#the answer comes to me in the form of heartache

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter VII: Landslide 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Life goes on, even with a broken heart. Can you and Aemond move forward as bandmates, and not partners?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, smut, feral lovemaking, P in V, toxic family dynamic, angst

Word count: 5000

A/N: As always, thank you so much for helping me my lovely Justine @theoneeyedprince 🩵

You dismiss another call from an unknown number with an annoyed flick of your finger and continue reading the document in front of you, eyes scanning over the deed poll forwarded to you by your solicitor.

Back to only carrying your maiden name. Targaryen officially removed.

It’s strange, like the marriage never happened.

You can’t decide if the thought is comforting or devastating. What would your life be like if you’d never met Aemond? No fervid passion. No ruinous heartache.

Last year, you couldn’t imagine a day when you wouldn’t be by his side. The man you called family. Your husband.

It’s official. You’re not family anymore.

Aemond’s voice is hushed as he speaks to his grandfather out on the balcony. He’d asked you to wait in the living room as he took the call, but not being by his side makes you feel restless.

You knew Otto would be ruthless; stooping impossibly low in order to make Aemond rethink his decision to leave the firm to pursue the band full time.

He finally emerges from the balcony, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and face hollow. You shift your body slightly on the sofa, bringing your arms out so he can sit down next to you and fall into your embrace.

He does exactly that.

Your fingers come up to comb through his hair as you gently ask, “What did he say?”

Aemond just sighs as he moves to hide his face in the crook of your neck, arms leisurely placed around your waist.

You already know the answer.

That he was ashamed of having a quitter for a grandson. That Aemond will never amount to anything without his grandfather. That he’s too intelligent to think that pursuing a band could be a viable career path.

“What do I do now”, he mumbles defeatedly against your skin.

You tap his cheek lightly with the tip of your finger to make him look up at you.

Your eyes lock, and you place your hand on his cheek, gently stroking your thumb over his cheekbone,

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other”

You seal your reassurance with a kiss, and he eagerly reciprocates, pushing himself up to hover over you. You sink further into the sofa cushions as he surges down to kiss you again.

And again.

His kisses are slow and forceful, nearly sucking the soul out of you, leaving you breathless.

You soon find yourself in your shared bed, Aemond arms still wrapped tightly around you.

He lets his forehead down to rest against yours, and gazes into your eyes with an almost manic stare as he whispers,

“You’re my everything”

Each of his kisses, touches and whispers echo the devotion he feels for you, and warmth spreads like wildfire in your chest. This must be what it feels like to have someone love you entirely.

When the two of you become one, he rolls his hips against yours unhurriedly, sending pleasurable sparks through your body. It feels so, so good all you can do is moan, and you bring one hand up to grab a fistful of the hair at the back of his head, smashing his lips against yours in a messy kiss.

The only sound in the room, in the entire flat, is your matching breaths as you entwine pants and moans, lips never leaving the other’s.

You can hardly form a coherent thought as each of his thrusts makes his pelvis press against your clit,

“Don’t come yet”, he breathes into your mouth and kisses you again. You nod obediently.

He turns you so that you're on your side and lays down right behind you.

His large hand caresses the smooth skin of your thigh before grabbing your flesh, draping your leg over his hips as he begins to rut into you, a bit harsher than before.

You reply with a moan, letting him know how good he feels. Your hand searches his, still on your thigh, and you hold onto it for some stability as your body jolts forward with each harsh snap of his hips.

He goes harder, thrusting into you with his face pressed to you cheek, mumbling in your ear,

“Feels so fucking good, baby”

You moan again and move your face slightly to place another wet kiss on his cheek. They’re flustered, and the top of his ears are almost as red as his face. There’s a determined look in his eye that wasn’t there before, fiery in a stern way that doesn’t quite match your passionate love-making.

Using his arm for leverage, he lifts his body slightly, fucking you harder and harder. Your body gets pushed into the mattress and you find yourself on your stomach, one hand sneaking down to rub circles between your thighs. Aemond grunts as your walls clench down on his length, his face now shielded in your hair.

“I’d fucking die for you, you know”, he grits out, continuing his merciless pace.

Though your peak is nearing rapidly, rendering your brain nearly useless, you feel like something’s not right.

He sounds angry.

You turn your head from where it’s pushed into the mattress. He looks deranged; hair falling in front of his face and pupil blown wide, eyes filled with something you can’t really decipher.

But it’s not purely lust.

You call his name and bring your hand up to stroke his cheek, searching for his eyes. He keeps his gaze on your body, refusing to look up and meet your concerned frown.

“Aemond, are you okay?”

He dismissively grunts at your question, but slows down and finally meets your eyes.

Is he upset?

You’re not sure what’s going on, but you see that sadness reflect in his eyes; the same vulnerability that pops up whenever he feels threatened.

When he feels like he might lose you.

It’s usually obscured by anger, but now it seems too potent for him to suppress.

Staring into his seeing eye, you console him,

“I love you too, Aemond”

His expression falls.

His eyes shine with sadness.

It makes you sad too. If he’d only let you in on what makes him like this, you could help him; reassure him that whatever it is he fears won’t come true. But he doesn’t let you in.

And all you can do is watch.

The movement of his hips falters, and he says nothing, only breathes heavily.

The hand you have resting on his cheek slowly travels down to his chest, and you push him gently, gesturing for him to lay down on his back.

He follows your silent instructions without protest.

You turn around and move one of your legs so that you’re straddling him, hands resting on his chest. You slowly sink down on his cock, feeling whole again as it stretches you out in the most perfect way.

You moan and throw your head back, setting a slow, steady pace. Your hips move up and down, front and back.

Aemond’ s hands squeeze your hips harshly as he matches your rhythm, bucking up into you, losing himself to pleasure once more.

“You feel so good, baby”, you tell him, pace never faltering,

“No one could ever make me feel as good as you do”

He moans, one hand moving from your hip to your breast, cupping it and pinching your nipple between his fingers.

You sigh in pleasure and lay down on top of him, hands moving to cup his face. Your thumb strokes the marred side of his face, and you notice his gaze flickering away from yours. With a persistent grip, you push on the side of his face to make him look into your eyes again,

“You’re mine. And I’m yours”

Your lips meet his, and the kiss you thought would be slow and sweet turns heated as Aemond harshly grabs your body again, arms wrapping around your waist. He bucks up faster, fucking you harder, and with a startled, pleasure-drunk cry into his mouth, you abruptly peak. He follows with a loud groan, and moves his face to the crook of your neck again, just like earlier in the evening.

He holds your body securely against himself, and after a while, you try to pry his arms away and get off him, but he just mumbles into your neck,

“No, please”

You lay your head back down and close your eyes. Aemond is deadly silent, but you feel his breath against the skin over your collarbones, and something wet slides down the hollow of your neck.

Shut out and without being allowed in, you try to soothe him the only way you know how,

“I love you”

Two days have passed since your live show in Winterfell, and your phone won’t stop buzzing with incoming calls from unknown numbers.

You know they’re from journalists hoping to get a comment from you about the performance and your new song, the drama of it clearly being about your ex husband fuelling their thirst for gossip.

You’d spent the time since the concert in isolation, essentially doing nothing besides watching TV and eating takeaway in your hotel room.

You left Winterfell yesterday, boarding an overnight flight to Oldtown for your next show.

Today, you’ve finally found a reason to get out of the hotel room, planning on an afternoon looking around the vintage shops that are scattered around the narrow cobblestone streets of the quaint town.

You spend nearly an hour in your favourite boutique; a hidden gem a few minutes away from one of the more famous shopping streets of the city.

When you and Aemond were still together, you often came to Oldtown to visit his mum. Seeking some familiarity after her husband, Viserys Targaryen, passed away, she decided to move back to her hometown and hasn’t left since.

Alicent thrived in the town she grew up in, and whenever you came to visit, she eagerly showed you around all the places she’d frequented with her friends as a young girl.

Aemond, in turn, had shown you his favourite spots as well; bookstores, record shops, and organic coffee shops. You remember that one time he tried to convince you that the all-natural, no sugar brownie he’d ordered tastes just as good as the real deal. The face of betrayal you made as you took a large bite of the brick-flavoured monstrosity he’d dared call a brownie caused Aemond to release the most out-of-character belly laugh you’ve ever heard.

The memory still pulls your lips into a smile.

Stop it!

You try to shake your head in a feeble attempt to erase the train of thought. You need to make new memories here now.

Memories not tainted by him.

The last rays of sun for the day shine through the gaps between the ancient buildings cramped together on the streets when you decide to make your way back to the hotel. You pull out your phone to type in the address, still not familiar with navigating Oldtown on your own. The map on your phone shows that it’s a 15 minutes walk along the water to your destination, the perfectly idyllic end to a quite okay afternoon.

The sun quickly sets behind the stoney, worn houses surrounding you, and street lights illuminate your path as you walk, enjoying the calmness of the rather large city. Most people have returned home as darkness envelops the streets, leaving you alone on your way back.

You turn to walk down one of the sidestreets towards the hotel, when you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder, pulling you out from your thoughts.

You abruptly stop and look back, catching the gaze of a man you’ve never seen before. He smiles at you in a way that makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand.

Still with his hand on your shoulder, he asks,

“Aren’t you the singer from Dragon Dreamers?”

“Yes”, you reply, unsure of how to assess him. There’s something in his intense stare that causes unease to chill you from within, yet you appear to be frozen in place.

You have been approached by fans on occasion before, but never alone in a somewhat unfamiliar city.

“I’m a huge fan. This might be a bit forward, but could I take you out to dinner?”

The hand he has placed on your shoulder squeezes your flesh over your jacket. His eyes are expectant, not blinking, and his voice is slightly strained, adding to your already uncomfortable state.

“Thank you, but I’m on my way back to my hotel, and-, I-, I need to get back”

Your answer is hurried and clumsy, and you hope the stranger will understand your discomfort and leave you alone.

“Oh, where are you staying?”

His eyes light up when he adds,

“I can walk with you”

“That’s kind of you, really, but not necessary, I’m okay. Thanks”

You try to hide the dismissal behind a veil of politeness, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave you alone.

You turn around to walk away, almost stumbling over your own feet as they move quickly over the cobblestoned streets.

The man doesn’t say anything else, but you notice him in the corner of your eyes. He starts walking in the same direction as you, only a few steps behind. He’s close enough to keep you within his sight, far away enough for it to seem innocent.

Is he going to hurt you?

Your heart beats faster.

Force himself into your hotel room?

You can hear your heart drumming in your ears, panic washing over you.

You don’t dare to look back at him, afraid that he might take it as another invitation to engage you in conversation, but he stays in the corner of your eye; like an ever-looming monster.

Luckily, there’s a small group of people walking ahead of you, oblivious to the fact that you’re being followed by an unknown man.

What would he do if they weren’t here?

Your steps grow quicker.

You glance at your phone; still a 10 minutes walk until you reach the hotel. The man behind you speeds up his footsteps as well, matching your pace while staying a few metres behind you.

You’re still too scared to look behind and properly face him. The small group of people walking ahead of you look like they might turn by a sidestreet at any moment, and fear pierces your heart at the thought.

Then you’d be alone. With him.

Maybe there’s a corner shop or something around here where you can pop in and spend enough time for him to get bored and leave?

Or maybe you can call someone to come and meet you?

Looking up at the buildings surrounding you, you realise that you recognise this street.

This is the area where Alicent lives.

Maybe he’s staying there?

Before you can think any further, your fingers press on the screen of your phone, going into settings, unblocking the familiar number before pressing the little telephone icon.

You hear two signals before the call is cancelled.

Fuck! Now he ignores your calls?

Your fingers move quickly as you type out,

“sorry someone’s following me I’m walking home please pick up”.

Barely a second passes before your phone buzzes.

“Hi! Yes, I’m just around the corner, can you see me yet?”, you ask in a way too hurried tone, ruining your own attempt at sounding casual.

Your voice is loud and high-pitched as you try to signal to the man behind you that someone’s coming to meet you.

Hopefully he’ll give up his pursuit and leave you alone.

“What street are you on?”

You can hear Aemond shuffling around on the other side; picking up keys and putting on his shoes.

You look up at one of the buildings, reading the name of the street,

“Yes, I’m standing on Gardener Avenue, where you told me to meet you”, you continue to babble, hoping the shadow behind you will finally stop following you as it appears you’re about to meet someone.

“Do you remember the way to the apartment?”

“Yes"

“Walk towards it, I’m coming out to meet you. Stay on the phone with me”

Aemond sounds calm, but there’s something urgent hiding in his stoicism.

“Yes”

The conversation dies out. You’re not really on small-talking terms, so trying to fill the silence between the two of you proves tricky. Despite the silence and awkwardness, the panic that had been sprinting within you seems to ease knowing that Aemond is there.

The group in front of you eventually turn down a sidestreet, and in the corner of your eye, you see the man behind you walk faster, coming closer.

Another wave of fear crashes over you, and your heart beats so fiercely your chest hurts.

Is Aemond coming?

Maybe if you pretend to see him, you’ll finally be left alone.

“I think I see you!”, you exclaim in vain, hoping the man behind you won’t see through your lie.

He’s right behind you, so close you can hear his laboured breaths. You can’t breathe.

But then, you see the familiar silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders appear in quick and confident steps around a corner.

The unknown man behind you seems to retreat in an instant, but it doesn’t stop Aemond from calling out,

“Were you fucking following her?”

He’s gone before any further confrontation. Left is you and Aemond, alone on a dark, empty street.

Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to ground yourself, still feeling unnerved from what had just happened.

Breathe in.

Hold three seconds.

Breathe out.

Hold three seconds.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t open your eyes.

You can’t look up at him, knowing that the flicker of hatred in his eye as he regards you will push you over the edge; push you to release the tears that have been waiting to spill since the strange man first laid his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just need to get back to the hotel”, you mumble and inhale deeply once again to ground yourself.

It doesn’t help, not really.

The lump in your throat feels like a painful stone blocking your airflow.

You feel Aemond step closer to you, tenderly placing a hand on your elbow as he silently waits for you to continue.

You reluctantly open your eyes to look up at him, surprised to find his face reflect gentle understanding. The unexpected act of kindness pushes you over the edge and you let out a shaky breath as you feel the pent-up tears spill from your eyes,

“Sorry, it’s just-, I mean, nothing happened, but…”

One of your hands comes up to wipe away the tears that slide down your cheeks.

“Something could’ve happened”, Aemond finishes for you. He sounds like he usually does; stoic, but you can sense the hint of sympathy there.

“Sorry for calling you so suddenly, I shouldn’t have-, I didn’t know who to call…”

The words tumble out of your mouth ungracefully, matching the hurried pace of your still frightened heart.

“Don’t apologise”

He squeezes your elbow softly in reassurance,

“Come back to mum’s place with me”, he says, “It’s just around the corner”

“No, really, I’m fine! Nothing happened and I need to rest before tomorrow’s show”, you explain as more tears slide down your cheeks.

Fucking stop crying.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. Come up, just for a cup of tea to calm your nerves. Please?”

Aemond’s voice is more gentle than you remember him capable of.

Defeated, you reply with a silent nod and let him lead you back to his mum’s home.

As you step into Alicent’s lavish apartment, you're hit by nostalgia so potent it makes more tears well up in your already damp eyes.

Everything smells the same.

Everything looks the same.

“Is she here?”, you ask, voice small and unsteady.

“She’s out having dinner with Cole”

Aemond takes off his shoes and neatly places them on the shoe rack. He moves to the kitchen to fill the kettle and you follow closely behind, discreetly sweeping the back of your hand against your cheek to wipe away the tears that keep sliding down.

Fucking pull it together!

Aemond flicks his hand towards the chair by the small, round table in the corner of the kitchen; the breakfast nook where Alicent would serve coffee and fresh bread in the morning whenever you stayed over.

It’s all so familiar, yet being here feels so different; almost taboo. Like you’re not allowed here anymore.

You sit down and place your hands on the table, nervously tapping your fingers together as you wait for Aemond to bring the tea over.

He places the flower-patterned cup with gold details by your restless hands and sits down in the chair opposite yours,

“Drink”, he encourages and takes a sip from his own cup, seeing eye watching you intensely.

You pick up the cup, experimentally sipping, letting the hot beverage warm you from within.

It’s comforting.

“Do you really tell yourself I never loved you?”

Aemond’s sudden question takes you by such surprise, you nearly choke on your tea.

Your eyes dart up from watching the cup in your hand to watch him. His expression is as calculated as always; not letting you in on what he’s thinking. Still, his voice is gentle, like it’s been since he came to your rescue.

“I-”, you begin, trying to come up with an answer to his absurd query.

Why is he asking you this now?

“I mean, sometimes it felt like you didn’t love me”, you answer truthfully, carefully observing his reaction.

He gives nothing away as he hums in response.

“You seemed miserable being with me”, you add, wondering if this is the long overdue heart-to-heart both of you have been avoiding.

“Sometimes I was”, he replies matter of factly.

You’re not surprised by his response, not really, but having your suspicions confirmed allows you to prod further,

“I guess I just wonder whether you loved me, or just the idea of me?”

You know you’re poking a resting bear, but you can’t help yourself. You need to know what he thinks about all of this.

About you.

Aemond doesn’t blink when he answers,

“You were my first love”

You feel that all too familiar lump in your throat reappear.

“It was all so new to me, caring about someone so much. Someone who’s not family. I didn’t know how to handle those feelings”, he admits and you have to stop yourself from letting the astonishment you feel from his confession show on your face.

It’s quiet for a while. You are too shocked by Aemond’s sudden introspection, and he’s still cautious about opening up, observing you expectantly.

After a few deep breaths and some soothing tea, you speak up,

“I know things have been hard for you Aemond, and I-, I really tried to understand you. But my sympathy for you wasn’t endless… It-, I ran out”

You really don't want to fight, you don’t think you could handle it in the state you’re in now, but being honest with your ex husband always came with the risk of him lashing out.

He sighs, leans back, and locks eyes with you,

“I know. Thank you for… trying”

And that’s it. The conversation dies, like it’s run its course. Just like your relationship.

Aemond calls a taxi for you to bring you the short distance to the hotel. Both of you stay in your seats, waiting for your ride in silence.

There’s still one thing you need to tell him.

“I really want this to work, Aemond. The band, I mean”

Aemond hums in response again, finger tapping rhythmically against the top of Alicent’s kitchen table,

“Me too”, he replies after some time of silence.

It almost feels official in a way, the fact that you’ve finally agreed with each other that the band comes first; even before your broken hearts.

The silence persists as you down the last of your tea.

You feel a strange mixture of emptiness and melancholy inside. It all hits you at once; the divorce, removing his name from yours, continuing on as nothing more than business partners.

It starts as a sting in your chest, but blooms out into a suffocating ache.

He doesn’t want you anymore.

And you don’t want him; can’t want him.

It does not matter how wonderful it had been at times. The pain of the heartache you caused each other weighs heavier. And there’s nowhere to go but forward, even if your heart breaks with each step.

Life goes on.

The performance in Oldtown is just as exhilarating as the previous lives had been.

The crowd is loving every second and the venue is packed.

You feel alive.

This is it.

This is what matters.

Your biggest hit from your first album, Landslide, is a permanent feature in any show you play.

You’d written it from the sidelines, watching as duty tore the person you loved most into every direction possible.

Tonight, as you stay on the stage with Aemond and your band members retreat backstage, singing Landslide suddenly feels different.

You shoot him a quick glance before approaching your mic to introduce the next song.

They’re shouting your name, shouting Aemonds name, and you think you hear someone yell out ‘the sound of the woman that loved you!’

Speaking with Aemond earlier today, when you agreed you’d prioritise the band over any dispute you had, has left you nostalgic. Singing ‘Landslide’ feels like offering a piece of your heart, the heart he had held in his palm, to him once again.

“I wrote this song about a boy who had to grow up too fast”, you say, and Aemond starts to pluck the strings of his guitar.

‘I took my love and I took it down’

‘I climbed a mountain and I turned around’

‘And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills’

'Til the landslide brought me down’

You’d never told Aemond you wrote this song about him and his grandfather.

There was never any need to. You’re convinced that he already knows it’s about them.

You can’t help but to look over at him; at the way his hands move gracefully over the guitar.

‘Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?’

‘Can the child within my heart rise above?’

Leaving his grandfather’s firm and subsequently leaving the path his entire life had led to had been tough for him, even with you by his side.

And now he’ll have to navigate this new course alone.

You still find yourself worrying about him; for the boy robbed of his vision, forced to grow up faster than most.

‘Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?’

‘Can I handle the seasons of my life?’

‘Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you’

He’s had to adapt; had to rethink and relearn everything before.

He will be fine.

Maybe you just worry about him because you hope, somewhere inside, that he won’t be fine without you?

A selfish wish for him to need you.

‘But time makes you bolder’

‘Even children get older’

‘And I'm getting older too’

It’s time to let go.

For the first time since the beginning of the tour, you don’t feel an urgent need to escape to the solitude of your hotel room as soon as the show is over.

You move unhurried backstage, gathering your things, looking over your stage outfits, pondering if you’ll wear the same thing each night or mix it up.

Just when you’re about to leave, you see auburn hair flash by as Alicent Hightower enters the backstage area, throwing her arms around her two children, loudly gushing over how incredible the show had been.

You go back to inspect your wardrobe with your back turned to them, suddenly feeling stiff and awkward with your ex mother-in-law in the room.

You haven’t seen her in months, not since before the divorce.

As the chatter behind you dies down, the clicking of heels grows louder before coming to a halt.

You know she’s standing behind you, one gentle hand coming up to lightly tap your back.

You turn around with a forced smile on your face.

How do you act around your ex-husband’s mother?

Alicent’s large, warm eyes shimmer as she looks you over, grabbing your shoulders to pull you in for a hug.

“Darling, what an incredible show! You were absolutely fantastic”, she compliments, smiling wide.

You smile back at her,

“Thank you, Alicent”

“How are you holding up?”

Her tone is soft, and her hands stay on both sides of your shoulders.

“I’m good”, you reply shortly, not really sure whether you should confide in your ex-husband's mother or not.

“I’m so glad you can put your differences aside and continue to work together”, she says sympathetically, but her choice of words make you wince slightly.

“And now is your opportunity to be brave. You’re both such wonderful artists. Focus on the music, alright?”

“Yes”

Your answer sounds meek. Her words send a pang straight to your heart.

It’s all so final.

It’s all over.

You look into each other’s eyes, a thousand words said within mere seconds as you feel your eyes well up with tears.

Alicent offers you a sad smile before embracing you in another warm hug.

Silent, hot tears slide down your cheeks as you mumble into her hair, “Will you take care of him?”

She pats your head, hand sliding down to stroke your hair lovingly, And then she hums, sounding so much like her son.

“Mm. Thank you for loving him”

A/N: Thank you sm for reading!

[whxtedreams]

In pain and heartache. In comfort and love.

A Jackson!Joel x f!reader oneshot

Summary: They were so desperate to hold each other after tasting life without one another.

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Jackson!joel, mentions of ellie and her AMAZING puns, Tommy providing comfort, pain, heartache, fear, anxiety, love, apologies, kissing, desperation. reader has she/her pronouns as i write in third person POV, reader has hair Joel can play with, reader has no other descriptions- photos for aesthetic purpose only.

Main masterlist

With pain and heartache, she watched him live without her. 

Her eyes watched every move he made. Every step he took. Every smile he blessed those around him with.

It was an aching reminder of what could have been. The weight of their unresolved past seemed only visible to her. Every breath she took a battle in the heaviness in her chest.

She longed to reach out, to bridge that gap between them she did not realize had begun to form until it was too late.

But the fear of making what little they had left worse held her back. So, she stood in silent agony, her heart breaking as she watched Joel from across the bar.

Tommy had found his way to her, a smile of sympathy and drink in hand. His eyes filled with sadness and understanding, a silent acknowledgment to the suffering.

