#so today in thicker than blood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hadesrise · 2 years ago

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𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥.

summary ➳ harry noticed you’re not like any other slytherin

pairings ➳ harry james potter x male reader

warnings ➳ fluff, mutual pining, foul language, reader being an adorable slytherin, touch-deprived harry, just the chosen one thirsting over reader lmao, mentions of making out, soft!slytherin reader, pet names ( darling, love )

author’s note ➳ rewatching harry potter made me recall the time when i used to fantasize about two persons from supposedly rival houses falling for each other and saying “fuck it” to their rivalry before making out. yes, it's typical, but i like it just the way it is.

Of all the houses in Hogwarts, it’s well known that Slytherin is the most disliked one due to their personality that doesn’t seem to include kindness regardless of how others treat them. This might have only been a stereotype that students from other houses pushed on Slytherin, but they had a very reasonable excuse for thinking of Slytherins that way because of a particular blonde haired snake and his goons that terrorize anyone and everyone they come across. Not only that, but most people from Slytherin are unpleasant to say the least and Harry can only name a few who aren’t, like Professor Slughorn for example.

So, understandably, Harry thought you’re going to be as unpleasant as other Slytherins too after Hermione accidentally bumped into you and dropped her books to scatter all over the ground. The Golden trio were walking down the hallway leading towards Hagrid’s hut, talking to one another about how Professor Trelawney freaked out again today at Divination, with Hermione carrying books more heavier than usual (the two boys offered to carry them but she refused), before they turned a corner and she collided on a rather hard chest.

She was going to apologize, but her eyes — in sync with Harry’s and Ron’s — landed on the green colored tie with silver stripes, and the blood immediately drained from her face. It’s not like she can’t defend herself, considering she sucker punched Malfoy on the third year, but dealing with a bunch of snakes can be really exhausting sometimes and frankly, she isn’t in the mood to fight with them today.

Without a word, Hermione crouches down to pick up her books. Much to their surprise, the Slytherin knelt down to help her gather the heavier and thicker books Ron and Harry were about to pick up.

When they finally made an effort to look at the unusual Slytherin Hermione bumped into, Harry was surprised to see a very good looking and attractive boy with (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes that seemed to spark under the light. Despite the books being heavy, you carried it easily as if they have the weight of a feather, placing another book on top of them — Harry figured you were reading it before the disaster struck.

“Are these books from Hagrid?”

The Chosen One felt his stomach fill with butterflies and heart suddenly beat rapidly at the sound of your soothing voice.

He was so used to Slytherins having that obnoxiously annoying voice, where he doesn’t know whether to cover his ears or rip them away from the sides of his head. But your voice was, even with a tone deeper than average, smooth and gentle. There was no hint of venom, distaste, unpleasantness, or despise. Just curiosity and interest. Harry also noticed you called Hagrid by his name rather than the awful big oaf other Slytherins call him all the time.

“Oh, uhm... Yes.” It took a while for Hermione to overcome the surprise and provide an answer.

“Interesting,” You hummed quietly. “I should drop by Hagrid and burrow some of his books too. He must have the book of Ancient Magical Creatures.” Muttering to yourself, the Golden trio couldn’t help but crack a smile when you seem to forget for a split second that you weren’t alone.

Gathering some courage, Harry decides to break your little bubble by hesitantly speaking. “Er — excuse me?”

“Yes?” You turn to look and catch his emerald eyes.

“You can come with us if you want. We don’t mind.”

A tiny bit of smile forms on your lips, almost unnoticeable. “With pleasure. Though, I don’t suppose it’s alright for Gryffindors to walk around with Slytherin.” You glanced around, “Some of the people from your house doesn’t tolerate their fellow Gryffindor hanging out with the rival house.”

“I think you’re okay,” Ron says reluctantly.

“If you say so.” Amusement flashes across your eyes. “Also, I’ll carry these books instead.” You didn’t let Hermione protest as you began to walk nonchalantly towards Hagrid’s hut with a slight delay to your steps; Harry figured you were purposely walking slower than your normal pace so it would be easy to walk with your shoulders lining with theirs.

You introduced yourself to them after successfully burrowing a book from Hagrid that you were searching for.

Ever since then, Harry would find himself scanning every classroom he’s in to look for you, taking mental notes of the similar classes you have together, and if you’re nowhere to be seen, he would just attempt to at least catch a glimpse of you in the Great Hall by the Slytherin table. Sometimes, when he’s fortunate enough, your eyes would meet his across the hall and you would give him the faintest of smile before returning to your meal. Other times, when the both of you are free, you would talk with each other for a while until the next class comes.

Spending his time with you made Harry notice things — such as how you’re mostly quiet, which isn’t very common in Slytherin; their loud voices being very distinguishable in the Great Hall explains that. You’re also a bit of a bookworm as he often sees you carrying or reading them around, it made him wonder why you weren’t placed in Ravenclaw, but he suppose being interested in books doesn’t automatically make someone a Ravenclaw. He also noticed the way your facial expression rarely shows rapid or strong emotions, mostly expressing boredom to anyone and anything around you, if not, your face just remains emotionless with a what Harry knew was called resting bitch face. Though, your wonderful eyes do spark seemingly brighter when you’re with him.

Another brilliant thing is finding out you don’t tolerate any of Malfoy’s bullshit.

You seem to disagree with everything the blonde says, which leads to Malfoy spitting some nasty insults in attempt to get under your skin, only to cower away when you raise a brow at him paired with deadly calm expression, which is much scarier than anything in Harry’s opinion. You were definitely not like any other Slytherin he’s ever met.

“Ron, getting a detention at potions isn’t a good reason to set Professor Snape’s office on fire!” Hermione hissed.

“But ‘ermione, he’s horrible!” Retorts Ron and turns to his best friend to plead, “Back me up here, mate!”

However, he doesn’t receive a response as Harry was too busy ogling at a particular someone by the Slytherin’s table, his hand not moving from the parchment that began to be soaked in black ink due to his quill being pressed on it. Ron and Hermione looked at each other questioningly and followed Harry’s gaze, their eyes landing on you eating quietly while ignoring the chaos members from your house were bringing. You almost looked peaceful despite surrounded by loud chattering, laughter, and the clinks of utensils against the plate.

Your patience isn’t high; you often get annoyed easily, but the way you’re unbothered no matter what’s happening around you made it seem like your patience was limitless.

Hermione rolled her eyes after realizing Harry was waiting for you to notice and rolls up the parchment she had before whacking the back of his head with it, successfully snapping him out of his daydream. “What do you think’s gonna happen if you just stare at (Y/n)?”

The Chosen One cleared his throat, taking a glance at you and quickly returning it to his best friends. “What am I supposed to do then? I can’t just walk up to him in front of other Slytherins.”

“I’d rather see you do anything than ogle at him everyday and act like an idiot.” She sighs exasperatedly.

For a boy who survived the Killing Curse and Voldemort’s multiple serious death threats, he was one hell of an annoying dork when it comes to love. He was painfully obvious with his growing crush towards you, even other Gryffindors had begun to suspect it, yet haven’t done anything to change the relationship you two have — sure, it can be called friendship, but Hermione and almost all of their friends could agree it is more than that. They couldn’t honestly contain their frustration at Harry being content with just this.

“It’s no use, Hermione.” Ron whispered when Harry went back to ogling at you. “He says he’s not going to do anything about it unless he’s sure there’s a chance.”

Sighing, the bushy haired girl shakes her head and slumped on her seat defeatedly.

How long do they have to deal with a lovesick Harry?

Searching around the school grounds, Harry finally found you reading by the Black Lake, not caring that your robe might get dirty as you sat on the ground and read another book. It was a windy day that sent calm energy throughout your body, the rustling of leaves and the sound of lake soothing you more than usual, allowing you to focus more on the context of your book. You loved the silence where no voices or other noises can be heard, just the sound of nature slipping into your ears.

Harry slowly approached as to not startle you, but felt himself relax after you pay him no mind and sat down beside where you are. The sky seems brighter than he remembers, with only small particles of cloud littered all around.

“Are you feeling well?” You asked without looking up from your book, and Harry hugs his knees to his chest, watching the wind cause waves of water on the lake.

“Better now that I found you.” The seemingly flirtatious sentence was uttered in complete sincerity and seriousness that even Harry himself didn’t expect. The tip of his ears turned bright red in increasing embarrassment as you snapped your eyes to him, seeing an adorable blush spread rapidly across his cheeks, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs.

You hum, slamming the book shut. Harry was now staring straight ahead at the lake, as if there was something interesting in it, making amusement appear on your usually expressionless face. “Look at you blushing, Potter. So adorable.” You whispered the last part, almost teasingly, and he blushes even more.

“Well, you’re adorable as well.” Harry dares meeting your eyes. His heart bangs even more loudly in his chest after seeing the almost loving look in them, finding himself admiring you.

All playfulness leaves your face as you stare into each other’s eyes with a mirroring hint of adoration. You shift to lean back on one of your hand while the other rise to brush a hair out of Harry’s forehead, before cupping his cheek, admiring the way his emerald eyes sparked under the warm sunlight. This is your first time seeing his face close and having the time to focus on his features more; you knew Harry was attractive the moment you set eyes on him, but you realized he looked almost ethereal at this point, making your heart flutter.

“Your eyes are really captivating,” You muttered, barely audible but reached Harry’s ears nonetheless.

He chuckled breathlessly, “I got it from my mum.”

“She must’ve been such a wonderful woman then.”

Your thumb gently rubbed his cheek and Harry couldn’t help but lean to your touch and close his eyes. He’s been touch-deprived for long, being touched with care and gentleness made him weak in the knees easily. A coo escape from your lips; an unlikely sound for Slytherin to make. Before Harry could process what was happening, you had set aside your book and pulled him to your lap, settling him between your legs. Harry blinks, surprised.

“I’m seriously soft for you, Potter. Too adorable.” You sigh, burying your hand through his dark locks and softly scratching his scalp.

Getting over his initial shock, Harry relaxed and made himself comfortable, letting his body rest against yours as he laid his head on your chest. It worried him that you might hear his rapidly beating heart, but honestly couldn’t bring himself to care when you were being so generous, holding him, playing with his hair. If others were to see you and him like this, they would certainly assume it’s the end of the world for two rival houses to be cuddly with each other when they usually spit hatred.

Though, after meeting you, Harry had begun to believe not all Slytherins are bad — it’s just that people, including himself, unfairly stereotyped them as a bunch of evil-doers only because of the choices that older people from Slytherin made in the past, which the young Slytherins are definitely not in control of. There are questionable Slytherins like Malfoy and his goons, but they’re not a reason for others to start generalizing that all students from the snake house is evil.

Slowly and albeit hesitantly, Harry wraps his arms around your back and nuzzles your chest. You’re absolutely different from other Slytherin members, but he still found it odd that a Slytherin is this nice and affectionate, especially when you’re usually quiet and socially distant, preferring to be alone with slightest bit of annoyance directed at your fellow housemates.

Closing his eyes as sleepiness start to fall over his eyelids, the Chosen One wondered why you’re only doing this with and to him. He’s never seen you with anyone before, and when he did, you always maintained clear distance from them, as if they held contagious disease. It made him feel special in any way, but also confused.

“(Y/n)?”

His sleepy voice make you chuckle softly. “Hmm?”

“Why are you so affectionate with me?”

Your hand playing with his hair abruptly stops, and for a second Harry thought he made a mistake of mentioning it. However, relief floods him when you went back to massaging his scalp. “Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”

He shakes his head. Don’t want to assume.

Silence falls as you stop your hand again. Curiosity of your expression plaguing his mind, Harry opens his eyes and looks up without moving from his laying position — his breath almost stopping when he came across a very loving gaze staring at him like he was the entire universe. His heart swell as heat rushes to his cheeks. He attempted to hide his face by burying it on your chest, but you held him still, hand cupping his cheek once again.

You don’t even give him time to react before you captured his lips on yours, practically stealing Harry’s breath away. Just a gentle kiss on the lips, but enough to make his brain fuzzy.

Pulling away before he could reciprocate, you smiled. Not a forced one, but genuine and coming from the bottom of your heart. “Does that answer your question, Harry?”

Despite the fluttering of his heart and the urge to jump up and down in pure joy, Harry pouts. “Not enough.”

You chuckled. “I need to be persuasive then.”

Needless to say, you both missed the next class making out by the Black Lake and not caring about getting caught.

Ron and Hermione were freaked out. The reason lies with Harry, who’s been in an awfully good mood the entire day to the point even Malfoy can’t get through him and he began noticing some good qualities in some of the Slytherin members. Don’t get them wrong, Harry being in a good mood is great because the boy deserves a day without constantly fighting for his life and feeling like everyone’s against him, but attempting to find the good qualities even in Malfoy? That’s when the two gets really concerned.

When lunch break comes around, Harry was still in a brilliant mood, smiling to himself because of whatever merlin knows. Ron and Hermione shares a look as they continue to eat, observing their best friend who began to look for you in the Slytherin table, his smile immediately widening after he sees you.

Hermione turns around just in time for you to look up from the foods and meet Harry’s eyes. Unexpectedly, a soft smile appears on your lips as you wave at him, not caring when your housemates see it. Harry chuckled, waving back, before you returned to eating your food in silence. The three of them witnessed Malfoy mutter something that caused you to roll your eyes and smack the back of his head with the book you were reading before.

“So,” Ron began after he and Hermione looked back at Harry. “Is there something you’re not telling us, ‘arry?”

The said boy only raised his eyebrows, unable to contain his grin.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione urged.

