#this scene hauntingly familiar

[taphwa]

Quick sketch of the Nameless trio from the "For Tomorrow’s Journey" lightcone now that the patch is out.

Anyways pls read "For Tomorrow’s Journey" lightcone for PomPom.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

[novlr]

What is a good way to start a novel? (sentence frames)

Are you a creative writer struggling to get started on your next project? Do you find yourself staring at a blank page, unsure of where to begin? Fear not! Here are some sentence frames designed to inspire your creativity and help you generate story ideas.

Get to know your main character

[Character name] was not your typical [profession/role]; in fact, they…

Despite being [adjective], [character name] had always felt…

[Character name] had a secret, one that they had kept hidden for [time period]…

As [character name] looked out the window, they couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if…

[Character name] had always been drawn to [hobby/interest], but had never had the courage to pursue it until…

The day [character name] met [another character], everything changed…

Setting the scene

The town of [name] was known for its [unique characteristic], but beneath the surface…

In a world where [fantastical element] was commonplace, [character name] stood out because…

The [building/location] had stood abandoned for [time period], but on this particular night there was [an event]…

The [place/location] was famed for its [unique characteristic], but [character] found themselves drawn to [thing]…

Introduce conflict

[Character name] had always believed that [belief], until [event] forced them to question everything.

When [character name] discovered [secret/revelation], they knew they had to…

The arrival of [character/object] in [setting] threw [character name]’s life into chaos, as they…

[Character name] had always been content with their [status quo], but when [event] occurred, they realised that they could no longer ignore their true calling.

The arrival of [character name] in [place/location] set off a chain of events that would uncover long-buried secrets and force the [people of location] to confront their darkest demons.

Show character growth

[Character name] had spent their entire life [doing/believing something], but now they began to wonder if…

As [event] unfolded, [character name] realised that they were capable of…

[Character name] had always been afraid of [fear], but in the face of [challenge], they discovered…

[Character name] used to [old behaviour], but now they [new behaviour]…

As [character name] faced [challenge], they discovered a [new strength/quality] within themselves…

[Character name] never thought they could [achievement], but with [catalyst], they learned to [lesson]…

Create suspense and mystery

[Character name] knew that [mystery/secret] held the key to [goal], but the closer they got to the truth…

As [character name] delved deeper into [investigation/quest], they began to suspect that…

The [object/clue] seemed insignificant at first, but as [character name] examined it more closely, they saw [detail].

[Character name] had a nagging feeling that something was off about [person/place/thing], but couldn’t quite put their finger on it until [event].

The [sound/smell/sight] was hauntingly familiar to [character name], but they couldn’t remember why until [event].

Explore character relationships

[Character name] had always looked up to [other character], but now they began to see them in a different light because [event/change].

Despite their differences, [character name] and [other character] found themselves drawn to each other because of [detail].

[Character name] knew that [other character] was hiding something, but they never expected [revelation].

[Character name] and [other character] were once inseparable, but [change] meant they grew apart.

[Character name] never expected to find a friend in [other character], but [character detail/event/location] brought them together.

[Character name] couldn’t shake the feeling that [other character] was hiding [secret] from them.

Remember, these sentence frames are just a starting point to help you generate ideas and get your creative juices flowing. Feel free to adapt, combine, or expand upon them to suit your unique story and writing style. The most important thing is to let your imagination run wild and enjoy the process of writing your novel!

[awkward-walking-potato]

Could you do a request with 15 and 16

With Logan where the reader dresses as him for Halloween

Costume Confusion

The Xavier mansion was decked out for Halloween, glowing with a hauntingly warm ambiance as orange lights flickered, fake spider webs clung to corners, and the unmistakable scent of pumpkin and cinnamon wafted through the air. The annual Halloween party was in full swing, with mutants of all ages wearing creative and occasionally ridiculous costumes. You, however, had been feeling a little uninspired this year.

As you scanned the room filled with witches, superheroes, and a very awkward-looking Cyclops in a vampire cape, you finally saw Logan — dressed as… Logan. Of course. His costume was simple: his usual flannel shirt, jeans, and that familiar leather jacket. No costume needed for someone who already embodied a legend.

But tonight, you had something special planned for him. Smiling to yourself, you snuck out of the crowd and headed to the room where you had stashed your last-minute costume. Logan didn’t know about it yet, but you were sure his reaction would be priceless.

When you emerged, your transformation was complete: flannel shirt half-open over a white tank top, jeans, and boots — the closest match you could find to Logan’s signature look. You’d even managed to get your hands on some claw-like props. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but it was the thought (and the teasing) that counted.

With your heart racing just a bit, you made your way back into the party, spotting Logan leaning against the wall, drink in hand, surveying the scene with his usual gruff demeanor. His eyes were scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

For a split second, his brows furrowed, like he was trying to process what he was seeing. Then, as you approached with a swagger mimicking his, his lips quirked into a lopsided smirk.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Logan’s voice was low, the familiar growl softened by a trace of amusement.

You grinned, giving a mock snarl as you raised your clawed hands. “I’m the best there is at what I do,” you said in your best (but terrible) Logan impression, drawing out the claws with a dramatic flair.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I know you’re tryin’ to be scary, darlin’, but you’re just way too cute.”

Your grin widened as you took a step closer, meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t find a costume, so I just decided to go as my partner,” you said with a playful shrug. “Figured it’d be easy. All I needed was some flannel, jeans, and an unshakable sense of grumpiness.”

He snorted, his smirk growing as he looked you up and down, clearly fighting to keep his amusement under control. “Well, you nailed the flannel and jeans. But the grumpiness? Nah. You’re too damn cheerful for that.”

“Maybe I’ll work on my brooding for next year.” You leaned in a bit, still grinning. “What do you think? Do I pass as a mini-Wolverine?”

Logan’s eyes softened for a moment as he reached out, gently tugging at the sleeve of your flannel shirt. “You look better in this than I ever could,” he muttered, and you could see the faintest hint of affection in his rough features.

You chuckled, slipping your hand into his, feeling the calluses of his rough palm against yours. “Thanks, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t let go of your hand, giving it a squeeze instead. “Careful who you’re callin’ old when you’re dressed like me. People might get confused.”

You laughed, the sound mixing with the festive atmosphere around you. The two of you stood there for a moment, comfortable in each other's presence as the party buzzed around you. It was a contrast to the wild costumes and energy of the night, but that was part of what made it special. With Logan, you didn’t need over-the-top antics—just being by his side was enough.

After a beat, Logan glanced down at your makeshift claws. “Where’d you get those?”

“Made ’em myself,” you replied, lifting your hand to wiggle the faux claws. “Not as sharp as the real deal, but they’ll do.”

Logan grinned, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. “Good thing. Don’t need you shreddin’ up the mansion tryin’ to be me.”

“Well, maybe if you’d let me use the real ones, we wouldn’t have that problem,” you teased, knowing full well how he’d react.

