#sorry no sin here only trauma and tears

[discardedpawns]

[seraphicsentences]

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

~

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

[mingigoo]

look after you || k.hj (m.)

🩺 pairing ⇢ nurse! (fem) reader x struggling musician! Hongjoong

🩺 synopsis ⇢ after a long night at work with little to no sleep, you nearly doze off on your way home, hitting a tattooed, spikey-haired guy in the middle of the road. Panicking, you run out to help him and go with him to the hospital, only to lie and say he was your husband so you could go back with him. Well, when he woke up, he didn't exactly take it the way you thought he would...

🩺 genre/au ⇢ enemies to lovers (kind of), some angst, smut, fluff, hospital au

🩺 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ MINORS DNI, injury, car accident, hospital scenes, unprotected sex, undefined relationship, mention of possible suicide attempt, Hongjoong is a scruffy underground musician, trauma with touch, tattoo!joong, grumpy sunshine, cum shot, biting, teasing

🩺 word count ⇢ 10.3k

🩺 taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @interweab @skz1-4-3 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

masterlist

A/N ⇢ this story is purely fictional! I am not nurse, and do not have unlimited knowledge on this topic. However, I am a healthcare worker, so I know a little, but not a lot. I am sorry for any information this is incorrect. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. This is not meant to take place in reality.

They never prepare you enough for the things you might see within the hospital walls. 

Nothing is ever enough within those few years of education, the desperate attempt to create life savers. No one tells you how much it hurts to see a child suffer until death, a mother, a daughter.

You just wanted to be something. Do something. Be like the girl you dreamed of being as a child—a child who put bandaids on her mother, all over, decorating her like a painting. Sometimes, your mother would act like she was hurt, just for you to play make-belief, “stitching” up her “wounds.”

And here you were, in the hospital locker room, tears falling silently down your cheeks as you unclipped your hair, letting it fall just like the tears. You sniffed, hiding your face in the locker, although no one was around to see. It was embarrassing enough to yourself—you couldn't believe you were crying. You just…couldn't stop.

The day was rough—just too much. Too much death, too much sadness. This wasn't what you dreamed of. You never thought about how hard it would be to put a smile on your face to a patient, right after witnessing someone leave the world. To act, really. You should've taken up that career instead. You were pretty damn good at doing it—well, until you landed behind the curtain.

You haven't slept in ages. It's been constant insomnia on top of twelve-hour shifts, sometimes even longer, and once you are able to lay down, the only thing you hear is the sound of a patient crashing, the cries of family members. It had you questioning your profession. Your devotion. Your childhood.

As you made your drive home, for some reason, the lines on the road soothed you. Your eyes began to beg for sleep, rolling back ever so slightly as you continued. The gentle patter of rain graced the windshield, the red hue of the stoplight in front of you nearing. 

You stopped at the light—pausing to look at the city around you. The city was bright, even at the dark hour of midnight. People were walking, carrying on,  bar lights bright, apartments lit up in an array of colors. You took in a breath and closed your eyes.

And you closed them a little too long when a car horn sounded behind you.

You jumped, feeling apologetic for holding up the line, and continued forward. People passed you with impatience, but you didn't care. You kept going, crawling, really, till you felt sleep creep up once again, shutting your eyes. You drifted off, only for a short moment, and suddenly you awoke with haste—but not quick enough. In your headlights stood a man, walking across the street, and you didn't have enough time to move. You slowed as best you could, tires screeching, praying to anything, anyone, that this was your imagination.

As your car came to a screeching halt, you hit the man with a thump, causing him to crumble to the ground. You gasped, now wide awake, a scream caught in your throat.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking as you pulled over as best as you could and put your vehicle in park, looking around for any sign of someone. 

No one, absolutely no one, but you and this man you just hit. Just a few blocks back, the city was bustling, bars were hopping, but now, it was like a wasteland. You stepped out of your car, gasping for air, and sprinted through the rain to get to the man.

He was lying still, his head bleeding, his back on the asphalt. His black clothing hid the damage he received from the hit, hiding his body, his black hair covering his face. The only thing you saw was the black ink of a tattoo on his hand as it grasped the road.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, kneeling down to him. You assessed him as best as you could, fighting an anxiety attack. “I am so sorry, oh my god.”

He groaned in response, his arm visibly broken. You hurriedly dialed the emergency line, panting, nearly in tears. You didn't even think about the consequences of this action—you were only worried about the man, the stranger, in front of you. 

After nearly crying once more on the phone, the paramedics explained that they would arrive quickly. You hung up and looked over the stranger once more. “Are you alive?” you asked like a dumb ass, nearly face-palming. You were a nurse, goddammit. Act like one. 

You leaned over him, as gently as possible, putting a finger under his nose, and you felt a soft breath hit it. You checked for an airway obstruction, but nothing. He was breathing fine. In pain, but breathing.

The man tried to move, to roll over sharply, but you quickly bellowed, “Wait, please, you could have a spinal injury,” you pleaded, and surprisingly he stopped. “Don't move.” You caught a glimpse of his face. A large cut near his eyebrow painted his skin crimson, but his eyes were beautiful. His lip was cut, too, and you felt immense pain just looking at him. God, what if he was homeless? He looked it. What if he didn't have insurance? Oh god—

You saw how much blood was coming from his head as he looked up at you. His eyes were hazy, like he wasn't really seeing. You hurriedly looked around for anything to stop his bleeding, and when you found nothing, you took your coat off, then your scrub top, and you quickly put your coat back on. You held your shirt to his head as gently as possible, applying pressure, praying that the paramedics would come soon—

Your anxious thoughts were interrupted by sirens. You let out a sigh of relief.

When the ambulance pulled up, two men came to you with a stretcher. You were barely alert enough to hear them say anything. You mumbled a few things, your hands shaking as they set down the gurney. You mumbled to have them put on a neck brace, chest tightening at how the man cried in pain. You let out an ugly cry with him, but no tears fell. They gently rested him on the stretcher, his head steady, but his arm—

“Are you crazy!” you hissed, standing up quickly. “His arm….he needs his arm stabilized!”

“I’m sorry, mam,” the one man condescendingly said, giving you a dull look. “We know how to do our job. We don't need your input.”

You huffed. Mam? Mam? That was insulting. “I’m a nurse, I also know what I’m talking about.”

They ignored you like everyone seemed to ignore you. They began to move away, but a small object caught their eye that lay right where the man was. You picked it up, finding it to be an empty wallet—you’d give it back later.

They rolled him towards the ambulance, and you followed, forgetting about your car, and everything in it, leaving the scene behind. The paramedics didn't seem to care that you went with them, so you sat in the vehicle, watching them treat the guy you hit. You wanted to throw up as they treated him, as you sat still, like a worthless piece of paper. A crumbled-up piece of paper. Yeah. Crumbled. 

When you arrived at the hospital—a hospital that wasn't yours, you walked beside the homeless man, nearly reaching for his hand. However, your race with him was put to a stop as the emergency room staff stopped you as he headed into the wing.

“I’m sorry, only family members are allowed inside,” the woman softly muttered, her eyes genuine. 

She reminded you of yourself.

What….what if this man was really homeless? What if he had no help, no insurance, no family? You had to do something. You’d feel horrible if you didn't do anything.

“I’m—I’m his wife!” you blurted out, louder than you intended. 

The young lady gave you a heartfelt look and nodded towards the door. “Go ahead. There’s a waiting room inside. What’s your name? I’ll let them know you’re the guardian.”

You told her your name, sparing no second longer than needed, and you ran into the emergency room, sitting down in a hurry.

It was now a waiting game.

—

For what seemed like forever, a doctor came out into the waiting room, looking right at you. 

“Miss y/n?” He asked.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “….You are Kim Hongjoong’s guardian?”

You paused, almost forgetting your whole spiel at the entrance. You remembered the name from his ID in his wallet, and nodded sharply, standing up quickly. “Is he all right?”

“He sustained many injuries, but nothing too major. His arm is broken in three places, and that will limit his mobility quite a lot. We set his arm, but he might possibly need surgery.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. Good, minor injuries. Phew. 

The doctor pondered for a long while as he stared at you. “The paramedics stated that you were the one to hit him with the car.”

You sighed. “Yeah, he came out of nowhere—”

“Why was he walking alone so late at night?”

You looked around the waiting room, seeing only one other soul in the corner seat, sleeping. You wondered about what to say, as your little white lie was becoming a web. 

“I uh….he works late?”

“He was intoxicated at the time of the accident—”

“He works at a bar?” you tried not to sound like you were questioning that statement.

The doctor deadpanned and then sighed. “Listen, I’m sure there's stuff that’s none of my business. So I’m going to choose to ignore this,” he nodded toward the emergency wing. “But you’re welcome to go see him. He’s awake now.”

You wondered for a second whether you should go back there. If he was going to rip your head off for lying, for hitting him with your damn car.

You nodded, telling yourself to grow some damn balls. “Okay, I’ll see him.”

The doctor led you to a room at the very end of the hall, the lights dim. There, in front of you, was the man you hit. He was all bandaged up, a large one spanning around his forehead, covering some of the spikey black hair. His arm was wrapped in a cast and held up for circulation, and his eyes were wide open. Right on you.

“Your wife is here,” the doctor spoke nonchalantly as he entered with you. However, you were stationary at the door. 

“Wife?” he scoffed, coughing a bit. He tried to sit up, but you put on your act, walking up to his bedside. 

“Don't move,” you spoke sweetly, eyes pleading. The attractive man just furrowed a brow, his lips curling down in a grimace.

“We’re gonna keep you here for observation tonight, and see how you are doing in the morning to keep an eye on that arm of yours.” The doctor quickly did what he needed to do and left, leaving you alone with….your husband?

The pretty homeless guy spared no second in the questioning. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes widened, looking down at him. He gazed up at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. A tattoo peaked out of his hospital gown, where it met the skin of his neck. 

“Listen,” you sat down roughly on the seat next to the bed. He watched you emotionlessly. “I’m sorry—I didn't see you when you walked across the road. I take full responsibility,” you breathed, getting nervous under his gaze. 

You were expecting him to scream at you. Well, at least to freak out in some way. It was more alarming that he sat still, completely still, his mouth set in a line.

You blinked.

“I don't care, it’s fine,” he sighed. He showed no emotion, nothing. Not even a twinkle of anger. It was the look in his eye that told you that maybe, just maybe, he ran in front of your car on purpose.

Your eyes widened at the man in front of you—at hongjoong in front of you. He looked distraught tired, brown eyes never leaving your face as you gazed at him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, tilting his head.

“You can leave now,” he huffed, eyes dropping to your open mouth before darting up back to your eyes. “I’m not sure why you're even here in the first place.”

It was your turn to scoff. You crossed your legs in irritation at his lack of care. “Well, maybe because I hit you with my damn car? Maybe I’m worried, maybe I feel horrible, maybe I wanted to see if you were going to be okay.”

Hongjoong just blankly stared. He didn't show any signs of pain, of anger, of anything, really. 

“You don't have to worry,” he spoke eventually, turning away from your gaze to look forward. You watched the tattoo dance against his neck as he moved. “I’m fine. This is all fine.”

You didn't know what to say, how to feel. Your head was spinning, all the tiredness washed away. It pained you to see him so empty, so barren, even though he was a stranger. “I feel like I need to do something for you.”

He bit the bottom of his busted lip, as if forgetting. He made a face, the only expression he’s shone. “No need.”

“But I need to,” you leaned forward, closer to him. He turned to you, eyes void. “I’ll pay for your hospital bill, maybe treat you for a dinner, I don't know—”

“Don't,” he hissed. His eyes grew dark, the fire in them rising. You nearly shrunk back in response to his sudden change of attitude. “Listen, just forget about this, about me, all of it. I don't need your money, or your time, or—” he paused, his anger faltering as he looked at you. “Just…just carry on with your life. I’ll only affect it if I stay in it.”

You frowned, wondering what he meant by that. It didn't matter, though. Your guilt was all-consuming—and the fact that he most likely ended up in front of the car on purpose really was overbearing.

After a second of just…staring at one another, you sighed. “One meal.”

He didn't make a face. Didn't change his plain, empty expression. You looked at his starless eyes, his pale skin. You had the need to brighten him up, to heal him. That was your job, after all.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a nurse came in before he could say a word. You immediately straightened, putting on a smile, hoping he would keep up the act even though he had no reason to. You didn't want to be kicked out—not right now. 

“How are we feeling, Hongjoong?” the young nurse asked, a smile on her bright face. 

“Fine, I guess.” His response was toneless. The nurse still bubbled around, checking his vitals. You watched as he stiffened as the woman touched him. 

She looked at you, arching a brow. “Oh? Are you the wife?” she let out a hum of appreciation, then turned her gaze to Hongjoong. “You’re lucky with this one. They said she freaked out when they didn't stabilize your arm and when they wouldn't let her inside the emergency wing! She must really love you to nearly fight someone to get back here.”

Hongjoong, for the little time you knew him, showed more emotion on his face than ever after hearing that. After hearing that someone—you, a stranger nonetheless—was distraught at his expense. His lips flattened in a line, his gaze faltering.

You grabbed his good hand, although bruises were painted across his knuckles. Old, yellowing bruises. You furrowed your brows, subconsciously rubbing a thumb softly over the colored skin. Hongjoong stiffened, eyes widening, at either your caring touch or the pain it could have been causing. Or both.

You felt your stomach tighten as you met eyes with him. The air was stuffy, his eyes were….practically begging for a reason for your attention, as if he’d never had it before.

“I’m lucky to have him,” you sighed, acting but feeling an intense pull to him. Just touching him, although you didn't even know him, felt like a second nature. 

Maybe it was the regret, the disparity, of hitting him, of being the reason his life was almost nonexistent. Maybe this feeling was because of the responsibility you felt for doing this to him. It didn't matter if it was true; this tension you were feeling with the stranger was more powerful than what you felt with your ex, the one before that, and the one before.

His face was devout of color besides the bruises that scattered his skin. He looked drained, tired, alone. The nurse just smiled at you two, noticing your bloody scrubs and messy exterior. “You’re a nurse, too?”

You just nodded, lost in the feeling that strummed through your body.

Hongjoong’s hand twitched under your hold, his eyes still wide. Still on you.

“Well, Hongjoong,” the friendly nurse smiled. “Don't let her go, she’s a keeper.”

He tore his gaze from you to look at your hand on his. He swallowed hard, blinking. “Ah, yeah.”

Soon after the nurse left, your hand still rested on his. He sat silently, staring forward at the whiteboard with his name on it.

“I….” you struggled with your words, realizing you were still caressing his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand away. His head shot towards you.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “It’s okay.” His tone was soft, defeated. 

You wiped your hands on your thighs, sweating buckets. “I, uh, I should go.”

He watched you stand up, but your back was turned, unable to see the wishful glance he offered you. 

You stopped in the door frame, turning around to meet his eyes once more. 

“It was nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” you smiled, watching the glimmer in his eye trying to sparkle. “I wish you well.”

Before you were able to leave the room, he called for you.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice raspy.

You froze.

He took a breath in, exhaling his words. “What’s your name?” 

You turned around. “Y/n,” you spoke softly, your chest aching at the little half-smile peeking through his bruised lips.

“y/n,” he repeated, blinking slowly. He didn't say anything else. You didn't either. You smiled at him once more before turning on your heel and walking out of the room, despite the tear in your heart telling you to stay.

And on your way out, you paid his hospital bill in full, not a single regret in your mind about it.

—

After a few days, you continued your days like normal.

Well, as normal as they could be. Your mind wandered to the spikey haired guy at every sparing second, thinking of how his eyes pleaded something unreadable, how his hand twitched underneath yours.

You were at the hospital, reaching the end of your workday in the emergency room. After running in with a few scruffy-looking guys, they reminded you of a certain someone, and you just wanted to tear at your hair. You were certain your odd feelings were due to the fact that you hit him with your car, and nothing else. This will pass. 

When the quietness of the night was about to still, a man ran into the emergency room door.

“My friend is hurt,” The man huffed in desperation. You turned to the commotion, seeing a thin, black-haired man holding up another—his friend. But that friend and his familiar spikey hair jolted something inside of you.

You jumped out of your seat behind the nurses’ station and ran to the men, meeting eyes with the taller one. He was just as beautiful as hongjoong was, but his eyes were frantic.

“Sir, what happened?” you questioned, reaching out to the man who was just who you thought. Hongjoong’s head rolled back, his eyes squinted in pain, his teeth barred. You carefully steadied him. “What’s hurting you?”

At your voice, Hongjoong opened his eyes wide, looking straight at you. “Y/n?” he grunted out, his breaths strained. He shut his eyes again, and you almost couldn't take the look he had on his face.

“His arm,” the other guy said to you as you called for help,  struggling to hold Hongjoong up. “He got into a fight at the bar, some guy decided to mess with his broken arm and, well…..”

You felt a sense of rage fill your body. You wanted to ask Hongjoong why the hell he was at the bar only days after getting hit by a damn car, let alone getting into a fight.

A few other nurses gathered around, all helping to walk him over to a bed. The wing was empty at this time of night—only a few people around. Once again, Hongjoong looked extremely uncomfortable as the nurses touched him.

You held him gently as you set him down on the bed, feeling his fingers curl around your arm.

He held on to you with his good arm—the hand you held only days before. The other nurses fluttered around, setting things up, but Hongjoong just stared up at you.

“Hi,” is all he said, his fingertips etching into your skin.

Your chest tightened, forcing yourself to smile. “We must be fated or something,” you joked, hoping to brighten him up. “That or you just frequent hospitals often.”

He blinked up at you, his eyebrows knitted in pain. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” He coughed as he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat, the other nurses and the man that came with him side-eyeing you.

“If you wanted to see me again, there are better ways than this,” you huffed, looking around. “We have to get an X-ray, alright? We’ll give you something to ease your pain meanwhile.”

The air between you two was undeniable. He nodded, emotion sparkling in his eyes, unlike the days before. You wondered if you were the reason for it.

It was probably just the pain.

The other nurses wheeled him to the radiology room, leaving you alone with the man who brought him there.

“You’re the girl that hit him, aren't you?” His voice was soft, gentle. It held no anger.

You turned to him, seeing the caring exterior he showed. “I….yes.”

He tilted his head at you, blinking, as if figuring you out in a single glance. “He’s been looking all over for you. You…paid his bill. He doesn't like handouts.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh? I didn't think he ever wanted to see me again. You know, I hit him with my car—that isn't something to take lightly—”

“You paid his bill,” the man repeated, crossing his arms. “He feels indebted to you. Please just make sure he knows not to feel that way.” The man sighed, looking into your eyes. “Despite how he looks, he ruminates over things. He’s sensitive. He’s a mess right now.”

You sighed, too. “I…I paid his bill because I did this to him—”

“No,” he interrupted, eyes serious. “You didn't.”

You knitted your brows. “....What do you mean?”

The man gave you a deadpan stare, as if not wanting to spell it out. He let out a breath he seemed to be holding. “He….he jumped in front of your car on purpose, y/n,” he bit his bottom lip. “So no, you really didn't do it to him. He’s…he’s just been a mess lately—and now that you acted sweet, played a wife, held his hand or whatever, he’s even more of a mess.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, Hongjoong was back, alert and upright, but the pain still rested on his face. His gaze met yours, and you felt your stomach swirl in a mess of emotions.

You couldn't look him in the eye as you took care of him.

—

Hongjoong was sleeping as your shift was about to end. Before you clocked out, you couldn't help but go to him, check his injury out, check his vitals. His friend—Seonghwa, you learned his name—left about an hour ago.

As if noticing your presence, his eyes slowly peeked open, slightly drugged and delirious from the pain medications.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he mumbled out, blinking lazily.

“I didn't expect you, either,” you spoke, keeping your emotions in check.

Silence enveloped you as you checked his pulse ox. 

“Why’d you do that?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Do what?”

You unclipped the pulse oximeter from his finger. “Why’d you get into that fight? You were really injured.” You wanted to ask the deeper question, the question as to why he stepped in front of your car, but you didn't want to overstep.

He shrugged, wincing. He didn't have an answer. He didn't owe you one, really. 

“Just,” you breathed, moving over to the computer to open his chart. “Just don't do anything like this while you’re healing. You need surgery. You need rest.”

He bit his lip, probably stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't. 

“Also,” you sighed, looking over at him. “Your friend told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, well,” he scoffed. “I really didn't mean to meet you here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Well, here we are.”

He nearly smiled at you, lips curling beautifully. He had a bit of dried blood on his lip, and knowing that you were supposed to be leaving, you still reached for a washcloth. You didn't need to do this—in fact, you were acting against every thought in your head as you leaned forward and brushed the cloth against his lip, watching them part.

His breath hitched as you neared, as you touched him, and once again, his hand twitched, begging to touch you.

Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment too long, meeting his eyes. He stared at you, expression unreadable, lips parted.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You took a second to study his face before you moved away from him. His eyes followed you as you put space between you and him, dark and beautiful. 

You logged out of the portal on the computer. “We’ll move you to your own room before we prep you for surgery,” you said gently, heart aching as you met his gaze once more. “The doctor will tell you more.”

“Will you….be there for the surgery?” he showed no specific feelings as he asked the question.

“I am only part of the emergency department right now,” you shrugged. “I don't think so.”

He pondered for a second before nodding, settling himself back into the comfort of his hospital bed. “Okay,” he spoke softly.

You offered him a solemn look, causing him to stiffen.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” you repeated, confused.

He blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” you frowned.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” He looked pained, a deeper type of pain.

You thought about a response to that—you didn't necessarily feel sorry for him, you didn't pity him either. In fact, you just felt an immense feeling of wanting to see him happy, to see him without pain.

Which confused you incredibly, given that he was just a stranger.

“I don't feel sorry for you,” you clarified. “I just don't want you to be in pain.”

“You don't even know me,” he huffed, his expression contorting, and you figured that he didn't even know how he was feeling—what he was feeling. “Why would you even care if I’m hurting?”

You smiled at him. “Because you don't deserve the pain.”

He just stared at you, hazily, emotionally. There was a light in his eyes—a light that wasn't there the other day. “You don't know me well enough to know that.”

The air grew cold; you had nothing left to say. You wished he realized that he didn't have to suffer like this.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong,” you hummed, walking away, feeling his stare burn into your back.

—

The next day, you found yourself drawn to the bed Hongjoong was in yesterday. It was empty, with him now in a room of his own in another part of the hospital.

You typed away at your computer as your colleague, Yeosang, came up to you. 

“Hey,” he leaned over the counter of the nurses’ station. “There's a guy asking for you.”

Yeosang, although very young, was a surgical resident in orthopedics. He was super smart, super sexy, super everything. You went to school together, spending lots of time in the library and everywhere else together. 

“Who?” you mumbled without looking up.

“He’s a patient I’m prepping for an open reduction surgery, but he’s having a hard time letting anyone touch him. Says he only needs you or something.”

You looked up, hands freezing on your keyboard. Hongjoong. “He won't let anyone touch him?”

Yeosang sighed, propping his head up on his palm as he leaned on the counter. “We had to give him more pain medication, and it made him a bit….difficult. I suspect he has some sort of trauma.”

You frowned. “And why is he asking for me?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “I don't know. He kept saying your name, saying he needed you.”

You tried to avoid the rush of blood to your cheeks. “I don't even know him.”

“Yeah, about that….” Yeosang looked a bit confused, a smile peeking through his lips. “He keeps calling you his wife.”

Oh, dear god. “How drugged is he?” you huffed, looking defeated. 

Yeosang laughed. “I kept telling him that you weren't his wife, and he got super mad at me. He said only his wife can touch him. I really need him to stop this so I can get him into pre-op,” The surgeon sighed, giving you a pleading glance. “I’ll ask the attending if you can scrub in—”

“I’m an ER nurse,” you raised a brow. “I have other duties, Yeosang.”

“Y/n, please,” Yeosang pleaded, “ignore the rules or whatever. Can you just come and help me so we can get him into surgery?”

Your mind wandered to the fact that Hongjoong was having a hard time. Sure, he was delirious off of his meds and pain, but knowing that he was struggling with touch, a part of you crumbled.

So you followed Yeosang—after getting approved by the charge nurse, and went up to the third floor.

As you neared the room, you let Yeosang enter first. 

“Mr. Kim, I have Nurse y/n here for you.”

There Hongjoong was, his eyes frantic, his breathing rushed. He was anxious, a mess. The nurses tried to ease him, and relax him, but he wasn't having it. That is, until he saw you in the doorway.

“y/n,” he breathed, as if he knew you forever. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Hongjoong,” you spoke softly, walking slowly near him. You sat in the chair next to his bed, scooting closer as the room emptied, Yeosang being the only other presence. “I heard you were asking for me.”

He blinked, his eyes lined with worry, with anxiety. For someone who looks so tough, he looks like a completely different person.

He didn't speak; he just looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression all over the place. You took a glance at Yeosang, who was observing you before you reached for Hongjoong's hand just like before. 

The bruises were faded now, only old scars left on his skin. A tattoo trailed the skin of his arm. You went to rub his knuckles,  but Hongjoong gripped your hand tightly.

You met his frantic gaze. No words were spoken. He just pleaded with his touch, his eyes. You knew he was scared. 

“It's okay,” you hummed, fighting the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear. “It's a simple surgery. You will be just fine.”