Before anyone could respond, however, someone took a seat on the empty space beside Harry — turning their heads, they were surprised to see you there.

“Hello, love.” Harry almost melted at the pet name. You gave his best friends a polite smile, “Excuse him from your conversation for a moment, Hermione, Ron.”

“Of course, go ahead.” Neither of them could honestly deny a polite Slytherin no matter how much they want to.

“What is it?” Harry questioned, more than welcome to talk with you. However, you seem to have a different idea in mind as you leaned in without a word and captured his lips in a lingering kiss, hearing gasps erupt from multiple places — mainly Ron, Hermione, any Gryffindor who were wondering why a Slytherin paid Harry Potter a visit, Malfoy, his goons, and some other Slytherins who just happened to catch the moment. Few students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had their mouths open in shock as well.

There was a smug look on your face when you pulled away, smirking at Malfoy who was previously babbling some nonsense that you couldn’t possibly like Potter and are probably just using him. By the looks of it, you had succeeded in proving the blonde ferret wrong.

“What was that for?” Harry asked breathlessly. You caught him off guard.

“Oh, nothing. Just proving to gits that Gryffindor and Slytherin are sometimes compatible if it’s with the right person.” You shrugged, resting an elbow on the table and putting your chin on the palm of your hand. “In short, I wanted to prove people wrong who says we can’t be together since you’re a Gryffindor as I am a Slytherin.”

“Wait, someone told you that?”

“Rumors of us being seen making out by the Black Lake travels fast,” You sipped on Harry’s pumpkin juice, which he didn’t mind even the slightest as he blushed, avoiding Ron’s and Hermione’s wide and intrigued eyes. “One little bird from Ravenclaw thought it’d be wise to practically squeal it in the hallways that the rumor’s impossible because of our houses rivalry.”

You snort, “As if we give a fuck about that.”

For the first time, Harry actually saw the Slytherin in you.

And he wasn’t going to complain, not when you’re not like any other.

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seresinhangmanjake · 3 months ago

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Fremen Girl: Part 3

Feyd-Rautha x fremen!reader

Notes/Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, death.

Words: 1460

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd POV

He can’t recall a time when nerves have taken over his body the way they do now. Normally, fighting, or the thought of fighting, or witnessing a fight pumps fire through his veins. The anticipation of bloodshed and screams of pain are like the crescendo of a good high, but today, he can’t grab hold of that euphoric feeling. It’s not there, there is nothing to grab hold of, because today, it’s you fighting.

Feyd sits beside his uncle in the stands as he watches you enter the arena, and immediately, he recognizes his first mistake. The hand not holding your blade is raised to shield your eyes from the brightness of the sun. He should have found a way to train you outside. He should have gotten you used to an environment that is much brighter than your home planet. Though he has no idea how he could have arranged that, if the blinding sunlight is the difference between your life and death, he sees no road to self-forgiveness.

“You think to take that one for a wife?” the Baron asks as your opponents join you in the arena. The six prisoners enter from three corners, honing in on their prey, but you’ve yet to step into your fighting stance. Your body anxiously twists in all directions to take in the men descending upon you and only you, your hand still acting as a vizor from the light. “She hardly seems capable. She’ll have a blade run through her before five minutes have passed and you will have gathered the masses to witness a bore of a show just like your useless brother.”

Feyd ignores his uncle, knowing the old man speaks only to agitate him. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you finally prepare yourself, spreading your legs, bending your knees, and dropping your hand so it may join its twin around the blade’s hilt.

One of the men is bolder than the others and he runs ahead. He takes the first swing at you, but you dodge him, ducking under his knife and throwing your arm out as you pass his legs. The sharp edge slices through the back of his thigh, and he instantly drops to his knees. You turn to face his back and thrust your blade downward into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. When you yank steel from flesh, blood sprays, splattering your thin clothes, and drains down his bare chest. Feyd can see the body heave before it falls.

There’s the girl who killed my men, Feyd thinks as a rush of claps roars through the crowd at the first death. He knew you hadn’t shown him everything you’re capable of during training. Maybe you just needed the threat of imminent danger to display your full potential. If that’s the case, then fine. Feyd doesn’t need you to prove yourself to him, he needs you to show the people of Giedi Prime the woman they will soon be bowing to.

The next is the smallest of the six. Skinnier, shorter, but filled to the brim with fury. His anger is his mistake and it’s clear you know it. You don’t fortify yourself. Instead, you watch as he leaves behind the other fighters and charges with a scream that echoes through the arena. A side shift of your body and a quick swipe of your blade and he pauses, his arms go limp, and he stumbles past you. A wash of dark red flows from his neck.

You rid yourself of three more. Not without difficulty, but you manage. Their bodies are littered around you, the evidence of their demise soaking your form. Your shirt sticks to your figure from the amount of blood weighing down the fabric. Your arms are dyed scarlet from layer after layer of the red fluid. With each of your steps, scarlet prints are left behind. Exhaustion is evident, but you’re not done yet.

The final man is broader, thicker, taller than you and some of the now-dead prisoners combined. He could crush your windpipe with a squeeze from one meaty hand. He could break your bones with a sharp flick of his wrist. All you have to do is stay out of his way. You’re faster and your limbs are leaner; you should be able to outrun him, but you need to move, now, before he traps you against a wall.

You jump back from his swing, barely evading the sheer power and force that could have cut you right down the middle. Before you can recover from the attack, he leaps at you. You fall onto your back, blade skittering out of reach. Feyd swallows hard. He refuses to blink.

“Well, this doesn’t look good for your girl, does it?” the Baron says, sucking at his pipe.

Feyd wishes he could disagree, but you haven’t found your footing. You’re crawling backward, trying to gain some distance from the predatory stalk of a confident aggressor. A blade swipes toward your face. You turn your head, receiving a slash across the cheek, and from how quickly you bleed, it appears deep. At least your head is still attached to your shoulders.

You kick at his knee, knocking the joint out of place and momentarily rendering him unable to take another step. With the spare second, you scurry to your knife, getting your hand on it just as you’re yanked back by your ponytail. Feyd winces at your shriek, fingernails digging crescents into his palms, jaw aching from his clenching teeth.

Your head wacks against the ground and you’re eyes pinch shut. Potential concussion. You’re disoriented. You need to move. Move, Fremen Girl, Feyd internally snaps, but you’re not moving. The man towers above you, his feet on either side of your thighs. Feyd leans forward in his seat. Your eyelids slowly flutter.

“Move,” Feyd mutters.

The man’s whole body goes into the downward jab of his blade. He expects the pointed tip to land right between your eyes, but when you twist out of the way at the last second, it clashes with the ground. The over-expenditure of force knocks him off-balance and he falls on top of you, his chest slamming into yours, crushing you entirely.

Jumping to his feet, Feyd rushes to the edge of the balcony. The crowd is silent. He can’t breathe. Are you breathing? You better be fucking breathing, Fremen girl.

Suddenly, your knees bend and with the last of your strength, you roll the man onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. His jaw is slack. His arms flop to his sides. Your knife is plunged into his chest. Then with both hands wrapped around the hilt, you pull out and stab into his heart once more, this time twisting the blade.

As the crowd erupts in cheers, Feyd finally exhales. His shoulders release their tension.

You stand on wobbly legs and wipe the back of your hand across your scarlet cheek. You’ll need stitches, but you’re alive. Feyd turns, heading for the stairs so he can meet you at your extraction from the arena.

“Not yet, nephew,” the Baron stops him.

Feyd glances over his shoulder to find his uncle’s gaze still fixed on where you stand. Feyd’s brow pinches and he eases back to the balcony railing as three more prisoners stumble into the arena. The crowd dies into silence. His head whips to his uncle.

“What is this!” he spits. “What did you do! She’s done!”

“She is done when I say she’s done,” the Baron says, sucking at his pipe once more. “Now sit down and watch the show, or should she live, I will give her to Rabban.”

“You will not!” Feyd shouts. “All of Giedi Prime knows the challenge you set and she met it! She is mine now and I say she's done! Bother Rabban if you want more entertainment!”

The Baron won’t argue further, not now. People were shocked enough that Feyd’s first potential bride would have to face six prisoners compared to the three for his brother’s brides. Whispers of gossip were uncontrollable and even managed to make their way through the halls, passing from servant to servant. They questioned the integrity of the Trial if centuries-old rules could be changed for one woman, and altering them again after you’ve won would be a great disappointment to all who witnessed. The Baron’s thirst for excitement has made him forget that, but Feyd is happy to remind him.

The crowd suddenly gasps and Feyd turns his head. You’re trying to step away from the prisoners, but those steps are wobbly. The knife has slipped from your grasp. Feyd rushes off to the entrance of the arena.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #austin butler #dune 2 #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha fic

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vxsellie · 2 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

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axeeglitter · 3 months ago

Text

Melorius's shop: Piracy in the blood

Ethan stood on the bustling street corner, peering into the dusty window of a small costume shop he had never noticed before. The worn wooden sign and faded paint suggested the shop had been there for decades, yet it was the first time Ethan had seen it. Desperate to find something unique for Halloween, he decided to step inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a bell jingled, and a thick wave of musty air hit him. Inside, the shop was crammed with racks of elaborate costumes. Everything from Victorian attire to knight's armor hung on the walls. The dim lighting gave the place an eerie, antique feel.

At the back of the shop, behind an old wooden counter, stood a man with silver hair and a long beard. His deep-set eyes watched Ethan with a knowing smile, though he said nothing.

Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine, but he brushed it off. He needed a costume, and this shop seemed to have exactly what he was looking for. Approaching the counter, he caught sight of an ornamented portrait painting, covered in dust, hanging on a nearby wall. The portrait looked ancient, almost as though it had been forgotten for centuries and neglected. Ethan was intrigued by it but before his brain could really focus on it, the owner appeared in front of him. “Good morning, sir, how can I help you today?” said Mister Melorius in a kind, peaceful voice.

"Hello, I was wondering if you had any costumes for a Halloween party I’m going to tonight? It’s not really my thing so I don’t really know what to wear, I know that some of my friends go as Super Heroes, other into officer. I simply have no idea what to get that could fit me." Ethan said, his voice wavering slightly.

The shopkeeper’s smile widened, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he went in the storage and came back a couple seconds after holding a box and placed it in front of Ethan. “Trust me son, this is exactly what you need!” No words were exchanged, just a simple gesture for him to take it.

Ethan, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension, picked up the box. It was surprisingly heavy. He didn’t ask any more questions, simply nodding in thanks before heading to the small dressing room tucked away in the corner of the shop.

The dressing room was cramped, with an old mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. Setting the box down on a rickety chair, Ethan carefully opened it, revealing the contents: black trousers, a white, billowing shirt with a deep V-neck, a thick leather belt, knee-high boots, and a weathered coat. An ancient looking leather harness and a couple of weapons sat neatly on top. “A pirate costume?” he thought out loud. “I mean, it could work, Julia always said she had a thing for Will Turner so maybe wearing this I’ll have a chance to approach her and finally invite for a dinner date.”

Ethan stood there in the cabin holding the clothes between his fingers, there was something undeniably authentic about the outfit. Ethan couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward it. He removed his own clothes and began to dress, starting with the shirt. The fabric felt soft but heavy against his skin, the deep V exposing more of his chest than he was used to. Next, he pulled on the black trousers, which fit snugly against his legs.

As he tightened the leather belt around his waist, something shifted within him. His breathing grew heavier, his heart pounding in his chest. "What... what the hell?" he muttered, glancing at his reflection.

The moment he slipped into the boots, a sudden surge of heat coursed through his body, like an electric shock radiating from his feet to the top of his head. He staggered, gripping the chair for support. His reflection blurred, the mirror rippling as though it were water.

He gasped, watching in disbelief as his body began to change.

His shoulders started to broaden, muscle bulging under the fabric of the shirt. His chest heaved as it expanded, growing thicker, more defined. Hair sprouted between his pecs, the once-smooth skin now covered in coarse, dark fur. The hair spread quickly, forming a dense mat that stretched down his abdomen and forming a happy trail, stopping just above his groin.

"What’s happening to me?" Ethan’s voice trembled, but it was already deeper, rougher. He tried to pull the shirt off, but his arms wouldn’t obey. His muscles flexed against his will, as though they had a mind of their own. He could feel the power growing in his biceps, his forearms bulging with veins that snaked across his skin like ropes.

A strange anger began bubbling up from deep within him, replacing the fear he initially felt. His usual calm, quiet demeanor was slipping away, replaced by something far more aggressive, primal.

His hands, once soft and delicate, now looked like they belonged to a man who had spent years working under the sun, gripping ropes, handling weapons. The calluses formed almost instantly, thickening his palms, making them rough and unyielding.

"No... no, stop this!" Ethan’s thoughts raced, but his body continued to morph. He watched helplessly as his legs lengthened, growing taller, more imposing. His thighs swelled, pressing against the fabric of the trousers, the muscles there thick and corded. His calves, too, became more defined, the boots now fitting perfectly around his larger frame.

Then, he felt it, a sharp prickling sensation on his face. His jawline, once clean-shaven, began to darken as bristles of hair pushed through his skin. Within seconds, a thick, wild beard sprouted, covering his face. His reflection showed a man he didn’t recognize, a man far older than his 25 years.

The muscles in his face hardened, his boyish features replaced by a rugged, weathered look. His nose seemed to grow more prominent, his cheekbones higher, more angular. His lips twisted into a sneer, a cocky, arrogant grin that didn’t match the terror screaming in his mind.