Logan shook his head, his chuckle deep and warm. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

As the party carried on, you both lingered near the edge of the room, watching the chaos unfold—kids running around in costume, the X-Men mingling and enjoying a rare night of peace. It was fun to be part of it all, but with Logan beside you, it felt like your own little moment, a quiet pause in the middle of the festive storm.

Leaning against him, you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you just a little closer. He might not have been the type to dress up for Halloween or join in on the party games, but Logan was there with you, and that’s all that mattered.

You tilted your head to look up at him, catching his eye as he glanced down at you. “So, do I win for best costume or what?”

Logan gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You win, sweetheart. Hands down.”

“Thought so,” you muttered, grinning as you leaned into his warmth, the sounds of Halloween fading into the background as the two of you enjoyed the night in your own way.

[nodusomnis]

title: ending scene pairing(s): aventurine x gn!reader word count: 8.6k+ synopsis: a perfect ending, a moment divine. two souls entwined, their destinies aligned.

In the wake of the debacle that unfolded within the confines of Clock Studios Theme Park, Aventurine found himself clashing with a torrent of memories, cascading upon him amidst the tumultuous clash with The Nameless. The encounter with the Emanator of Nihility, Acheron, added another layer to his introspection. He had not anticipated a meaningful exchange with her, let alone receiving the answers to the questions that had long haunted his thoughts, yet remained unspoken. 

His mind had been consumed by his mission, driven by a desire to unearth the truths obscured by The Family's clandestine ploys. Yet, beneath it all, lay a vulnerability he had concealed, encased within layers of self-preservation.

Aventurine was a fragile soul, shielded by layers of barriers against the insecurities coursing through his veins. Each layer seemed meticulously etched into his being, a defense mechanism designed to protect his fractured self from further harm. It was as though he had been molded by circumstance, destined to endure until the end.

The specter of Death had loomed large, a tantalizing prospect of liberation from the shackles binding him in place. However, it appeared that fate had other designs, offering him a reprieve, albeit bittersweet. Aventurine had exhausted every resource, staked his final chip and his very essence, to grasp the one elusive prize he coveted above all else—freedom.

The sensation was intoxicating, a long-denied elation flooding his senses as he bid farewell to his former self, Kakavasha. With measured steps, he approached the yawning abyss, a void of darkness and uncertainty where his final gambit awaited. Here, amidst the unknown, his destiny beckoned, and it was within his power to seize it, to forge a new path toward the life he yearned for.

True death, once a tempting prospect, now held no sway over him. He had relinquished its grip on his destiny, opting instead to embrace the unknown with resolve, prepared to confront whatever trials lay ahead on his journey to redemption.

As Aventurine's resounding footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, punctuated by the gentle splashes of water with each step, a voice resonated within his mind, disrupting his thoughts like a sudden thunderclap in the silence.

"Do you believe your luck will never wane?" 

Aventurine froze in his tracks. The voice, hauntingly familiar, sliced through the stillness, dredging up memories of chance encounters and shared moments in the Land of Festivities.

It was you, the enigmatic figure he had crossed paths with amidst the opulent walls of a Penacony casino, where the allure of chance beckoned like a siren's call.

In a rare departure from his relentless pursuit of his mission, Aventurine had allowed himself a fleeting indulgence—a dalliance with Lady Luck amidst the glittering lights and frenetic energy of the gambling den. The thrill of the game, the towering stacks of chips exchanged like currency in a high-stakes dance, held him in thrall. 

Seated at the poker table, surrounded by fellow players, each with their own tales of triumph and despair, Aventurine reveled in the stimulating blend of risk and reward. The round table, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of fortunes, bore witness to his calculated gambit, his skillful manipulation of the odds. 

For Aventurine, winning was not merely a possibility—it was a certainty, as innate to his being as the very act of breathing.

As Aventurine boldly wagered half of his towering stack of chips, each worth a staggering million, the atmosphere around the table crackled with disbelief, leaving his fellow players astounded and speechless. Unconcerned with the monetary value or potential rewards, he sought only the thrill of risk, a sensation that coursed through him like a tempestuous tide, simultaneously exhilarating and unnerving.

Confident in his own luck, he staked his fortune on the game, even with a modest hand of two pairs. Trusting in the whims of fate and the calculated odds, he remained poised, concealing the tumult of anxiety that churned within him beneath a mask of stoic composure.

Yet, beneath the veneer of confidence, Aventurine grappled with the relentless pounding of his heart, the palpitations echoing the intensity of his emotions. Clutching a single chip beneath the table, he clung to it as if it were a lifeline, a tangible anchor amidst the rumpus of uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm him.

"That is an audacious wager, Mr. Aventurine. Are you unequivocally committed to this course of action?" inquired the individual seated across from him, their voice tinged with apprehension.

In response to the incredulous query from his fellow player, Aventurine offered only a sardonic smirk, a silent affirmation of his resolve. "I am certain," he replied, his voice laced with a quiet confidence. "This is but the grand finale of our game—a conclusion befitting of our stakes."

"Is he not one of the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC? The individual notorious for his gambling addiction?"

"Yes, indeed. His name is rumored to be Aventurine."

As murmurs rippled through the crowd, whispers of his identity as one of the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC—a figure rumored to be consumed by the allure of gambling—reached his ears. He’s not surprised if they know him. After all, the influence wielded by the IPC was not to be underestimated, its reach extending across the cosmos, its prominence ensuring the preservation of its power and prestige. Therefore, rather than shying away from the scrutiny, Aventurine embraced the spotlight, reveling in the recognition bestowed upon him by the throngs of onlookers.

With a subtle shift of his gaze, he surveyed the faces of his fellow players, noting the flickers of trepidation that danced across their features. It was a sight that brought him a perverse sense of satisfaction, a reminder of the raw essence of gambling—the interplay of anxiety, anticipation, and despair—that fueled his very existence.

As the tension peaked and the moment of truth arrived, Aventurine and his adversary revealed their cards to unveil identical two pairs, setting the stage for a climactic showdown. However, it was Aventurine's hidden ace that tipped the scales in his favor, securing his victory in the final round and solidifying his reputation as a master of chance.

The audience erupted into gasps of awe and scattered applause, their reactions serving as testament to Aventurine's extraordinary luck and skill. Their admiration only added to the weight of his legend, reinforcing the notion of his seemingly boundless fortune.

“Do you believe your luck will never wane?”

Amidst the flurry of excitement, Aventurine's gaze intersected with where he heard the voice. There you stood, a stoic figure amidst the throngs of spectators. Your expression, devoid of the fervor that gripped the crowd, exuded a palpable indifference that set you apart from the sea of adulation.

For Aventurine, accustomed to the praise and criticism that accompanied his every move, your silent scrutiny held a weight far greater than the cacophony of voices around him. It was as if your gaze alone bore the gravity of a thousand judgments, casting doubt upon his invincible facade.

As you gracefully departed from the scene, gliding through the crowd with an effortless poise, Aventurine felt a fleeting impulse to pursue you, to unravel the mystery behind your statement. Yet, before he could act upon his impulse, the dealer's call snapped him back to reality, redirecting his attention to the present moment.