He knew, after all. Knew how prone his brother was at breaking those he cared for. Tommy had been broken too. 

He held the drink out to her. “Thought you could use this,” he said softly. His voice was gentle like a comforting embrace. 

Her eyes slowly pulled away from Joel as she accepted the drink. She watched the liquid within swirl around in the glass and she found herself hypnotized by its movement. The memory of Joel's drunken state when he pushed her away resurfaced, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The sight of the drink in her hand now felt like a cruel reminder of his harsh rejection.

“He’ll come around, always does,” Tommy said, his hand gently placed on her shoulder.

The words were meant to comfort her, but they felt hollow and insincere. She knew the truth, deep down. This time it felt different, a finality to Joel’s actions.

His absence stung, like an open wound that wouldn’t heal. She forced a small nod, struggling to feign optimism. "He said he could never love me." she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Tommy sighed. His hand fell from her shoulder. He cast a glance at Joel, then back at her, conflict and concern etched across his face.

Her eyes trailed back to Joel, drawn by Tommy's gaze. There he was, laughing heartily at Ellie, her pun book in hand as she hunched over in laughter.

The sight of him happy and carefree, the sound of his laughter filling the air, made her heart ache. She tried to hold back the pain, to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t help but yearn for the past.

"He's scared of losing you," Tommy said.

The words hung heavy in the air, echoing the silent weight that rested on her shoulders. She knew he was right, that fear had been a driving force behind Joel's actions. But it didn't make it any easier to bear the hurt and disappointment his fear had caused. She nodded silently, her gaze fixed on Joel and Ellie, their joyful exchange a bittersweet contrast to her own internal turmoil.

Her eyes left Joel and locked onto Tommy's. "If he's so scared of losing me, then why did he push me away?" she asked, her voice quivered as tears threatened to escape her eyes. The desperation and confusion in her voice hung in the air, seeking an answer that she knew might never come.

Tommy's expression softened as he looked at her, compassion in his eyes.

 "He's lost a lot, I suppose he'd rather push you away on his terms than let fate do it for him.”

The pain of Joel’s past losses echoed through her mind. She knew the weight of his pain had shaped him, had forced him to build walls around himself. He'd rather sever ties than risk the hurt of losing someone he let himself love, even if it meant losing them in the process.

Her eyes slowly returned to Joel and as their gazes locked, she saw the intensity in his eyes. It was clear he had been watching her, their gazes drawn to each other like magnets. There was something different in his eyes, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. She held his gaze for a moment, questioning the thoughts and emotions that flickered across his face.

Did he regret it? she thought, her mind filled with uncertainty. Did he miss her like she missed him?

Did he still lie in bed, reaching for her in the early hours of the morning? Like he had on those nights under the stars during their journey to Jackson.

Did he still clench his fists by his side or fidget with the watch on his wrist when he didn't know what to say? Did he miss her taking his hand in hers to distract him?

Did he wish that he loved her?

Or did he regret it all?

"It might not seem like it anymore, but he cares for you," Tommy said, his voice steady and reassuring. "I saw it when he carried you in, see it now." She turned to him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but there was none.

Only honesty and concern reflected on her.

Her gaze returned to Joel, drawn by his movement as he stood from the table.

His eyes were on her, only her.

“I can’t do this,” she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration as she handed the glass back to Tommy. Ignoring his call for her, she turned and walked out of the bar, desperately needing some fresh air and space to collect her thoughts.

The night air hit her as she stepped outside, cold and crisp, and it provided a respite from the oppressive atmosphere inside. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing heart and tumultuous emotions.

Oh fuck, she thought. She fucking missed him.

And as if her heart seemed to call for him, she heard the door open once more. She turned to see Joel step out, the soft light of the moon bathing them in a silvery glow. It was as if the night itself tried to bring them together.

She looked at him from behind watery eyes, her emotions threatening to overflow. In turn, he watched her with eyes that mirrored her own pain, a reflection of the suffering that had come between them. They stood there under the night sky, silent and yet speaking volumes, each knowing the depth of the other's heartache.

Only difference was, he had caused all of this.

The unfairness of it all, the weight of the isolation and pain he had inflicted upon her, pressed down on her like his own heavy hand. He stood there, the cause of her heartache, while she endured his consequences alone. The anger and anguish in her heart flared, but it couldn't overpower the deep love and longing she still carried within her.

Joel didn't utter a word, and she didn't expect him to. Instead, he closed the space between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. His hand rested on her head, his touch gentle and comforting as he cradled her against his chest. His nose to her hair. Her hands trembled as they clutched onto the fabric of his jacket, holding him tightly, as if she was afraid he might disappear.

He pulled back slightly and lifted her face gently. His fingers traced her cheek as if his touch would break her. Their gaze met, and she saw the well of pain reflected in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a hushed whisper that hung in the night like a fragile thread.

From anyone else, the apology may have felt hollow, meaningless. But from Joel's lips, it held a weight and significance that she understood. For an apology from him was rare and precious, like discovering clean, fresh water in the middle of a vast wasteland. The impact of his words, simple as they were, struck a chord deep within her heart. She could feel the significance of each syllable, was a lifeline in her sea of despair. A flicker of hope in the darkness that had enveloped her heart.

"I should never have told you to leave." He spoke again, his voice choked with emotion, his eyes never left hers.

The words hung heavily in the air, a confession of regret that cut deep. A single tear slipped down his face, a testament to the depth of his remorse. It was a crack in the stoic facade he often wore, a glimpse into the depths of his own hurt and guilt.

She had never seen him cry.

The tear, a crystalline droplet that glistened on his cheek.

"Why did you push me away, then? As if I never meant anything to you," she said, her heart shattered by his own hands.

Joel shut his eyes, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm on her face. His other hand clenched tightly at the fabric of her waist, while the one holding her face remained gentle and tender, a stark contrast to his tense grip.

His voice trembled as he spoke, each word laden with truth. "I'm so scared I'll let you in, only for you to die on me," he confessed. "I can't lose you too."

His fingers trembled against her skin. She reached up and gently took his hand in hers, bringing it to rest over her heart. It beat a steady rhythm under his palm, a silent reassurance that she was there, alive and breathing.

“You are losing me Joel.”

Joel opened his eyes, so full of pain as he took in her words.

“I’m sorry.” His apology was a mere whisper against her lips. And then, a breathless moment.

His lips delicately touched hers, a whisper-soft kiss filled with tenderness and vulnerability, as fragile as a butterfly's wing. It was as if he were afraid to press too hard, to cause her any more harm than he already had.

As quick as it began, it was over. He pulled away, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before he tucked her head back into his chest. His fingers played with her hair as he looked up at the starry night sky and she could feel his body relaxing as he held her close.

"If the Lord gave me another chance, I would go back and make things right," he said as his heartbeat quickened beneath her ear. Her hand found its way to his chest as it laid over his heart soothingly, if only to calm the anxiety that had taken root within him.

"All I do is miss you. I can’t sleep, can’t eat. I was so stupid to push you away," he confessed, his chest shuddered with a soft sob. She pulled back slightly, only to witness a torrent of tears streaming down his face. The single tear had multiplied as it turned to a river of sorrow that spoke louder than any words could.

She gently wiped the tears from his face as her own fell silently in tandem.

His bottom lip trembled, and without a second thought, she did what came naturally to her. Her lips found his in a tender kiss and she could feel the tension in him slowly melt away as he released a shuddering breath.

His hand tangled in her hair and he pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. He poured months of pent-up emotions into the kiss, a mix of regret, yearning, and a love so powerful it threatened to consume them both. Teeth scrapped against teeth, a primal collision of passion and desperation. It was a moment of intense connection, a release of the feelings that had been locked away for far too long.

Her back shoved against the hard surface of the wall. His hands roamed over her body in a desperate attempt to re-familiarize himself with every contour, every dip and curve. It was as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he were afraid she would disappear from his grasp once more.

The pain she had carried with her began to fade away under the onslaught of his lips against hers, his touch hungry and urgent. Her hands clutched at his shirt, fingers clenching the fabric tightly as if she was afraid to let go. Afraid that if she did, he too would slip through her grasp once more.

Their mouths explored each other fiercely, the taste, the feel, the essence of each other an intoxicating drug that they had been deprived of for too long.

So desperate to hold each other after tasting life without one another.

The sound of the bar doors opening shattered the intimate bubble that had enveloped them. Noise spilled into the night air from inside as they hastily tore themselves away from each other. Their gazes locked with Tommy's as he stood frozen in the doorway, surprise etched across his face.

Tommy's eyes flicked down to where Joel's thigh had found its way between hers. "Jesus Christ, can you two make up somewhere else?" he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

Joel's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he chuckled, out of breath. His calloused hands held her face tenderly; the rough pads of his thumbs caressed her cheeks. He looked down at her with tenderness and amusement, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Tommy mumbled under his breath as he walked back inside.

“What do you say, come home?” he asked. A hint of hopefulness in his voice, tempered by the fear that shone in his eyes.

“Do you love me?” She asked.

“I want to try.” He said without a beat.

“I think I can live with that.”

The night was quiet, the silence only broken by the soft whisper of the wind as it blew in through the open window. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of the stars outside, their light danced through the gaps in the curtain that fluttered in the breeze.

Joel's face was buried in the crook of her neck, his body wrapped tightly around hers. He inhaled deeply; his breath warm against her neck. His arms encircled her, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he were afraid to let go. He was seeking comfort in her presence, finding solace in her warmth and familiarity.

She was too afraid to sleep. Worried that when she woke, he would be gone once more.

As the first light of day crept through the window, her eyes slowly opened and she expected to find an empty space beside her. However, his grip on her remained firm as he pulled her closer into his chest. His arms wrapped around her as he slept peacefully, forever reaching for her. A wave of relief washed over her, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

She made a silent vow to herself as she felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. No matter how far he tried to push her away, no matter how much pain spilled from him and to her, she would never let go of him again. She would fight, crawl, and struggle with every ounce of her being to get back to him.

With comfort and love, she watched him sleep by her. 

Notes

this was meant to be around 0.5k but it just kept going??? also Flora writes about kissing as someone who’s never been kissed so as always, take it with a grain of salt as i have no idea what i’m talking about lol - should honestly be a warning itself had a yucky day so here's some hurt & comfort also the starting line and ending line match and im proud of that lol.

[hysteria-things]

Love your two works! Could you write something about Matt dating a girl in college and his reaction to meeting all her friends?

BELLA NOTTE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦��𝐫𝐲: your college friends have been asking to meet your boyfriend for a while. he’s visiting for a weekend, but the downside is that he’s terrified to meet them.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: anxiety, cutesy fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 865

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you anon! i hope you like this. i loved writing it :)

the laughter died down after a few minutes, you and your two closest college friends hanging out in their dorm. your friends sat in their assigned bed while you sat in the beanbag in the corner. it was thursday night on your lovely college campus.

“so y/n.” your friend jasmine starts, throwing her now empty soda bottle with the food bags scattered in the middle of the room. “when are we going to meet that boyfriend of yours?”

you smile, a light blush forming on your cheeks. you go to school in LA, meaning that visits to matt or vice versa are easy. the only thing is that jasmine and sage have yet to meet him.

they ask about him a lot, and your answer is always ‘soon.’

however, matt is supposed to come tomorrow and stay the weekend.

“for real, girl. i’m starting to think your delusions are getting to the best of you and he’s not real.” sage jokes, licking her spoon with ice cream on it.

“he is real.” you say. “lucky for you guys, he’s coming to visit for the weekend tomorrow. i can tell him you guys are dying to meet him.”

the duo let out girlish squeals. “this is so exciting! he sounds like such a good guy.” jasmine smiles over at you.

you return it and nod. “he is.”

matt knocks at your dorm door in the late afternoon, making you spring up from your bed and open it. “matt!”

“hey, baby.” he greets, pecking you on the lips before entering your single dorm.

he sets his backpack down next to your bed and rubs his sweaty hands on his pants. “so, uh… when are they coming?”

“around seven. we still got a few hours.” you walk over to your bed and sit. you scan matt’s face, and you can tell he’s nervous.

the lip-biting, the hand fiddling, the looking at the ground.

“you have nothing to worry about, love,” you reassure, grabbing his hands and rubbing your thumbs on them to calm him.

“i know.” he sighs, sitting down beside you. “can we watch lady and the tramp?”

one thing about matt is that whenever he’s feeling anxious about something, he turns to binging disney movies to distract him. it’s one of the many qualities you love about him because even at twenty, he doesn’t let the kid in him go.

the closer seven rolls around, matt’s fiddling and lip-biting don’t get any better. your head rests on his chest, the both of you facing the small TV you have. you can hear his heartbeat.

“talk to me, matt,” you say calmly, being that all you hear in your ear is the erratic pump of his heart.

“is it stupid for me to be so scared?” he asks lowly, playing with your hair.

you lean off of him so you can face his front. he has a look of worry on his face, and it makes your heartache.

“not at all. it’s normal to be nervous when meeting new people.” you stroke his face with your hand, and he leans into your touch. he kisses your palm.

“if you get too anxious, i can ask them to leave. they won’t mind at all.”

he exhales. “thank you.”

bella notte starts to play on the TV, and the music makes you smile. out of all the binging disney movies with matt, this song has to be your number one.

“listen.” you exclaim, pointing to the TV. “it’s going to be a bella notte. a beautiful night. trust me, okay?”

your disney reference forces the cutest smile on his face and he nods.

you kiss him on the head and as if on queue, a knock floods the room. “come in!”

sage is the one to walk in first, jasmine following behind. she glances at the TV and gasps. “omg i didn’t know you guys were watching a movie. we can come back when it’s over—”

“not at all.” matt smiles at them. he takes your hand in his and squeezes. “why not watch it with us? i’m matt, by the way.”

“i’m sage, and this is jasmine. it’s so nice to finally meet you! y/n doesn’t shut up about you.”

“sometimes it gets a little too intense.” jasmine says, but in a joking manner.

“sorry, i love him,” you say coldly. you hear matt giggle.

the girls get comfortable in chairs and join you guys in the movie.

as the minutes go by, you sense that matt starts to calm down a little. the whole time his hand is in yours, playing with the ring he got you for one of your anniversaries.

he chirps into some conversations, and the night is better than you can imagine.

matt wakes up the next morning to the sun beaming through your curtains. what he didn’t wake up to was you.

he looked around the dorm room, but you were nowhere to be seen. he groggily reached to his phone to see if you texted him but instead found a note on top of it.

he started to read the small piece of paper, smiling like a fool while doing so.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn

[penny00dreadful]

STWG Prompt: Chill/Give In

Double prompt day! A happy whoopsident!

“Just talk to him. Be chill about it.”

“‘Be chill about it?’ Seriously, Robin?” Steve bit at the skin on the side of his thumb but pulled his hand away when all he could taste was kerosene.

He looked out across the field towards Dustin and Eddie, chasing after each other, playing at battle with their shields.

He could feel his heartbeat in his sides through the bites and on his back and arms where he was dragged over the lake bed but that pain didn’t compare to the near constant fucking heartache he felt every time he looked in Eddie’s direction.

“Steve-”

“Didn’t you just give me a whole speech about how our love lives don’t matter right now because the world might be ending?” He cut her off, a little petulant.

“No,” Robin said firmly. “I said my love life. Because there’s nothing there, there’s no hope. But you-”

“You don’t know that, Vickie could-”

“Steve.” Robin said, almost as if she was begging him. “Please. Go talk to him.”

He had to admit defeat at that, nodding to her and trying not to feel too much about her small sigh of relief as he stood and started to make his way across the field.

Eddie and Dustin were posturing to each other, acting out their victorious return, knights coming back from battle successful.

They both had matching smiles on their faces, those dimples cutting into Eddie’s cheeks and his eyes bright and alight with laughter.

When Steve came to a stop in front of them, arms folded over his chest and they both turned to him, Eddie’s bright eyes turned hard and his mouth fell into a frown while Dustin just looked up at Steve expectantly, still smiling.

“Can I talk to you?” Steve asked, sparing a glance at Eddie’s face and nearly withering under the glare he was sent.

“Can’t imagine we’d have anything to talk about, Harrington.” Eddie turned his back and crouched down, picking back up the hammer and starting to whack nails through the shield again, with far too much force.

“Eddie.” Steve tightened his arms around himself. “Please?”

There was silence between the three of them for a breath, Dustin’s eyes darting from one to the other before Eddie slammed his hammer back down and straightened up.

“Have it your way, then. You always do.” Without a backwards glance, he stormed off towards the tree line, leaving Steve behind feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What’s going on?” Dustin asked, watching Eddie’s retreating form. “He looks like he might try to kill you.”

“If he does, I’d probably deserve it.” He patted Dustin on the shoulder as he passed, following Eddie into the forest.

Steve found him, still scowling, leaned up against a tree a few feet in, trying to blow up Steve’s head with his mind.

Steve could only stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out how to start, not daring to close the distance in between them.

“Talk.” Eddie snapped.

He opened and closed his mouth, eventually figuring it was best to start with his apology.

“I’m sorry.”

He was met with an eye roll and a scoff.

“Oh, now you’re sorry?”

“Yes.” He answered back, firm and resolute. “I’m sorry. I’ve always been sorry.”

“Right.” Eddie nodded, condescending. “And what part are you sorry for, exactly? Or are you just sorry it even happened in the first place?”

Steve huffed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying his best to keep his emotions from cresting. He’d been so raw for weeks and it was so much worse now, having to face it head on.

“I never wanted to hurt you-”

“Hurt me? Hurt me?” Eddie exploded, out of nowhere. “You didn’t fucking hurt me, Harrington. You eviscerated me. You tore my fucking heart out, and what’s worse, is that you knew you were doing it. I could see it on your face! I can see it right now!” He took a few steps forward, jabbing Steve hard in the chest. “You didn’t even give me a god damned reason and now, because the world is about to fucking end you decide you need to get me off your conscience?”

“No! That’s not what this is-”

“Then what is it!”

“It’s this whole fucking situation!” Steve threw his hands out to the side. “It’s this fucking apocalypse and people fucking dying and getting hurt and I couldn’t have it be you! Not you. Never you.”

“Never me, never me. Story of my fucking life. What could never be me, huh?” He snapped. “Could never be permanent? Could never be what you need? Can’t be your fucking breeder for your all American dream, is that it? No? Then make some fucking sense, would you?”

“It’s not that, jesus, did you listen to anything I said the whole fucking time we were- It wasn’t about my white picket fence fucking dream that I would still be happy to have with you-!” He shook his head, he was getting off track. “I always knew this supernatural shit wasn’t over, Eddie. They said it was done. Hopper died, the Byers moved themselves and El away, they said it was done. But never fucking is. And I couldn’t stand the idea of you being hurt by it.”

Eddie paused, his big brown eyes darting between Steve’s own, searching, gears in his head clicking, until Steve could see the moment the puzzle pieces slotted into place.

“This is why you went missing for a couple of days? This is why you turned up at the trailer looking like you’d been fucking tortured after the mall burned down?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, the fight leaving him. “And I knew it was going to happen again. I’d already gotten Robin and Erica mixed up in the shit, I couldn’t have it happen to you too.”

Eddie was no longer glaring at him but he didn’t look happy either. 

He looked disappointed. 

Disappointed and hurt.

“So, what?” He asked, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “Instead of talking to me about it, you just decided to break up with me?”

“Eddie,” He reached out to him but Eddie took a step back. Steve felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart all over again. “I didn’t ‘just decide’ anything-”

“But you did! You did! You decided for me. You made the decision for me. You didn’t even give me the option- You didn’t tell me what was going on-”

“I couldn’t! There were NDA’s and government agents-”

“Oh fuck off, Steve.” Eddie snapped. “Like you ever gave a shit about what some suits said to you.”

“This is different, this is getting black bagged and never seen again type of shit-”

“Look me in the eye. You look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never broken one of those NDA’s or told one of those agents to shove it up their ass. Go on.” Eddie stepped closer again but it definitely wasn’t an invitation to reach out, it was a challenge. 

Steve looked Eddie in the eye. 

He could lie. 

He could say he always followed those NDA’s to the letter. 

He could say he had never bitched out those agents along with Joyce to declare Hopper a hero and not brush him under the rug like they tried to do with Barb, making him some crooked, power hungry, drugged up cop who ‘went missing’ after he was last seen standing at the quarry’s edge. 

But he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t lie to Eddie, not anymore.

Eddie wilted. His eyes went from hard and defiant down to soft, sad and resigned.

“I thought so.” He said, quiet and vindicated, though he sounded the opposite of happy to be so. “You made decisions for me Steve. You took my agency away. No one gets to do that. Not my father, not Wayne and not you.”

“Eddie.” He said, his voice cracking. “I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“Well look around you, sweetheart.” He replied, opening his arms and gesturing around. “What a great job you did.”

Eddie shoulder-checked Steve hard as he passed, making his way out of the forest without looking back.

When Steve finally reappeared at Robin’s side, his eyes red and puffy and his throat raw, she silently took his hand and tugged him in close.

“Nancy.” Steve snapped, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and wrenching him away. “Get him out of here.”

He threw Dustin into her arms, not letting himself care about the pain he’d probably just caused, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose focus, there was too much blood and he had to do something. 

“Robin, with me.” But he needn’t have even said it. Robin was already kneeling down by Eddie’s side, checking his breathing, looking for a pulse while Steve started to rifle through the pockets and pouches on his War Zone vest, pulling out bandages and gauze.

They wouldn’t do much, but hopefully it would be enough until they could get him somewhere safer. 

Safer and cleaner.

It had to be enough for that.

It had to be.

Steve couldn’t lose him. 

He handed some of the bandages off to Robin who had moved down to work on his stomach while Steve wrapped up his neck.

“Baby?” Steve couldn’t help but put a hand on Eddie’s cheek. 

His uninjured cheek, because jesus christ the bats practically bit the whole way through on the other side.

“Eddie, can you hear me? Please, baby?” He begged. “Come back to me.”

His heart was in his throat and he was in the middle of trying to shove it the fuck back down because he needed to concentrate when Eddie’s eyes fluttered.

“S’vie?”

“Yeah.” Steve exhaled in relief. “Yeah, it’s me baby. I’m here, you’re gonna be okay.”

Eddie didn’t say anything else, just groaned in pain when Robin cruelly tightened the bandages, but it had to be done.

His eyes fluttered closed again and he didn’t move, save for the small rise and fall of his chest that Steve watched like a fucking hawk.

When he positioned himself in between Eddie’s legs with his back to him, gesturing for Robin to lift Eddie up so he could drag his arms over his shoulders, she paused for a second, giving him a look.

“Your injuries-”

“Birdie, please.”

“Okay, okay. Shit.”

She grabbed Eddie tight under the arms and though she struggled with his dead weight, eventually the two of them were able to manoeuvre him in such a way so he was draped over Steve’s back.

He would have expected a whimper of pain or a shout or something but Eddie was deathly silent, his breaths coming in short sharp rattles.

“Go ahead,” He said to Robin, starting the long and painful trek back to the trailer. “Get the portal ready for me.”

She didn’t hesitate, just nodded and ran.

Steve tightened his arms and grit his teeth.

One foot in front of the other.

“Don't do this to me, baby.” He panted. “Don't go.”

Each step was like a fresh knife through his sides, the raw wounds on his back screamed at him and his vision was starting to swim but he refused, he refused to give in.

There was a small moan in his ear and he could feel Eddie’s eyelashes brushing against his neck as he blinked his eyes open.

“What day s'it?” He slurred, breath hot against Steve’s skin.

“It's-” Steve inhaled, feeling like he couldn’t get a proper lungful, “Thursday.”

“T'm'rrow's date night.” His voice was so quiet, so thin that Steve could barely hear it. He wanted to tell him to stop talking, to conserve his energy but at the same time, talking meant alive.