"No! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts screamed, but his body didn’t care. His hands reached down on the chair, grabbing the leather harness and securing it around his chest, making sure his heavy muscled hairy pecs were pushed even higher, almost slipping out of his V line shirt. Then he grabbed the weapons before securing them too inside the harness.

He stared at his reflection, feeling the heat rising in his groin. His cock, which had always been average and uncut, now strained against the fabric of his trousers. It grew bigger and thicker with every beat of his heart. Like if his blood was transporting inches and girth with them. Then as he saw his bulge growing heavier and heavier inside his well-used pants, he started to feel a rush of sensations around his cock head. Suddenly he felt an awful pain around his girth as his foreskin disappeared in dust. His cockhead started to rub against his pants again and again. The sensation was growing duller and duller, and soon, it was something his new dick was used to. The sensitivity in his dick head dulled as though it had endured years of rough handling. His groin felt foreign to him, yet powerful. It belonged to this new body, a pirate’s body. Ethan tilted his head back up only to be met with a cocky grin plastered on his face. Suddenly, the tingling sensation started again, this time in his arm pits, legs, and most particularly around his new huge cock. From the corner of his eyes, he could see millions of hair follicles starting to grow, faster and faster, thicker and thicker, curlier and curlier. Ethan wanted to scratch, to get this itch to stop, but the only reaction he could summon from this new foreign body was to scratch his pubes before his hands automatically rise to his nose where his lungs took a deep breath. His brain was assaulted by a new sensation, his potent musk.

The smell hit him hard, an overwhelming musk of sweat, rum, and saltwater. He reeked of the sea; his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that only added to the intense masculinity radiating from him.

"No, please... I’m not this man..." Ethan thought desperately, but the man staring back at him in the mirror was no longer Ethan. He was someone else entirely. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power in his grip, the authority in his posture. He was no longer the shy, soft-spoken young man who had entered the shop.

A sinister voice echoed in his mind, low and gravelly, as his reflection smirked. "Ye be Captain Blackstorm now, lad. No turnin’ back."

The room around him shimmered and dissolved. Ethan’s heart raced, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend what was happening. But the harder he tried to hold on to his old life, the faster it slipped away.

Ethan blinked. Darkness swallowed him for a couple of seconds and suddenly, he was no longer in the dressing room.

The creaking of wood, the crashing of waves, and the scent of saltwater overwhelmed his senses. He found himself standing on the deck of a massive pirate ship, the Blackstorm, surrounded by a rough-looking crew of only men going from 20 to 45.

Ethan tried to scream, tried to move, but his body no longer obeyed him. His mouth opened, but the words that came out weren’t his own.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! RAISE THE BLOODY SAILS, YE SCURVY DOGS!"

His deep voice boomed across the ship, the crew scrambling to follow his orders. His body moved with the confidence and swagger of a man who had been a pirate captain for years, barking commands left and right.

"No! I’m not Captain Blackstorm! I’m Ethan! Stop this!" His mind screamed, but his body didn’t listen. The pirate captain’s cocky grin was plastered on his face as he stood at the helm of the ship, guiding it through the turbulent seas. …………..

As the days passed, Ethan’s soul became trapped inside his own head, a prisoner in a body that was no longer his. He could still think, still feel, but he had no control. Every time Captain Blackstorm laughed, every time he bellowed orders, Ethan was forced to watch, helpless and horrified, wondering if he would ever go back to his college life and see his friends and family again.

His thoughts grew darker, more confused, as Blackstorm’s memories began to replace his own. He couldn’t remember his last name anymore, or what his life had been like before the transformation. The more he tried to hold on to his identity, the more it faded.

Soon, even his name felt foreign. He wasn’t Ethan. He was Captain Blackstorm.

One night, after a particularly brutal raid on a coastal town, Blackstorm stood on the deck of his ship, surveying the spoils. Among the prisoners was a young man, dressed in fine clothes, clearly a young officer from the Spanish Marina. The man was elegant, his sharp features framed by short, curly hair. Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto him.

"Bring ‘im to me," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with hunger.

Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto the sailor’s terrified expression, and a predatory grin spread across his face. Ethan, trapped deep inside, recoiled in horror, not knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it.

“Tell me son, what is your name?” “My name is Paulo sir.” Said the young men with fear in his voice. He knew that he wanted a chance to survive, he had to do what this captain wanted. “And tell me, Paulo. What were you doing out there? You look around 22, a bit old to be a cabin boy.” “I was just promoted as an officer, sir. Please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything. Please.” Paulo broke almost in tears as he remembers the legend of the captain of the Blackstorm.

"Ye look soft, lad," Blackstorm sneered, his breath hot and reeking of rum. "But ye’ll toughen up. I’ll make a proper sailor outta ye."

Ethan’s thoughts screamed in protest, but the words coming from his mouth weren’t his. "No! Stop this! I’m not him!" But the pirate captain’s voice continued to fill the air as if Ethan's consciousness no longer mattered.

Paulo, trembling in Blackstorm's grip, whimpered, "Please, sir, I’m no pirate. I, I’m just an officer."

Blackstorm chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the young man’s shirt. "For now! Ye’ll learn soon enough, lad. Now get below deck. I’ll see to yer trainin’ myself."

Ethan’s body moved of its own accord, dragging Paulo down to the captain’s quarters, where the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns. It smelled of sweat, rum, and the salty sea air, Blackstorm’s natural musk now, deeply embedded in the walls and furniture. Ethan wanted to gag at the overwhelming odor, but instead, his body breathed it in like it was the sweetest scent.

Ethan watched helplessly as Blackstorm tossed the young officer onto the bed, his powerful muscles flexing with every movement. The younger man looked terrified, eyes darting to the door as if considering an escape, but Blackstorm was faster. He pinned the young men down, a dark hunger in his eyes.

Paulo struggled beneath him, but Blackstorm’s calloused hands, worn from years at sea, held him firmly in place. "I’ve had my eye on ye since we boarded yer commander’s ship, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Now, ye belong to me."

"No! I can’t let this happen! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts were frantic, but the captain’s grin only widened as he leaned closer to the young men, inhaling his scent. The fear radiating off the man seemed to excite Blackstorm, fueling his dominance.

"I’ll make ye a man of the sea, lad," Blackstorm whispered, his hands roaming over the butler’s body, feeling the smooth, uncalloused skin beneath his fingers. "You see, what makes a great captain is not the fear he inspires in his enemies; Noooooo… It’s the respect he inspires in his crew. If you have a crew devoted to you, then nothing is impossible. And I make sure that each and every one of my men are the best versions of themselves. And in exchange, they are devoted to me. Now, you have a great potential, lad, let’s see what’s hidden under the surface. We’ll start with rum, but soon enough, ye’ll learn there’s more to bein’ a pirate than just sailin’."

Ethan screamed internally, but his body reveled in the power and control Blackstorm wielded over Paulo. The pirate captain’s beard brushed against Paulo’s neck, and Ethan could feel the younger man’s pulse quicken in fear.

As Blackstorm grabbed a bottle of rum from the bedside table, uncorking it with his teeth, he forced the officer to drink. "Take it, lad. Ye’ll need this to survive aboard the Blackstorm."

Paulo sputtered, coughing as the harsh liquid burned down his throat, but Blackstorm gave him no respite. He shoved the bottle back into his hands, forcing him to drink more, the warmth of the rum spreading through his body.

With every gulp forced down his throat, Paulo could feel the heat rising in his body. Drops of sweat started to appear on his forehead as his legs started to shake and tense with pression. Soon a crack was heard as his pants started to tear at the seam. The same started to occur on his chest, then his feet. His short brown hair started to grow longer and curlier, his face sharpened a bit, his cock lengthened and lost his foreskin and the sensitivity that goes with it and his body hair started to grow under his pits, and around his cock. Soon Paulo’s body was totally transformed. A perfect specimen of a young manly men devoted to his new life style of pirate.

"Now, lad," he growled, his hands unbuttoning his new crew member’s torn shirt and pants, exposing the smooth, tanned skin beneath. "Let’s see what ye’re made of."

Ethan’s mind fought desperately to regain control, but his body didn’t listen. His hands—Blackstorm’s hands—caressed Paulo’s body with rough, experienced strokes, exploring every inch of his skin. Paulo gasped, his body responding despite himself, a mixture of fear and arousal flashing in his eyes.

Ethan’s thoughts screamed as he realized what his body was about to do. He wasn’t even attracted to men. All he wanted was to get to the party to ask Julia on a date. Ethan could feel his thought getting muted, they were growing weaker, drowned out by the sensations overwhelming his body.

Blackstorm’s cock stirred in his trousers, hardening as he pressed against Paulo’s thigh. The once-shy, soft-spoken Ethan was gone, replaced entirely by the pirate captain who reveled in his dominance, who craved the control he had over his captive.

Paulo, now panting under Blackstorm’s touch, whimpered, "Please... sir… I need … you” Blackstorm silenced him with a rough kiss, his beard scraping against his chin as the pirate’s tongue claimed his mouth.

The taste of rum lingered on the Paulo’s lips, and Blackstorm groaned, his hands gripping the man’s hips tightly as he ground against him. His cock, thick and heavy, strained against the leather of his trousers, begging to be freed.

With a swift motion, Blackstorm yanked down his trousers, exposing his throbbing length. The pirate captain wasted no time, positioning himself between Paulo’s legs, his rough hands forcing them apart.

Ethan’s mind was a swirling storm of panic and confusion, but it was drowned out by the primal lust consuming Blackstorm. His cock brushed against the ass, and with one rough thrust, he entered the younger man, groaning as he buried himself deep inside.

Paulo gasped in pain, his body tensing beneath Blackstorm, but the pirate captain didn’t stop. His thrusts were hard, brutal, and unrelenting, his cock stretching the ass in ways he had never experienced before.

"Take it, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice thick with lust. "Ye belong to me now."

Ethan, trapped in the pirate’s mind, could only watch in horror as Blackstorm claimed the young men with each powerful thrust. The pirate’s body was drenched in sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, the scent of musk and sea growing heavier in the small cabin.

Paulo, now whimpering beneath him, began to relax, his body slowly adjusting to the brutal rhythm. His soft cries turned to moans as Blackstorm’s cock filled him over and over again, stretching him until there was nothing but pleasure.

The captain grinned wickedly, leaning down to whisper in his new lover’s ear. "Yer mine now, lad. Ye’ll be beggin’ for more soon enough. Now cum for me, Esteban"

Ethan’s thoughts were fading, his sense of self slipping away with every thrust, every groan of pleasure that escaped his lips. He could feel himself being absorbed into Blackstorm’s mind, his old life nothing but a distant memory. Paulo could feel every thrust going deeper and deeper, he was moaning in pure pleasure not remembering what just happened to his body. As he heard Blackstorm, he felt his body tense. Suddenly, a rush of feelings opened in his brain and he fainted in pure bliss as he started to shoot his cum and his old life. He couldn’t remember where he grew up, what was his work, what was his name. All he could see were Blackstorm, the sea, and the name Esteban flashing in his eyes.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, Blackstorm came inside Paulo, filling him with his seed and cementing his dominance over his new crew member. The pirate groaned, his body shuddering with release as he collapsed on top of the younger man, his chest heaving with each breath. Ethan screamed one last time as he felt himself being totally assimilated in this new life that was given to him.

For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the soft creaking of the ship and the distant crash of waves against the hull.

Blackstorm rose from the bed, pulling on his trousers and adjusting his belt. He glanced back at Esteban, who lay panting on the bed, his body trembling from the intensity of their encounter. He went to his personal clothes and grabbed a white shirt, a crimson red sleeveless coat, a black leather trouser and a pair of leather boots before putting them next to Esteban.

" Your name, your life and your future are mine now," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. " Get some rest, lad, ye’ll need yer strength for tomorrow’s session."

As he left the cabin, Esteban’s soft, exhausted moans followed him and after a couple of hours, Esteban got up and dressed himself before walking on the deck of the ship as a new men. Blackstorm grinned to himself as he saw his new devoted crew member smiling at him while groping his manhood to adjust it.

Ethan was gone, lost forever in the depths of the pirate’s mind. Only Captain Blackstorm remained, cocky, ruthless, and forever bound to the sea. ............ Mister Melorius was walking back to his counter when he heard a tingling resonating in his left ear. As he turned back, he saw the portrait behind him start to vibrate as the golden plaque under it shone while a new text appeared on it: “Captain Blackstorm, commandant of the Blackstorm. Respected and beloved by his whole crew, adventurer of the seven seas and beyond. 1718” Melorius smiled, knowing Ethan, or Blackstorm, was on for a great adventure and will remain in history as the greatest captain of them all.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Hope you'll enjoy this story created from @tf-vigilante's prompt: "A shy and soft college student enters Mister Melorius's shop looking for a costume. Even though that kind of costume is not like his personnality at all, he is weirdly compelled to ask for a pirate costume. What will happen to him ? How will his Halloween night turn out to be ? Maybe this will be truely life changing…" Hope you guys enjoyed it and as always, feel free to send me asks if you want to pick a costume from Melorius's shop! See you soon!