He mumbled something, but you weren't able to catch it. Yeosang stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, the other nurses peering over his shoulder from the hall. Hongjoong’s gaze moved to the door, seeing everyone watching him.

And you realized that, more than being anxious, he was embarrassed, too.

You looked to Yeosang, giving him a desperate look, a silent cry for him to leave and to get those damn nosy bitches out, too. He complied, and they were alone once more.

“It’s alright,” you hummed, and this time, you did reach out to his face, gliding a gentle hand across his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into your touch, craving it, longing for it, as if you were really his wife. “They’re gone now.”

His eyes were droopy, his lips downturned. He looked tough, someone with a rough exterior, but now, he was crumbling. He was alone. Alone to the point that he called for you, basically a stranger to him. 

The moment could have lasted forever. His eyes bled into yours, yours into his, your hand on his cheek drawing circles into his skin. He took in a breath, and nodded.

“Will you let them take care of you?” you asked him gently.

He hesitated. You also did, as you realized that he leaned into your touch rather than avoiding it. That he felt comfortable with you—the one who hurt him. In his eyes, though, he didn't see it that way.

Your hand stilled on his cheek, his worried eyes lighting up a little. You didn't even realize that his good hand—the hand that you were holding just a minute before, was now resting on top of your hand that was on his cheek. He gripped it, his medical haze confusing him, confusing you.

You froze, your eyes wide. You allowed his fingers to interlock yours, having him hold your hand to his face as he shut his eyes. He was vulnerable. Human. Although he looked tough, looked troubled, he was just a person under all that trouble. Just a normal guy with normal feelings, normal fears.

And you were indebted to each other. You for hitting him, him for his gratefulness of your care.

“I’ll be there with you,” you murmured, knowing that Yeosang was still outside the room, close enough to hear, close enough to see. “I’ll be in the room while they’re operating.” 

He nodded, his grip loosening slightly, but he still didn't release your hand.

“I’ll look after you,” you offered, and his eyes met yours once more. 

He slowly let go of your hand, allowing you to move back. You looked at Yeosang through the window, giving him a curt nod for him to come back in. 

Hongjoong let the other nurses touch him, but not without a grimace on his face. Yeosang’s words swirled around your mind; I suspect he has some sort of trauma.

Trauma. Trauma that didn't quite reach you—your touch. He allowed it, actually, he wanted it. You wondered what made him okay with yours. Why he needed you when you were the one to do this to him.

Eventually, Hongjoong entered the operating room, knocked out by anesthesia, but not without you holding his hand, making him childlike, making him….a normal human being.

—

After the surgery, Hongjoong sat in his bed even more dazed than before. Before the daze wore off, he kept calling you his wife, causing confusion to stir around the hospital. 

As you left Hongjoong’s room to go back to the ER, Yeosang followed. “What’s this about?”

“I don't know what you mean.” 

You walked faster.

“I mean, why does that guy keep calling you his wife?” Yeosang’s shoulder bumped into yours accidentally as you turned a corner. “And why are you the only one who can touch him? Why did you—”

You stopped suddenly. “Why did I what?”

Yeosang let out a breath. “Why did you….touch him like that? As far as I know, you….you aren't married.”

“I’m not married, you’re right,” you nodded, confused by why you touched him like that, too. Confused as to why he looked so relaxed with your touch rather than freaking out. “And…let’s just say we have met each other before. I did that to calm him down.”

You continued walking towards the elevator, Yeosang following still. “Okay, but you still didn't answer my question about why he keeps calling you his wife.” you pressed the down button and waited.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“Just a little—”

“Why?” you interrupted, turning towards him, arms crossed. “Why does it matter to you?”

You didn't mean to sound rude, you and Yeosang were good friends for a while. You've never dated, but you’ve flirted with each other occasionally. You never thought much of it other than being a little playful.

But the look on Yeosang’s face caused you to pause your racing thoughts. “Because I thought we…we had something going on?”

You blinked. “Do we?”

“I mean,” Yeo scoffed. “With the way you were looking at him, I don't think I have a chance.”

The elevator dinged, doors opening. You paused for a second before entering, Yeosang following.

It was quiet before the doors closed.

“I didn't think I looked at him any differently than anyone else,” you admitted honestly, causing Yeosang to look over at you. 

He gave you a smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. “You feel something for him, huh?”

You frowned, leaning back against the wall. “I barely know him. I only…” you sighed. “I only met him twice.”

“But yet, you are the only one he allows to touch him,” Yeosang breathed as the elevator dinged on the first floor. 

“That’s something to think about.”

—

Hongjoong was back to his normal self when you went to check on him in the evening; the anesthesia and meds had worn off. His arm was bandaged up and held in a sling, his eyes empty once more. 

You hesitated on entering, but his stare moved to you.

For a second, you saw regret, and embarrassment, cross his face before melting back into a void stare.

You entered, but he didn't look at you. He avoided your gaze, too. Very unlike his earlier, medical high self. 

You took his blood pressure, fingertips gently wrapping around his tattooed bicep as you put the cuff on. He didn't say anything, didn't even spare a passing glance. He just kept looking forward.

“119 over 79,” you mumbled out, letting loose of the cuff.

He nodded, coughing a bit. He didn't say anything, though.

“Dr. Kang told me that you’re cleared to be discharged,” you tried to start a conversation, but things just felt too awkward. You wrote down his vitals in his chart. “That’s good. Can I call anyone to pick you up? Maybe the guy that was here—”

“No,” he said quietly, looking down at his arm. “There is no one to call.”

“You need someone to help you. You just had surgery—”

“I have no one, y/n,” he hissed, finally looking at you. “Not like that’s any of your business, anyway.”

You didn't know what to say, so you just stared at him with confusion. He was putting his walls up.

“I just….don't want you to suffer alone,” you admitted.

“Why?” he let out a laugh, but it wasn't humorous. “I don't need your worry.”

“Okay,” you breathed, defeated. There was no point; he was just a stranger, just a man. Although, this feeling you had about him was overwhelming. And when you touched him, you wanted to hold him longer. Wanted him to feel better.

You left the room without a glance toward him and carried on the rest of your day as best you could.

—

Hongjoong was sitting on the bench outside the hospital entrance, head low, as if sleeping.

You knew you should keep walking. You shouldn't give him any attention, any time of day. But your chest ached as you got closer and closer, and as you reached him, you couldn't bear to walk past him.

“Why are you still here?” you asked him, keeping a good amount of distance away from him.

At your voice, he looked up quickly, as if waiting for you despite his nastiness earlier.

He took a second to respond. “I, uh, I’m just sitting here.”

You looked him over. His black hair was no longer styled spikey, it laid flat across his forehead softly. His tattoos were on full display in the black t-shirt he wore. 

“You don't have anywhere to go,” you meant to ask it like a question, but it came out more like a declaration. He furrowed his brows at your words but didn't deny it.

“I’m fine, I’ll figure it out,” he sniffed, the cold air dancing around him. He didn't even have a coat.

Without thinking, you spoke quickly. “Come with me.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, taking a step closer to him. “I owe you.”

“For what?” he spat out, probably not intending to sound rude. 

You gave him an honest look, and his eyes softened. “Did you just forget that I hit you with my car? That I broke your arm?”

He just sat there, blinking slowly. “You don't owe me anything, y/n.”

You reached your hand out. His own hand twitched. “Come with me.”

After a long moment of just staring at your outstretched hand, he let his hand find yours, standing up at his full height. You got a good look at his face, his eyes, his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful. 

You held his hand as you walked to your car, feeling a flutter of emotion in the pit of your stomach.

When you got to the car, you helped him into the passenger seat, despite his aggravated digs at you. You leaned over him, buckling his seatbelt, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.

You paused, frozen, inches away from his lips.

He swallowed hard, eyes glancing down at your lips. He didn't make a move. You didn't, either. 

You pulled away, forcing yourself to get out of his personal space to shut the door. You saw him tilt back his head and take a deep breath before you got to the driver's seat.

As you drove, you asked random questions like a goddamn idiot.

“So, uh,” you swallowed, looking over at him for a second. “What do you do for a living?”

What kind of damn question is that?

“I’m a musician,” he mumbled, looking out the window. “Kind of.”

“Ah,” you nodded, thinking of what to say next. Now you were thinking way too much into things. “What do you play?”

He looked down at his arm, sighing. “Well, I played the guitar, piano, some other things. I don't think I’ll be picking anything up for a while.”

“You will, eventually,” you tried to encourage him, but he just kept his gaze even out the window. You arrived at your apartment, pulled into the parking lot, and shut off the car. “We’re here.”

He nodded, watching you get out of the car. You opened his door, and with slight hesitation, you leaned over him again to unbuckle his seatbelt, but before you could, he stopped you with his good arm. 

You paused, inches from his face, meeting his eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” you whispered, feeling an immense pull to him, to his lips.

You ignored the urge and unbuckled the belt, but you didn't back away. Not like you could, anyway, with Hongjoong’s grip on your arm tightening.

The belt slowly slipped off of him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dancing with emotion. “I was just… embarrassed. And drugged, and uh, well,” he paused, thinking. “Mostly embarrassed. I can't believe I freaked out over a little surgery. That’s so lame—”

“No, it's not,” you hummed softly, delicately. “It's a normal fear.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. From the little time you knew him, you haven't seen a genuine smile on his face. Or any sort of light, really.

“Thanks, uh,” he sniffed. “Thanks again. For looking after me.” his eyes fell to your lips. “You don't even know me, and you still…” he trailed off.

You realized that you were inhaling the air he was exhaling, that you were eye to eye, almost nose to nose. His breaths were shaky, labored, and tired. 

“I would want someone to look after me in the same way,” You whispered. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he tilted his head upward, leaning against the headrest, warm, brown eyes on full display. 

“Mhm,” you swallowed. 

His eyes glimmered. He didn't have anything to say, and you didn't either. Realizing that you were shrinking the space ever so slowly, you took the opportunity to back away from the musician. He let go of your arm, but not without a little tug on it beforehand.

You cleared your throat as he got out of the car. You shut the door for him, and you walked together—slowly, till you reached your apartment door.

When you entered, hongjoong strayed back behind the door, not entering. You turned to face him, eyebrow raised. 

“Come in,” you beckoned, and with one more second of hesitation, he followed you in, shutting the door behind him.

He surveyed the place, his eyes finding the piano that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes danced as if surprised to see it there.

The air was thick. The room was quiet. You tossed off your shoes with ease, noticing his struggle with his own, so you bent down the help him. He didn't pull away, didn't speak. He just let you take care of it—of him.

“I don't mean to be a bother,” he mumbled as you untied his shoe. “But I’d really like to shower.”

You glanced up at him. “Oh,” you nodded, taking off his shoe before standing up. “Sure. it’s the first door down the hall.”

He didn't make any move. He stood, a confused, shy look resting on his face.

And then you realized.

He had no clothes to change into. Nothing. He also only had one working arm, and one covered in material that couldn't get wet.

“I can help you,” you trailed off, trying not to read too much into his stare. 

“If you comfortable with that.”

—

In the bathroom, Hongjoong stood anxiously as you waited for the water to warm up. It took a second, and most of the time, the hot water only lasted so long.

You figured a shower would be too difficult to help him with without seeing too much. You opted for a warm bath, filling the water up once it got hot enough. You made sure to add some suds to it, so he wasn't too uncomfortable.

When you turned around to face him,  his eyes were cloudy, his lips in a line.

“Do you….not like baths?” you mumbled, scratching your head. “I probably should've asked you before I—”

“It’s not that.” His eyes met yours, switching his weight onto his other leg. 

You didn't pry, knowing he was just probably embarrassed that he needed help for something as trivial as a bath. 

Walking toward him, he backed up into the door. You nearly smirked but maintained your cool as you grabbed the plastic bag off the sink counter. “I just have to wrap your cast in this. It'll just be a second. You might want to take your shirt off before I….”

He blinked, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“I don't think you normally bathe in clothes,” you murmured slyly, tilting your head. “Unless you like that.”

He didn't move. His body was as stiff as a board, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Just take your shirt off, dammit, or I’ll do it for you.”

You saw his expression change the minute the words left your mouth.

His good hand found the hem of his t-shirt, hesitating to take it off. You realized that he probably did need your help with taking it off, but with the look in his eye, you weren't sure what would happen if you got any closer to him.

But you moved closer, anyway, setting the plastic bag back onto the counter. His back was nearly up against the wooden door, his breath hitching as your fingertips gently pulled at the fabric.

“Why are you….so okay with this?” he breathed before you could pull the shirt up.

You met his gaze, his eyes unreadable. Almost as if he didn't know what he was feeling, either. 

“I told you already,” you shrugged, smiling.

He blinked, his eyes red with emotion, begging to send a flood down his cheeks. “I don't deserve your help.”

“You do, though.” Ever so slowly, you began to pull his shirt, soft, carved abs appearing as you moved it up. “Because you know, you don't have to suffer alone.”

“Who said I was suffering?” he croaked out, his eyes, his tone, spilling his guts out on the floor for her to see. 

You didn't say anything. You just slowly tugged the black t-shirt over his casted arm, watching him wince slightly. Then, he stood, half-naked, emotionally charged in front of you. He was no longer a stranger. No longer someone that you classified as a patient, either.

His eyes spoke volumes, his good hand twitching at his side. You looked at it, and took it in your own.

“Come on,” you nodded behind you. “I’ll help.”

He looked like he was ready to cry. Ready to break down. He didn't, though, and you walked him over to the bath. You unbuttoned his jeans, but turned around as he stepped out of them and into the tub. 

The soap covered his lower body, all that was on display was his torso, his slim shoulders, the tattoos inked on his tanned skin.  He didn't break away from your gaze as you began to wash him.

“I feel….something I shouldn't be feeling,” he swallowed, his voice raspy, tender, defeated. 

“And what’s that?” you wondered before running your hands through his silky hair, coating the strands in your lavender shampoo.

He shut his eyes, sighing. “I don't know what it is, but what I do know is, for some reason, your touch is very calming when everyone else’s hurts me.”

You paused, hands still tangled in his locks, but he opened his eyes.

A confession of feelings—worth more than any other cliche words. He stared up at you, heart on his sleeve, confusion and fear and everything in between dancing around his eyes.

“For the first time,” he whispered, the only sounds in the room being your shaky breathing and the quiet trickle of water from the spigot. “I feel…comfortable being touched. I….need it.”

His lips parted, his hair dripping wet, your hands still frozen within the strands. You didn't know how to respond, didn't know exactly how you felt, either. But you also knew one thing, and it became ever so apparent as his hand slowly reached your cheek, wet fingertips leaving a trail of soap across your skin.

You blinked slowly.

Softly, gently, you moved forward, over the tub, and brushed your lips against his. His eyes remained open from shock, but his lips moved slowly along with yours.

You pulled away, but didn't go too far, resting your forehead against his. His breaths tickled your skin, sending a blush to your cheeks. 

Emotions are complex. You didn't know exactly why you kissed him. Why you needed to. Why you wanted to do it again. But what you did know was that you liked how his touch felt, liked the little smile that appeared as you kissed him, liked how he gently pulled you back into another kiss.

You took in his breath as you kissed once more, this time a bit more urgent. Your hands gripped his soapy hair, his hand rested softly on your cheek, his thumb on the corner of your lips, his fingers tickling the lobe of your ear. 

He kissed you like he knew you forever. Like he knew just how you liked it. You found your hand trailing down his tattooed neck, fingers dancing on the ink, his dewy skin, his tongue in your mouth.

You parted once more, so close, breaths tangling, fingers scrunching. His breath was hot against your face, his dark eyes pleading.

You’d so get on top of him in that damn tub. You wanted to, so bad. But you remembered that his arm was hurt, that you were the one that did it, and you nearly stood up to move away before he gripped you by the arm.

“Don't go,” he breathed hazily.

So you didn't. You washed him, this time, knowing that you were begging to end this bath and fuck him silly till the sunrise. Till the warm, glow of the burning star fluttered through your blinds. And with that damn look on his face, you knew he was thinking about it, too.

You helped him out of the bath, not turning around this time. He stood slowly, body on full display, even more tattoos, even more scars covering the skin you didn't get to see. 

You sheepishly handed him a towel. He took it, but didn't use it to cover himself up.

“You’re not dating that damn doctor, are you?” he spoke, his tone serious, deep. Sensuous. 

You breathed out, “No.” 

He grinned, cheshire-like. “Good.”

You could tell he wanted to rip your clothes off. He wanted to claw at your skin like some goddamn animal, his expression pained in all of the right ways. 

You needed air. God, this bathroom was stuffy.

Turning on your heel, you forced yourself to walk out of the damn room, because if you didn't, Hongjoong would become something far more stranger than, well, a stranger to you.

But he had other plans. More impulsive plans.

He followed you out of the bathroom and into your main living space. He gripped your hand, his fingertips gently pressing into your skin. When you turned to face him, he was dripping wet onto the lightwash wood floor, beads of water collecting on the ends of his hair. His eyes were wide, begging you for something, anything.

So you gave up on your act.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?” you wheezed, smiling as his eyes widened even more. “Is that what you want?”

You stepped closer to him at his silence, and arched your body against his bare torso, feeling the hardness of him press your thigh, his lips begging to meet yours once more.

You teased him, lifting your mouth to his, letting out a sigh. He shivered as your hands felt up his bare skin, and your hot breath tickled his face. 

He nearly growled, his good arm wrapping around your waist swiftly, tugging your body towards him completely, holding you here as his mouth crashed to yours. His broken arm begged to touch you, too, and without thinking, he moved it quickly. He hissed in pain, his arm definitely hurting him, but he didn't care as much as you did. You tried to part from his lips, to ask him if he was okay, but he bit hard down on your lip to keep you from speaking. 

You moaned while he stuck his tongue down your throat, his hand now tearing at your top, your waistband. You hurriedly tore off your clothes for him, giving him no second to stare at your body before tossing yourself onto him again. He grunted, moaning into your mouth, the vibrations tickling every part of you. He pushed you back, nearly tripping over the throw rug, the coffee table, until your back slammed into the keyboard of your piano.

The keys slammed as your ass hit them roughly, the musician making music without even intending to. His hips bucked into yours, your core right where he needed it, his dick pulsing, aching to be inside you. You lifted your hips, grinding them against his cock, gaining pleasure in his expression.

He nearly whined as you bit his ear lobe, his hips shifting into you, begging for you.

“Can I get inside you?” he moaned, eyes frantic. “I need you, fuck, I need it bad.”

In more ways than one, he needed you, but now, he needed your body. Needed your touch, your moans. You obliged, your body already wet enough for him to enter. You lined up, and without a second to waste, he slowly moved into you, causing you to toss your head back at the feeling. His eyes rolled back; a whine left his pretty pink lips, his chest heaved in pleasure.

His head dipped to suck your nipple, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of your breast. You huffed, trying so hard to breathe. He let out moans that did something dangerous to your body, to your mind. You moaned along with him as his hips snapped.

“Oh, god,” he whimpered, his tone light, airy. Water dripped onto the soft skin of his chest from his hair. “You feel so good.”

You smiled, tearing your hands up his back as the piano cried along with you. The keys clicked, moaning from the weight above them. The music filled the room, tangled within your breaths, your sweat. You gripped the back of his head, lacing your fingers through his wet, dripping hair, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter by the minute.

Your walls caved into him, his cock pulsing inside you. He looked into your eyes for a long moment as he moved, his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open in gratification. He kissed you, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, tugging on it. He liked to bite.

You felt euphoria reach you before you knew it, and you cried out, gripping his hair, pulling it as he fucked you. His face pained, his teeth barred, his eyes shut tight. Just his expression—his appearance—could've made you come on the spot.

You felt tingles in your fingers, and your toes, and saw stars in your vision. Black spots fluttered, your heart rate probably much higher than it should be. You didn't care if you died right here, right now. It didn't matter. Nope. This was bliss. So much better than that damn vibrator.

You felt like you were on fire—no, more like a falling, burning star crashing to earth. Your stomach ached at his pressure, your hips aching, your head pounding. You came onto him with haste as your vision blurred, tearing into his shoulder blades, leaving little marks on his skin. At your actions, you witnessed the look of utter satisfaction on the pretty boy’s face, his breaths quickening, shallowing. He let out a whine, just as musical as the keys underneath you.

Before he could come, he pulled out, cumming all over your breasts, your stomach. You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

He stared at you, eyes low, lips swollen and red. So fuckable, so delicious. 

He looked at how he painted you, smirking a bit to himself. He was so full of life, full of emotion. “Let me go grab that towel,” he breathed, his voice crackling a bit. You watched in enjoyment when he walked away from you, watching his ass, his legs, the tattoos move with him.

He returned with the towel, wiping you gently as if he hadn't just made you nearly black out. You gazed at him, not sure what you were feeling, how you were feeling. You could do it all night with him, with this guy who was a stranger only a couple of days before. It wasn't too often that you acted on your desires, but there was no possible way you were supposed to avoid this, avoid him.

When he was done, when you were clean, he set the towel down on the floor, but his eyes didn't leave you. 

“What?” you hummed.

“Just,” he breathed, smiling. “That was really good.”

“I hope so,” you chuckled the feeling of the room lightening, almost in a playful way. “I hope this wasn't your goal all along—you really freaked me out when I hit you.”

He looked down as you jumped off the piano. “Uh, yeah. I bet I did.”

You moved to him, gently reaching to hold his cheeks for him to look at you. “I got you now, huh? No more running in front of cars, unless it's mine. I’ll be prepared next time.”

His eyes widened as if he was shocked by your words. That you knew he did it on purpose. He didn't deny it. He just leaned into your touch, eyes closing tight in comfort.

“Like I said,” you started, giving his lips a little peck. “I’ll look after you, if you’ll allow it.”

He took in a deep breath, opening his eyes, meeting your sincere gaze. His lips curved up. “I’ll look after you, too.”

You smiled along with him. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, embracing him, feeling even more intimate than sex. He let out a shaky breath, as if finally realizing he wasn't alone, didn't have to be. That he deserved a caring touch, a longing touch, a needy touch. That he could actually have something to himself.

You didn't know what you were to each other, and it really didn't matter. There was no need to label it so specifically. You could be his rock, his personal nurse, the person to stitch him up when he gets hurt. The one he could confide in, have sex with, whatever he needed. Whatever you needed. 

So when he kissed the top of your head while you hugged him, you tightened your arms just a little, holding onto him as long as he’ll let you.

You’ll look after each other.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Six: Salt and Blood

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Alright, everyone. This is the last time you'll see baby Aemond and the reader, so let's cherish it. In the next chapter, we will start where the show did with the characters aged up in Ep. 8. I'm very excited to write for adult MC. I'm not going to lie; I'm a bit worried about writing Aemond's inner dialogue, as I've never written for a male character who isn't obsessed with the reader, but I'm sure I'll do fine. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Alicent being delulu, parentified sibling trauma, and watch me make you feel even worse about Driftmark.

As you journeyed from the gloomy corridors of the Red Keep to the sulfuric atmosphere of Dragonstone and now to the sandy shores and scattered shells of Driftmark, an air of sadness seemed to cling to you wherever you went. You stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the tranquil sea, overlooking the stone coffin that cradled your late Aunt Laena. Two deaths, each carrying its weight of sorrow, yet only one mourned.

You wondered what it would be like to die choked in flames like Ser Harwin and Lyonel Strong did. Would it be the same as suffering dragon fire like your Aunt? Most likely not. Hers was a swift burning of flesh from bones, while theirs was hours of agony and suffocation. 

Despite what your family claimed, the idea of dying to your own dragon’s flames wasn’t an appealing end to you. It didn’t seem noble like how stories explained it to be. It was horrifying to have your skin torched from your body, to feel the power of a thousand suns on your flesh. It would be excruciatingly painful, and you wished it upon no one, not even those you despised most. You would much rather meet the Stranger in your sleep. 

You barely settled into your new home on Dragonstone before your mother received the two ravens. One bringing news of Ser Harwin and the other of Laena, containing death in the ink. You consoled your mother and father as best you could, hugging and kissing and telling them that you loved them and were sorry. It was an impossible task to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing them so distraught and wanted to make them feel better. 

At night, you cried into your pillows in your now isolated bedroom until Jace and Luke entered, watery eyes matching yours. As the eldest, it was your job to hold your family together when your parents couldn’t, and it left you no time to properly grieve the loss of an Aunt and a father figure.

You felt terrible for your cousins Baela and Rhaena. To go to bed one night and wake up the next without a mother was a depth of grief you couldn’t imagine. You didn’t think you could live a life without your mother; you would die with her, and the ability of your cousins to continue without her was admirable as you observed their sullen faces streaked with tears. 

Your Great Uncle Vaemond spoke his sermon in High Valyrian, which was too fast and practiced for you to understand. You could decipher some words here and there, but ultimately, you were lost listening to a man you rarely met. You felt your mother straighten her stance from behind, her arms coming to circle the three of you in a protective embrace.

Vaemond’s eyes were on yours, Luke’s, and Jace’s, but everyone else was focused on him—on the coffin with Lady Laena’s face carved into it.

