in the trunk of her car," Five wondered.

The siblings decided to grab dinner at a Japanese restaurant and discuss their theories.

"Could it be something to do with Dad?" Klaus clumsily shoved rice into his mouth with the chopsticks (because of course, raw fish was too dangerous to eat with all the contamination risks)

"No, he took away our powers, and for good reason," Victoria shook her head.

"How do we know that's not just glow stick juice?" Diego teased.

"For the sake of discussion, let's say this is legit. Does anyone here actually want their power back?" Five asked.

"No way!" Klaus yelped. "For the first time in my life, I'm sober... and happy. And most importantly 100% poltergeist free."

"You're anything but free, you don't leave the house and you wear gloves and a mask in public," Victoria pointed out.

"At least I'm in control."

"Hmm I smell divorce," Ben taunted.

"Shut the fuck up! You're not even one of us, fuck off," she grabbed the jar of marigold and held tightly to it.

"It's a hard no for me too. I have a bar, a life..." Viktor quickly said to end the discussion.

"You're all such losers, we should be mainlining this shit right now!" Ben groaned.

"Whoever wants powers back, raise your hand!" Victoria stood up. Nobody raised their hands except Ben.

"We have everything we need," Lila shrugged.

"Damn right, and as much as I hate Dad, he's extremely intelligent. He took away our powers because they were the cause of apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse. This way we are safe and the world is safe. Majority wins and I'm taking this cause I don't trust you, little weasel." Victoria shoved her finger in Ben's face. "Now let's go home, and stop flossing in public, Klaus, fucking disgusting. You're not making me wanna have sex with you any more by being gross."

Tag List: @salvador-daley @seanfalco

#umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy klaus #umbrella academy #tua #tua fanfic #tua au #tua klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan fanfic #robert sheehan character fic

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imtrashraccoon · 1 year ago

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Edit: Future Tumble here! I just wrote a short drabble that is related to this fic. Check it out here!

Or check the rest of the fic out here.

The Nightmare of Apathy: Chapter 1

Word count: 4,712

Nightmare x Female Reader

く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~ ~ ~

"Don't forget to refuel your lantern before you leave!"

You stopped abruptly at the door, groceries in one arm and your other hand on the knob. Glancing down at the lantern swinging from your hip, you saw that while the fuel was low, it wasn't dangerously so just yet.

Mrs. Jones appeared from the back of the shop with a child on one hip. She looked haggard and a rather thin considering she'd had five kids by this point, yet her face was stuck in an annoyed expression. "You know what will happen if you get stuck in the dark..." she warned, although the tone she used sounded like she was scolding a small child.

You shook your head, "Yes, I know, but it's fine. My home isn't far and I'll be able to get there quickly enough if I run."

The shop lady sighed and shook her head. She seemed a bit more stressed than usual and you knew she'd only reminded you about your lantern out of habit from reminding her own family.

"Right. May the Moon keep you..." She turned and returned to the back room to finish whatever she had started doing earlier before you'd stopped by.

You scowled and, more harshly than you should've, responded, "And may he guide you for the night..." You opened the shop door and left, the little bell signaling your exit.

While you knew in your soul that Mrs. Jones was only wishing you to be safe as was custom, you couldn't help but feel disgusted whenever anyone did so. Why should you partake in some stupid religious tradition when it had never been helpful before? You scoffed and descended the steps to the cobblestone road, before beginning to make your way home through the dim streets.

This whole world was cursed and you had been unlucky enough to be born into it. It was perpetually in a cycle of darkness and twilight, but never to be any brighter. Only the stars and the moon pierced the veil of permanent black and granted some relief to its denizens. It was often chilly, even in the warmer months, but the cold of winter was more often than not, deadly to any creature caught without shelter.

It was all you'd ever known and all you would ever know. You were unimportant and worth little more than the clothes on your back. No amount of hard labour could change that, which was a fact that everyone seemed only too glad to remind you of at every little opportunity.

You were lucky to have lived as long as you had. If not for your late grandmother, the darkness would've taken you long ago after your parents both suddenly passed. She was a kind and infinitely selfless woman, who cared for you as if you were her own child. But even she could only give so much and as hard as you'd tried, you were unable to save her when she fell ill last Winter.

Now, you were completely alone. While you were fortunate to have a job working at the local mill, it was hard work and you often had little time for anything else. The pay wasn't great either but at least you only had yourself to worry about. If you needed to, you could skip a few meals here and there to help save money.

You glanced up at the crescent moon and scowled again before quickening your pace. You needed to get home before your lantern did run out of oil or else you'd really be in trouble. While this town had lanterns on each street corner and at major intersections, the spaces in between were often large and nearly pitch black once the shops were closed.