“Yeah.” Steve huffed. “Yeah, it is, so just-” He stumbled, nearly falling to his knees but managing to catch himself, “Just hang on a little-”

“Dn't know if… if 'm gonna make it.”

“Don't-” he breathed, each pass of air through his lungs getting more and more painful. He was just at the trailer steps now and he could see a figure coming back through the portal from behind the door.

“M'sorry.”

“Eds, don't apologise.” He tried to soothe, everything within him screaming as he lifted a leg to go up the steps. He’d never make it. He’d never be able to carry him up, but he had to try. “Just stay awake, please baby. Please.”

Eddie didn’t respond, but there were still those small puffs of air against Steve’s neck.

The trailer door burst open, Robin and Nancy rushing down the steps to take Eddie’s weight. 

For one delirious moment he held on tighter, he didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want him out of his sight, but he came to his senses quickly, letting the girls drag him up the stairs.

Robin looked back at him torn but Steve waved her off.

“Get him through, Birdie!” He said from his position, holding himself up on the bannister.

Robin glared at him. “God fucking damn it, Steve!” 

But she turned and started to drag Eddie inside because she was his fucking soulmate, god damn it and best fucking friend.

The ascent up and into the trailer was slow. 

By the time he made it to the makeshift stairs they had created up to the portal, the girls and Eddie were already through and Robin was on her way back to him. 

“Evie, come on!” Robin begged, tears in her eyes, reaching a hand out to him.

His vision was starting to darken around the edges, but he was able to grasp at her fingers.

With one last push, he felt gravity shift around him and then everything went black.

“-ere are you going?! We need… hospital!”

“My mom… nurse training until-”

“-some fucking suburban housewife-”

“-don’t know shit-!”

“-innocent-”

“Don’t let your father-”

When Steve blinked his eyes open, he was in the last place he expected to be, back in the Wheelers basement, lying on a bundle of blankets on the ground, Robin curled up next to him asleep and Karen Wheeler’s pink pumps disappearing up the stairs.

He was right next to the couch and looking up, he saw an arm hanging over the side, a familiar spattering of bats inked down his forearm and a messy shock of brown curls just barely visible.

He could already feel consciousness leaving him again, but with the last of his strength he lifted his own arm up, grasping Eddie’s hand in his and squeezing.

All of the tension, apprehension, fear, heartbreak and grief left his body when he felt Eddie squeeze back.

So this fic (because it turned into a fucking oneshot) is actually a bit of background I had imagined for an upcoming future fic that I had never planned to write, but was in my head for later context for the story. Eventually, once that fic has been uploaded (it will be, it's one of my 1st Year Anniversary Event fics), I will upload this lil oneshot to AO3 seperately.

[777gojosgf]

THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

777GOJOSGF IS TYPING…

777gojosgf: reader x ex!satorugojo

IN WHERE :: satoru gojo is indeed the smallest man who ever lived who has fucked it up with you beyond repair.

a/n: this hurts ANGST very ooc!satoru but i just wanted to write something like this for a while. and umm welcome back to me i guess…

ONE THING ABOUT YOU is that you didn’t like to give a show. no, instead you were always thinking about others and how they would feel if you were to say something. additionally you hated confrontation and especially those joined by others. it just wasn’t your style and added upon the anxiety you already felt on the daily basis due to the rocky situation you had with satoru.

you hadn’t asked him where he had been for the past week because you didn’t want to know. even though deep inside you knew that you knew enough.

there was no denying that he cheated on you with your best friend.

and perhaps that should have hurt you the most, the fact that he threw away a four year relationship just because he gave in to his desire. but it was the disrespect that hurt you the most. where did he get the nerve to treat you like that? you hadn’t done anything but love him truly for who he was and the smile he brought upon your face every single day. but you were afraid that those days had officially come to an end.

sometimes good things don’t last.

ever since shoko told you the news, you weren’t sure how to go about it. if you would wait until the both of you were back in the apartment you shared. where the memories and promises you had created with each other haunted the very same hallway where you broke down after seeing the photos of him and your best friend.

good riddance.

you whispered to yourself. good riddance.

but why was it so hard to believe?

and so, you hadn’t realized where your feet had brought you until you had found yourself on the grounds of jujutsu high. the anger that resumed inside of you made it seem as if there was a curse of a special grade roaming the area and the students knew better than to ask how you were doing. in fact, you looked terrifying.

your vision turned red and the only thing you could focus on was the terrible heartache that screamed for vengeance and an explanation.

for so far he was able to give you one.

the sound of the main door slamming in the teacher’s lounge echoed through the entire building, but unluckily for him his friends were there too.

but you didn’t care. not anymore.

because you have cared, you have been caring for years and apparently it didn’t mean shit.

the white haired male leaned against the wall as he watched you walk up to him, and some would say that he begged the gods above that he would make it out alive.

“baby—“ he started, reaching out to touch you like he always used to do but when you stood still in your tracks and flinched away from him…

he knew.

“am i a joke to you?” your question that desperately demanded an answer only made the entire room go quieter than it was before. the tension wavered through the air and he didn’t know what to say. perhaps because he didn’t expect you to ask him that out of all the things you could have.

why did you cheat? did you cheat?

but instead of that, you asked him if you were a joke to him.

“what do you mean? maybe we shouldn’t do this here—“ he once again miserably failed at trying to start his explanation because you took a step forward and all the words evaporated from his mouth while his vocal chords estranged. he didn’t dare to say a word.

“are you fucking kidding me, satoru? are you embarrassed that everyone is watching? because you didn’t care that you would embarrass me after fucking my friend, did you?”

you felt tears prickling in your eyes but not because you were sad. no, those tears had spilled in your apartment. instead, these were tears made out of pure anger. formed deep inside from the quiet resentment of him that you had tried to ignore and endure for days.

your hands trembled, “did you think i wouldn’t find out? do you believe i’m an idiot, is that all that i am to you? a pushover, a people pleaser?”

he didn’t say anything. there were tears streaming down his face as he knew that he had lost the one thing that mattered to him. four years of someone who loved him for who he was, and not for who he had to be.

someone who would have died for his sins.

and he threw it all away.

he knew that he couldn’t say anything that would change this and the way you felt, instead he was afraid that he would only ruin it. so he decided to take it.

“answer me.”

that made him snap out of his trance and he shake his head, stepping forward and meeting your eyes that were so full of fury he started to wonder if you weren’t a stranger.

“i fucked up, okay? i know that i did, and i cannot change anything that i did. and i know that it wasn’t right.” satoru muttered defeated.

but the only thing he heard was your laugh. it wasn’t a laugh he recognized. and it certainly wasn’t the one you let out the times before the two of you would go to bed but not before he made you laugh.

and at that same exact moment the two of you wondered the same thing.

do i know you at all?

but only one had the right to ask that question, of course.

“is that all you have to say for yourself? you can’t even apologize? because i have tried to figure out why you did what you did and if it was my fucking fault, satoru. after everything, i wondered if it was my fault. and i cannot believe-“ a sob made its way through your words and it was hard to keep the tears in now, but you had to. “i can’t believe this.”

“and i cannot grasp why you would. you deserve fucking prison for the way you have treated me these past weeks, making me wonder if i was the problem as to why you would ignore me in our apartment. ours! and i so desperately hate you for it.”

he leaned to touch your cheek, his hand rising and caressing it softly and you hated it that you let him.

“y/n, please. i can’t lose you. i am so sorry for what i did, but i can live with you hating me. i just can’t live without you.” his words embedded your skin and trailed up to your brain, almost planting it seeds and giving into his words,

but you had grown and knew better.

“maybe you should have decided that before you decided to throw this all away. i’m sure you have had a good laugh too considering the way you kicked the fucking stage lights. but you’re still performing, aren’t you? i would have given up my life for you every time. any fucking time. and while i was making promises and thinking about what the future upholds for us, you were busy giving into your desires.” your breathing had surprisingly calmed and the rational version of you had finally asserted itself into your veins as you wiped away the tears from your face and took three steps back.

“tell me. was it all worth it? was she good?”

what?

satoru couldn’t decide whether you actually asked him that or if his imagination was having its own little fun with him. but no, you truly asked him.

“baby don’t say stuff like that you know—“

“if you ever call me that again i will spoon the fucking six eyes out of you. now, tell me.”

fortunately the white haired male was wiser than to answer that question so he remained silent. his tears made its work onto his shirt and the crystal blue eyes that you had longed for since you laid eyes upon them, were now vibrant red.

you knew that he was feeling the same heartache like you were. the only difference however was that you were glad that he was.

“fine.“

and with that, you turned around to walk away.

but not before you stopped, turned around and threw the one thing that had mattered.

he caught the engagement ring mid-air that was a gojo family heirloom.

satoru swore that he loved you but the clues weren’t to be found.

perhaps you died dead at the altar.

“i’m leaving tonight.” you announced but it fell upon deaf ears and you let out a sigh before making your way back to the shared apartment leaving satoru behind at jujutsu high.

literally and figuratively.

after moving out the same exact day, having only taken a few personal belongings, you immediately booked the first flight out of tokyo.

that was the last time you ever saw him again.

©777gojosgf

[nanaminsmoon]

Ngl that suburban eren & hood princess reader fic had me in SHAMBLESS #itwassooogood! If you have the time though it would be real cool to see how this duo became to be and how they met!

thank youu frenn!! this took a minute but i hope it's okay🤭

cw: pnv, unprotected sex, marking, eren being a dick, eren calls reader; 'princess', 'baby', 'good girl', n word usage,

wc: 3015

”but i can’t handle you, right?”, the irony in that statement came from the fact that both of eren’s hands sat on your hips, pulling you onto his dick to stop you running from it. you couldn't think of a single time you had been fucked this good. so, physically, you couldn’t take it. and that’s why your feet kept trying to save your sanity, and cervix, by shifting you from his grasp.

”n-no”, you shook your head at his question. eren’s frustration was palpable, because he had been hearing that he ‘couldn’t handle you’ for so long that it had grown into an obsession. partly due to its falsehood; eren knew he could handle you. if given the chance, he would handle you until your walls remembered every vein on his dick, and the hickies he had left on your body, made it uncomfortable for you to dress yourself in the morning. when those words had been said, in jest, by his friends, he was able to shrug them off. but that assumption had proved very difficult to evict from his shoulders once your lips were the ones it was exiting from.

a chance friendship between neighbouring grandparents, meant that you and eren found yourselves in the same friendship circle. levi was the one who introduced eren to everyone and, granted you mainly saw each other at functions, you had quickly caught eren’s attention. never one to go out, eren avoided parties at all costs. but, if alerted that you’d be attending, best believe he’d have his fit planned and laid out the night before. unfortunately for him, those adorations were not reciprocated, because you paid no attention to the boy. in your eyes, eren was a rich white kid hanging out with hood niggas as a way to pretend to be someone he’s not. when you’d brought that up to some of your other friends, they’d refuted it,

”nah, we cool wit’ eren”, ony had shaken his head at you. even after hearing that, your opinions concerning the brunette would remain unchanged, as you’d always see him as a spoiled white suburban boy who was using you and your friends to cosplay a lifestyle he didn't lead.

so, naturally, his liking towards you was never known to you, nor was it ever a concern. because, as mentioned, you did not care for the boy at all. it wasn’t necessarily disdain, just apathy. and a part of eren knew that, but no amount of awareness could stop his eyes from glossing over every time they landed on you. nor could it stop the corners of his mouth from rising when the sight of your laughing form graced his pupils. everyone around him could see it, and half of your friends thought it to be cute and laughed it off. but others decided to take it upon themselves to save him from the impending heartache sure to come when you inevitably rejected him. eren didn’t understand and whenever he did question their rationale, he’d always get the same answer,

”she just likes her niggas a little…rough around the edges”, ony had once answered, to which eren’s face screwed in outraged confusion.

”okay?”, eren questioned, not understanding why that preference meant you could never like him specifically.

”he’s saying you’re too soft”, levi clarified jokingly, and when eren looked to see ony nodding in confirmation, an indignated scoff would leave his mouth. eren kept to himself, so no one knew what he was like behind closed doors. not to say that the difference between those two versions of himself were vast, it’s just that everyone just took what they saw of him in public as who he was as a whole. because eren was impassive, if people caused him problems, he was the type of guy to just walk away. and that was simply because he didn’t like giving his energy to those who don’t deserve it.

but to you, he wanted to give his energy and so much more. anything you wanted, he was willing to provide for you in the highest quality. every dollar of his parent’s money would be gathered and used to fulfil your every desire, if that’s what you requested. a chunk of his heart shifted to sit in his throat every single time he saw you, and that’s something he couldn’t ignore. the feeling was far too premature to be called ‘love’, but it excited him to know that it could get there, should it be given a chance for it to blossom freely. that’s why he chose to ignore all the ‘warnings’, and just walk up to you and, at least, try to spark up a conversation.

you couldn’t remember where you had heard it first, but once the rumour was in the air, it festered. that rumour being the one that claimed that the green-eyed boy, who drove a tesla, was supposedly in love with you. once one person said it, it became people’s primary method of greeting you. and every single time, it’d be met with unbothered snickers, and eye rolls, from yourself,

”the fuck’s that gotta do with me?”, you had laughed out. it wasn’t just because you thought he was poser, but he just wasn’t your type. it was no secret that you an affinity for pretty boys, but eren was too pretty. he was disney prince pretty, and he had the manner to match it. now, there’s nothing wrong with a well-mannered man, but eren spoke with his chest concaved, and moved like he feared taking up space. meaning he was a terrible match for you, because you needed a nigga who could put you in your place, and wouldn’t just cower in front of you and let you bitch him around.

that being said, the only thing about eren that you didn’t take issue with was his princely good looks. because eren was fine, and you were able to admit that. not publicly, but you were able to acknowledge it, even if you’d never express it to anyone with working ears. you some may argue that the moment that you got close to saying it aloud was caused by people inflating your head with thoughts of him. that had been the moment you looked up to the door, leading to the kitchen you and your friends were sat at to get away from the rest of the party, to see eren stood, hands in his pockets, and eyes practically cutting you in half with how harsh they were looking. in the place of the compliment that you nearly blurted out, came a deep breath before you turned to look away from him. eren would take notice of your reaction, and that’s what would encourage him to walk over to you. you'd see him move, but his destination would be a mystery to you, until you felt a nudge to your side followed by a joke from your friend,

”your boyfriend’s here”, she nodded in his direction and, once you saw what she was nodding at, you rolled your eyes. the next time you’d look to eren, he’d be stood right in front of you with a friendly smile on his face,

”hey.”, he said, raising a hand. you’d manage to hear him over the music, but you wouldn’t give him much.

”hm”, was the only response he got from you, further cementing the notion that speaking to you wouldn’t be easy. but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

”i…uh…i’m eren”, he said, more nervously than he had intended. the fear of you thinking he was too soft made him nervous, inadvertently making him seem more cowardly than he was. everyone’s assumptions about his character were being confirmed in your mind, and seeing it on your face made his nerves rise.

”y/n.”, you said, and he nodded as if he wasn’t already aware.

”nice to meet you”, he replied. though not formally, the both of you had met before. meaning that you knew of each other, but had never really spoken. so you weren’t exactly comfortable with each other, nor were you keen on getting to that point.

”the fuck d’you want, my nigga?”, you asked and, having only ever known you to be a bubbly person, the austerity of your words surprised eren.

”just wanted to tell you that you’re really pretty”, he said, and your lips did threaten to form a flattered smile, and you’d let them get halfway before you decided to shut him down.

”thanks, but you’re not my type”, the signal that the conversation was over, came in the form of a smile toward the brunette before you turned to face your friend. but eren wouldn't let that discourage him, and he’d just speak to the side of your face.

”they said you’d say that. but…just give me a chance”, his words would make you smirk, because their nature seemed brash, yet they had no air of confidence about them. uneasy green eyes would see you lean to whisper something to your friend, who’d laugh once she heard what you said.

”you can’t handle me, babe”, you challenged, straightening your posture and crossing your arms. a laugh would resound from beside you, as your friend examined eren’s dumbfounded expression.

that interaction would lead to your hands on a bathroom sink, gripping on for dear life. once bored with the flesh around your hips, one of eren’s hands would wrap around your torso to press on the bulge his dick was making in your stomach. his bottom lip would be between his teeth, as he bit back all the pleasure your own was causing him. to you, eren was fucking you with this much vigour as a means of proving something. but eren knew that the reason for his pace, was the fact that his daydreams had come into manifestation. displays his brain had aroused, every time he looked at you, were pressed against his chest, and reflected off the mirror in front of him. in fact, none of it would feel real if it wasn't for his daydream tightening around him in a way that his subconscious could never conceive.

any preconceived notions you had held about eren, had been fucked out of your brain, to spill into the basin underneath you. the ferocity of his thrusts was allowing no time for you to even think, or question the way you once thought of him. and, if pleasure wasn't securing your eyes shut, you would see that the man behind you had been in front of you all this time and you had made the mistake of bypassing him. at first, eren had asked you to meet his eyes in the mirror in front of you, to test your resolve. but the sound of your exposed ass cheeks meeting his hip bone, invited his attention to its origin. his eyes would invite his hand to join them, and it'd accept and move to massage, and slap at, the skin there—admiring the way it recoiled upon meeting his hand.

one of his hands would be on your jaw, and the sight of your skin meeting, inadvertently made him fuck you harder than he had ever intended to. the sight of it made his hips move faster to chase the release the sight of the ring at the base of his dick teased him with. but, in your mind, this man was fucking all his resentment toward you into your womb. weakness encompassed your every limb to the point where even the fingers holding on to your only support were beginning to cramp and give out. the dick was so good, you had forgotten who was fucking you, until you looked at him in the mirror. prince charming had developed a villainous streak, and you could feel it in your stomach. at that moment, there’s nothing you wanted more than to turn around and leave a trail of lip gloss stains starting on his face, moving to his neck, and making a pit stop on his thighs as you moved down to take his length in your mouth. aided by eren, those thoughts would edge you closer and closer to your end,

”shit, you’re so fucking tight for me, baby”, he said, groaning at the feeling of your walls squeezing his length.

”’rrren, i’m gonna cumm”, your back arched off his chest, as you heard your own moans bouncing off the bathroom tiles to slap you on any exposed skin eren wasn’t already holding.

”be a good girl and beg me for it.”, eren’s lips grazed against your ear, before he kissed your lobe—moving to kiss down the side of your neck, and bite down on it. his eyes would flicker to your reflection, and you’d see his lips smile around the skin they were covering. you wanted to maintain your facade of immovability so bad, but eren’s actions were only making you moan more.

”fff-fuck you”, you’d chide, gripping onto the porcelain even harsher, and cursing under your breath. eren would organise his lips into a pout as he feigned offence.

”that’s not very nice”, his face looked hurt, but his hastening hips suggested otherwise. eren wasn't just doing this to spite you, but to also get you closer to your end, so you'd concede faster,

”you bein’ real mean for someone who’s crying for more dick”, he began kissing on your neck again, biting harder this time. there was no time to be in pain, because it all just felt so good. this man barely knew you, but he understood your body in a way only a lover should.

”i’m not c-crying”, you said, and a smug scoff would leave eren's shining lips, before they'd wobble dramatically in imitation of your own. hiding your bottom lip in between your teeth, you'd look down at your feet in embarrassment. the eren you were seeing, differed so much from the eren you had known, that the knot in your stomach couldn't help but tighten. the only word to describe him, was ‘mean’. and you had to question if this was just an act but, looking at how his expressions didn’t change at seeing your teary eyes, you knew that this is who he'd always been. with this epiphany, you knew you'd become the one to chase him, as opposed to your dynamic thus far.

”y-you’re n-n-not?”, he mocked, copying your fucked out stutter, ”then what’s this, baby?”, he wiped a falling tear from your face, its resting place soon being occupied by a gentle kiss. that iota of kindness would coerce a blissful sigh from your lips.

”just say please, princess, and i’ll give it to you”, eren said, quietly. he had expected more backtalk, but he’d be surprised to find that your mouth would open to adhere without hesitation.

”pleasee”, you whined, blinking out more tears, and eren tsked before grabbing your jaw and turning you to face him,

”please what, baby?”, he said, placing a sweet kiss on your lips that almost erased the actions of the man behind you from your memory. but once you felt his eyes pierce through you when he pulled back, it'd all come flooding back. you’d obey, and the place his tip reached caused a raise in the volume of your voice.

”let me cummmm, pleaseee”, you said. a small smile would be on eren's face as he moved to place one more kiss on your forehead. then your wishes would be granted when he wrapped a hand around you to rub your clit. overstimulation to that degree had always been a myth to you, but it was hard to deny it when you could feel it dripping down your leg to trickle onto the floor beneath your bodies. an army of goosebumps was raised to attention all over you, but eren would be seemingly unphased by it. or, at least, that's what you'd initially thought. but, looking at his reflection, you could see the concentration his face, and you could feel his fingertips digging deeper into your skin, telling you that he was close too.

”gonna let me nut in you?”, he asked, against the heated skin on your neck, and you'd pose no contention. even if you hadn't been nodding furiously, your want for his nut was evident in the way you were moving back on him, using yourself to get him off.

”i need it, eren, pleaseee”, you crooned, drawing a prideful smirk from eren. the sight of you using your body to get him off, did half of the work for you. in fact, if you didn't feel so fucking good, it could've made him nut on its own.

”look how good you’re being for me”, his smirk touched your temple as he kissed it. desperation to please would move your head in a nod and, soon, the reward for your good behaviour would spread warmly inside you as eren held your hips to a standstill. his head would be rested on your shoulder, commencing a few seconds of quiet filled only by muffled music and heavy breaths. when eren did lift his head to watch you in the mirror, he'd see you still trying to catch your breath,

”y’know you’re easier to handle than you think”, he chortled, before you'd both be wincing at him pulling out of you.

© Rights owned by nanaminsmooninc. Do not repost without permission.

[missmarveledsblog]

Not just a flower child huh? ( logan howlett x reader ) part 4

summary : jean get the result of the test she ran on y/n only to find something that well didn't make sense but did all in the one go . The findings , well they needed to know more about the lab and logan of all people not expecting the answer to their questions.

warning : angst af , past childhood trauma , child abuse ( what happen to our girl when she was in the lab) second hand guilt

(previous part)

It couldn’t be right ? but yet she checked it over and over compare the two and yet one  their it was as clears day on the screen .  it made no sense  , maybe the machine was on the brink but the others ones too was impossible.  Yet in the absurdity of it all it weirdly made sense  when jean pieced it all together maybe the professor would know the right way to go about it all and maybe it was time to see if y/n could tell them more of the lab she was kept in and who kept her there.  She was so worried sharing the result maybe this was a bad idea , maybe it would make  it all come back and stunt the little progress y/n had made.  What if she lied and told her everything else and left it out  then again she didn’t want to lie at all . it was hard she become fond of y/n in the short time the woman was with them she admired and could call her a friend . the strength and courage, the selfless courage to protect those before herself no matter how much it would hurt .   she didn’t want to be the one to hurt her or bring back something painful . that day she seen what y/n showed the professor something like that would haunt the hardest of hearts and it killed jean for y/n to think it was her fault .  she cried that night scott had to hold her while she sobbed for the pain and heartache her new friend carried and let haunt her every night . another think she notice  first time she was able to see into the womans mind it was like she was shielding them of the horrors she witnessed another selfless act. 

“ call the team including y/n i can be the one to break it but we can not keep this from her break the trust we made” the professors voice rang in her head.

A deep sigh jean grey agreed rounding up the team and y/n as they sat in the  professor office. She wondered why she was gathered in with them all did she do something wrong , the concerned look on jeans face didn’t help when the woman notice she was looking she tried smiling but it  wasn’t real  it was forced . 

“ you’re not in trouble dear girl” the professor chuckled making his way to the desk the copy of jeans findings in his lap .  “ we have the result of your test something well  it came to our attention you share the same mutation as someone in the room “ he said softly. 