As your eyes wandered to the other people surrounding the funeral procession, fear struck you as you caught your eldest uncle’s eye. It wasn’t very comforting to see Aegon so soon. You had set it in your mind that you wouldn’t have to see him for many years, and yet, here you were, dressed in an obsidian and red-sleeved gown, pearls adorning the collar and your veiled headpiece. Quickly, you turned away, instinctually taking Jace’s hand in yours.

An air of stiffness surrounded your family that you weren’t blind to. It was always there, but now, more than before, you felt it. You thought it was childish to be so locked into familial drama when someone lay dead inside a casket. Though you didn’t remember much of the times you met your Aunt Laena, she still deserved the respect of putting these grievances aside. You knew you were part of it, but more important things were happening than what you suffered. 

The cries of your father sent waves of sadness into your heart, and with the sudden urge to get him to stop, you left the safety of your brother and clung to your father’s waist. He lifted you into his sea-worn arms and clung to your frail body as if it was the only thing that kept him from sinking into his grief. You rested your temple onto his shoulder, tears of empathy falling from your eyes as he pressed your head closer. 

Afraid of what would become of your father if you let go, you allowed him to crush you in his embrace for as long as he needed it as a scornful laugh broke through the tense atmosphere. You peeked from your position to see Great Uncle Daemon chuckling to himself with a shake of his head at what Vaemond said. You felt annoyance bubble inside you, solidifying your distaste for the man as the Velaryon guards clad in silver armor and blue seahorse sigils lifted the ropes and lowered your Aunt into the roaring sea. 

You didn’t leave your father’s side for the remainder of the day, not even when he slowly lowered himself into the sea with his sister as the cold, salty breeze swept through the evening. You wanted to speak with Aemond, if just for a small moment, but your family came first. They always came before anyone else, a fact that your mother instilled into the very fabric of your being.

Sitting atop one of the rock ledges near your father, you dipped your feet into the saltwater, dragging your toes to watch the water ripple and allow time to pass. It didn’t feel right to leave him alone. The image of him falling into the ocean as your Aunt played repeatedly in your mind’s eye. You were afraid in his grief, he would follow her. Only when your father’s squire, Ser Qarl, took your father from his place with his sister did you leave, joining the rest of the goers for the wake late in the evening.

Searching through the crowd of people for your mother and your brothers, you couldn’t find them. Alone with none of your family for protection, you felt fear pull at your chest. Your hands began to scratch at your arms and scalp, attempting to quell the insatiable itch. The fabric prevented you from doing so, and tears of fright soon began to collect at your lashes. 

From across the balcony, you saw a flash of green, a color that had never offered you comfort until now. Yet as quickly as you saw it, it vanished, leaving only a head of white promptly running down the stairs. You felt your heart drop into your feet as you watched Aemond run across the sandy dunes like he was running from you. 

The call of a dragon you never heard before screeched through the gray skies. It was mournful as if it were calling for a lost pet or child. In this case, it was a rider. As you looked up, you could see the vast shadow of Vhagar’s silhouette soaring through the clouds, flying in the same direction your uncle went. You felt your eyes grow wide with worry at the realization, wanting to chase after Aemond and warn him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” a tender, feminine voice came from behind you as you jolted in surprise. The tall figure of Queen Alicent stood before you, curly auburn hair pinned back into a magnificent updo and clad in her usual green and gold as she put a hand on your back. “Your mother already sent your brothers.” 

“Where is she?” you hastily asked. Aemond was no longer on your mind.

“I’m uncertain. Your father is off drowning his sorrow in his cups with his squire,” she answered in the same velvet voice you remembered her having, bitterness you didn’t understand laced in the undertone.

You felt offended by how the Queen spoke about your father. He was grieving. He was allowed to spend time with whomever he wished, doing what he wanted.

Alicent lifted her arm, wrapping it around your petite frame, and led you inside Hightide. It was not as cold or formidable as Dragonstone; its dark magic melted into the walls, yet it didn’t hold the warmth of the Red Keep. Still, you felt unwelcomed here, either by the place or its people. The pale stone walls were filled with bits and pieces of shells from clams, mollusks, and other long-dead shell creatures mixed into the mortar to make it stand the test of salty air. 

The Hall of the Nine, where you passed as Queen Alicent, led you to the guest chambers, where you held the Driftwood throne where your grandfather Corlys reigned. You recalled when you visited this place many years ago and how he went on about the many treasures from his sieges and conquests that decorated the room in all its glory. He and his wife, Rhaenys, sat in a heated discussion in front of the hearth.

Once you reached the door to your shared bed chambers with your brothers, Alicent turned to you. It was the first time you had seen her since what Aegon had done to you, and you felt tension. It seemed as if she wanted to speak, to say everything that had been bottled up since the revelation of her son’s transgressions, but she was unable to do so as tears choked her. Instead, the only words that came out were those she couldn’t say to her children. 

“I hope you can find the time to visit the Keep. Helaena asked when you would be returning, and it broke my heart to tell her you wouldn’t be,” she confided, stroking the thin black fabric covering your dark hair. “Aemond has turned inwards since you left, and Aegon has become crueler to him. It makes me wonder if he’s always been this way and that my love for him has blinded me from his transgressions.” 

You said nothing. The mention of Aegon’s name still felt like a blow to the stomach. “I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive my son for what he did to you and that we may yet be the family we were always meant to be.” Your tongue felt like lead as your breathing began to race, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as Alicent kneeled before you, a sad smile on her supple lips as she tenderly swiped your tear-stained cheeks with her smooth thumbs. 

“I love you, my shining light, my dream.” 

Leaning in, she took your small frame by your shoulders, kissing your forehead as one would do to their babe. You felt sick, nausea churning in your stomach as you quickly opened the bedroom door, hastily shutting it behind you in fright. 

It was all too much—Lady Laena’s death, Ser Harwin’s, seeing your father in shambles, and Queen Alicent’s steadfast belief that you should become a part of her family no matter what happened to you. The Queen desired to wed you and Aegon despite the horrors he committed. The realization that she genuinely didn’t see what your eldest uncle did to you as something that would permanently bar you from joining the union pierced your heart. You would much rather marry Aemond or Helaena, but having no ties to her seemed better.

Your brothers peered at you curiously from their beds as you clutched your chest, looking as if you ran the entire way here. They didn’t ask any questions, and you didn’t move to speak, loosening the ties of your gown and shrugging it off until you were only in your smock. You didn’t feel like changing into your nightdress in front of your brothers, deciding to climb into bed and shove your face into the pillows, refusing to cry in front of Jace and Luke as you fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Aemond learned of Lady Laena’s death, he knew it was a sign from the Gods that his time had come. The Seven had deemed this the moment to prove himself to everyone who doubted him and thought him useless without a dragon. 

Vhagar. 

The largest, oldest, and strongest dragon in the world was riderless. 

Aemond believed that once he gained the only thing he lacked, life would finally be what it should have been. He would make his father proud, shove all the taunts and jests from Aegon and his nephews back into their faces, and finally become a man you deemed worthy—your Mors Martell. 

As Aemond fled from the wake when the candles had long melted, he thought only of the ichor coursing through his veins. Dusk was upon the island, and the night’s wind blew harshly, strands of his silver-blonde hair covering his face as he climbed over the dunes. Vhagar was further from the castle than he initially thought.

“Fuck.” Aemond released a sigh of exasperation and scrambled across the uneven ground. 

When he came upon the dragon, he was in awe. Vhagar was as frightening as she was enormous—a giant, green-scaled, moving mountain that shook the ground and blew sand with every movement and breath from her powerful lungs. 

Taking advantage of Vhagar’s resting state, Aemond crept along the sparse grass, feeling each gust of air she created with her wide nostrils, blowing the sand into his face and ears. Anxiety was present in his gut, feeling a slight tremble in his limbs as he closed the distance, wrapping his hand around one of the many ropes draped across Vhagar’s scales. Suddenly, he felt the ground underneath him quake, and the head of the dragon lifted with a low rumble.

Vhagar observed Aemond with tired yet calculating amber orbs, double eyelids blinking. She grumbled as she bore her teeth to him. They were the size of a fully grown adult, sending a shiver down his spine. As if it were an act of divine intervention, Vhagar laid her enormous head back down, seeming disinterested in the young boy before her. 

If Lady Laena’s death wasn’t proof enough Aemond was fated by the Gods to claim a dragon, the most powerful beast in the world, laying its head in acquiescence certainly was. Blinded by his small victory, nerves still in his mind, he reached for the rope ladder again, only for Vhagar to raise her head and growl, low and deep. A snarl formed on her great maw as Aemond stumbled back in shock and saw the light of orange flames gather at the back of her throat. 

“Dohaerās!” (Serve!) he shouted instinctively, recalling the many lessons he observed in the Dragonpit as he felt the heat of fire on his countenance. “Dohaerās, Vagus! Lykirī!” (Serve, Vhagar! Be calm!)

With Aemond’s commands, the she-dragon relaxed, recalling her flames and closing her mouth. She purred to him like a cat, a sign that she approved his merit while standing in the face of death. Vhagar would allow the Prince an attempt to claim her, but he must prove himself before the eyes of the Gods, before the eyes of a dragon. 

Aemond took the ropes and climbed atop the mighty Vhagar’s back, positioning himself in the saddle and grabbing the reigns. 

“Sōvēs!” (Fly!) Aemond ordered, and Vhagar rumbled, raising her legs and shaking the sand from her scales. “Sōvēs!”

She obeyed, taking a few giant steps and flapping her great wings, pushing off from the ground and leaving a sandstorm in her wake. Though Aemond told Vhagar to fly, he still had yet to control her as she took to the night sky in a near-vertical position, catching him unaware. The force knocked him from the leather saddle, leaving him dangling in the air with just the reigns for purchase. Aemond screamed with fear, feeling as if his stomach lurched out of his body as he struggled against the whipping wind to regain control. 

She tested him as he grabbed the pommel, sat upright, and pulled the ropes to balance her. He felt like he was on a bucking horse, loosening, tightening, twisting, and turning to the left and right to steer her safely. Vhagar ignored Aemond’s movements and continued to fly like he wasn’t there, diving into the dunes of Driftmark before he reared her upwards, dragging her claws across the sand. He squealed in terror, blocking the debris that scratched his face as she soared over the sea.

Aemond knew he needed to prove himself to her, to show the war-hardened dragon that he deserved to ride her. Her chirps and groans from the day earlier called to him like nothing before, singing to the Prince in her dragon song of forlornness and isolation. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to claim her. They both shared that feeling of loneliness deep within their souls, that same oddness in their families. The dragoness was too large to be held within any structure, leaving her in forced solitude, her only companions being her rider. Aemond was the only one, despite his Valyrian features, not to have a dragon. 

That would no longer be his story.

Aemond fortified his mind and will, putting his soul into his movements as he lifted Vhagar higher in the sky. He could feel the blood of Old Valyria coursing through his veins as the mighty dragon obeyed, leveling out her vast wings and soaring over Spicetown and back to Driftmark. He screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him in the skies, a bright smile he was sure you could see in Lannisport. 

Aemond had proven himself. He had shown himself and all who doubted and bullied him for not having a dragon that he was capable, that he was worthy. 

Everything was as it should be.

Perhaps you would allow him to kiss you again and spend the night in his embrace. Aemond had no doubt you would be proud of him as he listened to your assurances that he was brave, a dragon knight who you could trust with your secrets and protect you from enemies, and that he deserved your heart. 

Aemond landed Vhagar with a grace he hadn’t possessed before, climbing down the rope ladder on her side with windburnt cheeks. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he ran straight to the underground caverns of High Tide to wake you and explain everything.

“Jace!” 

You faintly heard a voice calling, sounding distant in your dream state. Ignoring it with a groan, you rolled over, trying to return to sleep.

“Jace, wake up! Someone stole Vhagar!”

This woke you from your sleep. You sat up to see Baela and Rhaena hovering over your brother’s bed. 

“We need to stop them!”

Jace and Luke quickly threw the covers off and stuck their feet into their slippers as you observed them curiously. Rubbing the sleep from your face, you yawned, begrudgingly following them. 

“You cannot steal a dragon,” you countered after a long silence in the pale stone halls, your voice laced with sleep. It felt like you had hardly gotten a wink. 

“She is my mother’s dragon! I was supposed to claim her,” Rhaena countered, tears collecting in her dark eyes. 

Yawning again as you followed a few paces behind your siblings and cousins, you rolled your eyes, wanting to bite with the remark, “Why didn’t you?” But you didn’t say it. The reason was apparent why she didn’t, and Rhaena didn’t need any more reason to be distraught.

They led you to the caverns of High Tide, stumbling in your sleepless state. They led to the beaches lit only by dim torchlight, your movements groggy and slightly annoyed. On the other end of the tunnel, Aemond appeared before you with a proud grin and windswept hair. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, a contagious self-satisfaction that spread to you. 

He needn’t say it aloud. You could tell by how he carried himself, shoulders back, chin high, and a slight lift to his cheeks, that your uncle claimed a dragon—the mightiest one in the world, Vhagar. 

“It’s him!” Rhaena exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Aemond.

It didn’t deter him, countering with his head high, violet eyes flicking from you to your cousin. “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” she yelled, hurt as if this reasoning would change Vhagar’s fate. As you moved to Aemond, Jace grabbed your hand, stopping you with an anxious yet demanding look on his face. 

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now,” your uncle replied, and you felt your brows raise in shock. You knew better than most of the cruelty he could commit, but after spending time with Aemond and seeing the softer, gentler, and kinder side of him, it took you off guard. 

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena argued, charging toward him in a challenge. Your skin began to itch, and your breath quickened. 

The hatred felt at the funeral carried over into your brothers and cousins. Tension in the air crackled like a fire in a hearth, watching the yellow and orange flames slowly dwindle into embers until someone threw tinder to spark it.

“Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride,” Aemond sneered. “It would suit you.”

Your lips parted in empathetic offense as you looked from your uncle to Rhaena, tears of guilt and shame pricking at your eyes. You apologized about the pig, and you thought Aemond forgave you, but it seems he couldn’t let go of the hurt no matter how close you were. The feeling of joy for your uncle’s feat was as brief as your friendship.

With a surge of rage, Rhaena charged forward, attempting to push Aemond, but he swiftly countered, and she fell to the ground. You jumped back in shock as you covered your mouth, Luke standing beside you. Baela screamed, protecting her sister as she punched him across his face and Aemond yelped in pain. Without thinking, you went toward your uncle, fearful for his well-being in your heart, but he swiftly stood before you could reach him, returning the same swing to Baela. You gasped in horror and moved to the side, narrowly missing your cousin’s body from colliding with yours. 

“Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond snarled at the twins, and without warning, Jace ran to him with a shout, shoving your uncle in offended anger and smacking him across the cheek.

You screamed for them to stop as you watched Luke try to join the fray, but you held him back, scared that he would get caught in the crossfire. He was the youngest and the littlest, most likely to get hurt. You needed to protect what family you could. Aemond brought this upon himself with his words of arrogance, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to defend him, too.

The scene before you was violent, a flurry of white, black, and red running atop Aemond as Luke slipped from your grasp, all pummeling, kicking, and screaming at him as you cried for them to stop. He was helpless as he suffered blow after blow, and you felt your heart splinter. This wasn’t a fair fight. Without worrying for yourself, you jumped on top of Jace, pulling him back from your uncle and giving him a chance to defend himself. You felt like a betrayer, turning against your twin to save your uncle. Your brother grunted as you both fell to the ground, his body on top of you as you struggled to keep him from fighting. 

You and your siblings had fought before, but nothing like this. It was so vicious, filled with violence and want for pain, as Jace whipped his head back into yours, causing it to slam against one of the many jagged rocks across the ground, having you see stars. He went back into the brawl with no worry for your safety as you heard the unsheathing of a knife, your eyes blurry as you struggled to see the scene before you. 

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond yelled, suddenly holding Luke by his neck with a rock in his hand.

“My father is alive!” Luke gasped in protest, flinging his arms and blood running down his face.

You needed to get up to protect Luke from physical harm and the threat of discovering your lineage. You didn’t believe Aemond would kill Luke. He was capable of violence, but he wasn’t a murderer. As you tried to move, your skull felt filled with sand, pulling you back down to the ground as you felt the warm trickle of liquid run down your neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your sight and mind. 

Aemond spoke again to Jace, seeming to forget your existence and holding a sense of superiority. “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?” 

You forgot how cruel Aemond could be. Your stolen moments of reading and kisses in the night had closed your eyes to it.

“Aemond, don’t,” you mumbled, skull pounding as the excruciating sounds of your brothers and uncle’s shouts pierced your ears like needles. 

You blinked your eyes into focus, seeing Jace wildly swinging a knife at Aemond as you managed to kneel. Your brothers didn’t realize how dangerous what they were doing was, that a knife wasn’t something to use against someone who was armed with only a stone in hand. While Aemond was bigger and had more combat experience, a dagger would kill him. Being upset because someone claimed a dragon wasn’t worth murdering over. 

Reaching your arm out with a soft grunt, you grabbed Jace’s ankle as Aemond pushed him over, holding the same rock above his head as he did for Luke. You thought Aemond knew better than this. You gave him the perfect opportunity to run and get help now that Baela and Rhaena huddled into a scared, crying mess, but he was too far gone into his anger to see reason, blinded by it. 

“Aemond! No!” you shouted hoarsely, trying to stand but failing as your head pounded like a drumbeat.

He turned to you then, lowering the rock to his side as he stared at you with the sudden realization of what he had done. Your uncle was filled with a surge of superiority inside him. He couldn’t think straight, and when he happened upon the five of you, people he was always told that he was above, something inside him that lay dormant finally broke free. He knew he was always capable of violence, but felt remorse when he saw your bruised nose, tear-streaked cheeks, and blood dripping down your throat. 

Did he do that to you? 

Suddenly, Aemond was blinded, sand thrown into his eyes as he stumbled back and heard the yell of Luke, unimaginable pain soon following. You watched in horror as your brother savagely sliced into your uncle’s left eye, blood pouring and splattering across the ground. 

Aemond couldn’t remember if you were amid his attackers. He surveyed the bruised and battered bodies before him and realized what he had done as his stomach fell to his feet.

He hurt people, just like Aegon. You would never entrust your secrets to him. His hands committed violence, but his heart desired to tell a different story—one of a strong and noble prince who went through many trials and tribulations to prove himself worthy of the princess's heart.

All you could hear were screams. Screams from you, screams from Aemond as you crawled towards him, sobbing. 

“Aemond!” you cried as he doubled over, falling into your body as he screeched in pain. 

“It hurts!” he wailed into your chest, his free hand clawing into your back. “It hurts! Help me!” 

You trembled, arms struggling to keep yourself upright against his weight as the flurry of guards rumbled inside your skull like thunder. Unable to make out their words as they moved, it seemed like you were watching the world from outside your body, from the lenses of another, as Ser Harrold pried Aemond from your embrace.

It hurt. Everything hurt—your heart, stomach, muscles, and head. You weren’t sure who led you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, and Jace to the Hall of the Nine as a flurry of people gathered, pushing and shoving as you clutched your skull. The room was so bright, so loud, as you heard your uncle’s screams. You felt sturdy arms grab you by your shoulders, roughly moving you as if you were nothing more than a doll, as it felt like your eyes were about to burst. Steel blue fabric blocked your eyes as you saw the hazy image of a seahorse stitched into the fabric.

“Father?” You reached out, small digits feeling along the fine silk until the texture of scruff scratched at your skin. Blinking, you saw the aged face of your grandfather, Lord Corlys, as he gathered you and your brothers behind him. 

Where was he, and where was your mother? 

You felt sick as people scattered around you like seagulls when they discovered a bloated whale carcass, all trying to see the injured Prince, who cried until the Maester poured Milk of the Poppy down his throat. It felt like when you accidentally drank the water from Blackwater Bay, like a cold, nauseous sensation that sent beads of sweat rolling down your spine. 

“I don’t feel good,” you whispered to Jace as you leaned into his side, clutching your head and gut. He paid you no mind, peering behind your grandfather to see your other one appear, bearing total weight upon his dragon-head cane. 

“How could you let such a thing happen?” Viserys questioned Ser Harrold, examining Aemond as you heard the sickening squelch of flesh and rattle of metal tools. “I will have answers!”

Despite it undoubtedly being a harrowing sight, you wanted to be by your uncle, to hold his hand through it, to feel his pain with him, but you couldn’t. You needed to be with your brothers. What they saw and experienced would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Luke had taken Aemond’s eye. 

“The princess and princes were supposed to be abed, my king,” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard explained, shame woven in his words. 

Viserys wouldn’t allow his knights to show such carelessness, surveying each of them with critical eyes. “Who had the watch?”

“The young prince was attacked by his cousins, your grace,” Ser Cristion nonchalantly replied. His words angered you for reasons unknown, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. 

Viserys turned to the room, looking between the two Kingsguards on opposite sides of the family as he hobbled on his cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he boomed in a way you hadn’t seen before. You were afraid he would direct his anger at you, Jace, and Luke, wrapping your arms around them like you were in any state to protect your brothers. 

“I’m very sorry, your grace,” Ser Westerling said, head hung low in unimaginable disgrace. You felt bad for him. There was no way he could have stopped this. He was doing his duty and serving his King. It was Ser Criston who should be blamed.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes before, your grace-”

“That is no answer!” your grandfather yelled at Ser Criston, causing a clap of pain to thunder inside your skull. 

You wanted to go to bed, sleep for eternity, and be awake to everything as it was yesterday. Your brothers and cousins unbloodied and Aemond dragonless and with an eye. 

“Where’s mother?” you noiselessly questioned Jace, leaning into his ear and almost losing your footing. You needed to stay strong for them. 

“It will heal, will it not? Maester?” Queen Alicent asked, velveteen voice quivering with pain for her poor son. Maester Kelvyn finished stitching Aemond’s skin, throwing the needle and thread into a bowl with your uncle’s fleshy, viscous eye. 

“The flesh will heal. The eye is lost, your grace,” his nasal voice replied matter-of-factly.

You were going to be ill. 

Quickly, you ran through the multitude of people, pushing past Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, who tried to stop you before you vomited all the contents of your stomach onto a person’s unsuspecting shoes. The crowd gasped in revolt, those not close to you jumping back and clutching their chests in shock. You found yourself before the fireplace, basking in its comforting warmth as you leaned onto the hearth and looked at the unlucky soul you retched on. 

Perhaps the Gods had a twisted sense of justice as you saw the disgusted face of Aegon before you. You didn’t hide your amused smirk.

“Tend to the Princess!” the King shouted to the Maester, seeming to forget about his injured son and throwing his cane in your direction. 

A flurry of green came before pale gray, tenderly cradling your visage in her palms as if you were her child, inspecting it. You grabbed the Queen’s wrists and attempted to push her away as if her touch burned, but she resisted, struggling against your childish strength until she grabbed your shoulders. Her touch reminded you of Aegon as you burst into tears, muscles going limp and at Queen Alicent’s mercy. She turned your head in her grasp, examining you with the utmost care that made another wave of nausea through you. 

The crowd observed in anxious silence as Aemond turned to watch his mother treat you with the affection he wished to receive. Familiar hatred bloomed inside his heart, swallowing his dry mouth as he thought resentfully. He would still have his eye if he hadn’t been so concerned with you. 

“I want my mother.” you whimpered, lips quivering in fear as the Queen lovingly wiped the blood from your neck. 

The Queen released you from her grip as if you had struck her, chest heaving and wide brown eyes watering as she turned to her eldest son. Your mother was here; you didn’t realize it.

“Where were you?” she interrogated Aegon, smacking him upside down before he could answer. 

“Ow! What was that for?” he questioned, incredulously rubbing at the afflicted area grimly. You held no sympathy for him as you hugged your sides. 

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your siblings suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she whispered heatedly so only he could hear, shaking his gangly body in rage. You looked at the Queen with confusion, thinking she had gone mad with grief when she said “siblings.”

As the grand Hall doors creaked open, a shaft of golden light spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the marble floor. With an air of elegance, your mother swept into the room, her silk gown trailing behind her. Following closely was Uncle Daemon, his formidable presence filling the space. Amidst the whispers and murmurs, your name and that of your brothers floated through the air, drawing your attention. Without a second thought, you moved toward her, the sensation of fingertips brushing your bicep as if a ghostly hand had tried to hold you back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Show me, show me!” your mother ordered you and Luke, softly running her digits across your body as you sobbed with relief. “Who did this?”

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled before you could get a word out, leaning from behind his chair. 

You saw his wound on full display. An ugly crisscrossed row of stitches lined up his eye socket and onto his forehead, the flesh puckered and pink as it fought the infection. Your mother moved your face before you could stare any longer as a chorus of accusations from your brothers and cousins sang. You couldn’t get the image of his gash out of your head. 

“He was going to kill Jace! I didn’t do anything!” Luke loudly shouted as you scrunched your eyes with a painful wince.

“Enough!” you heard your grandfather yell, and you looked at him with helpless, watery eyes, but no one listened. 

“It should be my son telling the tale!” the Queen protested, fist pounding against her chest with conviction over the voices.

You continued to look at your grandfather in anguish, the King of The Seven Kingdoms, whom everyone ignored except you. “Silence!” he yelled, voice rattling inside his hollow chest as flem flew from his decaying mouth. 