With a final glance in your direction, Aventurine reluctantly tore his gaze away, refocusing his attention on the game at hand. Though your departure left a lingering curiosity in his mind, he knew that the cards had been dealt, and it was time to play his hand.

The following day, Aventurine ventured once more into the hallowed halls of the casino, his gaze wandered across the expanse of the venue, alighting upon a figure seated at a poker table amidst a horde of eager players. In an instant, recognition dawned upon him, for there, amidst the sea of faces, sat the individual he had encountered the day prior.

Without hesitation, Aventurine strode purposefully towards the table, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected reunion. Never had he anticipated crossing paths once more with you in a city as vast as Penacony.

As he approached, he observed the scene unfolding before him—the table abuzz with the energy of the game, the players immersed in the pursuit of fortune. However, amidst the dissonance of chips clinking and cards shuffling, his attention was drawn inexorably to you, seated with an air of composed indifference despite your apparent lack of chips.

It was the same familiar insouciance he’d seen in your first meeting. How funny.

The mocking taunts of a fellow player echoed through the room, directed towards you with a mixture of derision and amusement. Despite your depleted reserves, you remained unruffled, your countenance betraying none of the desperation that typically accompanied such circumstances.

"It appears fortune has yet to favor me," you remarked casually, your tone devoid of any hint of concern.

A ripple of laughter emanated from your adversary, his jeering palpable as he sought to goad you into yet another round of play, urging you to replenish your dwindling supply of chips. Yet, you met his jests with an inscrutable gaze in the face of his provocations.

Aventurine, with a knowing glint in his eye, couldn't help but chuckle softly at the scene. He was well acquainted with the minds of these gamblers, their intentions transparent as glass. It was clear they sought to deplete your remaining resources, confident in their ability to emerge victorious. Indeed, in their minds, the prospect of claiming more rewards danced tantalizingly.

"They will engage in further play," Aventurine interjected, his voice slicing through the air, commanding the attention of all present, including yourself. The seasoned gambler spared no glance for your fellow players; instead, his focus lingered keenly upon you, a fact not lost on the others.

Interrupting any potential protests, he spoke before you could voice your objections. 

"Since it appears they lack anything of value to offer, why not allow me to play on their behalf instead? Care to oppose?" The challenge issued by Aventurine lingered, met with smirks and laughter from the assembled men, their eyes alight with greed.

"Well, well, well... I admire your audacity, lad. The more stakes, the merrier, isn't that right?" Their laughter cascaded like a chorus, oblivious to the fact that in Aventurine, they faced a master amongst masters in the art of acquisition.

"How naive..." you muttered under your breath, earning only a gentle touch from Aventurine atop your head, his actions eliciting a look of incredulity from you.

"Regardless, shall we proceed?"

With the deal struck, the game unfurled as the dealer meticulously distributed cards to each player. You observed with keen interest, your gaze occasionally drifting toward the blonde gentleman seated beside you. Sensing your scrutiny, he met your eyes briefly before offering a sly smile, his actions enigmatic yet intriguing.

Furrowing your brow in silent inquiry, you sought to discern his intentions, but he merely pressed a finger to his lips in response.

"Remain composed and observe," his silent directive seemed to convey.

Resigned to his inscrutable demeanor, you acquiesced, allowing him free rein. As the game progressed, the man who had thus far dominated proceedings wore a self-assured smirk, placing a bid worth half a million credits. The others hesitated, yet one figure, the notorious gambler seated beside you, sees this as an opportunity.

"Ah, now we're truly delving into the heart of the matter," Aventurine chuckled, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he adjusted his tinted glasses with a light touch. "Since you seem to relish in the thrill of risk-taking, my good sir, why not elevate the stakes even further?"

His words trailed off, drawing the attention of all present once more, including yours, earning him a quizzical raised eyebrow. You couldn't fathom what he had up his sleeve, but a sense of impending audacity pervaded the atmosphere.

"If fortune favors you," Aventurine continued, his tone laced with a hint of challenge, "I shall generously double all the chips you currently possess."

Gasps and murmurs break through the assembled spectators at the grit of his offer, whispers swirling with tales of his legendary gambling prowess. But, to you, his proposition came as no surprise. You were well aware of Aventurine's penchant for daring wagers, although the sheer magnitude of this gamble caught even you off guard.

"But," Aventurine's voice lowered, carrying an air of quiet authority, as he plucked a single chip from his side and deftly flicked it across the table to the stunned recipient, "should fortune favor me..."

The chip landed in the bewildered man's grasp, his expression a mix of confusion and apprehension as he gazed back at Aventurine.

"You will forfeit all the chips you've amassed from this individual," Aventurine concluded, his gaze steady and unwavering.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at his bold proclamation, a protest bubbling at the edge of your lips. 

"Hey—"

"I am the player at present, am I not?" Aventurine's tone brooked no argument, his gaze met yours, a silent reminder that he held the reins of the game.

With a resigned sigh, you bit your lower lip, restraining yourself from interjecting. After all, you weren't a participant in the game at this moment, merely an observer. And within the confines of the casino, such displays of audaciousness were not uncommon. Still, the realization that Aventurine was willing to go to such lengths to aid a stranger only added to the ever-growing meter of outrageousness you held for him.

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the man across the table digested Aventurine's audacious proposition. Initially met with disbelief, a subtle transformation overtook his countenance, the contours of his features twisting into a sinister smirk. A chill of foreboding gripped your senses, a premonition of impending turmoil settling like a shadow upon your consciousness.

Amidst the mounting tension, your gaze darted toward Aventurine, seeking solace in his unwavering composure. His demeanor remained calm amidst the tempestuous currents swirling around you, offering little insight into the hand he held concealed beneath the veil of his cards. With bated breath, you awaited the revelation that would determine the outcome of this high-stakes gamble, each passing moment fraught with palpable suspense.

"Very well, let us lay bare our fortunes," the old man declared, his tone laced with arrogance as he motioned towards the deck. With a flourish, the cards were revealed, their secrets laid bare for all to see.

In a swift and decisive move, Aventurine emerged victorious, his triumph resounding with effortless grace. The cocky facade of his adversary crumbled in an instant, replaced by an expression of bitter defeat as he clutched his head in despair. With a rueful sigh, he relinquished the spoils of his ill-fated gamble, returning to you the chips that had once slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

As you and Aventurine exited the confines of the casino, the weight of gratitude settled upon your shoulders like a heavy mantle. Despite the reckless nature of his intervention, you couldn't help but feel a surge of appreciation for his timely assistance. Yet, beneath the surface of your gratitude lurked a nagging sense of wariness, a reminder of the perilous waters into which you had unwittingly waded.

"Thank you for your help back there," you offered sincerely, the words heavy with genuine appreciation. Aventurine responded with a disarming smile, though his subsequent words bore the weight of underlying intent.

"Do not misconstrue my actions as mere altruism. I acted with purpose, not without consideration for my own interests," he remarked, his tone tinged with a subtle edge that sent a shiver down your spine. "Surely, you are aware of who I am."

