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denwritesandcries · 9 months ago

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The Wilderness Wants Us To (Kiss) – YJS

Pairing: poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader

Summary: You have experienced all kinds of weirdness ever since the plane crashed months ago, so why the weirdest thing so far is it seems like all the girls are suddenly courting you?

Or, a series of kisses between you and your dear football team.

Word count: 4,6k.

Content: cursing, kisses, fluff, suggestive, angst if you blink, slightly dark, intoxication, the doomcoming, the wilderness but nobody has been eaten (yet).

Note: They’re all weirdos in a romantic, toxic and codependent way.

English is not my first language.

Your life has stagnated into a familiar routine since the plane crash. To clean. Hunt. Eat. Exist. Survive. Doing the same chores in the cabin, the usual hunting trip, seeing the same faces every day, not dying of hunger. Not dying of boredom.

Nothing really seems to change other than the cultish trends that your friends seem to be slowly embracing, so if something different happens, you notice it immediately.

Once is an incidence.

Two, it could be a coincidence, but there are no coincidences in the wilderness.

Three is a pattern. That exists in the wilderness.

And the fourth is proof that there is definitely something weird going on – if you even have a sense of what is normal or not –, something that you have no idea what it is, but you know it’s there.

There's something wrong with your teammates. I mean, there's something wrong with all of you, but that's different even for them.

The thing is that you, thinking that maybe it was just in your head, only realized that you weren't imagining anything after the fifth time it happened and now that you know you can't stop thinking about it. Events keep coming back to you from times when this has happened before and you never connected the pieces.

You didn't notice at first, of course you didn't. Physical affection was becoming more common and normal between all of you every day and also because it was Jackie, the captain of your team, and physical affection on Jackie's part was already completely normal even before the plane crashed. She liked to pat you on the shoulder and hug you goodbye after classes and parties – as if she hadn't spent the day barking orders at everyone during practice, but it's Jackie and you really like her a lot, so it's okay –, you could always see her clinging to Shauna's arm, if not hers, then whoever was closest to replace her for a few minutes. Jackie likes to touch and you know it.

Receiving affection from her is like second nature, so you don't even blink when, on yet another boring and lazy afternoon, you give Jackie her old walkman, now repaired and working, and get a kiss as a thank you.

It was a silly treat to make her smile, just because she seemed so sad lately that it made you sad too. She squeals loudly and excitedly, before wrapping her arms around your neck and placing a kiss on your cheek.

She immediately runs off somewhere saying she was going to test it and show it to Shauna, completely abandoning the task of pretending to chop wood so you can complete it.

You only process what just happened when you hear a giggling coming from nearby, because of course Jackie would kiss you in front of your younger colleagues. One of them points at your cheek provocatively and you lift a hand to your face to feel the texture of pink and shiny lipstick marking your skin. Of course, silly you not to assume that Jackie Taylor wouldn't stop wearing makeup just because of some plane crash.

Whatever, you thought, not bothering to clean the mark. Jackie is sweet. She does things like that all the time, obviously you wouldn't think there's anything weird about it. It wasn't even the first time she kissed you. Kisses on the cheek were a thing long before you left civilization.

You only wipe the stain from your face, in a short and hasty gesture, when you return to the cabin and Mari makes one of her smart comments about it, because there really was no big deal, but the provocation still makes you a little nervous.

(Jackie wears lipstick a lot more often after that, even though she's quickly running out of the only one she has left, but you don't say anything. It would be really weird to imply that you noticed her lips that much. Which you didn't do, no way.)

The second time it happens shouldn't have left you as perplexed as it did, after all everyone knew that Shauna Shipman was never far behind Jackie in the things she did, but it didn't pass through your head that she would kiss you. It was Shauna. Even though she was never rude, you weren't really close and it was embarrassing to admit that you found her a little intimidating. She had a tendency to stare in silence for a long time, which made you avoid conversations whenever you could.

Well, it wasn't a kiss-kiss since it wasn't actually on the mouth, but seeing as you weren't expecting it at all, it could have been. You're learning that reading Shauna is much more complicated than it seems, making it difficult to know if what awaits you is a punch, a bite, or – the most recent discovery – a kiss.

It happened because of the thing that seemed to drive your little society: meat. Because the food was almost running out and no matter what you and Natalie brought, it seemed like there would never be enough. And Shauna was hungry. Painfully hungry.

She always seemed to get hungry more quickly than the others, craving meat with an almost drunken need and you didn't quite understand why, even though you had noticed this detail some time ago. So when you and Nat are seen arriving back at the cabin carrying a deer, a big deer, Shauna practically runs up to the two of you, basically ripping the antler out of the blonde's hands and making you stumble to follow her back to the meat house.

You offer to help her just out of politeness and how rushed she seems, without expecting a positive response since it was common knowledge that Shauna preferred to work alone.

However, she nods her head enthusiastically as she hands you a knife and you swear you've never seen someone look so happy to slit an animal's throat alongside someone else.

When the task is done, you end up at the door with a full tray ready to be prepared for dinner back and Shauna is right behind you, with that same enthusiasm and silent yearning. It's a little unnerving, but at least she's not staring at the back of your head like she's trying to burn you like she usually does. You guessed any progress was welcome.

You just didn't expect it to progress to Shauna pulling you by the elbow to face her and tilting your face towards hers. You're so startled by the sudden touch that you only feel your face heat up as hot, wet lips meet the corner of your mouth when Shauna pulls away, taking the tray from your hands as if it weighed nothing and continuing on her way, muttering a quiet and embarrassed “thank you” over her shoulder.

You stood there like an idiot, feeling your bottom lip and part of your cheek tingle where she touched you just a moment before.

So Shauna kissed you. Okay. Nice. Maybe she was just very grateful and very hungry. Twice, coincidence. Nothing more than that.

Right?

(Shauna looks away from you when she's caught staring at that night, which never had happened, but you attribute her red face to the fact that you're sitting by the fire.)

The third time is the one that makes you go “okay, maybe that's a thing now,” because apparently the kisses have nothing to do with Jackie-Shauna or simply gratitude – at least not entirely – and much more to do with the fact that it's you.

Which actually doesn't make much sense. Van and Taissa are together, why would either of them feel the need to kiss someone else? Why would they both feel? And why you? It's true they haven't told anyone yet, but you know. It's a little hard not to notice when they both disappear at the same time into the forest or behind the cabin so often, but still. You don't kiss other people when you're committed. It's a principle, damn it.

Anyway, it's starting to get cold, you think there's just over two months left until winter arrives, maybe less, which makes tasks much more complicated and annoying to do. Especially when it comes to washing clothes.

Luck – Mari's damn shuffle – decided that you, Tai and Van would be the ones to do the laundry this time and the three of you dragged yourselfs grumbling and complaining to the lake, carrying piles of clothes in your arms.

Now, of all the things you have to do around the cabin, scrubbing clothes in cold running water is probably the one you hate the most. Cold, wrinkled hands, chills running down your spine, ew. The fact that Van and Tai went with you makes things at least a little less boring, with the redhead happily filling the silence, her silly jokes making the task almost bearable to accomplish. Almost.

“Ugh,” You groan for what feels like the thousandth time in the last hour, “We’re gonna end up catching a cold like this.”

“You definitely will, if you keep annoying me like this,” Tai replies, swinging her arm towards you, cold water splashing in your arms, “I'm gonna push your dramatic ass into the river, I'm warning you.”

The drops make another chill run through your body, so just for the audacity, you straighten up and let your body fall against hers with the most done expression you can muster in a few seconds.

Tai screams your name indignantly when a wet t-shirt slips out of her hands and falls straight to the ground, but you don't pay much attention when lets out a loud and exaggeratedly long sigh, hearing Van’s laugh as she watches the scene.

And Van, wonderful, too sweet for her own good, Van, decides to finally take pity on your little show – maybe you really were spending too much time with Jackie – and finish what you had left of your part of the pile and you would definitely have jumped in her arms and kissed her for it, if you weren't, you know, in front of her girlfriend.

It turns out that blinking your eyes and sighing doesn't work as well for you as it does for Jackie, because as soon as you get ready to go back, bending down to pick up the heavy basket full of clothes, a familiar hand pushes your chest.

“Shit, Taissa!”

“I said I would do it, didn’t I?” She stands in front of you, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised as she watches your form lying, shaking and soaking wet at the river's edge.

Van's laugh doesn't bring you that rush of happiness from moments before, since now you're sure that she only decided to help you because she knew what Tai was going to do anyway. That little shit.

You walk past them with the basket in your hands, a trail of water in your wake and a frown on your face.

The way back is completely silent, except for the sound of your fast breathing in your rush to get there and warm up and the girls' requests for you not to get upset over a silly joke. Whatever. You won't say a word to them no matter what they do.

“Oh, come on,” Van wraps an arm around your neck, “We didn’t want to make you so upset, right Tai?”

Tai moves closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, but you remain quiet regardless, even if your willpower to remain upset wanes a little.

“Right” she agrees, sounding very unconvincing, “What can we do to make it up to you?”

“We are so sorry,” Van reiterates, blinking innocently.

Your only response is a noise from your throat that sounds a lot like a petulant mumble and you feel the look they exchange over your shoulder.

And then Van's arm brings you closer and there are lips on either side of your neck. You freeze, breath hitches.

It's not fast like the other ones, but long and drawn out as if it's trying to prove you. A shiver runs down your spine and the baby hairs on the back of your neck stand up, even though you swear it's just because your skin is still damp from the fall. You can feel Van's hair tickling your face and Tai's breath is warm against your chin.

You blink and Van is walking away with a wolfish smile on her lips, whistling absentmindedly and Taissa has the basket you were carrying in her own arms.

“Aren’t you coming?” Van turns when she notices you still standing and Tai arches an eyebrow, as if to say 'so?' and you stumble after them.

“...Sure, whatever!” You stutter, face as red as your goalie’s hair, “But if I get sick, that’s on you!”

“You won’t!”

You return to the cabin with your head down, but for a completely different reason this time. You feel weird, embarrassed, even with your friends walking calmly beside you. It feels weird to just call them friends too.

(Three times – or was it four? It's a pattern. Definitely a pattern.)

You do, in fact, get sick and the fifth time feels more like a fever dream than anything.

Seriously. You survive a plane crash without any serious injuries, but a flu is what knocks you out. You end up in the attic, with a heavy chest, incessant sneezing and a high fever that won't let you sleep.

And of course, Misty Quigley hovering over you like a hawk.

In fact, all your friends seem to be hovering over you in an overprotective way these days, which might not be strange considering the situation, but other people in the group have gotten sick before, including the younger ones, and none of them have reacted like this.

Van and Tai spent the entire time staring like kicked puppies from across the room until Misty kicked them both downstairs so you could try to get some sleep. It wasn't doing much good, but the momentary tranquility was really appreciated.

Misty has been with you the whole time since your fever started and you let her ramble happily while she plays nurse, putting damp cloths on your forehead and helping you drink hot tea, even though you insist you're well enough to do so. She seems very happy to be helpful, so you let her spoil you as much as she wants.

You turn over on the cold floor, wrapping the blankets tighter around you as you sneeze again and Misty sits next to you, but there's nothing she can do at the moment to make you better, so she stays still, looking nervous and pushing her glasses on the tip of the nose with her fingers.

You think about how she seemed to have looked with longing and something that might have been envy when Jackie ran her hand through your hair in the morning before going outside with Shauna after leaving you another blanket. She looked the same when Lottie rubbed your shoulder gently and spent time by your side throughout the afternoon, leaving what appeared to be a half-cut crystal near where your head rested. It's just like she wanted something, but didn't know what or if she could do it. You don't know exactly what too.

Your ears ring and you think about your teammates, your friends and kisses. Four kisses on three occasions. Things that didn't happen before, but apparently happen now and that follow a strange pattern. You wonder who will be next to follow it.

You do what you do next in the fog of sleep and fever, because you'll never be able to actually sleep if you don't have a proper place to rest your head. It has nothing to do with the possibility opened in your last thought.

Her legs are soft under the blue and yellow shorts she wears when you crawl around and rest your head on them and it's certainly much more comfortable than the floor.

“Talk,” You mumble, clearing your throat at the hoarse voice.

“What?” She squeaks and you can tell it caught her in surprise by the way her eyes roam over your form, unsure of what she just heard and what's going on.

Misty is clearly alarmed, arms raised above her body as if she's afraid to touch you, her glasses falling onto the tip of her nose again as she looks down to face you, blonde curls falling across her face.

“What– What are you doing?” She asks.

“Weren’t you saying something about Plato?” You hold back a yawn as you fix yourself on her lap, ignoring her question completely, “Come on, keep going.”

She seems to ponder for a second, jaw dropped in confusion, but you don't move, so she picks up where you assume she left off. After a few minutes listening with your eyes closed, you feel her soft hand rest hesitantly on your back, running her fingers up and down when you don't protest.

You let out a sigh when you finally manage to relax, her voice calming the ringing in your ears a little and when you squint your eyes, Misty seems perfectly satisfied.

That's it, you think, that's what she wanted then.

Your body still has sporadic chills, but you feel like falling asleep, having lost track of how much time has passed with Misty talking to the walls about whoever the philosopher of the moment is. Your head feels heavy, you can barely keep your eyes open. It's good not to be alone when you're like this.

You're not sure whether or not you imagine the cold lips against your warm forehead when you sleep, but it counts as success for your little test. Five.

(You only wake up the next morning, feeling much better and more energetic, even without remembering a single word you said to Misty, just having fallen asleep on her lap for a while. The way she blushes and laughs after that, staring and following you around whenever she can, says that she remembers it very well. Coach Ben gives you a look full of sympathy when he sees her clinging to your arm, which you don't quite understand.)

The sixth time happens in the middle of the forest. It's windy, sun almost down, with Natalie walking beside you. It's the most peaceful moment you've had in your life in weeks, and it's also the moment you realize that maybe there's something wrong with you as much as the rest of the team.

Nat is talking, complaining about how Travis – the closest thing she'll have to a boyfriend in this place – is mad at her. He won't hunt or talk to her, much less touch her.

That's why you're following her, actually, the hunting part. You don't have much sense of your place in the group compared to the others, doing a little bit of everything when necessary, but Natalie seems to enjoy your company on these occasions, even if your aim with the rifle isn't as good as hers.

You spend so much time listening to her complain about mundane things like condoms and the flask of old booze she found in dead-mummified-guy's stuff that you feel the absurd urge to laugh. It's so strangely normal – except for the mummy part, but still.

Maybe that was what made you open your mouth after minutes of silence and broken snorts:

“So he can't get it up once and now he's mad at you? Damn Nat, if you need someone to make out that badly then I could help you with that.”

It comes out half as a mockery, half as truth, because that's what you do. Help people, fix things. But it's sarcastic, because it's just a stupid idea for Natalie to even consider.

Except she suddenly goes quiet and when you turn your head, she's looking at you. Eyes half-closed, mouth open, wanting.

When she kisses you, you're already waiting, longing for it, arms wrapping around you and pressing your body against the nearest tree. You think about how she was the only one who had the courage to chase your lips, to take what she really wanted.

The only thing you can feel is the weight of Nat's hands – cold, always so cold, even though winter is still a while away – on your hips, one sliding up your back to grasp the hair at the back of your neck, lips parting and tongue finding yours almost desperately and then you can't think about anything else but her. Natalie, who is much stronger than she looks and who also holds her own to stay sane in this place much better than anyone could imagine. Natalie, the bane of your existence and also your best friend. Natalie, who kisses like she hunts: with all the confidence her reputation demands.

If you close your eyes tightly and try hard, you can almost pretend you're at one of Lottie or Jeff's parties, listening to your friend complain about a stupid boyfriend, getting euphoric because she likes you better than the said stupid boyfriend.

And then she's pulling away, mouth swollen and hair completely messed up from where your hands had been placed. The moment ends and you come back to reality, picking up the rifle from where it was lying on the grass and looking around uncertainly. You guys didn't catch anything today. Food is running out.

You return to the cabin in complete silence.

(You don't see Natalie trying to talk to Travis after this, nor him with her, but you don't think she cares.)

You stopped counting after that, kisses and touches becoming a blur in your mind as the days pass and your worry increases. Whatever this is seems less important than what's happening at the moment: little food, few coats, winter approaching, a fucking baby coming.

However, it all comes back to them anyway, when you finally realize that you were right all along, that there really was something wrong with all of you and everything goes south quickly when someone decides to put mushrooms in the food.

It was an unspoken knowledge between you that the Yellowjackets would never be able to have a proper homecoming, so when the idea of a doomcoming came up in the conversation, even as a bad joke, you were one of the first to agree to it. A bittersweet goodbye sounded better than nothing.

You just didn't expect everyone to end up on drugs and acting like they were in some kind of cult. What did you miss that got you all to this point?

There is someone howling in the forest. Someone, not an animal. Or maybe they really were animals, given the way they're all chasing you now.

Just a moment ago you were genuinely enjoying the night, dancing with Ravi to Lottie's humming music and drinking fermented punch for who knows how long, even with a small feeling of being watched sent shivers down your spine at times. Then there was no sign of Ravi or Travis – nor Coach Ben, but he escaped somewhere in the woods with Natalie's canteen in his hand the second Misty's back was turned – and things started to get... confusing after everyone helped themselves to some stew.

Now there's someone howling in the forest and your head is spinning, hurried footsteps sound behind you as you end up back in front of the cabin after running in circles, a rabbit cornered by an entire pack.

Leaves are stuck in your hair, the hem of your dress is torn and covered in dirt, and you're sure you scraped one of your knees while running. There are also a bunch of dilated pupils focused on you.

Shauna is the first to approach, which surprises you so much that it gives the others time to do the same, big, sad, hazy brown eyes seeming to see deep into your soul.

“Why do you keep running away from us?” she asks, a pout that you can't tell if it's fake or not formed on her face, sliding a hand gently up your arm to your waist pulling you close and keeping her grip tight.

Jackie has her head cocked to the side and a smile painted red rather than pale pink like the first. She looks a little more composed than you'd expect, standing next to Shauna and bouncing in her step expectantly.

That was all it took to realize that you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to, melting against the scalding skin as if you had no problem getting burned.

“I'm not. I just… I don’t know what’s going on.”

The words came out slow and slurred on your tongue as if you didn't know exactly what you were referring to. This whole crazy night? Absolutely, but there are also so many other moments not recognized before.

You find yourself guided back to the cabin when you hear Lottie's voice in the background and Misty taking your hand to guide you. It all ends up there anyway.

You're unsure when you're placed in the pile of blankets and sheets on the floor, the lit fireplace warms the room like never before and there seem to be hands everywhere when Natalie enters your field of vision.

“I think you're a little too high right now, hun,” Nat scoffs, as if she's amused by your slowness.

You feel a laugh grow in your chest though you don't mean to, “You– you think so?”

“Yep,” she clicks her tongue, “The mushrooms hit hard.”

“Mushrooms!?” You let out a squeak of surprise when you're suddenly pulled back against someone's front, recognizing Taissa's nails scratching your back through your dress.

“'M sorry." Misty mutters disjointedly, tracing the lines of your palm like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

“What–”

You stop mid-sentence when you make a sound in the back of your throat as you feel Van's teeth graze the junction of your shoulder and neck, bright green eyes and a wolfish smile on her recently healed face. You knew right away who the hell was howling.

“Oh, come on,” Van echoes with the same provocation from the day in the lake, “Don't tell me you're afraid of It.”

“It?” Your breath hitches when a hand guides your head up and there she is.

Lottie Matthews looking down at you, an antler crown on her head that makes you slack-jawed and hazy looking, looking completely divine and you hesitate when you realize that the entire team has gathered around you, as if they were waiting for something. What the fuck is going on?

Lottie leans down to your level, face dangerously close to you, and you swallow hard when your eyes settle on her lips. She never kissed you, not like the others, something that always left a doubt in your head; an almost embarrassing curiosity to know what it would be like.

She meets your eyes with a malicious gleam, like she knows exactly what you're thinking and leans in a little more and just as you close your eyes to meet hers, hunger lips stray to your jaw.

“Lottie–” you squirm and the hands on your hips hold you tighter.

Nat silences you, running her fingers through your face provocatively while Lottie trails kisses down your neck, working her way down. Everything seems too stuffy, like you're melting at their touch.

“It's okay.” She reassures, cold, chapped lips finding your chest, teeth scraping the skin, “It wants us to, can't you feel It?”

You can't feel it, not really, you never understood this strange connection everyone seemed to feel with the wilderness that you didn't, but there are gentle hands caressing you, making you sink deeper and deeper and Lottie is finally kissing you, just like you wanted; lips stopping right over your heart, as if she wanted to devour it.

“Yeah." You say, “I feel it.”

You're sure the cabin is on fire, but you're the only one who's burning.

#yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #van palmer x reader #taissa turner x reader #misty quigley x reader #shauna shipman x reader #jackie taylor x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets show #denwrites

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fairyysoup · 7 months ago

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it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know.

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors.

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first.

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business.

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in.

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings.

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.”

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist.

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.”

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out.

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?”

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him.

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed.

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will.

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face.

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face.

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead.

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself.

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well.

“Ooh– stockings?”

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–”

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?”

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red.

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!”

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye.

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water.

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.”

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers.

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin.

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him.

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring.

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure.

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.”

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?”

“In the woods,” he says simply.

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?”

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading.

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?”

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly.

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time.

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods.

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted.

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass.

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another.

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces.

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.”

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder.

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.”

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest.

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees.

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.”

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair.

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?”

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.”

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.”

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?”

“Not a hair of it.”

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.”

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!”

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning.

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet.

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing.

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you.

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible.

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven.

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem.

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening.

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you.

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip.

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe.

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core.

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck.

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand.

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in.

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some.

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you.

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.”

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?”

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

#i'm inordinately proud of this one uhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #roses*

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

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that one slower scene in every superhero movie when the good guys take a beating from the villain and need to regroup, so one of the members of the team is like 'i know a place'.

so, nik gets some coordinates from soap and flies them to a countryside in scotland where mrs mactavish greets them on the front porch of a lovely house and immediately threats them with an ass whooping if they don't take their muddy combat boots off before going inside.

momma mactavish seems completely unafazed by a helicopter in her backyard, doesn't ask any questions, treats them all like a family. she's tiny and a little scary, makes them eat their vegetables and treats them to a delicious dessert. she can't stop kissing johnny's head and roast him for his mohawk.

ghost notices how relaxed and happy johnny is and how domesticity suits him. he would like to see it more often. for the first time in his life he is reluctant to come back to work.

immediately pictured the avengers at hawkeye’s house

Usually when someone on their team says I know a place when they find themselves in a bout of trouble, they don’t usually mean their childhood home.

Usually, I know a place means a warehouse, a run-down safe house, or, God forbid, some cave. And yet instead, here they all exist idly in Soap’s mum’s house while she coddles them in between scolding her son like it’s just another normal day for her. Like they aren’t all hardened soldiers standing in her home, each with innumerable kill counts and severely blacked-out personnel files.

It’s… weird, being crowded into a dining room and served a home-cooked meal despite coming unannounced and uninvited. That isn’t to say they’re not all thankful, having surely used up the last of Mrs. MacTavish’s gauze and bandages to get to this point, but it’s just—not at all what any of the team had been expecting.

Soap’s about the only one who seems unperturbed. Price is still rubbing his wrist from when Mrs. MacTavish smacked him for his insistence on helping with supper.