The Hall went silent, quieter than the Stranger himself, as everyone looked at one another, stunned at the turn of events. People came here to mourn the loss of a daughter, an aunt, a niece, a wife, and a sister. Viserys looked at you and then at his son, his ivory staff sounding with every movement as you swallowed, the taste of bile strong. 

“He called us bastards.” you silently whispered to your mother, wiping the tears and snot from your face.

“Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.” The King approached your uncle as he slumped into the armchair, stepping swiftly and with a newfound curiosity. “Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned, clutching at her neck as tears threatened to spill. “Your son has been maimed, and her son is responsible.”

“Twas a regrettable accident,” your mother countered, moving her body to shadow the three of you from the onlookers.

“Accident?” the Queen repeated, astonished. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!” 

You realized the truth didn’t matter now. All that did was what people perceived it to be. 

“Twas my children who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!” your mother argued as she placed a comforting hand onto Luke’s shoulders. “Vile insults were levied against them!” 

Your grandfather turned from his son to the four of you as you inhaled a shuddering breath. “What insults?” he questioned, a dangerous lilt to his tone that you had never heard before as the Hall went silent. It raised the hairs on your arms. 

“The legitimacy of my children’s birth was put loudly to question,” your mother replied, her chin high yet holding a nervous waver to her voice. 

As she turned towards you, your mother’s eyes conveyed a silent but insistent demand to verbalize what you previously whispered. She wished everyone to hear these words from you—the compassionate and considerate eldest daughter known as The Gods’ Light among the common folk. With tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest heaving with emotion, you gazed at Aemond with a sense of guilt. You knew the words you were about to utter would carry an extraordinary weight. Both sides sought someone to bear responsibility for the turmoil, but you recognized the unspoken truth. 

At that moment, honesty seemed inconsequential. Aemond had suffered the loss of his eye due to Luke’s actions, and you keenly felt your failure to shield your brothers from harm. You would never fault at your duty again. 

“He called us bastards,” you confessed, lacking the anger and conviction of your siblings as you sniffled, refusing to look at Aemond. 

You watched as the Queen’s auburn tresses bounced with the slight affirming nod of her head, a look of disbelief and recognition crossing her face. At that moment, it became clear that she had informed Aemond about the deception, hardening your heart with betrayal. You had believed that she was different and loved you like family, and it stung to realize that she didn’t hesitate to spread lies that would hurt you.

“My children are to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace. This is the highest of treasons,” your mother reasoned, stepping forward to her slouched father as you attempted to reach for her hand to keep you hidden. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such awful slanders.”

As you gazed at your mother, her expression eerily mirroring that of Alicent’s, your lips began to quiver with unease. Was your mother implying that he should be subjected to torture? It seemed unfathomable. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Over an insult?” the Queen asked, shaking her head in disbelief. You knew she was trying to protect herself as you glared at the woman you once thought held the moon. “My son has lost an eye!”

“Tell me, boy. Where did you hear such lies?” the King seethed, face a hairsbreadth from Aemond as you whimpered.

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent swiftly reasoned, eyes flicking desperately from her son to her husband. “The lot of boys. ‘Twas nothing-”

“Aemond,” your grandfather interrupted, ignoring his wife’s explanation. “I asked you a question.” 

Your uncle sat in solemn silence, his lone violet eye unwaveringly fixed on the ground while his father awaited his reply. Before he could utter a word, the Queen unexpectedly interjected. 

“Where is Ser Laenor, the children’s father? Perhaps he would have something to say on the matter,” she jeered.

Your grandfather turned, sparse brows scrunching together as he turned to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, your grace. I… could not find sleep and decided to take a walk,” your mother answered for them, smooth palms wiping across her crimson skirt.

The Queen let out a derisive laugh, her disbelief evident as she shook her head at her old friend. It was impossible to ignore the precise timing of Daemon’s arrival into the Hall of the Nine, trailing just moments behind Rhaenyra with her tousled strands of golden hair. Alicent bore the knowledge of her friend’s calculated machinations, even as Rhaenyra’s children stealthily slipped out of their beds to perpetrate the heinous act of maiming her son. She couldn’t dismiss the nagging suspicion that Ser Laenor was likely engaged in equally treacherous activities.

“Entertaining his young squires, I presume,” Queen Alicent sneered like before, making you feel the same deep-seated ire. 

As no one dared to voice their opposition to her words, a glint of silver caught your eye from the corner, revealing Ser Criston Cole’s silent laughter. Like Ser Harwin, you felt the urge to wipe that smug grin off his tanned face, even though you knew it was impossible.

“Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer,” your grandfather began, staggering before your uncle. “Who spoke the lies to you?”

Everything went silent; the roaring of the fire and the crashing of the waves in the darkness were all that could be heard in the Hall. You understood that whoever Aemond implicated might not live til the next morn. You felt your throat grow tight and struggled to breathe, clutching at your throat as you swallowed the acrid taste in your mouth. Queen Alicent told him as you recalled the time in Helaena’s room. It confused you at first why she would spread such gossip as she seemed to hold a tenderness for you. Claiming your brothers were bastards went without saying you were, but you realized that whatever contempt she had within her heart weighed far more significant than any affection for you. 

Some of you wished to shout that it was her, but you realized that was something Alicent would do without a second thought if the roles were reversed, and you did not want to be like her. She was wicked and cruel, just like her eldest.

“It was Aegon. He told Aemond to call us that,” you answered as every pair of eyes flocked to you. You didn’t like how close your grandfather was to him, afraid that he might strike him for the consequences of his mother. You felt your heart lurch into your throat as you gained the courage to speak the words aloud of all the bad things he did to you. “And he… he”

Before you could finish, your mother tucked you into her waist, kneeling and pushing your face into her shoulder. You tried to pull away from her when his hand rested on your head, the welt sensitive to touch. 

“Don’t,” she whispered into your hair, disguising it as a kiss. They deserved to know. Everyone needed to know what awful Aegon did to you. You wanted to move against her, but your mind was foggy and muscles weak.

“Me?” Aegon exclaimed with shock, wide amethyst orbs looking at you with a broken expression. 

“And you, boy,” your grandfather crept towards him, the rhythmic tapping of his cane piercing your skull like an ice pick. “Where did you hear such calumnies?” Your uncle refused to answer him as his gaze bore holes into your being. There was no remorse in your heart for him. “Aegon, tell me the truth of it!” Viserys shouted, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. 

“We know, father,” Aegon replied fearlessly, refusing to remove his stare from your quivering form. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Feeling the stares from the guests, you admired your uncle for not implicating his mother like a coward, removing your body from your mother, wiping the snot from your lip. Let them look, you thought, inhaling a deep breath as you felt your mother bring you closer. They would stare at you for the rest of your days. It was best if you grew accustomed to it now.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” the King declared, banging his walking stick off the pale stone floor. “All of you! We are family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it.” 

You grimaced at his words, and though you loved your grandfather, having been his favorite granddaughter, you disagreed with him. You refused to apologize for your family trying to defend themselves, and the Queen couldn’t help but agree more. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent said, gesturing to her son. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.” 

Aemond’s fingers dug into the wooden framing of the armchair, and your chin quivered at the thought of what he might be feeling. 

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys sighed, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken,” she sobbed, clutching at her chest, flicking her hair back in a manner that reminded you of Aegon. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have the hand of her eldest to one of my sons. To mend the rift and unite the House of the Dragon once more.”

“Alicent,” your grandfather breathed in a warning, yet still turned to his daughter, having a hint of hope in his violet eyes.

You looked at your mother, shock overcoming any sadness you felt as she shoved you behind her skirts like a hen would do to her chick, too stunned to speak. “I refuse.” 

The Queen shook her head, a sneer curling her plump lips and wet cheeks. Rhaenyra was a selfish, wicked woman with no inclination of decency. Why couldn’t she see this would be solved if she returned Alicent’s rightful daughter to her? The Queen steeled herself to the belief that she would have to fight for her right to have you. She knew deep in her bones that you would one day be by her side.

“Then I shall have one of her sons’ eyes in return. The Princess is innocent,” the Queen declared with a desperate wave of tears. 

Aemond looked to his mother, face impassive, and senses dulled from Milk of the Poppy. He didn’t recall telling her about what you did for him, though it was very little. It felt like he was becoming a second thought to his mother, who seemed only to be scheming on how to insert his niece into their lives. Aemond realized then that he would always be second in his mother’s heart to you, and he felt hollow at the thought, the love that once filled it for his niece ceasing to exist.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” your grandfather warned Queen Alicent. She said nothing as her chest heaved, brown orbs flicking between her husband and old friend.

Believing the matter finished, the King backed away, but Alicent wouldn’t allow this to be the end. She looked to her sworn protector, an apathetic expression on her visage. 

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Ser Criston looked to the Queen with a startled expression as Luke cried for your mother. “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” your mother steadfastly declared, ensuring the three of you were behind her.

“Stay your hand,” the King commanded as the Queen shook with rage, desperately looking between her husband and sworn protector. She reminded you of a deer cornered in a vast forest, listening to the distant howls of wolves closing in for the hunt.

“No, you are sworn to me!” she yelled, finger pointing to her chest indignantly. All waited for the knight to respond, the Lord Commander slowly bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“Protect your brother,” your mother whispered, never straying her eyes from the Queen. Without further instruction, you stood before Luke, gradually backing him away from the group of people unnoticed. You understood Alicent would not hurt you, as did your mother. 

“As your protector, my Queen,” Ser Criston replied with a wary head tilt.

“Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?” your grandfather declared, seething, his face centimeters away from his wife before he addressed the room. “And let it be known that if anyone’s tongue dares to question, the birth of Rhaenyra’s children should have it removed.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Luke, coming to take your place beside your mother as she thanked the King. The unsheathing of a blade cut through the room as the form of Queen Alicent charged toward your family, startling you, the King’s ancestral dagger in her grasp. Luke screamed as she reached the four of you, but your mother stepped in her path before Alicent could enact her rage. 

Suddenly, a person shoved into you, disregarding your existence as you found yourself on the floor. You noticed how the stone seemed to ebb and wave like the flow of the tide. Lord Corlys appeared beside you, lifting you into his arms, securely bound around your torso as he took you into the circle of your cousins and brothers, your mother struggling against the Queen. 

“You’ve gone too far!” your mother admonished the Queen as tears burned her eyes. She pushed against Alicent, and she jerked against her, trying to get to your brother.

“I?” Queen Alicent exclaimed, voice thick with anguish as you attempted to push out of your grandfather’s arms, kicking your legs into his side. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, and the law while you flout to do as you please?”

“Alicent, let her go!”

The Queen still poised the dagger to strike, its new path being that of the heir to the Iron Throne as your mother looked helplessly to the onlookers. No one made to separate the two as they all stared in shock, the fire illuminating their faces like wraiths of death. Landing a hard smack to Lord Corlys’s neck, he dropped you as you shoved through the onlookers toward your mother. She put her life for yours and your brothers, but who would put hers before theirs? 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? My happiness and dreams? It’s templed under your pretty foot again!” the Queen sobbed, her form trembling with hurt and rage, everything that she bottled inside her for years. 

“Release the blade, Alicent,” Lord Otto commanded, a man you hadn’t met until this morn, but she paid him no mind, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed against her old friend. 

“Wasn’t taking her, my only light, enough for you? And now you take my son’s eye, and to that, you feel entitled,” she confessed, tears making the Queen’s mouth thick with wetness as you shouldered your way to the inner circle of people. 

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness,” your mother interrogated, a bitter grimace on her sharp lips. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent stared at your mother with an enraged offense that wrinkled her brows as she felt fire surge through her, and with a loud cry, she unthinkingly swung your family’s ancestral dagger. You screamed, running to your mother as you pulled her back, seeing a gash on her inner arm that gushed with blood. 

“Mama,” you wept, tenderly holding her limb as if it would break. 

Dropping the dagger, Alicent took an instinctual step toward you, a blanched, horror-stricken expression across her round face. She longed to go to you, to dry your tears and stroke your head against her bosom like your true mother would, but she could not. The terror and fear in your wide brown eyes that resembled her own sliced through her chest and laid her heart and soul bare as she felt a small hand slide into hers. The Queen hoped to see you standing beside her and thought herself mad before she securely took her son’s fist.

Much like you, Aemond knew his parent needed him. “Do not mourn me, mother. ‘Twas a fair exchange,” he expressed with a maturity beyond his years. He turned to you, a violet gaze once filled with joy now devoid, hollow, and one less eye. “I may have lost an eye but gained a dragon.”

You wished Aemond hadn’t claimed one this way and felt a hiccup wrack your lungs as you cried into your mother, Jace, and Luke coming beside you. You sadly realized this was the end of the fleeting companionship you cultivated with your uncle. All the stolen moments of reading, ideas, philosophies, and aspirations you shared under the cover of privacy were nothing more than air the moment he ran across the dunes. You would have still cared for him without a dragon, as before, but his pride wouldn’t allow it, and now he stared at you with an eye that you knew far too well. 

Aemond hated you. He loathed you and your brothers with a fire that would never cease. This was your fault. He lost an eye because of you—because he cared about his bastard niece and had the foolish dream of becoming the man you loved. You did not deserve it. You were nothing more than a common girl born from sin, undeserving of your station. He would despise you for the rest of his days no matter how his heart screamed to have you by his side when darkness fell and all that was left was the ghost of your touch. 

Masterlist of Series

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Happiness never lasts in ASOIAF. I'm going to miss writing for baby Aemond and reader. They were so cute! From now on it's going to be messed up young adults with severe mommy uses and mental illness. I'm not going to say who has which XD. Thank y'all so much for reading and I hope to see y'all in the next chapter!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint

[takami-takami]

Nightmares.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— ptsd. trauma. self harm. nightmares. touch starved!keigo. be careful and know your limits!

Keigo feels the drop in his stomach first before anything else.

His bloodshot eyes snap open, lungs gulping in air as he sits up and grasps at the sheets below.

It doesn't matter that the room is pitch black. All he sees, clouding his field of vision, is red.

Red, when he attempts to blink it away. Red, when they're opened wide. Red, even through the bubbles of tears that he claws away with his nails. Red, when he stares at his filthy palms.

Unclean.

He asks himself if he could scrape it away if he tried hard enough, could expose the fresh cells underneath– the newly formed skin that has never been touched by the sins their owner has committed. New, like the skin of a child untainted by the corruption of those who were supposed to protect them.

He flinches when he feels the drape of his feathers surrounding him. Distantly, somewhere far outside his body, he wonders if they were always this scarlet color. Was he born with blank wings? Did something make them this way? Did something make them the perfect shade for concealing bloodshed?

Did someone?

The waves of panic, the ones that shake his system to its core, bubble to the surface of his throat. They taste like disgust, like shame.

Don't let the guilt control you, Hawks, they say. Don't even let the thought pass through your mind. There's no reason to be upset... This is for the greater good. This is for your own good.

That's what they always told him.

His breathing comes quicker, deeper; but no matter how wide his chest expands, he still drowns. He needs to get out of here, needs to escape, there has to be an escape route, there has to be if he can just—

"Baby?"

The room illuminates with the click of a switch. His eyes, golden color swallowing shrunken pupils, glance behind him. Your face is illuminated by the dull, amber glow of the lamp by your bedside.

You look worried. Are you okay? He should ask you if you're okay.

He blinks, eyes focused directly on you. His body feels inhuman, hunched over and trembling with his hands still cupped below him. Stiff.

When he feels the bed creak beneath him, the velvet expanse of the comforter creasing with your movement towards him, he remains still. You offer the soft touch of your palm against his, interlacing his fingers with yours, silently asking permission. He squeezes back.

Your skin is pristine. Don't you know if you do that, you'll get them dirty?

You bring his hands to your lips anyway, kiss each pad of his fingertips tenderly before you begin to speak.

"Dreams again?"

He lets out a shaky breath in response, dropping his shoulders. He hasn't stopped staring at you for a second.

"Yeah, I-I," Keigo stutters, the adreneline beginning to dissipate from his veins, but still there. "Yeah, I guess so."

You hum. "Do you need some water? C'mon, sit up, I've got you. You're okay. I'll get you some water—"

You barely get the chance to move an inch before his hand shoots out and grips your arm, tightly at first before it frightens him that he'd be so quick to reach out. That his touch would be so rough.

"No! Please, don't stop," he all but begs, voice entirely too loud for his own ears. He wishes you were talking instead. Your voice is soothing, your voice is whole. "Stay. You... Can you just hold me? I didn't want to, I had to, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry—"

You know you're not the only one he's apologizing to. You accept it anyway, with a soft kiss that melts him to the core. "It's okay. I trust you." You tuck his hair behind his ears, to which he responds by leaning into the grounding touch. "You're doing your best. You're a good person."

It's difficult for Keigo to allow himself this, but you make giving in to the comfort too tempting. He buries himself into your chest, melts into the scratch of your fingers on his scalp.

Just stay like this. Just a little while longer, he thinks. Until I can feel like a person again.

[blxvdlusttxx]

Preacher's daughter - Eyeless Jack x Reader

Content warning: Mentions of murder, gore, SMUT, cult activities, sacrifice, dub-con? Jack takes readers virginity, oral (reader receiving) P in V, religion (Christianity) religious trauma? reader questions her religion and belief in God. Degradation (Jack mocks readers religion), corruption kink. mentions of vomiting, praise, pet names (Angel, little thing), angst.

Fem!reader

Request: Yes / No

First smut fic on here! I know i said I'll NEVER write rape-ish fics but I'm trying my hand at not quite non-con but it's a little questionable at the begining, but reader eventually consents so It's not quite out of my confort zone. I've been listening to Ethel Cain's songs Inbred and Strangers and it really inspired this fic.

Again, as mentioned before my stories are based off of Jordan Persegati's videos of the characters so if anything seems off about the story let me know.

Enough yapping, onto the story!

The air felt cold and damp, the smell of blood plagued the wind coming into the cave entrance, making y/n's stomach turn.

She looked up at what her friends had created, the monster they had summoned. She begged them not to do it, pleaded on her knees, hands folded as if she was praying to the God above.

A loud growl could be heard from Jack as he killed the last of her friends that forced him through the sacrifice. A tear rolled down her bloodstained cheek, becoming tainted with the liquid as it trailed down her neck.

Hey eyes widen as she notices that he had also noticed her, slowly approaching her, like a Lion creeps upon his pray. She had never felt so small in her life, he looked so large from her view on the floor. She closed her eyes tight, pushing herself impossibly closer to the wall as she clutched the cross that adorned her neck.

"Darling, God isn't going to help you now." Jack chuckles at the sight of her, his voice horse and scratchy. she looked pathetic, like a tiny child crying for her mother.

"P-please Jack... I didn't want this..." she sobbed, shifting to sit on her knees, head down in shame and fear. She couldn't look at him, she was too ashamed that she couldn't do more to help him out of the disgusting predicament he is now in.

Her plea caused him to chuckle, he crouched down in front of her, looking over her features carefully. She reminded him of a baby deer, her big doe eyes now saddened and filled with tears. Her hair was disheveled and stuck to her face. her white night gown dressed her body loosely, but flattering, the neckline left her collarbones bare, and the cross sat in between them, dangling from her neck. It almost made her look pure, if it weren't for the dirt and blood that stained the white fabric, making it almost see-through.

He smirked at her trembling frame, and stood up before reaching down and slinking his index finger under her chin, tilting her head to look up at him. Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes almost spoke volumes of his preys purity. But Jack knew better, he knew there was room for corruption.

"I'm sorry... I tried to help but they wouldn't listen... p-please I'm so sorry." She sobbed again, her pleas doing nothing more but causing his bloody jeans to tighten at the zipper.

He chuckled again, cupping her cheek with the hand that was holding up her chin, gently stroking her wet cheek with his thumb.

"What's wrong angel? it wasn't your fault" he cooes, looking down at her hungrily. "Your pure heart and "holy" beliefs can only do so much in this sinful world. Is that What you think of me now? A sinner?" He growls. Her eyes widen as she shakes her head frantically.

"N-No! of course not..." y/n whimpers, reaching up and holding onto the arm that touched her.

He enjoyed that look, the look of her on her knees in front of him, weak and bent to his will. He'd almost feel like her God himself, if it weren't for the demon that possessed his soul, hungrily desperate to bend her over and fuck the purity right out of her tight cunt.

He chuckles yet again, and leans down to meet her eyes. He licks his lips starvingly, he wanted to take her. He could, he knows that, but he knew it would be much more satisfying if she wanted it. He wanted to break her, wanted her to beg for him, beg for him to take her all for himself. It was selfish, yes, to steal a girls purity that could only be given once. That pure desire that she'd been saving for so long.

He knew that she was different though. Her eyes could fool anyone, but not him. She took to the "Preacher's daughter" role well, but he knew that she longed for someone to touch her. To make her feel as good as her holy God does.

"You're such a pretty little thing... Christ, look what you do to me" Jack growls lowly, taking ahold of her hand and pressing it firmly against his restrained cock. She whimpers in response, looking down at the evident erection in his pants.

"I-...I don't mean to..." she whispers shamefully, attempting to pull her hand away, He clicks his now elongated tongue against his sharpened teeth and shakes his head.

"I'm afraid God won't help you here, little thing." He snarks, he reaches under her arms and lifts her up, his hands glide down her body to wrap her legs around his waist. He pins her to the wall of the murky cave, leaning in to lick up the side of her neck, nibbling on her ear. A soft moan escapes her lips, her cheeks burning red as another tear rolls down.

"Oh God..." She whines, trying to push away from him.

"How unholy you are, little one" He groans into her ear. "You're not as pure as you let on, are you angel?" he mocks, leaning back to look her in the eyes.

"I-I am....please don't do this." she cries, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.

"No... I don't think you are baby... I know you want this, we both know it." he smirks, grinding his cock into her clothed cunt. "Your God isn't here sweet girl, there's no need to hide from me." He slides a a hand from her thighs and up her nightgown, slipping under her white panties, he smirks as he rubs circles around her already wet clit.

She whimpers, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. He pulls her away from the wall and lays her on the floor, careful not to harm his new toy.

Was this really something that God allowed in this world? The maker of all things, the Almighty, the Healer? How could he allow such sinful things to harm those who don't deserve it? Jack may not be religious, she knew he wasn't. But to allow this to happen to him? Why? It felt like her chest was collapsing, everything she once believed in crashing down around her, mocking her naive trust and devotion.

Her thoughts swallowed her whole, only snapping out of it when she felt Jack's warm tongue against her pussy, licking a stripe up from her hole and swirling around her clit. She gasps, gripping his hair tightly to ground herself. He laughs menacingly, crawling up her body to look her in the eyes.

"there you are angel, where'd your pretty little mind wonder off to, hm?" he whispers, a cunning grin plastered on his lips.

"W-why are you doing this?" she whines, wanting to push him away, but also not wanting to. She knew this was a sin, this dirty feeling would stain her image in the Lord's eyes forever. Maybe Jack was right, maybe God really isn't there after all.

"I've decided that you're mine, my little angel." he presses a kiss to her temple. "You don't belong to your pathetic God anymore, you're all mine." he growls, trailing back down her body.

Y/n shuts her eyes tight, maybe being his wouldn't be so bad. He hadn't killed her yet, after all.

A soft moan leaves her lips as he ravished her, sucking and licking her pussy like it's the last meal he'll ever have. Her eyes snap open as she feels him slip a finger inside her, it was large, the unfamiliar sting of her insides being stretched open caused tears to prick at her eyes once again. It was painful, but the pleasure soon took over her body as he pumped in and out.

"J-Jack..." she moans, pulling at his hair. The feeling of pleasure was something she had never experienced before. She'd heard stories from her friend's, sure, and she was always curious to know what it felt like, but she knew that it was a sin to partake in any sexual activities before marriage. Her virginity was important to her, It was something that she was excited to give to her future husband. To remain pure and untainted by men. Now, she questioned what that even meant.

She felt disgusting for liking the way he's making her feel. Every throb and wave of pleasure caused her to cringe. As the blissful feeling grew more intense, she cared less. She wanted him to touch her, she wanted him to touch her till she vomited from the violating feeling, it was addicting. She never thought it would be this intoxicating.

She felt strange, the feeling of bliss was becoming unbearable, she didn't understand what was happening. Was she dying, Is this god punishing her for her sin?

"J-Jack I- What's happening?" she pants, trying desperately to squirm away and catch her breath.

"It's alright angel, let it come." Jack cooes, holding her in place by her hips and continuing his attack on her clit. He inserts another finger and laps at her clit, chuckling at her desperate moans and pleas

Her first orgasm hit her light a fright train, she cried out, her body convulsing and grinding into his face. Her back arched, head leaned back as she cried out into the night.

He slowed down after allowing her to ride out her high. He kissed up her body before meeting her face, keeping eye contact as her slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking up all the juices that leaked out of her.

"Shhh, it's alright angel, you're such a good girl" Jack cooes. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper of his jeans. Her eyes lock in his hands, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pulls them down, allowing his large cock to spring up, slapping against his shirt. Her lip begins to quiver, fear begins to take over at the large size of him.

Jack notices as he positions himself between her legs, his leaky tip prodding at her entrance.

"It's alright angel, I'll be gentle, don't worry." he shushes her, reaching up to grip her hips as he presses in. It was beyond painful, her eyes screwed shut as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She wanted to be his. She didn't care about anything else, only him. He was all that mattered to her now.