Closing the distance between you, Aventurine's imposing figure loomed over you, his gaze piercing and inscrutable. You felt the telltale twitch of your eyes and the tightening of your fists at your sides, a reflexive response to the palpable aura of danger that surrounded him.

"This is precisely why I avoid entanglements with individuals like yourself," you admitted, your voice laced with a mixture of resignation and apprehension.

Aventurine's laughter rang out, a melodic sound that grated against your nerves. "But in this instance, you have no choice but to engage, do you not? Now, onto the matter at hand – I seek answers regarding your cryptic statement from yesterday."

Your eyebrow arched in bemusement at his unexpected inquiry. "There was no deeper meaning to my words. I merely commented on your inherent luck, having observed your exploits within the casino since your arrival in Penacony."

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you cursed inwardly at the unforeseen repercussions of your offhand remark. Aventurine's scrutinizing gaze bore into you with unsettling intensity, seemingly searching for any trace of falsehood within your composed demeanor.

"Very well, if that is indeed the case, then I have another proposition for you," he declared, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. Your heart quickened at the implication of trouble brewing on the horizon, yet you met his gaze with steely resolve.

"And what might that be?"

"Be my eyes and ears here in Penacony," Aventurine proposed, his smirk widening into a grin that sent a chill down your spine.

The story of your unlikely alliance with Aventurine had begun. If ever the unexpected news circulated amongst the circles of Penacony, many would find it incredulous that someone of his stature, a member of the esteemed Ten Stonehearts, would place trust in a mere stranger. Indeed, to the uninitiated observer, the notion seemed absurd – a contradiction in terms that defied logic and reason. But, for Aventurine, such trivial matters held little sway over his calculated decisions.

To him, trust was a commodity to be traded with caution, its value contingent upon a myriad of factors that extended far beyond surface appearances. In his world, betrayal and deception were the currency of every world, woven seamlessly into his existence. And so, when he extended his offer to you, it was not born of blind faith or naivety, but rather a calculated gamble rooted in the certainty of his own capabilities.

He knew, with certainty, that even if you were to betray him or fabricate falsehoods in his presence, he possessed the keen intellect and astute intuition to discern truth from lies. In his eyes, you were but a pawn in his grand scheme – a pawn whose movements he could predict with precision, regardless of the facades you chose to adopt.

However, to his surprise and consternation, you defied his expectations at every turn. Despite your initial reluctance and the aloof demeanor you projected, you proved yourself to be a reliable ally – one whose resourcefulness and ingenuity surpassed his own assumptions.

How did you gather your intel, he wondered? Was it through mingling with the citizens of Penacony, ingratiating yourself into their midst to extract information like a skilled puppeteer manipulating marionettes? Aventurine pondered these questions with a mixture of intrigue and frustration, unable to fathom the depths of your strategy.

Perhaps it was a sense of indebtedness that drove you, he mused. The desire to repay a perceived debt hanging heavy upon your conscience, compelling you to fulfill your obligations despite your reservations. Or perhaps, you were simply averse to owing favors, unwilling to be beholden to another soul, even one as formidable as Aventurine.

Whatever the reason, Aventurine found himself grappling with the mystery that was you – a puzzle whose pieces refused to align neatly within the edges of his understanding. And though he may never unravel the mysteries of your motivations, he couldn't deny the undeniable truth: in you, he had encountered a force to be reckoned with – a fool, perhaps, but a fool whose strength lay in the depths of your unfathomable resolve.

In the bustling streets of Penacony, amidst the cacophony of laughter and music that permeated the air, you continued your clandestine endeavors as Aventurine's trusted confidant. With practiced discretion, you navigated the labyrinthine alleys and bustling marketplaces, seamlessly blending into the tapestry of everyday life in the Land of Festivities. To the casual observer, you were but another face in the crowd – unremarkable, inconspicuous, and utterly forgettable.

Yet, beneath the veneer of anonymity, you carried out your duties with unwavering dedication and precision. Gathering tidbits of information like shards of broken glass, you pieced together the intricate puzzle of Penacony's underworld, all the while maintaining a facade of normalcy to ward off any suspicion that may arise.

Aventurine, ever the astute observer, commended your efforts with a rare display of generosity, treating you to rounds of soulglads despite your persistent protests. You rebuffed his gestures with firm resolve, adamant in your refusal to be indebted to him once more. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of detachment, Aventurine possessed a knack for circumventing your defenses, his genuine concern and camaraderie slipping through the cracks of your stoic exterior.

For Aventurine, whose existence had long been steeped in solitude and mistrust, your presence offered a rare glimpse of authenticity amidst the sea of duplicity that surrounded him. Though he wore the mask of manipulation and trickery with practiced ease, there lingered within him a kernel of genuineness – a flicker of humanity that defied the confines of his carefully constructed facade.

Trusting others had always been a precarious endeavor for Aventurine, a vulnerability he was loath to embrace. To him, every word spoken and gesture made was a calculated maneuver, a chess move in the intricate game of deception that defined his existence. Yet, in your company, he found himself traversing uncharted territory – a realm where sincerity and trust held sway, however fleetingly.

As days transitioned into days, and days into weeks, the bond between you and Aventurine grew stronger, shaped within the crucible of mutual understanding and respect. 

The vibrant hues of dawn painted the skyline of Penacony's skyscrapers in surreal brilliance, you stood alongside Aventurine at the Dream's Edge, marveling at the breathtaking spectacle unfolding before you. The scene was surreal, almost otherworldly, for how could there be a sunrise in the Dreamscape—a world where reality and dreams intertwine?

However, amidst the awe-inspiring panorama, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. Why had Aventurine summoned you to this ethereal realm, away from the hustle and bustle of waking life, with no other souls in sight?

As you gaze upon Aventurine's countenance, a wave of surprise and intrigue washes over you, for the sight before you is unlike anything you've ever beheld. The ethereal glow of the sun caresses his features, casting a radiant halo around him, as if nature itself conspired to illuminate his presence.

His visage, once adorned with the mischievous curve of a smirk, now wears an expression of profound introspection. Those eyes, usually dancing with mischief, now reflect a depth of emotion you've never witnessed before—a blend of serenity and sorrow that tugs at the strings of your heart.

Gone is the cocksure grin that was his trademark, replaced by a solemnity that seems to weigh heavily upon him. It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a side of Aventurine you never knew existed—a side that is raw, vulnerable, and achingly human.

Aventurine stands amidst the whispers of the breeze, his silhouette a portrait of contemplation against the canvas of dawn. His golden tresses dance in harmony with the wind, a silent symphony of nature's serenade. But it's not just the tendrils of his hair that sway; there's a subtle dance in his demeanor, a rhythm of emotions that ripple beneath the surface.

In the soft glow of sunlight, his features are painted with an ethereal hue, casting shadows that play upon the landscape of his face. There's a longing, a yearning, etched in the lines of his brow, as though he's searching for something beyond the horizon, something elusive yet tantalizingly close. His eyes, windows to the depths of his soul, betray the secrets he guards so closely, each flicker and glimmer a testament to the complexities hidden within.