You’re guests, she had said, sounding positively aghast. What kind of host do you take me for?

Ghost can certainly see where Soap had gotten his fiery nature, as he bickers back and forth with his mother while the rest of them eat quietly, tentatively, like they’re not sure they’re allowed to. They may not share much in looks, but it’s no doubt that Soap is his mother’s son.

By the time dessert rolls around—which is yet another surprise—Mrs. MacTavish has finally been directing conversation to the soldiers sat around her table, asking about work and life as if they aren’t all bruised and scarred and about half-dead from an awful fight. Yet they all find themselves discussing what’s asked of them like it’s no more than the weather.

Something about Mrs. MacTavish’s spirit instills a sense of familiarity, homeliness. Ghost understands why Soap thought to bring them all there.

Ultimately it’s Gaz who charms Soap’s mum away to the living room along with Price and Nik that lets Ghost, at the very least, get away with helping with dishes once everything is said and done. Unfortunately for Soap, he’s never offered the choice.

“Good thing you have goin’ on here, Johnny,” Ghost eventually remarks, once they’re finally in the swing of wash, dry, wash, dry. “Not afraid of anything getting traced back here? To her?”

Soap shakes his head as he scrubs at a particularly tough stain. “Nah. It’s no’ on any of my records. Hell, it’s barely on any records. We’re off grid, LT, no need to worry your pretty head.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He wipes off the plate that’s handed to him before setting it on the drying rack, and tossing his towel over his shoulder. It’s not until Soap’s trying to hand him something else does he take notice of Ghost’s pause.

Slowly, Soap sets the dish back in the water, frowning up at Ghost. “What?”

“…Nothin’,” Ghost says after much too long. He huffs. “Just… nice seeing what home looks like on you.”

Ghost doesn’t allow himself to linger watching Soap’s expression change from confusion to a near softness, instead making a reach for the discarded dish in the murky, soapy water to kick their routine back in gear.

He doesn’t want to think about it too closely. Doesn’t want to think about the things he’s realizing about himself this evening, or the fleeting thought that maybe he’d like to stay here forever, instead of return to the field where death waits openly at every turn.

It’s still appreciated, though, this moment of tranquility. He’ll have to make sure to thank Mrs. MacTavish when he gets the chance.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #task force 141 #ghostsoap #soapghost #writing

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georgiapeach30513 · 6 months ago

Text

Trying To Save Me, Part 1

Summary: Fate. A word you were forbidden to ever speak. It wasn’t real and it didn’t exist. A word that was always whispered around you, but never to you. You didn’t know why you were fated for something. Just that the day you were born the great winter came and you’ve been on the run with your family since, but now they were gone. Traveling to what you thought was further and further away from the dark king’s palace. Instead, you had begun to get closer. Following a white wolf instead of your learned route. No wonder you wound up captive and given to the king as a gift. As was fated…

Pairings: dark king!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: language, violence, death, curse, attempted SA, kidnapping, humiliation, objectification, non/con fingering, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.8K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

A woman’s shriek echos up into the mountains while a young boy looks up at the sky. His freakishly green eyes look all along the night sky. His hand taps on the arm of the other man beside him as he points up at the sky. “You need to tell Malik,” he answers, keeping his eyes in the sky.

A twig in the distance breaks, and both men look towards the tent as a long drawn out scream comes from inside, “Go, now,” he answers annoyedly as he watches the first snowflake drift from the sky. “Our fates are sealed, I fear.”

The younger boy runs inside, eyes going large and round as a woman reaches down, and cradles a just born baby to her chest. Tears and sweat pour down her face as she clings to the child, rocking back and forth.

“Sire.”

“Silence,” a gigantic man says, stepping closer to the woman, “My queen. Let me see the baby,” she cries harder, shaking her head. “Let me see the child!”

“She’s just a baby,” she cries, looking up at him. “She doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know. She’s just a baby!”

“Sire,” the guard says again, and the large man turns abruptly, eyes aflame as he approaches slowly. “My king, the snow is falling,” the queen in the background wails. Her hands slap at everyone who tries to take the baby from her arms. “He will come for her.”

“Clean them up. Cicely, stop your screaming. Everything you know, will be no more. If you want to keep the child. If not, we can end it now. It is fated…”

“Malik, she’s a baby! My baby! No, it doesn’t exist. Take the crown on top of my head. I don’t need this life,” with a sigh, Malik slings his head to the side and everyone in the tent scrambles. “What are you doing?”

“This will be a winter like you’ve never seen before. They’re loading the necessary items,” picking his crown off his head, he throws it to the ground. “She’ll never know. Yours, too,” the queen kisses her daughter’s head before letting her own crown fall to the ground. Life would forever be different.

You reach your hand into the snow, digging around a moment before you pull up a small root. Wiping it clean before gnawing your teeth into the fibrous twig. Glancing out through the thin trees. You haven’t known anything but winter. And typically you were alone. Had been for a few years, until him. The white wolf. He always lingers around when you scavenge for what little food you could find.

“It’s not meat, you beast,” the wolf’s eyes never leave you as it sits down into the snow. “I can see that you’re looking at me like you want to devour me, but you also know I’m too skinny for eating, huh?” Chuckling, you tear another piece off the root. “Did you eat a rabbit out of my trap? I’d like to get some real food in my belly. I have to start traveling again.”

The perks of living in a village was you weren’t completely alone. There is a comfort of having a wall, and humans, even if you didn’t talk to them. “I can’t go back into the walls without something. They do community soup. You have ruined my supper a few times. This shit is horrid,” you groan. A part of you wants to throw it at the beast that wouldn’t leave you be, but you need the sustenance.

“If someone saw you, they’d kill you. Your pelt and meat would be useful,” the wolf yawns, laying himself down fully in the snow. “You’re not even scared of me, huh? I wish you could talk, so you could tell me where we were. I miss my family. Ugh,” you groan, standing up and the wolf remains laying there. “Should you ever attack me, I will kill you.”

The wolf looks you completely in the eyes, his silvery blue ones a stark contrast to your overly green ones. Looking upon each other for too long before you throw the small remnants of the root towards him. “Do not pursue me, white wolf.”

Turning your back on a wolf could be stupid, but at this point you welcomed anything that would break up the monotony. Anything that would give you excitement outside of this routine life. You’d stop at the few traps you’d laid for the small game, and hopefully carry something back. The hunger in your belly grows stronger everyday, and if you want to leave this forsaken village, you need food. Real food.

‘Don’t stay in one place too long. Don’t give people your real name. Don’t look them in the eye. Don’t speak too much,’ all your parents taught you was running away and fear. You aren’t even sure why you had to constantly move, and constantly hide your identity to the point you aren’t even sure who you are. It was all made up lies after all.

Who were you? That is a funny question because you aren’t sure. There have been glimpses of who others thought you were. There have even been whispers that you try to ignore unsuccessfully. Mentioning a word that you were forbidden to say out loud. Who were you that made people fear you, and your family fear for you?

Leaning over a trap, you thankfully pull up a rabbit. That stupid wolf didn’t eat everything. Minding your business outside of the walls of the village is your safe space. People inside the walls, particularly the ones your age are cruel. Their curious but angry eyes always on you. Watching. Planning some form of your demise.

“If it isn’t the little sapling caught all alone again,” standing up straight, you look behind you at one of the village boys, but choose to just walk to the next trap. Don’t engage. Don’t give them a reason to hate. “What’s the matter, princess? You scared of a little fun?”

You didn’t want the fun he was willing to dish out. You wanted to eat, and leave this place. Talk to as few people as possible. They were the ones dragging you into their drama, “Yeah,” you stop your movement. Turning in the other direction when two boys start stalking you. “We just want to play a little bit.”

“Maybe fill your belly, so you have to stay. That’s what you’re getting ready to do, huh?” Three boys. You’re fucked. Instead of collecting from your traps, you walk towards the wall. You try to find something. A large stick, anything to use as a weapon. Of course there would be too many.

“She thinks she’s too good for us,” four. Where the hell were they coming from? Head down. Walk faster.

Another steps from behind a tree directly in front of you, and you nearly forget to breathe, “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m tired of the girls here. I like fresh meat. I’ve heard your untouched,” fuck. Your bright green eyes look around at all five of them gathering around you. What amazing men they are.

Grabbing onto the knife at your hip, one of these jackasses grabs your arm, “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” another hand, another weapon.

“Girly, we just want to have some fun.”

“Fun for who?” Your voice isn’t as strong as you hoped. It is borderline screeching.

“Keep screaming. We like it,” god, they are just a pleasant bunch. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. First is pain, and then a blinding light as you drop to the ground. “Go on, give us a scream.”

“Are you too stupid to say anything?” You clench your eyes closed as you try to ignore the pain in the back of your head. Snow squishes up into your ear, and you drift off to anywhere but here. Hands grabbing the furs on your body, and you hate you’re always alone. There is never anyone to protect you, so you have to take everything.

“She sure is pretty face down like this,” one of their hands hooks under your pants. “We won’t tell anyone if you won’t. What the fuck? Ahh,” snarls. “Help me!” Your assailant screams while all his friends run away. Pulling the furs close to your body, you scurry around, sitting on your ass, and start to scoot away.

Those silvery blue eyes stare deep into your soul as his teeth dig into the boy’s shoulder deeper. “Get your knife! Do something!”

“You were about to rape me. All of you,” you would have to be a fool to not know what those boys were attempting to do to you. And this one had the gall to demand that you do something to save him. Who was going to save you from them?

“We were teasing, you little bitch!” The white wolf’s muzzle raises as he watches you. Too still for an animal in the forest. “Stab it!” His screams are hideous, but you don’t feel sorry for him. That disgusting excuse for a man would had laughed at every scream you made.

You give a single nod to the wolf, and he bites down so hard on his shoulder, you hear the sickening crack of his bones. His voice shoots into the twilight as the wolf drags him away. It felt like he was waiting on you to tell him it is okay to kill him. At least the beast would have some meat tonight as would you. You could finally get a full belly, and could leave this terrible place. As soon as the first ray of sun came through your tent, you’d be gone.

Grabbing up your rabbits, you try not to vomit at the horrid screams, and crunching bones that are not far enough away. Your stomach rolls, realizing the wolf was trying to keep the young man alive as long as possible. Wanting him to feel every bit of the pain he was ready to inflict on you. “Thank you, and you’re welcome for dinner, white wolf.”

No. You squint as you look up into the sky, and then back at the beast. That isn’t the right way. “You’re going to get me killed,” the wolf continues to look at you, turning his back he walks a few steps before looking back at you. “I’m not following you.”

He takes a slow calculated step towards you, snarling as he takes another. “Fine! But you follow me,” another step. “Don’t lead me closer to the center of the realm,” you don’t even know why that is a thing. Why did you have to stay on the outskirts? A wildling, living in an eternal winter. You are no longer a child, and surely people still didn’t believe the prophecy.

“Do you know what spring looks like?” You’re talking to a wolf. Walking where you shouldn’t be, and you have lost your mind. Wandering around because you no longer even understood why you had to do this. Humans weren’t meant to live alone, you couldn’t see the purpose of needing to lay low. It’s silly to assume that you couldn’t live the life that some did in the villages. Getting married, having a family, being as normal as winter would allow.

You didn’t want to bring a child into this world. A world where food is just as scarce as the warmth. And the king’s cruel reputation for using women as currency. Sounded like a grand world. What if you had a daughter, and she was one that was kidnapped by the king. Sold into whatever life he made them live.

Maybe those were enough reasons for you to not go close to the kingdom. “Do you think the king’s guards ever go outside the kingdom walls?” Your furry friend puffs as he continues his trek. “I suppose they’d have to. I wonder how the kingdom works. Why wouldn’t people just refuse to have children? And what is he doing with these women? Eating them? Does the blood of virgins keep him alive forever? Is the king really not that cruel, but the stories are because he hoards food? Maybe even something nice to eat. Not just to sustain oneself. Ahh!”

You flinch, having to step back as he starts to walk towards you again, “Okay, I won’t talk about the king. Truce. I am just talking, and didn’t realize you understood me,” nodding his head, he turns back around. Weird creature. Even though the wolf couldn’t respond, you feel the need to talk. Like you have an audience for the first time.

Why the hell did this wolf understand you? How did it possibly know what you are talking about? And did he like or not like the king? Maybe they were sworn enemies and talking about the king pissed him off. Or maybe they were in fact friends. “How was your dinner last night? I’m sure the meat was rotten, but I suppose it was better than a squirrel. Thank you by the way. Don’t think you and I have to be friends, but I think they would have left me for dead.”

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that’s what they were going to do. Fucking men. They were all little boys who wanted to destroy things deep inside of them. “Monsters. The word men shouldn’t even be used. They’re monsters. Like you, white wolf, I know you are a beast and can kill me, and eat me it seems, and I still follow you. Do you have any idea where we are going?”

You are glad that no one is around to hear you gab on with a damn wolf. One that would surely have you for lunch. “That’s probably what you’re doing, huh? Leading me to your den where you can all feast on me.”

The giant dog stops abruptly. Throwing his head up to the sky he bellows out a howl, and you cover your ears as his noise vibrates through your body. This didn’t sound like a normal wolf. Or maybe you’ve never been so close to one. Screaming out in pain as you move away from him. “You fucking asshole!”

You need to get away. The beast seriously did bring you to your demise. Sending out a distress call to his fellow demons to come chow down on your body. “Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, trying to run far away from the creature that is going to see that you’re ripped apart limb by limb.

“Where did she go?” Fuck! More men. Monsters. All of them. The only ones worth anything were the ones laying cold and dead in the snow. “Go in all directions. It’s time,” you’re going to die, actually die this time. Die out here in this frozen wasteland because if you run, they’ll chase.

“This will be easier than I thought,” an evil leer as the man spots your footprints. Damn this winter! There should be a downpour of snow right now. Instead you’re a sitting duck with a trial of prints right to you. Taking off your pack, you pull out your daddy’s necklace, and kiss it. If they wanted you, they’d have to catch you.

One slow, solid breath, and you launch out of your hiding spot, and spring towards anywhere. “Got her,” shit! Everywhere you run there are men. But not just any men. The ones you had tried to avoid for a lifetime.

“By order of the king, I command you to stop!” They could cut your head off. If you were going to die, you’d die trying. And you weren’t going to stop. What choice did you have but to do everything in your power to not be taken captive.

“Oomph,” you start choking as a large man wraps his arms around you tightly. “She’s a fighter. The king will love that. Someone that can deal with his overgrown bratty self.”

“Get your hands off me!”

“Cuff her,” the blond man says, nodding his head towards another. “Hold still!”

“I don’t want to be your toy!” You hate men. They’re disgusting. The most vile of humans.

“You won’t. Not ours anyways,” he chuckles as the chains are put around your wrists, and even your neck. “Careful now,” he says obnoxiously as metal is extended towards your face. “It shouldn’t hurt but just a little. With this on, no one but the king will touch you.”

You didn’t want anyone touching you. Not this guard. Not the king. Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth as the mask is pressed against your face. A quick sting from the metal that is too cold to be on your skin. But then something pricks the back of your neck, and your scream lights up the forest, and then darkness. Nothing but eternal despair.

You were warned. And you failed. The one place you were to avoid, you ran right to it. Stupid girl.

Living in a world of ice and all alone, you get used to things not going your way. You’re a bit too vulnerable in a society that looks down at you because you’re a woman. A marked one at that. But a woman whose only one purpose you possess is for men’s pleasure and carrying babies. Other than the last remaining people of your tribe, you never met a man that was worth anything. And now you were in the belly of the beast.

The worst man of all. Some people claim that his influence sludged out to the realm, and it’s what turned all men sour. The fairy tale that once upon a time men were chivalrous, and they changed along with the weather.

Once your mind came to it didn’t take long to figure out exactly where you were, and in whose dungeon you are in. His. The man you were told to stay as far away from. He was the bogeyman in the stories you were told growing up. Foul, hideous, loathsome, and the worst kind of human, and now you’re trapped with a damn metal mask on your face.

Feeling completely alone except for the stupid mutt laying beside you with his head on your lap, “You are filth. Don’t try and butter me up because you got me caught,” his head pops up, his crystal blue eyes staring deep into yours, and you turn away. “I’m going to die here.”

It’s something you have never doubted. Getting caught equals death. Being here, alone, with a damn wolf, with a mask cannot be a good thing. The king will most likely stall, making sure you have no fight left before he pulls you apart one inch of your skin by one inch. Your mind races with ways the dark king can destroy you.

It’s cold. Colder in here than even outside. At least outside there is a dryness to it. In here the walls drip with what you hope is water and not something more sinister. What could you possibly have looked forward to in this life? An eternal winter? Constantly fighting for men not to touch you? Becoming a wife that had no desire to birth children in this world? Maybe this is better off.

“Where are you going?” You whisper as the four legged menace runs away. “Coward,” even he knows it’s desolate here.

Clanging sounds from behind the door, and you roll your eyes up to meet the blonde guard that captured you in the woods. “About time you woke up. Come on,” his mouth sets into a leering smile as he pulls you up from the floor. Using the key at his side to undo your chains. “He’s been waiting on you.”

“Dare I ask who?”

“You know exactly who. Your fate,” swallowing bile, he pulls you into his body. No amount of making yourself heavier works as he practically drags you out of the dungeon. That word is a curse. You’re more scared now than you were getting caught. “I saw your necklace, girlie,” his laugh grates on your nerves as painful as the arm that is wrapped around your waist.

“We’ve been waiting on you.”

“To torture me,” he chuckles right into the shell of your ear, and you want to retch. “What is this on my face?” His talking stops abruptly. Continuing to tug, and pull on your body, “You’re hurting me.”

“Get used to it,” torture it is. Did you think anything less? The most vile of humans that you were supposed to stay away from, and he captured you. Of course you were going to be tortured. Now you have to suffer the consequences. He shoves you into a room so hard that you fall down to your knees, and you yelp. Turning around to look at him. “Face forward and have fun.”

You hear another man clear his throat, and you try to disappear. Looking down at the floor with your eyes closed as you listen to his light footsteps. Walking around you before his meaty hands go under your arms, hauling you up to stand. Your breathing is nonexistent, but his breath is heavy. Fragrant of a scent you can’t place. And he inhales deeply.

Leaning into your ear, “You smell like a fucking dog,” he should talk. You weren’t the only one that reeked of something, and he is a king. You’ve been in a dungeon. “I’ll enjoy watching you be bathed.”

Fuck. Torture seems to be subjective. “Has any man touched you?” What did it fucking matter? Like he was going to ask for permission? He had you tied up with something on your damn face, impairing your vision, and he cared about how many men have put their grimy hands on you? “If you want to be able to sit on your ass, I suggest you open your goddamn mouth. Has a man ever touched you,” he swats at your backside hard as he comes to stand in front of you.

“Men always touch what they think they can own.”

He clicks his tongue, smiling gleefully at you, “None of those men had the power to own you.”

“And you do?” His hand goes underneath the mask, grabbing your neck with his fingers on your chin as he turns you to look at a mirror. You stare horrified as a wolf shaped mask covers your face. Your hair is oily and matted, and your bones protrude out of your body. But the mask is evil looking on your face. Otherworldly, and it didn’t belong there, “You don’t own me.”

“Is that so?” This man is far faster than any other man as he pulls and yanks at the rags that dress your body. Pulling off everything in shreds until you’re bare before him, and he throws you over his shoulder. Marching out of the room you are in before he throws you into a body of water.

You sputter, struggling to keep your head above the water before standing up. Shivering and naked. Wishing you could throw daggers at every part of his skin. Looking around to see an audience of people staring at your shame, and you dip back into the water for coverage with your arms hugged against your chest. You want to yell and curse at him, but you’re outnumbered. “Clean her. Then we’ll all enjoy inspecting you.”

“What does that mean?” Panic rises in your voice as men and women come into the pool with you. Men grab at your arms while women scrub on your body with a brush. The king sits down in a chair, and a creepy smile spreads over his face. “What does it mean? Ow!”

If he wasn’t so vile you might find him handsome. Cheekbones carved so sharply, and dark hair slicked back. He rolls his fingers over the armrest, and you start counting every ring that is laid upon his fingers.

“You’re so weak,” he chuckles, staring too intently as the women cup and scrub your breasts. His eyes drift to your necklace as he leans back, “Do you even know who you are? Or why you have always been mine? Every inch of you belongs to me. Those eyes and your necklace prove it. Your mom was nothing but a lying whore, and your dad was a fool anyways.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t? I don’t know that your so called father sat on a stolen throne? And your lying mother laid down with the rightful king. Your sweet innocent father thought your eyes belonged to him. You telling me he didn’t know your mom was fucking his guard,” your eyes go large as you stare at him. They were eerily similar to Jarrod’s.

“She tried to fight this curse and our connection, and instead, let a cock drive your bastard self right to me. What do you know of the day you were born?” Nothing. But you wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m sure they didn’t tell you much. The first snowflake fell that day. Everyday that you’ve been kept apart from me was another day of winter. The day you were born every drop of blood in your body and every inch of your delectable skin belonged to me. The night you were conceived is the same night your cunty father murdered mine. His guard was pumping his wife full, and here you are.”

God the way he talked about your family is despicable. Because you really wanted to know about your mother’s affairs. “Your mom was so scared to give birth to the king’s daughter, she gave her cunt to the next best thing. Jarrod was always the king. You can’t fate. Just like you can’t escape my wrath. Remove the mask.”

A woman slowly takes the metal off your face, and you glare at him. Wishing your look alone could set his entire body on fire. His head twists to the side curiously as he looks at you. An odd softness before he looks at the swell of your breast, and the snarky smile appears again.

“Bring her to me. On her knees, so I can look upon what’s mine. Don’t fight it either. I’ll fuck you like an animal right in front of all these people if you fight,” your chest heaves as all these hands carry you in front of him. Turning you away before lowering you to the floor. Someone pushes down your head as you stay on all fours before the king.

“This is how I like to see you. Submissive, spread and so puffy for me,” his fingers run through your core, and you hear a rumble in his stomach, “you can try deny me, but your body backing up to my fingers? Your body craves me. It’s like a magnet you can’t escape, and if you keep acting like a needy bitch in heat, I’ll give you exactly what your body has been denied.”

That’s a lie. You’ve never wanted any man to touch you. Never desired anything from them, but even you can’t deny the moan that escapes your mouth as one of his fingers breaches your walls. Loud and salacious as you glance back at him. “Since you love how it feels when we’re connected, just wait until I fuck you.”

You keep your head low, knowing that everyone in this room can see you down on your knees like an animal, while the king has a finger inserted so far into your cunt. He pulls the appendage out before shoving two more in. The audience starts to walk closer as the king stabs them into you, and you hope you don't react. That the only thing he can see if your fingers curling up, and you biting on your tongue.

Your cheeks heat up in flames with embarrassment, but also a sickening pleasure that you wish you didn't feel. The lewd squelching sound of your body causing the king to licks his lips with need. Fucking his fingers into faster before pulling out. Denying you release, and he slaps over your lips. "Juicy enough to eat."

“You’ll never get to fuck me.”

“I will, and you’ll beg for my seed every night. Don’t forget this moment. The moment you learned that your life is meant to serve mine. Put the mask back on her, and I want her placed in her gilded cage right in front of my bed. Maybe she’ll like me fucking into some whore’s cunt. Or would you like to watch me fuck my hand? I’ll even spurt my cum on your face. Make the servants wash you after you lick up every drop of my load. One of these days, you won’t be able to deny us. And maybe then we’ll get to see the world how it was intended.”