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #ask me anything #Melorius #halloween tf #nerd to hunk #nerd to jock #pirate tf #time travel tf #straight to gay

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 3 months ago

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An a/b/o fic with maybe Bruce Wayne or Arthur curry, where they have been searching for their omega for most of their life, and when they are fighting a villain fem reader comes in and helps them, I was thinking that reader she has telekinesis or something and, she helps them and they are blown away by her, never thinking that their omega could be a hero as well

.⋆｡Crashing Waves｡⋆.

alpha!Arthur Curry x plus size reader

He has been looking for her for his whole life and she arrived just in time

Warnings: a/b/o, true mates, hero!reader, omega!reader, violence against robots, reader is shorter than Bruce and Arthur (but who isn’t), implied smut WC: 1.4k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Even after serving as Atlantis’s king for five years now, Arthur doubted he would get used to the searing smell of salt that constantly clung to everything around him. It burned his nostrils even when he was lounging around the JL tower and part of him wondered if he would ever be able to properly scent out his mate while the sea constantly invaded his senses. Though even before he claimed the throne, he wasn’t exactly successful on that front.

He felt like he had searched everywhere for his omega, the biological urge deep down in his chest driving him to scour every inch of the earth for them. But they had eluded him and even if his parents (themselves being true mates) assured him that the right omega would appear when the time was right, he remained alone with the smell of the sea.

Arthur was almost glad, at times, for a good fight. Smoke, sparks from his trident, even blood gave him a break from the usual salt that surrounded him, temporarily cleansing his pallet so to speak. But maybe not today he thought with a wince.

Hundreds of broken robots surrounded him, the never-ending wave of enemies only getting thicker as his exhaustion began to mount. Batman was somewhere deep in the crowd, attempting to override their programming as Arthur tried to keep him safe enough. New enemies were always a pain in the ass but this one was definitely levels above the other newbies they fought. And Arthur was already fantasising about what he’d do to the skinny little white guy as soon as he got his hands on him, that is if Batman didn’t get to either of them first.

“Is there any way to hurry this up!” He shouted above the screaming of gears and failing electronics.

“This would go faster if you stopped hitting them at me.” The Bat growled as he hit yet another firewall in their programming. Arthur took another swing of his trident, knocking away a flying robot that had gotten way too close to his partner’s head for comfort. It let out a high pitched whine as it was launched into the horizon.

“This would be faster if you didn’t type in the wrong code to begin with!” A batarang screamed past his ear, landing right in the huge glowing eye of the robot hovering just over Arthur’s right shoulder. Oil sprayed from its side, coating Arthur’s hair.

A deafening roar sounded through the empty field as another shipping container rose from the ground, releasing even more robots. Batman turned back to the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard all while the swarm closed in around them. “This is gonna hurt.” Arthur cocked back his shoulder and raised his trident, maybe he could knock out a few rows of them before they got too close and he’d have to switch to his fists.

Just as he readjusted his grip to throw the trident into the thickest grouping of robots, everything went silent.

The now frozen robots hung in the air like someone had just paused time, though they still whirred and whined, their huge red eyes glowing even brighter. Then, with little more than a sharp click from somewhere to his right, they were pulled backwards, the mechanical bodies slamming into each other as they were forced together into one huge sphere hundreds of feet off the ground.

“What the fuck?” Suddenly, the sphere crumpled like tin foil, the metal warping and collapsing until all that was left was a flat sheet of wires and dying LEDs. It slammed into the earth, disappearing behind the long grass as Batman’s screen turned green.

“Great timing there bats.” But Arthur’s tone held no bite, not when the salty smell of the ocean and ozone slammed into him.

Immediately, every nerve in his body came to life, buzzing like he was drunk but his mind was clear, clearer than it ever had been before. A figure was walking through the grass, elegantly avoiding the mangled carcasses of their battle. As she approached, her scent became stronger and Arthur could now smell the subtle hint of something flowery like a warm spring breeze.

The light of the sunset made her practically glow as she moved, her thick curves and perfect dips highlighted by a tight catsuit that looked like it was pulled straight from his teenage fantasies.

“I hope I didn’t show up too late.” Her voice floated around him and Arthur’s knees buckled.

“You’re right on time.” Her e/c eyes met his golden ones and he watched as her nose turned up and she took a deep breath of his scent. Her heavy chest hitched and her own scent turned sweeter. His stomach flipped as something deep inside him stretched awake for the first time in what seemed like years.

“Y/N. What took so long?” Batman crossed his arms as he looked down at her, his jaw ticking in anger. Yet her expression never faltered, in fact she glanced at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Her smile was bright, shining with something ethereal.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact that you gave me a coded message with the coordinates instead of being a normal person and sharing your location with me? I may have psychic powers but I suck at math dude.”

“That was you?” Arthur hadn’t noticed that his body was moving on its own until he finally spoke again and she had to crane her head almost all the way back to make eye contact with him. Warmth unlike anything he had experienced before bloomed through his chest as she leaned towards him, fluttering her lashes up at him.

“I have a lot of tricks better than that.” Her scent was almost overpowering now but all he wanted to do was drown in it. Y/N’s shoulder brushed against his pec and something snapped.

The world tilted on its axis and he suddenly knew what his parents were talking about when they said that the moment they met, nothing else mattered. “Omega.”

Her body sagged into him as she breathed out an almost inaudible “alpha”. His trident dropped unnoticed to the ground.

“I’ve finally found you.” She fell easily into his arms, like they had been made to hold her. She pressed her face as close as she could get, her words muffled against the thick armour but he could hear her clearly all the same.

“You stole my line,” he whispered into her hair, breathing her scent as much as he could, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long. Who knew I’d find you after you saved my life?” Her giggle made his heart swell with affection and pride.

“You’ve obviously been looking in the wrong place.” Y/N looked up at him as he cupped her full cheek with a massive hand, guiding her face upwards. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“I could say the same about you.” He leaned down and just as his lips were about to touch hers-

“Alright that’s enough,” Bruce snarled, “need I remind you both that there’s still a villain we need to deal with.”

Y/N never looked away from Arthur, in fact she wound an arm around his neck and tugged him even closer. His alpha roared to life, hyper-focusing on the softness of her curves beneath his hands. “You go ahead, I think my alpha and I have done more than enough heavy lifting for the day, we have better things to do.”

“I’m going to regret asking but what exactly is more important than dealing with a potentially global threat?” Arthur smirked, catching on to the game she was playing.

His right hand dropped from where it was resting on her wide hip down to the plump cheeks of her ass. “I’m going to rip her clothes off and fuck her brains out right in this field. So unless you’re into that stuff-“ she slapped his chest at that, “-then I suggest you move on, Bats, cause right now, nothing is going to stop me from claiming my omega.”

“You two are disgusting.” He grumbled and walked off, finally leaving the newly discovered mates alone.

“Now where were we?” Arthur purred before Y/N yanked him down and finally kissed him, making the smell of the ocean explode around them.

Her scent had been haunting him for years, etching itself into his mind and suddenly, Arthur loved the smell of salt again because it meant that he finally had his omega.

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drvscarlett · 9 months ago

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About You Pt5

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

A/N: and its a double update!!! im showcasing a lot of side characters that will eventually be a huuuuge part of the plot (winks). also the brewing tension. let me know what you folks think about this

Taglist: @spideybv28 @randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @cristianovettel @callsignwidow @gothicwidowsworld

2010, Istanbul Park

The necklace sits heavy on Y/N's neck. She had been fiddling with it the whole morning. There was something about the internal and unspoken pressure happening in the Red Bull garage ever since both of their drivers tied their points for the championship. She have heard more conversations here and there about who would Red Bull side with, their older driver or the rookie.

It was very stressful for Y/N to spend time with the two drivers involved with the discussions.

"Nervous?" Sebastian noticed.

"Can't help it" she gave a weak smile.

"For me or for Mark?"

Y/N had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. As if she hasn't had enough of this whole which driver would you pick to side on. She just gestured that her lips are sealed meaning that she won't take anyone's side.

"Stop trying to get my sister on your side" Mark apparently overheard the conversation "Blood runs thicker than water, am i right sis?"

"I'm not gonna comment on that"

"See what you are doing to my sister, you are ruining this family Seb" Mark overdramatically reacts

"Your sister is my bestfriend, get over it" Sebastian rebutted.

Bestfriend.

And just like that, there was a pang in Y/N's heart. Maybe another factor of the heavy feeling is that she has been doing her best to bury her feelings for Sebastian. But after the whole Monaco pre-birthday thing, every effort that she has to bury her feelings is thrown out of the window. She was hopelessly inlove with the man and Sebastian was very blind about it.

"Just have a good race, okay?"she reminded the two.

"I think we will score some good points today" Sebastian confidently stated.

"That's the fighting spirit" Mark cheered on.

It was moments like this that Y/N was reminded that the two Red Bull drivers are not fighting each other as the team pictured them to be. They may showcase competitiveness during the races but that's just normal. Outside the track, the two share a very friendly atmosphere with each other.

Soon, the two set off to go their respective cars. Y/N watched the race outside of the driver's room for a change. Ever since, she started to hear the gossiping of the Red Bull crew about Seb and Mark, she opted to be more around them. She wanted to know what they are saying to warn the drivers or make a possible plan on how to resolve if ever the situation escalates.

The race started out well with Mark leading comfortably. Sebastian was behind and Lewis was next. It was going really well for Mark and if Y/N have to say it then he might win another race. Sebastian, on the other hand, has been challenged by the two McLarens of Hamilton and Button.

Then it happened all so quickly.

Y/N let out a gasp as the two Red Bull drivers crashed with each other. One was sent down to the gravel while the other managed to push back to the track. Y/N was too focused that she didn't notice that the cameras were pointed at her.

'Y/N Webber

Mark Webber's sister and assistant, Sebastian Vettel's bestfriend.'

The whole garage was in shambles as the radio messages from Sebastian sounds really angry. The amount of swear words in the radio was a stark difference from the jolly Sebastian that she was speaking to a couple of minutes ago. Y/N looked worriedly as Sebastian goes to the stewards.

"It was Vettel's fault"

"No, Mark Webber wasn't looking and giving him space"

"That's stupid, it was clearly Sebastian Vettel's fault"

Watching the replays, Y/N hates to admit it but this one is on Sebastian. She could hear the discussion even becoming more rampant as Sebastian reaches the garage.

A permanent scowl graces his face as he talks to Helmut and Christian about the incident that occurred. Y/N followed to check up on him and she can't help but overhear the conversation.

"That was not right, this shouldn't have happened" Christian lectures "It will cost us a lot of points with the two McLaren looking for two podium finish today"

"Don't look and point fingers at me, I'm not the only one who crashed" Sebastian clearly not thinking his words through.

"Sebastian this should never happen again, understood?" Christian firmly ordered

"But it isn't right to blame Sebastian, the boy is right there were two of them there" Helmut comes to the defense of Sebastian "It was clear that Mark did not make way for him resulting to the crash"

Y/N felt herself getting red. It was clear as a day that the crash was not caused by Mark. It was getting clearer for her that someone has been playing favorites.

"See, you better have word with Mark" Sebastian said.

"Unbelievable" Y/N muttered.

She was taught that if she couldn't say anything good then she probably shouldn't say anything at all so she walks away. She decided not to show herself even after Mark got a podium finish.

Her sudden disappearance did not go unnoticed but Sebastian just let her be.

2010, Silverstone Circuit

Things at Red Bull garage has gone from bad to worse. It was difficult now to hang out with Mark or Sebastian as the two drivers have intended everything to be a competition. Y/N didn't want to see any part of this which is why she is currently doing babysitting duties at Mercedes.

It was a weird set-up seeing how one of Red Bull's employee is staying at the pristine white facility of Mercedes—she sticks out like a sore thumb. But Mick Schumacher only wants Y/N to be with him as he watches his father race. It has always been that case ever since Y/N met Mick when he was around 4 years old.

"Y/N, are you not scared for your brother and Seb?" Mick asked as the two of you watched the cars go out for the formation lap.

"I used to be scared" she still is "But its something that they love"

"Mama says Papa gives her a lot of stress when he races. I hope there is no aksident"Mick's tone was with a slight worry.

"Your Papa will be okay, he is a legend"Y/N assures.

The cars are now slowly lining up to the starting grid. Sebastian was on pole while Mark was the 2nd one so they were sharing a Red Bull front row. It only made Y/N worry even more because race starts are quite chaotic here in Silverstone.

"Mark and Seb must be really lucky to be at the front"Mick commented

"I sure hope so"

The lights started flashing and the infamous lights out and away we go went off. It was indeed chaotic at the start with Sebastian and Mark neck to neck with each other. They were both trying to take the lead even if it means pushing the other off track.

"OH FUCK" Y/N immediately covered the ears of Mick as the collision was broadcasted.

Mark managed to go through but Sebastian had puncture. The German was obviously mad for losing crucial places.

"What happened Y/N to Mark and Seb, I thought they are teammates" was the confused question of Mick.

She sighs. Her thoughts are echoing what Mick just said. What happened to them.

"Mick,they are still teammates its just that they also have to compete with each other. Its a sports and sometimes we lose,sometimes we win"Y/N tried to explain it to 10-year-old Mick.

She could already imagine the chaos in the Red Bull garage. She hears the commentaries that maybe this was Webber's revenge for Istanbul. The headache that will emerge for her after this whole race will be very difficult to ignore.

"Y/N if I become an f1 driver,would you come see me?"Mick asked

Its like heaven sent an angel in the form of Mick for Y/N. When she hears him talk it feels as if the world is slightly a little simpler and better. How she wish she lives in that same bubble as Mick.

"I won't crash, I promise"Mick added

Young Mick is still very young but he really dreams to be a Formula 1 driver like his father. Y/N could feel grey hairs developing if she sees Mick in an F1 car.

"Of course Mick"

"Good"Mick grinned "Oh look Y/N your brother is leading! Go Mark Webbahhhhhh"

The cheers of the little Schumacher made Y/N grin. She will deal with all the Red Bull stress later.