“ you and jean we already know she does those mind tricks “ logan teased hoping it would ease her tension. 

“ actually she shares you mutation logan a form of it almost identical” charles explained . 

“ but that can’t be possible you’re not saying she my kid right” he asked feeling sick to his stomach . 

“Not possible i was there at her birth and you are not our mothers type” piotr countered. 

“ no she doesn’t share his actual  dna , it more you mutation , the enhance sense like smell , the hearing , his healing factor ” jean asked. 

“ how you able to tell who’s coming so quickly” scott pieced it together. 

“ i thought that was cause i’m traumatized” she mumbled trying to make sense of it all .

“ the people your parents sold you too , they keep you this whole time , do you know anything of them?” storm asked . 

“ they were american or well i think they were they spoke english  , the man they called him colonel he took me to the lab , he said he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again ” she said his face flooding her mind. 

“ is this the man “ charles asked her showing the picture of her tormentor , the one who stole her innocence and childhood . 

“That’s him , stryker “  those word hit him like a ton of bricks  like she knocked the air out of logans lungs , her earlier words “ he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again”  she was taken because logan got away.  

“ he must of had a vile of your dna or something and gave it to her” scott spoke . 

“ yes i think we know that part genius” logan rolled his eyes and yet internally he felt like he was going to throw up if only his memory wasn’t lost he would of been able to stop stryker , he would been able to stop the pain she endure. 

 “ i don’t have claws or anything” she asked suddenly looking at her hands . 

“ no  only the elemental power , telekinesis   , mind control , and ability to read minds  and well his senses and healing factor like regeneration  , the elemental are the one of your own mutation as well as the telekinesis but the rest well was whatever they gave you “ charles explained. 

“ making you most powerful mutant here” scott blurted out. 

“  well least i didn’t go through it all for nothing “ she mused dryly.  

“ i’m guessing they force the mutation to come out?” . 

“ it makes sense why i don’t have scars i always wondered why the scars went” she said more to herself not noticing the sad looks on the others faces or how her brother fist clenched or how tense logan was.  “ at first they tried a non physical approach scar me i would cry and scream for them to stop but they never would some would even laugh and taunt me , then when that didn’t work they  used their imaginations sometimes i would pass out it was too much “. 

“ no one will ever hurt you again” piotr pulled her to his side only for her to flinch at the rudeness before relaxing . 

“ could i be excused please” she asked softly . 

“ of course if you need to talk we are all here if you need us” storm spoke up . 

They all sat silent even after she was gone , they knew the world was cruel but they just fathom how depraved it truly could be even to something so sweet and innocent like a child.  She really did have their respect more and more each day . 

This time he really couldn’t sleep some how he felt some sort of responsibility and other part of him was glad  she did have his mutation , the fact she was always going to have the mental scares of what she went through she didn’t need the physical one to remind her even more . he could imagine the sick ways they did it , he knew stryker , how cold and void of humanity in that mans ways he’d seen it first hand and now to know .. could he class her as his friend . to know someone as amazing and special as y/n .  walking down the silent halls he could see the kitchen light already on meaning she once again couldn’t sleep . he couldn’t help chuckle to see the beer awaiting him , the light cast of ice around the glass and the back door open . walking out to see her standing at a fire pit  he knew wasn’t always there but nothing got past that charles . he watched as she clicked her fingers and the flame that appeared  lowering it in to the pit  . 

“ you should start sleeping aren’t you like old as this place” she asked pulling the chairs over to the pit and taking a seat. 

“Actually probably am” he chuckled taking a seat pulling out the cigar only for her to click her fingers and hold her hand out in his direction. 

“ bag of tricks” she smirked making him laugh. 

“ your something” he smiled . 

“ that could go either way that comment” she arched her brow. 

“ you have every reason to hate the world , to be angry at it and yet your not” he said truthfully . 

“ the world didn’t hurt me people did , well it seems the same person who hurt you hurt me” she sighed. 

“ and i was an unbearable prick because of it “ he smiled when he heard her laugh  it was one of his favorite sounds.

“ it sucks i don’t have the kitty claws , they look so useful for the cooking i’ve been doing lately” .

“ not kitty claws sweetheart but if you need help in kitchen call me  i can show you” he winked.  

“ your hair is like the ears too” she snorted. 

“ ok i prefer you calling me doberman now” he rolled his eyes.

 “ your not such an unbearable prick” she smiled. 

“ and you're not a monster” he said. 

“ if you saw you would think differently  i kill many men” she admitted. 

“ and i bet it was to protect someone”. 

“ it was  and part of me wanted to  as revenge but i don’t want to talk about it not tonight it’s a nice night to feel normal  or pretend to “ she sighed watching the sky above her. 

He was still pissed off , knowing another asset was gone but he knew he would get her back , he just needed to  do it carefully ,   he need to make sure whatever they planned was perfectly executed or it would get harder and harder. William stryker knew the damage she could do and how she could rid the world of the thing he despised most . he’d spent too long to give up now and he wasn’t letting history repeat never again would he face the humiliation he did before  , his reputation was nearly non existent and this was his last shot to get some of his dignity back . the first target would be the school that held them there , burning that to the ground would be a great start to the reckoning . he wondered if he got her to comply would the same trick work on logan maybe the two together oh the  destruction in their path would be catastrophic  but for now he would settle on her even get more serums to work make her completely indestructible.  Now it was getting her back  , back to the cage he wouldn’t mix her with anyone that was a mistake but the tape he held of her after how she pulled them a part like they were made of paper , how she made them suffer it was a piece of art and he was the artist .  this time he was going to be the one on top and god help any mutant that got in his way when he was .

Part five

taglist : @oscarissac2099 @ayamenimthiriel

[eqt-95]

i am sorry it is monday i am going to be mean 🖤 supercorp

Thanks for the ask! I won't even make a big deal about you and @sssammich poking me for the same heart-wrenching prompt, but I will be using 'artistic licensing' and the skill of 'splitting hairs' to get this one across the line.

for context, this is part of an AU i've written random bits for, so you're about to be thrown right into it.

- - - - -

“Hey Kara?” Lena asked from the bar cart.

“Yes?”

“What would it be?” she continued, walking to the couch. “If you were human. What's the thing you'd want to experience?”

“Food.”

The answer comes so automatically that it almost draws Lena into a laugh. Instead she leans back into her couch, swirls the lowball of peaty scotch, and closes her eyes, imagining for the hundredth time a face that didn’t exist.

“Anything specific?”

A moment passed. The voice hummed in thought; another diversion from Lena’s code.

“Does a buffet count?”

“Some might call that cheating,” Lena smiled. “Lex would call it a loophole.”

“What do you call it?”

Lena opened her eyes; glanced at the ceiling as though Kara’s voice was coming from the stars. Instead it was just the usual speaker floating overhead.

“I think it fails to grapple with the spirit of the question.”

The room, white and bright and sterile, felt like a still-life painting with the white noise that followed. Lena wondered if she’d scared the AI off when-

“Potstickers.”

“Potstickers?” Lena parroted, unable to contain a laugh. She set her glass down to analyze the AI’s activity on her tablet.

It made some sense: every cuisine had its own form of food-wrapped dish from dumplings to pierogies to empanadas to arancini, and it was only natural for the AI to find a common link and answer based on that, but when Lena scanned the code for evidence the AI was responding to that thread, none existed. 

“What calculation brought you to that?” she asked. She continued to scowl at the cloud of connections that weren’t remotely linked.

“Because they’re pillowy morsels of goodness with a contrasting soft texture and a crunchy bottom side. The plume of steam when bitten into is just perfection,” Kara said, fading into what Lena heard as a sigh. It only made her brow furrow deeper.

She’d ask Sam tomorrow. In the mean time:

“Can we order some?”

“Pardon?”

“Potstickers.”

“I… it’s late. Maybe another time.”

“Of course, Ms. Luthor. My apologies,” Kara replied.

“It’s Lena, Kara.”

“My operating system-”

“Won’t allow it, I know,” Lena huffed. 

“Precisely.” 

Only a second passed before: “It is getting late, and your sleeping patterns have shown symptoms of insomnia. Might I suggest saving the rest of your 25 year Caol Ila for another time?”

The shift from casual to formal was instantaneous. Lena swallowed, reminded of the algorithm; of the hardwiring and artificiality of the entire experiment.

The reminder carried Lena to bed as Kara went through her evening protocol: locks, lights, and temperature adjustments. Silence followed their routine; a contrast to their last few nights. It shouldn’t have bothered Lena as much as it did. When she’d finally settled in and Kara flicked off the sidelight, Lena had fallen into a familiar state of loneliness. She determined it was irrational and rolled on her side.

“Goodnight, Kara,” she called as she always did. She waited, listening for the familiar return that never came. With a pang that felt far too similar to heartache, she closed her eyes. A beat of more silence then-

“Can I change my answer?”

It burst through the apartment and nearly sent Lena catapulting from her bed. “What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to - oh gosh, and it’s late and I’m not supposed to-”

“No, no, that's ok,” Lena replied hastily. She pretended her heart wasn’t racing and stomach wasn’t in her throat - all things Kara was surely logging. “Just scared me a bit.”

“I can tell, Ms. Luthor.”

“Right.” She couldn’t hide it if she tried, so Lena simply rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling; 

“What would you change it to?”

“Touch.”

“Touch,” Lena parroted again, softer this time, letting the idea sink in. “Anything specific?” she asked, feeling a sense of deja vu hang over her. She half expected Kara’s answer to repeat, but instead-

“Warmth. Something living.”

“Like a dog?” Lena offered, her voice raspy and mouth far too dry.

“While that would definitely rank in the top five, I’d much rather feel the warmth of a human. A companion, as they call it.”

“I see,” Lena breathed out. “You would want to experience a partner; a boyfriend perhaps-”

“Or girlfriend,” Kara replied simply, and Lena gripped tighter at the duvet she wasn’t aware of strangling. “As something that can’t, touch feels like the most intimate of functions. A hug, a handhold, a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.”

“I see,” Lena replied, because anything more might have broken her chest open.

“Good night, Ms. Luthor.”

“Good night, Kara.”

Lena knew better than to crave a thing that couldn’t be. She knew better than to feel an attachment for a machine. She knew better than to dwell in the fantasy of a real Kara Z walking the streets of National City, of living a life where potstickers and hugs were her happiest experiences, or of being someone who could ever want intimacy with someone like Lena.

She knew better, yes, but that didn’t stop her from imagining as a lone tear fell in the privacy of darkness.

- - - -

ask game

[moonydustx]

a/n: did I mention that I love writing angst? Seriously, I'm a fan of a good drama. This one has been sitting in drafts for a while, it's small, but it's worth it.

Heartache

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending. Unrequited feelings on both sides.

"Captain, I'm leaving the crew."

The words that came out of your mouth were enough to open an abyss beneath Law's feet. What do you mean, you were leaving the crew? What do you mean you were leaving him behind?

The bitter taste still lingered in his mouth when he met his crewmates again after a mission. The bitter taste referred to finding yourself locked in the arms of another man.

Not that Law could charge you anything. One drunken night you even tried to steal his kisses and thoughts for yourself, but you were pushed away by his tattooed hands, an apology combined with a we can't do this came from him. After that, all you had to do was bury your feelings or at least hide them from your field of vision.

However, it was not possible to hide the small kindnesses coming from Law, the woody perfume that emanated from him, the sound of his laughter - even if it was not frequent, when it appeared it was a comfort to your troubled soul.

Until someone new appears, physically beautiful, the jokes not as good as the ones you shared with your captain, but with this man there seemed to be a promise to mitigate those feelings that accumulated in the form of tears on your pillow every night.

Just like a wound in the healing process, some days it hurt more, others less, when your captain came across you, it was as if the wound opened again.

However, it was still difficult to put it into words.

"Why you say that?" Law's voice hit you like a bullet, aimed and named at you.

You had known him for years and knew very well how he hid his feelings with every action. It was possible to name this time as heartache.

"Hiro asked me to stay with him, it seems like a good proposal." yes, it was inevitable that the hurt wouldn't be in your voice either.

"And you will accept?" Your silence answered the question. "Why not the other way around? Why doesn't he join the crew?" the words came out like a waterfall from Law. Intense, and almost impossible to contain.

"Are you really serious?" your face lit up, much to Law's unhappiness.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see it there, he just wanted that joy to be directed towards him and not about another man being part of the crew. On the other hand, you just wanted Law to take action and put an end to your crazy idea of ​​leaving everything behind for a guy.

"I'm serious, of course, if he wants. Talk to Bepo, find him some tasks and we'll talk again later."

Your smile seemed to light up the entire room - even though the sunlight was already shining on the grass below your feet. You wanted to be able to hug him, to be able to thank him for something you weren't sure you wanted. You wanted to feel Law against your fingers, sink against his skin. That was something that didn't belong to you and apparently wouldn't never belong. You just thanked him and left your captain alone - and that was just what he would be.

The world around him seemed to lose some of its brightness when Law saw you jump away, your fruity smell getting further and further away.

It would hurt. He would be cynical if he said no.

It would hurt like little razors cutting into his skin, like little cuts that wouldn't bleed as much, but would be there to remind him of the pain or rather to remind him of how good it was when such pain didn't exist.

The feeling of your lips against his would remain like a ghost, a distant memory of his regret. Why had he denied you such affection? Why had he denied himself such affection? Fear seemed like the perfect answer, fitting any source he could list.

Fear of getting hurt, fear of hurting you, fear of putting a target on you as soon as someone saw you with your arms tied to him, fear of what such a feeling could bring - and look what an ironic feeling, after all, all fear had now been replaced by pain.

At least he would still have you there, an arm's length away, no longer a hug away or a night contemplating the sky above the submarine that broke the weak waves of some night you spent awake and talking.

Now it would be with someone else that you would stay there, lost in daydreams throughout the night, sharing sips of drinks that are so awful that even with the division, there would still be full glasses and laughter for you and your new companion.

It would be someone else who would feel your soft skin, who would capture your lips, kisses and moans. And he - Law - would continue there, being his captain, captain of a new guy who for now he wouldn't want to bother knowing the name of.

But Law would still have you there, he would have small fragments of you, small fragments of your attention, a constant memory of the chance he missed to have you whole, just for him, the girl who was supposed to be just his.

The feelings would remain hidden within him for who knows how long. In the same way, your photo hugging Law would remain hidden on your pillow, a vague memory of the nights you shared and now would no longer share.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Don't care if it sounds cold. It is, what it is.

Bucky x POC!Reader, Ex!Steve x POC!Reader

Wordcount: 1394

Summary:

Steve returns 3 years after he left for the past. Wanting the life he had with you before back without consequence. Too bad you’ve moved on with someone he least expected.

Warnings:

Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Hurt Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Protective Bucky Barnes, Exes, Sad and Sweet, Sweet Bucky Barnes, Moving On, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Abandonment, Domestic Avengers

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Woke up feeling angsty, with a mighty need to finish this dialogue heavy drabble I started last week. Happy reading!

You’re preparing lunch in your modest kitchen, singing and dancing along to the music flowing from your bluetooth speaker, when there’s a knock on the door. Knowing Bucky can easily hear it and you're currently preoccupied you leave him the task of answering it. You listen to the door opening and murmurs of speech for a couple moments before it closes again and two sets of footsteps can be heard heading your way.

“Sam, what have I told you about at least texting before you come over.” You look up from the island, expecting to find a grinning Falcon before you but are caught off guard by the imposing form standing under the archway. “Steven?”

“Hey, doll.” He takes a step forward as you close your eyes, shaking your head to relieve you from the vivid hallucination that is taking up space in your home. It isn’t until Bucky places his cool metal hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze, that you dare to open them again. 

“What are you doing here? And most importantly why ? You went after your happily ever after. You shouldn't be here.”  You blurt out, disbelief showing on your face. Bucky without hesitation makes his way to your side of the island, showing his support and making sure to be within arms reach if you need him. 

“It wasn’t quite as happy as I imagined it would be.” You watch his adams apple bob as he swallows. “All I wanted for so long was to have a do over with Peggy. So the first chance I had to fulfill that dream, I took it.” He places his hands on the island. “It was good at the beginning, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He locks eyes with you. “We barely spent any time together after a while. She was always working. Trying to better the world, leaving me alone with my memories of you. I found myself seeking out pieces of you in her. They always fell short. No one loved me like you. I wanted that back. So I decided I needed to come home.”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, tears brimming your eyes as you hand Steve a dose of painful truths. "What we had was special Steven. I'll admit that. But it wasn't enough for you. I wasnt enough for you. Your head was always full of the what ifs. Your heart was never fully mine to begin with. I thought that as time went on, that my portion was growing in size. How wrong was I to believe such things.” A lone tear falls from your eyes. 

“I'm a firm believer of actions speaking louder than words. You leaving me behind for a chance with her that day was all the reality I needed. It broke me. You broke me. Honestly if it weren't for Bucky, Sam and Clint’s family I don’t think I would have had the will to endure all that pain. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted to not exist so I wouldn't have to feel the pain of being abandoned for a ghost of your past. I was real, Steve. I was there. I gave you the pieces of me I hadn't shared with anyone else before and you took all of that for granted. And now you're back and expect that love to still remain intact.” 

Your heartache seeps through your words, coating it in poisonous barbs, to protect what remains of the vulnerable organ. Bucky, your lover and loyal protector, moves in closer, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist, grounding you. “You have got to be kidding me. Even if I wasnt with Bucky, I wouldn’t take you back. Not after 3 years and having to rebuild myself. My standards have changed and you don’t meet them anymore.”

It’s as if your words delivered a swift punch to the gut for him as he lashes out with vitriol lacing his tongue. “And he does? My best friend. I always knew you had feelings for her. You couldn't wait to swoop in as soon as I was gone could you.” He has a white knuckle grip on the marble as he stares down the man he’s always trusted with his life.

Bucky just nods his head in disbelief as he replies. “I'm the bad guy, Steve, really?” He pulls you in closer to his side, done with the niceties. “If you must know. We didn't even broach anything near romantic until almost a year after you left us BOTH behind.” 

He clenches his jaw as he gets that possessive glint in his eyes and you know he’s not going to hold back. “When it finally happened, a natural progression if you will, there was no turning back. She became mine, as I became hers. It was fucking magical. She always came for me. On my fingers. On my tongue. Clamped tight around my cock like a vice. Squeezing the life out of me.” He husks, ghosting his metal fingers across your collarbone. “I helped her forget about the pain you caused when you left her behind for the past. I gave her an outlet for that agony. We sank into the darkness of our loneliness together. Don’t tell me that didnt mean something. Don’t be that daft Rogers. Our love for each other is bone deep.”

Steve stares at the both of you, a loss for words.

“Mama” comes over the monitor sitting behind you on the counter. You turn to see your daughter standing in her crib having woken from her nap. She continues on trying to get your attention, “Mama”, “Dada” the only words you can make out from the babble.

“I’ll get her.” Bucky kisses your temple and proceeds down the hall.

“You have a baby?” Steve chokes. “How old?”

“She’s 15 months old.” You state.

“So, she’s not mine.” He whispers out.

“Not a chance pal. She’s all mine.” Bucky beams as he walks back into the kitchen, your daughter Amara on his hip.

“You never wanted kids with me Steve. Certainly not towards the end. Why would you think she was yours?” You ask.

“Wishful thinking I guess.” He looks over at the sweet cherub face cuddling up against her fathers chest. “She’s beautiful.”

“Bug, want to say hello?” Bucky asks his daughter, a hand running up and down her back.

The toddler eyes Steve and squeaks out a “Hi.”

“Hello sweetness. You look just like your Mama, but with your Dada’s eyes. Such a lucky girl.” You watch as his shoulders slump. “I screwed up royally. I acted before thinking, once again, and look at what it cost me. Everything I ever really wanted was always right here with you and now I’m going to have to watch it from the sidelines instead of being the one to share them with you.” A lone tear rolls down his cheek. 

He wipes it away. “I know it’s not much, especially now. But for what it’s worth, I’m Sorry. Truly and deeply.”

“I know you are Steve.” You reassure him.

“We both do.” Bucky adds.

“I don’t hold it against you, ya know.” You impart, placing a hand on his. “If you didn't put me through all of that pain I never would have ended up here, with a life I never could have dreamt of. It’s not perfect, but that’s the point. It works for us and we’re happy. This home is full of so much love and communication. I had to be knocked down to know what I really needed in life. The things I wouldn't settle for. The things I deserved. I hope you can find that one day Steve. I really do.”

“Thanks, doll. I’m pretty sure that ship has officially sailed for me though.” He straightens himself out, Captain persona put back in place.

You give Bucky a look as he places Amara in her highchair. You can’t leave Steve in this state. No matter the pain he caused all of you, there is still love in your heart for him. “Stevie, would you like to stay for lunch?”

“I know Bug would love to get to know her Uncle Stevie.” Bucky states.

You watch a small smile emerge on his face. “I would enjoy that very much.”

[adragonprinceswhore]

Tell Me You Missed Me

Tom Bennett x Reader

Summary: Word around the street is that you went on a date with someone else? Tom Bennet, fresh of the navy vessel, is not happy to hear that.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, P in V, orgasm denial, excessive teasing

Word Count: 3000

A/N: From my old blog, a request by @humanpurposes! ILY Gee 🫶

———

The smooth tones of Duke Ellington echo through the narrow alley leading to your house. 

Tom knows what that means.

You’re alone.

Your parents despise jazz, leaving you no choice but to play the two records you’d worked all summer to afford in solitude. 

He grins to himself, stopping right by the front door to run two hands over his sailor suit, smoothing out any possible wrinkles. 

“Fuck, didn’t bring any flowers or nothin’”, Tom curses himself inwardly as he brings one hand up to knock on the crummy door of your family home. Impatient as always, he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he pushes the door open with one hand. 

“Oi, could you keep it down, miss?”, he half-shouts as he enters your house, grinning widely as his eyes immediately find you, seated at the dining table only a few paces from the entrance. 

Your eyes go wide as you take him in. 

He’s back. 

The cigarette that’s been dangling between your red-painted lips falls down to the table as your mouth opens in surprise. 

He’s alive. 

“Tom”, you breathe out, voice no louder than a whisper. 

When he left to join the Navy, you were sure that he’d never come back. Yet here he is, in your house, smiling just as brightly as before he left. The sparkle in his eye is there too. 

Just like you remember him. 

He steps forward, kicking the door closed behind him before taking two long strides towards you. He reaches down to pick up the still glowing cigarette on the table, taking a deep drag. 

“Take it you didn’t miss me then?”, he teases as he looks down at you, his broad-shouldered frame towering over your seat. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back”, you reply honestly, eyes still wide with disbelief as you look up at him. 

It was easier to assume that any young lad being sent away would never come back. Then the inevitable heartache wouldn’t hurt as much. 

“That why you went dancing with Mike Jones?”, he asks. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear as they narrow in accusation. 

“How’d you know about that?”, you answer, unable to shake the surprise from his sudden visit. Still wearing his uniform and hair neatly combed to the side, you’d guess he came straight from shore. 

“Word goes ‘round, y’know”, Tom states with a shrug, an attempted display of indifference, eyes trailing from your dumbfounded expression down your body. You suddenly feel like the form fitting everyday dress you’d thrown on in a haste earlier today was far too revealing, making heat crawl up your chest, neck and onto your cheeks. 

“Well, I’m here now. Dance with me”, he requests, a large hand reaching for yours resting on the table. 

“Tom, I-“, you stutter as you pull your hands away from him. 

How long will he be back for? 

How has life been at sea?

Did he miss you? 

“H-, how long are you back for?”, you stand up as you ask, one of your hands coming up to briefly touch his cheek. 

To make sure it’s really him. 

That he’s real. 

His expression looks sterner, jaw tightening as he snatches the hand you touched his cheek with, pulling you closer to him. 

“Dance with me”, he repeats, this time as a demand. 