“And how’s that, your grace?”

“Not covered in fucking snow,” his voice is harsh as he walks out of the bathing room. Leaving you with all these people just staring at your naked body. Dressing you like you are a doll. You’d never beg for him. You didn’t want him. Or any man. It would never happen. And winter had nothing to do with him fucking you.

Because you belonged to no man.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @jesevans @alexakeyloveloki

#trying to save me #dark fic #dark!fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes smut #dark king!bucky barnes

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damn-stark · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 26 In that treetop night

Chapter 26 of Moonlight

A/N- I giggled

Warning- light swearing, talks of pregnancy and blood, some violence, angst, some FLUFF, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The day was taxing, not because there was a battle that required all the energy his body had made that day. The battle was fought and the battle was lost, so one would say the day should be laxing. Yet it’s dealing with the aftermath of such a tragic loss that seems to be more wary than any battle.

“How could they win now?” Cregan thinks to himself as he hangs his head low and mindlessly watches the cold ground beneath his feet. “How could an army of men win against three dragons without being completely wiped out?”

It was trying to come up with a strategy for that question that was wearing him out. He has so many men to think of, so many lives are in his hands. How can he lead them to a hopeful battle?

“Lord Stark!” A voice cuts in before quick and stumbling footsteps stop outside his tent, pulling Cregan out of his running mind to listen with very low curiosity—All he wants is to rest. Maybe just close his eyes, but alas… “Forgive me for interrupting, I know you said not to disturb you, but it’s urgent!” The young voice speaks rapidly and between heavy breaths. “The princess and a companion are here!”

As if a spike of energy shot his heart, he snaps his head up in disbelief whilst that exhaustion is suddenly forgotten. Can it be?

What the visitor just announced to him can be one of the Targaryen twins. They’re not titled princesses but their father is the husband of a Queen so it could have changed. But it can also be you…with your husband?

Who is the companion they announced? Did you come together? If it is really you, that is.

Even if it isn’t, he has to go out to meet them, so he gets up from his seat and swipes his sheathed sword from the ground. As he walks out he straps the sheath over his shoulder and strides out with the tall and lanky young man, hoping to see no one in particular to avoid feeling disappointed if the outcome is not to his liking

“Just over here, past the clearing,” the young man interjects. “We did not want to let them through to be safe because of the sides the people say they’re on.”

Cregan hums, finding their caution justifiable after being betrayed by two of Team Black’s dragonriders, and hearing that the third one escaped to avoid being caught. Let’s see how the caution is taken though. He knows Targaryens have similar tempers to the dragons you all are linked to so here’s hoping it’s not made into a fuss.

“Lord Stark,” the young man interjects but pauses to take a deep breath as if weighing whether to share what's in his mind or not. “You have been around dragons, are they…”

Nevertheless, the next words to come out of the young man’s mouth are drowned out by the sight of you the moment he turns a corner and faces the clearing.

He can hardly believe his eyes. You must be some conjured-up illusion made by his exhaustion.

Yet how can that be when his exhaustion no longer exists as the mere sight of you is like a spike of adrenaline to his beating heart? You cause the blood coursing through his veins to pump frantically, tuning out every sound, and blurring everything besides you. You are the sole keeper of his attention. You, bathing under the shining spots of moonlight that break through the treetops are the center of all his attention.

You don’t see him yet, but oh he sees you standing there with a displeased frown curled on your face telling him that this encounter is the opposite of what he wanted, proving your short temper. Someone else is beside you but like a full moon against a clear and starry night, he can’t keep his eyes off you, not even for a second and he doesn’t want to look at anything but you.

Even as soldiers pass by him he doesn’t keep you out of his sight. Even as a man leads a pair of horses toward him, he doesn’t bother giving it a glance to stop and be careful, he forces the man with the horses to a halting stop as he keeps walking to you as if it pained him not to be close, as if he’s tranced by you and your beauty, by you in that shiny silver and soft purple gown that makes you look all that more divine.

Oh, and once you finally roll your eyes and find him making his way to you between the busy camp, that’s a completely different set of feelings he’s completely bombarded with.

When you find him, even though his blood is racing through his veins, causing his heart to thump and thump rapidly against his chest, suddenly his entire world slows down. Everything that surrounds him ceases to exist except for you and him breaking through barriers of space to at last reach you after a terrible couple of months of being apart.

Only you and him exist in your loud and busy world. Only you and him. Him and you. After all these months it’s finally him that you see in all his mighty glory, caught under the shine of the moonlight, and for the first time in a long time there in the depths of your chest, you can feel it. You feel your heart revive and skip a beat as you lose yourself in Cregan’s grey eyes. Which is unbelievable to your grieving soul that not even Aemond could get that reaction from you, but Cregan does. Cregan brings back the light to the stars and to the moon, and he brings back the color to your once dull world.

Oh and once he’s close. Once his presence is known, your heart starts racing and your lips slowly start tugging into a smile, erasing that disbelief caught on your features whilst every muscle in your body cries for you to move toward him; while he, himself, takes a daring step toward you, but nevertheless, neither of you can give into your desires. You’re stopped, and both snapped out of your stupor as the man who stopped you addresses Cregan and your current situation.

“Lord Stark, sorry to disturb you but as you can see the Princess is here.”

Cregan still doesn’t break eye contact, he keeps his eyes laid on you and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets and then stands upright and drifts his eyes to the side to at last acknowledge your companion; a slim charming young man with his dark eyes on him.

“Forgive me, I don’t recognize you.” Cregan addresses Addam with his chin tilted slightly higher than usual. “You are…”

“This is Ser Addam Velaryon,” you interject and glance at Addam with a small smile. “Son of Lord Corlys Velaryon. Rider of Seasmoke.”

Cregan nods and then bows his head. “Ser Addam,” he greets your companion, making your smile a bit wider.

“Addam this is Lord Cregan Stark,” you present him in return. “Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Addam briefly meets your gaze before he looks back at the tall and buff man to bow his head. “Lord Stark, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Cregan nods in response to acknowledge his comment before he looks between the two of you with confusion. “It’s an honor having you both here,” he says and lets his eyes fall on you as if speaking to you alone. “Yet I am confused as to why. We did not expect your arrival.”

You nod. “That’s why we wanted to walk in, to explain, but your knight here has not let us pass,” you hiss as you drag your gaze to the knight and pass him a glare.

“It's a surprise, we know,” Addam cuts in and steps forward to take Cregan’s attention, but the Lord spares him a short glance before he once again focuses on you as if still in disbelief about your presence—“And it’s late, but we come with good intentions,” Addam explains. “We come to join your forces and fight alongside you against the Hightower army and the three Dragonriders.”

The men across from you look at each other, sharing speechless glances before Cregan gives Addam more than a second of his attention. “We would be honored to have you join our forces, but you have to also excuse our caution,” he shares, catching you by surprise even though it really shouldn’t. You know Cregan, he cares about his people, he cares about the men fighting with him, and puts them first so, you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s being cautious. But you still are.

“You were branded a traitor by the Queen, Ser, and you,” Cregan says and turns his gaze to you, shifting where he stands before he continues. “It’s been said you were allied with the Greens.”

You immediately react by shaking your head and correcting him. “My husband. Not the Greens, my husband.”

He blinks and hums. “You can see why you were stopped, right?” He adds and looks at Addam. “Besides, what is stopping your husband from coming after you and burning down our camp out of spite?” Cregan directs at you, making you stiffen and drop your gaze.

Addam proceeds to part his lips as he sees your reaction and intends to share the news for you so you wouldn’t have to say such heavy words, but you drag in a shaky breath and with tears already forming in your eyes you share the news yourself. “You needn’t worry about Prince Aemond because he,” you pause as the words pain you to even think about. “He…he’s dead,” you say with a shaky breath. And at the sound of the news Cregan’s face falls from that tense and serious hold and he looks at you with pity. Yet before he can express his consolation you continue abruptly.

“Vhagar is gone too, along with Daemon and Caraxes, so there’s nothing you need to worry about,” you mutter and avert your gaze to wipe away the stray tears that fall down your face.

“I am sorry for your loss, Princess,” Cregan’s voice is soft and his gaze is heavy on you. “And I am sorry for the loss of Daemon, he was a legendary warrior. His loss will cost us a great deal.”

You draw in a heavy and shaky breath before you lift your head and face the men with a collected demeanor, refusing to show them any more vulnerability. “If we can talk somewhere warm we can explain ourselves,” you interject with determination. “If not, well we can gladly leave and abandon you in your time of need.” You huff, making Cregan scoff and drop his head to hide his smirk

“Alright,” he says with a huff before he picks his head up and looks at you with his soft gaze. “Come with me.”

You share a speechless but assuring gaze before feeding that previous temptation and walking to Cregan to address him like old friends.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you out here, My Lord Stark,” you share in a honey-laced voice as you start to walk around each other to avoid walking away and remain as close as you can. All while neither of the other dares to lose eye contact. “Especially after you said you couldn’t leave your home.”

Cregan’s gaze narrows slightly in a lighthearted manner and the corner of his lips twitch up. “Well, my men and my Queen needed me. My choice was made with a heavy heart but I do not regret it.

You offer him a sweet and thankful smile before you express yourself in words too. “Well, the Queen appreciates your efforts. We all do.”

Cregan holds your gaze with a burning intensity while he comes to a stop right where he started as he sees how truly ethereal you look under the moon’s soft hue.

“Thank you, my Princess, and I'm sorry again for your loss.”

You blink repeatedly as your emotions come to you and proceed to respond with an acknowledging hum before you continue down your path, catching Addam’s questioning gaze before he quickly snaps his eyes ahead to look at the path instead.

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, Princess,” Cregan interjects as he leads the way. “How far along are you?”

You rest your hands on your belly and sigh softly before you give him the answer. “Seven. I’m almost there.”

Cregan nods and adds nothing else on the matter, letting you fill the silence. “How’s Rickon?”

Cregan peers back and responds. “Good. Growing every day and surviving the winter.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Silence continues to befall you again and once again Addam steals a quick look between Cregan and you, making you discreetly slow down to fall beside him instead.

Once you reach the intended tent you wait for the higher-ranked commanders and knights to join you before you make your case.

“You have every reason not to trust us,” you address the group of men. “You have every reason to question our motives, but I can say that in regards to myself, my loyalty lied with my husband. Neither you here are wives, but I am and…” you pause as you know you can’t give all the reasons why you truly sided with Aemond. “My loyalty was to him. I did the things they say I did. I took my part in burning House Strong,” you admit and make the men grow stiff as if fearful you have come to do the same to them.

“It was me. I won’t hide from it,” you continue as you look around the group of old battered men looking at you with displeasure and discomfort. “I won’t feel ashamed of it either. I did it because it was the right thing to do for me, and for my husband,” you mutter and stroke the table with the pad of your fingers. “Not Team Green. Not the Usurper, but for my husband who is…now dead,” your voice trembles. “Along with his dragon and Prince Daemon and his dragon.”

You end in silence so the men can do as expected, and share shocked whispers at the sound of such an unexpected revelation.

“But my shame on the matter is not what you should be asking, neither should you be asking if I was dedicated to Team Green,” you speak over the whispers and slowly regain the men’s attention. “The question you should be asking is if I would die for them. And the answer is no,” you say confidently as you press your hands on the wooden table and lean forward to be in the center of everyone’s attention. “But I am willing to die for my mother. For my Queen, and for all of you if the need arises. My loyalty is here, with you and with her too.”

The air in the tent slowly loses some of the previous tension they were holding, and their hardened gazes ease as your sweet yet confident words ease their hearts. Yet they can’t fully come to trust you because of Addam, but that’s why you don’t leave him out of your plea.

“As for Addam,” you add to the conversation, earning his undivided attention. “You will not find anyone more loyal. You won’t find someone kinder or braver than him. The son Corlys Velaryon, my uncle, and my dearest friend.”

Cregan sits up at the sound of your words, unbeknownst to you.

“Then why did the Queen cast him as a traitor?” A man blurts, returning your attention to the group of men. “Why run if he is not guilty of what he is accused of?”

You and Addam share a glance before you look at the waiting crowd and think about your words because you can’t say the truth or it will paint your mother in a bad light, and right now these men can’t lose hope or respect, not when they have already lost so much for her cause.

“Because the Queen was being cautious. That’s why she deemed him a traitor when he isn’t,” you add as you push yourself away from the table and stand up with your shoulders straight and your eyes narrowed so they know you’re being serious. “She has to be careful now more than ever, and that’s why Addam left. What are words compared to actions of dedication and loyalty?”

Addam passes you a thankful smile before he steps forward to garner everyone’s attention so he can speak in his own case. “That’s why I’m here, to prove to her that I would die for her. I don’t want to, not yet, but if it has to happen I would die to see her succeed because I believe in her, because she should be on that throne, and I can only prove that in the battlefield on top of my dragon, not on my knees begging. If she wants to punish me after, then so be it, but it will only be after we win against those turncloack and against the traitors wanting to march to the Red Keep and take her throne.”

You look at him proudly, missing the way Cregan catches the shared looks between the two of you.

“Now I know my word doesn’t mean anything to any of you, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but trusting one another is by chance, isn’t it? So give us a chance and we will be your greatest ally,” he continues, easing the tension and their demeanors toward him and you—“we have a plan to garner more fighting men, and we have two dragons, but that power can only be gained if you trust us. Give us a chance.”

No matter what Cregan thinks about the two of you together, or just Addam making you smile so fondly, he still stands up to address the group now.

“You both speak fiercely, and from what I can pick up on, with sincerity, but may I ask one thing?” He asks and slowly lets his eyes drag to you. “Will you fight in the state you are in? If not then can your dragon fight? Because it’s true that we need what you can offer, we need it to win against three dragons, so if you can’t fight, can your dragon fight without you on her back?”

You blink in disbelief and challenge his gaze as if he had just uttered the most offensive thing he could ever utter, and then counter right away with a sense of ferocity so you’re not questioned or pestered as if you were a helpless little girl. “My dragon fights if I fight, if I am out of the field so is she. And right now you need all the firepower you can get so I am going to be on dragonback fighting like Addam.”

Said man sighs in protest, but he knows he can't do a thing about it so he just stays quiet. As for Cregan, even if he thinks that the babies you’re carrying are not his right now, he still cares about you and therefore cares for them so he’s not convinced or intimidated like the others are, but he will talk about that later.

“Alright,” he says with a nod before he sighs and goes on. “Well, I welcome you then, if the others are in agreement say aye.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer until the men gathered around the wooden table all agree to let you join their forces, letting you and Addam let out a breath of relief.

“Find an empty tent for Ser Addam,” Cregan instructs one of the young squires. “The princess can take mine until hers is set up.”

You immediately cut in with a shake of your head as you try to turn him down. “No, my Lord it’s quite fine. I can take any other tent.”

Cregan immediately shuts you down. “No,” he scoffs. “Don't be mad. I am not with child. You are and you are my Princess. You will take my tent, and if not, regardless I won’t sleep in it tonight.”

You part your lips to try and rebuttal him but you also know he won’t back down, not about this or the other matter if you’re being realistic, so you hesitantly give in. And since it’s already late and there isn't anything that needs your attention you find your way to Cregan’s tent right away.

Yet no matter how much the tent is riddled with his scent, no matter how every corner is a reminder that you are finally together, all you can think about is how long this day has been and how much you need it to end. In the morning you woke up with Aemond by your side, with his arms secured around you, and now you’re getting ready for bed with the knowledge that you won’t ever get to share a bed together. You won’t have your limbs tangled, and you won’t make him smile or watch him breathe as he sleeps deeply. He is gone forever and that thought makes your heart ache and weep.

You want to see him again. You want to steal one more kiss. You just need to feel his warmth one more time. You just need…something…

Yet how can you have any of it when he’s gone and will never return? You’re left with nothing but the memory of him. That’s all you will have for the rest of your life—how tragic. How depressing.

Nevertheless, as you’re lost in your grief, as the silence mingles in the tent, a voice makes your shoulders jump and cranes your head over your shoulder.

“Princess, may I come in?” You identify Cregan's voice right away.

“Yes, of course.”

Not even a lingering minute later the flaps of the tent open and he walks in holding something you don’t even give any attention to. Your eyes immediately land on his face and remain locked there.

“Did you forget something?” You probe, and he shakes his head before he lifts the fur blankets he brought in.

“No. I just had extra in my tent so I wanted to bring them to you. It’s cold when you’re in a tent,” he explains in a softer voice than he was using before.

“Oh,” you breathe out and nod ever so lightly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He walks further in to place the blankets on the table, and instead of proceeding to walk out, he stays where he is and studies your face, noticing the grief that now decorates every part of your face. You had held yourself together so well before, just like you were taught, just like a princess and an heir should, but now that it’s just you and him alone, you let your eyes droop and grief paints a tragic and aching picture in your eyes. More so now as he asks with his eyes alone if you’re okay—you completely break with a shaking breath as you hold his gaze as if he was everything you had been missing to let yourself really feel.

Thus without needing to utter a word, without gesturing each other close, you break away from your spot and he welcomes you with open arms, holding you tightly against him the moment you clash and clutch onto him like he is your salvation.

“Cregan,” you weep and he drags a hand up to cup the back of your head and press his head against yours.

“I know darling. I know,” he whispers to comfort you. “I know. I’m here.”

You cry harder at the sound of comfort and nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck without thinking about getting him wet. You keep yourself clung around him and he holds onto you as if his life depends on it, making sure to caress your back and stroke the back of your neck when he moves his hand down.

You remain in the silence, soaking in each other's comfort and company. Nothing is uttered but there is something you need to get off your chest, so you just drag your face away from his neck and break the silence.

“I tried,” your voice breaks. “I tried so hard. I tried, but I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save Jace. I was too late,” you cry. “And Viserys…” you trail off and shake your head. “I couldn’t find him. Now they’re gone. Jace is gone, he died in my arms and I couldn’t save him. If-if—” before you can finish, Cregan suddenly yanks himself back but doesn’t put too much distance between you, he cradles your face with his large hands and looks deep into your eyes.

“Listen to me, you tried. That’s what matters. You were there for him in his last moments, that’s what matters, darling. Do you understand? You were there for him, you comforted him and held him as he went. You did good,” he praises you as he caresses your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Do you understand?”

You blink repeatedly, letting more warm tears fall down your cheeks before you nod faintly and croak under your breath. “I understand.”

Cregan nods with you and tilts his head but never loses hold of your eyes. “And as for Viserys. There’s nothing you could have done. You tried, that matters. Now you fight for them, okay? You keep living for them, for their memory, okay?”

You sniffle and nod faintly once again, not daring to argue because this is all you needed; comforting words from someone who did care about your brothers. Someone to hold you so you could grieve them.

“Good,” he whispers before he fixes his head and points to the bed. “Let’s go sit okay, darling?”

You let him guide you to the edge of bed and sit with him in a comforting silence. After a while, after you no longer have running tears and your breaths come steady and not shaky, you look over at him and study him, noticing how dark the circles are under his eyes.

“You need to rest Cregan,” you point out without needing to ask if he is exhausted because you know he is. “You’re exhausted.”

Cregan slowly turns his head to take you in and sighs deeply. “I will. Soon. I just need to make sure you're taken care of.”

You scoff softly and drop your head to smile faintly at your hands. “I am. Thank you.”

He hums as he admires you while you’re not looking. “I will have some of the healers tend to you. Make sure you're fed and looked after.”

You roll your head up and look at him with a pointed gaze. “No need, I can tend to myself. Don't bother them. If I wanted to be looked after I would return home with Vanessa, but I’m here, I will remain here tending to myself.”

Cregan bites the inside of his cheek and nods slowly in understanding, knowing neither of you will get anywhere if you keep arguing about it. “Alright,” he gives you what you want.

You hum and then avert your gaze to stop feeling your heart flutter under his heavy gaze. “Where’s Ser Rolf? Sleeping?”

Cregan chuckles. “Probably, but not here. He’s in Winterfell in my stead since Rickon is too young.”

You nod with comprehension and feel his eyes roam your face before they fall on your belly.

“Your boy?” He asks. “Is he fine? Healthy?”

You smile brightly and nod as you face him. “Yes, healthy and fat. Dragging his bottom across the floor.”

Cregan hums and offers you a flickering smile before he leans in. “Well, my offer still stands. It may be winter but if your son and Vanessa need refuge they can find some at Winterfell. And if this war is still going on when your twins are born then they have a home there too. The people there love you, and therefore they love your children. They will protect them.”

Your heart swoons but you hide your flustered face by looking down. “Thank you, Cregan, really, and right now they’re taken care of by my mother and my sworn protectors. Hopefully, they won’t need refuge but if they do I will gladly accept your invitation:”

“Good.”

You nod gently and follow up with silence, letting him continue to just take you in as you fiddle with your sapphire ring. You should send him to his own tent so you can both find sleep, but neither of you actually want to leave each other's company so you find the excuse to linger next to each other for a few more stolen minutes.

“Your sword, it’s Valyrian steel. Which one is it?” He finds a reason to stay longer.

You glance over at Blackfyre resting by the table and give him the name. “Blackfyre. The one passed to the rulers of our house. Aemond…took it from Aegon while he was abed, and before…” you trail off but don’t and can’t finish the rest.

“I understand,” Cregan mutters.

You snap your head toward him and breathe out deeply. “He died today and I don’t know if I can take care of three children on my own. I…don’t know what to do without him.” You share in a moment of vulnerability, knowing in the back of your head that you are capable and that a bright future awaits you, but right now you feel so defeated and he’s your best friend. You know it hurts him to hear you speak about Aemond in such a way, you see him swallow thickly and finally let his eyes wander away from you, but you need to confide in him.

“You're the strongest person I know,” he says to the air ahead of him. “You may feel helpless now, but you’re just grieving. You can and will raise your children because you’re strong. This grief will pass eventually.”

You take a deep breath and look away too, losing your gaze on nothing in particular and just listening to each other breathe for a few more stolen minutes. And this time there’s nothing to keep him from leaving.

“I should let you rest,” he says with a deep breath before he gets off the bed. “Goodnight, my princess.”

You stand up with him and meet his gaze to return his comment. “Goodnight, my Lord.”

Said man scoffs at what you call him and before he can leave you lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, catching him by surprise.

“Goodnight,” you whisper again, earning his attentive gaze and letting it mingle on you for a moment before you force yourself back.

“Goodnight,” he says one more time before he bows his head and finally departs, stealing one last look at you watching him leave before he exits the tent, leaving you to your lonesome in that bitter night where all that occupies your mind and dreams is Aemond. Aemond, Aemond, and Aemond.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

There’s no escaping the pain, not anymore, not after losing Aemond, but as you look at the clouded sky, as you watch the parting clouds drifting by, for some reason there in that endless sky you can find the fact that eventually the pain will be a memory and you will look back at your losses in a much more fonder light.

You won’t cry every time the simplest memory comes to mind, you won’t want to stay curled up in bed as the kisses from the man you loved haunt your lips. You’ll think back and smile because they were in your life. That will be a beautiful thing, one day.

“Good morning,” the sound of Cregan’s voice pulls your attention away from the sky to drift your eyes down. You can’t see him since you don’t stand up, but you also don’t want to stand up so you just aim your eyes in his general direction.

“You left your sword in your tent,” he brings up and you then hear the shuffling of leather against his hands, meaning he brought Blackfyre with him. “We’re in an active war, you can’t be wandering off on your own. Not without protection.”