2010, Hockenheimring

Usually, Y/N likes getting her coffee at the catering but she doesn't feel like interacting with any Red Bull team for this morning. This is why the Webber girl is seen queuing up in a local Starbucks.

She was just about to sit down and wait for her coffee when a random man bumped her. It sent all her paper flying and Y/N could only grumble since the man didn't even look at her to help.

"Some people these days lack manners"she huffed in frustration.

It was a good thing that someone was helping her picking up the paper. She looked at the bracelets adorning her wrist and the long blonde hair tied up into a bun, thank God for a woman.

"Thank you so much for helping me" Y/N started "You really didn't have to"

"Nonsense, it will be rude to just stare at you picking up your papers"the woman has a thick German accent, similar to Sebastian.

She is probably local, Y/N thinks.

"Still thank you" Y/N politely insisted "Do you want to sit with me, the whole cafe is full"

"Of course"

Y/N wasn't usually chatty but the woman is very comfortable to talk to. She mentioned that she was a local but she lives a bit far from here and that she was only here for the weekend. Y/N shared how she is also here for the weekend.

"Wait are you going to watch Formula 1?" she quizzed

Y/N was about to answer when she heard the call of the barista. he quickly picked up her coffee and went back to her new friend.

"No way, you are Y/N?THE Y/N Webber?" the girl repeated.

Y/N chuckled. It wasn't usual that she has been recognized by formula 1 fans. She felt red as she admits that she is a bit flattered that she knows her name.

"I didn't know I am famous around here"Y/N joked

"Sebastian always talks about you, I was really looking forward to see you later at the garage"

Oh? Y/N thinks there is only one Sebastian that she knows.

"My name is Hanna, Hanna Prater" she introduced "I'm Sebastian's childhood bestfriend"

2010, Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

Sebastian was bitter. He felt as if he lost a golden opportunity by not being able to score any points today. He is so bitter that he choose not to celebrate with the team tonight and he intended to stay holed up in his hotel room.

However, after a while,he grew tired of the hotel room walls so he ended up walking at the rooftop of the hotel.

Only,he wasn't the only one there.

"Hey stranger" he called out "I haven't seen you in Red Bull garage for a while"

Y/N turned around and she smiled when she met his eyes.

He doesn't understand how she does it but everything seems to melt in the background when she does this. It felt like he was back in his rookie days when they met up at the rooftops and talk for hours. It was much more simpler back then.

"I have been busy.. socializing" Y/N replied.

They both know that was a lie. Y/N was obviously using socializing as a front when in truth is she doesn't like to mingle with the toxicness of the Red Bull garage. But, Sebastian lets it slide.

"Is it bad that I missed you and I want you to stay at the garage?"Sebastian popped the question out of the blue.

"I'll be there as Mark's sister and his assistant, I don't think it will work well with the situation" Y/N informed.

There it goes again. This was that line that Sebastian has been hindering him to confess or ask her out.

It felt so stupid that he can flirt with anyone with ease but when it comes to Y/N, its so hard.He shouldn't have been scared of Mark, he is never scared of Mark (and it shows multiple times on track). But the thing that Sebastian knows is that Y/N has high regards for her brother and Sebastian didn't want to put a strain in their family.

"How are you feeling with the race today?"Y/N asked, diverting the topic.

"I could have been better." Sebastian sighs "Maybe I should train over and over again"

"Don't push yourself, you are still in the pool for the championship" Y/N assures

The championship. It's everything that Sebastian has ever thought of lately. Its within his reach and he really wants to extend a lead with it but somehow its not working. He really thinks that there is a high possibility that he can get his first championship this year.

"The championship must feel really nice" Y/N comments as she observes the smile on Sebastian's face

"I mean that's why were all racing dangerously" Sebastian chuckles.

No sane man would want to race in harsh conditions or beyond normal speed limit without any incentives.

"Just don't lose yourself"Y/N said "I worry about you Seb"

He acknowledges that. He is not dumb that the Red Bull crew has been pitting him and Webber against each other. In the end, it places a pressure on both of them to perform well because all that Red Bull cares about is who will bring the victory. The more likely victor will be the more favored one.

"We'll be alright" Sebastian comforts.

Even if this is all a lie, the two finds that comfort and repeat it to themselves. Maybe if they repeat it a lot then maybe it will end up coming true.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagines #f1 fic #f1 angst #f1 x you #sebastian vettel x you

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the20thangel · 6 months ago

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The Dragon and Raven: Chapter 6 (The Wedding)

Chapter Summary: The day has arrived, the day the princess and her lord come to marry.

Notes: There is a steamy session, so MDNI !!! 18+ for this chapter,

Word count: 4275

Keep track of the story: masterlist

The camp was busy in the week leading up to Queen Rhaenyra’s arrival at Harrenhall and the Crown Princess’s wedding. Aemma herself scarcely saw Benji throughout the week, having to make quick preparations for her three ceremonies. They concluded Cregan would officiate the ceremony in front of the weirwood tree, Maester Gerardys would do the Seven Faith ceremony, and Princess Rhaenys would officiate for the Valyrian. Rhaenys, being the eldest of the Targaryen clan and grandmother of the bride, had the privilege and right to see her granddaughter bound her heart and soul to her new husband. Baela and Aemma worked on her maiden cloak. A beautiful black cloak with red accents that weaved along the edges, and in the middle is the sigil of House Targaryen, a three-headed dragon embroidered in red thread. To honor her Velayron's heritage, Aemma decided to replace one of the dragon heads with that of the seahorse. Alysanne Blackwood took the liberty to create Aemma’s marriage cloak, which the princess had yet to see, claiming it was her wedding gift to her and her nephew.

Benjicot and Jacaerys finally seemed to bond with one another, with Benji helping Jacaerys train each day whenever they had the time. Aemma knew she should be happy that her older brother finally accepted her future husband. However, she was annoyed; she had hardly seen Benji this week due to the wedding preparations and any free time instead of spending it together. Benji is occupied with her brother or father.

Aemma sighed in her bath. She got a letter from her mother stating that they were only a few days away and that she had a special surprise for her. She wondered what it would be; it couldn't be Rhaena and her three youngest siblings, for it was too risky. Maybe it was her wedding gown? Nevertheless, she would soon find out. Aemma stepped out of her bath and quickly threw on a silk chemise, for it was too humid for something thicker. As Aemma walked into her makeshift bed chamber, she gasped at feeling two strong arms around her waist. She soon leaned into the arms, catching the scent that can only be connected to Benjicot.

“You shouldn’t be in here..” whispered Aemma, not meaning her words as she turned to face Benji.

Benji smiled crookedly at her as he brought her closer and kissed her. Aemma threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body to him, deepening the kiss. After a while, Benji’s arms snaked down to her thighs as he raised her, with Aemma hooking her legs to his waist as he led them to her bed. Laying her bed, Benji kissed her neck, careful not to leave any marks. Then, to her cheeks before placing one on her forehead. They never went further than kissing, as much as they both wanted to. Aemma smiled at him; she would never tire of his kisses. Benji lay next to her, bringing her body to press against his as he drew imaginary circles on her thighs. This is how they usually spent the night: Aemma or him sneaking to each other's tents, sleeping in each other's arms, and quickly sneaking back to their own in the morning. So far, no one seemed to catch what the princess and the lord did each night.

“How was your day today?” asked Aemma, looking up into his stormy eyes.

“It was fine; your father and brother were explaining to me what to expect from the Valyrian wedding, but after a while, it grew awkward, and Jace practically ran out of the tent.” Chuckled Benji, remembering Jacaerys’s face turning bright red once Daemon explained the last portion of the ceremony.

Aemma giggled. Yes, she supposed it would be embarrassing to hear that after the blood bonding and vows, Benjicot had to quickly bed her in the middle of the fourteen flames to ensure the gods of Old Valyria would bless her marriage. Usually, it would be done on top of the altar, but since they were in Harrenahll, after the vows, the flames would be taken to a tent, where Benjicot and Aemma would spend some time there before the feast.

“What about you, my love?” Asked Benjicot as he pressed another kiss on her crown.

Aemma sighed; she loved hearing those words come out of his mouth.

“Aly and Cregan walked me through the ceremony that would take place in front of the weirwood tree…. They asked me who I wanted to present me… Jace or Daemon.” Aemma sighed; she was unsure.

Technically, it should be Jace since her birth father was gone, but Daemon has been her father ever since. She did not want to disrespect Laenor, but she also wanted to honor Daemon. Benjicot thought for a second, knowing her words and concerns were valid.

“Why don’t you let Jace do the Northern ceremony and have Daemon walk you to the Valryain one? That way, you honor both sides of your family without causing strain?” advised Benji as he was met with another kiss to his mouth.

Aemma smiled at the kiss as she pulled away, laughing at him when he tried to continue kissing her. “You do know how much I love you?”

Benjicot smirked, “Yes, but I never grow tired of hearing come out of your pretty lips.”

Aemma giggled as she placed her head on his neck, “We should sleep if you are going to sneak out before the others wake tomorrow morning.”

Benji, hmm, and he made himself more comfortable; he couldn’t wait until they could stop sneaking and sleep in the same bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, everyone was off doing their daily routines; Benjicot and Jacaerys were training with Daemon and Cregan. Baela was checking with Alysanne about the marriage cloak. While Aemma decided to patrol in the sky, she felt guilty about neglecting Sliverwing and decided to fly over the camp. Just because her wedding was coming soon did not mean the war had paused; they needed to stay vigilant. Aemma was about to turn back when she heard a Dragon shrill, whipping to the sound. Aemma scanned the air around her… When then, a golden blur soared out of the clouds. Syrax, her mother’s mount, greeted Sliverwing and her rider’s daughter. Then came out the Red Queen herself, Meleys, with her grandmother on top and someone behind her grandmother. Aemma gasped as she commanded Sliverwing to land, seeing a crowd gathering to greet the queen and her party.

“Mother!” exclaimed Aemma and Jace, each running to their mother. Rhaenyra, teary-eyed, embraced her two eldest children in her arms. Baela ran to Rhaenys, hugging her grandmother.

Rhaenyra took Aemma’s face, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, how much I missed you, my Pearl,” whispered Rhaenyra as she kissed her daughter’s brow.

“I have missed you as well, Muna…” replied Aemma as she looked behind her mother, gasping at the man hugging Baela.

“Gransire?” questioned Aemma as she saw Corlys smile at the princess. Aemma squealed with delight as she ran to hug her grandfather, who welcomed the princess into his arms and kissed her crown.

“My little Sea Dragon, you did not think I would miss your wedding now, did you?” questioned Corlys as Aemma stepped back with a massive grin.

“Oh, I am so happy you are here!” exclaimed Aemma, truly happy that Corlys’s health became well enough for him to travel away from Driftmark.

Aemma led her family towards the camp as the Vale, Northern, and Riverlands men bowed to the Queen and her royal party. Benjicot was highly nervous; Queen Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, and Lord Corlys were all a force to be reckoned with, especially concerning Aemma. Luckily, before Rhaenyra reached him, Daemon walked up, bowing to his wife. Rhaenyra froze. She was still upset with his decisions regarding Blood and Cheese. Aemma looked at her two parents and sighed. She, too, was upset with the events, but she also did not want her wedding to turn ice cold with two parents awkwardly dancing around each other.

“Please, can we not make this awkward for a few days? Allow me to have a happy wedding, and then, if you want, you can continue ignoring each other, just not during my wedding?” Aemma pleaded with her parents in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, nodded to her daughter, and gave Daemon a strained smile. “Of course…. Now introduce me to the lord who managed to win your heart.”

Aemma smiled as she extended her hand as Benjicot took it, being led to the Dragon Queen. Benjicot gave a nervous smile as he clumsily bowed to his queen.

“My queen, House Blackwood is honored to fight for you.” he greeted shakenly.

Rhaenyra smiled at the young lord, finding it endearing how nervous he was.

“Lord Blackwood, thank you. Again, I want to express my condolences to your father and brother. House Targaryen grieves with you.”

“Thank you, my queen,” replied Benji as he bowed to her again.

Rhaenyra nodded as she addressed the rest of the camp, asking them to stand and dismiss them so they could return to their previous activities. Rhaenyra then turned and motioned for her family and the young lord to follow her. Once she entered a tent set up for her, she sat and asked how the wedding preparations were going.

“They are all set for tomorrow, Mother,” replied Aemma as she held Benji’s hand on her lap.

“Although I did want to clear up one more thing now that grandsire is here,” she further explained as everyone turned to her and waited for her to continue.

“Since I have three ceremonies, I need someone to present me for each one, and now I feel confident with my decisions on who I want for each. For the Northern one, I want Gransire to present me, the faith; it will be Jace, and the last one will be Daemon… each representing the most important men in my life,” she whispered, staring at each man, all who seemed surprised but overjoyed in being a part of her wedding.

Rhaenyra's eyes watered, knowing that Aemma was missing Laenor and Lucerys more than ever. They should have been here witnessing her marriage, but fate was cruel. Everyone else in the room agreed with these decisions, and Corlys asked when the ceremonies would begin.

Benji cleared his throat, capturing the room's attention. " The first ceremony is based on the old ways of the north. We usually do them at night. It will be small, and only family will be present.”

“Then we should rest; we have a long day starting tonight. We need to make sure we are not exhausted before reaching the last ceremony,” commanded Rhaenyra as everyone stood leaving the tent.

“Aemma, please stay; I have something to give you,” asked Rhaenyra to her daughter.

Aemma nodded, smiling at her betrothed as he left the tent. Turning to her mother, she gasped. Her mother held a beautiful ball gown, a black dress with red accents and sheer sleeves. The dress was gorgeous and would greatly complement her maiden cloak.