You've been tethered to his side, bound by a debt that intertwines your fates in a dance of obligation and intrigue. Yet, despite the proximity, the enigma of Aventurine remains veiled in mystery. He is a man of many facets, a puzzle with pieces that shift and rearrange with every passing moment. Cunning and unpredictable, he defies easy categorization, a riddle waiting to be unraveled.

Through numerous interactions, the two of you have maintained a strictly professional relationship, focused solely on exchanging gathered information. Neither of you delved into personal matters, content with knowing only the basics about each other. This engagement is a singular occurrence, with no desire to complicate matters further. There's a firm boundary between you, each respecting the other's space and avoiding unnecessary entanglements.

In the midst of a tranquil moment, punctuated only by the soft whispers of the breeze, his voice broke the silence, drawing your focus away from the horizon. Without turning to meet your gaze, he posed a question that seemed innocuous on the surface but hinted at a deeper curiosity.

"What brings you to Penacony? Is it for leisure or some other purpose?"

Your response, delivered with a casual nonchalance, betrayed none of the complexity brewing beneath the surface. "No particular reason. Just wandering, as wanderers tend to do."

As you drew closer to him, mirroring his contemplative stance.. But it was his next words that stirred something within you, a recognition of the carefully guarded boundaries you both maintained.

"You're an enigma," Aventurine mused, his tone betraying a hint of curiosity tinged with respect. "I know nothing of your origins, your affiliations, or even the world you call home. You exist as a blank canvas against the backdrop of the universe."

His observation prompts you to turn towards him, a faint grimace touching your features. It's clear that his words have struck a chord, stirring a sense of curiosity within you that matches his own.

"You went snooping into my background?" Your words cut through the air with a sharpness that catches Aventurine's attention. 

"And the idea of me discreetly digging into your background never crossed your mind?" Aventurine's tone carries a hint of amusement.

"I had my suspicions, especially considering your ties to the IPC. Knowing you, you always manage to dig up information to give yourself an edge. But I'll give credit where it's due; at least you're forthright about it, even if it does irk me."

"Right now?" Aventurine raises an eyebrow, his amusement growing.

"Yes, right now.”

"But why can't I detect any anger in your demeanor?" 

"Because I'm not one to wear my emotions on my sleeve. I prefer to keep them under wraps," you explain, a sense of guardedness creeping into your voice.

Aventurine's laughter rings out at your refusal, his amusement evident in the glint of his eyes. "Unfair, isn't it? You hold all the cards, knowing who I am, while I'm left in the dark except for a mere name and your claim of being a wanderer. But how about a little game?"

Your expression twists in disdain at his transparent attempt to glean information. You see through his ploy and have no intention of playing along.

"I won't indulge your little charade just to satisfy your curiosity about me. Nice try," you retort firmly.

Aventurine's grin widens as he deftly flips a coin through his fingers, the metallic glint catching the light before he catches it effortlessly. 

"Such a shame.”

Once more, silence descends between you, a tense pause punctuated only by the soft rustle of the wind. Then, Aventurine breaks the quiet again with a pointed question. 

"So, perhaps you know my origin?"

As you locked gazes with Aventurine, a subtle shift in his demeanor didn't escape your notice. His voice, usually laced with confidence and bravado, now carried a hushed tone, tinged with an underlying tremor that uncovered a vulnerability you had never before witnessed in him. It was a nuance that spoke volumes, revealing a depth of emotion that contradicted his stoic facade.

In that moment, as the weight of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air, your gaze was drawn to his features—the striking contours of his face, the subtle symmetry that bespoke a beauty both rare and captivating. It was a beauty that bespoke his heritage, his lineage tracing back to the long-lost race of Avgins, a people now consigned to the annals of history.

The knowledge of his origins colored your perception of him, for you understood the burden he bore as one of the last of his kind. Avgins, known for their exquisite beauty and mesmerizing eyes, had long been subjected to discrimination and extinction, their very existence a reminder of a bygone era fraught with prejudice and fear.

You couldn't fault him for his choice to conceal his eyes behind tinted glasses, for you knew all too well the scrutiny and suspicion that awaited those who carried the unmistakable mark of their ancestry. In every world where difference was met with disdain, Aventurine's desire to shield himself from prying eyes was not born of vanity, but of necessity—a means of self-preservation in a society quick to judge and condemn.

And yet, even as he sought refuge behind his carefully constructed facade, there was a rawness to him, a vulnerability that transcended the barriers he had erected. In his eyes, you glimpsed the echoes of a lost heritage, the silent lament of a people erased from history, and in that moment, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you had never imagined possible. For beneath the mask of his bravado lay a soul as fragile and ephemeral as the dawn, yearning to be seen and understood in a world that had long since forgotten of the adversity.

"Yes, I do..." Your admission lingers in the air, carried away by the wind that brushes past, stirring the stillness that settled over the conversation. Aventurine's reaction is subtle, a scoff followed by a nonchalant shrug, his gaze shifting towards the towering skyscrapers that dominate the skyline.

"Not surprising," he remarks dismissively.

As you watch him, a faint blemish mars the pristine image you've always held of Aventurine. It's a glimpse of vulnerability, fleeting yet unmistakable, like a small blotch of ink on an otherwise clean canvas. It catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But just as quickly as it appeared, the vulnerability vanishes, replaced by Aventurine's usual composed facade as though nothing had transpired.

His sudden question jolts you back to the present, breaking the silence once more. "Do you think life is meaningless?" 

It's unexpected, a departure from the usual banter and guarded exchanges between you. For a moment, you're caught off guard, searching for an answer devoid of pretense or artifice.

"Well, if you ask me, maybe it is, maybe not." Your response carries a sense of introspection, reflecting the uncertainty that comes with a life spent wandering the vast expanse of the universe without a clear destination. "I've been traveling aimlessly for many years, letting my feet guide me wherever they please. In essence, I suppose you could say my existence lacks a defined purpose. So perhaps life does seem meaningless."

You pause, considering your next words carefully. "But then again, don't we all have something we yearn for, even in the midst of aimlessness? Whether it's something grand or seemingly insignificant, there's always a longing, a desire to attain or achieve something. And perhaps, in the pursuit of that something, we find purpose."

Aventurine regards you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying nothing.

"What if that something is death?" he poses, his question hanging heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the conversation.

You allow the silence to envelop you, granting it the space to linger between you before offering your heartfelt response. 

"If one desires death, shouldn't they cease struggling to stay alive, to preserve themselves? Why endure the effort of self-preservation if death is the ultimate desire? It seems contradictory."

You continue, your words measured yet earnest. "Self-preservation, in itself, suggests a desire to continue living, to pursue something beyond mere existence. And in that pursuit, even if it leads to death, there lies purpose. For what is life, if not a series of pursuits, desires, and aspirations?"

As you continue speaking, Aventurine's attention remains fixed on you, though his mind is a hurricane of conflicting emotions. He finds himself grappling with a sudden surge of questions, an inexplicable urge to peel back the layers of his carefully constructed pretense and lay bare the vulnerabilities he so meticulously conceals.