You weren't afraid of the dark per say; you and every other child growing up had quickly squashed that fear early, but it was what lurked in the dark...or what could. While wild animals would certainly be something to fear, a far greater evil dwelled in the shadows. One who no one dared to speak his name carelessly lest his anger be turned on them.

Lord Nightmare.

Even just the thought of his name sent shivers down your spine, for good reason too. He was a god, the Lord of Dusk and Shadows, and the ruler of this cursed world. His word was absolute and he ruled through fear and an iron fist.

No one could stand against him, though countless fools had tried. Yet they'd only served as grim reminders of his absolute power. Not only was he physically powerful, but he was also prone to targeting the mind, even when you weren't anywhere near him. Indeed, constant nightmares were the norm for everyone and the only known temporary relief was by taking an expensive and highly dangerous drug, but when that wore off, the nightmares would only return in full force.

In the face of such bleak hopelessness, it was only natural that people would turn to anything that could promise them even a smidgen of hope. Enter the commonly held worship of the Moon. While you'd never been interested in the schematics of the belief, nowadays it seemed most worshippers only believed in spirit, rather than actively taking part in any actual worship. You only saw it as a superstition, like wishing someone good luck, and didn't actually believe the Moon had any power over someone as powerful as Lord Nightmare.

Of course, when the worship of the Moon came to his attention, he'd threatened to block it out entirely unless his demands were met. He really could block out the moon though, and regularly did so whenever the people were late with the yearly tribute that was really just a tax. Speaking of, he regularly demanded exorbitant taxes that were due each year once Spring had arrived. And if the tribute wasn't deemed good enough in his eyes? He'd lash out and punish everyone severely, be it in the form of increasingly horrible nightmares or whatever other twisted punishment he could think up.

Still, you had more immediate concerns to worry about, like getting home so you could refuel your lantern for one. You still had enough oil to last at least another day or two if you conserved it. For now, you would do what you'd always done, live one day at a time and not worry about things outside of your control. One day, you would save enough money to live in a better house and maybe after that, you could save enough to at least live comfortably.

You were in such a hurry that you almost weren't watching where you were going and you rounded a corner a bit too sharply, nearly barreling into someone. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you and I...." Your apology died in your throat as you regained your balance and saw who it was that you'd collided with.

The girl snarled and shoved you away from her. "Yeah, you'd better be sorry," she grumbled and very obviously looked you up in down, her ugly face curling into even more of a disgusted look.

The ever so wonderful, Catherine "Cathie" Lee, the mayor's daughter and your worst enemy. What you did to warrant her hatred? You still had no idea and you could only remember one time when you were both kids that you weren't able to go to a birthday party of hers. She'd seemingly hated you ever since and it had only gotten worse as you'd both grown up.

To top it off, she wasn't alone. Two other girls stepped around the corner and stood beside Cathie. Their tittering laughter only made you even more angry than you'd already been. Of course all three were wearing matching sparkly pink cocktail dresses and of course they looked like they'd just stepped out of an equally disgusting speakeasy. You could swear they stank of alcohol above all that perfume that was practically cascading off their skin.

You took a deep breath to try and remain calm. "Becky, Marcelle,...Cathie. Lovely evening to be out on the town I see..." You weren't even trying to hide your irritation but you were at least attempting to act civil, even if you were being snarky while doing so.

"Well it was, up until a minute ago," Cathie grumbled.

"Then, you know what, I'll do you a favour and remove myself from your sight," you muttered and rolled your eyes slightly. "Stars know my evening will improve drastically..."

You went to walk past them but Becky and Marcelle moved to block you. You narrowed your eyes at them and tried to go around but they blocked you again, this time trying to restrain you as well.

"Don't touch me!" you growled and yanked your shoulder away from their grasp.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Cathie hissed as she stepped closer to you. She shoved you roughly, causing you to stumble backwards into the arms of her cronies.

They grabbed your shoulders again, much tighter this time so you couldn't so easily pull away. Your bag of groceries you'd been carrying hit the cobblestone and the contents spilled out, much to your irritation. Once again, you tried desperately to pull away from them, but their grip held fast and your efforts were futile.

"You know what, your attitude reeks...must be because you spend all your time in the graveyard!" Cathie shouted in a mocking tone.

"I do not!" you shouted back. "Just because your parents are both alive, doesn't give you any reason to say that!"

Cathie growled and kicked the brown paper bag, scattering the contents across the street. There hadn't been much in it anyways, but much of it was fragile like fresh produce and eggs. She noticed this and made eye contact with you for a moment, before stomping and kicking everything until there was little hope in salvaging any of it.