“Usually, Highborn ladies would wear white to their weddings, but you are a Valyrian princess; you do not need to follow the ways of the seven,” explained Rhaenyra.

“It's gorgeous, Mother,” whispered Aemma as she ran her fingers on the red accents.

“I’m glad you like it. Now go rest; your grandmother, Baela, and I will go later to help you get ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the hour of the wolf stood the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Blackwood families beside the weirwood trees, all holding torches to light the darkest hour of the night, with Cregan Stark standing before Benjicot waiting for the Princess. It did not take long before they gasped at the sight before them. Princess Aemma truly lives up to her moniker as the Realm’s Pearl. Her beautiful pale hair was pulled into intricate Valyrian braids, her dress showing off her shoulders as it beautifully flowed down her body. Her maiden cloak proudly shows her Targaryen and Velayron heritage.

As Corlys walked his granddaughter up to the tree, his eyes glistened with tears. Once they reached Benjicot, Cregan cleared his throat.

“ Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

Corlys puffed up, “Crown Princess Aemma, of the Houses Velayron and Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman has grown trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods.”

Cregan nodded as he turned to Benjicot, who glanced at him, gulping before nodding to continue.

“ Who comes to claim her?”

Benji inhaled as he stared at his princess and her grandsire, “Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, lord to Raventree Hall.

“Who gives her?” asked Cregan, looking at Colrys.

“Corlys Velaryon, of House Velaryon of Dritmark, her grandsire in place of her father, Laenor Velayron,” stated Corlys.

Rhaenys sniffed as she closed her eyes, remembering her sea dragon, as did everyone else.

Cregan smiled at the woman he considered his sister, “Aemma, do you take this man?”

Aemma smiled, looking in her beloved eyes as she answered, “I take this man.”

Aemma reached out to grasp Benji’s hand as Cregan asked the couple to kneel and hold for a few minutes in silent prayer. Aemma and Benji both kneeled in front of the hearttree. Aemma stared at the face, closed her eyes, and prayed to the old gods, asking them to bless her marriage. After a few minutes, the couple stood as Aly Blackwood stepped forward, holding the marriage cloak that would replace the current one Aemma was wearing. Benji removed Aemma’s maiden cloak before handing it to Corlys, who stepped forward. Then Benji took the cloak from his aunt, smiling in gratitude, as she unfolded the cloak and draped it on Aemma’s shoulder. The Targayens and Velaryons gasped at the marriage cloak. The cloak was House Blackwood red, with a Black three-headed dragon in the middle; around the dragon were ravens that looked like they were flying around it. Rhaenyra, feeling moved, looked at Alysanne, mouthing a thank you as Aly bowed to her queen. With that, Aemma and Benji shared a sweet kiss, sealing their union in the eyes of the Old gods.

As the families returned to the camps, Benjicot took hold of his bride and carried her bridal style through his tent. They would not consummate the marriage yet, waiting for the Valyrian ceremony later. Morning came faster than they thought, with Aemma changing her hairstyle to loose waves and wearing a tiara her grandsire brought from one of his expeditions.

Both Aemma and Benji were nervous. This ceremony was the biggest out of the three, with everyone in the camp joining to watch the union of the Dragon Princess and her Raven lord. Maester Gerardys was waiting in the clearing as he would officiate the ceremony in the eyes of the seven. Again, Benjicot was waiting for his bride, feeling more nervous than last night with all eyes staring at him; he hoped he would not mess up the vows.

Again, gasps were heard as Princess was led down the aisle, Prince Jacaerys walking his sister; both looked like dragon twins. As they reached Benjicot, Aemma kissed her brother’s cheek, whispering a thank you. Jacaerys kissed his sister back and clapped Benji on the back, nodding to him as he joined his family.

Maester Gerardys clears his throat as he begins the sermon.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Once again, this allows Benji to cloak Aemma with her marriage cloak.

Then Gerardys speaks to the crowd, “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The Maester then takes a cloth and binds the hands of the princess and lord as he says, “Let it be known that Crown Princess Aemma of Houses Velayron and Targaryen and Lord Benjicot of House Blackwood are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

After he speaks the word, he motions for the couple to begin their vows. Turning to each other, Aemma and Benji talk simultaneously.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days… “I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

Both staring at each other, Benjicot ends with reciting, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” taking the princess’s face into his hands and placing a kiss, causing the whole camp to cheer for their princess and her lord. Benji flushes as he bows his head while Aemma bites her lip, trying to hold her giggles.

As the camp makes way for the feast, the Valyrians walk towards a hill where all their dragons rest with fourteen flames in a circle. Rhaenys takes the center with Benjicot, and Daemon leads his daughter to the middle. Again, for the last time, Aemma is handed off to Benji; Aemma teary grins at Daemon and throws her arms around him.

“Thank you for stepping up and being my Kepa,” she whispers to her father,

Daemon huffs, trying to hold his own tears, and kisses Aemma’s brow. “I love you, my little sea dragon. Thank you for accepting me as your kepa.”

Aemma turns to her grandmother, who hands her a dagger; Aemma creates a cut on Benjicot’s lips, taking the blood and rubbing it on his forehead after Benjicot does the same to Aemma. Then Aemma and Benjicot each cut their hands, pressing them together, allowing their blood to mix, creating their blood bond; then Rhaenys hands the cup of wine to the couple. As the couple drinks from it, Rhaenys starts reciting the vows.

“Hen lantoni ānogar, Va syndroti vāedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdeoma iārza sīr, Izulī ampā perzī, Prūmī lanti sēteksi, Hen jeny māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozūndesi, Syndroro ōñō jēdo, mazvestraksi. (Blood of two, joined as one, Ghostly flame, and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen flames. A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow is spoken through time, of darkness and light.”)

Benji felt an immense heat grow in his stomach as the candles around them grew taller, signifying that the Valyrian gods approved of this union. Aemma and Benjicot kissed more passionately, knowing that their blood had to mix, and Benji couldn’t help but feel a hunger erupt within him, tasting his wife’s blood in his mouth. Soon, the pair separated as the Valyrians each took hold of a few candles and placed them around the bed in the middle of the tent. Rhaenyra, gave a quick kiss to her daughter as she took her husband's hand, laughing as Jace practically dragged Baela as he ran away from the tent towards the feast.