You blow a raspberry and turn your body against the water to turn towards your dragon resting her large neck in the water to keep the water warm with her steams of breath.

“My girl is with me,” you point your dragon out. “She’ll protect me.”

“And if something were to happen to your twins?” He keeps pestering you, but this time you don’t have a good argument so you just probe him.

“Why did you come find me? How did you find me?”

You hear his footsteps approach the lake's shore and come to a stop shortly thereafter to respond. “I went to look for you to invite you to break fast with me, and when I didn’t find you in your tent I asked around.”

A teasing smile tugs on your lips. “Well thank you for thinking about me, but I already broke fast. I saw the lake on Dragonback so I walked here after I woke up and had breakfast by the lake because the twins were hungry.”

Cregan scoffs in amusement before he fills the silence with a comment filled with…annoyance. You detect it in his voice. “I’m surprised your uncle is not here with you. Accompanying you.”

Is he jealous of Addam?

You almost have to laugh. You don’t but you let a smile dance on your lips before you finally push yourself to your feet and face him, seeing him wear that ever so heavy cloak, and carrying his own large sword as if he’s expecting to be attacked at any second.

“Is that not heavy?” You tease with a half smile, seeing him maintain his eyes on your face even though your gown is sticking to your figure and water is dripping off your chin and falling on your chest. You would have gone in completely nude but there are a lot of men around so you chose to play it safe instead.

“Your cloak? Your massive sword?” You specify. “Unload my Lord. We’re not going to war right now.”

Cregan swallows thickly and lifts his hand to take his sheathed sword off, but as you start to walk out of the water he stops what he’s attempting to watch your dripping body expose more and more as you walk to shore to meet him.

“Addam is my uncle, my friend. My confidant. Nothing more and nothing less,” you finally assure him. “Don’t…worry.”

When your feet hit the shore he snaps from his stupor and finally slides his sheath off his shoulder before resting it next to, Blackfyre.

“You wouldn’t want to take a dip with me would you, my Lord?” You offer with a taunting smirk that he catches as his eyes are quick to find your lips. “Astraea keeps the water warm so you wouldn’t freeze. Albeit you are used to a colder climate, so.”

Cregan’s grey eyes slide up to meet your gaze and he shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer but not now. Perhaps if the offer still stands later, when the day has drained me I will gladly accept a dip in the steaming lake.”

You swallow back nervously and feel your heart skip a beat as he holds your eyes with a great intensity. You almost don’t retort, but you manage to collect yourself.

“We’ll see if Astraea is willing to help again. The offer is very much ready now though, just say the word,” you roll out slowly before you start to walk past him, making him turn his body where he stands so he doesn’t lose sight of you, and so you keep each other chest to chest until you part away to sit on a rock.

“I heard conflicting reports,” Cregan doesn’t let silence intrude, causing you to pick your gaze off the dry and clean wrap that you need to put around your wet body to dry it—“you can touch fire without getting hurt.”

You lift a quizzical brow and press him for more. “What else have you heard about me?”

Cregan shakes his head. “I have tried not to hear much. I don’t let my men speak ill of you.”

A small smile flickers on your lips but you still press him, knowing that whether he wants to or not he’s heard about you; bad and good things. “But word still spreads. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing I believe,” he still avoids sharing the trash spread by venomous tongues. “Just tell me if it’s true or not that you can walk in fire.”

You drop your head to tie the long piece of cloth around you. “Yes,” you put it simply. “But the discovery is new. I only found out after I left Winterfell. I mean I have always had a feeling but given that I never had a reason to test it, I never really knew. Not until after I left.”

Cregan hums and you give an example as to what he might have heard. “They say I'm cursed, don’t they? That my mother gave birth to a demon?”

Cregan utters your name in disbelief and you look up at him unaffected by such things.

“I heard a man utter those words to an empty cobble square,” you share softly regardless of how unbothered you try to be. “He might be mad but he said it with passion so I know that it’s something that he doesn’t believe alone. If he says that, other people across the realm think it too.”

Cregan shakes his head and you put your hand up.

“Don’t try to be a gentleman,” you interrupt him. “People will say the same thing for as long as I live. Even when I die they will say the same thing. They will read it too, so I will spit in their faces even in death and be proud of my ability. I can walk through fire, I don’t burn. My flesh is fire made and I’m proud.” You say with the same emotions you speak of, offering him a proud smirk that he can’t help but be relieved by.

Yet even if you see the glimmers of pride brighten his grey eyes, you still have to doubt him out of fear. “It doesn’t scare you? What I can do?”

Cregan drops his head to glance at the ground for a brief moment before he walks to you and sits on the little space next to you, proceeding to tilt his head up to have you under his gaze before he speaks softly in the exact way his eyes look. “My people. My family can warg into the minds of animals. The dead are hidden behind a large wall, and you ride a dragon. I would have to be pretty ignorant and stupid to fear you, my Princess. The people fear you because they don’t know anyone like you because you are a fearsome thing to behold.”

You shake your head and whisper with a hint of insecurity. “I am not scary. I never wanted to be scary to people. I’m just a girl.”

Cregan’s eyebrows knit together and he follows your gaze as you avert them to hide the tears that well in your eyes.

“I know, but you are Targaryen, you ride a dragon, you wield a sword, and now you walk through fire without being harmed; the people will always fear the unknown, and you know your subjects should always hold a little fear for you while also holding respect and love,” he says to try and console you.

“I know,” you share with a vulnerability that comes easy when you’re speaking to him. “I know I have to strike fear in people, but I never wanted it. Not truly. I embrace it now, I relish in it, but isn’t it easier to love us? My mother, me, and my family? Why do they prefer war and death over letting her take her rightful place? Why do they push her over the edge?”

Cregan’s eyes flicker down to your hand, letting his hand slide over yours before his eyes find yours again and he gives you an answer. “Unfortunately it’s the way people are. They’re ignorant and close-minded, thinking a certain sex is better than another when it’s not true. It’s the way the world works, but it can change. Your mother can prove that. You can too. And if they still don’t want to see that then they can continue to lead themselves to death, or deal with it when she officially sits on that throne.”

Your ache eases and a soft smile slowly spreads on your lips. Cregan watches you, watches your smile, and takes a deep breath, letting his overdriving emotions push him forward.

However, before he can close the gap before the wetness of his lips can connect to yours, and before you can pull your head away, he keeps still and lets the warmth of his lips radiate over yours, letting his desire build but not give in.

“Cregan,” you whisper as you slowly cup his jaw. “Aemond just died yesterday.”

He gives you a nod that’s almost ghostly as he repeats what you just said. “Your husband just died. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes go small as you offer him a sweet smile. “I can’t truly give you what you want, what you have been longing for, and what I myself have desired. Not right now,” you say honestly.

Cregan lets out a deep sigh and lets his head drop, but you quickly give him some reassurance by tilting your head down to press your forehead against his. “We waited this long, we can wait a while longer, no?” You try to comfort him. “My path and my heart all lead to you, just give me time. Please.”

Cregan slowly presses his hand over yours, being quick to stroke your knuckles with his thumb before he draws in a breath to speak his mind.

Yet before he can utter a word, branches snap in the distance; yanking you apart from each other, and turning your heads away from one another to play as if nothing is happening. When the noise turns to an intruder you stand up and face Addam.

“Addam,” you greet with a pleased smile.

He doesn’t return it though. He looks at your body drenched in water and wrapped with a simple cloth before his eyes drift to Cregan and lets a displeased look start to mingle on his features.

“Someone arrived for you,” he reveals and peels his eyes away from Cregan slowly standing on his feet to focus on you and search for an answer without speaking a word about it.

“Who?” You probe with worry. “Is it news?”

Addam points to the direction of the camp. “Why don’t you come and see.”

You challenge him so he can reveal who it is, but he doesn’t give in, thus making you let out a deep breath before you take Blackfyre and walk ahead, knowing he and Cregan will trail behind you without needing to be told. However, Addam quickly gets behind you so the Lord isn’t any closer to you than he already was when he found you.

“Here,” he interjects and takes the sword from you so you don’t have to be carrying the heavy thing around when it’s not necessary—“why didn’t you tell me you were coming out here? I was worried.”

You sigh and peer over your shoulder. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to wake you that’s all. It was early.”

“The twins?” He asks making Cregan pay close attention—“are they bothering you?”

“They’re getting too big so they’re growing restless,” you share as you rub your belly. “Besides Daenys is always on time, she wakes up at the same time every morning.”

Addam scoffs and you catch him rolling his eyes at the fact that you call your unborn children by their names. Even though you shouldn’t know their gender yet.

“What?” You press teasingly and stop briefly to instead walk side by side. “Spit it out.”

“There’s no way for you to know what you’re expecting,” he utters the same bullshit as always. “You’re just getting yourself excited over what can be a boy.”

You smile as you roll your head to the side and once again repeat the same thing you already told him just yesterday. “I told you, Alys told me—well she told Aemond, and he told me, but she is not wrong.”

“Just like the witch is not wrong about your seven children?” He mocks you but you don’t ever back down, you nod confidently.

“I have one, and two on the way,” you argue. “That makes three. I just need four more.”

“I wouldn’t entertain it,” Cregan interjects, jumping on Addam’s side. “She loves her witches.”

You throw your arms out. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” You exclaim. “Why don’t either of you believe in them when dragons and Green Men exist?!”

Addam shakes his head and argues. “Green Men are different. Protectors. Alys has lived in the depths of the forest alone for far too long. She’s mad.”

You shake your head and get ready to defend her but Cregan jumps in too. “And your Red Priestess is a part of a cult. Fanatics who only scam you.”

You roll your eyes and don’t let them dim your beliefs, you bite back. “The Red Priestess did not take my money first of all. She took my blood in exchange for a vision of my future. She approached me, and Alys helped me in the same way the Green Men helped you, Addam.”

He hums and nods his head lightly, telling you he doesn’t believe you, so you continue.

“She let me see the same thing the Red Priestess showed me in the fire, a long winter carrying the dead with it…”

Cregan stiffens at the sound of the words he heard you speak only months before. And like before you carry the same passion and belief behind your words.

“It can be an illusion. A lie to frighten you,” Addam rebuttals, but you hold his gaze and stand your ground, sharing more than you should have.

“It was not a lie because he told me,” you say and come to a stop, making both men stop to hang onto every word with intent—“my son. Not Aerion, and not either of the twins. And before you cut in with something witty, I know. Who wouldn’t know their own son? He was as clear as you are now, with deep grey eyes and dark hair…”

Cregan’s gaze narrows in confusion and more wonder than ever before.

“With a melancholy look, he shared what he knows. He told me about the long winter. He told me and I believe him and in turn, I believe Alys. So yes there is a way for me to know what my twins are. That’s all I know. Everything they told me is all I’ll ever know and I’ll cherish it.” You finish confidently before you turn away to continue walking down your path before they can ask questions. And even though they’re both itching to question you—Cregan, more than Addam; neither man speaks on the matter, choosing a stunned silence over speaking their minds. Thankfully.

Soon thereafter nevertheless, you reach the campgrounds and follow Addam to who’s waiting for you, catching a growing crowd of men already gawking and whispering about your visitor which in turn heightens your curiosity.

“Make room for the princess,” a man announces, forcing the crowd to break apart and clear a path toward the visitor. However, once the path is clear and leads you to your visitor, you come to a stop and drop your jaw out of surprise when you see Ser Cane Clegane is the one who came in search of you. He is the one standing in the middle of the crowd, and he is the one you face. Your sworn protector.

“Ser Cane,” you gasp and attempt to smile, but it comes out wobbly as you’re struck with disbelief, joy, and appreciation.

“Princess,” he immediately greets and bows to you, causing you to watch him so he wouldn’t get out of sight because a part of you believes he’s some illusion. It’s just…his arrival is a surprise. That’s why when he stands up straight and your eyes immediately fall on his gaze, you ask the overwhelming question.

“What are you doing here, Ser? So far from home?”

Ser Cane walks toward you and stops when he reaches a good and respectable distance to give your question an obvious answer. “Once I heard you left in a hurry, I came after you. I arrived at Harrenhal and the woman told me you had left so, I rode all night to catch up to you.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel your eyebrows knit together for a brief second before your face eases and all you can express is disbelief. “You came after me?” Your voice cracks, making him look at you as if you just asked the most stupid question in your life, because why wouldn’t he come after you?

“I made the mistake of not going to find you before and you got held captive. You of course fought back and freed yourself,” he chuckles with a sense of pride. “But I never want you to be put in that situation again. Not while I’m still alive. I am your sworn protector, my duty is to protect you, my duty is to follow you to the ends of the earth until my last breath. That’s what I will do.”

Your breath hitches as your heart skips a beat. That look of appreciation that you hold on your face turns to sweet admiration and before he knows it you rush to him to surprise him with an embrace. And as caught off guard as he is, he doesn’t leave you hanging, he gently wraps his arms around you and lets you take the time you need, which isn’t a lot, but he still doesn’t rush you, letting you pull away first.

“Where’s Ser Jason?” You ask for your other sworn protector.

“I left him protecting the little lord,” he says and gives your mind and heart relief.

“Good, thank you.” You offer him kindly before you step back and turn around to move to the side and present him. “Lord Stark, this is my sworn protector, Ser Cane Clegane. Ser Cane this is Lord Cregan Stark.”

Ser Cane bows his head, and Cregan offers him a gentle nod as a greeting.

“And these are the men we are fighting with,” you introduce the knight to the crowd growing smaller and smaller now that they know who arrived.

Ser Cane offers anyone who is still lingering around a stiff nod before he gives you his attention.

“You must be tired of riding, so once a tent is set up you will find some rest. That’s an order,” you blurt before he can argue. “Ser Addam can watch out for me for today. Alright?

Ser Cane sighs as he’s left unable to even lift a finger to argue back.

“Tomorrow morning you may get up whenever you need to start your watch,” you ease his worry. “And if you do want to know to ease your heart, today we will just have a brainstorming meeting to figure out what to do, okay? Nothing grande.”

He hums and nods in comprehension before his eyes drift ahead. “Lord Stark, may you direct me to the commander in charge of your guards?” He interjects in an attempt to do the work he can while he’s on his short leave. “I would like to set up a watch for the night shift to stand outside the Princess’ tent.”

Cregan, the ever-so-protective friend, doesn’t hesitate to indulge the knight’s request. “Right this way Ser.”

Said man returns his attention to you and bows his head. “If you may excuse me Princess I will now go pick guards to protect you. If you don’t require any more of my attention that is.”

You shake your head. “No, that is all, I’m sure Lord Stark can share the inner workings of our camp and have someone give you a tent so you can rest. I mean it Ser.”

“Of course, I will, my Princess. Rest assured.”

You smile at him and grab his arm to give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for coming after me, my friend. I’m

Thankful and glad you’re here.”

“Always,” he says in return with a surprisingly softer tone. “I am glad I found you.”

Your smile widens and you grow even more fond of your knight, choosing to watch him and Cregan walk off together and jump right into a conversation.

“May I ask you something?” Addam’s sudden intrusion surprises you, and when you look over at him you see his gaze locked on Cregan before he finds you with a curiosity you quickly dissect and know what it’s going to lead to.

“I’m going to change,” you cut him off before he can utter a word, and then turn swiftly to march to your tent.

“Wait!” Addam blurts and walks after you. “It's just a question.”

——

*LATER*

“The goal is clear; we march to the great and small houses of the Riverlands to have them gather fighting men to join us in our fight against the Greens in Tumbleton,” Addam shares what he’s been brainstorming. “That may not have many to spare but the numbers they can spare will still aid us in our fight.”

The men pass each other confused looks, and when they return their attention to Addam, one of them interjects with an argument. “The terror of the Trident is dead and…no offense, but you are considered a traitor to everyone who isn’t us, and,” he pauses and glances over at you. “The princess has been passing the war flying between enemy lines doing as she pleases. The houses of the Riverlands will not spare their few remaining men for…a chance.”

“Mind yourself My Lord, the Princess, and Ser Addam are not some common folk you may speak to as you please,” Cregan cuts in and steps forward so he can be seen and understood.

“It’s alright, My Lord,” you ease the tension and continue for Addam in a much rougher way than he was speaking. “It’s true. It may be difficult for us to gain their trust, but when we ask them they won’t hear the same speech we gave you. We will offer them kind terms or I will offer them fire and blood.” You flash them a smirk.

The men go uneasy at the sound of the threat that slips so easily off your tongue, and as your eyes scan their tensing bodies whilst you push your chair back. Addam helps you to your feet, but he proceeds to go on for you, letting you be an intimidating figure instead.

“If they don’t have men to spare we won’t force them to fight, but if they do it’s them that we will need. It’s why we need to march to the Houses we can, so we can have a chance at succeeding. This fight won't be won alone. It will take all of us.”

Addam’s words are kinder so some of their tension eases off their shoulders, but that threat you made still lingers in their heads, showing more distrust for you than the man next to you as they take you as some mad Targaryen.

“Very well,” another lord cuts in. “I assume we depart at once, no?”

Cregan is the one who answers this time, giving an answer only he knows since you are still getting to know the army of men. “At first light. So prepare to leave.”

The men around the table all offer him a comprehensive nod and soon thereafter one of them leans towards the wooden table to add something before the meeting can conclude. “What of the prisoners? The men who fought with Ser Criston? We can’t keep bringing them with us, can we? What is the solution for them?”

“I say we kill them and deliver their bodies to the Hightower army and the daring Prince. Show them that they still have not killed our spirit,” a young boy no older than Lucerys had been, offers a very loud and quite gruesome solution.

Yet it’s because of his bold offer that an idea comes to you.

“I have a solution,” you say and make them start to wonder. “Get all the prisoners out of their cells and gather them in the clearing.”

The men don’t move, they look to Cregan for permission and he himself doesn’t have an idea of what you have planned, but he doesn’t need to know, he trusts you so he raises his voice to scold the men. “You heard the Princess, gather the prisoners. She should not repeat herself.”

This time the men rise out of their seats and some do as you ordered, while others leave to gather men so they can all watch what’s about to transcend, leaving you, Addam, and Cregan in the tent.

“Call to Seasmoke,” you let Addam know as you turn and face him, catching the confusion flicker on his face.

“Why?” He asks.

“Do it, but don’t have him appear in the clearing just yet. I don’t want the men to be frightened,” you make him even more confused, but he doesn’t question you. He just brings up a question.

“How do I let him know when to appear and when not to?”

You flash him a smile and tap his chest with your fist. “It all comes from here,” you say and keep your fist pressed against his chest. “That’s how we communicate with our dragons. Our souls are intertwined. Listen.” You share as you pull your hand away and let it fall back on your side before you walk away with Cregan by your side.

Yet it’s only once you’re out of the tent that he finally probes. “What are you planning to do?”

You blink and turn to look at him at your side. “I know some of those men. I did not know them for long at all, but the moments we did share I got to garner some of their respect. And we need men.”

Cregan scoffs and the corner of his lips twitch to a smirk, but he doesn’t let it stay.

“Besides,” you add and look ahead again. “The men in there don’t respect me. They fear me because of my dragon, because of the rumors they heard, but besides their fear, I also need their respect as a warrior.”

“And you think what you have in mind will gain it?” Cregan asks out of curiosity.

You sigh. “If I could gain it another way I would take that route, but we are at war, and I am their commander. I need them to respect me like they respect you and the rest of the men here.”

Cregan hums and you let your gaze linger on nothing in particular before you turn your head to him. “You trust me?”

Cregan’s grey eyes find your gaze and he looks into you as if there isn’t an obvious answer to your question. He looks at you expecting you to know the answer, but you have been away from him for a long time, you’ve changed since the last time you saw him. And letters weren’t going to show that, but he sees that now so you need to hear his answer.

“I do. Whatever choice you make.” He reassures your worried heart.

You let out a relieved sigh and nod in comprehension, letting your gaze linger on each other so you’re all each other sees, so you’re all each other can think about to the point he remembers a matter he needs to get off his chest.

“May I ask you something?” He brings up, causing you to blink out of your daze.

“Of course,” you assure him with a nod before you look away.

Cregan clears his throat first before he probes. “This vision you had about your son. What was his name? What…was he like?”

Shit, you shared too much before, didn’t you?

Well, the boy did have grey eyes, a strong chin, and this solemn look Cregan carries too, but can you be sure he's his? What if all you do is get his hopes up for something that might not be his?

“What I shared is all I know,” you say without sharing your assumptions so you don’t hurt him in the process. “It was only a short vision. He said we would meet each other again.”

Cregan’s eyes stay on you for a second longer before he looks away, letting you now take your turn to look at him while he’s not looking. “You believe me now?” You tease him, making his lips flicker a smile on his features before he shrugs.

“I would be foolish not to wouldn’t I?” He says.

“Not really. More logical than anything else.”

He turns to face you with the corner of his lips turning up for a second before nothing else is added to the matter and silence seeps through as you head to the clearing.

Once you arrive at the clearing, you wait on top of a small hill that faces the clearing and wait for the prisoners to be rounded up, and a crowd to gather before you commence and finally feed the curiosity of all the men gathered before you.

“It's a surprise to see my face on the other side of this war, isn’t it?” You start off by saying with your hands clasped before you, your shoulders straight, and your nose pointed to the air—“not long ago we roamed the same campsite. Not long ago you followed the orders of my husband and his men, but now my husband and his men are dead,” you share without having your voice break. “And I stand before you. The ones who lived. You are captured but you are still alive and for that I applaud you.”

The crowd of men look at you lost, not knowing where you’re taking this gathering.

“As well as offer a way to stay alive,” you say and create a tension amongst the Rivermen and the Northerners. “As the heir to Queen Rhaenyra, and as your princess I will grant you the choice to bend the knee to Queen Rhaenyra, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, because I know you. I know how brave some of you are. I know some of you are respectful, and some of you were just doing what you were told after you got ripped from your homes, from your families, and from your lives to be given a sword and shoved to fight for a usurper you don’t believe in. I know some of you know nothing else but to fight, and to those, to all of you. I say bend the knee,” you sneer and look at them between your lashes.

Whispers travel throughout the crowd gathered around the prisoners, while some of the prisoners themselves look at one another to question what they have in mind before they mirror each other and bend the knee. Yet as some bend the knee without question, others remain defiant and stick out like a sore thumb as they remain standing.

“Very well,” you interject once everyone has made up their minds. “Round up half of the men left standing and the other half take them back to their cells,” you demand and right away the young lord from before is the first to bark orders at his men before he joins them and eagerly rounds up the defiant prisoners to the side, leaving those on their knees where they are and as they are. And since you don’t have anything to say to them right now you turn to Addam.

“Come, it’s time. Call to Seasmoke,” you let him know ominously before you walk uphill a few paces to be able to face the men that were gathered to the side. Addam trails behind you but stops before he can catch up when he hears the rustling of trees, and the echoes of branches breaking before the fierce glare of a dragon appears from the shadows of the forest, stealing the breaths of the men you’re allied with and the prisoners alike, before they’re completely out of their skins when your purple dragon brings down the trees in her path and stands right behind you.

“Mercy,” one of the prisoners breathes out loud enough to be heard, but nothing is done, his wishes aren’t granted. The men that gathered them up move away, leaving them there in your dragon's direct aim.