Tears ran down her temples as he stretched her out, his cock beginning to be coated in the blood of her now torn hymen. When he finally bottomed out, he remained there for a moment, pressing kisses to her tears as he waited for her to adjust to his size.

He eventually started moving, thrusting his cock into her over and over again. She moaned, gripping at his body as he took her all. The pain subsided and she was greeted with that feeling, the feeling of pure bliss that only he could make her feel.

He growled lowly, sucking on her neck until the skin was raw and purple as he thrusted into her. She was tight, it felt like she was milking him for all he had.

"Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good" he groans, increasing his pace.

the intense feeling was returning with every thrust of his cock. He felt so experienced, every way he moved, kissed, touched, it felt like he knew her body like a prayer. She cried out, desperate to feel that feeling again.

"Jack please" she begged, pulling on his hair.

"I know angel, I'll make you cum, just relax. I'm almost there too baby" he groans into her ear, reaching down to rub at her clit.

It finally hit her again, and she cried out, babbling a mix of his name and "oh god yes." he grunted, his own release hitting him. he filled up her tight cunt, a mix of cum and blood drooled out of her hole.

"You're mine, angel. all mine" he growled, and reached up, he yanks the cross off her neck and throws it God knows where on the dirty ground.

[keruimi]

Hello there! If you accept requests I was wondering if maybe you could write some headcanons of the hashiras seeing reader (Who's older and also a hashira) as an older sibling figure? Only if you want to ofc and if it's possible all of them, if not that's alright! Have a nice day / night! ^^

My Saving Grace

Author's Note: I finally have the will to post this. I tried, I really tried because I'm not sure how to write this since I prefer oneshots. I don't see the characters as a sibling figure too so it was really difficult to grant this. But since it was the first request I received, I tried to write this. I love scenarios and this made me really know how to write one. Sorry for taking too long and sorry for not managing to get every hashira included but I hope I did it correctly. Hope you enjoy it!!

Mentions of death, abuse, and trauma.

Characters: Sanemi, Obanai, Giyu

_____________________________

On the torture room, the smell of blood is staining the nose of the Young Master of the Ubuyashiki Family the moment he enter the room.

Within the four walls of the room, his eyes laid on the table that was placed in the middle of the room as a figure of a woman soaking from her own blood was the one thing that greeted him.

He felt his wife let go of his hand as he slowly walked inside the room. The people inside left to give them the private time he requested for.

The moment the door closed, he started to walk closer to the woman he got to learn about.

"Fuyutsiki Y/n, can you hear me?" His gentle voice rang across the room yet silence was the only thing that responded to him.

He sat on the stool that was close to her as he held his focus on the eyes of the woman who was just staring at the ceiling above them.

"Do you still have the heart to listen for what I'm about to request you with?" He continued noticing she won't bother responding with the torture still felt by her body.

"Do you want to take your life back?" That question finally manages to get a slight movement from the woman as she blinks her eyes from what she heard.

"Even if I did..." It was barely heard with how she tried to let those words out.

It was still painful

"What can I possibly do?" It ends up as a whisper that made Kagaya put his hand above hers to offer his sincere comfort to the woman.

"You can protect the people who suffer the same way you did. Under my wing, killing wouldn't be a sin"

A tear fell from the woman's eyes when those words were stated. Somehow, the slight heavy feeling on her chest lightened even just a little bit.

It became more bearable with the guilt she is now experiencing.

"I just want to be free. But no one wants to save me" she stuttered out as more tears followed that mix with the blood trailing down from her head.

"Now that I freed myself from that man, why do they need to punish me for it?", She started to question her fate as the young man silently listened to her pain.

"I became a sinner because I want to be happy"

Kagaya slightly grip her hand to remind her he is still here with her. Sharing the pain she is going through.

"Another chance. There is a path you can take without going against your morals but at the same time where you can heal" he exclaimed that made the woman glance at him.

"I can give you that"

That was the time Y/n chose the path Kagaya offered her.

And that is to become a Demon Slayer...

Known as the Winter Hashira, in three years, she managed to climb the ranks of the corps without any sight of injury ever being seen on her.

If anyone were able to describe her, a woman who moves with elegance and gentleness that became her advantage on the battlefield.

She kills her target without blood even staining her body.

A woman who finished her job beautifully.

Those were the words of the staff that can usually be hear when someone ask about the quiet woman who always spend her time in a garden.

She looks untouchable like a noble lady. So the others never bother getting along with her.

Yet without a doubt, she maintained her Hashira position compared to the Hashiras where the kids (Future Hashiras) were training under.

It made them doubt her abilities. A woman who seems to have no care about the world.

Until...

In the middle of daylight, after a Hashira meeting. A woman's hand is seen gripping her fellow Hashira's neck.

"Y/n-san! Please calm down" Kanae's voice can be heard on the Estate as the kids (Some Future Hashiras), were silently watching from the window of the Butterfly Mansion.

The man let out a gasp when the hands of the Winter Hashira tighten, blocking his airway.

"Let me make it clear to you about your role. You were chosen to become an example, not a corrupt person" the voice of a woman that is laced with undeniable hatred can be heard as Kanae can't help but close her mouth.

"You have no rights to hurt the kids as if they were your stress reliever. Especially if no mistake was made" the woman let go of the man as they fell on the floor, gasping.

"If you can't control yourself, then you shouldn't be a Hashira" the anger of the woman was clearly seen from how her eyes seem to lighten up like she can kill the person in front of her in a second.

"Y/n-san, you're breaking a rule-"

"The rules don't dictate me. It's my job to correct mistakes, especially entitled people like you." She calmly stated as she wiped her hands with her handkerchief, acting like her blood was not boiling from anger a while ago.

"Don't test me"

That moment changed the perspective of the kids who she defended.

____________________________

Sanemi:

He was fifteen when it all started

Anger...

That was all I felt as I held my friend's deceased body. While the demon's body slowly withered from my vision.

I failed to protect the person who gave a chance on the friendship I never thought would bloom.

I lost another person against the demons.

The stinging pain in my chest was ignored as my vision turn red that i ddin't notice I started to have a rampage and killed every demon I encountered without any mercy.

That when I encountered another lower moon, I finally lost the strength to keep going on as I fell to the ground along with Masachika's body.

I'm Tired...

Tired of being the defender, tired of forcing myself to keep going for the people I failed to save.

Tired of holding on to the hatred I held for the demons.

Where is the peace I first wanted. Will all of that be unreachable to reach?

I didn't have the time to see the head of the lower rank demon decapitate before the silhoutte of the well-known hashira stood in front of me.

"What are you doing?" I utter as her blank gaze look down on me.

Somehow in that little time, I wish to just die.

But someone like her prevents that wish of mine from being granted.

"I'm doing what I promised to the world" she answered my question where the answer was already serve.

I felt myself getting pulled up from the ground that made me tiredly sat up as she crouch in front of me.

"This is one of the challenges you need to get passed through" her presence made me almost didn't realize the help that finally arrive as my friend's body was taken away from me.

I felt the anger that made me numb, set free again as it surround the heart that almost stop beating.

"It's not the end of the world, Sanemi. You can't give up yet"

Her words made me scoff as I finally had the courage to gaze on her own orbs.

"What am I even fighting for?"

It was a question that I should have the answer. But now the grief made my mind a mess that is starting to make me confused.

But one thing I'm sure of was I'm really tired.

"What would I benefit from here?"

I sacrifice so many things yet I don't know what I would receive in the end.

"Is fighting really worth it?"

"Yes" she didn't hesitate, not even a bit from her answer as her firm gaze never left mine.

"Make that anger, that pain your weapon. So you would achieve the very first reason why you decided to put your life in line to protect the others." Her grip on my arm started to loosen as she completely kneel to be on the same level as me.

"You want peace. Not only for yourself but also for the world we live in. You want justice, for yourself and for the people who lost their life on these battle." Her words started to enter my mind as my stiff body softened a little and the burning anger, started to slowly rest in my chest.

"Sanemi, there's a lot of reasons to keep fighting. And one of those is being the savior of many" her gaze slowly turned less icy as she put her words in my head.

Dictated every word, and engrave it to my mind. So the confusion that the pain gave me, can be cleared and answered like I needed.

"The world is not forcing you to keep going. But you can rest so you can continue fighting. Let me be your aid in this time you need someone" she put her hand on her chest as a declaration.

"Then after this, you can grant the dream you wanted for the old you and for the people who you lost along the way"

"As someone who keeps going on this path, let me look after you. Let me stay beside you. As your guide, and as your teacher"

I felt my chest slightly warm up when her words made me feel that I was finally being protected instead of always being the protector.

Someone is finally looking after me like how it was supposed to be.

I finally found someone I thought I didn't need.

Obanai:

He was thirteen

"Little one, come over here" I heard her gentle voice towards my direction as I didn't raise my head to look at her. I tightly grip on the clothes I was holding as Rengoku-san gave me a slight push like it was my cue to go near her as she asked.

With trembling hands, I approached the woman and became wary of the moment I saw how she treated her fellow hashira.

But I unknowingly admire her for standing up for me. Due to the trauma I felt, I still can't help my body to stop trembling when a person gets angry at me.

Only her, who stood up for me.

I slightly flinch when I feel her cold hand touch my warm ones before she gently pulls me closer to her.

She raised the sleeves that were hiding my arms and saw some slight bruises that formed from being beaten by a stick.

"Does it hurt?" Her gentle voice manages to calm my nerves as she rubbed circles on it that gave me the strength to look at her and saw her eyes already staring at my own.

"From now on, you would be under my care so don't worry" she lifted a small smile before caressing my cheeks as I nod, trying to stop myself from crying.

"There, there" she soothes me down when she senses I'm near on breaking down as she sat me on the bed before taking the bottle of cream from the side table.

"We both know you can do it for your dreams, alright?" She exclaimed before she applied the cream on my bruises.

"Y/n-san" I called for her in a shaky voice as she hum and raised her head to look at me.

"Can I cover the lower part of my face?" I asked in almost a hush tone and I saw how her eyes sadly gaze on the scar that was clearly seen on my face.

Sensing her attention was on it, a tear fell on my eyes because of fear and shame.

I heard her close the bottle before I felt her hand behind my head as she brought my head to her chest so I could free my tears that I badly wanted to hide from the world.

"If hiding your insecurities can make you stronger. We can hide those" I heard her as I can't help but seek for her warm more.

After being alone on the cold dungeon on my own family's home. I finally heard the encouragement and felt the warmth I was seeking for.

Giyu:

He was fifteen

Within in the shadows of the corporation, only her who look for my figure. Someone who never wanted to be left alone.

The quiet woman who I always spend my time with when I have no one beside me.

I thought we were only acquainted until she started to remind me of my deceased sister.

Until her actions slowly started to comfort me.

I felt someone hold the wooden sword that I keep swinging towards the trunk of the tree as I forcefully let out my breath while trying to stop my trembling hand.

Another nightmare.

The same nightmare that prevent me from moving forward without any guilt or negative outlook in life that those important people in my life want me to think about.

It never fail to remind me how useless I was in that moment. And right now, I felt like I'm still chained to that trauma.

"Giyu" I heard her call for my name first that I snap from my thoughts but my grip on the wooden handle didn't falter.

"Go easy on yourself. Don't degrade the strength you have within"

Her monotone voice didn't help me that I almost want to leave until her next words made me want to stay.

"Because you're just a kid" I lifted my head in a speed of light and my teary eyes met her warm ones.

"As someone who watch you from the sidelines, you're better than what you always thought of" her tone started to soften as she immediately took the sword the moment I began to let go.

"So take a rest"

I finally heard the assurance I always tell myself. The words I want to use as a barrier to my own nightmare.

I was better than I know.

And hearing that from her became my comfort in those silent fights on my own mind.

I finally have someone who would be my light on this dark night

[kinardsevan]

BuckTommy/911 fic masterlist

as promised, here is your master list for everything I've written so far (and will continue to update as it changes):

(Divide added because this is getting kinda long now)

UPDATE: UNDER CONSTRUCTION - (this list is getting fairly long, so it may grow in to separate pages as I work on it in the coming days/weeks)

The Song Lyric Series:

Just as the title suggests, these have mostly been lyrically driven. The intention is for them to remain looser than a story, but so far it's been the same plot. (subject to change)

what if there's a little boy that needs a safe place :

Chapters: 1 Rating: M Warnings: n/a

“I’m sorry Evan,” Tommy stated genuinely as he watched Evan drop his towel and then redress. “I honestly don’t know what to say.” Evan huffed, unable to hold all the feelings in any longer. Everything felt so tight—his chest, his throat, his stomach. He couldn’t keep it all buried inside against Tommy’s lack of an answer. OR. The one in which Evan is not okay with a drunk rando flirting with his very beasty, very sexy boyfriend and it leads to professions of love.

they all led me to him (he's one of the good ones:

“I might’ve mentioned fucking you properly earlier this evening,” Tommy says, and even in the midst of wanting the older man to tear his body apart, Evan knows that this moment is as serious for Tommy as it was for Evan earlier. “Yeah,” Buck rasps, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Tommy. “Please do so.” “I’m not going to,” Tommy replies softly. OR. Tommy wants Evan to understand just how in love with him he is. Chapters: 1 Rating: E Warnings: n/a

i'll be here (and you can lay by my side) :

Chapters: 2/? Rating: E Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

When Tommy has to look back on this weekend in the years that come to pass, he won’t have the words to express how things went from so right, to so wrong. He’ll struggle to even find a way to comprehend the trauma inflicted by having his soul shredded right in front of his face and absolutely unable to prevent it. And at its worst, he won’t even have words to explain it all. OR. part 3.

Multi-Chapter Stories

your arson's match, my somber smile (the love of my life): Chapters: 4/? Rating: n/a (subject to change) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

In that moment, the nanosecond in which he had crystal clarity, only one thing mattered to him. As his feet finally slipped out from under him, just before the warped metal came swinging down at another angle, he looked Bobby in the eyes. “Tell Tommy I love him.” And then the world was black.

guilty as sin (i choose you and me, religiously): Chapters: 1/2 Rating: T Warnings: n/a

Buck and Tommy's first kiss, as told through Tommy's POV.

Never Til Now (Rolling Up The Welcome Mat) Chapters: 5/? Rating: M (for themes) Warnings: n/a

"Maybe there’s something about tangibility, about holding the real thing versus just the idea of it, but it cracks something open in him that hasn’t existed in a long time. Because all of a sudden, he can’t imagine not having this. Not getting to see Evan like this, every day. And it’s barely been thirty seconds." - In March 2025, with plans to propose, Tommy realizes Evan wants kids. the problem is, Tommy doesn't. In November of the same year, in a happenstance exchange, he meets their baby girl. (OR, we take a trip through a dual timeline in which the idea and reality of having kids drives Evan and Tommy apart, and then brings them back together.)

The Devil Doesn't Bargain Chapters: 14/? Rating: E Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Self-harm, Suicidality (discussed and attempted), PTSD, Anxiety, ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Tommy Kinard lived a whole life before he walked into Evan Buckley's life, and it's not one that he's offered up much of so far. Until Evan starts asking questions. Trigger warnings for sexual assault, abuse, and so forth.

you're the only one (who ever gave a damn) Chapters 2/2 Rating: M (for themes and mild sexual content) Warnings: Rape/Non-con

“I um… I don’t know,” he admits softly. “C’mon, Tommy,” Eddie replies. “No, not like that,” Tommy says, looking back up at Eddie. “Not like I don’t have a real excuse. I don’t know like…like I really don’t know, Eddie. I was drunk. I remember being at the bar with you and the other guys, and joking about you and Evan sparring the next time we were going to train, and then…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nothing. I woke up in a house I didn’t recognize.” Eddie stares at him, coffee cup in hand and mouth slack, and Tommy waits for the judgment to come. He’s fully prepared for Eddie to tell him what a dick he his for going home with some other guy and having drunken sex. But Eddie doesn’t speak. Eventually, he’s quiet so long that it makes Tommy uncomfortable. “Look, I know you’re over there judging me-..” Eddie blinks a few times, shaking out of his reverie as he lowers his coffee mug to the counter. “Tommy, man, that’s not cheating,” he states matter-of-factly.

a set of empty bones chapters: 18/? rating: E warnings: rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, suicidal ideation, self-harm

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls. “Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him. Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge. “Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously. BTHB: "you can scream all you want", lacerations, betrayal

Minis:

the rhythm of your heartbeat: Evan has night-terrors. Tommy has to contend with them.

you are the reason: post 709 buck/bobby conversation in which Buck makes it to Tommy's.

Connecting: 709 deleted scene. Evan is getting dressed before the medal ceremony, and Tommy's pretty sure he's going to make them late.

oceans deep, rivers wide: Evan has a realization after a work incident. Tommy concurs. burn it to the ground: Tommy knew the first time he kissed Evan Buckley he was burning his whole life to the ground.

for a thousand years (and a thousand more): In which Tommy tells Evan what it was like falling in love with him. 30 Day Fluff Challenge: Concept list found here

Prompt Minis: here

Others/Oneshots:

something stronger than me (i can hardly stand up, i can hardly breathe): Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for language) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, TW: Self-harm, TW: Suicidal ideation

It had been years since he’d been down this low. At least, that’s how he’d been presenting it to others. But in the darkness of his apartment, where his boyfriend couldn’t see his legs because their schedules were conveniently not aligning ever since Gerrard’s arrival…his thighs were coated in fresh wounds.

The Saboteur: Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M (for language) Warnings: TW: homophobic language, TW: harrassment

Five times Tommy Kinard is faced with having to file a complaint against Vincent Gerrard, following his reinstatement at the 118.

take me to the other side Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for themes) Warnings: n/a

“So what’s on your mind,” Tommy asks him. “Are you imagining a specific scene? Or a particular want you’re thinking about?” “Not a scene, necessarily,” Evan says, twiddling his thumbs. He’s struggling to piece together the words in the right way to convey what he’s actually wanting. “Okay,” Tommy says, accepting his answer. When Evan doesn’t speak again right away, Tommy prompts him. “I want…?” Evan gulps. “I want…I-i want you to t-t-tie me up."

you're the only one (in the dark, i see) Chapters: 1/1 Ratings: T (for language) Warnings: n/a

He closes the door behind Tommy, his hand still resting on the handle for a beat as he stares at Tommy’s back. He wants answers, and if this is his last chance to get them, then God damn it, Evan’s going to get them. - Tommy breaks up with Evan after Gerrard's return to the 118. Evan is not okay with this decision.

BuckTommy Week 2024

Day 1, Date Night: Rating: General

clay wheels and no ghosting: Tommy and Evan attempt ceramics and talk about things.

Day 2, Emergency: Rating: M (suggestive language)

Under the Weather: Evan and Tommy fall ill

Day 3, Bad Weather Days Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence) Chapters: 2/2 its hurting (but it ain't dead) : Tommy is pissed. No one called him to ask him if he was cool with this idea, and it really doesn’t matter to him in the moment that they didn’t actually have to. It was Evan. They had allowed his boyfriend to put himself in the line of fire without bothering to even ask if that was something he was alright with. He wasn’t even forewarned; just showed up to a scene where they’d been asked to send extra support in plain clothes. But if he’d known…oh, if he’d known…

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

11/18/24 TW/CW: vent (sort of), mentions of blood, vomit (slightly), mentions of yelling, trauma, blood, et cetera. Thank you.

“My brain works in a weird way. It’s sort of like how celebrities or others online only show their best side. They only reveal the highlights of their life and positive moments, and the audience may look up to them or feel… insignificant, in comparison. After a bit, in my case, my mask can wear down. I play this positive character in this show, and my depressed states are merely my expressions when I am off-stage. And so, I want to find a way to cope with all my stress, my trauma. And until I do, it is broken. I cannot wear it again, or lies will show. I can’t play out-of-character in a live show; the live show being, well, my life. No- I need to find a way to cope. If I don’t, I’ll never forgive. I’ll never forget. I’ll never get over it. All I have sinned for. But. I am scared. What methods do I have where my writing keeps safe? What platform is not going to be tracked by my guardians? No matter where I go, they are there. They are watching. I can’t feel safe online if they are there. I can’t express my true potential if my mom will eventually find my account and brag to her friends over how great I am. Over how… talented I am.”

“I’m crying too much. Emotions flood me as if dams are broken. The water, a growing flood, overcomes my emotions and my rationality. I do not panic, but I am scared. But I must hide my sobs before my father finds me and mentally beats me up about it. ‘It won’t do any good for you’; I can’t help it. If you keep yelling at me, what am I supposed to do? For I have not matured to your liking. I only exceed your standards, and my mother’s standards, in art. Something they seem to never get over. I start overthinking things. I grow anxiety. My head starts to throb and my hands begin to tremble so much. I feel so sick, I might throw up. The idea of multiple tests this week doesn’t help. I sit in the bathroom, silent. If I am caught, I am beat. I am lectured. They will ask me: ‘whats the matter? Why are you so sick?’, as if they are clueless that they are the main cause. I grow weak at the thought of the future, the past, and the present. ‘This could have been worse’; I comfort myself. This isn’t the worst, but it’s not the best. Tears slowly roll down my face at the memory of all the people I have lost. I’m sorry. Everything I’ve done. Every sin I’ve committed to have gotten where I am today. I’m so sorry, everyone. I deserve this. Don’t I? My lack of rationality grows my thoughts to believe in your lies. Am I just in denial? At this point, I’m stuck in here for 3 hours. I’m too scared to leave, but too scared to stay. I close my eyes and hope everything will go away. I hope everything is merely just a dream, I just need to wake up. Wake up, or you will die. Fuck. Why me? I sob silently, watching my volume as I can lightly hear the footsteps of my family emerge from the hallway. I feel so sick.”

“After another hour or so, I leave carefully. It’s midnight. They are all asleep at this point, and I am spared for another day. I immediately retreat to my room in a silent run, which slightly makes the nauseated feeling return. My pace slows as I walk to my bed, flopping down. My hand immediately reaches for my phone, an instinct. I feel something dripping from my mouth, and I carefully run my hand over it. Blood. Or so, I suppose it is. It tastes like it at least, but it’s too dark to tell. I ignore that and change my glance to my phone, going to Tumblr. My hands still tremble and my eyes are dry. The nauseated feeling slips in and out: irritating yet worrying. I scroll, looking at more art. I force a light smile to myself, and my jaw aches. It leaves after a few seconds. ‘Is this my last resort?’; Do I have to do this? This will only cause me more overwork, stress and anxiety. I exit the reblog. I am sorry, but my body still aches with the need for drawing more, making up perfect animation and drawing ideas in my head. This needs to stop. No. Please. This can’t be it. I can’t draw anymore, but my body refuses. My mind races with the thought of all my requests I have not finished, silently apologizing to the users.”

“…I can’t do this anymore.”

“I need to stop. I need to take a break. I can’t continue this continuous cycle of self-torment. If I do, I’ll become depressed. If I do, I’ll distance myself further from my friends.”

-

Thank you all. I appreciate your support and words of encouragement, and I know this may be a bit excessive, but I felt like releasing my emotions into a piece of text, even at the risk my mom may see this. I apologize if I have not finished your art requests. I am not taking a break, and I will continue making art (I’m sure you little shits are gonna be happy about that, huh, you guys who only care about my art). But I will not be as active, for school is still occurring. I have a break for a week next week, so I’ll try and make more art then. I just want you all to be happy, I’m sorry. I know this is a bit of a 180 from how I was earlier, but I gotta cope. My parents are arguing again (fml). XOXO.

[trickstarbrave]

WIP WHENEVER

HIIIIIIIIII im very excited to share this wip. im so mad i wrote this out of order bc i wanna post it immediately. im looking forward tho to finally being able to edit and post it on ao3 normally

i got tagged by @caliblorn and @your-talos-is-problematic and im taggingggggg @woundjob, @thescrolls-haveforetold, @wellthebardsdead and my roommate @soundwavefucker69

here is smth for moon and star. lots of lorkhan talk. some chim. some trauma. even some dagoth ur

literally i was like "oh yeah. its all coming together" writing this also its long im sorry

also here is my god!nerevar sketch. can be interpreted also as just how lorkhan appears to neht and the ppl around him

Malacath’s hand touched his chest and pain wracked his body. Nerevar could feel the blade cutting away his skin—cutting through the bone of his sternum and splintering it. It ripped apart and opened his ribcage, before that damn hand was then inside his chest. His anxiety spiked as he could feel phantom touches on his heart, a hand gripping it, long claws digging into the muscle as it continued to beat loud and sturdy. His whole body had gone rigid, nostrils flared and his breathing coming in quick pants desperate to get more air in his lungs. 

He was terrified. More than terrified, in fact. It was like being killed in the heart chamber but all the more worse somehow. He was choking now, gagging on blood—thick, black blood that was pouring from his chest, bubbling up in his throat.

And then Nerevar was overcome with the urge to laugh. To laugh besides the terror coursing through him, to laugh even though he was gagging and choking on his own blood. He knew he would die; it had been a part of his plan all along. He hadn’t known what death would be like, but he had anticipated it, at least on his own terms. And yet here Trinimac was, killing him himself. Ripping his heart from his chest. 