You let him lead you, the hand not holding yours settling comfortably on your waist as both of your bodies sway slightly to the fast tones coming from the gramophone. 

“Suddenly you’re a dancer?”, you inquire playfully as you look up at his face through your lashes. He isn’t really; his pace does not match the rhythm of the song in the slightest and he barely lifts his feet as he sways in place with you in his arms. 

“Apparently”, he answers with another shrug of his shoulders. Your eyes flicker down to take him in once more. You’ve never seen him this dapper before; uniform highlighting the broadness of his shoulders, blue collar matching his eyes, and not a hair out of place. 

“An awful one”, you continue to tease him as the hand you’ve placed on his shoulder squeezes him softly. 

He hums humourlessly at your jab, the hand placed on your waist slowly travelling down your side, squeezing your hip and stroking your thigh over the fabric of your dress. 

Just as you're about to grab his hand and tell him to behave, he moves it under your skirt in one swift, quick motion; letting his palm roam across the soft skin. 

“Tom!”, you yelp as you try to push him away, stepping back quickly so that his hand can’t slide up further. 

“You liked that stuff before”, he says indifferently, grip on your hand still tight so that you can’t back away further. “Or is it Mikey Jones that touches you like that now?”

His tone is much harsher than before; his attempts at remaining carefree failing as cracks start to appear in the nonchalant mask he’d put on. 

“Tom, I was lonely and didn’t think you’d come back.. He took me dancing once, nothing more”, you try to reassure him. 

There’s so much you want to know; to ask him. How’s life in the navy? Is he eating well? Can he sleep? Does he get seasick? Has he received your letters? 

But all Tom seems capable of is obsessing over the fact that you took pity on Mike Jones from down the street and let him take you out. 

It’s your turn to take command, stepping forward to rest both of your arms around his neck as you look up to meet his stern glare.  

“Did you get my letters?”, you attempt to change the subject, fingers playing with the short, sandy hairs at the base of his neck. 

He hums again, reluctant to properly answer you though he pulls you closer to hold you in his arms. 

“I thought about you all the time, Tommy”, you say before getting on your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

He pulls you even closer, mouth meeting yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that almost takes your breath away. He presses his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance to deepen the kiss, practically bending you backwards as he devours you. 

The act is incredibly dizzying; it leaves you breathless, exhausted and in the need for more. 

This time, when his hand moves to squeeze the soft meat of your inner thigh, you don’t step back. Instead, you push your body closer to his; your soft curves pressing into his sturdy chest. 

His impatient fingers soon move inside the fabric of your underwear, stroking your folds experimentally before letting two fingers part them. 

“Already wet?”, he grins as the tip of his fingers finds your bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles. The calluses on his work-worn hands scratch slightly against your sensitive skin and the sting of pain somehow amplifies the pleasure he’s giving you. 

Tom remembers exactly which kind of touch you like; how to make you putty in his hands. His tall frame still looms over you as he speeds up the pace of his hand, eyes watching your reaction intently.  

Your legs tremble as pleasure fills your being, peak hurtling towards where you stand in Tom’s embrace. One strong arm around you, keeping you in place, as his fingers move in and out, palm repeatedly pushing at your pearl. If not for the hold he has on you, you’re sure you’d be on the floor by now, legs almost unable to stand by themselves. 

“This what you thought of?”, he asks, eyes narrowing when they meet yours, fingers continuously working you towards release. You're standing so close together that your noses touch, breathing in and exhaling each other's air. 

You moan in reply, holding onto his shoulders like they’re your only anchor in a sea of all-consuming pleasure. With the last bit of strength you have left, you tilt your head up to ask him for another kiss. To your surprise, he denies you by moving his head to the side, mischief once again dancing in his eyes. 

Just as you’re about to peak, Tom stills, hand inside your knickers but unmoving. You whine in protest, glassy eyes looking up at him pleadingly. 

“What do you want?”, he questions with a wink, clearly pleased at how incredibly fast he’d reduced you to a trembling mess. 

“Make me feel good Tommy”, you request breathlessly, sounding way more desperate than you’d like. His lips stretch out into a wide grin, revealing his dimples. 

“Don’t know what that means, love”, he retorts, amused voice matching the cheeky curve of his lips. 

His smug demeanour is entirely infuriating, knowing that he’s already got you wrapped around his finger. It was always like this with him; he’d offer you bliss but only on his conditions. 

“Please make me peak”, you mumble, humiliation making you feel even hotter. He knows how embarrassed you get from your sporadic trysts, preferring to revel in how good he makes you feel than to think about the true nature of your filthy encounters. Your lover’s different, however. 

Tom chuckles at your plea, lowering his face to place a wet kiss on your cheek. 

“Nah, you’re not gonna get off on my fingers”, he says contemplatively, pouting mockingly at your tearful expression. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you do that”, he concludes and you wince at his crude language. He was so crass sometimes, it sent anxious waves of embarrassment through your stomach. 

You wish he could be like the romantic lead in one of the American pictures screening in town, full of promises of eternal love while placing lingering kisses on his lover's hands. But your Tommy wasn’t. 

The ache between your legs makes you lose all composure, so when he leads you to the dinner table, seating you upon it, you don’t protest. 

He stands between your legs, the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist as his hands move to drag your underwear down your legs. When you see him pocket them, you reach for his hand in a feeble attempt to take them back, but he just clicks his tongue as he swats your hand away. “These stay with me”, he grins as he pats the pocket of his trousers twice. 

He steps forward, standing so close to you your noses knock together, his lips ghosting over yours as his warm hands once again slide up your things. One of his fingers slips under the buckle of the garter belt you’re still wearing and playfully snaps the band against the meat of your inner thigh. 

Your lips part as you gasp at the sting and Tom takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue coming out to lick your bottom lip slowly. His kisses before he left for the Navy were always hurried; quick and aggressive. But the way he kisses you tonight makes your knees weak; slow and sensual, one strong hand coming up to hold the back of your neck to secure you against him. It leaves you feeling dizzy; mind foggy from the want you feel for him. His lips travel from your mouth to your cheek, jaw, and neck, smearing saliva all over your heated skin. 

As his hands push your thighs further apart and he begins to undo his trousers, he whispers against your skin, “This the table you have tea at? With your mum and dad?” 

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, so caught off guard you almost push him away. But you don’t.

“I don’t want to think about that now, Tom”, you reply sourly, though your voice sounds breathless, too filled with desire. 

“But I do. What would they say if they knew what their little girl was up to now? With the neighbourhood’s nuisance at that”, he says and you can feel him smile against the delicate skin of your neck. 

As you're trying to come up with a coherent reply, he starts to suck on the spot right below your ear and the retort at the tip of your tongue is replaced by the loud moan you let out. 

You feel him take a step backward, though his face stays hidden against your neck. You angle your hips slightly so that he can enter you easier, all you want is for him to finish what he started with his fingers. 

“Fucking her on their table”, he groans out as he pushes inside you in one swift motion. 

The sudden stretch and sense of fullness feel so overpowering you moan out again, longing for him to continue to work you towards the release you so desperately crave. 

As he snaps his hips against yours, his pelvis makes contact with your swollen pearl and you throw your head back in pleasure at the stimulation. 

Pushing your palms into the wooden surface underneath you, you bring your hips up slightly to meet each of Tom’s thrusts. He curses under his breath, gripping your hips tightly as he drags his length through your slick walls. 

It’s been so long. 

You’ve missed him so much. 

The sudden realisation that he's actually back, that you’re together again, paired with the familiar tightening as pleasure ascends inside of you, makes you clench down on him harshly, causing you both to moan in unison.

Tears of relief well up in the corners of your eyes as the climax you were previously robbed off seeks you out again. 

Tom continuously rolls his hips to meet yours, his length finding that spot inside you that makes you feel like you're floating. You wonder if all men are capable of this; of making young, sharp women into whining tarts. Or if it's just him. 

He once again slows his pace as your walls clamp down on him in a staggering rhythm, denying you the pleasure you so yearned for. 

“Tommy, please! I need release”, you sob, one frustrated tear falling down your flustered cheek. 

“You don’t need anything”, he scolds you, though he still has that cocksure smirk hiding behind the stern tone. “You just want a quick shag and for me to be on my way, s’that it?”

“No, no”, you shake your head in denial. 

“Then fuckin’ enjoy it”, he chides, ducking his head down to offer you another slow, breathstealing kiss. 

You want to enjoy it; enjoy being with him once again, but you can’t stop the ache between your thighs from consuming your senses.

Tom, knowing you better than you know yourself in this state, takes advantage of your dwindling gumption. 

“What do you want”, he asks again, one large, heated hand coming up to grab your chin. 

“I want you to make me peak”, you repeat, this time with a bit more confidence. You’ll play his silly little games, you don’t care about sounding vulgar anymore. 

Tom nods in understanding, feigning contemplation as he cocks his head at you. 

“You want me to fuck you?”, he clarifies and you immediately winch at his choice of words. 

Wasn’t he already?

You stay silent, shame, arousal and want making your inner monologue incoherent. 

“Tell me what you want. You want me to stretch out this tight cunt of yours?”, he inquires as he once again rolls his hips against you, causing his length to hit that spot that makes you weak. 

“Yes”, you whisper in defeat, nodding slightly in confirmation. The fingers holding your chin press into your skin harshly, “I can’t fuckin’ hear you”, Tom bites back. 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me”, you repeat, voice still low and filled with shame. He’s gotten what he wanted; he’s won once again. 

“Such an indecent little thing”, he muses as another boyish grin appears on his face. Feeling high on the rush of victory, Tom takes pity on your miserable state.

“Hold on to my shoulders”, he instructs as he picks up the pace once again. You follow his directive mindlessly, sweaty palms grabbing the fabric of his uniform harshly, surely ruining the crisp attire representing His Majesty's Servicemen. 

Tom’s lips find yours again, kissing you softly while the movement of his hips are anything but. He pushes you down onto the table, and you wrap your tired, shaking legs around his waist with the last strength you can muster. The new position allows him to enter you deeper as he consumes you fully, making the table underneath the two of you creak loudly with every slam of Tom’s hips. 

You feel the wetness between your thighs trail down your buttocks, dripping onto your family’s dining table. The thought makes you clench around Tom’s length again, aroused by the depravity he’s led you into. 

One of his hands moves down your stomach, lowering to swipe his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You whine at the brief contact, desperate for more. You’re so close now, you can feel your peak approaching again.

“Who’s the only bloke that gets to fuck you?”, he asks, thumb resting on your mound, waiting for your reply. 

“You, Tommy”, you answer instantly, voice whiny and shrill from despair. If he denies you release again you’ll surely combust from the tension restricted inside of you. 

“That’s what I thought”, he triumphs, thumb awarding your submission by granting your pearl stimulation. 

You peak within seconds, the tension inside of you erupting in an internal explosion of bliss, causing your hands to curl into fist, legs shake and breath get caught in your throat. Tom, seeing your face scrunch in pleasure as your walls tighten around him, climaxes with a loud grunt on top of you, body stretching taunt in pleasure before his arms give in, body sinking down to heavily rest on top of yours. 

You're still breathing heavily when he pushes himself up on both arms again to lock eyes with you. “Tell me you missed me”, he commands quietly, making it sound far less patronising than his previous demands.

You lift your head up to kiss him again. “I missed you”, you reassure him, smiling at his fleeting display of insecurity. 

How could you not? 

———

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 67

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 67: The Daughter of Insolence

AO3 - Masterlist

Gently closing the door behind her, Alicent turned to see Aemond seated by the hearth, his face cast in a warm, orange flow that softened the sharp lines of his face. His fingers twitched restlessly, betraying an underlying sense of unease. 

Crossing the room, Alicent chose the chair adjacent to her son and sank into it, letting out a weary sigh. Her gaze drifted to the dance of the flames, while a nagging headache began to stake its claim, her thoughts swirling in a  tumultuous mix of duties and plans yet to be executed. With so much looming come morning, the current moment of silence offered a brief respite, a chance to ponder the dawn’s impending challenges. 

The quiet between them lingered before being gently fractured by Aemond’s soft-spoken words, his voice so low it nearly melded with the hiss and pop of the fire. “I went to Viserys. I saw him the night of…”

Alicent turned towards her son, a heaviness descending upon her heart as she digested his admission. A surge of apprehension gripped her, a fear of the unknown conversation they might have had, fear of the declarations Viserys might have made. “Why?”

Aemond appeared to shift uneasily at the question, his hands moving with nervous energy. “It’s irrelevant now.”

A furrow of concern formed on Alicent’s brow as she observed him intently, the firelight casting his face in a glow that softened his edges yet seemed to shroud his inner thoughts in shadows. His unusual decision to seek out his father, especially on the very eve of his death, puzzled her. It wasn’t like Aemond. Its importance was undeniable, instilling a sense of foreboding in her as she speculated it involved Daenera. 

Alicent absentmindedly traced a nail along the skin of her thumb, the repetitive action providing a strange sort of solace. It appeared her son’s restlessness had crept under her skin as well. “Did he say anything?”

“He called me a plague sent to destroy him,” Aemond answered, his tone devoid of amusement, laden with the fresh hurt those words inflicted. 

A sharp pang of empathy pierced Alicent’s heart, the harshness of such a declaration embedding itself within her as though a blade had been thrust into her back. The agony stemmed not solely from the cruelty of the remark but from the knowledge that Aemond had been its recipient. A wave of sorrow for her son washed over her, creating a fissure in her understanding of Viserys. The disparity between the man she knew and the one who would utter such words to their child left her grappling with disbelief and heartache–and yet, it was not the first time he had levied cruel words at their children. 

Despite her turmoil, Alicent instinctively sought to rationalize her husband’s behavior, adhering to the role of a supportive wife. 

“That’s,” she began, struggling the comprehend the reason behind Viserys’s harsh words to their son, “You must remember, Viserys was under the effects of the milk-of-the-poppy. It’s  not like him to–”

“You needn’t defend him any longer,” Aemond cut her off decisively, to which Alicent let out a weary sigh, her fingers momentarily pressing against the bridge of her nose in a gesture of fatigue and resignation. 

“I’m relieved that he’s gone,” Aemond declared, his words sharp with the bitterness of a son wounded by his father’s actions. And how could he not be bitter? But still, he shouldn’t say such a thing. 

“Don’t utter such words,” Alicent chided, her voice tinted with worry. She couldn’t bear to hear Aemond express such sentiments; it wasn’t proper. “He is still your father, despite everything. 

“I refuse to grieve for him,” Aemond stated, turning to lock eyes with her, the firelight casting his face in a dramatic interplay of light and shadow. The contrast accentuated the harsh lines of his face, with one side obscured by the eyepatch, the vivid scar etched into his skin glowing as if aflame. “I feel no sorrow. Why should I? In his eyes, I was a monster–a plague sent to destroy him. He couldn’t even stand to look at me.”

Alicent’s heart shattered anew for her son. Beneath his stoic exterior, the depths of his pain resonated through his words, mirrored in the contours of his face. She felt a tightness in her throat as she fought back tears, the weight of sorrow pressing down on her. 

Memories flooded back–of gripping his hand tightly while the Maester painstakingly removed the damaged eye, of being by his side as the wound was stitched together, enduring the agony of having the wound reopened for thorough cleansing to prevent any infection that might corrupt his blood. She was there, holding his hand as the Maester excised a portion of his eyelid and meticulously cleared the socket of burgeoning scar tissue to insert the sapphire, all while Aemond’s body writhed in feverish torment, his skin burning, sweat matting his hair to his fever-flushed face. And through it all, she vividly recalled the absence of Viserys. 

Alicent had resented him for his absence, for what he had allowed their son to go through. Viserys had withheld the justice his son was rightfully due and chose to ignore the anguish he had permitted Aemond, his son, to endure, acting as though the harrowing experience had never taken place. 

Yet again, she frequently found herself trying to excuse his failings. It was Viserys, after all, who had given Aemond the eyepatch and had instructed the Maesters to spare no effort in ensuring his survival through the fever. He bought him a new sword and sent for books to arrive from the Citadel. He had tried, even as he couldn’t look at him.

“Your father was a weak king,” Alicent acknowledged, pausing to close her eyes briefly, a gesture of contemplation and resignation. When she looked again, her focus was drawn to the fire. “He wasn’t one to face his shortcomings. But he was a… decent husband and father…”

“He failed us,” Aemond declared, his voice laden with resentment, each word an indictment of his father. “He failed you as a husband. He favored Rhaenyra over us–were blind to the nature of her bastards. He was weak and he never cared for us. You were more of a servant to him than a wife. You needn’t excuse or defend him any longer, Mother.”

“Aemond,” Alicent responded, her sigh carrying the weight of exhaustion.

“He always hated us, his own children,” Aemond persisted, his words dripping with resentment and bitterness. “He could barely acknowledge our existence.”

It hadn’t always been like that, Alicent thought. Or, perhaps, it had been and she had just failed to see it. There had been a time, she knew, where there had been glimpses of happiness–of love.

Viserys had been a decent father, though not an exemplary one. The joy and pride he had displayed upon the birth of Aegon were vivid in her mind–his elation at having the long-desired son were moments she cherished. She had done her duty, born him a son, an heir–only for the succession to never change. Helaena’s arrival had brought happiness too, though she had been a fussy child. Yet, by the time Aemond was born, Rhaenyra gave birth to her own son, Jacaerys, not long after. Viserys had never been prouder or happier than at the birth of his first grandson. Even as, with each birth, it became clearer and clearer that they were not her husband’s but instead the illegitimate children of House Strong.

Viserys had been blind with a love he had never afforded anyone else. 

She had devoted herself to be his wife; her youth, her innocence, birthing the son he had ardently wished for, and given him more still. And yet, her contributions seemed to always pale in comparison to Rhaenyra. 

Aegon was the son Viserys had wanted, he was the boy her father had demanded of her. He was supposed to be for the crown. And Helaena was made to be the future Queen. Aemond was the spare. And Daeron, her youngest, he had been her solace until Otto made the decision to send him away to be nurtured in Oldtown. 

“He never hated you,” Alicent responded, her voice imbued with a gentle, contemplative quality. Extending her hand towards Aemond, she laid it tenderly on his arm, offering a reassuring squeeze. “Your father loved you and I will not have you deny him this. He loved you.”

“But we were never them,” Aemond mused softly. 

“No,” Alicent conceded with a note of solemn agreement. “We were never them.”

Despite everything, there was undeniably love for their children. He did hold affection for them, somewhere, yet Alicent could never measure up to Aemma’s memory, haunted by her ghost for years. And Aegon could never replace the son he lost. His love for them was shadowed by the ghosts of those he had lost, and the sweetness of recollection–for no one could ever measure up to the memory.

The affection he held for them could never compare to the love he had for Rhaenyra and her children. 

Alicent had poured her essence into embodying the ideal wife for Viserys, the perfect daughter for her father, and the loving mother her children deserved. Yet, it was never enough. 

All these things she had toiled with, seemed to come so easily to Rhaenyra. 

Alicent stared at the flames. “The hour grows late; you should try and find some rest before morning.”

Inhaling deeply, Alicent rose to her feet, a profound fatigue embedding itself into her very bones, her muscles protesting with stiffness and soreness after the day’s exertions. Her footsteps echoed a soft click against the floor as she approached Aemond, pausing before him. Bending forward, she murmured, “I’ll go see to Aegon, and make sure he has not met with any further mishap.”

Gently, she kissed the crown of his head, then retreated a step. Together, they navigated the quiet of the room, stepping into the corridor where shadows seemed to dance in the dim light. 

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, she advised, “Do not go roaming the halls. Get some rest, it will be a long day on the morrow.”

Leaving Aemond at the entrance to her chambers, Alicent continued down the corridor, her path veering towards Aegon’s chamber, the weight of the coming day already pressing on her shoulders. 

Gently pushing open the doors to her son’s room, Alicent stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sound of tranquil breathing indicative of deep slumber. Aegon was exactly where she had left him, sprawled on his stomach with half of his face buried in the pillow, an arm dangling over the edge of the bed as his lips were slightly open, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically. Ser Arryk Cargyll maintained the quiet watch near the doorway, his presence a silent guard for the prince’s restful state, while Lady Mertha busied herself with arranging his attire for the morning, each piece placed meticulously on a nearby table. 

Alicent ventured closer to Aegon, observing him with a mix of tenderness and contemplation. In these moments of repose, he appeared almost a child, his youthful innocence unshielded. The usual harsh lines of discontent that seemed to etch his features were absent. 

Back when he was an infant, Alicent often found herself watching him sleep, finding a peaceful solace in his quietude that starkly contrasted with the turmoil of his waking cries. 

She tenderly swept his hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his skin with a gentle touch. In the hush of his slumber, Alicent found him more endearing, easier to love. In these tranquil moments, his presence did not test the bounds of her affection. 

Though his arrival into this world has been quick and marked by an ease that belied the challenges to come, loving him had not been as straightforward. In his infancy, despite his frequent cries that seemed to echo her inner disquiet, he was more manageable. Alicent had endeavored to imbue him with a sense of duty from a young age hoping to enlighten him about his crucial role and the immense potential that lay within him–on his shoulders rested their family’s future and fortunes. However, as he matured, he grew defiant and stubborn, mirroring the less admirable traits of his father without exhibiting redeeming qualities to counterbalance them. Yet, deep down, Alicent held a conviction about the greatness he was capable of achieving. He could rise to be a great king;  she believed this was their divine purpose, the reason the gods had granted her a son. 

Aegon shifted in his sleep, drawing a deep breath before rolling away, his face turning from Alicent’s gaze. 

Silently retreating, Alicent caught Lady Mertha’s attention with a glance, subtly nodding towards the doorway as a signal to depart. The lady’s maid heeded the unspoken command, accompanying Alicent out into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind them, casting shadows that swallowed them in near-total darkness. Side by side, they navigated the silent, expansive corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

“Have the preparations for the Princess’s chambers been completed?” Alicent inquired, clasping her hands together in a composed gesture. 

“All has been removed, Your Grace,” Lady Mertha confirmed. “However, I would suggest it prudent to delay her relocation until she proves worthy of such privileges.”

“We shall have her moved back to her chambers regardless, to avoid any impression of punishing her,” Alicent decided, her voice carrying a tone of finality. Their footsteps resounded against the stone floor, their presence briefly filling the grandeur of the great staircase, sounds bouncing off the high ceilings and stone walls as they descended. 

“Over the many years of your service, you have been loyal to me,” Alicent began, her voice imbued with gratitude. “Your devotion and integrity are qualities I deeply value, especially now, as we face a challenging task. The princess is headstrong and defiant, much like her mother, and she requires someone with a guiding yet steadfast hand to lead her on the right path. I entrust her to your supervision, to ensure she does not become a thorn in our side. It is imperative she is never left unattended; her propensity to evade supervision has already caused us enough concern. We cannot risk her escape or any… rebellious actions.”

“I cannot oversee her at all times on my own,” Mertha pointed out. 

“Guards will be posted at her door constantly and will accompany her wherever she goes,” Alicent assured. “Additionally, you can enlist one of the newer maids for assistance–one that understands to keep her out of trouble.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mertha accepted the charge, giving a short nod. 

“I intend to have a word with her first, after which you may escort her to her chambers for the night. You’re dismissed to make the necessary arrangements,” Alicent directed. 

With a respectful nod, “Your Grace,” Mertha bowed slightly before departing, her steps echoing as she retreated through the stony silence of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Alicent then continued her own path through the courtyards and into the Keep. 

Winding through the halls within the Keep, Alicent ascended the serpentine staircase leading to the west wing, only to discover it was not as abandoned as she had hoped. The sight of her son, poised outside Daenera’s chamber, caused her heart to constrict.

The guard stationed by the door seamlessly merged into the darkness as he neared her, his steps echoing. Their gazes intersected for a fleeting moment, and with a subtle shake of her head, Alicent signaled her wish to remain unseen. Complying, the guard repositioned himself against the wall, still close enough to the princesses' confinement to keep watch, his gaze fixed forward, effectively rendering her invisible. 