“You want to stand with your broken king?” Your threatening voice fills the air as your dragon snarls and slowly pushes her neck out to have her head hover over you—“well, so be it. Let’s see if he saves you now.” You snicker, creating goosebumps on the men who were against you around that meeting table, but earning the respect that they failed to have for you then as you don’t fear the violence or the tough decision. You don’t look away from death, you face it. They respect that.

However, they have yet to see what you have to demonstrate, and you only wait for Seasmoke to descend from the skies, bringing a blast of air with him as he lands harshly behind Addam.

“Mercy!” Another prisoner cries out and gets on his knees now, but you don’t give him what he so desperately wants. What he had the chance to gain before.

“Dracarys,” you respond to his plea with the command and a hungry look in your eyes that matches your dragons before she leans more forward to have her head past you and open her jaw.

“Dr—Dracarys,” Addam proceeds to voice his own command, and unlike Astraea, Seasmoke moves forward, past Addam to face the prisoners before he and Astraea both bath the prisoners with fire, creating a song of cries and wails to ring through the clearing, and causing Addam to move away as waves of heat from the dragon fire hit him. All while you stay under Astraea and show that the heat doesn’t bother you. You don’t flinch or cry, the lively fire eating away at the bodies reflects in your ravenous eyes before you turn away as it all suddenly goes silent when the men turn to nothing but burnt corpses the dragons feast on.

“Now,” you don’t linger in the silence and start to walk off the hill. “You.”

When you’re on the same level as the men left on their knees you continue. “If you want to leave you may. No one will stop you and no one will harm you. Or if you wish to stay, do so, but know you will fight yet another war at Tumbleton against the Hightower army who have sacked the town. Against my uncle Prince Daeron,” you spat his name. “His dragon, and the turncloaks who regrettably call themselves dragonriders. If you stay, you fight with me, with Ser Addam, Lord Stark and his men, and the Lords of the Riverlands. Stay, and you fight for Queen Rhaenyra, you fight to bring peace to this treacherous war. You fight for your families, your homes, and your own lives. Stay, and fight if you want. Or leave.”

Silence is a common visitor and once again finds a place amongst the crowd as you all wait to see what they will choose.

And as you and a majority of the lords expect the men to get up and leave, the men get up on their feet and instead face you with a fiery determination. “Blood Dragon!” One man exclaims from the crowd of previous prisoners.

“Blood Dragon!” Another man echoes before more and more voice the same thing with more excitement, turning the cry into a chant that litters your skin with goosebumps.

No matter how many times you hear people chant for you, the excitement and dedication shared in a roar of excitement is something you will never get used to.

“Give the men tents,” you give a demand once you turn away from the cheering crowd. “Feed them, offer them warm baths, and give them new armor. They will now be one of us, treat them as such. If I see any mistreatment I will personally see to that punishment.”

“Princess,” a commanding knight says in comprehension.

Shortly thereafter, before you take a step to leave a Lord interjects. “What of the other men you left as prisoners?”

You face the Lord with a creeping smile and give him a simple answer. “Let’s see some fun before we depart.”

With no further explanation, you depart and leave confusion in the air. Confusion that turns to curiosity. And curiosity that gets fed when the sun is down and the stars and moon are in your company, giving light to the prisoners gathered in a makeshift ring in the clearing, and giving light to you and Addam along with Cregan as you sit on the hill that overlooks the scene below and attracts a rather excited crowd as everyone gathers the fact that you are going to make the prisoners fight.

“Greetings everyone!” You make your voice boom as you stand on the hill and face the crowd of men. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. As you all may know we depart in the morning, and it will be the start of a rather wary journey. I won’t lie. We need to ask the houses in the Riverlands for more of their help so we may be that last push we need to win this war. And it’s because of it that I offer a night of fun.” You announce and slowly start to smile a rather cynical smile.

“Place your bets,” you suggest as you clasp your hands together and begin to look eager. “Get a drink and watch these traitors fight in a battle to the death where only one gets to be free and pardoned for not bending the knee, and turning their cloak against Queen Rhaenyra.”

Murmurs travel through the crowd, smiles spread, excitement glimmers in the eyes of tired men, and the little money they have with them is passed around as bets are placed on the prisoners all gathered around the makeshift ring.

“With that said!” You exclaim and throw your arms out because of genuine excitement riddling your body. “Let. The. Fight. To the. Death. COMMENCE!” You make your voice travel out throughout the clearing before you bring your hands together with a clap to signal the start, making the crowd boom with the same excitement that you show off.

Yet that excitement that once overfilled you quickly dies when you sit back in your seat and glower at the fighting men with a piercing glare that glistens against the fire dancing on the torches by you and the three you trust the most, making you seem like a predator stalking their prey from the shadows where if you pay close attention, only their glowing eyes are seen before death becomes their acquaintance.

And the glowering glare works as a warning to the men you spared, letting them know that at any wrong turn, they make that could be them; fighting with every breath they have to try and come out the winner—if they weren’t turned into dragon fodder that is.

Furthermore, the ravenous glare that paints your features, and the sight of the fighting prisoners also works to let the other warriors and the doubtful commanders and Lords know that you aren’t to be trifled with. You don’t squirm at the sight of blood, but most importantly they see that you are someone they can respect and fight with, fight for. It’s an odd and rather bloody way to gain someone’s respect, but it’s because you provide the depleted men with entertainment that they don't see you so high above them. You’re still rather unreachable, but they don’t look at you and see the soles of your feet, they can meet your eyes now and that’s worth fighting for.

What of the men closest to you though? Addam, Ser Cane, and Cregan, what do they see?

Ser Cane sees it as something that has to be done, a way that will keep the fighting men fed from growing mentally wary. While Addam sees blood, bright and crimson red blood, and a rather tasteless sport that he doesn’t take pleasure in watching or see why you seem to enjoy it so much.

As for Cregan? Cregan sees a part of you he didn’t know. A rather cynical part of you, a part of you that stands up and claps with an impressed look in your eyes as a man spins down to avoid being struck, but fails to see his opponent spin down too until it’s too late and his throat is sliced open.

Past that though, he also sees the pain that hides past that smile spreading on your face. He sees the need for revenge flickering like a dancing flame in your eyes as you watch the men from Team Green fight with every fiber their bodies can muster in hopes they feel what Jacaerys felt as he took his last breath, or what Lucerys felt as he was crushed by the jaws of a dragon, what Viserys felt when he was lost at sea, the pain your mother has gone through, what your grandmother felt when she fell to her death, and what Aemond felt. He might have supported Aegon, but you still crave that the men fighting feel what he did when he was stabbed through his head. Cregan can see that thirst for blood, it’s so desperate for something, for a single drop, and yet it’s such a painful emotion.

It’s why he’s not any less fond of you. Then again even if you didn’t carry the agony in your eyes he still would feel the same way he feels burning within him now.

“I’m going to bed,” Addam announces as he gets up.

You pick your head up and turn to look at him. “Okay,” you don’t argue and bid him a sweet goodnight before you turn to Cregan.

“If only I could fight,” you whisper to him as you keep your eyes on the fight below. “It would be so much fun showing them what they deserve.”

Cregan eyes shift to you, you can feel his stare besides just seeing it from the corner of your eyes. “And you think this,” he says and points to the fight. “Display of violence will make them see that they were wrong?”

You spare him a glance but don’t look at him long, choosing to keep your eyes on the fight before you answer without as much as thinking of your response. “I’m not making them fight to death in hopes they see their wrongs. I’m making them fight because it’s what they deserve. What use would they have in cells? What would rotting in a cell do?” You slowly start to grimace, proving to Cregan what he already knew. “They had it coming.”

“They had it coming” echoes in Cregan’s mind, and as he hears yours words echo over and over again, he hopes that your pure visceral anger beneath the surface of your grief and sorrow doesn’t find a way out or else may the gods bless your enemies left with a beating heart because he sees it, he hears that pure visceral anger wanting to break out and be the only dominating emotion.

A/N- Maybe two or three full chapters of cregan before another battle!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

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devildomwriter · 10 months ago

Text

Can I Be Your Gentleman? | Mephistopheles x Reader

1.1K | GN! Reader | CW: reader described as beautiful

Mephistopheles took a sip of his coffee as he watched the customers in Café Lament. He was there to investigate any rumors for the gossip article in the RAD newspaper. He preferred writing articles solely rooted in the truth but things were a tad slow lately.

Mephistopheles noticed you out of the corner of his eye and perked up. Wherever you went drama was sure to follow. Not because of you but because your general existence invited powerful demons and chaotic happenings. He grinned, excited to see what would happen and he took out his notepad and pen.

You waited on the couch by the window for a long time, excitedly waiting. After a while he observed the joy fade from your face as you got a text on your phone. His brow furrowed in worry as you hung your head with a crestfallen expression.

He watched you for a moment and glanced around to make sure no one else was watching before he set down his drink and walked over to you to make sure you were alright.

“___,” he greeted stiffly.

“Oh. Hey Mephisto…” you said sullenly and he frowned.

“I couldn’t help but notice your grim expression,” he noted and you nodded, resting your chin in your hands.

“Uh-huh…” you replied and he tilted his head curiously.

Mephistopheles straightened out his coat and sat down on the couch next to you. He set his cane aside and focused his attention on you. “So, tell me what happened?” He prodded.

You sighed, “Looking for another scoop?”

He was taken aback, a little offended, even though that was originally exactly why he’d approached you. “Hardly. I’ve only come to see why Lord Diavolo’s favorite human is in such a sour mood.”

“Gee thanks,” you mumbled and looked away from him.

Mephistopheles frowned and cleared his throat, realizing he needed a more genuine approach. He awkwardly tried to reach out to you but decided against it and retracted his hand.

“What…what I mean to say is…how can I help you?”

You looked back at him, a little confused. It wasn’t like him to offer his help without something in return. “You can go back in time and tell me not to date that asshole,” you said bitterly and he looked surprised.

“I’m afraid that’s not something I can do…probably… but…” he paused and decided he’d listen to whatever you needed to say. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You looked teary-eyed and Mephistopheles pulled out his handkerchief and looked around. He got to his feet and helped you to yours. He motioned to a staff member and took you to a back room where you could privately let out your emotions.

“Thanks,” you said sadly and he wiped your tears with his handkerchief. “Why did I ever give it a shot…I didn’t think it’d last but…I hoped…we’d have a fun time at least and then maybe…” you stopped talking to prevent further upset and he placed his hand on your back and scooted his chair closer to yours.

“A winter fling, then?” He questioned and you shrugged.

“I dunno…I just thought…actually…I don’t know what I was thinking,” you whimpered and he pulled you into his side.

Mephistopheles’s face flushed, he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so protective. He cleared his throat to buy himself time to find the right words. “I see…well…I am a demon, so…would you like me to do something about this?”

You paused, giving it genuine thought. “Maybe…but not right now, I’m not thinking clearly.”

Mephistopheles nodded, approving of your decision. “Very smart, ___. If your ex can’t see that then they’re a most foolish human indeed.”

You chuckled at his eloquent manner of speech and nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. Ugh…honestly though…” you frowned. “Who dumps someone right before Valentine’s?”

Mephistopheles was startled, he’d completely forgotten about the human holiday. No wonder the brothers had scrambled to give you chocolates, no wonder you were so upset, no wonder you were dressed so beautifully…he blushed at his last train of thought.

You were beautiful no doubt. He looked away and removed his hand from around you to gently hold your hand.

You looked up at him, surprised by his increasingly genuine actions.

“Well, I suppose that means you’re free for the holidays then?” He asked and you nodded glumly.

He got to his feet and outstretched his hand to you with a nervous but serious grin, “In that case, ___, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you as your date this Valentine’s?”

You blushed more deeply than him as he tried to remain serious and unflustered. Mephistopheles was a major step up from anyone you’d dated in the past, but not only that, for once he was being himself around you because he cared enough to be more vulnerable. That touched your heart and you grinned and wiped away the last of your tears.

You took his hand and nodded, “I’d love that.”

Mephistopheles cleared his throat again and straightened his coat. “Right. Excellent. Then tomorrow? I’ll have the limousine pick you up at 5:00.”

“A limousine? Awesome!” You exclaimed and he looked confused for a moment before remembering you weren’t anywhere near as wealthy as him.

“Yes. I know exactly where to take you, but I want it to be a surprise,” he said. In truth, he had no clue and would spend the day agonizing over the perfect location. “I’ll send you the proper attire by 4:00, that should be enough time to prepare, right?” He asked.

You were suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed, but more than that you were excited. You nodded, “Yes! Yes, I can’t wait!” You beamed and hugged Mephistopheles tightly.

Unused to this kind of attention, Mephistopheles stiffened and slowly patted your back as he looked away to avoid you noticing his reddening blush.

“Thank you so much Mephistopheles, you really can be the perfect gentleman.” You blurted out and Mephistopheles arched one brow.

“Hm?” He asked as he analyzed your words.

You gave him another squeeze hoping he’d not pay attention to your slip of the tongue. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, text me okay?” You grinned and he nodded and opened the door of the back room for you.

The staff were quick to see the big difference a few minutes together had had on you. Once crestfallen, you now radiated excitement and they were left to speculate why.

It didn’t take long for rumor to spread about what had happened in the back room and Mephistopheles was quick to shut it down so as not to sour the beginning of what would be a beautiful relationship.

#obey me shall we date #obey me mephistopheles #obey me mephistopheles x reader #omswd mephistopheles #omswd mephistopheles x reader #obey me x reader #obey me drabble #obey me short fic #obey me short story #obey me shall we date mephistopheles

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aloysiavirgata · 2 months ago

Note

Unremarkable house, Brother Bill, rooster

Mulder is in the big hammock out back, sprawled like a Roman Emperor. The chickens are out, pecking for bugs among the goat droppings. He has a lemon shandy in a frosty glass. He has a tomato sandwich with tomatoes from their garden and homemade bread. He has Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell next to him.

He has misgivings.

Scully enters his field of view, stage left, “Mulder, you’d better put those damn chickens away before he gets here, especially Francisco. That rooster is a complete menace.”

She glares at the enormous bird. They’ve had a few scuffles, she and Francisco. There have been Band-Aids and three stitches.

He slurps at his drink. “You don’t think your brother wants to see my big cock?”

She is silent for a long moment. Then, “I swear to God I will literally kill you, Mulder. I will shoot you and I will bury you out here and I will put a big gazebo over your grave and every time I sit in it I will think about how much you had it coming.”

She stalks back to the house.

“Jesus,” Mulder says to the chickens. “Someone is in a mood.”

***

It’s an awkward greeting, but not as awkward as he’d imagined. He and Bill have always hated each other, which makes it easy to pick up where they’d left off, like two enemy pirate captains running into one another at a bar in Tortuga.

Bill, per usual, looks like he was waiting for the Dulcolax to kick in. Douchebag plaid shorts that Rob Petrie wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot golf club.

He sweeps his sister up in a massive hug and she got rather teary and Bill, to his credit, looks a bit pink around the eyes and nose as well. He puts his sister down after a moment, smoothing her hair.

Bill and Mulder then acknowledge one another’s undeniable existence on the material plane. Shake hands like sulky but well-mannered children after a baseball game.

***

Now they’re on the deck while Mulder tends the grill, three gorgeous steaks from a neighbor’s cow before him.

“It’s beautiful out here, Dana,” Bill says.

“Mostly Mulder’s doing,” Scully replies, sipping at the wine her brother had brought. “He’s honestly a wizard with this property.” She glances at him when she says it and he smiles back.

“Really?” Bill says. “Well, color me impressed. Mulder, I had no idea you were such an adept little homemaker.”

Mulder moves the steaks to a serving platter. “Oh, sure. Dana just uses me for cooking, yardwork, and sex.”

Bill chokes on his beer and Scully closes her eyes for a beat the way Anne Boleyn must have when they led her from the Tower.

Mulder sets the platter on the table, uncovers the potato salad and the asparagus. Sourdough rolls and goat-milk butter.

“Now Bill,” he says, “you tell me if that steak is too rare and I’ll pop it right in the microwave for you. Let me know if you need anything else, some A-1 or ketchup or anything at all. I want you to feel at home.”

Absolute daggers in Scully’s eyes.

Bill coughs lightly. “Everything looks fantastic, thank you both.”

“It was good of you to make the drive, Bill,” Scully says, loading up plates with food. “I know it’s a bit of a haul.”

Bill smiles indulgently. “Couldn’t be this close to my kid sister after so long and not swing by!”

“Though we would have understood,” Mulder says, warmly. He butters a roll and passes it to his brother in law. “Never feel obligated.”

Bill narrows his eyes as he accepts the bread. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to need some new pictures of the kids,” Scully says brightly. “Matthew must have grown six inches since that school photo you sent, Bill! And Mom says Claire has lost two teeth.”

“I’ll tell Tara to send some,” Bill says, puffing up.

They eat in silence for a time. Knives cutting through the tender steaks and stabbing into waxy potatoes and young asparagus. Butter dripping down chins.

“It’s a shame William isn’t growing up here,” Bill says, wiping his plate with another roll. “Dana, how could-“

Her fork clatters to her plate and he shuts up.

A roaring silence like an event horizon.

“Bill,” Scully says, sweetly. “We have the most beautiful rooster to show you.”

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr #my fic #prompt #pre iwtb #unremarkable house #bill scully #chickens

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soosth · 9 months ago

Text

AANG ＆ OZAI PARALLELS: DEBUNKED

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Because apparently the true villain is the sole survivor of a genocide of his entire nation, and not the imperialist colonizer.

Where do I even begin?? Because I’m genuinely holding in laughter writing this, it’s absolutely insane how certain people can make such egregious parallels that aren’t even found in the first place.

AH, so a little backstory on how this fucking shit stained idea even came to existence, well our dear z^tara fans pissed their pants over Zuko and Katara not tying the knot, so, as a way of retribution for their supposed “honour” They take any chance to jump on the Aang hate train and make him into some irredeemable abusive demon, aaand they got that perfect opportunity because the LoK decided to take a lick out of the great “Main Characters Must Be Bad Parents In The Sequels” Trope. Which personally, does absolutely nothing to the protagonists resolution aside from cheap family drama but I digress.

Now, I’m not behind the idea of the writers trying to make Aang a “flawed” Parent, I think it really makes no sense by how they went about it, (I might touch on this in another post)

((And it’s so very clear that they’re trying to give it a soft “retcon” And even taking extra steps saying that Kya and Bumi just “remember wrong” Which I’ll actually take, because season two of LOK was hell on earth anyway so you might as well give it some saving grace.))

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There’s three main parallels that they got from Ozai and Aang: (god help me)

Favouring a child

isolating the rest

leaving pressure On the golden child

I’m going to debunk all three of them while trying not to fall into complete lunacy over how ridiculous they are.

Favouring a child + Leaving pressure:

OK, so people are clearly blind with context clues and media comprehension, got it. No surprise whatsoever. I can’t be disappointed if I didn’t even have any expectations to begin with.

Let’s compare the treatment on how Ozai treats Azula, and how Aang treats Tenzin. (Holy Shit)

Beginning with Ozai, well.. It doesn’t take much of a rocket scientist to understand that Ozai essentially could not give two fucks about Azula, as she in essence, serves the role of an attack dog, as long as it does its job, it’s worthy.

Ozai favoured Azula because she was molded to match his ferocity and hunger for power, she was a prodigy bender, and was cunning and calculated, all traits that Ozai found endearing and someone worthy to be crowned the next “fire lord.” His “favouring” Of her didn’t come out of genuine love or care, she is his tool who serves a purpose. In short, she showed more competency and more ruthlessness and callousness in comparison to Zuko. Which earned her, her place as the “Golden Child.”

-------

None of this is even remotely similar to how Aang treated Tenzin and his kids, aside from the fact he supposedly “favoured” Tenzin more, but that is such a baseline statement and has absolutely no relation with Ozai's reasons.

You have to understand that an entire FUCKING NATION IS DEAD. History, Culture, Tradition, is at the BRINK of being wiped out, Tenzin is quite literally the only Airbender that will be left after Aangs passing. Why do people devalue this concept so much?

“B-BUT THE AIR ACOLYTES1!!” Still have limited knowledge, airbending is so heavily tied to its spiritual roots, you LOSE your ability to AIRBEND, if you aren't inclined to your spiritual side. Which is a core part of the air nomad culture. Tenzin is... Literally the only god forsaken part left of that, so yeah. It’s a pretty big fucking deal. Aang values his culture and teachings to such a high degree, he is literally the survivor of a genocide. His favouring of Tenzin was done out of necessity and love, not out of a need for power and a new attack dog to send orders around.

Tenzin will literally be the future “Director” Or guide for the next avatar to learn airbending, people still forget this, and it’s hilarious. He needs to know all the moves, all the teachings because he will be the next avatar's personal guide.

Aang constantly reassures him, and apologizes for the pressure that may be put upon him but he always reaffirms that he’ll be there to guide him and they’ll “learn together”

---------

So yeah not the same thing at all. Fuck you for being so inept at understanding the different reasons and perspectives of those situations, just for some petty ship discourse, genuinely disgusting.

Isolating the children:

OK this part, I have to say that the writers definitely messed up with aangs characterization, but I think the execution came out way differently than the intention, so I will try to look more into the intention of each decision.

Ozai isolated Zuko, mistreated him, belittled him, PHYSICALLY ABUSED HIM, but yeah totally on par with Aang actually.

I don’t wanna touch on this part much mainly because his treatment was literally explained all throughout the show, and granted, while I understand most of these people haven’t touched the show aside from reading fanfic 300000 Where Aang is revealed to us as satan himself, but perhaps, even a small peak at Ozai's parenting would reveal the laughable contrast between the two.

Zuko was a slow learner, and much more of a softie, and a “mama's boy” To Ozai’s heavy dislike, he was thus treated as such, he was belittled, turned down, and literally burnt alive for showing “weakness” He is meant to serve as a direct contrast to Azula, ”The everything he isn't.”

Kya and Bumi on the other hand, don’t show any actual signs of trauma aside from some petty jabs they threw at Tenzin,

Bumis talk with Aang at the statue was *very very* Clearly, meant to highlight his own inferiority complex that he internalized growing up. His need for proving himself to be capable of doing just as much if not more than a “bender” Probably happened because his two parents were both prodigy benders and him being a first born son who was a non-bender must’ve hit pretty hard for him, and I’m so sure that katara and Aang reassured how special he is but that kind of thing doesn’t really go away.

------

Kya: [while healing Bumi] I told you those rocks were slippery. You're lucky you didn't kill yourself.

Bumi: You done with the lecture, mom?

Kya: Oh, grow up. You haven't changed one bit since we were kids. You're still trying to prove you can do everything a bender can. Well, you can't. Deal with it.

----------------------

That talk with Aangs statue was very much meant to unveil an internal struggle rather than a conflict he had with his father. Kya even doubles down on this, telling him “of course he’d be proud of you” Basically spoon feeding to us, the viewers, that this is much more of internal than an external conflict that he has to overcome along the show.

“Why Didn’t he share his culture with them 1!!1!”

He most definitely did, or tried to, but it’s clear they didn’t show much interest so he didn’t pester, this is shown many times throughout the show.

“You know I could never keep all those gurus straight… There were like a million of them!

remember that long boring story about the guy who never ate?”

This is literally Kya’s remark to Tenzin just after he tried teaching the airbender students this story, basically telling us that Aang DID try to tell them about his stories and culture, but much to their disinterest, didn’t try any further.

And Bumi, literally could not pay attention to the story to save his life, and instead decided to fool around in his literal 60’s!! I mean Imagine what he was like when he was a kid!!