He had intended the first death to be slow and simple. A fading ember rather than a bright, all encompassing flame that destroyed everything with it. He had intended to bear the burden as the cause of the first death in their reality where death did not yet exist—was merely a theory. But here Trinimac was, unknowingly mantling that sin himself. A cruel irony he would be the one to blame for this. It was not his fault, but it would be his responsibility and duty.

He’d collapsed at some point, gasping, crying, and choking on blood as Voryn held him close. Voryn shouldn’t see him like this—not his beloved, sobbing and begging. He couldn’t hear his voice over the drumming of his own heart but he tried to speak despite all the gagging he was doing. His gorgeous, sweet lover, his beautiful hawk shouldn’t have to watch him die like this. Not when Nerevar knew this was coming, deep down. Not when he had doomed them both, sacrificed Voryn’s life on the altar just as much as his own. He was regretting it now, if only because he couldn’t apologize; how could he speak when Trinimac had already ripped out his heart? How could he explain he never wanted to hurt Voryn in truth? How would his beloved hawk even react to his death? Oh the fury he could bring down, how he could drown the world in blood and tears if he was pushed to the brink…

And what of Azura, his sister? His poor, vain, vindictive sister… She hadn’t agreed to help him, but he knew she would be in a rage over his death. And even the man killing him was sobbing and crying, apologizing despite his lord—Nerevar’s own brother—ordering his execution. How could he apologize to this man? To tell him he knew he didn’t mean for it, that Nerevar was the villain all along in this story? Would that soothe his grief? Trinimac, Kyne, Azura, all of the others… How would they fair without him? Tears were now spilling from his eyes not from pain but sorrow that he wouldn’t be there to comfort and love them. Ah, if only he could kiss his hawk one last time…

“Nerevar!” Voryn’s voice finally cut through, and a disconnect happened in the vision. He was untethered now, the sensation of falling back into his own body hitting him, and his ears were ringing loudly, a dizziness washing over him. There were no more feathers on Voryn’s face or on his cloak—why would there be? Voryn wasn’t… Voryn wasn’t a hawk, why would he call him that so fondly? There weren’t even tears streaming down his face like he had seen before, but his face was in a grimace, pained watching him writhe and flail choking on imaginary blood.

His hand came up to his chest as he felt around, but there was no gaping wound like he’d expected. Why had he felt it so clearly then? His whole body was still shaking from the terror and pain, unable to calm the trembling. 

“Do you remember now, Lorkhan?” Malacath asked, still standing over him. Vivec and Sil were currently being held back by the numerous orcs, though they were swearing up a storm and desperately trying to fight their way closer to defend him. Even Voryn had a spell prepared as he cradled Nerevar close to his chest, posed with the ferocity of a wild animal protecting its young.

“I-I’m not…” Nerevar began, though it felt like a lie on his tongue. He could still taste the metallic black in his mouth, the unnatural blood he was choking on. His body felt hot now, his mouth dry making the metallic taste all the more nauseating. “Lorkhan is dead!” He shouted definitively. Lorkhan was a dead god—long dead before Nerevar had ever been born as a lowly half blooded chimer in that ebony mine. 

“And yet, here you are, alive and in the flesh.” Malacath responded, his expression unwavering. “I would know that heartbeat anywhere. I would know how you battle more than anyone else.”

“Stop it!” Nerevar shouted, covering his ears, still shaking. 

“Why you deny it is my only question for you.” 

“I’m not Lorkhan!” Nerevar growled, teeth bared. His whole body felt like it was burning, just like in the heart chamber. That supernatural chanting from his dream came back too, at the edges of his senses, as he fought back the urge to vomit. “I’m not Lorkhan, just shut up, shut up, shut up!!” 

The next thing he knew, everything went black, the last thing he heard being his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and Voryn calling his name. 

--

Nerevar’s eyes snapped open. His hands frantically touched at his chest, once again checking for the wound, only to find nothing. Still, the unmistakable ache was there, however faint. 

“Where…?” He found himself someplace… Bizarre. There was stone architecture, that much he knew, but it seemed… Foreign, though they were in a state of disarray. It looked like some kind of abandoned tower, the roof having long since caved in, vines growing over stone. In the middle, where Nerevar was laying was soft grass and a few wildflowers. He sat up, looking around even further, confused. 

“Damn Trinimac, causing problems again…” Someone behind him muttered, and Nerevar quickly turned to see--

Himself? 

He jumped, panicked. No, no he could tell it wasn’t himself. He looked a lot like Nerevar, and sounded a lot like Nerevar, but there was something off about his appearance. He was taller than Nerevar--around Voryn’s height maybe? His hair was much longer too, not to mention he was wearing long robes Nerevar would never wear given how complicated and annoying they looked. Not to mention the longer he looked at him the more his appearance seemed to change--subtle ripples you had to focus on to know. His eyes subtly changed shape, along with his other features, sort of at random in moments where if you blinked you’d miss them. 

“Apologies for that.” The man said, walking over and plopping down to sit next to Nerevar. “I never expected his followers to summon him, nor that he’d do something like that…”

“Who are you?” Nerevar asked, his heart still racing in his chest. The other simply plopped his chin in his hand, staring back at Nerevar, amused.

“You and your lover--both just asking questions instead of even trying to figure it out for yourselves…” He tsk-tsked with a soft click of his tongue and a shake of his head. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know who you are?” Nerevar snapped. “I don’t even know where I am!” 

“Easy, no need to raise your voice.” He still looked amused, despite Nerevar’s anger. 

“Why in Oblivion do you look like me?” Nerevar demanded an answer now; he was in no mood to play games at the moment. He felt his heart being ripped out by that damn orc god and now he had someone playing mind games with him. 

The other sighed.

“I am Lorkhan.” Nerevar’s blood ran cold. 

“What…?” Nerevar stared in confusion and shock. “But Lorkhan is--”

“Dead?” He asked with a smirk and a quirk of his brow. “Don’t I know it.” Lorkhan then laughed heartily. “But when did that stop the dead from interfering with the living from time to time?”

“Why are you here?” Nerevar asked, leaning away from him. 

“I thought it would be only fair to show myself to you after that stunt Trinimac pulled.” He explained. “Though I imagine the fact you were stabbed through the chest once before only made it that much harder for you.”

Nerevar was trying to figure out the situation he was in, putting the pieces together the best he could. Several daedra called him Lorkhan, and here was Lorkhan looking remarkably similar to Nerevar. Was it possible people were mixing them up based on appearance? That didn’t seem quite right; it would make sense for Malacath and potentially Dagon, but Dagon didn’t call him Lorkhan initially, and not to mention it wouldn’t explain the nords. He doubted the elf hating people of Skyrim would so readily accept an elven appearance for their chief deity. Nor did it explain the strange, supernatural beating of his heart that drove him to accomplish strange feats out of sheer willpower alone. 

“... Why do you look like me?” Nerevar repeated his question again.

“Come now, I thought you’d be smart enough to figure that out.” Lorkhan laughed again. 

“Answer me.” 

“Well,” Lorkhan’s grin looked mischievous now. “It’s only fitting I look like you because I am you, don’t you think?”

This time a numbing tingle followed the chill in his blood. “Y… You…”

“Or well, I suppose it might be easier to understand if I say you’re a part of me.” Lorkhan continued. “You wouldn’t be the first mortal to be a fragment of me, anyways.”

“I’m not you!” Nerevar snapped, gritting his teeth. He did what he was best at: lashing out when he was truly scared and confused--when problems became too difficult to ignore or solve on his own. “I’m not you! I’m not Lorkhan!!”

Silence followed, the faint sound of birds chirping having vanished, the sky turning a stormy gray. He was panting from his outburst of yelling, but the screaming hadn’t really solved anything. Lorkhan was still sitting in front of him, looking at him with a serious expression, unphased. He was still in this crumbling tower, sitting in the grass. 

How long could he run from this? Daedric princes called him Lorkhan. The nords called him Shor. The strange visions he received that only made sense if they were Lorkhan’s memories, not to mention his heart--

Nerevar curled up, hands moving up as he felt a pain in his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. 

He was scared. He was scared and he didn’t know what was going on. He was terrified because ultimately, he didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t know what this made him.

Gingerly, two arms wrapped around him, pulling him up from the fetal position he curled himself into and into a warm embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lorkhan whispered, “Just let it out.” As soon as he said that, tears were flowing out of Nerevar’s eyes as he openly sobbing into his shoulder, holding onto him. Nerevar never really had a father--as the Nerevarine he was an orphan who didn’t really know who his parents were and as Nerevar his father was hunted down before the two of them ever met. But at that moment Nerevar couldn’t deny there was something paternal in the way Lorkhan held him gently, letting him cry and sob with arms that felt so much stronger than Nerevar could imagine. As alien as it was, he felt safe in his arms, the pain in his chest fading though he was still distraught and crying. 

Eventually though, his tears died down to soft whimpers rather than open sobs, Lorkhan stroking his hair all the while. 

“It’s alright.” He repeated, trying to reassure Nerevar.

“It’s not alright.” Nerevar countered. “If I’m just you that means I don’t really exist!” It was the truth; if he was just some shard of Lorkhan then he had no real identity of his own. He was just a piece of a larger whole, delusional in that it thought itself independent and separate. “No one really knows me. No one really loves me.” The person Voryn loved wasn’t even real, just a false identity of someone who denied who they truly were. Was the person Voryn actually loved just the pieces of Lorkhan that made up Nerevar? Lorkhan said there were other mortals like him--what if Voryn left him for someone who was a larger, better part of Lorkhan? “I’m just a part of you, an extension of you. I don’t have any thoughts or feelings of my own!”

“Hey now, that’s not true.” Lorkhan interjected. “If you had no thoughts or feelings of your own, how could you deny being me?” 

“But--”

“You have thoughts and feelings and emotions of your own.” Lorkhan reiterated. “You have your own identity, your own history, your own relationships.” Lorkhan gently dried the tears on his cheeks, careful of the sharp nails on his hands. “You don’t have all the same traits as me, and likewise, how you act on things is entirely up to you.” 

“But then how am I you?” Nerevar asked, apprehensive. 

“Hm… How to explain this…” Lorkhan began, humming softly, trying to gather his thoughts. “... Do you know that sometimes people take cuttings from plants to make a new one?”

Nerevar did know that, though he’d never done so himself. He was bad at growing plants, but he’d heard of it a few times. 

“When they take a cutting from a tree for instance, it was once a part of that tree.” Lorkhan continued. “One of the many, smaller branches of it. But with care and cultivation, it grows roots of its own, and then spreads itself deep into the soil as a little sapling, before finally growing into a tree itself.” Lorkhan then smiled at him. “You’re like a cutting made from me that grew into its own tree. We might be made up of the same things and bear the same fruit, but you might have different branches than me and grow in different ways.” 

“... But what if someone only loves that tree because of its fruit?” Nerevar asked. 

What if Voryn only loved him for the parts of him that were Lorkhan? What if, when Voryn found out, he became disillusioned? Why would he bother with having Nerevar as a lover if he was just a part of a larger whole? What if there was a better piece of Lorkhan out there to love, or he could simply worship the dead god in earnest to get closer to the source?

Lorkhan responded by pinching his cheek playfully, pulling Nerevar from his mental spiral.

“Then someone doesn’t really love that tree specifically, now do they?” 

“But--”

“Trees are much more than the fruit they bear.” Lorkhan continued, cutting him off. “They provide shade in the sun, and shelter in the rain. They are homes for birds, and the wind whistles through the branches to make music, or even children play in the branches and leaves.” Lorkhan was still smiling at him warmly. “Even if they love the fruit it makes too, not just any fruit tree can be their tree. And if they only love the fruit, wouldn’t you prefer someone who really loved the tree to take care of it rather than someone who only cared about what the tree produced?” 

Ah, Nerevar saw what he was getting at here. If Voryn only loved the parts of him that were Lorkhan and didn’t care about him otherwise, that meant he didn’t really love Nerevar. Nerevar’s hand reached over to caress the scar on his left shoulder gently, unable to really feel it through his shirt and armor, but comforted by the knowledge it was there nonetheless. 

Would Voryn have really asked Nerevar to carve his name into him if he didn’t love Nerevar? Perhaps the rest of Lorkhan didn’t appeal to Voryn. Perhaps the other traits other mortals shared with Lorkhan weren’t the same as how Nerevar was. Nerevar wanted to trust Voryn with his heart and make this work--he shouldn’t be assuming once again that Voryn would be quick to leave him and replace him with someone else. Voryn committed to Nerevar.

“There we go.” Lorkhan smiled, seeing his stormy expression fade. 

“... But I don’t know what any of this means.” Nerevar continued. “Why am I a part of you? What does any of this mean?” How was he supposed to move forward like this? How many other daedra would challenge him calling him Lorkhan? “How can I tell what’s my thoughts and abilities and what’s just yours? How can I tell if I’m even real?” 

That was the part Nerevar was still grappling with. If he was called Lorkhan and acted like Lorkhan and did what Lorkhan was supposed to do… Didn’t that just make him Lorkhan? When he was the Nerevarine he slowly just assumed Nerevar’s memories, thoughts, and identity after he was sent back in time--or was going back in time not real either. “The future--what about my memories of the future? Are those fake too or--”

Lorkhan smiled softly, almost knowingly. 

“Oh little star,” Lorkhan chuckled as though he was recounting something funny. “None of your memories of the future are real.”

“... Huh?” They weren’t… Real? “But Dagoth Ur--the Tribunal--” Didn’t Vivec have a vision of Nerevar being killed as king? That was in the future Nerevar saw as well.

“None of it was real.” Lorkhan was still smiling, but Nerevar was sent spiraling again. 

It was all so real. Nerevar could feel it. He felt Vivec’s spear ramming through him. He could hear the hurt and betrayal in Dagoth Ur’s voice, along with the cold anger as he revealed he would never be able to trust Nerevar even if Nerevar had agreed to join him. Almalexia had attempted to kill him a second time as the Nerevarine, and he remembered fighting her after discovering Sotha Sil’s mangled corpse. 

Panic set in then. If none of that was real then… Why did he not remember his past? Why had he dreamed up such a strange turn of events? Why--

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Lorkhan leaned in close, a devilish smirk on his face now. “I’m not real either.”

Nerevar blinked in shock, only to find Lorkhan was gone. In fact, everything was gone now, leaving Nerevar floating in an inky, black void. 

Nerevar’s panic rose at that. It could have been Lorkhan just telling him he was a figment of Nerevar’s imagination and not actually the ghost of a dead god but… Nerevar knew that wasn’t the case. He could feel it, deep in the pit of his stomach, and the revelation was not a comforting one. He was left entirely untethered in this void, and looking down at his hands, he saw himself flickering in and out. 

If Nerevar was Lorkhan, and Lorkhan didn’t exist, then that meant that he didn’t exist either. Really didn’t exist. It was so much more comfortable to imagine himself as a shard of Lorkhan, living and moving on its own, ignorant to the fact it was part of a larger whole. 

A clawed hand touched his back and a sickening chill overtook him as he found himself in the heart chamber of Red Mountain once again. He was trembling as he continued to flicker in and out of existence. The heart’s rhythm was equally unsteady, stopping and starting at random, the sounds a disjointed mess. 

If the heart of the world was not stable--was not real--then what did that make the world?

What did that make his friends? The people he loved? 

What did that make Voryn?

A familiar voice called out to him, large, clawed hands gripping him tightly and pulling him in close.

“I told you once before,” Dagoth Ur began, “We are bound to the dreamsleeve together.” Nerevar knew that wasn’t right, but he didn’t know how to counter it either. 

“I am the dreamer,” Dagoth Ur continued, “And this is all my dream, my sweet Nerevar.” Nerevar didn’t like the fondness in his tone. This was a twisted version of Voryn, corrupted and maddened, fully delusional. He preferred Voryn sane and warm, affectionate and protective. He didn’t want the delirious, maddened version of him that was Dagoth Ur.

Then, the two had changed locations. Instead of the heart chamber with the unsteady heartbeat echoing around them, they were in what seemed to be a rainbow colored river, all the different colors flowing in strange, glowing patterns. They moved up and down, left and right, forwards and backwards, swirls of color that flowed like incoherent water simultaneously both much thicker and almost syrupy than pure water, and also like it was barely there as they caressed his legs. Each movement came with a strange, fragmented thought, emotion, or memory. 

“You are simply a part of my dream.” Dagoth Ur’s hands moved to the front of him now, caressing at his chest. “My most glorious, beautiful creation…” 

Nerevar knew that wasn’t true either though. It was an instinctive knowledge, perhaps, but he could tell that was simply not the case. If there was a dreamer, it certainly wasn’t Dagoth Ur. 

And then Nerevar looked to his hands to see he was a dunmer again, grey skin and all to match the equally grey hands on his chest. One of Nerevar’s hands moved to caress the scar left from corprus he got as a Nerevarine when he was forcibly attacked to infect him with it, sending him further in his quest, ironically. The scar was an ugly, messy thing--a gross mess of scar tissue trying in vain to form over an injury that wasn’t truly there, growing more mangled and grotesque by the day. Before he couldn’t remember where the attack was from Gares, as his memories of the Third Era faded more and more with his time in Resdayn like a hazy dream, leaving him unsure if it was on his chest, his stomach, his thigh, or his arm. But now he remembered it was--

All of them. He had been hit by the attack in all of those places, in different moments in time, in different versions of the same event. And in that way, it wasn’t one moment specifically but simply an event that could have played out differently, in a way bending and contorting around the flow of fate. And just as he realized it, the scar itself faded entirely. 

“Nerevar, stop this.” Dagoth Ur warned, his voice concerned. Almost frightened if Nerevar was being honest, though he knew the other wouldn’t admit to it. 

“It… Didn’t happen.” 

“Yes, it did.” Dagoth ur stressed, but Nerevar stepped away from his hands, walking along the multicolored river. “Do you doubt your own memories? My own memories?” Dagoth Ur insisted. “Just as that was my dream, this too is my dream. A dream where we get to be together.” His voice took on a facsimile of warmth and affection. “A dream where nothing can keep us apart--”

“No,” Nerevar countered, his voice soft. “It happened and… It didn’t. Just how this… None of this is real either.” The thought wasn’t as scary as it was the first time around. In fact, the revelation seemed to almost bring some relief. He dipped his hand into the liquid that pooled around his thighs, running his fingers through it in what seemed to be an arbitrary pattern, relishing in the feelings that washed over him. Like this, he could make them seem coherent. Like this he could move them until he could faintly hear a song--

“Nerevar Mora, return to my side at once.” Dagoth Ur’s tone was threatening again. It seemed that Nerevar had gotten under his skin. 

“You are not a god. I’m not a figment of your dream…” Nerevar could insist if anything he might be the one dreaming all of this up but… He knew that wasn’t quite right either. Lorkhan didn’t exist. Nerevar didn’t exist, so he couldn’t be the one dreaming. But he knew he wasn’t a figment of Dagoth Ur’s imagination, that was for certain. “... And you’re not a figment of mine.”

Dagoth Ur was in front of him again, clawed hands gripping his arms tightly while his teeth audibly grit from behind the gold mask. “If I am not the dreamer then you’re saying I don’t exist! Do you even understand what you’re saying?!” His hands gripped Nerevar’s arms even tighter, but Nerevar himself was unphased. “I exist because I say I exist. You exist because I allow you to exist.”

“Or have you forgotten your nightmares? The memories of me?” Dagoth ur changed gears now that he saw it wasn’t persuading Nerevar. “Have you forgotten the way you shuddered at my touch? Or the way I could make such sweet, passionate love to you that you forgot everything else?” Nerevar had to admit he did in fact enjoy those moments with Voryn; Nerevar loved nothing more than losing himself completely in Voryn’s body, of being unable to think about nothing else but how wonderful Voryn could make him feel. But Nerevar knew he couldn’t forget this whole mess even happened and fall readily back into Voryn’s arms, trying to delude himself that it was real. He knew he’d go mad even trying, unable to take joy from it as he tried to deny the reality he was confronted with before. 

“Do not make me rip you asunder and remake you.” Dagoth Ur threatened, venom dripping off his tongue. But at the threat, Nerevar reached his hands out, cupping the golden mask in them, before throwing the mask off entirely. 

His face looked like Voryn’s but so much older and more tired. His eyes were dead, glazed over and foggy, with only the third eye on his forehead seemingly capable of sight. His complexion was equally dead--ashen even for a dunmer. A dead sleeper who dreamed he was still alive, just as that wise woman said so long ago. 

Nerevar leaned up, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t like this maddened version of Voryn, but he knew he still loved him. He loved Dagoth Ur and mourned for him. As horrible as it was, it was a mercy for Nerevar to slay him as the Nerevarine. It was a mercy for things to return to the past so they could have a better future, one where Nerevar wouldn’t hurt him as cruelly as he did the first time around. 

Then, just as the gentle kiss started, Nerevar pulled away, whispering softly. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he even realized it, but the truth spoken in them was more real than anything else he had seen. 

“I already unmade you.” 

Dagoth Ur stared down at him in shock, before, like ash in the wind, he faded. And Nerevar was left standing alone in the dreamsleeve. 

Yet, something was gnawing at his psyche. If Dagoth Ur was not the dreamer and didn’t allow him to exist, then what was his purpose? If this was all a dream, then who was dreaming? 

Dread washed over Nerevar again, overwhelming him as he felt like someone or something was watching him. Like he was a tiny insect crawling where he shouldn’t have, about to be crushed by the figure that finally realized he existed. 

Yet, part of Dagoth Ur’s words made sense. He wasn’t real. None of this was real. Nerevar could either stand there and accept it and fade into the liquid around him and dissolve into nothingness…

Or he could insist he did exist. That he wanted to exist. That he wanted to continue on, in spite of how nonsensical it was. 

“... I exist because I will it.” Nerevar knew he wasn’t the dreamer, but he existed in spite of it. He refused to vanish and become nothing more than a disjointed collective of memories free floating around him. 

“Well done.” Lorkhan’s voice echoed, and Nerevar found himself once more in the black, inky void, outside of the dreamsleeve. “I was a bit afraid you might not be able to handle it,” He chuckled softly, “But I can see it was silly of me to worry. You already remade the world, you’d be ready to handle the revelation of the tower.” 

“Was that… You?” Nerevar questioned, wondering if Lorkhan took on the appearance of Dagoth Ur just to help him along. 

“No. What was in fact a remnant of Dagoth Ur, based on your memories.”

“My memories?” Nerevar raised a brow, as the crumbling tower and soft grass slowly came back into focus around him, real and present once more. It was more comfortable than just free floating anyways. 

“Things can’t exist if nothing remembers them.” Lorkhan explained. “But you remembered him, so he continued hiding and lurking…”

“Would he…” Nerevar began, apprehensively. “Would Voryn have become him again…?”

“No.” Lorkhan’s voice was firm and confident, making Nerevar relieved. “Your beloved has already rejected that path.”

“Then how could he exist?”

“He existed outside of Voryn. A part of him and also not. Perhaps in a way also part of you?” It was a confusing explanation, but Nerevar supposed that was in line with everything else so far. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t exist anymore--not as he did just now.” Lorkhan hummed softly again. “Now he’s merely a memory, returned to water once more.” 

“I… Don’t understand.” Once again, Lorkhan reached over to pinch Nerevar’s cheek.

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me about that.” 

“I mean I get that he’s no longer a problem since I just saw him vanish but I don’t… Know how I did that.” 

“He was mostly tied to you. It would have been very easy for anyone in those circumstances to cut him off.” Lorkhan clicked his tongue. “Then again, I suppose not everyone can be connected to the dreamsleeve and confront not existing as well as you did.”

“So I don’t exist?” It was a question, but not asking for an answer more so a confirmation that he was understanding it correctly. 

“You don’t. And yet, you do.” Lorkhan confirmed, before elaborating. “All of us exist in that state. But I made Nirn in the first place because I realized it was impossible to move beyond that revelation and actually do something about it without real growth--growth that can only come from trial.”

“... What?” Now he was losing Nerevar. Go beyond the revelation of not existing? How would you even move past something like that? 

“Dagoth Ur had a few things correct I’ll admit.” Lorkhan continued, almost rambling now given how little it made sense to Nerevar. “The trial of flesh is needed to overcome the dream…”

“Again, I don’t really understand.” Nerevar interjected, before Lorkhan sighed.

“Ah… Right. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He then reached over, pulling Nerevar into a hug once more. “We don’t have all day, unfortunately. Linear time still exists.” He gave Nerevar’s back a firm pat. “I would explain if I could but… Well, we’d be here for some time. I think your beloved is calling you.” A ringing was in Nerevar’s ears now, the rest of the dream getting fuzzier and fuzzier. 

“Voryn…?” Nerevar asked, before his eyes cracked open. 

He wasn’t in the grass, but laying on Voryn’s cot, blinking up in a confused daze. It was night, that he could tell from how dark it was in the tent. Beside him, he heard a gasp, as Voryn looked to him frantically. 

“Oh thank gods,” Voryn looked close to tears. “Nerevar, do you have any idea how worried I was?” He cupped Nerevar’s cheek, his hand warm and familiar. It felt like Nerevar had been away for ages and also hardly any time at all. “I thought I almost lost you again…”

“I’m alright,” Nerevar sat up slowly, but his arms felt weak. “How long was I out for…?”