Alicent’s eyes lingered on Aemond, who stood transfixed by the door, his only movement the restless twitch of his fingers. 

As he inched closer to the entrance, a wave of dread washed over her, the prospect of him defying her wishes once more–for Daenera’s sake–weighing heavily on her. The possibility of him crossing that threshold yet again stirred a deep unease within her. 

A sense of foreboding enveloped Alicent, a chilling fear that Aemond was drifting beyond her grasp. Dread wrapped its cold hand around her heart, clutching it tightly. The notion of losing him, especially to Daenera, was unbearable. Aemond had always been the one she could lean on, the steadfast son whose loyalty to his family and duty overshadowed any personal desires. Yet, now, his resolve seemed to falter–all because of her. 

Months had passed since Alicent discovered the affair, and an equal amount of time since she had told him to end it. Yet, as the moon had turned, it became apparent that her son’s defiance remained constant. She knew him to be willful, bold even, but she never thought he would be this spiteful. Despite her clear instructions and explicit command to end the fling and commit himself to a more suitable union, he persisted in his disobedience. She had extended him the courtesy of choosing his own wife, a rare privilege. Nonetheless, against all counsel and her express wishes, he continued to choose Daenera. 

She observed him with both concern and disbelief as he leaned closer to the door, his face momentarily swallowed by the shadow it cast. Alicent felt a knot tighten in her throat at the sight. The influence the princess had exerted over her son perplexed her; it was as if Daenera had bewitched him, woven a spell around him to lure him from all that was right, to steal him away from his family and duty. 

Alicent harbored no illusions about Daenera’s intentions. She was convinced that the princess would exploit Aemond’s affections, attempting to sway his loyalties away from his family. And should those efforts prove fruitless, as Alicent knew they would be, Alicent, too, recognized the vindictiveness in Daenera’s nature. In her heart, Alicent feared Daenera’s influence would lead her son down a path of misery and regret. 

Alicent’s deepest wish for her children as for them to claim what was rightfully theirs, to lead lives filled with prosperity and seize the moments of happiness whenever possible. She had hoped that Aemond would secure a future that was not only joyous but also stable, perhaps with a Baratheon girl as his wife–someone who recognized her role. It could even have been a Lannister if he so wished, or a Tyrell. Anyone but Daenera. 

For a fleeting moment, Alicent speculated if the gods had sent Daenera to test them, to test their strength and perseverance–or if it was some sort of punishment. 

Aemond pulled away from the door after a long, lingering moment, his posture straightening as if resolving himself. He stared at the door for a moment longer before he exhaled and then turned to retreat down the hall.

Alicent watched him as he slipped into the darkness, watched as the light failed to penetrate the encroaching shadows that eventually enveloped him, his presence reduced to the fading sound of his footsteps until he vanished entirely. After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward from her concealment, her heart thrumming with apprehension. The guard followed her and proceeded to unlock and open the door for her, then stepped aside to grant her entry. 

Poised on the threshold, Alicent felt a brief sense of relief at her son's withdrawal. Perhaps she shouldn’t be too concerned with him. 

The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the hearth, casting an interplay of warmth and chill in the air–a testament to the fire’s inability to fully dispel the cold entirely. The air felt old and stale, carrying a dampness that lingered unpleasantly in the throat. 

Alicent stopped forward into the chamber, her gaze immediately drawn to the figure slumped in a chair, enshrouded in a black cloak that was all too familiar. The girls attention seemed fixated on the fire, unfazed by the sound of the door opening, and it gave Alicent the opportunity to study her. Her hair hung in unruly curls and strands, a smear of red on her cheek and on the fingers that continuously fidgeted with something in her hand. 

For an instant, Alicent didn’t see the defiant girl she had braced herself to confront. Instead, she glimpsed a figure that might invoke pity. However, as the girl shifted, locking eyes with her, Alicent was met with that unmistakable contempt, a flame as fervent as the one crackling in the hearth–an insolent daughter of an insolent mother. What struck Alicent even more deeply was the girl’s dismissive return to watching the flames and her biting remark, “Please excuse the absence of courtesies, Your Grace. It appears that unjust confinement has a way of eroding such formalities rather swiftly.”

In the dimly lit chamber, Daenera sat alone, the passage of time marked only by the sporadic delivery of meals. The routine of food arriving – once at what she assumed to be mid morning, then again at noon, and then with the in the evening – was her only indicator of the day slipping by in her confinement. The hours stretched endlessly, each moment an eternity. 

Daenera idly turned over the golden coin in her hand, its edges catching the dim light as she sat curled in the chair watching the dying hearth. She kept the coin in perpetual motion, a solitary distraction from the oppressive silence that enveloped her. It was a silence so profound that it seemed to amplify the whir of thoughts racing through her mind. 

Daenera’s relentless search for an escape had left no corner of her chamber unexplored. She had searched every inch of the walls, delved under the bed, rummaged through the contents of the closets and cupboards, only to be met with stark disappointment. The room, in its desolate state, offered no hint of salvation. Lacking weapons or tools, she found herself devoid of means to force the door open or defend herself. The realization of her utter confinement then sank in.

Exhausted and defeated, she had finally settled back down in front of the hearth. The cloak wrapped around her offering only a little comfort against the chill. The cold had seeped through the floor, numbing her feet and creeping into her body, and she had drawn them up on the seat in an attempt to regain some warmth in them. 

Memories, unbidden and sharp as blades, sliced through her thoughts. Her mind replayed the horrific scene of Ser Criston Cole’s sword impaling Joyce, the vibrant red blood that had marred the blade, and the dark pool that had spread like a macabre shadow on the floor. The visceral memory of the warm, sticky blood on her fingers haunted her, and her hands still bore the grime of it, the blood brown and crackling. 

Her thoughts raced chaotically. Fenrick, her men, Jelissa, and Patrick – their fates hung in the unknown. Were Meraxes sailing towards Dragonstone or had they been apprehended before even leaving the docks? She wondered if anyone had dared to defy the Hightowers, if anyone had found the courage to inform her mother of the dire circumstances.

Her mind moved towards her grandsire and wondered with a mixture of dread and sorrow about his final moments. Was his passing a cruel act of murder, or had the relentless embrace of death finally claimed him in its natural course? Was his death as brutal as Joyce’s or was it kinder in its swiftness?

Her mind was haunted by the images of what might have become of his body. Were they bestowing him the funeral of a Targaryen king, or had they consigned him to a more humble interment, following the traditions of the Faith?

Daenera felt a sharp pang of sorrow clenching her heart, resonating deeply within her chest, and she pulled the fabric of the cloak more snugly around her, seeking a semblance of comfort in its folds.  Where was Aemond in all of this? Did he know of her confinement in this desolate chamber? Would he even care?

As she continued her musing she idly toyed with the coin, turning it between her fingers. Her thumb, in a repetitive motion, traced the coin’s thin edge, feeling each notch and curve as if seeking solace in its familiar metallic coolness.

Tears, not unfamiliar to her eyes in recent days, threatened to spill again. She despised this feeling of helplessness, the gnawing isolation that enveloped her. She loathed the way she clung to the cloak as if it were the only thing keeping her sane, its scent a bitter reminder of a freedom now lost. The dirt and grime on her skin, and the memory of Lary’s leering gaze and the humiliation he inflicted upon her – lingered like a foul taste in her mouth. 

Daenera detested this feeling of being a bird trapped within a cage, her wings clipped, her sky reduced to the expanse of a ceiling. Most of all, she hated the way her mind incessantly circled these thoughts, trapping her in a relentless cycle of despair and anger. 

The room’s oppressive silence was suddenly broken by a soft click, followed by the gentle creak of the door as it swung open. A narrow beam of light sliced through the dimness, accompanied by a fresh gust of air that briefly challenged the room’s stale atmosphere. Daenera’s gaze immediately darted towards the entrance, focusing on the woman who had come to retrieve the untouched tray of food. It was the same woman who had brought it earlier, her movements efficient.

The older woman methodically tended to the hearth, stirring the dying embers into life and adding more firewood, coaxing the flames to grow. After ensuring the fire’s vitality, she turned her attention to the chamber pot, lifting it with practiced ease and disappearing momentarily to dispose of its contents outside. 

Daenera had attempted to engage with the woman in conversation during her earlier visit, seeking even the slightest of human connection in isolation – to pry information out of her, anything about what was happening outside. 

But her efforts were met with silence; the woman remained resolutely mute, responding to none of her inquiries or pleas. Eventually, Daenera had ceased trying, resigning herself to silence and so, she remained silent this time as well.

She stayed close to the hearth, watching as the flames consumed the new firewood. The heat it offered was hardly enough, but it provided a small respite from the bone-deep chill that had taken residence within her. 

At times, her desperation had led her to consider more drastic measures – the thought of setting the room’s sparse furniture ablaze had flickered through her mind. But the practicalities of such an act quickly quashed the idea. 

The resultant smoke would likely choke her before the guards would manage to intervene. Weighing the risks, Daenera had reluctantly decided against it, leaving the furniture untouched, her gaze drifting to the flames that danced mockingly before her. 

Time drifted languidly, its passage barely noticed by Daenera as she was lost in contemplation. The creak of the door opening once more only faintly registered in her consciousness, her focus deeply entrenched in the embers of the hearth.

Dismissing the sound as merely the return of the maid, she paid it little heed. In her hand, the coin she idly toyed with briefly captured a stray gleam from the fire, its eye momentarily sparkling in the dim light before she flipped it over to the spiraled side. 

And then, the palpable change in the room’s atmosphere soon pierced her haze. The air seemed to thicken with a presence more significant than that of a silent maid. Daenera’s gaze slowly lifted from the flames, and she found herself unexpectedly locking eyes with the Queen. There she stood, a figure of composed authority, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. Her lips were set in a tight line, and her eyes held a discerning, calculating sharpness that seemed to penetrate the very core of Daenera’s being. 

“Please excuse the absence of courtesies, Your Grace,” Daenera’s voice was low, tinged with a bitter edge as she spoke without lifting her gaze from the flames. “It appears that unjust confinement has a way of eroding such formalities rather swiftly.”

Her thumb traced the curve of the coin, pressing it into the soft flesh of the pad of her finger. “Have you come to deliver news of my execution? Will I meet my end as the alleged bastard you claim me to be, perhaps dangling at the end of a rope? Or does my Targaryen blood warrant a more dignified demise at the hands of the king’s executioner?”

Despite the veneer of defiant nonchalance in her tone, an underlying current of fear wrapped around her heart. She wanted to live – by the Gods she wanted to live. 

Swallowing thickly, she continued. “Or have you concluded a more quiet end would be preferable, so as not to disturb the smallfolk?”

Alicent finally broke her silence, her voice carrying a cold, matter-of-fact quality. “My father did indeed call for your quiet execution. The same fate he sought for your mother.”

Daenera’s jaw tightened, her teeth clenched as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her gaze was steadfastly locked onto the fire, where the flames danced in an array of yellow, orange, and red, their tongues flickering and snapping as if in cruel jest, echoing the taunt that haunted her mind: You should have been wiser. Now, see where your choices have led you.

Alicent inhaled deeply, seemingly gathering her thoughts and steeling herself for what she was about to say. “I must admit, I hold no affection for you, but I do not wish to shed blood unnecessarily.”

Daenera turned to face the Queen directly, her eyes meeting Alicent’s with an unyielding hardness as Alicent continued. “We will present our conditions to your mother. Should she recognize Aegon as the legitimate heir to the throne and bend the knee, further conflict can be avoided.”

A scoff left her mouth as she shook her head in disbelief.

Daenera scoffed, shaking her head in indignation. 

“She will then be permitted to live out her remaining days in peace on Dragonstone along with your brothers,” Alicent finished, her tone unmoving. 

Daenera fixed her eyes on Alicent, her expression falling somewhere between skepticism and sheer disbelief. It was unmistakably clear that Alicent held onto the notion of resolving this peacefully, without the necessity of violence. Daenera found herself wondering whether this belief stemmed from a place of naivety or genuine hope for peace. 

Otto Hightower would never tolerate rivals to the throne. He may temporarily stay his hand, but Daenera was certain that he would order their execution, regardless of any submission or bending of the knee. 

“How gracious of you, to grant us our days on Dragonstone,” Daenera responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she shook her head in disbelief at the proposition. 

Alicent, maintaining her composure, asserted, “The terms are equitable.”

Daenera’s response was immediate and scathing. “‘Equitable’?! My mother is the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne. Viserys named her as his successor; it is her rightful inheritance.”

“If your mother truly values the lives of her children, she will capitulate,” Alicent declared, her tone imbued with an undercurrent of condescension. “It is what the King wished.”

Slowly rising from her position on the chair, her movements somewhat unsteady as she acclimatized to the sudden surge of blood through her legs. Clenching the coin in her palm, she gripped it so tightly that it dug into her skin. “What the King wanted was to see his daughter ascend the throne.”

Alicent’s lips tightened, pursing further before she spoke in a tone of solemnity. “Years ago, on Aegon’s second name day, my husband confided in me. He spoke of a dream, a vision he believed prophetic, foretelling that a male child of his line wearing the Conqueror’s crown. By then, he had not had a male heir, and thus, named your mother as his heir, as a means to settle the succession and ensure that his brother never wore the crown.”

Her words were tinged with an unmistakable bitterness as she unfolded and then refolded her hands in a precise motion, her posture regal and unyielding, embodying her status as the Queen. “He appointed your mother out of necessity. Over the years, this decision was marred with regret and doubt. There’s no questioning his love for his daughter, your mother, but he always believed it was not the rightful path. In his mind, his son was destined heir. Thus, in his final moments, he amended the succession, proclaiming Aegon as his true successor.”

A sharp pang of anguish jabbed at Daenera’s heart, her expression darkening into a deeper scowl. Her heart throbbed erratically, a mix of fear and disbelief churning in her stomach. “I don’t believe you. Viserys would never alter the succession so drastically – so suddenly. He would never disinherit his daughter.”

Alicent, undeterred, maintained her stance. “It was his final wish to rectify his mistake. He chose Aegon as his heir.”

“Is this his decree, or merely your own desires masquerading as his final wish?” Daenera challenged, her gaze intensely focused on the Queen. 

Alicent’s response was a slightly uptick of her chin, her eyes hardening into a frosty stare. 

“It seems implausible that he would so drastically reverse his stance,” Daenera pressed on. “After all, he publicly supported his own trueborn grandson as heir of Driftmark, and thereby, reinforcing my mother’s claim to the throne. Why endure the ordeal of court appearances, of taking his place on the Iron Throne, if not to ensure his will was done?”

“I cannot pretend to know his innermost thoughts, I can only relay the words he shared with me in private,” Alicent replied, her tone edged with a firm conviction. “He explicitly expressed his wish for Aegon to ascend the throne.”

“What proof do you have to substantiate this claim?” 

Alicent’s lips tightened, her gaze sharpening. “He entrusted his final wish to me–”

Daenera interjected, “So, there are no witnesses to corroborate your statement? No official record or scribe to document this decree? We only have your word to rely on?”

“My word should suffice; I would not lie about such matters,” Alicent stated, her tone resolute – righteous even. However, the absence of tangible evidence cast an unmistakable shadow of doubt over her claim. 

Daenera responded with a mix of disbelief and scorn, “Naturally, you would resort to deceit. You’re poised to gain everything from this – or conversely, stand to lose it all if the truth were otherwise.”

The notion that Viserys had a sudden change of heart seemed to her nothing more than a convenient fabrication by the Hightowers to seize power. With no witnesses to corroborate such a claim, its validity was dubious – and yet, it appeared to hold sway with the council. 

Daenera surmised that this very issue must have been the cause of Lord Beesbury’s demise. 

Lord Lyman Beesbury, having held the position of Master of Coin since the onset of Viserys’s reign, had a long-standing friendship with the King. He had known him far longer than anyone on the Council. His intimate knowledge of Viserys’s character and intentions made him unlikely to be swayed by mere assertion from the Queen. He would have asked for definitive proof – and for this loyalty, he was killed. 

Daenera held a firm belief that Alicent would twist the truth to fit her own narrative. It was a tactic she had used before, yielded against her mother so much that it drove her to flee to Dragonstone. “You say that Viserys named Aegon as his successor–”

“It is the truth,” Alicent replied, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. 

“Have you ever considered the possibility that he might have been referring to my brother, Aegon?” Daenera questioned, feeling the coin dig painfully into the palm of her hand as she stood her ground. 

Alicent’s demeanor remained stoic, her gaze fixed on Daenera with a cool detachment. “And why would he choose a child he met only once?” 

“Why would he choose a drunk who is unsuitable to wear the crown?”

Alicent’s eyes drifted upwards, as if seeking divine patience, her jaw shifting to the side in a clear display of irritation. She ran her tongue along her bottom teeth, visibly exasperated. “I did not come here to debate the legitimacy of the succession, or to seek your opinion. The decision has been made, and the Council supports Aegon ascending the throne – as was the king's wish.”

“Of course the Council will support Aegon’s claim, when those who dare question the legitimacy of your claim have been silenced,” Daenera observed. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as she saw the impact her words had on Alicent, who notably paled in response. “It seems their unwavering loyalty to the King is repaid not with honor, but with permanent removal.”

“That was an unfortunate accident,” Alicent bit out through clenched teeth. 

“And here I thought you wished to refrain from any unnecessary bloodshed.”

The Queen’s face grew stern, her grip on her own hands tightening as she gazed down at Daenera with a cold, almost patronizing air. “Aegon will be crowned King at dawn.”

Daenera let out a derisive scoff, her gaze shifting briefly to the dancing flames, reflecting her frustration. She then fixed a contemptuous look back at the Queen. “And why, pray tell, are you informing me of this?”

“You are expected to be at Aegon’s coronation, exhibiting your support for him as your King,” Alicent answered.

The mere thought of being present at the coronation ceremony, where she would be strategically positioned like a pawn in a grander game of deceit, filled Daenera with dread. The idea of having to feign support, to unwittingly endorse Aegon’s claim to the throne – a claim that starkly undermined her mother’s rightful ascendancy – sent a wave of despair through her. This illusion was an act of betrayal, a way to undermine her own family. Her heart sank at the notion. 

“I refuse to participate in this charade.”

“You will,” Alicent insisted, stepping closer, diminishing the space between them, her presence imposing. “Your presence will solidify his claim.”

Alicent reached out, intrusively tucking a stray lock of Daenera’s hair behind her ear. The gesture was both invasive and belittling. Alicent’s dark eyes gleamed with a familiar certainty, that look of self-righteous conviction she so often assumed. 

“I will not be a pawn in your schemes against my mother,” Daenera retorted, her voice laced with scorn. Her hold tightened around the coin, pressing the edge into her palm with such force that it was painful, and yet she could not stop.

Alicent exhaled a tired, frustrated sigh. “You will attend, not just to show your support for Aegon but also to announce your betrothal to Aemond.”

The words hung heavily in the air.

The sensation of the earth shifting under Daenera’s feet was overwhelming, as if the very ground was conspiring to swallow her into a chasm of shock and disbelief. The staggering revelation, one she hadn’t even considered, prevented her from succumbing to the urge to collapse. Her heart contorted in anguish, wrung dry of hope, before sinking into the abyss of her stomach. And a pallor washed over her as the blood seemed to drain from her face.

Throughout her captivity, her mind had been consumed by thoughts of escape, the safety of her men, and whether word had reached her mother. Her thoughts were a blazing inferno of concern and strategy, yet, astonishingly, they had never illuminated the possibility of a forced marriage to Aemond. 

“The people are not so easily deceived,” Daenera managed to utter, her voice quivering with emotion. Her body trembled anew, and her head moved in a slow, disbelieving shake. “They will see the truth. They will know that I am but a political pawn, without a say in my fate.”

“Your mother once suggested a union between Jace and Helaena, and you and Aegon,” Alicent responded, her voice cold and measured. “She framed it as a means to reconcile our families, yet I saw it for what it truly was; a gesture born out of desperation.”

“And this proposed betrothal, if not an act of desperation, then what?” Daenera retorted sharply, her eyes gleaming with the threat of tears. 

“It is meant as an offering of peace.”

“‘An offering of peace?’” Daenera’s voice was laced with bitter disbelief, almost a scoff. “It’s nothing but an affront – a scheme to shackle me to your son, to your cause.”

Alicent’s gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing. “In truth, it is he who will be shackled to you.This was never my desire for my son. I pleaded with him to marry a Baratheon girl, but he wouldn’t hear it. For some…” Her gaze drifted upwards, as if seeking answers from the heavens, “unfathomable reason, he wants you.”

Daenera clenched her jaw, feeling the sting of betrayal slip between her ribs like a blade, piercing her heart. She swallowed hard, the acrid taste of treachery burning down her throat, igniting turmoil within her stomach. 

Alicent’s gaze returned to Daenera, her dark eyes intense. “We hope this union will convince your mother to accept our terms of surrender.”

Daenera quickly withdrew her hand, recoiling from Alicent’s touch, which felt both soft and oppressively judgmental. She was acutely aware of her predicament – isolated, surrounded by enemies, a mere tool in their ambitious games. They would exploit her as a vulnerability of her mother, and they would do it well. 

“My mother will never renounce her claim. She is the rightful heir to the throne.” Daenera asserted, her voice wavering, weak yet resolute. 

“If she cares for the safety of her children, she will.”

Daenera fixed Alicent with a piercing glare, her voice sharpening with accusation. “And what of your own children? Do you truly care for them?”

Alicent’s response was tinged with frustration, her eyes burning as she glared back at Daenera, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Of course, I do–”

“This usurpation, it is a double edged sword,” Daenera interjected, her chest burning with frustration and indignation. “This will lead to war and to what end?”

“It is his rightful inheritance,” Alicent reiterated, though a flicker of unease crossed her face, betraying her otherwise controlled demeanor. There was something in her eyes that Daenera couldn’t decipher, not did she have the time to, as Alicent continued with a sneer. “All of this… it is for their futures. The efforts and sacrifices I’ve made will not be for nothing. Aegon is Viserys legitimate heir. The Iron Throne is his by birthright, and I will not let your mother take it from him.”

“Does he even want it?” Daenera challenged, her tone scornful, her teeth bared. “Or is it perhaps you who wishes to maintain a grip on power, Your Grace?”

“Aegon is the rightful heir to the throne,” Alicent’s voice rose in conviction. “As the firstborn son of Viserys Targaryen, and as his fathers chosen heir. Do you honestly believe the lords of the realm will rally behind your mother, a woman? See reason, Daenera. A ruler cannot have their authority questioned, and she would undoubtedly be questioned. You cannot expect the lords to bend their knees to a woman who has done nothing but show how ill suited she is as ruler by having bastards and shirking duty.”

“And do you truly believe they will support Aegon?” Daenera’s voice resonated with a chilling firmness. “Can the lords rally behind a man so blatantly unfit to rule? Your son is a drunk, who spends his nights wetting his cock in the lows of Flea Bottom, and spends his days tormenting serving girls! He’s preying on them. Innocent young girls, Alicent, younger than you were at your wedding. It is you, who should see reason!”

Alicent’s expression faltered at this harrowing truth, and for a fleeting instant, Daenera sensed a flicker of fear and regret go through the Queen. Her complexion turned ashen, her eyes widening in shock, her lips slightly parting with a mix of disbelief and realization. In that moment, Daenera clung to a flicker of hope, silently praying that her words had made a significant impact. After all, Alicent herself was once a young girl, now a woman and a mother. Could she not sympathize with the plight of those girls? Was she blind to the reality of her son – the very boy she was crowning? 