I could imagine their dynamic was very similar to Jinora with Meelo and Ikki, Tenzin being the only one with actual interest and care, whilst Bumi and Kya goofing off and not putting much focus onto it. WHICH IS FINE BTW!!

It only goes to reiterate that Tenzin was the only one who was actually giving interest and attention to the air nomad culture, and it was of Kya and Bumi’s own personal choice to not partake in it. To each their own I see.

“BUT WHAT ABOUT THE VACATIONS”

This.. I agree, weird for the writers to decide this, but given how they low-key are retconning it in interviews, my best guess is that each of those trips were side-quests during their journey to teach an important lesson that might’ve just drowned out because Tenzin may not have remembered it as well.

Also keep in mind that Tenzin was put into a lot of pressure, Aang probably saw this, and as a way to still keep it enjoyable, he took him to trips that would help ease the mind for a little kid whilst also learning something valuable. That seems pretty on brand for Aang actually

And given that Kya and Bumi are literally in their fucking 60’s it wouldn’t surprised me if they didn’t have the greatest memory. Hell, they didn’t even fault Aang as a parent until Tenzin started boasting about “trips” That Kya and Bumi gave petty jabs but weren’t actually showing genuine hurt, just annoyance.

Kya even comments how Aang was too busy “Trying to save the world, and doing his duty that he didn't have much time for them”

Phrasing as if it wasn't anything "important" But it's clear that this was Kya's own personal irritation towards Tenzin rather than an actual evaluation on Aang's duties.

A continuation comic best explains it in a deeper way:

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Literally showing that “neglecting” His kids wasn't up to him, and was out of a sense of necessity, trying to cram as much knowledge onto Tenzin, the only one who was basically putting his lessons into practices. Kya and Bumi were left feeling neglected. But that wasn’t out of his decision; he still loved them dearly.

-------

This. Literally highlighting how much pressure was forced upon Aang, so yes, as any person would, he struggled with making time for everybody. Holy shit who knew??

GASP!! IS THAT… A REALISTIC BUT UNDERSTANDABLE FLAW!!?? HOW DARE YOU! ITS OZAI #2

The fact that the smiley energetic person forgets to SMILE, is a big deal, man was put through hells amount of stress but he never cracked.

So tell me, how is a genocidal freak, who treats his golden child like a tool and abuses the other both physically and emotionally for showing “weakness’

Even remotely comparable to

the sole survivor of a genocide, trying to withhold his teachings and culture onto literally his only child that showed actual effort in doing so, while also maintaining the balance of an entire fucking world and being literally the biggest “advisor” And “Mentor” For society, OH! And also building and managing a literal city, but along the way struggling to make time for his children.

Guess what, they’re not. And if you think they are. You are an idiot, with bias and headcanons.

So the conclusion is, Aang is a flawed parent, but he isn't a "bad" Parent - confirmed by the literal writers.

Comparing him to Ozai a literal dictator, is absolutely sickening, just for your petty shipping discourse when this show's been over for a decade is insane. Indulge in what you enjoy, but stop projecting delusions like they're canon.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #aang #pro aang #aang defense squad #the legend of korra #tenzin #kya ii #bumi ii #how could you hate this cutie #anti anti aang #anti zutara #pro kataang #kataang #you all suck #anti zutara fandom #katara x aang #aang meta

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anxiousnerdwritings · 5 months ago

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Just unloading some yan radahn thoughts!

Radahn would honestly either be the best or worst yandere depending on how you think of him.

I honestly think if radahn was a yandere pre-rot he'd be a terrifying one to have, not because he's violent towards reader but because he'll get violent towards anyone else he deems a threat to their safety and happiness.

Because he seems to love really hard from the descriptions I've heard of him, like learning magic for Leonard and such I imagine that his love whether platonic or romantic being mixed with yandere would make radahn go through great lengths and hoops to make his darling comfortable and happy around him all except letting them roam freely of course, even if darling is tarnished and will come back to life I think radahn would be incredibly protective and insist that darling sticks close to him or allows him to accompany them all the time because the lands between is dangerous and filled with people who detest the tarnished though he'd immediately wipe them off the map if they even dared to look at darling wrong.

All in all I think he'd be an incredibly overbearing yandere and the only other one who could top him in that regard would probably be Marika herself or renalla after radagon has left her. But honestly I'm curious of your thoughts maybe you see radahn a lot different than i do

For me, it all depends on which version of Radahn we’re talking about, like pre-rot, post-rot, or Promised Consort.

Regarding Yan!Pre-Rot!Radahn, I completely agree with you. He would be extremely overbearing and excruciatingly overprotective, whether with a Tarnished!Darling or not. Even before becoming a demigod, Radahn would still have been very much overbearing and overprotective of his darling anyway. But after becoming a demigod, Radahn would see it as his sole purpose to protect his darling, he’s been given an even more prominent position, one that comes with even greater capabilities than he already possessed to ensure his darling’s safety and security. This version of Radahn is the most sound of mind. He wants to care for his darling, to love them, to make them laugh and smile. He’s merely happy just getting to exist in his darling’s presence. He not only loves hard but his loyalty would be particularly unwavering when it came to his darling, especially of the romantic variety. No one else could possibly compare to them and he would only allow his heart to beat for them and them alone. Radahn wouldn’t only wish to stay by his darling’s side, especially when they’re venturing the Land Between and or wherever else, he would even go as far as to carry his darling himself. Even if it’s only a few steps away, Radahn would be adamant that his darling not move an inch, that he take them wherever they need to. With his darling in his hold, Radahn can better protect them, he can ensure that nothing can get to them without him knowing and being able to stop it before it even happens.

But with as overbearing as Radahn is, he would be very willing to give his darling their freedom. So long as he just gets to be by your side, that is. He adores seeing his darling go about their day, just existing as is, so long as he can bear witness to even the most mundane activities his darling does then he is more than happy with them doing whatever they please. The only time he would put his foot down is if his darling were to have gotten hurt or was attacked. God forbid if his darling was killed. He’d go berserk avenging them then fall into trying to bring them back. He’d be an absolute mess. I could see him viewing his darling as his whole heart so without them he had no heart left.

Yan!Post-Rot!Radahn is a whole entire beast in himself, literally and figuratively. After being infected with the Scarlet Rot he has no mind of his own, he is merely an animal; a very hungry, feral animal. He is left roaming around, gorging on the flesh of whoever and whatever. But when it comes to his darling he doesn’t eat them, for some ungodly known reason. (I kind of like the idea of him having the same darling as he had pre-rot in this scenario especially, maybe they’re reincarnated after having died or something. And just the thought of him not entirely recognizing them but something in him refuses to cause any harm to them, instead protecting them from everything else around them is a shred of wholesomeness given the situation.). They’re spared from that, instead Radahn protects them from everything else, he’s even ‘gentle’ in how he touches and handles his darling. It’s not nearly as gentle as he would be pre-rot but it’s certainly a lot better than it could be. He especially seems to have a fondness for his darling’s hair or a certain piece of clothing they wear. Radahn will grapple with a strand of his darling’s hair or the fabric of whatever his darling is wearing and play with it between his fingers. I imagine given he’s in a more primal and animalistic state, Radahn would have an affinity for smelling his darling. It’s probably why he likes their hair/clothes so much since both smell the most of his darling’s scent.

Radahn would do his best in the state he’s in to provide for his darling and take care of them, which mainly means him trying to feed his darling the flesh of those he’s slain. And he can’t understand why his darling puts up such a fight when it comes to eating. He gets very frustrated when his darling fights him or tries to get away in general but especially when he’s trying to take care of them in the process. When it comes to feedings, Radahn will always end up force feeding his darling the flesh he’s gotten just for them. And he looks so proud of himself when his darling inevitably swallows the meal he’s prepared for them. Only for them to throw it back up but he doesn’t get too mad about that, not any more at least. Afterwards, he’ll soothe his darling as they lay curled up and sobbing, curling himself around them in a protective manner and embracing them close to him. If his darling were to try and run away from him, it wouldn’t take much for him to catch them at all but I could see him toying with them and letting them get quite a bit away from him before using his gravity magic to make his darling’s body become heavy so that they’ll give up on fleeing. But the more his darling tries to endure it and continue on with their escape, the heavier and heavier their body becomes until they can’t bring themself to try anymore. And then Radahn will come to collect them, to take them back to wherever he’s made their new home.

Yan!Promised-Consort!Radahn is unpredictable. He has his wits about him, more than he had post-rot, but with the added effects of Miquella’s influence. He seems much colder than he ever could muster pre-rot, it’s like his state of mind is strictly that of being on the battlefield, calculated and stoic, unwavering in his endeavors. He’s more brutal, much harsher than he ever could have been towards his darling pre-rot. He’s much more willing to use force when it comes to his darling, not even thinking twice about it in some situations and going straight to it in others. This version of Radahn would be much more likely to lock his darling away from the rest of the world under the guise of it being for their own protection but really it’s out of possessiveness. His darling is his, and not even the vow he made with Miquella could take that away from him. He wouldn’t allow it. Radahn still has his moments of being his old pre-rot self, moments that inevitably get his darling to drop their guard. But is it really him or is it just a way for him to manipulate his darling further, I’ll leave that up to you. Radahn in this state would be less likely to focus on his darling’s happiness and their wants, unlike his pre-rot self. I imagine this version of him being much more self-serving, putting his own wants and needs well above his darling’s. Something that he would continue to do, similar to his pre-rot self, is tending to his darling in the sense of brushing their hair, bathing them, dressing them, etc. If he were to be rough with them, forceful in how he handled them be it for whatever reason, Radahn would tend to them himself. He’ll bandage them up, kiss the bruises and cuts he left in his wake. Apologizing, all the while blaming you for making him behave that way. Had you just listened to him, behaved how he wished then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. The one thing that seems to stay the same no matter which version of Radahn it is, is that he always curls up with his darling, holding them close to him. But the only difference is just how tight his grip gets and in this case it’s the tightest it’s ever been.

(In the scenario of his original darling having died and being reincarnated, I like to think when Promised-Consort!Radahn meets the darling he thought he’d lost this whole time and it results in Miquella’s influence breaking its hold on him cause nothing could ever compare to his darling after all. Nothing. In this scenario, Radahn would pretty much revert back to his pre-rot self for the most part but he would become even more overbearing than he already was, excruciating smothering. He lost his darling once, he wasn’t gonna lose them again. Ever.)

#anxious answers #yandere radahn #yandere elden ring #yandere elden ring concept #yandere concept

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kingkatsuki · 5 months ago

Note

sugishita accidentally classically conditioning you. he only puts his hair up to eat you out until one day it’s HOT working in umemiya’s garden and he puts his hair up to get some cool air on the back of his neck. your body thinks it knows what that means though and you’re instantly drenched 😖

It’s completely innocent at first. The heat licks at his skin as he bends over the reddening tomatoes that he’s preening, leaning back to wipe the sweat from his brow with his wrist as he heaves a sigh. It’s hotter than usual today, and his grey shirt tacks to his skin from the sweat that casts a light sheen against his skin.

He tugs his gardening gloves off before reaching back to tug his hair back into a messy bun using the pink hair band he’d stolen from you weeks earlier. The hairstyle nowhere near as precise and delicate as the ones you like to give him when you’re about to do face masks for the evening, but it’s enough to satiate the heat that blooms at the back of his neck.

But now the new hairstyle draws your attention to him, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he chugs back water from the plastic bottle that’s drooling with condensation as you feel your body respond to him based on pure instinct. Your clit throbs with neglect beneath sheer panties, and now the muggy heat that cloaks the rooftop is nowhere near as bad as the insatiable molten lava that burns through your veins as you picture Sugishita buried between your thighs as he mouths at your swollen clit.

It’s like your body is completely separate from any rational thinking as you find yourself drawn to him like a moth to the flame, the heat from him burns a fiery inferno as you move to stand beside him and Sugishita thinks you’re here for his water bottle, offering it out to you with a small smile that has you shaking your head. Taking his free hand in yours as you feel the sticky sweat that clings to his skin as you tug at his wrist, moving his hand beneath your skirt as he looks around the rooftop with wild eyes— no doubt looking out for Umemiya as you press his fingertips against your clothed cunt. Letting him feel the drenched material that sticks to your slit as you give him a needy pout, shamelessly pressing yourself down on his digits to give yourself some needed friction.

“Now?” He gruffs, brows furrowed before he remembers why you’re suddenly so debauched, so needy—

Allowing you to see the perfect curve of his jaw as his lips curl into a sly smirk before he’s curling his fingers beneath your plush thighs and he’s pushing you back onto the soft plot of garden. Immediately feeling the cool relief of the dirt against your back as Sugishita’s hands are swift to pull your panties down your thighs, stuffing them in his pants pocket as he spreads you open for him. Allowing him to see the mess that he made of you by simply existing as he bends down to feast on your neglected cunt.

It’s not even fifteen minutes later that Sugishita has had you creaming on his tongue twice, and he’s pulling you up off the plot of land as you hear Umemiya’s cheery voice from the entrance to the roof. Waving over at you as you try desperately to brush the dirt and mud off your ruined clothes and messy hair as you give your boyfriend a glare, your mind no longer shrouded with lust as you realise just how debauched you look right now.

“Oh, you have dirt all over you!” Umemiya looks worried as he leans back to assess the dark stains that have now ruined your pretty sundress, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“She fell.” You both speak at the same time and Sugishita can’t hide the blush on his cheeks as he tries to avoid eye contact with you and Umemiya.

“Oh, that’s good. You should be careful of your footing those sandals can be dangerous,” Umemiya motioned to the backless shoes you were wearing as he shook his head, “But I’m glad you missed my tomatoes! They’re almost ready to harvest.”

#sugishita thirst #jo thirsts #thirst posts #wind breaker thirst #Sugishita smut

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 6 months ago

Text

Datura Pt 14

Author's Note: If your read ACOSF and got to that part where Cassian is mind controlled and thought, hmm how could this hurt me more, look no further. Had to make it angsty before we get fluffy, right?

Warnings: Allusions to Assault, Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Blood and Gore. A lot of angst; like a lot.

Masterlist/ Previous Chapter

There's a callback to Chapter 1 in here, but since it's been so long since I wrote it, here's the chapter again, just for a refresher ;)

---------------------------------

Revenge had kept you warm all those nights in the dungeon, had kept your chin up during every humiliating thing that red headed bitch had put you through. You’d spent hours and hours dreaming up all the ways you would make her pay for turning your life upside down, for tearing the Courts apart, for laying a hand on your mate. In your dreams it was a swift, clean death that wiped away any chance of survival. But standing in the dark tunnels of the Mountain’s lowest levels, the blood of her men dripping from your claws, this is the last thing you want.

This is not swift justice, this is not satisfying revenge, it’s a bloodbath. Males reach for their swords and you tear them apart with your hands, claws cleaving through armor and flesh with little resistance, the splatter of it chilling against your changed skin. Every sense is heightened, every smell and sight changed and distorted, the splatter of blood stings like pin pricks, and yet the beast that has lived caged within your chest all these years delights in it. Your head screams at you to stop, yet your body moves as if it enjoys the hunt.

Hybern said all of them, and your collared body responds accordingly, leaving nothing left of the sentries that patrol the lower levels of the Mountain. There are beasts and monsters here too, hiding in the dark corners, huddling around fires to stay warm as autumn creeps in, all dispatched with a ruthless efficiency that makes your stomach churn, and yet you still can’t force yourself to stop.

The darkness of this place that had once felt so soul crushing and disorienting now makes the muscles in your shoulders relax. The beast within you chuckles as it slips into the dark shadows as if they’re a caress of a lover.

A sentry walks your direction, unawares. He’s dead before his next breath.

With no physical control of your body, you try desperately to call for your mate, to find whatever shred of a bond is left, if there even is one, but you feel it go nowhere. Before, it was like dropping a bit of water into a pond, the echo of your call disturbing the ether of the physic plane until something out there felt the ripple. But there is no ripple here. It is as if your calls bounce off a wall of steel. If there is a bond left, it is as much a prisoner to Hybern’s will as you are, no matter how much you mentally bash yourself against it.

Your body moves without your consent, deeper and deeper into the Mountain. Your hands move on their own volition, yanking previously locked doors off the hinges to allow you to tear apart whatever prisoner, guard, or beast lays within. Some of them are still sleeping when you come, completely unaware they’re being hunted until it’s too late. Some try to fight. None get far. These newly awakened powers leave little room for fighting, all you have to do is direct some of that ether between your fingers in their direction and they turn to a bloody mist. You are a far greater monster than anything in this Mountain has ever been, and there’s no chance that anyone will be warned you’re there until it’s too late.

Time is a concept that exists outside of you, however long it takes to clear the lower levels, the winding, endless tunnels filled with bodies, feels like both a blink and an eternity. It had been sunrise when you’d entered, it very well could have been evening already and you’d have no idea. All this body knows is the hunt, and it moves tirelessly through floors you’ve never seen, with soldiers and war bands and monsters you’d never known existed, until the halls start to look familiar. The prison first, your old cell still damaged. The training room, with its dust stained weapons and crumbling pillars. Every floor up is a new terror, a possibility to come across a face you know.

“Please,” you beg whatever entity will dare listen to you. “Please, let him be out. Let him be anywhere but here.” Everything you touch dies, if anything happens to Rhys…

Blood drips off your aching skin. Moving like this makes your muscles feel like they could pull away from your bones, this form too much for your mortal body to keep contained. It should be tiring, yet, your legs still move you forward as if you haven’t been tearing through an army for hours, unhindered by your discomfort.

“Please stop,” you whisper when you find sleeping quarters for Amarantha’s servants, fangs bared and claws swinging. “Please!”

A blue skinned fae with crooked wings drops to their knees before you, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Have mercy! Please!”

Stop this. Stop this. Stop this!

The collar hums at your hesitation, metal burning, it’s dark power pulsing through your veins like living flames. A growl of pain slips out of you as you extend your hand and mist the begging fae.

Others sprint from the room, screaming. None of them make it farther than the outside hallway.

You can feel blood and gore beneath your feet as you walk past, looking for anyone else on this floor. There’s a couple hiding in a closet, hands pressed over their mouths to keep quiet. A soldier drunk and stumbling with his pants around his ankles. A courtier slipping from a secret lover’s room. All gone.

You’d cry if you could, but nothing slows you, your body moving ever forward until it comes to a hall you recognize, your own claw marks dragged across the walls.

The more you try and fight it, the more the collar burns.

Most of the rooms around your old cell are empty, your own included. In all your revenge plans you’d always pictured yourself destroying it before leaving, but the collar doesn’t care what you want. It shuts the door and leaves the bed and the book written about you for the dust to once again claim as it begins its ascent to the Throne Room.

There are plenty of obstacles getting there, their faces all a blur of sudden terror and agony. No amount of bathing will ever cleanse the feeling of all this gore from your skin, from your soul.

The Throne Room doors finally come into view, the noise you’ve been making in the lower levels attracting the attention of the guards, who stand at the closed doors with their spears drawn. They’d been so imposing, that day the Attor had dragged you into Amarantha’s chambers, but now, they’re as dangerous as flies. You turn them to mist with the same blast of power that shatters the doors, the ancient rock around you screaming in protest. This draws some attention from the dancing crowd, but it’s not until you’ve misted a large chunk of them that the music finally stops playing.

No. No. No.

The crowd parts with a scream, pressing against the walls, scrambling for the exits as you step into that all too familiar room, dripping blood behind you.

“What is the meaning of-” Amarantha’s shrill voice echoes off the chamber walls, rattling the decaying bodies still pinned to the ruined stones of this once sacred hall. There had always been a strange energy to the Mountain, the magic that kept it alive, old and strange, always hidden beneath the surface, but with your new found powers, you feel the echo of it beneath your feet. This place is twisted, the once holy magic from the Cauldron itself rotten and decaying, you crinkle your nose at the smell of it.

The Queen still sits on her throne, the sheer fabric of her blood red dress clinging to her meager curves, as she takes you in. It takes her a minute to understand what she’s seeing, to process the magnitude of what you were and what you now are. Her gaze flicks to her side… where she keeps your mate chained to her throne.

The screaming of the crowd, the pounding of your heart, it’s all a dull, distant echo in your ears. Rhys is wearing a collar, his dark hair messy, knotted atop his head, violet eyes glassy, red streaked; he’s not wearing a shirt, or pants, stripped down to his boxers, his tattooed chest bruised and littered with claw marks.

Oh gods.

What had she done to him?

Mentally, you bash against the wall between the two of you, screaming for him, begging anybody who will listen to let you out, to let you save him.

If he can hear you, he gives no acknowledgment. Even if he could break through that wall between you, there’s no way he could do it in this state. It takes him a long time to process what he sees when his gaze finally drags to you, as if it’s an effort to move his head. His glassy eyes blinking too many times like he’s trying to clear the haze from them to ensure that what he’s seeing is real. He’s as much himself as you are, both of you locked behind a wall of someone else’s making. You’re sure your heart is breaking, if it works at all it’s a ragged, bleeding thing that sits uselessly in your chest.

Amarantha stands and Rhys sways on his knees, trying to get out of her way. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way he flinches away from her hand, the way he dips his chin to his chest.

“What is this?” She snarls. “Guards!”

If there are soldiers coming for you, or just the crowd scattering to let them pass, it doesn’t matter. You raise a hand and mist all of them, the rock above your head shuddering as your power obliterates everything from flesh to rock.

Amarantha’s red painted lips part in shock, a small gasp of surprise slipping out of her.

There are a dozen different things you want to say to her, a thousand different things you mean to make her pay for, but you can’t open your mouth to say anything. There are no words able to pass beyond the burning thrum of the collar fused to your throat.

“This is a new look for you, Little Mouse,” she croons as a ring of fire emerges to wreathe her hands. “Who’d you have to fuck to make that happen? Certainly not Rhysand.”

She’ll pay for every cut, every bruise, every damn hair out of place on his head. The carnage behind you, around you, the blood that drips from your body, it’ll stain your very soul for the rest of your life if you manage to escape this, you know that for certain, but her death? You and the monster that lives inside, will relish every last one of her agonizing breaths. You’ll make her beg for mercy, as you had begged on your knees before her in this room, and you’ll take your time doing it.

Amarantha assesses you with the surety of a seasoned warlord, every step closer intentional, getting in range to take a shot at you. You wait, letting her get close enough, and just when she’s sure of her place on this new battlefield, you lunge for her with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, even for a fae. She barely has time to blink before you slash your claws across her face. You go right for her eye, aiming to maim, to make it hurt. She screams as your claws tear through flesh and bone, body spinning to get away from you and your free hand comes up to grab her by the hair and hurl her back towards the dias. She stumbles, barely managing to catch herself on the steps leading to her throne.

Rhys scatters as far back as the chain will allow him to avoid her, but his gaze remains fully fixed on you. A familiar brush of night chilled power brushes over your mind, asking for entry and you try your best to throw a door open, to let him in, but that wall remains between the two of you. You can feel him there, on the other side, trying to reach you, but the wall won’t come down.

There’s no time to try another way to reach him either, not when Amarantha starts throwing fire balls at your head. “You stupid, little bitch!” She screams. “I take you in, I offer to train you, to befriend you and you thank me like this?”

The eye on her ring swivels to look at the damage you’ve made in its master’s face in a move that looks strangely… impressed.