“More than a day.” Voryn explained, before helping support Nerevar’s upper body, settling Nerevar to lean against him. “Nothing we did could wake you up. We wanted to raze that damn orc camp to the ground,” He could hear the anger in Voryn’s voice. “But Malacath said his people would assist us and that you would wake up in time.” 

Nerevar could tell Voryn hadn’t believed the prince--not after what seemed like an attack on Nerevar. 

“I’m fine now.” Nerevar insisted, stroking Voryn’s face. “I’m--”

“Is he awake?” Vivec asked from outside the tent, and Voryn stiffened under Nerevar’s weight.

“He just woke up--” Voryn began, “Give him a few minutes to regain his senses before you shake him down for answers.”

Vivec entered the tent now, his brow furrowed. “You swore I could ask my questions when he awoke.” 

“At least give him until the morning.” Voryn pleaded. Vivec looked between the two of them, and it seemed that Nerevar looked haggard enough for Vivec to relent, though he was unhappy about doing so. 

“Fine,” Vivec scowled, leaving the tent once more. “In the morning I want answers.”

[honeycreammilkshake]

Honnnnneyyyyy i have this sukuita au idea where baby sukuna gets yeeted into the future by fate and raised with yuuji (sorry wasuke you gotta work overtime lol)

However, its ends up with Sukuna going into sorcery to make sure Yuuji can have a normal life ((sukuna has semi normal personality here, stoll a tsundere but eithout the trauma, he just gets a battle boner when fighting but still has 4 arms and eyes w/ belly mouth lol)) because he van see curses, but they really ojly ever try to attack Yuuji. So Sukuna decided on getting actual training.

But, uh, Yuuji doesn't like the fact that he can't be with him all the time, so he starts getting really upset over it, and that leads to them having a huge argument and THAT leads to them accidentally telling each other they're in so much love mwah mwah mwah (it really doesnt the fuck and realize they dont see each other as family its way more and both of them cannot handle this type of advanced thinking, dw its just temporary smooth brain energy coming from the two of them)

I also like to think that in this au if Yuuji and Wasuke werent with him as a young child he would be just og sukuna with either really good credit or really bad credit, or maybe hes more normal but ends up pulling a fucking Geto move idk im still deciding and working out the kinks to this.

demiiiiiiii omg you are brilliant and i love your beautiful mind.

i added your update, too: he has good credit. Not because he's not smart enough he just can get someone to fix it at any time lmao)

honestly, i am a BIG fan of aus where sukuna and yuuji were raised together. sukuna going off to learn sorcery to keep yuuji protected only for yuuji to hate that they can't be together all the time reminds me so much of rin and yukio from blue exorcist (i've been wanting to write a yukirin-style sukuita for such a long time now >.<).

the four arms and eyes, belly-mouthed version of sukuna does NOT get enough attention like it deserves. i'm dying of hunger for more fics/art of sukuna's true form in different aus, because him being just an edgy version of yuuji is a bit spent now. so i love you for keeping his true form in this idea <3

them being related to each other is really good because you can't tell if they're more like step-bothers or are still uncle/nephew who were raised together. i definitely love a good serving of "oh no but it would be sinful incest! we can't accept our love for each other!" especially when both sukuna and yuuji are quite messed up so that one little thing doesn't really matter in the end, lol. (i love to headcanon that they literally cannot have feelings for anyone but each other, no matter how hard they try to fall in love with someone else. they were meant only for each other, so they have to suffer in this together.)

i think that sukuna being raised with someone kind like yuuji would make him less "evil" and curse-like, but i also think he would mock yuuji's kindness a lot because he's selfish and only wants yuuji to treat him sweetly. he hates whenever anyone else gets yuuji's attention or sympathy, so he lashes out at either them or yuuji. (my personal theory is that even if sukuna could have turned out to be more "good" like yuuji, he would still be inherently selfish and extremely possessive.)

i think sukuna being bad could still happen, but i think it's because he would kill anyone who hurt yuuji with no remorse and would be overly protective of yuuji. he massacres all the curses that are attacking yuuji, scares away the sorcerers that show interest in yuuji's strength, and keeps yuuji all for himself.

i also like sukuita aus where sukuna and yuuji are still rivals, so maybe when yuuji learns sukuna is training to be a sorcerer he joins too (so he can also be close to his brother) but they end up pairing up to fight each other during training (and oh no they both get boners from it lol). maybe they turn their training into a competition and almost tear down the school when they start really beating each other after yuuji gets angry with sukuna's possessive overprotectiveness.

i won't stop thinking about this for the rest of the day now ;-; why do you always have the best sukuita ideas to share with me???

[orangevtae]

Walking Sins, Lost Tragedys [J. Miller x Fem!Reader x Platonic!Ellie Williams]

Summary: As the winter came loose and the snow covered the ground, you finally got to Wyoming with Joel and Ellie in the search of your Brother-in-law, Tommy. But in your short stady in Jackson, Joel's start to think that maybe it's better if Tommy takes Ellie to the Fireflies than him.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst. Spoiler from the Episode 6. Talking about loss and letting people behind, past traumas, Sarah and a bit of the reader past. Joel and reader are married so stabilished relationship. afab!reader and use of she/her pronouns.

A/N: I-i can't stop writing for The Last of Us and i fully blame it on Pedro Pascal and the love i have for that game and now show, that's it, enjoy! <3 It's not proofread so that may be mistakes!

"Did you know? About her?" Ellie asked you, sudenly entering the house, door slaming behind her.

"What?" you asked puzzled, closing the book you were reading and letting it on the small table in front of the couch.

"Sarah" Ellie said, a sharp tone on her tongue.

You closed your eyes, a small sigh leaving your lips. You had been in Jackson for a while now, some few hours maybe, the sun light still up while it was starting to get dark with the last hours of day, Maria (Tommy's wife) had lent you, Joel and Ellie a house and you had just taken a shower with hot water and decided to read a book while Joel was somewhere with Tommy and Ellie had went to Maria's to get a new coat.

"How do you know about her?" you asked, a frown present on your forehead

"Just answer the question!"

"I did" you nodded towards her after a while

"Why you never told me?" Ellie asked, a little bit angry now

"Because that is something that it's not my right to tell, Ellie." you answered her sharply

"But you his wife, right? You guys share things, why isn't your right to tell?" she asked again, a little bit on the edge

"Yeah, but there's things that only belong to Joel. I never met Sarah, we got together years after she...she died, the only thing i know about her is her death cause Joel refuses to talk about her. So don't you go and throw a tatrum about this like you have all the right to, young lady." you reprimended her, not yelling, you never yelled at Ellie, you sighed "Look-"

A knock was heard on your front door and the person outside was Maria, asking if she could come in, which you only responded with a soft "yes" and she got inside.

It was like she could feel the tension in the air between you both, she decided that it was better not to intervene in something she hasn't had the right to "You ready?" she asked Ellie.

"Yes" Ellie said, nodding

"You wanna come along?" Maria asked you

"Where you guys heading to?" you smiled at her

"To watch a movie" Maria answered you

"Sure, let me just grab my coat"

Hours after, you were on the improvised theater of Jackson, they put on a movie you didn't reconize but thought that maybe your parents would if they were alive, you thought about how they would love Jackson and would love to have a stabilished live in here with a little bit of normalcy that you surrounded you in that small city that Maria and Tommy built together and hoped, at least hoped, that if things with Ellie got right and she has done what it is that she has to do, you could live with her and Joel here, in that small house that you could call yours.

"You okay?" Maria asked beside you

"Yeah" you said, smiling up to her and cleaning a few tears that you didn't know that had fallen "Sorry"

"Nothing to apologise here, care to share? I'm a good listener" she smiled at you, a hand on your shoulder

"It's just..." you sighed "I was thinking that my parents would love this, the theater, the houses, Jackson in a whole. My dad always said that he would try to find an empty house far from the cities, so that we could live on it without the fear of the infecteds or the people" you sighed "They would love here and..." you did a little pause, suddenly thinking that your little daydream was stupid "...i don't know, i was thinking that we could live here, the three of us. Give Ellie a normal life that she deserves, cause she deserves to grown up as a kid and do things people her age do and the life i never had when i was on her age."

"You grown up during everything?" Maria asked

"Yes. My parents they...they died when i was fifteen, protecting me and my brother then after, i lose my brother too, he got infected and i...i had to shoot him" you sighed, it was the first time anyone besides Ellie and Joel heard about your family.

"How old was he?" Maria asked, concern all over her face

"Six. My parents died protecting us from an attack and told me to look after him, but he got bitten during it, i lost my whole family in a spare of twelve hours." you chuckled dryly, not am ounce of humour on it "Sorry Maria, i shouldn't trouble you with my past." you shook your head.

"Bullshit, we family now. I'm deeply sorry for what happened to you and your family and, if you guys want to, you can stay here on Jackson, i know that Tommy would accept it right away and i would too. You could have a tiddy bit of normalcy here, Jackson has a place for everyone and we would love to have the three of you around." she smiled to you

"Thank you" you said softly, a small smile prrsent on your lips.

As your small talk with Maria came to an end, you decided to have a look around to make sure Ellie was okay but a small panic settled on the pit of your stomach as you didn't see her and the spot she was seated was empty and you sighed as you passed your eyes trough the place and on the people but couldn't find her anywhere "Shit" you mumble

"What is it?" Maria asked, trying to look for whatever you were searching

"Ellie" you looked around again "She's gone" you sigh again "I sware that that girl sometimes get on my nerves. Excuse me Maria, i'll go out and try to find her, with lucky, she's at home already, see you tomorrow."

You just heard her mumble a soft "okay" and headed out, putting your coat on. You stumbled on Tommy on your way out asking him if he saw Ellie on his way over but only received a no so you decided to go and look on the house you were staying before saying goodnight for him.

As you neared the house and you felt your lungs fail you a little for the little run you did, you let out a relieved sigh as seeing that the light from Ellie's room was lit so you decided to get inside. As you cleaned your boots outside the door and got inside after getting rid of said boots and your coat, you heard yelling upstairs before you could call out for Ellie and a loud sigh got out of your mouth as you started to climb the stairs as you heard Ellie's and Joel's voices going back and forward on her room.

Deciding to not interrupt whatever tatrum they were having and knowing damn well that Ellie brought up the Sarah topic, you almost wanted to punch Joel on the face when you heard him saying that she was better off with Tommy than him and finished with "You right. You're not my daughter and i ain't as hell your father".

You sighed deeply again, you were sighing too much since you arrived and as you got rid of your socks, crossed your arms as you heard Ellie's door slamming and the door to your and Joel's one opened, you heard Joel stop on his track as your eyes met him and he could see the deep frown on your face and the harsh look you gave him.

"How long you here?" he asked softly

"A while now." you asnwered him

"How much you heard?"

"I heard enough Joel" you answered with a low voice and you could almost hear him hiss on his breath, you never called him by his name, never, he knew that he fucked big when you called him by his name "I heard from 'You better without me' to 'You're not my daughter and i ain't your father'" you looked sharply at him "The hell is all of this about Joel Miller? Hm? What? You think that it's okay to get rid of a fourteen year old girl that has been travelling with us for months like she is damn nothing?"

"No, it's not about that" he trailed softly, still stopped in front of you, hands being cleaned on the jeans he wear

"So enlighten me" you kept pushing "What on earth you think you doing to say those things to her?"

"You wouldn't understand" he tried again and you just let out a scoff

"That's how it is things with you, right? It's always that" you got up

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" he frowned deeply

"You always push people out Joel, you go and always try to keep them out because you think that that's whats better for them even if they said that that's not it" you let out on one breath "I wouldn't understand, i know, i have never had a daughter and lost her, i know that"

"Darlin'..."

"Don't you darlin' me, Joel. I know that i'm being harsh here but...you never talk about her, the only thing i know about her it's about the way..." you started, but suddenly the words got stuck on your throath and your eyes started to burn with tears "...about the way she died."

It was like the entire world has stopped, Joel knew you were right, he never talked about Sarah, he never let her name be mentioned by anyone, not even him, it was like the mere thought, the mere mention of her name was a taboo on people's tongue or thoughts. He never mentioned anything about her and you never pushed, because you knew it was a topic that hurt because he never healed from her loss, it was like the mere mention of her brought back memories he was so trying to not remember.

"I could never understand the way you feel cause i was never a parent, but i know the loss, i know the pain and i know that it fucking hurts to try remember those that are not with us anymore...and Ellie does too, Joel. You said that she doesn't understand because...what? she's fourteen? she's too young?" you paused, looking deeply in his eyes "She has gone trough a lot too Joel, she has lost people that were dear to her, she said that she was left behind for those she thought she could trust and now you go and are trying to the same they did with the futile point that 'that's whats better'? It's better for who? For her...or for you?" you paused again, still looking deeply in his eyes that you could see now that were full with unshed tears.

That was rare, Joel always tried to be someone stoic, out of emotions and with a fake facade that he wasn't someone he cared when in reality, he tried so deeply to not care cause that was easier

"I'm sorry Honey, i'm sorry. But there's things you need to hear because, that girl..." you pointed towards your door, where Ellie's was just across the corridor "That girl right there, she's of no faught of the things that the world made her to be. She's just a kid, a kid that has grown up in this kind of world where the only thing she knows is what to do to keep on surviving and alive, where the only people she has to look up is the both of us. You right, she's not your daughter, she's not Sarah and she'll never be" you stopped a while to make sure that he was letting everything you were saying to him would sunk "...but you can't go over and tell her that she's off better without you, that you ain't her father when the reality is that you a paternal figure to her for months now and you and i know that. So yeah, you can go and try to get rid of her because that would mean that you can stop being afraid to loose her like you losed Sarah."

You were crying now, because you knew that that was what all of this was about, even if you were having a monologue with him where you would just speak and he would listen, you and him both knew that you were saying the truth and that he had nothing to say because he knew that you were right and there was nothing he could say to try and change your mind because you knew him very well, you knew him for years now, he plenty sure that if he so sort of breathed strange, you would know something's up.

The truth is you never thought about kids, it wasn't a thing you wanted cause in a world like this, to bring and raise a kid was setencing them to probably death or corrupting them with what was the world right now, you never wanted that kind of responsability but when you met Ellie, it was a matter of time till you started to care for her in every way you could.

You let her sleep with you if she was sacred with something, she would hold tight on you if there was trouble and she was out of bullets cause she felt safe with you, she let you brush her hair if Joel wasn't around because she liked the feeling of someone brushing her hair cause she felt cared for and she would never admit any of it, cause Ellie wasn't the type to let ger feelings out like this, that's why her and Joel had that sort of agreement and care. So yeah, they weren't father and daughter but they acted like they were, he would hold her hand if there was any kind of trouble, he thought her how to shoot with different kinds of guns so she would know what to do if you or him weren't there, he would look over her when night came to make sure she was safe and he would joke around with her.

"She's not your daughter." he said after a while "She's not ours for us to care that much about her"

"I know that Joel, she's not your daughter just like she ain't mine but if i could change that, if it was given me the chance to be her mother i would, because we have been travelling for months with her and you know what she always did since she saw she could trust me? She came to sleep on my arms cause she always knew that she would be safe and i would take care of her, she's not my daughter but i damn well wish i could be, cause that girl need stability and someone that can take care of her cause even she won't admit, she's scared because that what's this world do. She's a fourteen year old girl that it's scared and i would give my life if that meant that that she would feel and keep safe." you sighed deeply "I wish that you could talk to me about Sarah, you know? I know that it hurts to even think about her but not talking and not mentioning her won't make the pain go away, i learned that in the worst way, she deserves to be remembered Joel, cause i know you were a good father for her and i know damn well that if she could say something to you is that she doesn't blame you for what happened, cause her death wasn't your fault" Joel started crying at this point, letting his unshed tears to finally fall as you neared him and gripped his arms, your own tears falling "It wasn't your fault Honey. You didn't killed her, that soldier did. You haven't failed her, that world did. You shouldn't carry the blame and weight of failure in your shoulders cause it wasn't you fault, you're not responsible for her death and i know that if she could, she would say that to you."

Joel let himself sink into your arms, holding you tightly to him as he body shook with the tears that streamed down in his face. He carried the feeling of failure and that he was the cause that Sarah was dead all of those years and those same feelings resembled again when he met Ellie cause he was afraid that he would fail her too and that that would cause her death and he thought that the best way he could keep her alive was to let her go.

That night, Joel let himself cry to sleep on your arms amd the last thought that runned on his mind before sleeping is that he wouldn't let anything happen to Ellie, he was too attached to let that happen now and he knew that if he let anything happen to her, that would imply that you were gonna suffer too, and he wouldn't let that happen.

[thesoulesscollection]

Beat The Hand That Sins (Thsc Choc Fic)

Heya! Here's a little writer's blurb. I wanted to write a piece depicting the turbulent dynamic between Candy with her grandson, Choc. 

By the way, please read the tags, Candy isn't a good person, she's very flawed, traumatized even, and downright abusive, most if not all having it directed at Choc.

Choc ‘fun fact’ is he's ambidextrous, is able to write with both hands fluidly yet naturally born a leftie and has a better preference for it. 

Choc's the type of person who will talk about his trauma in a almost positively cheerful way, brushing it off as a joke he could laugh at now while anyone around him is highly uncomfortable and concerned by

^ Although at first, his advice would come out as helpful, if some were to really think deeper into what he says, it's far from so. It's one that's twisted up by trauma under the fatherly guise of ‘knowing what's best’ for people. 

Tw/Tags: Heavy Angst, Whump, Graphic Child Abuse/Neglect, Corporal Punnishments, Physical Abuse, Verbal Insults, Dehumanizing Language, Abusive Familial Relationships, & Implied Religious Themes 

1967: Choc, 11yo & Candy, 66yo

On the ground, curled up in a tight little ball, Choc's wheezing, his good eye not swollen shut is fixated to the wall ahead. Breathing ragged he stayed still, emotionless, crying won't protect him. Soon thereafter he goes imaging happy thoughts, more a sweetened escape from cruel reality until it breaks apart by the fantastical seams once he hears her voice. 

“Get up you inept brat” 

It's what kept him relatively sane for the most part. Until his grandmother hovers above his twisted little form with clear disdain. The ugly sneer on her wrinkled face, her strong french accent clipped in impatience at his sorry state, and gloved fists tells him it was far from over. 

“G-grammy… Please” 

A harsh scoff and her cold hand pinch around the back of his neck, immediately it shuts him up. Choc should've known better than to talk back, past experiences such as this reminds him as only pain will come to him if he chose to be stubborn. When he's made to stand on unsteady feet, nearly buckling under him, he does feel himself sway a little. Though that is when the backhanded slap across his face on the good side, not yet badly bruised such as with the other, elicits a startled gasp. 

“How many times do I have to remind you to not be so careless? To not speak unless you are spoken to?” 

Wincing at the sting freshly blossoming in his round cheeks, Choc swallowed back the pain, silently nodding along. Best not to show what hurts, always better to tough out, pray that it won't be too bad. Last time around the age of six, stupidly having been brought up through heavy wails, he was in pain and couldn't feel his legs. His grandmother decided to give him a plentiful amount of lashes on his back, on each corresponding limb, and left him to sleep in the mess that's meshed with his tears, snot, and other ungodly bodily fluids. 

After a while the punishments, getting severe with each passing year, eventually do tend to blur together. Is it bad he stopped caring or rather no longer felt a thing?

Choc pushed it back to the recess of his mind. 

“I shouldn't be expecting anything highly from you, should I?” 

Once again the boy responds mutely, keeping his gaze locked on the ground, fingers digs in the old unwashed shirt worn daily, smelling of rotting stink. She barely allows him to clean in the idea he was at fault for his messy disarray so he shouldn't be rewarded with cleanliness or anything remotely caring. Unless he pleads his case to her, pathetically miserable it may be to earn her forgiveness which would never be granted, he still does it and will do chores galore, even if it would last from dawn to dusk to do all. But desperation called upon so, he'll work down to the bone, exhausted terribly he can sleep anywhere. 

“You're a freakish imp in disguise of the devil's making. How can I be so blind not to see this. Your underhanded antics and cynical attitude” She rambled in vile anger. “What you wrote to deface me, our family and over what we believe” 

This whole (one-sided) argument and physical discourse started because the elderly woman had taken note of his left hand at work, writing in a little journal in his room. A raggedy book yellowing in aged use was his only safe place to scribble away his inner worries. She read it, every page detailing his feelings, his thoughts on her, the family's fight over social standing, and the religion she prayed on her knees so rigorously over. Now it's been torn to shreds and he was beat for it. 

“What you wrote was deplorable. Sinful. You don't dare begin to understand and know what I've done for you and your sister to be where we are now” While the woman firmly persists, her wide frame easily shadows his who's back is pressed flat against the wall. “You shall be thankful you are here in the first place, to be at mercy you aren't completely feeble such as with your mother. If it wasn't for our holiness, you wouldn't be a thing” 

Choc curled away, his shaky hands clenched to fists, fighting the weak urge to cry, took this as a cue to speak, “I'm sorry” 

“And what did I tell you, boy, about using your left hand?”

His right protectively covered the left hand, his cheeks were lit on the fire of shame. “I-I don't like writing with my right hand… It's. It's was un-u-uncomfortable” 

“Give me your left hand” She orders, given no room for argument yet Choc resists, laying his left hand deep into his chest. “Now” 

“I-I forget! Please!”  

No matter what he says or goes to do, she is quicker to grab him by the ear, neck, arm, or in this case, his matted blond hair. Then she went for his left arm and got roughly yanked behind him, Choc for sure heard the bone in his shoulder pop. A pained hiss presses out his clenched teeth when she decides to throw his thin body on the nearest table. He faintly hears past the ringing in his ears, the rattling of a chest drawer open, she's in a desperate search for something. The tingling ache in his limp arm already tells him she dislocated it, he panics over the realization. Breath caught in his throat Choc squeezes his eyes shut.

Though in hesitancy, he cracks one eye open a smidge to see what his grandmother literally brought to the table, being a long slender stick made from smooth metal. Anxiously switching his blurry sight to his left hand as it lays on the table, palm flat on the bumpy oak surface. 

“You made me do this. Take this as a learning experience as it hurts me more than it will for you” 

Eventually Choc is pulled away from the table, his free hand, his right, the proper respectable one, grips the corner for dear life. In a sudden he was close to doubling over, bruised knees knocking together, almost giving out once the metal hits skin. Not his left hand but instead it is directed at back, likely used as a sly tactic to surprise him to alertness. She knows the boy slips into another state of mind. 

“I want you to at least be conscious with me to learn your lesson. So stand up proper, I ask of you to keep your eyes on the wall and repeat to me the number of lashes I give you” 

With a shake of the head, tremors is what it's called, Choc simply does what's asked of him, straightens his slumped posture and he blinks away the tears. Arm outstretched, hand ready to take the lashes, he steadies himself to take the punishments given. Rather he should be thankful she's merciful to primarily give his left hand and back the treatment. Although having been beaten to an inch of his life, she can no doubt be crueler about it. 

“O-One!” 

Voice cracks to an inhuman pitch which Choc grew embarrassed by, biting down at his lips hard enough to bleed. Grandma Candy is at his side, hearing his groggy whines with keen precision, no considerations, and it earns him another hit. This time, probably miscalculated, though it wouldn't really take him by surprise if it wasn't, she aims for his upper arm, a sliver of a long cut slashed across his forearm. 

“Two!” He calls out. Then another two right after. “Three! Four!” 

Soon he loses count. Mind went cloudy with time and intensity. However she won't lighten up. All Choc knows is how his voice follows in repeating the number of lashes the metal ruler gives him. Musky sweat profusely seeped out cut pores, the sour scent lingers heavy in the air. 

In due time, she tires herself out, her old body can't keep up as it once was in her younger years. 

Choc heaves a broken sigh, unable to pull his locked gaze from the wall. 

Whatever his poor ailing mother had to deal with when she was alive, in her own childhood must've been ten times worse so he doesn't think harder on it. He wanted to do his best to preserve a positive memory of his mother and not sully himself into the idea his treatment was worse than hers. 

“Do you apologize and reap for what you sow with bad intentions?” 

“Yes, I have” Choc stumbled a little. Left hand was swollen and bruised like a bad fruit. Any movement whether small or big, even with an involuntary twitch caused him to wince. Likely the bruises will last for a couple weeks and he can take it in if it's broken. Either way he isn't looking forward to anything in the future. The side eyed glares and his need to give them half baked excuses. 

“Good. You do realize I do this for you to learn that you can't keep biting the hand that feeds and cares for you? One day and it always will return to slap you back down to the fiery pits of hell” 

As she dutifully promised he wouldn't be able to write as well as any remaining sinful deeds with said hand. It took a longer period for him to get remotely accustomed to using his right hand; it still was like a chainsaw to butter but he got there to garner less scrutiny. 

[the-cult-of-russo]

Such a Softer Sin (Part 9)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: I’ve really been enjoying all of your comments and it's been fun seeing all of the theories people have been coming up with looool

Thank you all for your super kind words about this story so far! I really appreciate the support.

—--------

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the moon as you all waited for Billy to speak to the Goddess. You’d never seen anything like it, the moon wasn't supposed to wane before it even got full and the implications scared the crap out of you. You were gnawing your lower lip raw as you stared at it, Kos and Frank quietly talking among themselves. You heard the sound of the castle gates opening and your head whipped over. When they opened, you were surprised to see Atticus strolling inside the grounds. Alone. You felt a conflicting mix of relief, happiness and anger and you started storming right over.