You fell silent and just stared at her. This wasn't the first time her and her friends had accosted you, and likely wouldn't be the last. Sure, you could buy more food, but you still had to buy oil for your lantern. You weren't due to be paid until next week too.

Seeing the effect her actions had on you, Cathie grinned triumphantly and planted her hands on her hips. "Look what you made me do..." she grumbled and tried to wipe the bottoms of her feet against the stone. "My shoes are ruined, what do you have to say for yourself, Grave Girl?"

You stared passively back and refused to answer. Evidently, this only served to infuriate her and she backhanded your cheek in retaliation. This earned her a harsh glare and you spit at the ground in disgust.

"What do you want me to say? You did it to yourself, so why don't you go beg father dearest for new ones? Or has he finally smartened up and realized how much of spoiled brat you've become?"

Cathie scoffed and waved dismissively at Becky and Marcelle. They let go of your arms and you jerked away as soon as you were free, shooting a glare at them too.

"You worthless rat..." Cathie hissed under her breath as they started to walk away. "You'll pay for this..."

You tentatively touched your cheek and winced slightly from the stinging. That was probably going to swell up and bruise. You would have to deal with people being nosy and staring at you for a couple of days now.

With a sigh, you tried to salvage what you could, which wasn't much. Some of the vegetables could still be used and a small pouch of chili powder hadn't been burst open. Everything else had already mixed with the dirt of the road and by the sputtering of your lantern's flame, you couldn't afford to spend any more time trying to save anything else.

く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~ ~ ~

You were woken rather rudely by heavy pounding on your front door and someone shouting for you to open up. The commotion shook your little shack and you worried they would knock your door off its rusty hinges if you didn't.

It turned out to be the Captain of the Town guard and with him were six heavily armed soldiers. Their weapons were drawn when you opened the door and they immediately set upon you. Roughly pinning you to the ground, they cuffed your wrists together and despite your protests about what was going on, hauled you off to the dungeon.

You were left to stew there for several hours. Your body ached from how rough they'd been with you, even though you hadn't even tried to resist. You probably had many more bruises to add to the one on your cheek now.

There were several questions that swirled in your mind as the hours stretched on. Why me? What did I do? Surely they'll realize this was all just a big misunderstanding, right...?

You were held there for several nights. While you tried to get answers from the guards, no one would explain what was going on and they treated you with the same amount of care as any common criminal. Yet you had committed no crimes so it made no sense.

Catherine Lee. This was her doing...it had to be! She must've gone crying to daddy and spewing lies, for them to treat you this badly. While you could feel the despair threatening to consume you whole, you also began to feel angry. It started out small but with each cold night that you spent rotting in the dungeon, your rage at the injustice of this situation grew more and more.

By the end of the week, they finally retrieved you, although they weren't much gentler this time either. Your wrists were once again cuffed and you were brought into the court house, again with a heavily armed guard as if they expected you to attack someone.

It looked like nearly the whole town had filled the room, save for the children and infirmed of course. However, it immediately became apparent that this was no trial. No, this was your sentencing.

"Ha...guilty until proven innocent? What a joke!"

They still hadn't told you what crime you'd committed and they wouldn't let you plead your case, let alone ask any questions. The only thing they were willing to discuss was the annual tribute.

"What do you mean there isn't enough?!"

"...it was raised last minute..."

"Well what are we supposed to do?!"

"There is one thing..."

They planned to send you as the tribute.

You were stunned.

"This can't be happening..."

Lord Nightmare was flexible when it came to payment, so long as it was on time that is. His subjects could give a majority of their livestock and harvest, which wasn't usually feasible after a hard Winter, or a hefty sum of gold, which was the preferred method. He had never accepted humans as tribute with the closest being the few times he'd accepted some of the best builders, artisans, or crafters to work on his domain. The last time this happened though was at least fifty years ago.

"At least she isn't completely ugly..."

"He's not human, there's no way he'll know any different..."

"...it'll be good to get rid of her...."

You were given a nicer dress and forced to wear makeup to hide the bruises you'd sustained during the arrest. After practically being threatened to go along with this for the sake of the town, you were shoved into a carriage for the several hour journey to Lord Nightmare's domain.

So much for being lucky...

く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~ ~ ~

The forest was so dark. Only the lantern at the front of the carriage permeated a few feet into the inky black. The horses didn't care though and they continued to faithfully pull the carriage through the darkness.

You knew you were close by now. Your nerves felt frayed, like the slightest tug would cause you to unravel completely. You had to be strong right now though, for the sake of your people.