The landscape before him, though undoubtedly breathtaking to most, elicits a different reaction in Aventurine. Instead of wonder or awe, he feels a deep-seated unease, a gnawing sense of unworthiness that claws at the edges of his consciousness. It's as if he's an intruder in a world to which he doesn't belong, a sentiment reinforced by his own self-imposed exile from the beauty and splendor that surrounds him.

For Aventurine, the harsh realities of his upbringing on a barren, unforgiving world have left an indelible mark on his psyche. He's accustomed to a life of scarcity and struggle, where survival is earned through grit and determination rather than basking in the luxuries of a privileged existence. The opulence of his surroundings only serves to highlight the stark contrast between his own perceived inadequacies and the perceived perfection of those around him.

And yet, despite his inner turmoil, Aventurine's gaze remains fixed on you, drawn to the radiant warmth that seems to emanate from your very being. In your presence, he feels the weight of his self-imposed limitations pressing down upon him, a reminder of the vast chasm that separates him from the world above.

As you stand bathed in the golden glow of the sunlight, Aventurine can't help but feel a pang of envy, a longing to inhabit the same ethereal orbit where you reside. But deep down, he knows that such aspirations are futile, for he is bound by the shackles of his own insecurities, forever consigned to the shadows while you soar amongst the stars.

He is nothing.

He ushered you to this secluded spot, not for another mission or strategy session, but to bid you farewell. The contract that bound you together, the alliance forged through countless endeavors, has reached its natural conclusion. Every detail meticulously arranged, thanks in no small part to your invaluable insights. Now, standing before you, he prepares to embark on the final leg of his journey, a path long contemplated and now irrevocably chosen.

Meeting you, sharing in the trials of your joint mission, has been a rare pleasure. Your presence, marked by spirited banter and unwavering determination, injected vitality into the often grim landscape of their pursuits. Despite the looming risks and the gravity of his objectives, he couldn't help but relish the moments spent in your company.

As he extends his farewell, he acknowledges the uncertainty of future encounters. Though he harbors a wish for another meeting, circumstances dictate otherwise. Your captivating insights and spirited exchanges will be dearly missed, yet he remains resolute in his chosen course, prepared to confront the perils ahead, come what may. 

"Well, thank you for your answers. Anyway, I brought you here to let you know that our meeting has reached its conclusion. You've fulfilled your role as my eyes and ears, and now you're free to go about your business," Aventurine stated, slipping back into his old mask—his facade.

You blinked a few times, absorbing his words. Finally, this chapter was over.

"Is that so? I'm finally free," you sighed in relief, stretching your arms with a smile. "Being around you was quite draining."

"It seems I've been a handful, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have. You're insufferable. So, you're ready to part ways then?"

"I do tend to be insufferable, I won't deny that. And to answer your question, yes I am. Thanks to your intel, my plans are set. You've proven quite reliable, considering you're a wanderer."

"Well, being a wanderer does have its advantages. I can gather information without raising suspicion since I blend in with the crowd," you remarked, nonchalantly shrugging.

"You do seem rather ordinary, so you blend well.."

"Excuse me?"

As you leveled a sharp glance at Aventurine, expecting defiance or retort, you were instead met with a sight that stirred a strange sensation within you. His countenance, usually guarded and conniving, softened into an expression of genuine warmth. His eyes, usually veiled with caution, now held an openness that caught you off guard. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing a side of him you had never seen before.

His words, spoken with a sincerity that resonated in the air. "How I'd love to be one. To be ordinary," he uttered, his voice carrying a weight of longing and acceptance. 

You found yourself speechless, unable to respond to the exposure he laid bare before you. Despite the complexities of his past and the challenges he faced as an Avgin working under the IPC, his desire for normalcy spoke volumes about the inner turmoil he grappled with.

Your own internal conflict is mirrored in the clenching of your jaw, rendering you unable to articulate a response. Yet, amidst the silence, a silent understanding seemed to bridge the gap between you. Aventurine's earnest gaze conveyed more than words ever could, laying bare the vulnerabilities he harbored beneath his mask..

Driven by an impulse you couldn't quite comprehend, you took a step closer to him, closing the distance between you. With a gentle touch, you extended your fingers and playfully poked his forehead, eliciting a look of surprise and astonishment from him. But what followed was even more unexpected—an expression of genuine tenderness gracing your own features, a smile that reached the depths of your soul and offered solace in its warmth. In that fleeting moment, barriers fell away, and you realized that beneath the surface, you and Aventurine were not so different after all.

"You know, if you really wanted to, you could just blend in and be ordinary like everyone else," you murmured gently, finally tearing your gaze away from him. Aventurine, startled, snapped out of his trance.

"Oh, is that right?" Aventurine chuckled.

"Yeah, it's an option," you replied nonchalantly. "Anyway, I should get going."

"So soon?" Aventurine turned to you, surprised.

"Yeah, got some other stuff to take care of, and my debt to you is settled," you explained.

"You wound me," Aventurine feigned hurt, gesturing dramatically. "Our last day together, and you're leaving so soon?"

"You're not seriously trying to guilt-trip me into staying, are you?" you teased.

Aventurine smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Alright then," you said, increasing the distance between you two as you walked away. Glancing back over your shoulder, you smirked. "Once you're done with your mission, let's meet here again."

"What?" Aventurine was taken aback, still processing your words as he watched you walk away. You stopped, meeting his gaze.

"Didn't catch that? I said, let's meet again after your mission.” you said firmly, facing away from him as you delivered your final words, arm raised in farewell.

“All you need to do is survive.”

As Aventurine watched you depart, his mind swirled with contrasting emotions. Your parting words lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the connection he feared he might never experience again. Despite the gravity of the situation, he remained silent, resigned to the path he had chosen, knowing that his decision to face his final gamble in Penacony was irreversible.

In the depths of his thoughts, a sense of acceptance settled within him. He chuckled softly, a wistful acknowledgment of the irony of his predicament. The weight of his impending fate bore down on him, yet a flicker of defiance burned within his soul.

With a shake of his head, he banished the doubts that threatened to cloud his resolve. This was his moment, his grand finale, and he would meet it head-on, whatever the outcome. As he stepped forward into the yawning chasm of uncertainty, he braced himself for the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that his ultimate gamble would redefine everything.

Survival or death—there was no middle ground. And as he prepared to face the unknown, Aventurine steeled himself for the ultimate test of his mettle.

Let’s meet again, (Name).

Aventurine's eyelids flutter open, a groan escaping his lips as he gradually regains consciousness. The world swims into focus, the familiar surroundings of his hotel room greeting him with muted hues and soft shadows. Yet, despite the comfort of familiarity, a dull ache permeates every fiber of his being, a lingering reminder of the ordeal he endured in the depths of his subconscious.

As he gingerly shifts his weight, Aventurine feels the weight of exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket, each movement a testament to the toll exacted by his nightmarish journey. It's as if his very essence has been drained, leaving behind a shell of his former self, battered and bruised by the trials of his own mind.