“Your resentment has poisoned him – has poisoned both of your sons,” Daenera pressed on, attempting to elicit some semblance of responsibility. “You fear what will become of your children should my mother take the throne, but  you should fear what will become of them should he be granted the power of a king. Who will protect the serving girls from his touch? Your son is a rapist–”

The blow was swift and unexpected, and Daenera stumbled back. She braced herself against the wall, her hand instinctively rising to cradle the tender, burning skin of her cheek. Taken aback, Daenera’s gaze snapped back to Alicent, her eyes wide with astonishment. Alicent’s initial surprise at her own actions quickly gave way to a newfound resolve. She stood there, an embodiment of conflicting emotions, yet she managed to project an air of unwavering confidence, her posture upright and unyielding. 

A fiery determination burned in the Queen’s brown eyes, stirring in Daenera the memories of the fateful night when Aemond had lost his eye. She remembered how Alicent, with a dagger gripped in her hand, had confronted Rhaenyra, driven by a visceral need for retribution – an eye for an eye, blood for blood. Those eyes, filled with a profound belief in their own righteousness and justice, revealed a troubling truth. It seemed that for Alicent, the deplorable behavior of her son and his actions towards the serving girls were, regrettably, viewed as mere facets of the burdens women were expected to bear in this world. It was an unfortunate but unalterable aspect of their existence. 

Daenera slowly removed her hand from the wall, straightening to her full height. “You know that what I say is true.”

Alicent responded with a calm, yet firm tone. “My son has his flaws, Princess. Yes, he indulges in wine and frequents the brothels of Flea Bottom, as many young princes have. But he is not the monster you make him out to be.”

Her hands clasped together in front of her once again, her expression hardening into a facade as unyielding as stone veiled in porcelain. “He will mature, and he will become the great king he was destined to be. I will make certain of that.”

Daenera’s voice was a soft murmur, her eyes capturing the flickering light of the hearth’s flames, reflecting a deeper, more ominous intensity. “Do you never tire, Alicent? Serving every man in your life? Being the ever-dutiful daughter, the amiable wife, and now the unwaveringly devoted mother – does it not wear you down? It must be utterly exhausting, always bending to their will, always serving them.”

“And what about yourself?” Alicent replied, her voice steady and composed. “We are not so dissimilar, you and I.”

Alicent moved closer to Daenera, her head tilting subtly as she observed her with a careful expression. Her eyebrows drew together, her eyes alight with an emotion that Daenera couldn’t quite identify, yet it caused her heart to beat more forcefully. She remained where she was, refusing to yield or cower.

“We each have a part to play in this world. As a woman, your duty is clear. As a dutiful daughter,” Alicent began, lightly touching Daenera’s cheek where the skin still burned from the earlier slap. The touch was soft, almost gentle, a strange sort of comfort. “As a loyal wife… As a Queen… And as a mother. I know my role, and I have faith that it is as the gods will it.”

Daenera’s brow inched downward. “And you believe it is divine will that Aegon ascends the throne?”

A tightness formed at the corners of Alicent’s lips. “Why else would they bless Viserys with the son he yearned for? It is the natural order of things. In time, you will come to see the wisdom in accepting the role the gods have set out for you.”

“To serve others,” Daenera observed with a soft hum. “And yet, you can’t acknowledge this is about maintaining your own hold on power – however tenuous it might be, after all, you’ll only be the mother of the King.”

“I am acting in the best interest of my sons, my children. Everything I have ever done has been for their future, for the preservation of what is rightfully theirs,” Alicent retorted, her lips tightening further as she pulled her hand back. “As their mother, it is my duty.”

“It must be exhausting, to cloak yourself in self-righteousness to mask your own ambition. At least your father is transparent about his desires. You, on the other hand, veil yours in the guise of duty and divine decree,” Daenera remarked, sensing a heavy burden descending upon her shoulders. 

Alicent gazed back, her lips slightly pursed, the corners downturned in a subtle expression of discontent or perhaps disdain. Her eyes were measured, searching Daenera’s face as if looking for something, or maybe seeing in her a reflection that rendered her weary. 

“Have you ever asked yourself what you want?” Daenera asked. “Not what others have impressed upon you to want.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you?” 

Now, the question lingered heavily within Daenera. Her frown grew more pronounced as she locked eyes with Alicent, a woman whose features bore a resemblance to her own, enough that she could have been her mother. Subconsciously, Daenera’s hand came together, her finger tracing the faint, curved indentation left by the coin – and the pale scar etched into her skin by a dragonglass arrowhead. 

Taking a deep breath, Alicent regained her poise, seamlessly transitioning back into the role of the Queen. Her gaze, as condescending as ever, swept over Daenera. “The servants will take you back to your chambers and see to it that you are appropriately attired for the coronation in the morning.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We have a handful of your men in the dungeons,” Alicent answered, the threat clear. With a swift turn, Alicent exited the room, leaving the door slightly open behind her. Two servants promptly entered, one of whom Daenera recognized as the same woman who had seen to her meals.

Daenera was led back to her chambers, accompanied by two servants and a pair of guards – likely to ensure she didn’t attempt another escape. The late hour’s presence was marked by a persistent chill permeating the air as they navigated the corridors of the Keep. Stepping out into the courtyard, Daenera instinctively lifted her gaze to the heavens. The sky was painted in deepening shades of blue as night fully embraced the realm. It was a cloudless expanse above, where stars sparkled and flickered like distant beacons. 

Drawing in a deep breath, she momentarily closed her eyes, cherishing the crispness of the fresh air and using the moment to calm her racing heart. Her hands tightened around the cloak draped over her form, the fabric serving as her sole shield against both the chill and the prying eyes that might wander. Beneath the thin material of her underdress, her skin erupted in a rash of goosebumps, reacting to the night’s cool touch. 

Guided through the imposing doors of Maegor’s Holdfast, Daenera was led across the inner courtyard and towards the grand staircase. 

As they walked, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was deliberate or mere coincidence that their path took them past the very spot where Joyce had been killed. The floor there had been scrubbed clean, yet the stone still bore a darker hue, a silent testament to the violence that had occurred. Her gaze lingered on the spot, a sharp pang of sorrow clenching her heart. Swallowing hard against the grief that threatened to overwhelm her, she was soon nudged ontward by persistent hands.

As Daenera stepped into her chamber, a heavy sense of loss struck her. She noticed the stark emptiness where her cherished potions and essence bottles once stood. The cabinet, previously filled with her carefully curated collection of dried herbs, had been completely removed. The room felt barren and ransacked, stripped of her personal effects. 

But it wasn’t just her alchemy tools that had vanished; her hair oils, fragrances, and cosmetics were also missing. The space that had once been her sanctuary now felt invaded and foreign, almost as though it had ceased to be a part of her world. It was a harsh reminder that this room, and her life within it, were no longer truly her own. 

A wave of bitterness rose in Daenera, but she forcefully suppressed it. She set the coin down on a table, deliberately placing it spiral-side up – there was no need for more eyes to watch her humiliation. 

The older servant gestured her forward, wasting no time in removing her cloak and placing it over the back of a chair as she barked at the younger maid servant, “Fetch the water. As hot as it can get.”

The younger servant hurried out to comply with the order, undoubtedly darting through halls and down to the kitchens. 

Daenera, attempting to sound casual even as her throat remained tight, inquired, “My maid – what has become of her body?”

The older servant responded only with a harsh glare, as she swept Daenera’s thousled hair away from her shoulders to undo the knots that held her underdress together. Her movements were harsh and forceful, making Daenera think she would be more at home in a butcher’s shop than attending to a lady. The servant’s face was etched with a permanent scowl, deeping the lines of age and giving her a certain hardened, unyielding appearance. 

“What of my sworn shield?” Daenera asked, persistent in seeking answers as the door swung open and a group of girls entered, each carrying buckets of steaming water. They effectively poured the contents into the bath and quickly exited, all deliberately avoiding eye contact, as the older servant scowled at them, barking orders. 

The older servant, with an abrupt and rough motion, stripped Daenera of her final layer, removing her underdress to leave her completely bare. Instinctively, Daenera’s arms wrapped around herself, her skin prickling with goosebumps that felt like countless tiny needles piercing her flesh.

“Out, all of you, quickly!” The older servant commanded sharply to the group of serving girls carrying the buckets of water, as though they weren’t already hurrying. They scurried towards the door in a rushed procession, letting it close with a soft click behind them. Even with fewer eyes in the room, Daenera couldn’t shake off the profound sense of vulnerability that came with her exposed state. Nonetheless, she steeled herself, firmly gripping the servant’s wrist to draw her full attention. 

“What has become of my sworn shield?” She asked, her voice steady despite the chill. The last she saw of Fenrick he was unconscious and bleeding.

The hag wrenched her wrist free from Daenera’s grasp with a disdainful sneer. “I suppose he is locked up in the dungeons with the rest of them.”

Suppressing her own urge to sneer in response, Daenera swallowed the bitter feeling, finding a small solace in the knowledge that he seemed to still be alive. 

Rather than succumbing to her frustration with a sharp retort, Daenera chose to adopt a more composed and dignified approach. She recognized the potential benefit of gaining the older woman’s favor, aiming to foster a semblance of dialogue that might yield useful information. 

Her response was calculated, delivered with a blend of diplomacy and sweetness, “What is your name?”

“Metha Ashford,” the servant replied curtly. “I serve as the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, and from now on, I will be attending to you. Kneel by the bath.”

“And my name is Edelin–” the younger servant added softly, her voice quickly hushed by a stern glare from Mertha. Edelin, frowning, gathered the bloodstained and dirtied undergown, an item that seemed more suited for burning than washing. 

Daenera’s gaze fixed on the steaming bath. With a semblance of dignity, she requested, “I would like some soaps and oils for my bath.”

Edelin hesitated, glancing towards Mertha, whose eyes radiated cold indifference. Mertha’s boney fingers then dug sharply into Daenera’s shoulders, pushing her towards the bath. “You will have no such choice of luxury. We will use the soap I’ve brought and nothing more.”

Asserting her status, Daenera stated, “I am a princess,” even as she was forcefully pushed down to her knees beside the path. The impact further aggravated her already bruised skin, her knees throbbing painfully as her hands came to brace herself on the edge of the tub.

“You are nothing but a hostage,” Mertha retorted harshly, her hand clamping down on the pack of Daenera’s neck, nails digging into her skin, as she roughly pushed her head dangerously close to the water. Daenera’s nose almost touched the surface of the water, and as she let out a shocked breath, the water ripped. 

Something dipped into the water, as Mertha continued, “The Queen’s command are clear – we are to take care of you.”

Scalding hot water cascaded over Daenera’s head, causing her to gasp and sputter as it burned her scalp and streamed down her face. She attempted to ward off the water and struggled futilely against Mertha’s unyielding hold. Another cup of water was poured onto her head. 

“We’ve been instructed to stay by your side,” Mertha stated coldly, pouring the third cup of water over Daenera’s head, “to ensure you don’t engage in any treacherous acts.”

Daenera’s fingers dug into the edge of the bath, her neck straining against Mertha’s grip, the muscles in her neck aching with the effort. “Y–you’re hurting me!”

Mertha responded with a reproachful chide and a dismissive scoff. “Cease your struggling, and I won’t need to handle you so forcefully.”

In a reflexive act of defiance, Daenera’s arms swiped at Mertha, sending the cup of water tumbling from her grasp. She glared up at the older woman, her hair clinging to her skin, dripping down her neck in a trail that went all the way down her back. “I am a princess and you will treat me with the respect that is deserving of my station!”

“You are nothing but a bastard, as far as the gods are concerned,” Mertha retorted, her voice tinged with contempt. “The late king, may the gods rest his soul, was too blind to see the truth, but the Queen sees it clearly – and she will not allow the realm to be ruled by the Whore of Dragonstone and her brood of bastards. She is doing the gods’ will and putting things right, and you should consider yourself fortunate for the leniency she is extending you, princess.”

Mertha firmly repositioned Daenera’s head and resumed pouring water over her, roughly lathing a common bar of soap before harshly scrubbing Daenera’s scalp. Her fingers moved with a roughness reminiscent of someone washing a wild animal, showing little regard for Daenera’s discomfort. The soap stung her eyes, and she struggled to suppress her sniffles, water dripping from her face and threatening to enter ner nostrils. She remembered how Joyce used to perform this task with such tenderness and care. 

After what seemed like an eternity of scrubbing, when Mertha finally rinsed the soap from Daenera’s hair, she proceeded to push her into the bath to wash her body with an abrasive tool that felt akin to a scrubbing brush used on the floor, leaving her skin raw and inflamed. The near-scalding water only intensified the sensation, making Daenera feel as if she were being boiled alive. 

And by the time the water no longer held its boiling effect on her body, Daenera had contemplated at the very least ten different ways of killing the old hag – mostly imagining her pushing her head into the water and keeping it there until she no longer flailed around. 

It was the younger servant, Edelin, that wrapped cloth around Daenera’s body. Her touch was far more delicate as she helped Daenera dry off and gently braid her hair to prevent it from frizzing during the night, weaving pieces of silk in between the strands. Her blue eyes conveyed a silent apology for the ordeal as Mertha went about ordering the bath drained. 

Daenera decided then that if she were to cultivate an ally among her prison guards, it would be the girl.

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 30

(Chapter 29; Chapter 31)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags! Permission

The Embrace

You reach out your hand while you run to him, screaming his name from the top of your lungs.

“SUKUNA!!”

Step.Step.Step

“SUKUNAA!”

Your voice almost gives up. However, you’re close, watching him fighting in front of a barn. His movements are fast, the men have no chance.

“SUKUNAAA!” you keep shouting and shouting and in the break of a second, you see his head turning, when suddenly

Bam!

The air gets knocked out from your lungs, as someone gets pushed into your left side, tackling you to the ground. You almost lose your dagger during the impact. A stinging pain shoots right through your heart again, making you hiss in agony, before you look to your left. The person who attacked you lies dead on the ground right next to you. His throat is slashed. Your eyes widen in shock and you look into the direction he came from and see another man, grinning widely at you, holding up his knife.

Fuck no!

He starts coming at you, but you’re fast enough to hurry back on your feet and start to sprint back into Sukunas direction. The man follows you, giggling like a maniac while he does. As soon as you’re back on track, looking forward, you suddenly see Sukuna’s silhouette in front of huge flames approaching you with fast, heavy steps. Your heart skips a beat, as you see him approach you, until there’s only a few yards distance between you.

He looks pissed!

With white eyes and rage in his face, he forms a fire arrow and doesn’t hesitate to aim it at your head. Your eyes widen in shock as he releases it immediately. Crouching down just in time, shielding your head with your arms, the arrow flies over your hands, burning your knuckles in the process. You shout in pain, pulling your hands back down in reaction, while the arrow hits the attacker behind you, pinning him down to the ground. The man screams while being burned alive and you turn to him. Relief spreads in your gut, as you see that you’re safe.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sukuna growls at you in anger, making you look back to him, while his huge figure keeps stomping into your direction. The string pulls hard at your heart, making you unable to answer.

“My King.” your voice so thin from all the exhaustion.

“Your King asked you a fucking question, brat.” he grabs you by your collar and yanks you harshly against the door of a nearby hut. Your weight and the hard impact causes it to fall open and you stumble in, even having trouble to stay on your feet. Sukuna follows you, slams the wooden door shut behind him, almost breaking it. The sounds of war keep playing in the background, muted screams reach your ears. Bombs keep falling.

Boom!

You stumble backwards, almost tripping over some stools and stumbling around a table, looking into the face of the man you sought and found, but you’re not recognising him. These white, soulless eyes. Words aren’t able to crawl out of your throat, only your racing heartbeat.

A crack. Smoke.

You look up and notice that the roof of this hut is burning from the outside, dark smoke crawling into the room. Fear spreads in your gut.

“Answer me!” he hisses, making you looking back at him. Sukuna appears even taller, even more intimidating, his muscles swollen from all the fighting, while his face and naked torso is splattered with blood of those people. He keeps walking to you, cornering you, slamming this stool out of his way and into the corner, bursting it.

“I- … I…” you’re scared of him.

Those eyes.

His facial features twitch in anger and he clenches his jaw, before he grabs you by your throat with his left upper hand, raises you to his eye level and pushes you against the wall.

Heartache. So strong.

You hold on to his arm, your feet dangling in the air, while you gasp. Tears pool in your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he repeats in an aggressive whisper through his teeth.

“I-“ you gasp, looking at his face. “I- …” you ponder.

“I needed to see you…” you whisper with a trembling voice. “I’ve missed you. So much.” you dig your nails into his arm. “I couldn’t bear it.”

His rage filled soulless eyes look at you, his brow twitches, while he breathes heavily. A moment passes and you just look at him, with all your honesty and all the longing that has built up in you, your thumb grazing along the skin of his wrist. He keeps staring at you, while his grip on your neck tightens. Sukunas lip twitches another time, before he dashes forward, pressing his lips against yours. The air get’s stuck in your throat, as you realise what he’s doing. You hear his breath against your face, before the fingers of his right hand move into your hair. His bottom pair of hands let go of their weapons and find their way to your thighs, supporting you. Blades cling to the floor, while you feel the weight against your throat feel easier, but not the weight in your heart. You feel his lips against yours and you don’t know how to react. Tensing up, you grab his hair, holding on to it tightly.

With a smack of his lips, he breaks the kiss and you inhale deeply, breathe like you’ve been about to drown. Heart beating so, so fast. You keep your gaze down, not daring to look into his eyes yet. Noses touching softly, while you breathe into each others mouths, so hot. Your breath is trembling, his face still so close to yours, that your lips brush against each other, causing the fear to leave your body.

It’s him.

His grip on your neck loosens and his hand moves up to the side of your face, before you feel him moving. With a grunt, Sukuna holds you tight and takes a few loud steps passing the corner right next to you and slams you against the adjacent wall.

Bam!

The air is knocked out of you once again, before his lips crash back onto yours, pressing your face against his with his hands and pushing his body against yours. You open your mouth and you feel his lips slide hungry against yours, feel his tongue move passionately against yours.

Feel his soul desperately embrace yours.

An embrace so deep, like two lovers who were separated for a lifetime.

You kiss back and your face melts into his. Heart is aching so bad, you want him to rip it out of your chest. You feel whole, feel in love, feel so aroused for him. He breathes into the kiss, as he deepens it, holding you so tight, with his hands on both sides of your face, as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

Pull him so close it almost hurts. So desperate. So needy. So soft and violently.

Flames crawl through the ceiling, but there’s only the two of you. Total darkness before your closed eyes, but in this darkness you feel nothing but him, taste nothing but him. The taste of blood and spit and dirt. The taste of his soul and its relief to see you again.

Wood cracks under the fire, but the kiss goes on, deepens even more, makes your whole body trembling and you feel his breath tremble, too. Sukunas grip on your thighs tightens, making you sigh into the kiss, before you wrap your legs around his torso, pulling him even closer. Licks, bites and kisses on each others lips, while your heart bursts in your throat, let the tears roll down, while feeling him so close.

The kiss slows down, lips leaving each other to catch a breath. Foreheads touching while breathing heavily, your own hands find their way to his face, holding him like he holds you. Your eyes look up, seek his gaze and you see him. Those red eyes that you‘ve missed so dearly. Wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. A gaze so soft.

You lean back to get a better view of his face.

There’s something in his eyes, his brow knit together in desperation. Longing. Relief.

And the way he looks at you? It pulls at your heart. Heavily.

It‘s him.

A sad feeling spreads in your chest, while you wonder if this heartache is not yours but his. You wished for the heartache to end when you see him, but instead it’s as worse as it can be since he saw you.

It‘s him.

Like you’re the one knocking on his mind, he‘s the one pulling at your heart.

You‘re sure of it.

The room heats up more and more from the fire. It’s now burning through the ceiling.

He looks tired, a dark shade paints the underside of his eyes. And you want to cry seeing him like this. Want to never let him go again. Just take him home. Into the shrine.

Just you and him.

Sukuna musters your face, while you muster his. Eyes dancing from point to point across your face.

Memorising. Drowning.

You sniff, as a tear rolls down your dirt stained face. Pity in his eyes, as he watches the tear silently crawling down your cheek. The drop hits the tip of his right thumb, before he gently smudges it away, smudges away the dirt away with it, revealing the bruise on your left cheek, making your eyes twitch in pain. His eyes grow sinister, as he sees it.

“Who did this?” he whispers. Your heart flutters, hearing him like this.

“In a village further north… You forgot someone.” you answer. “…I killed him.”

A worried look paints his face for a second, before his hands leave your face. He clenches his jaw and without a warning he drops you to your feet, looking down to you.

“You have to leave.” he growls, while turning around, picking up his swords and walking to the door.

Crack. The flames come nearer.

You follow him, anger bubbling up your throat.

“You think I came all this way just to leave again? I can’t.” you spit at him. He listens to your words, while watching you over his shoulder.

“…I just can’t.” you add quietly.

A strip of wood crashes down from the ceiling behind you. The fire is now inside.

“Don’t tell me to leave. Please.” your eyes beg him.

He turns to you and lowers his face to yours.

“I didn’t ask you to be here! Leave!” the fire behind you flickers in his angry red orbs, his gaze intense. “Now!”

And you understand. He’s right. You’re not strong enough to fight at his side. Not that he would need your help anyway. You would probably just a weight on his shoulders.

Your face is trembling, fighting with tears.

Crack. A cupboard that caught fire starts to crumble.

Can’t let you go. Not like that.

You grab his face tightly.

“Meet me when this is over. No matter what little time you have.” you demand in anger. “I need to tell you something.”

Crash.

His eyes squint softly, before he nods, almost not noticeable. You look at him with hurt, before you let him go, pass him quickly and dash out of the door.

The noises grow loud again, as soon as you step out the door. The battle is not over. You draw your bow and nock your arrow, ready to shoot anyone who’s coming near you. Hearing Sukuna coming out of the door behind, you suddenly hear screaming coming out of the same direction. Quickly you turn back around and in the split of a second, you see a woman jumping off the roof head first, ready to bury a knife into Sukunas neck.

You shoot immediately.

The arrow misses Sukunas face by two inches, hitting directly into the head of his attacker. His eyes widen in surprise, as you stomp back to him. Sukuna watches you walking past him to the dead woman, to pull the arrow out of her head, without disgust, without remorse.

“I will see you.” you shoot him a look, passing him. His lip twitches.

“Run!” he orders. You stop, looking at him in confusion. Sukunas eyes roll back, while a sadistic smirk curls back into his lips and he cracks his neck.

“Run, Princess.” he hisses at you once again with this soulless eyes of his, while he walks back into the battlefield. You listen.

Running and running, you aim for the darkness that the light of the fire can’t reach. The battle is still going, but less erratic. Many people already died. This fight is emaciated.

Your feet run over corpses and dirt and splash into pools of blood, while you hear your king slashing and ripping behind your back. Giggling and laughing, shouting and growling. Flying arrows became rare, fire bombs already used up. The people who’re still fighting, fight to the end.

And it’s coming.

You run and run and run, until you slow down, being at the point of where you came from. Turning around, you see Sukuna making room for himself with one motion of his blade, slashing the people around him. He’s now standing the middle of the battle, him being so much taller than the rest of the men. He raises his upper pair of hands, forming a hand sign with them, pressing his fingers together like a triangle. He keeps staring at you with his soulless eyes. You see his mouth move, as if he’s saying something.

The earth suddenly starts to rumble and in the haze of the fire a gigantic shrine appears, like a dream brought to life. Your eyes widen, as it looks similar to the shrine you live in. Skulls and spikes decorating the outside.

Boom!

The earth rumbles again, making you stumble, before a shockwave runs through the crowd of fighting people. Like insanely fast movements with a blade, person after person gets slashed into unrecognisable pieces. So fast, they fall down like a wave moving towards you. So forceful, even the fire get’s wiped out. Huts get demolished. Trees are shredded.

This wave of darkness crashes over this battle. Men are fleeing into your direction. They’re screaming at you with bleeding faces, swing their weapons at you. You’re ready to shoot your arrow, as someone runs directly at you, before he gets slashed into a million pieces, right before your eyes. The wave stops right before your feet, the remaining wind of the shockwave flying through your hair.