The carriage came to a stop and one of the horses whinnied softly. You could hear the two soldiers disembark and one came to open the door to let you out. You didn't need to be told twice and hopped to the ground with a small huff. The other soldier was talking with two guards in front of a massive iron gate.

You were ushered over to the guards and you could now see that they were far from human. They both towered over the soldiers by at least a foot and you estimated they were probably close to seven feet tall. They appeared like they were wearing plate armour, though it was hard to tell as they were covered in an inky black substance. Their heads seemed to be skeletal and they had sharp teeth as well as cyan pinpricks in their hollow eye sockets. Definitely fitting guards for Lord Nightmare if you were to say.

Frankly, you didn't pay attention to how the conversation went and you were unceremoniously handed over to the skeletal guards. Then the soldiers from your town got back into the carriage again. They left hastily, as if they were afraid Lord Nightmare himself would stop them if they didn't. You didn't blame them, but you couldn't help the wave of disgust that welled up inside you at their obvious cowardice.

You were guided through the iron gate and up a winding path to the castle itself by one of the guards. It was hard to grasp the sheer scale of this place because much of it blended into the night sky, but it was by far the largest building you'd ever seen.

The castle was made of large stone bricks but you weren't an expert on rocks, so they just looked like vaguely dark gray stones to you. Even in the darkness, you could see that the lawns were well manicured and there seemed to be some rather nice landscaping too.

The castle itself was decorated much more opulently than you'd initially expected. Numerous paintings and tapestry hung on the walls, depicting various scenes and themes, and you could tell the creators were far more talented than you could ever dream of being. The rooms were also lit with a variety of different light fixtures like lanterns or candles, but the flames were a light blue and most fixtures seemed to be made from gold.

The further into the castle you were led, the more expensive everything seemed to get. The floors were now covered in long plush carpets with intricate patterns, most of which seemed to be of the stars and the moon interestingly enough.

Finally, the skeletal guard came to a pair of beautifully carved wooden doors and with basically no effort, pushed them open. You immediately realized that this was the grand hall and also the throne room.

There were multiple stained glass window murals depicting what you recognized as the tale of how Lord Nightmare came into power. Weirdly enough, there were a couple of scenes and figures that you didn't recognize though. In the middle of the room was a long table that had room for at least two dozen seats around it, sporting an intricate black lace table runner.

But it was beyond the table that really caught your attention. There, casually lounging on his throne, was the god of this world and the one you now essentially belonged to.

Lord Nightmare himself.

Due to the consistent nightmares, everyone already knew what he vaguely looked like, but to actually see him in the flesh? Well, to put it simply, it was taking everything in you to remain standing and not drop to your knees right now. You could literally feel how powerful his aura was from here and he wasn't even trying to manipulate your emotions, yet.

Lord Nightmare seemed to be a skeleton although he was much different from a human one. Aside from being constantly coated in some sort of black substance, his bones appeared to be wider and thicker, giving the appearance of mass underneath his clothing like he actually had flesh. His phalanges were tipped with sharp claws and adorned with several gold rings, all of which had precious stones embedded into the metal.

On his skull was a circlet formed from gold with a black moon in the center. The black robe he wore was definitely made of the highest quality fabrics to be found and had been tailored to fit him perfectly. Underneath that, he wore a plumb coloured dress shirt with the top button undone, revealing his sternum and the top of his first pair of ribs. While his gray pants looked simple, you knew they were likely far from cheap, and even his shoes were made from a high quality black leather.

His singular glowing cyan eyelight narrowed as he leared down at you from his throne before he beckoned you to approach with a claw. Steeling yourself, you did so, although you hoped he couldn't see how badly your hands were trembling.

"What is the purpose of your visit?" he inquired. His tone of voice was low and it seemed to permeate into the very back of your mind before almost curling up inside. There was a general air of boredom about him at the moment and you really hoped things wouldn't get worse than that.

You took a steadying breath and bowed respectfully. "My Lord, I am here to present the annual tribute from the town Rynbarn," you answered. Your voice was higher pitched than it normally was and your palms felt clammy from how nervous you were.

His eye socket narrowed critically and you could feel the way his eyelight studied you. "Alright, where is it then...?" His tone suggested that he was unimpressed so far and it only caused your heartrate to increase further.

Realizing you should've been more clear, you quickly tried to course correct. "My apologies, I meant to say that they sent me as tribute..." You couldn't help the way your voice trembled at the end of your explanation.