“Well look who decided to grace us with his presence. Your mate not with you?” you asked snidely as you got close enough. He blinked at you for a moment, a little frown etching his brows and he seemed to tense up as he shook his head.

“She’s stayed behind for now, she’s dealing with some things,” he said simply.

“Like what?” you asked, raising a brow and he shifted on his feet, unable to look at you.

“It’s personal, it’s not my place to say,” he frowned and you scoffed a mirthless laugh.

“Right, of course not,” you muttered and his frown deepened.

“You know all about trauma, Y/N. You know what that shit’s like,” he murmured and the look on his face made your mouth clamp shut. You felt a little bad then. You didn’t know this girl at all, no idea what the hell she'd been through. Maybe she’d been through similar horrors to you and Atti, maybe that’s why she behaved the way she did. You felt a little bad at how you’d been behaving. Maybe if you had the chance to bond with her, this wouldn't happen. You hoped to be able to connect with her at some point to suss her out, to really get to know her. 

“I’ll be going back in a few days, I don’t really want to be away from her,” he said quietly, a sheepish look on his face. Your jaw ticked as you looked away at the news but you bit back your snarky response.

“I know I’ve been absent and I’m sorry. I want to divide my time between you all equally, it's just hard. Having a mate… it's more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I didn’t expect to feel like this. The love, it’s just… it's so much. A love that would make you do anything. It’s… It’s intense and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m struggling,” he admitted a slightly panicked edge to his voice that had guilt ramming right through you like a sword. He looked completely and utterly lost and you suddenly found yourself feeling like the worst friend in the world for only thinking about yourself here.

“It’s okay, Atti. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I can imagine it’s a lot to deal with. And I haven't exactly been the most understanding friend. I’ve just been scared to lose you,” you confessed and he reached out, taking your hand and the gesture was so comforting that it made your chest feel like it imploded.

“You won’t lose me, I promise. I’m just trying to adjust,” he murmured and you nodded. You were just glad to finally see him, to finally talk to him and clear the air between you. 

“Have you noticed anything?” you asked with a wry smile tugging at your lips and he looked at you confused.

“No, what”? He asked warily. You gestured with your hand to the moon and he looked up, blinking at it as a perplexed look washed all over him.

“Is it… is it smaller?” he asked slowly before he looked back to you.

“Seems like it. The King's just trying to contact the Goddess Selene to figure out what’s going on,” you shrugged and the pair of you shared a worried glance before you started making your way back over to Kos and Frank. Kos greeted Atti a lot more amicably than you had done and your eyes kept darting up to the moon as you wondered what Billy might find out. You looked over at Frank and he frowned, a look on his face that once again let you know he was being mindlinked.

“The King wants us in the meeting room,” he muttered, looking at the three of you before he turned and made his way up the steps. You all followed him and up to the meeting room just as Karen, Micro and Curtis were arriving too. You walked inside the room and Billy was at the head of the table pacing and it made a knot form in your stomach. He looked worried and that made you worried. You moved to sit down between Kos and Atti, the others taking the other side of the table, all of you looking to the King for answers.

“I can’t reach my mother,” he bit out worriedly and a deafening silence overtook the room.

“That’s… that’s never happened before, somethin’ ain’t right,” he added, his frantic and wide eyes flitting to you then to Frank as he shook his head. The news was even more worrisome and made you think something incredibly nefarious was going on, not just the moon being funky. 

“Could the vampires be behind this? I mean, if the moon never gets full then the wolves can’t turn. It would weaken us over time,” you frowned with dread. Not being able to shift for an extended period of time was dangerous and in some cases, even deadly if it went on long enough. 

“I agree with Y/N. This has the undead freak’s stink all over it and if they’re tryin’ to weaken us, then they’re already plannin’ somethin’,” Frank muttered tensely, his cagey eyes boring into Billy who wiped a hand over his face with a nod.

“But how could the vampires mess with the moon like that?” Micro asked in confusion.

“Is it possible they have witches on their side?” you asked as your eyes cut to Karen across from you. Her eyes widened for a moment before a deep frown creased her brows.

“I mean… Some witches would definitely have the power to pull something like this off, but the witches have no loyalty to the vampires and they respect the laws of nature. They’d never do something like this willingly,” she shook her head.

“What about unwillingly?” Frank asked as he gave his mate a pointed look. “They could have taken some against their will and be forcin’ ‘em to do magic,” he added gravely and Karen’s face paled, fear shining behind her eyes.

“I need to go and speak to some of my girls, see if we can figure out if this is magic related or not,” she stood up and rushed out the room and Frank watched her forlornly at how upset she seemed. 

“Frank, I need you and Curt to get the guards ready, some warriors too. I want ‘em stationed outside around the castle and at the outposts. Micro, you need to contact all the local pack leaders, take some warriors to each pack to keep ‘em safe and tell them what’s goin’ on,” Billy started firmly and the three men nodded before leaving to complete their tasks. 

“Kosmos, I need you and Atticus to take point with some of my men outside the castle. I know you guys can handle it, we’ll be doin’ it in shifts,” he ordered.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Kos nodded as he and Atti both stood. Atti shot you a look before they left you were left sitting there alone. If you were honest, you felt a little put out that you hadn’t been given a job to do. You were more than capable of handling it and you didn't understand why you weren’t with Kos or Atti. The idea of him thinking you weren’t up to task prickled at you.

“Can I do anything?” you asked, trying to keep the edge from your voice as you watched him run a hand through his hair and mess it up. He glanced at you before his eyes quickly looked away, rolling his shoulder as he nodded.

“I need you for somethin’ important, actually. Come on,” he muttered. He looked like a tightly wound coil and you got up as you followed him out of the room. You had no idea what this supposed important job was but you were just happy to be helping in some way. 

He led you down the main stairs and through a door just near them. You’d never been in here before and you were surprised to find more stairs going down. Even more surprised that instead of some kind of basement, you were walking into what looked to be some kind of temple. Wall to ceiling was made of the brightest white marble you’d ever seen with a large white marble altar in the middle. There were two huge gold wolf statues against either side of the back wall with a gold statue of the Goddess herself taking center of them. You were in awe as your eyes soaked it all in, it was breathtaking. He gave you little time to really bask in the place before he was talking to you.

“I need to visit my mother… I’ve never done it before, there’s a ritual to do it and I couldn't… but I need to try now. I don’t even know if it’ll work, but I gotta try,” he frowned and you hated how lost he looked. 

“Okay… Why do you need me for the ritual?” you asked curiously. 

“I just trust you, okay? This is… it’s urgent, there’s a lot on the line here. We just need to get there and find out what’s goin’ on,” he muttered and you nodded, not wanting to upset him further. Then his words hit you.

“Wait… we? As in we both are going to see her?” you asked in surprise and he nodded jerkily. You could see he was still tense, his body was almost rigid and you decided not to push your luck here. You were surprised you would be going there, getting to see the Goddess yourself like that. You weren’t sure if it was breaking some kind of rules but Billy was asking you to do it, so you hoped it would be okay. You still weren’t sure why it had to be you. While you were touched that he’d trust you with something of this magnitude, you didn’t know why he’d picked you out of everyone. But you told yourself that his men were busy with their other tasks so you were the only one he trusted left without a job. You knew what was at stake here. Not only was the moon being weird but he couldn't contact the Goddess. Nothing good was happening and it needed to be fixed as soon as possible. If that meant you helping him with whatever this ritual was then you’d do it. 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you said with a smile, trying to ease this awful tenseness he had going on. He smiled at you, looking somewhat relieved but it didn't seem to help too much as he frowned once more. He looked at you for a long moment, his dark eyes shining with something you really couldn't decipher.

“Just remember, this is a ritual, alright?” he said slowly, raising both his brows at you. It confused you as you blinked at him but you nodded, wondering what the hell it would entail. After one more look at you, he grabbed his dagger that was strapped on his belt and you were sure he probably carried it around with him everywhere. 

He stepped a little closer to you, taking a shaky breath and all you could do was wait for what was about to happen. You could only hope the ritual wouldn't be him sacrificing you. He took one of your hands in his and you were surprised to find it trembling in your own as he lifted it up a little. You winced as he sliced the blade across it and he shot you an apologetic look as the blood started to pool in the cut. He let go but you kept it there so you didn’t drip your blood all over his pristine floor as he did the same to his own hand. His eyes shot to your face then, almost sheepishly before he took your bloodied hand in his own, mixing the blood together. But then he pulled you closer to him by your hand and you bumped into his chest a little.

“Ritual, remember,” he whispered and you wondered how bad it had to be for him to keep reminding you. But you nodded and then he was capturing your lips with his own. You were startled, flashes of the other kiss bursting behind your eyes and you felt yourself tense. But you remembered what he’d said, that this was a ritual and you forced yourself to relax. His hand still clutched your own tightly as you kissed him back and while this wasn’t what you thought would happen, you knew kissing him wasn't the worst thing the ritual could have called for so you were grateful. Feeling you kissing back, his other hand moved to grip the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss and you found yourself melting into him, allowing yourself this one moment to give into the urges you’d been feeling as there was a reason for it. He moaned softly into the kiss and it sent a jolt right through you as his tongue tangled with yours and you felt like you might pass out. It felt like you were glowing from the inside out. He broke away and you felt a pang of disappointment as you both panted and he rested his forehead on yours. Your head was spinning, heart going a mile a minute as you tried to push past what just happened as it didn't mean anything.

“Did it work?” you asked softly, a slightly dazed tone to your voice. He was just staring at you and you felt like you were getting lost in his almost black eyes until he pulled away completely, his hand letting go of yours. Now able to breathe, you both looked around and you were startled to see you were no longer in the temple at the castle. You were standing in the middle of a large field, trees scattered about either side of it. The colors were so much brighter than you were used to though and it caught you off guard. The green grass was greener, the color of the flowers more brighter than you’d ever seen and the night sky didn't look black like it did back where you were from, it looked the deepest blue you’d ever seen. It was beautiful.

“Where do we go?” you asked as your eyes landed on everything you could find as you marveled at the beauty of it.

“No idea, I’ve never been here before,” he replied and when you glanced at him, he seemed just as awed as you did. 

“Maybe we should start there,” he suggested, pointing off into the distance and you followed his line of sight. He was pointing to what seemed to be a large stone temple, torches burning on either side of the stairs. It was a little distance away but you could still see it clearly. 

“Feels like a good place to start,” you agreed, shooting him a smile when he looked at you. His face brightened, a somewhat bashful smile on his face as he nodded and you set off walking. You were trying to keep your mind off the kiss you’d shared and you knew it would take a while to scrub it clean from your mind. The first time had been easy enough to get over, you hadn't kissed him back. It had been no more than his lips pressed against yours for a brief moment but this time it had been a full blown kiss. The kind that made your toes curl and set your body on fire.

“Have you never met your mother?” you asked curiously, trying desperately to keep your mind focused on something else. He gave you a small smile that seemed a little sad as he shook his head.

“No, I wasn’t raised by her. I’ve only ever been able to talk to her in the temple but it's in my head, kinda like a mindlink, I guess,” he explained and you nodded. You felt a little bad for him, hearing the mild hurt in his voice when he said he wasn't raised by her. You knew the circumstance between your upbringings were wildly different but you knew what it was like to have no parents, you knew what that pain felt like. You weren’t really sure what to say to that and a strange silence settled over you both. You weren’t sure if it was the kiss that was making things feel so stilted. He’d been adamant in reminding you that it was for the ritual but you could hardly blame him after the way you’d reacted the last time he’d kissed you. He probably felt uncomfortable because he thought you felt uncomfortable.

It didn’t take as long as you thought it might to reach the temple and the pair of you climbed the big steps up and walked inside. The first thing you noticed before anything else was that while this was a temple, it almost looked like a home on the inside. And there lay on the bed was the Goddess herself. She was the most beautiful woman you’d ever laid eyes on and your knees wobbled in reverence to her, but what stood out more than that was how sickly and pale she looked. You looked to Billy quickly who was standing stock still beside you. His breathing was labored, eyes wide as he stared at his mother and you could practically feel the pain radiating from him. The Goddess glanced over, a small gasp leaving her lips before a wide smile split her face and she rushed to get up. She almost fell and Billy snapped out of his stupor as he hurried over to her, catching her quickly and helping her stand. 

“Oh, William, my beautiful boy!” she beamed, looking up at him as she placed a small hand on his cheek. He gave her a watery smile, leaning into her touch as he gazed down at her. 

“Mom… what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, his eyes scanning her as you hovered uncertainly. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be noticed or not, not sure if you were really supposed to be here and it felt like a very private moment. To witness the King meeting his mother for the very first time and in not so great circumstances. He guided her to sit on the bed as he lingered near her as if he was scared she might fall again. 

“It’s magic tampering with the moon. The vampires have been kidnapping witches and forcing them into using their magic,” she explained weakly and she wobbled a little, causing Billy to reach a hand out to steady her. He frowned deeply at the news and it made dread curl low in your stomach. It had been your own theory but part of you hoped there had been another explanation for it because this meant an escalation in the war. 

“You need to save the witches, William. Not only because it's endangering the wolves, but the magic the witches are being forced to perform is killing them and the vampires plan to go through as many witches as it takes to keep the magic going,” she insisted as she stood. She was still a little shaky on her feet but she managed to stand on her own this time as she looked at him imploringly. 

“They’re being held at an outpost in the Winding Forest. You need to save them,” she repeated firmly and he nodded.

She turned her gaze to you then and your breathing hitched. She started to slowly make her way over, Billy watching you both warily and you dropped to your knees, bowing your head quickly. You really couldn't believe you were in the presence of the Goddess herself. 

“You can stand, Child. You need not kneel for me,” she smiled warmly and you blinked up at her carefully, eyeing the hand she held out for you. You took it with a shy smile and let her help you to your feet. You were taken aback when she cupped both of your cheeks in her warm soft hands and you had no idea what to say as your wide eyes stared at her.

“You’re a beautiful and brave warrior, Y/N. You have a fierce yet kind heart,” she murmured and you almost felt like you couldn't breathe. Her kind words felt like they touched your soul and you couldn't get your mouth to work to tell her thank you. She gave you another warm smile then, her thumbs brushing your cheeks before she stepped away and Billy came over. 

“Can you… Can you reconnect her to her wolf?” he asked hesitantly and your head whipped to him in shock. You were surprised he’d asked such a thing, even if it was his mother. There were far more important things going on right now. You’d be a liar though if you said you weren’t touched by his request as you knew you’d never have the courage to do it yourself. The Goddess’s face fell then as she looked back to you for a long moment before she dragged her eyes back to her son.

“I can’t, William,” she frowned and Billy’s jaw tensed as he rolled his shoulder. You were caught off guard by the anger on his face.

“Why?” he bit out. He and his mother shared a look and you felt like you were missing something at the hurt all over his face. You didn't understand why he was so upset over this. Yes, you were disappointed but it was what it was. After staring at each other for a long moment, she turned her eyes back to you and she looked upon you with sympathy. 

“I can’t help, not yet. It will happen when the time is right,” she affirmed with a smile and you felt a spark of hope bloom in your chest. You felt so much relief at knowing it would happen one day, you’d started to think it would never happen. You’d gladly wait as long as it took if it meant it actually happened.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice wavering and small to your own ears.

“Everything happens for a reason, you should know that, William,” she said with a pointed look thrown his way. He still looked hurt and he rolled his shoulder once again with a curt nod. You still didn't understand his reaction, not when she’d just told you it would happen one day. 

“You should both go and save the witches,” she insisted, backing away a little and Billy stepped closer to her.

“Can we come back?” he asked, a desperate edge to his voice now his anger seemed to evaporate. She gave him a sad smile.

“One day. You're not really supposed to be here, so use the ritual sparingly. You need not come and check in on me, I’ll connect with you when it’s done,” she assured and Billy’s face fell. You felt the urge to comfort him at the sadness that seemed to blanket him.

“Is there anythin’ else we should know? Anything that could help with the war?” he asked her hopefully and she shook her head once again with a sad smile.

“I can’t. It would tamper with fate and it’s bad enough what I have told you. I shouldn't be getting involved but I fear what would happen if this keeps going,” she explained regretfully and Billy nodded. You felt awful then as you watched Billy share a tearful goodbye with his mother. You tried not to watch such a private moment but you’d been unable to help it as she held him and stroked his hair as they said goodbyes. You could see how much he loved his mother and now he was once again going to part with her and he couldn't just come back when he wanted. You knew he missed her, that he found it hard being away from her. You could only assume it would hurt more now he’d met her finally in person. Once they parted, Billy sniffled and wiped his damp cheeks, giving you a somewhat embarrassed look as he walked to the door. You gave the Goddess a smile but before you could leave, she walked over to you once more. You hadn't expected her to give you a parting hug too.

“You're stronger than you think you are and worthy of more than you could imagine,” she whispered to you. She pulled away then, giving you a bright smile before she moved back over to her bed. You blinked at her for a long moment, once again stunned by her words and the fact that the Goddess had been the one to say them to you.

“Goodbye, Goddess,” you murmured, bowing your head in respect before you hurried outside to where Billy was waiting anxiously. The only word you could use to describe the look on his face was devastated and it made your chest ache as you got to the bottom of the steps. He seemed to be trying to hold himself together, not a word leaving his lips as you took off walking. Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand and his head snapped to you, eyes wide with shock. You gave him a tentative smile, hoping it would give him even the smallest of comforts to ease what it was he was feeling and you felt relieved when he smiled back. 

“I want to go with you and your men to save the witches,” you said firmly after a while of walking hand in hand. He looked at you, licking his lower lip before nodding and you were glad he didn't argue with you on it. You wanted to help.

“The Vampire King won’t be there, he’d know we might come for him so it’s probably just gonna be some of his men, maybe some rogues,” he mused and you nodded in agreement. A very big part of you was itching for a fight and knowing the vampire assholes were using the witches the way they were, that they were killing them like they meant nothing, infuriated you. The Goddess had tasked you all with saving the witches and you took it personally. When you got to the clearing you’d arrived in, you both stopped and Billy let go of your hand and grabbed his dagger once more. You’d almost forgotten about the kiss with everything that had happened and you hadn't really thought about the fact you’d have to do it again to get back. 

“You ready?” he asked and you nodded with a smile. He still seemed sad and you were both eager to get back to relay the news to the others and get going with the plan. He once again cut your hand and then his own, holding them together. His other hand came up and cradled your face as his dark eyes flit over your face in question. You gave him a firm nod, ready for it this time and then he leaned down, his lips connecting with yours. It didn't get intense the way the other one had, no doubt the heaviness settling over you both. Instead, his lips were soft against yours as he kissed you almost delicately and you kissed him back. This time, you felt the ground shift beneath your feet and it startled you, making you break apart and look to the floor. You were once again in the temple under the castle. You looked up at Billy and found him already watching you. He gave you a little smile before he let go of your hand and stepped backwards. You hoped the kisses wouldn't make things too awkward after you’d gotten your friendship with him back on track. These kisses had a purpose though and they’d served the purpose well. 

“I’m gonna go update my men. Would you go and let Kosmos and Atticus know?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded softly, giving him a reassuring smile. You both walked back up the temple steps and into the main castle before you parted ways. Your head was spinning and not just from the kisses you'd shared with the King. Knowing the vampires were indeed behind this and that they were using witch slaves left you reeling. You left the castle gates, letting your nose guide you to wear Kos and Atti were stationed and they both smiled when they saw you. They’d had no idea of the adventure you’d just had and you told them everything, except maybe about the kisses because you knew what Atti would say and now wasn’t the time. You explained what the Goddess said about the witches and the vampires and that you’d need to go and save them. 

“I’m coming too. No way I’m sitting this one out,” Kos said firmly, fire dancing behind his eyes and it made you happy to know that he would fight by your side. You’d save the witches and at least take out some of the Vampire King’s men in the process. 

“I need to leave. Aurora shouldn't be without me with everything that's happening right now,” Atticus frowned deeply, worry painting his face. He didn't even wait for a reply before he was off and you watched him leave with a frown. You'd expected him to agree with Kos, to tell you he’d be coming and fighting along with you as he always did. You hadn’t expected him to just go running away like this, backing down from a fight. The three of you were a force to be reckoned with out on the battlefield. You knew he was worried though and told yourself to let it go. She was his mate and things were really about to go to hell, of course he’d want to be with her, to make sure she was protected. You felt anticipation starting to thrum through you at the prospect of a fight, especially one against the vampires and rogues. You knew though that once you went to save the witches, that was it. Everyone knew a war was coming, you’d been on the cusp for a while, but this would be the catalyst for the war, the thing that started it all for real. This would set everything in motion and you knew things were about to get rough. You were ready for it though, even if you did end up dying in battle. You’d go out on a blaze of glory helping your pack and the King and you’d do it with a fucking smile on your face.

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@on-ya

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

[creppersfunpalooza]

Nothing to Celebrate

(Rosé and Adonis writing drabble because i felt silly)

it’s not that bad because it’s before rosé’s whole transformation thing and all of the more serious stuff between them but uhmmm it still makes me want to tear at adonis soooo

CW/TW: Mentions of religion and religious themes (Catholicism), religious trauma, cult/shunning implications, invalidation, and a teensy bit of manipulation.

————————————————————————

“I just don’t get it.”

“Hm?” Roe looked up at Don, temporarily taking his attention off of the half-decorated tree.

“I mean, I don’t get why you’d wanna remind yourself of such horrible memories. It doesn’t exactly seem healthy, love.” He continued, scrunching his nose at the angel settled on the top. “And it’s not exactly… You know, real. What’s the point in celebrating it?”

Roe sighed and went back to wrapping the popcorn strings around the fir branches. “I don’t know. Call it silly if you want, but it’s comforting to me.” He hummed, still focused on the tree. “It’s about forgiveness and love. If someone was willing to die for my sins, then that means I was worth saving.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t happen. Sure, some guy claiming to be a prophet probably got himself executed, but it doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s just… I don’t know. It feels offensive.” He huffed, crossing his arms. “You want a god to love you, and I’m right here. Forgiveness and all. Look, I think it’s doing you more harm than good to put all this effort into something so pointless.” Don scowled.

He stared at Don incredulously. “Does this upset you that much? It’s not really a worship thing. It’s about what it means to me. It would be ridiculous for me to pray to a being I know doesn’t exist.” Roe murmured, setting down the garland and making his way over to Don, sitting next to him on the old couch. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings though. It wasn’t my intention.” He gently set his hand on Don’s shoulder, staring at him with a sweet expression. “I can take it down, if you want to. But I’d still like to celebrate some traditions with you. I understand if you don’t want to though.”

Don paused for a moment, but his scowl had long since faded. “I don’t know. I don’t want anything to do with the holiday. It’s stupid. I just wish you could see that.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure. I’m done speaking anyways.”

“It was the only time of year they’d ever pretend that I was a normal person. It was nice to belong.” Roe lowered his voice. “It made me feel less alone, even if it was only a temporary thing.”

Don stared at him blankly. “And you still feel alone? Even with me?”

Roe sighed and held his tongue. “No, of course not, my dear.”

[thegayfromrulid]

I apologize for how little I've been on tumblr in the latter half of 2023. I know there's a lot of people on here who used to look up to me as a fan and some who still do. I'm sorry for being disappointing.

This year started out really good. I thought most of my absence would be because I'm doing really well in school, and I'm so so close to the final step to becoming a doctor in my field. In fact, my goal for 2024 is to start my dissertation, and that's a huge step and grand accomplishment that has taken hours of dedication, and I appreciate my readers' patience as I write during this time.

I passed (unofficially, just have to do some cleanup) my final doctoral qualifier. I finished up two fanfictions after trying so hard to get back into my pace after my accidents in 2021. I got engaged to the love of my life, and I reached spiritual and emotional peace over a 14-year-long trauma that I've been fighting. These were such good things that happened this year, and I'm ready to receive what goodness lies in 2024.

October sent me into a spiral I am just struggling to recover from. Not only is my family in a war zone, but that war zone is one of the most controversial ones in the world right now. And I have spent hours, days, weeks wailing over this genocide. I cannot help the people I love in either Palestine or Israel, who are caught in these crosshairs. And I drag myself to my university, where people scream and tell me that all Jewish people should leave or be accountable for these crimes. It was everything in me to make it to break. I rarely want to go home to my parents for extended time, but I practically fled my campus, and I broke down in tears in my mother's arms. I weep both for the injustice and for the guilt my own community forces on me, as if I am responsible for the sins of Israel.

I cannot promise a lot of activity from me in 2024. As long as Israel behaves this way, I will most likely remain distant from tumblr. Please don't take it personally. The flood of activism isn't wrong; I am just very weak from those voices which are loudly being antisemitic instead of critical of specifically Israel's government. Those voices are so loud I could some days barely get out of bed.

In 2024, I do ask people to be kind. Being kind will not fix everything. But it is one of the greatest things an individual can do during hard times. Kindness is treasured so much right now, especially as I am at such a low from the antisemitism around me. Give a compliment. Do a nice thing for someone. Sit in silence with someone who is too hurt to speak. And, most crucially, love those who struggle to love themselves.

Happy New Year, Shana Tovah

— AJ