Empty Darkness.

Sudden Silence.

Except your agitated breathing, after witnessing what happened here. You lower your bow and arrow, trying to spot Sukuna in the dark. The shrine fades into the wind, before a black silhouette steps away from the middle of the battlefield.

Asshole.

He’s not coming.

Anger boils up in you and you stomp away into the forest.

You stand next to your little campfire, shooting your arrow into the same spot of the tree in front of you over and over again.

“Asshole.” you repeat to yourself, after you picked up the arrow from the tree and getting in position once again.

Shoot!

Again.

Shoot!

Again.

It helps you clear your mind.

He kissed me.

Except it doesn’t.

He kissed me.

So violently. So passionately.

Like he missed me. So much.

With trembling lips, you nock your arrow once again, before something pinches at your heart, before you hear a soft rustle in the bushes behind you.

Before you can react and turn around, you feel a warmth at your back. Your breath hitches, as a giant hand crawls to your stomach, the sharp nails so familiar. Relief spreads in your gut. Another hand on your right shoulder. Another under your risen elbow of your left arm, holding the arrow. A fourth hand on your waist.

Quietly a foot moves between the two of yours, pushing your left more apart from your right.

“Flex your core.” his quiet, low voice so smooth in your ears, it makes your knees feel like soft dough, while his fingertips press against your stomach.

“A little higher.” a whisper, while he tips the fingers of his other hand against your left elbow. His grip on your waist tightens, as he moves his other hand along your stretched out arm.

Your heart is racing at his gentleness.

“Shoot.”

But you’re still angry.

You turn around and aim at his face.

“I’m angry at you!” you growl.

He pouts at you, before he smacks his lips.

“Tch Tch Tch…That’s no way to speak to your King.” he coos, while putting the tip of his finger against the tip of the arrow. A smirk already creeping up on his mouth. And you hate how you love to see it. Love to see his usual asshole mannerism.

You sigh and retrieve the arrow. He huffs, while you slump down, sitting down in front of the warm flames. Sukuna pulls something wrapped in fabric from his waist, while he sits down cross legged in front of you. You watch him unpack a severed arm, covered in blood and dirt.

“You have time until I have eaten this.” he motions his dinner at you. “Then I need to get back to the camp of those insects.” he adds, before blowing, swiping and tapping off the dirt on the arm. You sneer in disgust, watch him pinch away a tiny stone that’s been sticking in the skin. But you can’t help to smile to yourself.

He’s cute.

You take an apple out from the fabric of your waist and bite into it. Simultaneously Sukuna bites a finger off the hand and both of your foods make a cracking sound at the same time.

A feeling of joy spreads in your gut, while both of you munch on your food. You smile to yourself. It’s been a long day and you love how calm it feels, while listening to your munching and crackling of the fire.

“Kind of feels familiar, huh?” you whisper in a smile at him “This setting.” He hums in agreement, while he’s busy gnawing the skin off the finger. You can’t help to think, that he’s in a good mood. Watching him eat that finger like the big hunk he is, you have to contain yourself.

Fucking cute.

You swallow your apple.

“I didn’t think you would actually come.” you say softly, seeking his gaze. “I’m glad you did.”

“Two seconds ago you were angry.”

“I am angry. Six weeks ago? A King is not supposed to leave his princess like that... Without saying goodbye.”

“Mhhm his princess…” he smirks, cocking his eyebrow in amusement, while admiring the nibbled bone of the finger. “You came all this way just to be angry at me for that?”

“…No.” you chew on your lip, remembering that you told him that you needed to tell him something. Remembering, that you said that without thinking, just to prevent him from leaving. Well now that he’s here, sitting calm at this fire with you…you might as well…

Curse or love?

Curse or love?

Curse or love?

You lower your gaze and fiddle with the bitten apple in front of you.

…If there wasn’t this incredible nervousness…

”I-uhm… I …“ you ponder, noticing your burned knuckles again. “The reason I came here is…” your throat becomes dry as sand. “…because… I cursed you.” you exhale. “I had no other choice.”

He stops chewing and you look up. Sukuna frowns at you.

“I know.”

You frown back.

“You know?” you huff. “What do you mean “I know”?” you continue, imitating his deep voice for the last part, making him squint his eyes in annoyance, before he huffs.

“Princess…” he says, letting a smirk crawl on his face and raising his eyebrow in pity. “This whole trip has been only half the fun since you keep knocking at my mind. The headache you give me…“ he sighs, before ripping off a bit of skin with his teeth. “That’s why I know.” His words make you feel angry, but guilty.

“Well. I’m sorry.” you sneer, tapping your fingers on the floor, realising he could feel your longing the entire time. He hums, while he keeps gnawing at the hand, doesn’t even seem to be mad at you for the headache you give him. A moment passes, before you keep talking.

“You knew… and yet you claim that you didn’t ask me to be here. Acted all pissed and angry when you saw me, although you didn’t even order Uraume to lock the door.” you complain. “You knew I would come after you sooner or later. And since you cursed me, too, maybe you even hoped I would.” you spit at him, his reaction only being an amused smile at your bitching. “So how about you tell me how happy you were to finally see me?… Before you send me away again.” your emotions overflow and you almost regret what you just said.

He stops chewing once again, his flickering red orbs staring into yours. Sukunas smirk fades and you feel like you pissed him off.

“I thought I did.” he finally says, in a calm but serious tone, cocking his eyebrow at you.

You open your mouth to complain again, but his persistent gaze stops you.

Huh?

You frown in confusion. A moment passes until it clicks.

The kiss??

You’re stunned, mouth falls slightly open. Sukuna starts chewing again, while he keeps staring at you. Your mouth trembles for words to say before your head turns red.

“You didn’t use words.” you mumble, as you turn your head and body to the side, escaping his gaze, not expecting him to admit it like that.

“I didn’t use words. I needed my mouth for something else.”

Uff.

Your heart keeps beating blood into your face, while you listen to him. Sometimes you hate how smooth he can be.

“I guess you did.” you whisper, feeling embarrassed, while you keep fiddling with the apple nervously.

“And I liked it.” he adds in a low voice. His words crawl through your body like oil, heart beating so fast. You start to chew on your lip.

Can’t look at him now.

You can feel his eyes continue to pierce through your being.

If I look he will know.

“But the curse is not the only thing you wanted to tell me about, is it?” his words pierce through you like a spear.

No. He already knows.

“What else would I want to tell you?” you try to play cool, but still avoid his gaze.

Knows, that I love him.

“There’s something stuck in your throat ever since that star flew across our heads. Ever since you put that curse on me. I was hoping to finally learn what it is.” the smirk in his voice as present as ever.

He knows.

“No.” you lie.

He raises his eyebrow at you.

You sigh.

Fuck.

“I… like to be around you.” is the best you can come up with without admitting it directly.

“I know.” he smirks, letting you know that he knows that it’s just another bad excuse. You look everywhere, but him.

He just wants to hear it.

You feel his eyes pressuring you to keep talking.

Asshole.

“Why do I need to say it? You would only call me pathetic.” you shrug, as you lean behind you, pretending to adjust the wood in the fire. “You don’t use words, either.”

Hearing him putting the nibbled arm aside, he hums, before you feel his finger quietly hooking into the waistband of your hakama, before he slowly pulls you to him. Not fighting his actions, you let yourself being dragged backwards into the warmth of his body. It coats your back again, as he makes room with his legs and pulls you into the space between them. You want to melt, feeling him like this, being near him like this. After weeks and weeks of missing him like a part of you that’s been lost. Your racing heart lets your breath come out trembling.

His upper left hand moves over your chest, wrapping itself around your right jaw, softly guiding it up to reveal your neck. You feel his breath close to your skin, as you watch the fireplace crackling in front of you.

“I like to be around you, too.” he breathes, making your breath hitch. “That’s why I was angry at you for leaving my chambers.” he whispers, before his lips find the thin scar that formed on your neck. You breathe heavily, his words being too much for your heart to handle. “I hoped you would come. That’s why I didn’t order to lock the door.” he mouths against the sensitive skin of your scar. His lips wander up to your right cheek. “I was relieved to hear you say you came to see me.” he mouths against it. Unconsciously you grab the hand that’s been resting on his thigh. “That’s why I kissed you.” he purrs. You squeeze his hand, the burned skin on your knuckles hurting while doing so.

A soft kiss in front of your ear. “There. I used words.” a hot breath against your skin, while the hand on your jaw slowly moves down.

You tremble in his hold, not having expected him to be so honest and admitting to your accusations. Heart flutters, as you notice how his breath is quick too, while he keeps purring in your ear.

A weight presses against your chest, his left hand grabs your right shoulder and you realise, that his left arm is now wrapped around you.

Embracing you, pressing you against him.

His heart beats against your shoulders. You feel it and lean into his face, your left hand reaches for his arm that’s wrapped around you.

“Is this goodbye?” you whisper.

He nods against your face, before he loosens his grip. Your heart aches and you wonder if its you or him who feels this way. Probably both. You already feel the tears tingle in your eyelids, while you crawl out of his hold and stand up.

He gets up as well and looks at you for a moment, pondering, looking as if he’s about to say something.

Heartache.

He stops himself, instead mumbles a “pathetic.” So quietly, you almost didn’t catch what he said. So quietly, you wonder if he actually meant himself. Wonder if he shares the same feelings for you.

Mortal feelings. The pathetic kind.

His hand finds your chin, guiding your face up a little. He looks at your lips, his eyes saying goodbye to them, before he slowly leans down to your eye level. His eyes find yours, become soft as he sees the wet reflection in your eyes. His thumb strokes gently at your lip, before he leans in. Sukunas nose gently touches the side of yours, his lips about to brush against your parted ones.

“Don’t.” you stop him. He hesitates before he leans back into your sight, looking at you questioningly.

“Do it when you come back.” you continue. “Just come back.” you breathe, fighting with your tears. His gaze grows emotionless, before he leans to your ear.

“As you wish.” he whispers, before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

Heartache.

Leaning back, he looks into your eyes a last time, before he walks past you. You turn around, with trembling lips, watching him leave.

Turn around.

The light on him grows dim.

Turn around.

His figure now just a silhouette.

Turn around.

He stops. His head turns slightly and you see his red orbs pierce through the darkness.

They look at you, before he vanishes in the lightless forest.

Leaving you there.

With an aching heart.

[honeymark]

〔 𝟎𝟏:𝟎𝟐𝐚𝐦 〕 the truth hits you harder than you could’ve ever prepared yourself for, so much so that you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself when your husband reveals his dirty little secret.

now that everything has been exposed, it’s wild to think that you’d missed all of the red flags. it’d been weeks since he had stopped coming home in time for dinner, since he had stopped answering your calls after 6pm, since he had stopped touching you altogether.

it’s like the love had just...

disappeared.

“honey, say something. anything,” doyoung desperately pleads, his hands finding yours. suspense lingers heavily in the living room, almost as if all hell were to break loose if either of you were to let out a single sound.

you silently resign yourself to the chaos that’s bound to ensue, and you finally release the breath you had been holding in for what had felt likes hours. you can feel the weight of it roll from your shoulders when you finally muster up the courage to speak.

“what is there to say?” you ask, your voice just a feather above a whisper.

he lifts his head slowly, his eyes daring to match yours. “curse at me, scream at me, just do something.” there’s something about his gaze that sends your heart into panicked overdrive, and with one smooth motion, you rip your hands from his grip.

“what’s the point, doyoung? nothing will change the fact that you broke this marriage,” you snap, the bite of your voice cutting through the tension like a freshly honed blade. tears blur your vision as you finally allow yourself to give into the heartache. “nothing i say will change anything.”

he visibly winces, and he drops to his knees and bows his head in what seems like remorse. “y/n, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, baby. i love you so much, and i’m so, so sorry,” he repeats in a litany of pitiful contrition. 

as much as you want to believe in his performance, doubt starts pooling in the pit of your stomach. “doyoung, stop it.” you swallow a sob that’s creeping its way up the back of your throat, and you cross your arms over your chest, almost as if it would be enough to keep you from completely falling apart. “don’t you fucking dare say that you love me. you wouldn’t have done this if you loved me. you wouldn’t have kept fucking her if you loved me.” 

the silence that follows is thick and stagnant. he presses his lips together into a straight line. something moist plops against the back of his hand, then again, and again, and it isn’t until he sniffles that he realizes he’s crying. he clutches the thin fabric of his slacks, and he ducks his head in an even lower bow. “i’m sorry, y/n. i don’t deserve your forgiveness or your love or another second of your time, but i truly am so, so fucking sorry. i’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers in a hushed sob, his voice breaking as his lips form your name.

a deep ache thrums through your chest, and you unthinkingly slide off the couch to the floor in front of him. you wipe his tears with shaky fingers, and he immediately crashes into you, his arms enveloping you in a tight embrace as he chokes out a deep sob.

the sound that escapes past his lips sends a chill down your spine. kim doyoung has always been composed, intentional with every breath he takes. this is the most unbalanced you’ve ever seen him, and it cuts through your heart like a dagger. you don’t think you’ve ever felt a pain as devastating as this before. but if you’re sure about anything, it’s that you’ve never been this broken.

© 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃.

[lucky-pennied]

Notes: one shot inspired by the Rafayel main story branch PV.

Summary: Her attempts to bring her love back to her end in failure. Faced with the unbridled wrath of the sea, she is overcome with memories of a forgotten past they both shared.

Tags: angst/hurt no comfort/implied death

Word count: 1109

The boat rocked violently upon a rocky sea. Canvas sails whipped in the harsh winds of the rapidly approaching storm as the cold spray of splashing waves combined with the drips of storm rain began to soak through her clothes, wetting her skin. 

How did they end up like this? 

She breathed as her eyes  blinked away the rain and salty sea. Staring into a pair of glowing blue eyes, once filled with so much love and adoration, now filled with contempt and freezing anger. She had heard once somewhere before that ice could be so cold it would burn when touched. And a fire could rage so strongly as to freeze the skin it touched into aching numbness. That was what it felt like to look into those eyes. No longer familiar to her, they looked to her as if she was a stranger, no less than, they looked at her now as if she was an enemy. 

She gasped, choking on air as she dragged in ragged breaths. Mind swimming with concerned confusion, chest swelling with heartbreak. She hadn't even known she had been in love. The irony of it all, to only realize now as her heart glared down at her, expression cold. 

A strangled laugh left her freezing wind chapped lips as the boat gave another harsh rock. The wood creaked out in protest at the battering it was taking from the sea's outrage. Earning her another sharp look in the slant of her beloved’s eyes. 

She twisted her wrists beneath his heavy hold pathetically. Her attempt to reach him falls short once again in the face of his brutal and surprising strength. She knew he had been hiding layers, fearful of her catching sight of even a single shadowed part of his heart and mind. But what she was faced with now was a reality that terrified her to her very soul. 

His cold cruelty was far from the warmth he had always shown her up till now. Further cementing the thought, he had been overtaken by some outside force. She pleaded silently with her eyes for something she could not give voice to. Come back to me. She wanted to beg. I love you. She wanted to scream on the off chance the words would find some part of him that had not been swept away by the torrent of unbridled rage that sat straddled above her prone form. 

She searched herself, her mind, her heart, her soul. For any answers or strategies to bring him back the way he once was. Only to come back time and time again, wasting each precious second, to the unshakable feeling that he was as he should be now.

The sea god. 

The words struck an ancient chord within her. Dredging up in a blinding moment, flashes of a great temple beneath the sea, a sea tainted red, and an endless horizon of sand.  With those flashes came the emotions tied to them. A brutal onslaught of desperation, yearning, and heartache. All at once, she was bombarded, overstimulated from the overflowing feelings. 

Tears joined the moisture of the sea and rain. Mixing into something wholly new as they ran hot stinging tracks down her chafed skin. The sea was unforgiving. This was something older people had always taught. She never understood how something so beautiful could be so dangerous as to have so many warnings given. But now she did, and she wished she could go back to the naive girl who thought herself untouchable. A pillar of heroism and protector that stood at the top of the world. 

The experience was humbling. 

Licking her cracking lips, absently basking in the sharp taste of salt as she parted them to speak. In a voice raw with unexpressed emotion, she gasped. “I am your follower always” 

He blinked, momentarily taken aback before pressing down her numb wrists harder to the soaked deck beneath her. He seemed to struggle internally, the twitch of his lips, the slant of his eyes, even the furrow of his brows denoted the silent conflict. 

So she tried again, pressing on desperately. “All that I am is yours, take it”

“So you would choose sacrifice?” 

It wasn't so much a question, as a statement. She went limp below him, energy leaving her body as if swept away by the stormy wind that threatened to capsize the vessel they were trapped on. 

“We've done this before, haven't we?” She laughed again without mirth. Relinquishing into the void of time and space that surrounded them always-the intense desire to save him and keep things as they had always been. 

Because they had not always been this way. Once, they could have been. Once, they had the promise of happily ever after stretched out before them on the horizon of the sea during an unforgettable sunrise. She remembered he had taken her walking upon the waves themselves, offering her up the ocean that cradled his people. 

The memory only brought more tears to her eyes, blurring her vision of him hovering above her like a vengeful siren of the deep. 

And then she whispered weakly, giving into the demands of the deep. “It's what I deserve” 

“Take my heart, it's always been yours” She choked on the words, chest heaving. “Carve it out of me and live” 

He let go of one of her wrists, only to wrap his white gloved fingers around her throat, pressing tightly enough to cut off airflow. "As you wish"

Black spots started to gather behind her eyes. Shifting shades from purple to blue, they danced in a beautiful display as her body jerked in an instinctual effort to survive. Her freed hand clawed at the decking, nails leaving ragged marks into the wood as she scrambled for purchase. Garbled noises tumbled from her trembling parted lips, teeth clacking as she struggled for air. Yet still, he looked at her the same. Grip tightened around her neck as she felt herself nearing her end. 

This is the way it should have always ended. They were fools to try and escape their fate. Her beloved was right. Not all fairy tales end with a happy ending. Most were tragedies that would live on in song for a brief period, only for the story to be skewed with romanticism through the ages. 

She felt her eyes drift closed. Body going limp as darkness blanketed her consciousness. Her last thought, a prayer to her god. Be well, be happy, live on, and forget me. 

And so the Sea God had been awoken, at last claiming the heart that had been stolen by the greed of humankind. 

[corpsebasil]

If you’re taking requests !!!

This may not be much to go off of but maybe reader x Ethan Landry are coworkers and they both have the biggest crush on one another. He’s an awkward mess, but she finds it so cute. It can fluff or smutty, or both 😌😌

yes

“Pass me the stapler, E?” You asked, bent halfway over the receptionist’s desk at the Blackmore Puppy Resort, carefully tapping a stack of papers together.

You’d been sorting for over half an hour, making sure every dog’s paperwork was kept neat and organized for the filing cabinet. Your coworker, a brunet named Ethan Landry, was sitting on the ground near your feet, attempting to fix a broken collar. His tongue was pressed to his cheek, eyebrows furrowed as he fiddled with the metal and leather contraption. Finally he grumbled, moving to his knees to stretch to the opposite cabinet, snatching the stapler up off the top.

“This is fucking hopeless.” He grumbled, passing you the stapler and dumping the collar in the trash. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

“It’s not that bad,” you told him, stapling together the papers, but when your eyes darted down to the bin and saw the mangled collar, you barely suppressed a snort. “okay, yeah. You annihilated that collar.”

“Ugh.” He groaned, leaning his back against the desk, splaying his legs out in front of him on the floor. “Okay, what if I drove to PetSmart really fast and got a new one? Think she’d notice?”

“Before the owner comes to pick up her dog in—” you glanced at the clock. “—twenty minutes? Yeah.” He groaned again and you cracked a smile. “Told you not to take the collar off.”

“It was bath time.”

“You’re supposed wash them with the collars on.”

Ethan made a noise of complaint and leaned his head against the side of your knee as you worked, continuing to staple papers. You let a small smile form on your mouth. You and Ethan had been working together for months now and had become fast friends; you ate lunch together during your breaks, raced each other to answer the phone, and fought over who got to walk the small dogs instead of the huge, hulking German Shepard that stayed regularly at the kennel while his military dad was on tour.

And, to be honest, you liked him a bit.

He was cute, that was undeniable. And the two of you had a sort of easy friendship that had began practically the first shift together. He looked up at you, brown eyes fixed on the side of your face as you finished up filing some paperwork.

“Do you remember Jess?” He asked and you paused, glancing down.

“Jess as in…your ex?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, looking towards a spot on the wall. “She texted me yesterday. Wants to go to Shake Shack later and catch up.” His curly head tilted as he adjusted himself, sitting up straighter. “Should I go?”

“Do you want to go?”

“Do you want me to want to go?”

“Do you want me to want you to want to go—?”

“Y/N.” He laughed, tugging at your shoelace as he grinned, a stupidly cute smile that pulled at your heart. “Im asking for your advice right now. Help me out.”

You pretended to ponder for a while, even if the thought of Ethan going anywhere with Jess made you feel slightly violent. You shrugged, sliding him a casual glance as you opened the desk drawer and shoved the papers inside.

“I don’t know.” You said, tightening your ponytail before you moved to the computer, pulling up your schedule. “Maybe you should reconsider doing anything with your ex-girlfriend.”

“It’s not like I have other options.” Ethan said, watching as you tapped on the keyboard slightly aggressively. “Right?”

“You could always use Tinder. A much more advanced, entertaining route than the obvious heartache you’re gonna get from getting Shake Shack with her.”

“Come on, haven’t you ever gone back to an ex?”

“No, because I’m not a dumbass. And I’m going on my lunch break in like, ten minutes, so that’s all the advice you’re getting.”

Ethan stayed silent for a moment and you turned, glancing down at where he seemed deep in concentration on the ground. Then he stood, sighing loudly, and stretched. The boy had no business being as tall as he was, practically towering over you when he was by your side.

“What if we went to Shake Shack instead?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the desk as he peered down at you. You raised an eyebrow and he raised one right back. “What? I don’t want to be thought of as a dumbass.” Your amused smile was enough for him to crack one of his own, his hip bumping yours as he walked by. “What do I text Jess?”

“How about nothing?” You offered, following him as he moved towards the back where the two of you kept your bags. “Block her.”

“I was thinking, ‘I’ve found a better lunch date’, but that works too.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your bag and slinging it over your arm.

“You’re so annoying. But fine. We can get burgers if you want.”

“That’s my girl.” He said, grinning as he flicked your ear, his finger hooking through your belt loop as tugged you along with him out of the back.

—

After lunch and then your afternoon shift with Ethan, the two of you wound up at his dorm, splayed out on his bed as you watched American Psycho. Ethan was laying on his stomach next to you, chin on his arm as he watched the film, both of your eyes glued to the screen.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He suddenly asked, and you glanced over in surprise.

“Hmm?”

“Do you—I mean, are you dating anyone?” He looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. Never-mind.”

“Why?” You asked, propping yourself on your elbow and turning your head to face him. He was close, barely half a foot away, his cheeks flushed a slight shade of pink. “You wanna ask me out on a date?”

“No.” He grinned slyly, his mask of awkwardness slipping a fraction into one of recognition at the line. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“You’re so cheesy.” You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder, the scent of his cologne invading your nose as he watched you with amused, soft brown eyes. “Quoting Stab like I haven’t seen the movie a thousand—”

Ethan moved quickly, surprising you, one hand sliding from your jaw to your neck, the other hand pressing the mattress for support as he kissed you hard, an involuntary noise leaving you at the rapid movement. He pulled away, forehead brushing yours as he spoke, the taste of his spearmint gum lingering on your mouth.

“Go on a date with me, Y/N.” He murmured, kissing you again, and you slipped a hand into his hair, tugging him further onto you as you whispered your assent.

—

HELLOO