Once the tent closed, Aemma, also feeling the heat, turned to her husband; grinning widely, she practically jumped him, kissing him with so much hunger that Benji led them towards the bed.

~~~~~~SMUT WARNING!!!! PLEASE SKIP IF NOT 18+ or NOT COMFORTABLE~~~~~~~

Benjicot couldn’t understand the heat building up in him as he began fonding Aemma, moving from her lips and kissing down her jaw and then neck, spending time sucking and biting where her pulse was. Aemma gasped at the feeling, spreading her legs, allowing him to rest more easily in between her legs.

Benji moved his mouth on top of her bosom, Aemma’s corset pushing them up for him to kiss. Aemma mewled, pulling at his hair and making Benji groan at the sensation. Sitting her up, he began to unlace her dress, pulling it off, exposing her body to him and the night chills; Aemma, in turn, took off her husband’s shirt as Benjicot kicked off his trousers, leaving him in his breeches.

Laying his wife down again, he took one of her perky breasts into his mouth, his hands slowly traveling in between her legs. Aemma gasped his name, running her hands through his hair.

“Ben…please… yes..” whispered Aemma, feeling his fingers slowly tease her soaking cunt.

Benjicot grins, enjoying the sweet sounds coming out of his wife’s mouth before moving his fingers away, which makes Aemma whine.

“Please, what, my love? I can’t give until you ask.” taunted Benjicot as he traced her thighs.

Aemma playfully glared at him, “Touch me, Ben; I want your fingers inside of mhm.”

She couldn’t finish as Benji slammed his mouth to hers, slowly easing one finger in her and pulling it out, adding another, and pushing in and out until he felt he could add a third. Aemma was withering underneath him. The feeling of his fingers going in and out of her was overwhelming. She gave a loud moan once she felt him use his other hand to rub her clit. Benji grunted, his own hard cock twitching with everything delicious sound coming out of the princess's mouth. Aemma felt a growing sensation in her stomach, nearing her climax before Benji stopped.

“No, Please,” gasped the princess, watching as Benjicot removed his fingers and placed them in his mouth, sucking on them.

Then Benji kissed her, letting the princess taste herself, and he rubbed his clothed bulge on her soaking cunt. Aemma whined again, closing her eyes as she grabbed onto his shoulder.

“ Tell me what you want, my princess, for I am just your lowly servant meant to serve you,” whispered Benji as he placed his forehead.

Aemma shuddered as she forced her eyes open, staring into her husband’s eyes.

“Take Ben, Take me, let the whole camp know I am yours,” commanded Aemma.

Benjicot growled as he ripped off his breeches, releasing his weeping cock, and rubbing it on her entrance.

Aemma nodded and sharply inhaled, feeling him enter her; he was large and thick. It was painful and pleasurable at the same time. Benji waited for a moment, allowing her to get used to him. Closing his eyes, he nearly finished her; she was warm and tight. Afterward, Aemma permitted him to start moving, groaning, and feeling him move steadily. Benji also groans, her walls clenching him with every thrust.

“Faster…” commanded Aemma, to which Benji was more than happy to comply; moving faster and harder, he grabbed one of her breasts, fonding it as Aemma began meeting him with each thrust. Soon, both felt warmth growing in their bodies and the room as they chased their release.

Benji groaned, picking up one of Aemma’s legs and placing it on his shoulder, going more profoundly inside of her, making Aemma moan loudly. Aemma began whispering yes as she dragged her nails down his back, giving him painful pleasure; feeling his release, he lowered her legs and kissed her as his thrust started moving choppily.

“Yes, Ben, please, please, finish inside me…. Give me your babe. I need your babe.” Pleading Aemma as her climax washed over her.

Benjicot soon followed after, shooting his spend inside her walls, moaning out her name, picturing her heavy with his babe. During their Climax, the fourteen Flames rose exceedingly before extinguishing, leaving the couple gasping in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Welcome back~~~~~~

Aemma held her husband close to her, feeling incredibly warm. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew they had to make some appearance in the feast. As she moved his sweaty hair from his forehead, she kissed him before trying to get up. Benji whined, not wanting to move, huffing as Aemma explained that they needed to be at the feast. Sitting up, he gave his wife a quick kiss before dressing.

Once the couple finished dressing, they walked hand in hand to the feast; once the Blackwood knights saw their lord and princess, they began whistling, causing Aemma to blush.

The royal family smiled at the couple, with Corlys, Daemon, and Jacaerys not making eye contact, to the amusement of the women. Aly Blackwood embraced the couple, and Aemma joked as if she should call her lady aunt now. Rolling her eyes, she explained that Aly was just fine.

Everyone was enjoying the feast, making toasts and jokes around the camps. Unbeknownst to them in the dark distance was a knight wearing green with a golden dragon, staring at the celebration before galloping away, never being noticed.

The festivities went well into the early morning before anyone went to bed. Aemma decided to sleep in her husband's tent, feeling whole. In what seemed only minutes, Jace awoke Aemma harshly, staring at her worriedly.

“Jace, what’s wrong?” asked Aemma as she sat up, noticing Benjicot still sleeping beside her.

“Get dressed, wake Ben, and come to our mother’s tent quickly!” he stated, rushing out of the tent.

Aemma’s heart was beating fast with worry. She woke Benji, quickly explaining while dressing in a red tunic and riding pants. Benjicot also followed as the two ran to the Queen’s tent. Rhaenyra let out a breath, seeing the couple enter.

“Muna, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” asked Aemma, looking around the room and seeing grim faces.

Rhaenyra turned to her daughter. “A letter came in this morning. Lord Darklyn is dead, Duskendale has fallen, and Lord Staunton has asked us to help him. The greens are moving,” the queen explained to her daughter and good-son, seeing both pale. Let the Game of Thrones begin.

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freyaphoria · 5 months ago

Note

you literally make the best yandere fics ever may i request a yandere seongjoong? imagine they gave you a phone for “good behavior” and you use it to contact your close friend so you can runaway and when they find out they go and kill that close friend in front of you as a punishment.

Thank you soooo much!♡ OKAY EVERYBODY SOO you know my this fav fic so this will be like side story for that story aaand I don't think yandere hongjoong would ever give you a phone BUT let's say he did:

Run Away Together | side story

tw: yandere hongjoong!, seonghwa, food!, vomiting, blood, death, woo is here too :,( yandere!seongjoong x reader

taglist: @aim-blossom

wc: 1870

Yandere!Matz masterlist

You can read the main fic here

a day with them

"Angel! Dinner is ready!" You stood up from the couch when Seonghwa called you from the kitchen. You didn't really want to eat; Your robot-like behavior in the last few weeks, accepting whatever they said, do whatever they said, be forcebally nice to them to leave you alone and being stuck here with two psychopaths had lost your appetite even more. But so that they wouldn't get angry and take back the freedom they barely gave you, you were currently sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Seonghwa to put your food on your plate.

"I cooked this meat carefully for you so you have to finish it all." Seonghwa was in a different mood today, you could feel it. His voice was harsher and thicker than usual. Since you were not used to him treating you like this, you slowly raised your head and looked at his face. He looked nervous? or worried? you weren't sure. You didn't really care about Seonghwa's mood right now. You just wanted to finish your meal and get back to your phone.

Oh, the phone. Hongjoong gave you a phone, interestingly. It had been so long since your last failed escape attempt and nearly losing your leg, and since that day you had been too scared to disobey them, you had become the emotionless doll like what Hongjoong wanted, and he had given you a phone to reward you for doing whatever he said.

When you first got your phone, you were afraid to use it. You thought Hongjoong was putting you through a new test. But as time went on and they didn't check your phone, you got braver and tried to contact your best friend. Since you didn't remember his phone number, you contacted him through his social media account. He said that he was looking for you everywhere and thought you were dead. You explained what happened to you and asked for his help. He said he would definitely help you.

"It's raining like crazy outside, I hope the basement doesn't flood again." Hongjoong entered the house soaked all over. After taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hanger, he sat at the dining table, right in front of you. You were now used to his soul-sucking gaze, so you ignored his current piercing gaze and started cutting the meat on your plate.

"Do you want to eat now or should I prepare it later?" Seonghwa asked Hongjoong hesitantly. "I won't eat now." You looked at him in confusion. Normally, you always ate meals together. Why were the two of them not eating and watching you? Seeing that you were confused, Hongjoong started laughing. On the contrary, Seonghwa was more sullen than you've ever seen. "What?" you asked. "Eat." You lost your appetite even more with Hongjoong's smiling command. You ate two more bites and pushed your plate forward. “Thank you Seonghwa, can I leave the table now?” Just as Seonghwa was about to protest, Hongjoong stood up from the table and pulled your chair back. "If you are full, would you like to see our guest?" You frowned. "Guest?" You would never have any guests. Hongjoong would never take anyone home. Who was that guest? Is they one of his friends? If so, he would never introduce you. While thoughts float through your mind, you were starting to get nervous.

"If I tell you now, it'll spoil the surprise. Don't worry, he's someone you love, right Hwa?" Seonghwa nodded. He? What did he mean by someone you love? Who is he? Was someone you loved in this hell? You started to wonder if you ever loved someone.

Suddenly, you were interrupted from your thoughts by Hongjoong, who grabbed you with your arm harshly. You tried to resist as he grabbed you by your shoulders and dragged you towards the basement. "Who's here! What did you do?!" He wouldn't bring someone from your family here, he knew the problems between you, and if he did, he wouldn't call it someone you love. What about one of your frie-

Fuck.

Big fuck.

Like, totally fuck.

He doesn't know, does he? There's no way he knows. You were very careful, deleting messages immediately and always using your phone on 'do not disturb' mode so that the notification would not appear if he texted you. There must be someone else, it can't be him.

The rain was getting heavier and louder, its sound echoing in the house. You couldn't hear anything except your own heartbeat. If you could, you would have heard your friend's groans echoing from the basement beforehand and maybe you would have taken the steak knife from the table and stabbed it into Hongjoong's beautiful scary face.

He dragged you down the stairs to the basement and stood in front of the door. "Give me your phone." That's it, you screwed up. "Hongjoong please..." "Give me your fucking phone." The fact that he was still smiling made you tremble with fear. Seonghwa came behind you and roughly grabbed the phone from your pocket. "Now are you going to tell me yourself what you've been up to, or should our guest tell you?" You shook your head. You still had hope that he wasn't there, but you were only deceiving yourself. "Well, if you won't tell me... Hwa, open the door." Seonghwa walked to the door and unlocked it. You tried to break free from Hongjoong's grip. "No wait-"

There was so much blood that it took you a few seconds to realize who was lying on the ground. The person on the ground began to writhe and whimper. "How rude of you, won't you say hello to your friend?" Hongjoong let go of you and said to the poor body on the ground. Seonghwa grabbed your arms and pushed you towards to the person lying on the ground.

“Wo- Wooyoung!” Wooyoung was startled when he heard your voice and tried to lift his head. When you saw his bloody body, everything around you started to spin. Your ears were ringing and you were starting to feel nauseous because everything was becoming too much. Your best friend was in this situation because of you. "What did they do to you?!" Wooyoung tried to speak, but because his mouth was covered in blood, blood rushed to his throat and he started coughing. You didn't know how to approach him, you didn't know where to stop the blood because he was bleeding everywhere. That's why you put your hands into his hair, which was wet from blood, sweat and probably rain, and started to ask for forgiveness a thousand times while looking into his eyes. "I'm s-so sorry, you're here b-because of me, you should n-never have talked with m-me." Hongjoong coughed. "If you don't take your hands out of that dirty hair of his, you'll never be able to use your hands again." Without removing your hands, you turned your head to him. "You fucking asshole, you crazy psychotic son of a bitch!" He would probably make you regret it, but you couldn't help your emotions. "It was my fault! Why did you hurt him!" Hongjoong was watching you with a smile. He was literally dying to see your breakdowns. "I swear I'll kill you! Help him!"

You turned to Wooyoung and tried to find where he was bleeding the most. He had a big cut on his stomach. You placed your hand on his stomach and looked at Seonghwa. "Seonghwa please help! I swear we won't talk again!" Seonghwa looked away from you and looked at Hongjoong who was approaching you. "Hwa, give me the phone.” Seonghwa immediately handed him your phone. "Are you going to kill me? Princess, that was hilarious." When he crouched down and reached your eye level, you pulled Wooyoung towards you and tried to get away from him. Wooyoung made a sound like a groan of pain. "Why were you talking to him? Aren't we enough for you?" He unlocked your phone and went into your messages with Wooyoung that you forgot to delete. You weren't surprised that he knew your password. "Or should I ask: Why did you ask him for help in escaping from us?" "Why? You ask why!? Because you're both crazy!” Hongjoong read the messages a bit and locked the phone.

You took your eyes off Hongjoong and looked at your friend. Wooyoung's eyes were starting to get heavy and he was mumbling something. "Shh don't talk, I'll help you." You didn't know how to do it, but you wanted to calm him down. "Seonghwa! Do something!" When you turned to Seonghwa, you saw that he was looking at you just as angrily as Hongjoong, except he wasn't smiling like crazy. "Are you asking Seonghwa for help while I'm here? Wait, let me help you." Hongjoong held your hand and handed you your phone, he grabbed your hands with his own hands. Controlling your hand, he raised your hands in the air and started hitting the phone in Wooung's face. He was hitting so fast that blood was splashing on your face. You tried to pull your hands away from him, but his grip was too strong. You couldn't hear yourself scream, but you knew you were screaming from the pain in your throat.

You didn't know how long you spent hitting Wooyoung with the corner of the phone with Hongjoong's help, but when Hongjoong stopped, Wooyoung didn't move. Hongjoong pulled you closer, your hands still together. "You were doing very well. But you ruined everything. This was your punishment, remember, you killed him. You hit him with your own hands and killed him. You're as psychotic as we are, aren't you?" Hongjoong let go of your hand, but the phone was still in your hand, of course the glass was broken and bent. "Hwa, clean up this mess." Seonghwa immediately went to look for cleaning equipment in the corner of the basement. When you looked at the phone in your hand, there were remains of skin, bones and what you were sure were brain parts. You suddenly threw your phone away. You didn't want to look at Wooyoung. If you looked at him, your brain could shut down at any moment. The sight in front of you made you drop your nauseous stomach onto the floor. You had seen so many pieces of meat that you remembered the steak you ate. You made a mental note to never eat meat again.

"Ah Hwa, clean this up too. I can't stand your vomiting. I'm going upstairs!” As Hongjoong walked out of the basement door, he caught sight of raindrops flowing down the left wall. "I told you the basement was going to flood again! Ugh, I can't make it to anything!!"

Seonghwa walked towards you and patted your back. "Shh, it's over. Did you empty it all?" You backed away, startled by him. "Angel, even though I'm very angry at you too, I'm worried about you. After I clean here, I'll talk to Hongjoong not to lock you in the basement." The person who should be angry here is you. But you didn't have the courage or energy to fight back. You crawled to the corner of the basement and watched as Seonghwa put your best friend's body in the bag and cleaned up the blood.

a/n: I would be very happy if you share your opinions. I feel like I can't write these days.

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narcissistshandler · 1 year ago

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Can you fo reader x JongGun🙏

Like after Daniel broke his arm, he comes to your apartment, you might worried, teasing him or being jealous, and everything happens after that...

𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘?

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn! reader x park jong gun

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab reader, bottom! gun, anal sex, masturbation (mentioned), jealous behavior, thoughts about hurting and drawing blood (in a romantic way), broken bones, and some sadism/masochism at the end

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 yeah, I didn't like the result of that (this has not been edited so please let me know if there is any mention/hint of the reader's gender)

He was already there when you arrived, even if you didn't notice his presence, one with the shadows of the room. It was as if he purposefully sought to hide and leave you with the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't alone, that there were eyes following you, and that there was something out of place - even if you didn't know for sure what.

And when you flicked the finger on the switch and the room filled with light, you couldn't help but jump when saw him sitting on your bed, with an unusual smile on his face, the eyes darker than usual, and wearing only one of your shirts. There was a tension there that you only felt when you stepped towards him and saw the spark of amusement in the curve of his lips, the excited insanity.

The air seemed to grow thicker, even though you merely tried to engage him in shallow conversation. Which you already had enough experience with to know it was difficult. Gun was reserved, in the best of words. He came and went as he pleased, had what he wanted and then disappeared without even an explanation.

What were you? You asked yourself every damn day. Your circle was smaller than it seemed, you heard his name quite often and it wasn't uncommon to bump into him, he also had the keys to your house, but that didn't make what you had something serious.

You tried not to think about it as Gun kissed you - ravaged your mouth as if he was furious with you, or at the very least, very excited. He was eager today - pulling your clothes off, biting your neck, fighting the fabric of your pants to get to your dick as quickly as possible. He was also talkative, 'I prepared myself for you while I waited', 'I thought about you while I did it', he said, knowing exactly how to tease you and leave you wanting him. 'I came on your bed, on your sheets, on your pillow', and you can almost smell him in your room after those words leave his mouth.

And his ass really was prepared for you, dripping with lube on your bed and his hard dick forming a tent under the shirt he had stolen from your closet.

You felt like a crazy person, like an addict who couldn't fight the source of the addiction. Gun only had to spread his legs for you, and like an eager puppy, you lined yourself up with a shaking hand on the relaxed hole and sank inside, where you belonged. What are we? The question came back to you. What does all this make us? Because you knew it had been months, maybe years, since Gun had slept with anyone else, neither did you.

You grabbed Gun's hands, somehow wanting to force him to answer the question that didn't even come out of your mouth and tried to hold his arms up. You wanted to know if he felt the same way. "Urgh," Gun groaned, and easily fought against your power. The sound full of pain and discomfort sounded alien in his mouth and it completely captured your attention. Only then did you notice that Gun wasn't moving one of his arms, which was swollen and turning red.

Your movements began to slow down, until they almost stopped. "Don't you dare!" He grunted, legs immediately wrapping around your waist and heels digging into your ass.

"You’re hurt, you need to go to the hospital," you argued, not being able to help but worry, but Gun wasn’t having any of it. Even with one of his arms broken, he moved as nimbly as usual and he easily reversed your positions so that he was now sitting on top of you, your cock not even leaving the heat of his hole. "You're fucking insane!" you moaned at the show of strength. Gun looked damn erotic on top of you, riding you, even with one of his arms limp at his side, wrapped in the long sleeve of your shirt.