You dodge the first couple of throws she makes, letting them hit old cushions and tables. The next throw, you reach out a hand and catch the ball of flame. The fire would have blistered your skin, should make you scream in agony, but in this form, like this? You draw that power inside you as easy as you draw a breath, the crackle of flames like a drug in your veins. It’s intoxicating. When she throws more, her anger becoming more and more tangible and her shots more wild then the last, you take those in too, savoring it until it bubbles up in the pit of your stomach and you have no other choice but to hurl it back at her in a blast she just barely manages to shield herself from.

Distracted with keeping the shield up, you rush her again, drawing in the power she expels from her shield with ease so that there is nothing stopping you from getting a hand around her throat, lifting her up into the air and slamming her down against the marble floors so hard they crack beneath her. Amarantha screams around the hand clamped down around her windpipe as you pick her up and slam her down two more times.

She is still a formidable opponent, she manages to summon an ice pick and jam it into your wrist to free herself as you reel away with a howl of pain.

Rhys is still trying to reach you, throwing all his mental energy into breaking through, even as you watch his body slump a little more and more next to Amarantha’s throne. You want to scream for him, tell him to stop before he hurts himself anymore, but the words get lost as the collar’s power burns through you in retaliation for not immediately killing Amarantha. The pain of her ice pick in your wrist is nothing to the heat that emanates from the collar, the pain the only thing in all this time to make your legs shake. The pain doesn’t dissipate until you land a punch in Amarantha’s face, her nose breaking under your knuckles. The collar demands blood and it will have it.

No one in the crowd moves to help her, those that remain stay pressed against the walls, watching in horror as the two of you fight it out. There’s a strange sort of glee in the air, as the oppressed relish in their oppressor’s certain demise. If there are any guards left, they don’t come to save her.

You swing for her head again, but she dodges at the last second, your fist cracking the marble beneath you a second time.

Spitting blood, she manages to get off the floor, fists raised to protect her ruined face.

You snarl at her, one of the few sounds the collar will allow, and she throws as much ice and snow at you as she can, mingling it with bits of fire. She lets her claws sharpen at her fingertips, trying to make herself into a beast as formidable as you, but it won’t save her. Her blows do little and you can take satisfaction in the fact that she can no longer hurt you in this form, at least. You absorb what you can and let the rest bounce off you as you stalk closer, pushing her further back until she stumbles on the steps leading to her throne. Fitting, that she die here at the base.

She throws a blast of darkness at you, a blast of your mate’s power, twisted and wrong in her hands and it’s the only thing she’s thrown thus far that makes your body tremble. The collar rattles at your throat, shaken but not loosened. You growl out a shuddering breath as you push through the waves of energy and push your hand right into her chest. Bones break and split beneath your hands, her blood warm as your hand sinks into her chest cavity.

Amarantha gasps in surprise, in pain, as your fingers wrap around her still beating heart. Her dark eyes widen with fear, mouth hanging open as blood pools in the corners of her lips.

“Please,” she gurgles. She knows she’s going to die either way, but now, for the first time, she’s powerless. As powerless as all the people she has harmed over the years.

Your fingers tighten, her body as resistant as her shields beneath your hands. All those powers she’s stolen lash against you: A bit of light and darkness, ice and fire and water in a last ditch effort to save herself. Yet, your body pulls it in greedily as you get a solid grip on her beating heart.

None of this feels real, possible. This is something out of your books back home.

“Please,” she rasps. As if she had ever shown any of you mercy, as if she had not demanded that you beg at her feet and then laughed in your face. “Please.”

And there, at the foot of her oh so precious throne, in front of her dark court, you rip the Queen’s heart right out of her chest, silencing that grating voice for eternity.

You don’t even get to relish in the victory, to appreciate for even a second that you are all finally free of her, not when all that power she’d stolen swirls around you. The void that makes up your skin draws it in, waves of ice and water and flame swirling like a tornado around your body. The collar hums gleefully in your ears, as if this was its plan all along. It’s too much at once, bringing you to your knees as the influx of power in your veins has your head pounding mercilessly in your skull. Spots dance around your vision, the world spinning and flipping. There is not enough air in Prythian to help you breath against the influx of power. This was why she was always smoking the mirthroot. No one person could hold this much power at once. It will tear up your insides, ruin your mind, your soul.

“Y/N?” Rhys reaches for you, despite his shackles, his voice slurred. Just like in the Pit, you think it will be horror you see on his face, but it is only concern for you, not of you.

Your mate, wearing a collar just as you are. Your mate who was punished for not keeping you beneath the Mountain. Your mate who’s powers now swirl around beneath your skin like the dark whisper of a shadow. Your mate now splattered with Amarantha’s blood as he reaches a hand out to you, as if he could somehow save you from this wild thing tearing up your insides. The Cauldron had been merciless, cold, and empty, but this is like being roasted alive, the fire too hot, making the water churning around you boil and steam. Ice pricks against your sensitive skin like a thousand tiny needles. It’s too much. It has to be released somewhere.

Rhys calls for you again, crawling towards you, body so much slower than it should be. Distantly, in that small part of you still aware of yourself, you know you need to give his powers back to him. His powers will speed his healing; his powers might just save him from you, but that wall is still there between you and your body. When you try to reach for him the collar pulses so intensely with heat you jerk back away from him, sliding down the steps with a whimper.

Rhys manages to get on his feet, swaying under all that mirthroot. “Y/N!”

His voice is so loud in your ears. Everything is too much. The brush of the throne’s steps against your feet, the swirl of water around your body, even the air in the room feels like it’s pressing against your skin. You throw out a hand, trying to make it stop, sending spikes of ice in all directions.

It must have hit the chain around Rhys’s neck because a moment later he’s stumbling down the steps to take your face in hand, the powers swirling around you be damned. “Focus on me,” he orders.

Your head is going to explode.

His strong hands grip your face, “Right here. Breathe. You’re ok. Just breathe.”

Why is he screaming? Your hands move despite yourself to shove him off you, to try and make the world quiet for five seconds. This is too much. You can’t bear it. You know you’re screaming because the collar retaliates against it, using the powers you’ve stolen to wound you further for the rebellion, but you can’t stop. The Mountain begins to shake and rumble, loose rock and debris falling in waves overhead.

Light and darkness pour out of you in blinding waves, the swaying movement in sync to your heartbeat. It’s a pulse that slams into the Mountain’s own magic, beating relentlessly until more chunks of the rock get hurled away, letting more light in. More people scatter, their screams mingling with your own.

“You can do this,” Rhys encourages, and when you finally manage to get your gaze to where he still kneels beside you. “Just breathe.”

“This is a new side of you Rhysand.” The world tilts. The pounding in your head makes the echo of approaching boots feel like every step has been made atop your skull. “I never would have thought you’d be offering up your services as a teacher, I thought you’d prefer to be on your back.”

Hybern walks into view, armor glinting, sword in hand.

No!

“Stop this,” Rhys begs and the sight of him like that, on his knees, makes you want to rip your father to shreds. “Let go of her! That collar will kill her.”

“Only if she fights it,” Hybern says with a shrug.

Blood trickles out your nose in inky black droplets, splattering the floor. When you lean forward and heave, more black goo comes out your mouth.

“I will give you anything,” Rhys pleads.

“Is this love?” Hybern sneers.

He does not wait for an answer as he turns to you and says, “Kill him, Y/N, I’ve waited long enough.”

No amount of mentally bashing yourself against the walls that cage you stop you from reaching out a hand and using a bit of Rhys’s own power to throw him across the room, his body bouncing off the marble.

It feels as if you’re lifting the Mountain just to get back on your feet, body swaying. Blood still drips from your nose. There might never be enough release of all this power to make the pain in your temples fade.

Rhys struggles to get to his feet, arms shaking beneath him. You’ve split open his cheek and temple. He’s barely managed to get up before you hurl more shadows at him, the dark mist lashing like a whip, cutting open his shoulder, his side.

Stop! Stop! Stop! By the Cauldron, he’s your mate! You can’t do this to him!

“Y/N,” Rhys slurs, voice breaking and you’re sure it’s the cracking of your own heart in your chest.

“Stop playing around,” Hybern orders.

Your body moves despite your efforts, lunging forward, fists flying. Rhys does his best to dodge, but he puts up no real effort, letting blow after blow land when he gets too tired to keep up.

Fight back. Please, by the Cauldron, fight back!

You manage to get a hand around his throat and you slam him so hard into the wall it cracks, his body nearly limp in your grip.

Stop. Stop. Stop!

“It’s ok,” he rasps. He’s not even trying to pry you off. “It’s not your fault.”

You’re going to die. If he dies, at your hand, you will not recover from this. Hybern might as well have killed you back at the Temple, there will be no saving you.

Violet eyes meet yours. There is no fear there, only understanding, only compassion.

You mentally throw yourself at the wall stopping you from regaining control over your body, bashing against it with everything you have. The collar’s power burns through you like boiling water in your veins. For your mate, your selfless, self-sacrificing mate, you’ll take whatever agony it can throw at you. It can’t end like this!

“I love you,” Rhys says, hands brushing over your claws. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

No. No. No!

Your claws tighten around his throat, drawing blood, as he gasps for air.

The collar rattles against your skin from how hard you’re fighting it, the metal hissing and screaming in your ears. You’re not going to let this happen. After everything you’ve been through, you can’t let Hybern win. He’s just a man. You’re a goddess, you will not be shackled to some mortal’s will. He will not take your mate from you, even if you have to fight Death yourself for him.

Darkness leaks from you. Your other fist slams into the wall next the Rhys’s head as your body spasms under the collar’s control.

“It’s ok,” Rhys whispers.

Spots swim across your vision, so damn fast they start to look like shadows. The world spins. The fire in your veins is unbearable. So much so that your body’s self-preservation finally kicks in and the hand around Rhys’s throat finally unlatches to let you grasp at the collar.

Rhys collapses, coughing at your feet as you tug at the metal fused to your skin, trying to pull it off. It’s not full control, but if you can keep pushing…

The room keeps spinning, end over end, the blood red marble at your feet now at the ceiling. Your stomach’s in your throat as your knees give out beneath you. You think you might be screaming again but the collar hums so loud you can’t hear anything over it. Still, you claw and yank at it with everything you’ve got.

“Stop fighting, Y/N,” Hybern orders.

Every breath feels like a battle. “Fuck…” the metal peels away from your skin like you’re ripping off a bandaid, skin coming with it. “You!” You snarl, voice ragged and gone.

He’s not going to beat you.

You get a claw beneath the metal, tearing through your own skin, it’s the only thing sharp enough to reach through the void.

“That’s enough!” Hybern screams.

The High Lord’s powers are yours, not Hybern’s, not the collar’s, not a product of the Cauldron. Yours. You push as much of Rhys’s darkness into your palms as you can, let that dark, glittering power slither its way beneath the collar.

Rhys manages to get up again, face bruised and bloodied. “Y/N!”

After everything, you’re not going to let him die, no matter what it costs you.

You get both hands around the collar, push whatever power you have into your palms until the heat of Autumn’s flames make the metal soft in your grip. Hybern is still yelling orders, but the don’t matter. If this kills you in the end, at least you’ll go knowing he didn’t get his precious Death Goddess. If you go, he looses.

With one last, rattling scream, you rip the collar off and the darkness pulsing from your body swallows you whole.

---

It’s all darkness. Not the Cauldron’s darkness. Not the Void that makes up your being. Not the darkness of your mate. It’s empty. Cold. Quiet. It has no beginning or ending, no borders or boundaries. It flows and ebbs like a tide, carrying your broken body along.

Broken. It’s a strange feeling, teetering along the edge of death itself, the pain a reminder that you’ve not fully topped over into nothingness yet, but it is there, pulling you closer and closer with no tether to the living on the other side of this dark veil.

And yet…

There, above your aching head, spins a single, glowing flower.

In this haze, it’s hard to remember where you’ve seen it before, yet you know, somehow that it’s meant for you.

“Come. Come and see.” It’s that phantom voice from your dreams again, always beckoning, tugging that tiny, little thread you feel blooming in your chest.

You reach for the flower, every muscle feeling like it might tear apart the more you move. It spins just out of reach, drawing you along, against the ebbing tide. Perhaps your eyes are playing tricks on you, but the darkness feels as if it’s getting lighter somehow.

The flower continues to beckon, further and further into the light until you have to shield your eyes against it…

---

Gaining consciousness feels suspiciously like being dropped from nothingness against the icy bite of the marble floors. Even being remade inside the Cauldron didn’t feel entirely as jarring as whatever that was.

Strong hands stroke your cheeks, moving your hair aside from your aching forehead. “Please, please, come back.” Rhys whispers, voice cracking.

His tears drip along your cheeks and it takes all your effort to drag an eye open to look at him. “I’m not…” it feels like you’re talking around a throatful of gravel. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your mate lets out a sob as he drags your aching body into his arms, chest heaving as he cries into your hair. Over his shoulder, you can see the destruction behind him, the Mountain in shambles, what’s left of Amarantha near her throne. But Hybern is nowhere to be found.

Rhys pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, “I thought you were dead.”

“I am a goddess after all,” you grumble. You certainly don’t feel divine by any means. “Kinda hard to kill me.”

He laughs through his tears, as he holds you tighter.

You let yourself lean into his touch, eyes closing. The worst of it is over, and yet, it all hits you at once. “I’m sorry,” you rasp into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re safe,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “That’s all that matters.”

“Hybern-”

His arms tighten around you, “Don’t worry, Darling. We’re going to make sure he pays for everything he’s done.”

------------

*Thank you all for sticking with this story, I know my posting times have been sporadic lately, rest assured I will see this through. =)*

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 2 months ago

Note

Hey!!!:) I can’t really remember if I've requested this before, but just in case, I’m sending it again. 😭

could I ask for a story where reader and Donna are struggling to have a baby? They’ve been trying for some time, but nothing seems to be happening, and they’re feeling really desperate to make it work.

Maybe reader starts to feel a bit insecure and scared, worried that Donna might lose patience and idk throw her out if she doesn’t get pregnant. She thinks that Donna is disappointed in her and blames the situation on her.

But at the end, it finally works out, and they’re overwhelmingly happy!

Thank you, and I wish you well, as always! ;)

Yesss!!!! I don't remember a similar request, but thank you for it!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Patience

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst (G!P Donna slightly implied)

Word count: 6,827

Summary: You wanted to give her a baby, to start a family, but you didn't know if you could...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

You paced back and forth, nervous, thinking about what the best words would be to confront the problem, wondering if those words really existed in your entire vocabulary. You were nervous, alone in that big house, with your mind too busy to be aware of the passage of time.

You were already accustomed to the darkness of a place that once seemed sinister to you, a dark, isolated and almost forbidden house.

A couple of years ago you decided to face your own fears, to enter the forest which gave you nightmares, that forest no one entered, and from which no one ever returned.

It could be that you were born in that place, in that village isolated from the world, under the protection and mercy of the Black Gods. Neither they, nor Mother Miranda, nor the Lords were reasons for you to think your life was safe, for you to believe you were nothing but a simple human being in a strange place.

You were not the most devout villager, nor the most helpful, nor the most sociable. You were simply you. A girl lost in a dark world, surrounded by legends, by fears that your family instilled in you over time.

Perhaps you could have lived differently if your parents had not been the cause of your fears. They, faithful devotees of the Cult, took care to warn you of all the dangers that the masses said didn’t exist, of that shadow that always hovered over you, over the creatures protected by those absurd Gods.

That extreme fear, that trembling in your legs every time the Lords were near, caused one of your most characteristic traits to be cowardice, cowardice that, when you turned 19, you decided to forget.

What was the best way to do it? Facing your fears.

The forest seemed the ideal place for it. There were no lycans. There was no constant danger as could be in the castle. That place was always uninhabited. It could even seem that there was no danger behind that wooden bridge.

You were wrong. You knew who lived there. You knew what could happen if she caught you. Donna Beneviento was the youngest, the most mysterious of the Lords and the owner of that forest, of those ramshackle cabins.

A dark woman, with a dark past, with serious problems in her mind, with the ability to make anyone who disturbed her suffer and wipe them off the map while screaming in terror. You knew it and for some reason, you assumed that it wouldn’t happen to you. But, again, you were completely wrong.

After walking around that place, telling yourself that everything was okay, that you hadn't done anything wrong, you tripped and fell into a small ditch, hurting your foot.

Asking for help was absurd, and moving, too.

When that black shadow, when that woman in black appeared before your eyes with a stoic pose, covered by the black veil, watching you, you could only close your eyes.

Nothing happened to you. Lady Beneviento was nothing like anything you had heard. Yes, she was a quiet woman, uncommunicative, but... Well, she helped you without reason. She healed your wounds under an almost sepulchral silence. Something unexpected, but that would lead to many more encounters, to questions with a hoarse, whispering voice.

It wasn't long before the fear disappeared and you began to feel other things towards that woman. A mutual feeling that settled in your heart after seeing her true face for yourself, the thing she was ashamed of. Beauty was something subjective but… In that case, you didn't think it was like that at all.

Then the kisses came, the hugs, the pleas for you to stay a little longer, just a little longer. You didn't care about anything, not the deformity of her face, not her body, altered by the the Gods’ whim … Nothing, nothing prevented you from falling madly in love with her.

And so two years passed, the two best years of your life.

But, like everything, nothing could be perfect, not that day, the day in which you had to expose to the brunette the worries you had for several days.

In your mind you rehearsed the conversation over and over again, the way to tell her what was happening to you, what that could mean. You could have tried to keep hiding it from her, but it was pointless.

Donna wasn't a bad person. She was kind, caring and understanding. Her problems didn't mix with yours and besides, you had learned to deal with those crises. You shouldn't be afraid, right?

After a while, the door of the mansion opened, letting in the woman of your life, covered in that horrible black veil, holding the fun and irreverent Angie in her arms.

“Oh, Donna, you're early,” you said nervously, walking towards her while she got rid of the cloth that covered her beauty. Her serious face sketched a smile as she saw how you approached, how you kissed her quickly.

“It was just a meeting like any other,” she explained, gently grabbing your waist, returning more quick kisses, unfortunately for the doll, who let out a furious growl.

“I'm glad to hear it,” you sighed, letting your head rest on her shoulder.

Any moment was good to express the love you felt for her, to melt with her hugs, but that day was different, that day her arms were not romantic, they were more like a refuge.

“Were you bored?” Donna asked, kissing your head and finally pulling away, putting her veil in a drawer. You sighed, shaking your head.

“No, I’ve been sorting out the books in the living room,” you explained, walking next to her, who listened intently to your words, nodding slowly.

“It was not necessary,” she whispered in a tender voice, taking your hand, noticing it was shaking. “(Y/N), tesoro… You’re shaking.”

“Oh, well,” you said, pulling your hand away quickly, too quickly, affirming your concerns. “It’s nothing.”

Donna looked at you with a frown. You weren’t the best of liars, and she wasn’t stupid. You couldn’t fool her or lie to her, she would always know.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, facing you and placing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Something’s worrying you…”

“Th, the truth is… Yes,” you sighed, finally confessing, continuing your mental search for the right words, one that was fruitless. “Come, I have, I have to tell you something,” you said, taking her hand and leading her to your favorite reading corner, indicating that she should sit down.

“Okay… Dimmi, (Y/N),” she whispered with a low voice, broken by the nerves she fought against every time you had something to tell her.

You could say that Donna, in her own way, was also quite a coward, although her only fear was always the same, losing you.

“Um, I… I don't really know how to tell you,” you stammered, scratching the back of your neck but not separating your hand from hers. “I'm, I'm a bit… scared.”

“Scared,” Donna repeated, with a marked accent that betrayed her own concern. “What are you scared of, tesoro?”

“Scared is perhaps not the right word…” you murmured, looking at the ceiling, anywhere except at her bright eye. “Let's say… Worried?”

“Well, in that case, tell me what's worrying you,” the lady in black said, nodding understandingly.

You took a breath, unable to find those magic words, ones that weren't dangerous, that wouldn't make the lady nervous.

“I'm late,” you finally said, closing your eyes and opening them slowly, cowardly checking her reaction. She seemed calm, her face didn't change.

“You're late…” she repeated cautiously, blinking erratically.

“Yes, I… I should have gotten my period last week and… Well, I’m a week late,”you said in a whisper that was becoming increasingly inaudible.

“Um…” Donna murmured, smiling nervously. “What do you mean, (Y/N)?”

“Well, I mean, I mean…” you stammered, your body shaking from that fear, that thing you didn't want to think was possible, even though deep down, you knew that it was, of course it was possible.

“Amore mio,” Donna said, with a surprised but radiant face, taking your hands, squeezing them affectionately. “Sei incinta?”

“What?” you asked confused, trying to figure out what she had asked. After all that time with her, you didn't have to think about it too much anymore. “Oh, I… I don't know.”

“Tesoro…” Donna sighed, cupping your face in her hands, with a radiant smile, of sincere happiness, something that relaxed you a bit. “Are we going to have a baby?”

“I don't know, Donna, I… I've always, always been regular like a clockwork and… Well, I don't really know but… Yes, it's quite likely,” you murmured, pleasantly surprised by her reaction, which was, of course, what you feared the most.

“That's wonderful news, (Y/N), a baby…” she said, radiating happiness, kissing you quickly, excited.

“Is it?” you asked confused, laughing at her quick kisses, at that tender nervousness of the brunette.

“Of course, tesoro,” she said, nodding, settling down next to you on the couch

“Wow, you've taken it well,” you sighed in relief, dodging the hundreds of kisses that attacked you mercilessly. “I didn’t know you were so excited about it.”

“Honestly, I didn’t either,” the lady said, shaking her head, still caressing you. “But thinking about it makes me... It makes me happy.”

“Does it? Well, that's a relief,” you joked, thinking about how stupid you were to think that somehow it would be bad news. “Anyway, it's just a delay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit.”

“You said you were regular like a clockwork,” she said, visibly nervous. “It's incredible... A baby...”

“I don't know if I'm ready for it,” you said somewhat fearfully, with a lot of new worries assaulting your mind, a lot of things that were going to happen and that you didn't know how to handle.

“Certo, I guess no one is ready enough but... Don't worry, I'll help you with everything you need,” she sighed, with her hand on your cheek, with her eye shining with emotion. “And, and we will be... A family, a real one.”

“Family? It sounds great,” you said amused as Donna bit her lower lip, unable to hold back a tear of emotion.

“You make me so happy…” she sighed in a sweeter voice, kissing you again, this time more slowly, enjoying the contact. “Oh, oh, there are so many things to think about…”

“Yes,” you laughed amused, wiping away a tear that was running down your cheek. “So many things…”

“Yes, I… I'll have to make some clothes for it and, well, we should think about where it’s going to sleep and… Is it a boy or a girl?”

“How would I know?” you asked, shaking your head and arching your eyebrows. “Donna, relax, it's too early for that.”

“No, no, no, you're the one who has to relax and rest. A, from now on I'll take care of you as if you were a princess… My princess…” the lady sighed, brushing her nose against yours. “Amore mio, ti amo così tanto…”

“Me too, Donna, me too…”

At least it was good news for her. You couldn't hide that incipient fear of being a mother, that strange nervousness. A baby wasn't exactly something you had in mind. It was something improvised, a surprise.

Donna, for her part, was elated, excited, smiling; eager to meet that life she created inside of you. Everything had to be perfect for baby Beneviento and, from what you had seen, it was going to be.

Her fears, problems or worries didn't seem to overshadow that emotion, the joy of having a family, of starting one with you.