With trembling fingers, he reaches out, tracing the contours of his hand as if searching for reassurance in the solidity of his own flesh. It's a small gesture, but one imbued with profound significance—a tangible reminder of his resilience in the face of adversity, a testament to his survival against all odds.

As the realization of his newfound freedom dawns upon him, Aventurine can't help but feel a surge of disbelief coursing through his veins. To think that he has emerged from the depths of despair, liberated from the shackles of his past, is nothing short of miraculous. With his ties to the IPC severed, he stands at a crossroads, poised on the precipice of uncertainty, yet emboldened by the promise of possibility.

But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remains clear—Aventurine is free. Free to chart his own course, to forge his own destiny without the constraints of fate or expectation weighing him down. And though the path ahead may be fraught with challenges and unknown dangers, he faces it with a newfound sense of determination, ready to embrace whatever the future may hold.

Aventurine's body protests as he pushes himself upright, the sharp pang of pain shooting through him like lightning. Yet, despite the discomfort, he manages to muster the strength to survey his surroundings, his gaze landing on the figure nestled on the sofa. At first, his mind struggles to comprehend the sight before him—a flicker of disbelief mingled with a hint of incredulity.

But as recognition dawns upon him, Aventurine's eyes widen in astonishment, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes that it's you who occupies the space in his room. The realization sends a surge of diverging emotions coursing through him, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and a strange sense of comfort.

He watches you in silent wonder, your form bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, your features serene in the embrace of slumber. It's a sight that both perplexes and soothes him.

Aventurine's mind races with questions, each one vying for his attention as he grapples with the inexplicable presence of your presence in his room. Did you wait for him? Why are you here? And most importantly, why him? The answers elude him, shrouded in a veil of uncertainty that only serves to deepen the mystery surrounding your unexpected reunion.

Despite the barrage of inquiries swirling in his mind, Aventurine finds himself unable to suppress the tender smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. In this moment of exposure, your presence serves as an anchor of solace, a comforting reminder that he is not alone in this vast and unforgiving universe.

Nevertheless, Aventurine expressed gratitude towards you. Despite your indifferent demeanor towards him and your aversion to getting involved in troublesome situations, you found yourself in his room, patiently awaiting his return, even though the odds of survival were slim.

Aventurine watches as you stir from your slumber, your movements hesitant yet purposeful as you rise from the sofa and approach him with a sense of urgency. His heart quickens at the sight of you, a mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through him as your eyes meet in the dimly lit room.

Your sudden appearance catches him off guard, the lines of fatigue etched into your features a stark contrast to the serene calmness of your slumber. But, despite the weariness that hangs heavy in the air, there is a palpable sense of anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that binds you together.

As you draw nearer, Aventurine's breath catches in his throat, his gaze fixated on your every movement as if trying to decipher the thoughts racing through your mind. He waits with bated breath for you to speak, but the silence stretches on, punctuated only by the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the room.

Unable to bear the quiet any longer, Aventurine breaks the tension with a gentle smile, his voice soft yet filled with warmth. "I didn't expect to see you here," he murmurs, his words hanging in the air like a delicate thread connecting them in the darkness.

You remain silent, your expression unreadable as you stand before him, your eyes searching his face for answers that remain elusive. Aventurine's smile falters slightly at the lack of response, a flicker of uncertainty clouding his features as he waits for you to break the silence that hangs heavy between them.

"Are we just going to have a staring contest?" he jests, prompting a weary sigh from you.

"You're finally awake," your voice was calm but tinged with concern. "How are you feeling?"

Aventurine blinked. "Like my entire body's cramped up, and my head's splitting in two. So, basically, like crap."

"That's because you've been out for weeks. You need to rest."

"Do I really have to when I've basically been sleeping for the whole duration of my coma?" he scoffed, earning another sigh from you.

"What I meant was rest like a normal person. Sleep in a proper bed, not in this decrepit bathtub. It's different when you're not in the Dreamscape," you explained matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes. Aventurine chuckled at your bluntness.

"Are you worried?" he asked.

"No," you replied flatly.

"Really? Then why are you here in my room, sleeping like a log?" he teased, and you grimaced at him.

"I'm only here to keep my word."

"Your word?" His eyebrow arched in confusion.

"When I said we'd meet again."

Aventurine's laughter rings out, breaking the weighty silence that had settled between you like a heavy fog. It's a sound filled with incredulity and a touch of irony, a reflection of the tumultuous emotions swirling within him as he grapples with the gravity of the situation.

For him, the realization is nothing short of staggering—that you, of all people, had placed your trust in him, believing in his ability to survive against all odds. It's a notion that borders on the absurd, given the precarious circumstances that had surrounded your parting, but one that now takes on a profound significance in the wake of your unexpected reunion.

As your gaze locks with his, drawn by the unexpected sound of his laughter, Aventurine finds himself at a loss for words. How could he have ever doubted the sincerity of your intentions, the faith you had placed in him even when all hope seemed lost?

"What's so funny?" you asked, puzzled by Aventurine's sudden burst of laughter.

Aventurine's laughter subsided, and he regarded you seriously. "I never expected this. You always manage to surprise me. Are you that determined to ensure our next meeting?"

Your expression twisted in disgust at the thought, which only served to fuel Aventurine's amusement. He laughed even harder at your reaction.

"It seems you're back to your usual self now," you remarked between laughs. "Well then, I suppose I'll be on my way."

But just as you turned to leave, Aventurine caught your wrist, halting your steps. "Oops! Just kidding. You really don't have much of a sense of humor, do you?"

You shot him a glare in response, but he seemed unfazed, his gaze softening as he spoke with a newfound seriousness. His words carried a weight that belied their simplicity.

"You know, I want to become a wave and run anywhere," he confessed, his voice tinged with a wistful longing. "Because even if I get swept away and get lost, I'm free."

There was a vulnerability in his words, a raw honesty that laid bare his innermost desires. It was a sentiment that resonated with you on some level, stirring something deep within your own heart.

"Even if you get lost again," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "you still will know your way back. You know it yourself, after all, you're still breathing up until now."

Aventurine's gaze softened, his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that took you by surprise. And then, almost coyly, he made a request that seemed to hang in the air between you like an unspoken promise.

"Could you stay here a little longer?" he implored, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that debunk his usual confidence.

Aventurine's touch on your wrist sent a shiver down your spine, his thumb tracing a delicate path that seemed to awaken a flurry of sensations within you. Despite your initial instinct to recoil from his unexpected gesture, you found yourself captivated by the gentle caress, unable to tear your gaze away from the intensity of his eyes.

As you met his hypnotic gaze head-on, you couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer beauty that radiated from within those mesmerizing orbs. Up close, Aventurine's eyes were a breathtaking kaleidoscope of colors, each hue dancing in the light like shards of precious gemstones. It was a sight to behold, one that left you momentarily spellbound by its sheer magnificence.

"What? Why do you want me to stay?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of confusion.

For a moment, Aventurine remained silent, his gaze never wavering from yours as if searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. And then, with a quiet sincerity that took you by surprise, he spoke.