"As if you didn't already know that," he replied, the smile wide on his kiss-swollen lips. "I came here to fuck, not get medical advice, so shut up and let me work."

But you just couldn't shut up. "What- ah, happened?" You asked through clenched teeth as you watched Gun's long, firm legs sink into the mattress with each rise and fall, his dick hidden under the shirt forming a wet spot on the fabric.

Gun responded to you without haste, releasing disjointed sentences and words as he mounted you, firmly and quickly, successfully taking the breath away from both of you. “Charles Choi,” he said, and then “fight” and a “brat” that he repeated a few times and that you didn’t think much of until you noticed who it referred to – Daniel.

"Daniel broke your arm?" You repeated his words, your fingers digging into Gun's thighs in a failed attempt to slow him down so you could make sure you heard him right.

Gun's smile seemed to get even bigger, and for the first time, you hated seeing him smiling.

"Why? Jealous?" And only Gun would think anyone would be jealous of someone taking blood and breaking someone else's bones. But then wasn't that what you were feeling? Not anger at Daniel for hurting Gun, but jealousy. Jealousy that you wasn't the one to hurt him, leave your mark behind on Gun's body and that Daniel was the one to get Gun all hot and excited.

That strange, possessive part of your mind stirred - you almost wanted to draw blood from Gun at that moment.

"You’re a slut," you accused, not at all denying Gun’s statement. He chuckled and swiveled his hips in a sensual circle, the good hand resting on your stomach. He was teasing you, you realized.

Then the notion hit you, you didn't need to resort to such methods to mark him as yours, after all, only you were capable of having him like this, naked, in your bed, with hot cheeks and fucking himself on your dick. You had already left your mark implanted deep into his body where you doubted anyone else would ever be able to be.

Your feet dug into the mattress, hips jumping off the bed to slam against Gun's ass. The sound he made was downright obscene, what looked like tears glistening in the corners of his black eyes, the psychotic smile still there. He was yours, it was the first time you noticed. He had chosen to come to you, because no one else knew this slutty side of him, because no one else could feed that side, only you.

Gun fell willingly against your chest, moaning and trying to move back against you, hungry, looking for more of your cock, more of the aggression and pain. Pain. One of your hands rested on his back, keeping him lying on top of you and the other wandered, found Gun's long fingers and then closed around his wrist, tightly and then, you pulled his broken arm.

The scream that came from Gun's throat would forever be etched in your memory; his cock twitched and spilled, further soiling the shirt he was wearing.

At that moment, you knew what you two were, complete lunatics who would always find in each other exactly what they needed. There were no longer any doubts.

#x male reader #x gn reader #x top male reader #top gn reader #x top reader #lookism x reader #lookism fic #lookism x male reader #lookism smut #lookism x you #lookism x gn reader #gun x reader #gun x male reader #gun x gn reader #bottom character

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barbwritesstuff · 7 months ago

Text

Thicker Than - Monthly Update

Hello everyone! Happy full moon! I hope you’ve had a great month.

Here's the link to the Thicker Than Demo!

I didn’t get as much done as I’d hoped this month (I think I got a little burnt out and took a week off), but I’m really proud of what I have put together. Both Nathan and Tracy’s intimate scenes are finished and I’ve got some good ideas about what I want to do with some of the other characters. My plan is to work on the no-romance route and Ravima’s route this coming month. However, I do have some editing to do on another project, so that’ll probably slow me down a wee bit.

Someone very kindly emailed me a list of small coding errors/typos/grammar mistakes which I’ve been slowly working my way through. I haven’t fixed all of those yet, but I’m hoping to finish going through the list this weekend. That feedback is hugely helpful. Sometimes it’s really hard to spot all those silly little mistakes, especially now that the word count is starting to get kind of high. It’s great knowing other people are taking the time to help me whip this game into shape.

Speaking of word count: OVER 300k! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

It feels really good hitting this milestone. I was so unsure about making a sequel to Blood Moon for a long time because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do the vampires justice. Getting to this point is so incredible.

I really hope you like it. As always, thanks so much for all your encouragement and support. If you spot any errors, mistakes, or weirdness, please let me know.

Update Details:

As of the 23rd of May 2024

Continued to work on Chapter Ten

Finished Tracy and Nathan’s intimate scenes

Spelling/Grammar fixes

Minor bug fixes

Additional Words: 24,282 (excluding commands)

Total Word Count: 318,292 (excluding commands)

💙

#thicker than if #vampires #demo #update

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dee-writes-angst · 8 months ago

Text

FORGET ME NOTS (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY settling into The Autumn Court is scary and intimidating especially when a certain fire-blooded male takes a liking to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS vague descriptions of smut, mentions of abuse, Beron (yeah, yall, he's mentioned), Ianthe (cough, cough), vulnerable convos, flashbacks to calanmai, pregnancy, sad Eris :(

AUTHORS NOTE I know this is much shorter than the first chapter, but when I say I struggled to write this chapter, I mean I STRUGGLED. Anywho, I apologize if you guys feel like the pacing of this chapter is kind of fast, I was trying to get a lot of information in all at once so we could move on to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

As dawn broke over the Autumn Court, the first rays of sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of my chamber, casting a warm glow that promised a new day. Despite the beauty it heralded, my heart was heavy with secrets I carried, especially now, facing the prospect of daily walks with Eris—a constant reminder of the brother he did not know he shared with me in such a profound way.

I found Eris waiting in the courtyard, his posture relaxed against the cool morning air that whispered through the turning leaves. His presence was both a comfort and a curse, wrapped in the guise of courtly duty.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice carrying that ever-present hint of mischief that seemed less charming today, more a wall I needed to scale or perhaps fortify.

I mustered a smile, tight-lipped and brief. “Eris.”

He seemed to notice my cool demeanor, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement—or was it challenge? “Shall we begin?”

The gardens of the Autumn Court were undoubtedly beautiful, but I walked beside Eris with a stiffness in my shoulders, an invisible armor against the potential wounds of getting too close. Every step was a reminder of the line I walked, balancing between necessity and fear.

“It’s beautiful here,” I commented, a safe observation as we passed a sprawling bed of flowers, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted turmoil within me.

“It is,” he responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the path ahead. “The court has its ways of ensnaring you with beauty, all the while hiding its thorns.”

I couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “Sounds familiar,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Eris caught the words, though, and his smile deepened. “Indeed. But sometimes, we find that even thorns have their purpose.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of court birds. I felt his gaze on me several times, curious or calculating, I couldn’t tell.

“About last night—” I began, but Eris raised a hand, halting my words.

“Today, let’s set aside the past and dealings of courts for now. Let’s walk, talk, and be unburdened, at least for a moment.”

Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the temporary ceasefire.

Our path took us deeper into the garden, where the foliage grew thicker and the outside noises fell away. Here, the air was cooler, the shadows deeper, and the sense of seclusion more pronounced. Eris seemed more at ease in this part of the garden, his steps unhurried, his eyes occasionally catching the light in a way that softened the usual sharpness.

"This is one of my favorite parts of the garden," he shared, his voice almost contemplative. "There's a peace here that's hard to find elsewhere in the court."

I looked around, taking in the dense greenery that enveloped us, the serene quiet. "It's like a different world," I admitted.

"Yes," he agreed, his gaze lingering on a particularly dense cluster of trees. "A world apart, where one can forget, if only for a moment, the burdens waiting beyond those trees."

As we walked, the conversation slowly shifted from the impersonal — comments on the weather and the garden — to more personal territory. Eris spoke of his childhood in the court, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that painted a picture of a boy who had run through these very paths, wild and unburdened.

I listened, the stories painting a picture of a different Eris, one who had existed before the weight of the court had fully settled upon his shoulders. It was in these stories that I found myself drawn in, my guard lowering just a notch as I began to see the man beneath the prince.

Our walk led us to a secluded spot with a bench overlooking a tranquil pond, a favorite retreat of Eris’s by his own admission. "I come here to think," he said as we sat. "Today, I wanted to share it."

Something in his tone, a rare note of sincerity, made me glance at him. "Thank you," I said quietly, the weight of my secrets making the words heavier than intended.

"Everyone needs a sanctuary," he replied, his voice low, almost reflective. "Perhaps, for now, this can be ours."

As we sat together, the morning light softening around us, a part of me wanted to believe in the sanctuary he offered. But the secrets I held tightened like a noose around my thoughts, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.

For now, this truce would have to do—a brief respite in a garden of hidden thorns.

In the quiet embrace of the garden, Eris and I sat together on a weathered stone bench, enveloped by a tranquil stillness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The morning sun had just begun its ascent, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant landscape around us. The delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant melody of chirping birds.

For what felt like an eternity, we remained ensconced in a shared silence, each lost in our own thoughts amidst the serene beauty of our surroundings. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us, a silent barrier that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, I could no longer bear the oppressive weight of my thoughts in silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves seemed to mock my inner turmoil, urging me to break free from the suffocating grip of my fears.

Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, I mustered the courage to speak. "Eris?" The sound of my voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away on the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

At the sound of his name, Eris stirred from his contemplative reverie, his eyes slowly opening to meet mine. There was a fleeting moment of recognition in his gaze, as if he had been expecting this interruption all along.

He regarded me with a cool detachment, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze. It was as though he were silently urging me to articulate the thoughts that had weighed so heavily upon my mind.

Summoning all of my courage, I pressed on, knowing that his patience was not limitless. "I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier now, though the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, there was silence between us once more, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, with a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Eris inclined his head, granting me permission to unburden myself of the secrets that had long weighed upon my soul.

(Calanmai, Fifteen Weeks Ago)

The night of Calanmai unfolded like a grand spectacle, a symphony of sights and sounds that swept through the Spring Court like wildfire. In the heart of the courtyard, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of tradition and temptation, drawn inexorably towards a destiny I could not yet fathom.

As the festivities reached their crescendo, a hush fell over the gathered throng, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. All eyes turned to the dais at the center of the courtyard, where Lucien Vanserra, with his mane of fiery hair and eyes that glinted like shards of emerald, stood poised to perform the Rite—the ancient ritual that ensured the flow of natural magic within the Spring Court.

I watched from the edge of the crowd, my heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the drums that echoed through the night. Beside me, Ianthe, with her golden locks and beguiling smile, whispered honeyed words in Lucien's ear, her intentions veiled behind a facade of innocence and charm.

But I knew the truth—the truth that lurked beneath the surface, like a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting to strike. And so, with a courage born of desperation and defiance, I stepped forward, offering myself as a sacrifice to protect Lucien from the machinations of those who sought to use him as a pawn in their deadly game.

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his gaze searching mine for the truth hidden beneath the surface. And in that moment, I saw the flicker of gratitude and something deeper—a spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.

Together, we slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the forest that bordered the Spring Court. In the darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above, we found solace in each other's arms, our bodies moving in a dance of desperation and desire.

With hesitant hands, Lucien reached out to me, his touch tentative yet determined. There was a solemnity in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice we were both willing to make in the name of saving the Spring Court from impending doom. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were navigating uncharted waters, unsure of what lay ahead.

As he undressed me, his fingers trailed feather-light over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. There was a raw intensity to our connection, a primal need that pulsed beneath the surface, driving us forward even as we teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

Our kisses were slow and languid, each one a silent plea for understanding, for absolution. And as our bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, I felt a sense of surrender wash over me, a letting go of the fears and doubts that had plagued me for so long.

With each touch, each caress, we explored the depths of each other's souls, seeking solace in the midst of chaos. And as he spilled his essence inside me, there was a sense of release, a letting go of the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon us.

In the aftermath, we lay entwined beneath the moonlit sky, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the night. There was a peace in that moment, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged around us. And as we lay there, lost in each other's arms, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us—for the Spring Court, for our people.

But such thoughts were for another time, another place. In that moment, there was only us, two souls bound together by circumstance and necessity, seeking solace in the midst of turmoil.

(Autumn Court, Present Day)

"What is it, little fox?" Eris's voice, gentle yet tinged with curiosity, pierced the tranquil stillness of the autumnal garden, drawing me from the depths of my reverie. The morning sun, a soft orb of golden light, filtered through the crimson leaves of the ancient oak tree under which we sat, casting a warm glow over the secluded corner of the courtyard.

Eris reclined on the stone bench with an air of effortless grace, his features masked in an enigmatic veil of indifference. His gaze, like liquid mercury, bore into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, as if he could discern the turmoil that churned within me with unsettling ease.

For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my confession heavy upon my tongue, like stones in a riverbed. The memory of Lucien, his absence a haunting specter in my heart, mingled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary we had found amidst the autumnal splendor.

Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf me, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me inexorably towards Eris, compelling me to lay bare the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

"I—" I began, my voice trembling like the leaves that danced in the breeze, the words caught in the tangled undergrowth of my uncertainty. With a trembling hand, I reached for my tiny bump, a silent testament to the life growing within me, the fragile thread that bound me to a future fraught with peril.

"Eris… I'm scared," I confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the crisp autumn air, a fragile offering of vulnerability laid bare before him. Tears welled in my eyes, their crystalline trails reflecting the kaleidoscope of emotions that churned within me, a tempest threatening to tear me asunder.

It was a truth I had not yet found the courage to share, the truth about my unborn child, about Lucien, about the tangled web of emotions that threatened to ensnare me in their grasp. And yet, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, as if the act of vocalizing my fears had lifted a burden I had long carried in silence.

“I know,” Eris continued after a moment, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. “When my mother would give birth, my father would have meetings with his counsel and continue about court like nothing important was happening, too caught up in his ambition to even consider loving her. He would leave her to suffer alone, to be in pain, awful pain, alone, while she brought his children into this world,” he took a breath, watching the branches of the great tree sway before looking back to the fountain sitting before us, water streaming softly and glinting in the light of the sun.

“So, once I was old enough to see how wrong it was, I joined her in the birthing rooms. I didn’t care how many times a nurse advised me against it, how much I was beaten afterwords by my father. It wasn’t about any of that. It was about her, it was about not being alone in a time of need, to not be consumed by darkness without a twinkle of light. My mother deserved better. Still does,” Eris sighs, resting his warm hand atop mine on the bench, giving it a small squeeze. “I can not promise profection, I can not promise relief, and I can not promise life, but I can promise that you will not walk in the darkness alone, that I will be right there, by your side as you scream and claw and cry until your babe joins this world. Just as I did for my mother.”

As he spoke, his warm hand found mine on the bench, offering a reassuring squeeze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "I can't promise perfection," he continued, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I can't promise relief, or even life itself. But I can promise that you won't walk through the darkness alone. I'll be there, by your side, every step of the way."

As the last words of our shared confessions lingered in the air, the atmosphere seemed to soften, infused with a sense of understanding and acceptance. The ancient oak tree above us rustled gently, its branches swaying in a silent dance with the breeze, as if nature itself bore witness to the fragile bond we had formed in this secluded corner of the autumnal garden.

In that moment of quiet introspection, my gaze fell upon a delicate forget-me-not that had nestled itself amidst the fallen leaves at the base of the oak tree. Its petals, a soft shade of blue tinged with hues of violet, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, a beacon of fragility and resilience amidst the earthy backdrop of the garden.

A sense of recognition washed over me as I regarded the flower, its presence a poignant reminder of the vulnerability we had both shared in this fleeting moment of connection. Like the delicate bloom that dared to flourish amidst the harsh realities of autumn, we too had found strength in our shared vulnerability, forging a bond that transcended the barriers of fear and uncertainty.

With a gentle smile, I reached out to pluck the forget-me-not from its resting place, cradling it in the palm of my hand as a symbol of the bond we had forged amidst the chaos of our intertwined destinies. And as I turned to meet Eris's gaze, I knew that in this fleeting moment of shared vulnerability, we had found not only solace but hope, blooming like the delicate forget-me-not that dared to thrive amidst the changing seasons of our lives.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta

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