In your mind you thought about the consequences, the reality of your situation, how it would change your life. After thinking about it, you came to the same conclusion as the lady in black, it was wonderful news.

But, as if it had been nothing but a joke of fate, everything went wrong one morning. Just when you could already feel that same emotion as your girlfriend, the harsh reality hit your feelings; it had been a false alarm.

Your period came back to mock you, to mercilessly crush that happiness you were no longer able to stop feeling. It was a disappointment, a terrible disappointment that you had to tell her. Again, you didn't know how.

“Donna...” you murmured, slowly opening the doors of the workshop where she worked on her dolls. She turned around with a smile, indicating you to come closer.

“Ciao, tesoro, come, look at this,” she said, with that same smile, showing you what looked like a small, very small garment. “Do you like it?”

You took in your hands what looked like a small pajama, decorated with animals, hand-embroidered in an extraordinary way, although it shouldn't surprise you.

“It's nice,” you whispered, suppressing a sob.

No, you just didn't see yourself capable of giving her the bad news. You had never seen her so happy, not even the day you told her you loved her for the first time.

“I made it with grey fabric, and before you tell me, no, it's not a sinister vice on dark tones,” Donna joked, picking up the pajamas again and running her hands over the embroidery. “I chose grey because I don't know if it's going to be a boy or a girl, and besides, that pink and blue nonsense is a bit old-fashioned, isn't it?”

“Old-fashioned? But Donna…” you said amused, with a sad smile. “Aren't you over 50?”

The lady in black, as clueless with jokes as ever, looked up, as if she was seriously considering her answer.

“I couldn’t tell you,” she said seriously, focused again.

You rolled your eyes, bending down to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, one that made her smile back, you didn’t know for how long.

“Donna, I…” you began, sighing.

“I thought that the baby would sleep with us until it was old enough,” the doll maker interrupted, leaving you a second away from telling the truth. “Yes, yes, I know that the guest room is far from the basement but don’t worry, Angie will take care of it.”

“Hey!” the doll protested, with a high-pitched squeak. “If I’m going to babysit a crying child, I demand compensation.”

“Compensation? I gave you the gift of life,” Donna said amused, looking at you in a complicit manner.

The doll growled as she walked towards you comically.

“You're going to take it away from me by making me endure your child: Mom! Where's Mom? I'm afraid of the dark! Angie, come to the bathroom with me, that lady in the painting scares me! That's not free, silly Donna,” the puppet mocked.

Donna laughed tenderly, shaking her head. You took a breath, closing your eyes.

“Donna,” you said in a more serious tone.

“Don't pay attention to her, she's looking forward to having someone to play with,” the lady said, carefully folding the pajamas.

“Your life will be like hell!” Angie shrieked again, apparently furious. “We'll be your worst nightmare, you tireless copulators!”

The lady in black sighed with the same tenderness in her smile.

“Honey, listen to me for a moment,” you said, slowly losing your patience. It was as if deep down, Donna was ignoring you on purpose, as if she didn't want to know what you had to say to her.

“Mm?” she murmured, leafing through a book on sewing patterns, a book about baby clothes. “Oh, look at that crib... We'll have to ask the carpenter to make us one and...”

“Donna, listen to me,” you said abruptly, holding her shoulders, forcing her to look at you. Her eye widened with a confused look and she nodded. “I'm not pregnant.”

“Cosa?” she asked in a small voice, frowning, beginning to tremble.

“Non, sono, incinta,” you repeated, dragging out your words, demonstrating everything you had learned in those two years.

You wanted to be no doubt, to be clear. You may have been a bit abrupt, but it was necessary. When Donna got something in her head, it was very difficult to her to get it out.

“No?” she sighed, looking down, her smile slowly disappearing. “But, but… What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing happened,” you said in a somber voice, hurt by that reaction, by seeing the sadness in her eye again. “It was a false alarm, that's all.”

“Oh, um… Okay, I…” Donna stammered looking away, breathing nervously, disappointed. “I, I need a moment.”

“Donna, honey,” you said affectionately, running a hand over her cheek, which she gently pushed away.

“Please, go away,” she whispered, in a voice that warned of an imminent crisis. “Leave me alone.”

“My love…” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Get out!” she shouted nervously, forcing you to obey her, sobbing. You didn't want to argue, that was the last thing you needed at that moment.

It was a horrible day, and, after it, time didn't change that bitterness.

Donna didn't seem the same. She had gone back in time. She had become surly again, always with that sad look, with that darkness on her face. For you it had been a bad experience but for her, for her it was much worse.

You really didn't think she would accept it that much, you didn't even know that she was that excited about having a child with you. In your thoughts there was only one question, one that you asked yourself every night, one for which you still had no answer: What if we have a child?

After thinking about it thoroughly, having that kind of respite thanks to that scare, you were able to think things through better, think pros and cons before making a decision. It didn't take long for you to know what you wanted to do, what you could do.

Starting a family wasn't in your short-term plans, but little by little, you began to want it, to look to the future with a smile. Yes, of course you did, you wanted a child, a child with her. You wanted that happy family you began to dream of.

“Honey?” you asked one morning, peeking into the kitchen.

Donna was there, preparing food with that same sad expression, one she'd had for weeks and that you couldn't erase. She looked at you out of the corner of her eye, with a fake smile, gesturing for you to come closer.

“Mm, it smells so good,” you said sighing, grabbing her waist from behind. She laughed shyly, offering you a sample of that delicious sauce.

“Do you think it needs some more salt?” she asked concentrated while you tasted it, shaking your head.

“No, it's perfect, darling,” you said, nodding with a genuine smile.

Donna imitated your gesture, moving so you would let her go.

“Am I disturbing you?” you asked a bit nervously, again, not knowing what words to use to express your decision. She looked at you briefly, shaking her head.

“No, you’re not,” she said with a cold voice, but trying not to lose her tenderness.

“Good, because… Because, I have to talk to you,” you said, tilting your head so she would look at you, something she did briefly, returning to the food right after. “Seriously.”

“Talk, tesoro,” she whispered, stirring that delicious sauce.

You rolled your eyes, taking her hand away from the wooden spoon and leaving it on the counter, turning her body.

“(Y/N), I'm, I'm cooking,” Donna protested, still holding your hand but with an annoyed expression. “Can't we talk another time?”

“No, hey, listen, I've been thinking…” you said, gesturing with your other hand.

“I can listen to you while I cook,” she murmured, letting your hand go and picking up the spoon again.

You groaned, snatching it back from her. A bad idea, since Donna was more irritable than usual. Poor thing, she probably had no idea. You were going to cheer her soul up again.

“No, I really want you to listen to me,” you insisted, now taking both of her hands, holding her in front of you.

The lady sighed and nodded in defeat.

“I thought that… Well, maybe, maybe it's not such a bad idea to have a baby,” you said, letting your nerves speak for you. She stared at you, frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked confused, studying your gestures.

“I mean that, well… I saw you so excited that time that… Yes, Donna, I want, I want to have a baby with you, one, one that we want, you know…” you said with a mischievous look, playing with her hands. “If it's okay with you, of course.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, with that bright smile briefly returning to her face. “Do you want… Do you want to have a baby with me?”

“Yes, Donna, of course I want,” you nodded smiling, relaxed by seeing the happiness on her face again, by seeing the illusion that disappeared so abruptly.

“You make me so happy…” the lady sighed, resting her forehead against yours, kissing you slowly. “So, so happy…”

You laughed amused, hanging on her neck, biting your lip.

“How about you turn off the gas, stop preparing that delicious meal for a moment and get to it?” you asked, whispering in her ear. She looked at you, breathing nervously, turning the kitchen faucet.

“With pleasure,” she whispered back, taking you in her arms by surprise, walking out of the old kitchen among timid laughs.

At least that illusion, that desire to fight, to love, to live, returned to Lady Beneviento. You were also excited, waiting for events to develop on their own.

You always considered yourself a lucky girl. In your 21 years you had been very lucky with your decisions, very lucky to meet Donna, to win her love… You thought that chance was in your favor, ready to compensate you for so many years of darkness, for that fearful and lonely childhood.

You didn't know why when you were happiest, luck seemed to abandon you.

“Well?” the lady in black asked, nervously playing with her hands, waiting for the result, like every month.

“Boy or girl, silly?” Angie asked too, while you approached slowly, with a sad look.

“Nothing,” you murmured, showing the horrible result of that test. “Negative.”

“What? L-Let me see,” the lady said, frowning and snatching the test from your hands, confirming your failure.

“What do you have to do with it? It's a damn line, Donna,” you said frustrated, letting yourself fall on the couch.

Of course, you weren't lucky anymore.

Yes, well, it would have been too much of a coincidence if it had worked on the first try. On the first, maybe the second, but not on the fourth.

Nerves, anxiety began to take their toll on your body. You weren't getting pregnant, no matter how many times you tried. Fate was no longer on your side.

You tried everything, reading books, taking your temperature... None of those methods seemed useful to you. You knew that giving up was cowardly, but, little by little, you began to lose hope.

Donna seemed calm, understanding, but deep down, you knew that she wasn't, causing you to be in a constant nervous state, an irritability more typical of the lady in black than of yourself.

It wasn't anger at Donna. She was doing everything she could. That anger, that frustration was only directed at one person, you.

“Shit...” you hissed, crossing your arms, shaking your head.

“She said shit,” Angie sang, pointing at you mockingly.

“Hey, leave me alone, will you? Get lost,” you said sharply to the doll, who stopped laughing immediately, surely due to the coldness of your gaze, an unusual one.

“Don't take it out on Angie, tesoro,” Donna said, sitting next to you and leaving that failed test on the table. “It's okay, we'll try again.”

“Surely everything would be easier if that piece of wood and porcelain stopped being unnaturally alive!” you shrieked furiously, causing the doll to flee in terror.

“(Y/N)…” the lady sighed, controlling the trembling of your hands. “Come on, amore mio, relax.”

“I'm relaxed, can't you see it?” you growled, pulling your hands away from hers, frustrated, terribly frustrated. She tilted her head with a sad look.

“Nobody said it was easy… We must, we must be patient,” Donna told you, with a soft and tender voice, enduring your brusqueness, your bad mood.

Meanwhile your head was thinking about what the reason for your failure could be; why life didn't seem to want to make its way into your body. You didn't want to think it was your fault, anything but that.

On other occasions you would have swallowed your accusations, but the pressure was already too strong.

“What if it's your fault?” you murmured with a frown, moving away from the woman in black, who pointed at herself, confused.

“Mine?” she asked, surprised by your accusation.

“Yes, yours, who tells you that you can have children?” you asked irrationally, taking it all out on poor Donna. She was very patient with you.

“Oh, well, I, I…” she stammered with a shy look, with an embarrassed smile.

“You, what?” you insisted, with a tone that was too arrogant.

“Oh, (Y/N), it's not possible... Nothing's wrong with me, everything's fine,” she said, making you frown distrustfully at seeing her nervousness.

“No? How can you be so sure?” you asked inquisitively, narrowing your eyes.

“Well, because... Oh, I forgot that I had to do something and...” Donna said, getting up nervously from the sofa. You no longer had any doubts.

“Hey, hey, hey! Come here, Beneviento,” you said furiously, grabbing the lady by her wrist, contemplating the lie hidden in her bright eye. “Spit it out, what are you hiding from me?”

“I, niente...” she stammered, giving herself away even more.

“Niente? So I guess I have to believe your word,” you hissed with a dangerous look, leaving the lady in black with no way out, who moved nervously. “Donna…”

“I had to do it, okay?” she finally said, walking further away from you.

“Do what?” you asked impatiently, stamping your foot on the floor, furious for no reason, angry at Donna, at your own failure.

“I had to know if… If I won't be able to get you pregnant because… Because of me,” she whispered, avoiding your gaze.

“What have you done?” you asked again, through clenched teeth, making your lover more and more nervous.

“I, I told Mother Miranda to… Well, to… do some tests to me,” Donna confessed, lowering her gaze. You were left breathless, your heart struggling to calm down.

“What? Her? What tests?” you insisted nervously.

Donna shrugged, blush visible on her cheeks.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, just some analysis,” she explained with a shaky voice, with a marked accent, trying to get away from you again.

You made a face of disgust, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Analysis? Oh, no, I don't think you let that witch manipulate your…” you hissed, upset.

“What did you want me to do?” she protested, more sure of herself, clenching her fists on both sides of her hips. “I should wait again and again just to see us fail?”

“You're the one who says that we have to be patient,” you reproached, annoyed by her words.

“Yes, but, but… I wanted, I wanted to make sure, (Y/N), and you know what? I'm perfectly fine, I'm fertile,” Donna said, with a cockier tone, nervous, nervous just like you.

“Oh, I'm happy for you…” you mocked with an ironic tone. “Then it's my fault, right?”

“I didn't say that,” the ventriloquist hissed, with a cold look. “But if you agreed to let Mother Miranda to check you, maybe…”

“No! No way!” you shouted nervously, terrified by that possibility. “We've already talked about it, although I see what it was for… You've ignored it.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Donna asked, with a calmer fury, with pain in her eye, not resentment. “I just want her to take a look at you.”

“Sure, sure…” you murmured, nodding ironically. “I thought I made it clear. I didn't want that kind of mutant crow to know we were going to have a baby.”

“Why not? She has a right to know,” the lady said, increasingly nervous.

“Shit, Donna, because I say it!” you shrieked, echoing off the old walls. “You told me that she wants to resurrect her daughter, how can you be so stupid?”

“Perché mi stai insultando?” she sobbed, with a tear sliding down her cheek. “(Y/N)…”

“Donna, wake up,” you said, without the slightest regret for her apparent crisis, selfishly ignoring her feelings. “Miranda wants a daughter, we want a baby. They are dangerously common interests, don't you understand?”

“She would never hurt our child,” the lady in black hissed, changing her sobs into furious gasps.

“No? Are you completely sure?” you asked mockingly, with your conscience screaming for you to listen to it.

“Although, even if she wanted to, I would never allow it,” Donna whispered, clenching her fists again. “You have to listen to me, (Y/N), let her examine you and…”

“I said no,” you said in a calmer voice, but confident in yourself. “We will keep trying, I have time.”

Your hatred towards Mother Miranda seemed to be the only reason for your refusal, but you knew it wasn't. You were scared and terrified. You couldn't know if you were to blame, if your body refused to take that step, if there was a biological or physical reason for so much failure. If so, what would Donna think? How would she react to the possibility that you couldn't have children?

Just thinking about it made your stomach clench. If you didn't know how excited she was, you wouldn't have given it any importance, but you knew that Donna wanted a baby, she wanted to start a family with you. If she couldn't do it, what made you think she would want to continue with you?

“Donna, wait,” you said in a whisper, when the lady in black turned around furiously, mad at you, with your terribly unfair attitude. “Wait, darling.”

She stopped, turning around again slowly, her breathing labored. You gestured for her to come closer and she reluctantly obeyed.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered, hugging her tenderly. “I'm sorry, my love, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just… I'm nervous. I didn't think it would be that difficult.”

Donna sighed in your ear, hugging you back, holding you tightly against her body.

“I know, I'm nervous too,” she murmured, holding your face, brushing your hair away from your face, looking you straight in the eyes. “But don't worry. Everything will be fine, you'll see.”

“I don't want her to see me, or touch me, or... No, I don't want to...” you sobbed, burying your head in her dress, letting those tears of frustration soak the black fabric as she rocked you with a soothing whisper.

“It's okay, it's okay, tesoro, I'm not going to force you,” she said softly, comforting your crying, your helplessness, your frustrated desire to give her the family she deserved.

Everything seemed to calm down, but that little haven of peace didn't last long. You kept trying, you kept failing.

The most likely cause would be your body. You would be the one to blame. You couldn't find another possible reason, something to excuse yourself with. You tried everything, and you just kept failing.

The insecurity that was already beating strongly in your subconscious came to light. A horrible depression loomed over you, over you two. You only saw disappointment in your lover's eye, failure, your failure.

Her spirits were also dampened by all these fruitless attempts. Donna was sad, but you were terrified. Nightmares began to plague your sleepless nights, the most horrible images you could see appearing in your dreams, images of Donna with another woman, with a precious baby in her hands, with that she wanted so much and you couldn't give her.

The constant torture of your mind passed to your body. You didn't feel like eating, sleeping, living... Not even in the moments when you mixed your bodies you could stay focused. That act of love, of passion between two people was reduced to a simple routine, to a few programmed movements and endings.

Everything stopped making sense to you, everything became cloudy, disappeared.

You even pretended to fall asleep on the couch to avoid sharing a bed with Donna. You had no right to do so, you were a disappointment, a failure. Shadows began to hover over you, over your relationship, or at least, that was what you saw, what her gaze told you.

“No?” Angie asked, sitting next to your lying body on the couch, trying to cheer you up. It was something worthy of admiration, but you couldn't even appreciate it.

You shook your head, unfazed by that senseless joke.

“Okay... Oh, oh... How about this one? Let's see, (Y/N), can you tell me the difference between a toilet and a car?” the doll asked, with a voice worthy of the best comedian.

“I have no idea,” you sighed, shrinking more into yourself.

“Easy, in the car you sit to run, but in the toilet you run to sit…” Angie said, making the sound of a drum roll.

Well, at least she managed to get a smile out of you, even if it was a sad, lifeless one.

“You laughed, silly!” the puppet shrieked, amused.

“Thanks, Angie…” you murmured, rubbing your arms due to the cold you felt, the pain in your body from having slept there so many nights.

“Don’t thank me,” she mocked. “You have to get up from there, you're going to get moldy,” she said amused, pushing you with her ridiculous strength to get you to stand up, something she naturally failed to do.

“Leave me alone, will you? I've heard enough stupid jokes for today…” you murmured, turning around.

“Oh, Donna, Donna, the fool laughed!” the doll said suddenly, when the sound of heels interrupted that conversation.

“Did she?” a soft voice asked, the lady in black, who sat next to you, caressing your hair affectionately. “Amore mio… how are you?”

“I can tell you I'm not… Pregnant,” you sighed, suppressing a sob, not daring to look at the lady, shrinking even more.

“Have you taken the test?” Donna asked softly, ignoring your increasingly frequent ironies. “Have you had your period?”

“No, I haven't taken the test,” you whispered, shaking your head. “What for? I already know the result.”

“Have you bled?” she asked again.

You shook your head again.

“No, but that doesn't mean anything, it's just that I'm eating wrong,” you explained, shivering with a chill.

“You're freezing, tesoro, let me cover you,” Donna commented with another tired sigh, unfolding a warm blanket and putting it over you.

“Thanks…” you whispered, briefly looking at the brunette, who sketched a tired smile as she continued her caresses on your hair.

“(Y/N), you have to cheer up…” she murmured after a few minutes of silence. “You don't know how much it hurts me to…”

For some reason you didn't know, you stood up furiously, misinterpreting her words.

“What hurts you, Donna? Does it hurt you that I'm a failure?” you asked abruptly, irrationally, unhinged. “Does it hurt you that I'm not able to get pregnant?”

“No…” she sighed, with her eyebrow arched, keeping the softness of her gaze. “No, tesoro, it hurts me to see you in that condition.”

“Relax, it will pass,” you commented, sitting on the sofa, with that blanket clinging to your body. “I suppose everything has an end, right?”

“What do you mean?” Donna asked, in a small voice.

“Come on, Donna, stop pretending that you care about me,” you hissed, pointing at her unpleasantly.

“Pretend? What are you talking about?” she asked confused, playing nervously with her hands.

“Oh, please, stop it,” you protested, crossing your arms. “Look, if you're going to leave me, do it now, don't make me suffer.”

“I don't understand you, leave you?” the lady in black asked again, blinking nervously.

“Yes, of course you do…” you whispered, nodding mockingly. “It's very clear. I can't get pregnant, I'm useless to you. You're probably looking for another stupid girl to let you impregnate her, to give you what I can't. That's it, isn't it?”

“Why do you say so? Tesoro, you're rambling, you have to calm down. Do you want some tea?”

“I don't want a fucking tea!” you screamed furiously, making the lady back away. “I want you to tell me the truth, to tell me that you don't need me anymore, that you're going to kick me out of your house! Because I'm useless.”

“No, non è vero…” Donna murmured, trying to take your hands, trying to make you reason. “I love you…”

“Do you love me? Please… You can't love me, I'm a failure,” you said, dragging out the words, letting the tears leave your eyes again.

“Basta, (Y/N). I can't stand to hear you say those things,” Donna said, darkening her gaze. “You're not a failure, do you hear me?”

“You can't stand, what else can't you stand? You should throw me out right now and start the family you want with another woman, a better one,” you said with a calmer voice, but hurt.

“I don't want another woman, I love you…” she sighed, more and more nervous, but keeping her composure. “Please, tesoro, stop… Saying those things…”

“It's the truth,” you said, shaking your head. “I'll pack my bags.”

“What? No!” the lady shrieked, furious, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Please, (Y/N), come back to your senses. I don't love you because you can give me a baby, I love you for who you are, I'm crazy about you, and… I, I don't care that you can't get pregnant. It's not that important to me.”

“You say that now, I can see your disappointed face,” you said, ignoring her words.

“I'm not going to deny that I would like to have a child with you, that I would like it more than anything, but… Listen to me, I'm not losing hope, besides, we can adopt,” she said, holding your nervous hands, slightly lifting your chin.

You nodded, letting the air out of your lungs, closing your eyes, regretting your attitude.

“Don't lose hope,” you repeated sobbing, playing with the fabric of the blanket.

Donna shook her head with a reassuring smile.

“Everything will be fine, amore mio, trust me,” she whispered tenderly, kissing you slowly, letting her lips silence your crying.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, a little more relaxed, leaning on her shoulder.

“Intuition...” she sighed, kissing your hair and getting up from the couch. “Come on, tesoro, take the test.”

“What for?” you asked listlessly, rubbing your eyes with your fingers.

“Just do it. I have a good feeling about it,” she said, with a sincere smile, pulling you up, giving you the object after a quick kiss.

You really didn't expect anything. You took the test so you could continue to regret it, so you could continue to sink into your failure.

“And now that damn line will appear and…” you said while washing your hands, with the test visible in the sink. You had to look at it several times, it didn't look like always. “One… Two…” you counted the lines that appeared, you counted them several times. “One… Two…”

You put it face down, you looked at it carefully. There was no doubt. Two lines.

“One… And…” you murmured, opening your eyes wide. “Gods… Gods! Donna!”

You ran towards the stairs, going down them almost doing acrobatics, almost tripping clumsily.

“Donna…” you gasped, leaning against the living room door. The lady in black looked at you, blinking in confusion at your attitude.

You didn't say anything, you simply approached the sofa, sitting next to her and handing her the test.

“Uno, due... Can you see it?” you said amused. “Look, Donna, look, one... And two...”

“Tesoro...” the lady sighed, mouth agape, observing the test like you, looking for the mistake somewhere. There wasn't one.

“Donna, I'm pregnant,” you said with the widest smile you'd ever had in your entire life, crying with joy and throwing yourself into her arms.

“Amore mio!” she exclaimed, with that same expression, hugging you tightly, laughing erratically, unable to contain her joy.

“Yes, Donna... A baby...” you sobbed, hugging her, squeezing her body in a comical way. You had done it.

“Sono così contenta…” she murmured, giving you as many kisses as she could, making you laugh, making you feel happy again.

“Baby, baby!” Angie squealed, joining in your displays of affection.

“Donna, I think this is the happiest day of my life…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #requests #oneshot

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