He stared at you for a long time. You couldn't tell if he thought you were lying or if he was simply shocked by what you'd said. You subtly tried to wipe your hands on your dress and shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

He sat up straighter and rested his chin on one of his hands. He definitely didn't seem bored anymore, rather his demeanor seemed more confused than anything. "I see..." he murmured.

You swallowed nervously and looked down at your shoes.

He sighed and muttered under his breath. "Are they fools?" His tone suggested that the question was rhetorical and he continued speaking, rather than wait for you to answer. "Or do they care so little for you that they would rather give you away?"

"I wouldn't know really..." you responded quietly. Well, you had some pretty strong suspicions as to what had happened but you weren't about to complain in front of Lord Nightmare and risk upsetting him.

He made a quiet tisk sound and shook his skull. "I'm genuinely trying to understand the situation but frankly, I am more than a little bewildered." Tilting his skull, he studied you once more, trying to make some sense of this.

"Do you have any enemies or anyone that would wish harm on you?" he asked.

You hadn't been expecting a question like that and for a moment debated how you should answer. Ultimately deciding to be truthful, you took a deep breath and looked up at him again. "I'm afraid so, my Lord."

He raised a bonebrow at that and motioned for you to elaborate. "You hardly seem like the type to purposely make enemies. So, tell me why they sent you specifically."

You got the sense that he was only asking to satisfy his curiosity and not because he felt empathetic towards your plight. Nevertheless, you didn't really have the right to refuse him.

"Well... I may have slighted the mayor's daughter once when we were children and she's seemingly had it out for me ever since. I suspect she spread some sort of lie about me and turned the whole town against me," you explained.

For a fraction of a second, the corners of his permanent grin seemed to quirk up slightly before returning to a more passive expression. "A shame," he murmured. A moment later, his low tone shifted and he raised his voice slightly. "So, this whole situation was caused by a childish squabble?"

You shrank back at the sudden change in his demeanor and could feel the way his voice bounced off the walls. While he didn't seem angry per say, you could feel his aura had shifted to a darker emotion from before, which was concerning.

He calmed down again a second later, as if nothing had happened. "Ridiculous..." he muttered to himself and shook his skull. Looking back up, he frowned at the distance you'd created and motioned for you to come closer again.

Only once you'd done so did he speak again. "I am slightly insulted that they thought they could both get rid of you and appease my demands at the same time. However, I can't very well send you back now either..." He trailed off and studied you thoughtfully for a moment.

"Um, if I may..." you started to say, although you almost immediately regretted doing so with how sudden his gaze flicked to your own. "I can be useful...if you're willing to give me a chance?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "As you may have noticed, I already have my own staff, however, something about you intrigues me. Do you have any particular talents? Such as, baking or gardening for instance?" he asked.

You shook your head, but quickly tried to explain before he could become too disappointed. "My late grandmother taught me everything I know about baking and while I remember several of her recipes, I wouldn't say I'm better than any other person. And gardening was more of a hobby of hers but I helped out when she wasn't able to keep up anymore."

To your surprise, he seemed pleased by your response, although the moment was brief before his expression returned to it's previous passive state. "Very well," he hummed. "You will show me what you can do and if it is suitable, then that will be your place here. If not, well..."

He trailed off and held eye contact for what felt like ages. You didn't dare ask what he was going to say next, but it probably wasn't good. Still, you struggled to keep the staring contest going, although you quickly lost your nerve and dropped your gaze to the floor once again.

He reached out and tilted your chin up with a clawed digit, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him again. You hadn't noticed it much earlier, but now his expression was positively frigid. Even without words, his intentions were immediately clear to you now.

Entertaining this chance for you to prove yourself was him showing kindness, but, you only had one chance to do so. He had been far more civil and patient than you'd expected, yet he had no patience for fools or those who would waste his time. He held the power here and there was nothing you could do to change that.

"I expect utmost loyalty from my subjects and you are no exception. Do you understand?" he asked.

You swallowed nervously. "Yes... I understand very well, my Lord."

"Good." He let go of you and leaned back again. Changing the subject, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Aylin, my name is Aylin," you murmured.

His cyan eyelight seemed to glow brighter and a look of recognition flickered across his face. It was enough to send a shiver down your spine, especially when he let out a soft chuckle.

"A fitting name indeed..." he purred.

く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ~ ~ ~

Hey, Aylin is a Turkish name meaning "moon halo" or "the one who belongs to the moon". I wasn't originally going to name the reader but it is a very fitting name, wouldn't you say?

Updates may be slow but I intend to post a part two at some point.

#undertale #dreamtale #nightmare #lord nightmare #nightmare x reader #named reader #reader #female reader #the nightmare of apathy #raccoons drabbles

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