"Have you already forgotten?" he responded, his voice a soft murmur that seemed to envelop the space between you. "You were the one who encouraged me to speak my mind, weren’t you? I simply followed your advice. But truthfully... It's because I desire your company. It's strangely... comforting."

You sighed, feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate as you contemplated his request. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to indulge your request occasionally," you relented, a subtle smile playing at the edges of your lips. "I'll grant you some leeway, considering you appear to be like a patient in bed."

Aventurine's laughter filled the room once more, a melodious sound that seemed to echo with a sense of amusement.

"How lucky I am," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he savored the moment. It was as though he reveled in the serendipity of your encounter, finding solace in the unexpected connection that had brought you two together.

As the laughter subsided, he couldn't help but be curious about the circumstances that had led you to his room. 

"So, how did you get in my room?" 

Your expression turned thoughtful for a moment, as if pondering how best to explain. "Oh, I met this Doctor called Veritas Ratio.”

As Aventurine chuckled at the absurdity of it all, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twists and turns that had led you to this ending scene, here and now, with you by Aventurine’s side.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

EPILOGUE: REQUIEM

Chapter 10 <MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: A trip to Brooklyn Botanical Gardens with Sam and Steve trigger a memory buried deep inside Bucky.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: HYDRA, living a secret life, Bucky Barnes (isn't he always a warning?) — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

Steve had suggested visiting the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, and he had insisted that Bucky and Sam join him. Bucky had grumbled about it, and Sam had joked about being the third wheel on their "date," but they had both accompanied Steve, albeit reluctantly. Both Bucky and Sam understood that this was a chance for Steve to reconnect with his past, and sometimes he needed the support of his closest friends.

As the trio made their way through the lush greenery, the sights and scents of the early summer blooms captivated them. While Steve and Sam explored the gardens with a sense of curiosity and wonder, Bucky found himself drawn towards a particularly familiar fragrance that seemed to tug at the edges of his memory. Compelled by the alluring aroma, he followed his nose, weaving through the meticulously cultivated paths until he came upon a serene, shimmering koi pond. The water's surface was blanketed in a vibrant display of lily pads and blossoms, their petals unfurling in shades of pink, white, and yellow that almost seemed to glow under the warm summer sun. 

As Bucky approached the pond, the scent grew stronger, stirring a sense of nostalgia deep within him. Though the fog of his past still shrouded many of his memories, something about this scene felt hauntingly familiar, as if he had experienced it before, perhaps in a distant life, or a dream half-remembered. He paused at the water's edge, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched his mind, desperate to uncover the elusive connection. The vibrant colors were almost overwhelming to his senses, but it was the sight of the lilies themselves that truly captivated him, their delicate forms swaying gently in the light breeze. In that moment, Bucky was transported, if only briefly, to a time and place he could not quite recall, a memory that lingered just out of reach.

Suddenly, just on the edge of his peripheral vision, a figure emerged from the shimmering heat haze, a fleeting apparition that seemed to materialize from thin air. His heart lurched in his chest as a wave of recognition washed over him. Could it be? Squinting against the glare of the relentless sun, he hastily removed his cap, shielding his eyes as he strained to get a better look. The figure was there one moment, then vanished the next, like a ghost from his past slipping back into the ether. 

He blinked rapidly, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him in the bright light. For a split second, he thought he glimpsed a familiar profile, a turn of the head, a telltale gait - it had to be her, the one who had haunted his dreams for all these years. But just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, swallowed up by the shimmering haze, leaving him with a pounding heart and a head full of questions.

Who was that? Could it really have been her, after all this time? Or was it simply a cruel mirage, a figment of his imagination conjured by the relentless sun and his own yearning? He stood there, transfixed, searching the horizon for any sign of the mysterious figure, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions; disbelief, hope, fear. Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: the ghost of his past had returned, and he knew he would never be the same.

Bucky stood transfixed, his gaze fixed upon the calm, glassy surface of the pond before him. The gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the pond provided a soothing, meditative rhythm that had lulled him into a contemplative trance. In this moment, the bustling world around him seemed to fade away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Just as Steve and Sam approached, calling out to him, Bucky was jolted from his reverie, the spell broken. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly tore his gaze away, knowing he must rejoin the present, even as a part of him wished to remain in this tranquil, introspective moment a while longer.

“There he is!” Sam nudged Steve before calling out. “Hey, Tin Man!”

Bucky scowled, the serenity of his thoughts broken by the sound of his voice.

“Everything alright, Buck?” Steve asked, noticing his friend’s sorrowful expression.

“Yeah. Thought I saw someone I knew.”

“You have friends outside of the two of us?” Sam asked incredulously, making Bucky roll his eyes and Steve crack a smile.

“Ready to go?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded, stealing one last glance at the pond as the three men walked away.

*

The cold steel of the makeshift bed pressed against Bucky's cheek, the chill seeping into his bones and sending a shiver down his spine. Even in the hazy, disjointed realm of his dream, the sensation felt startlingly real - the hard, unyielding surface, the musty, stale air filling his nostrils. He could feel the weight of the chains binding his wrists, the metal links digging into his skin with an agonizing bite. This was no mere figment of his imagination, but a memory, a phantom echo of a past he could scarcely recall. 

"Kotyonok," he whispered, his voice rough and cracked from disuse, the single word a desperate plea into the void. The name felt like a ghostly whisper from a forgotten world, a fragment of a life he had once known. But the face, the identity that should have accompanied that endearment, remained frustratingly hazy, obscured by the mists of time and trauma. He strained to grasp at the elusive image, to bring it into focus, but it slipped through his fingers like wisps of smoke.

For just a moment, he saw you - a flash of silky hair, a mischievous glint in beautiful eyes, a smile that could light up even the darkest of rooms. But before he could fully comprehend the vision, you faded, disappearing back into the shadows and leaving him with a suffocating, aching emptiness. He tightened his fist, the phantom pain of the missing arm shooting through him in a blinding wave. "Kotyonok," he tried again, his voice a desperate, guttural plea. "Who are you?"

The world around him twisted and shifted, the clinical, sterile room morphing into the dimly lit confines of an apartment. A shared laugh, a melody he couldn't quite place, echoed from a time he could no longer recall. The scent of lilies filled the air, a fragrance that made his stomach clench with a yearning so profound it was almost physically painful. "Kotyonok," he choked out, reaching for you with his metal hand. But his fingers only grasped at empty air, the phantom of your presence fading back into the darkness.

Bucky awoke with a gasp, his metallic hand clenching into a tight fist as he was pulled back into the familiar confines of his room, the cold metal of his bed keeping him grounded. He was alone, but the name ‘Kotyonok’ echoed in his head, a haunting whisper that promised a past he could barely remember, and a future he could scarcely imagine. It was a ghost, a shadow of something lost, and it left him aching with a longing he couldn't begin to comprehend.

*

Bucky's mind was a whirlwind of fragmented memories and emotions, like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting glimpses of a life he could barely recognize as his own. The sound of Sam's voice jolted him back from the precipice of that dark, tumultuous inner landscape, where the ghosts of his past threatened to consume him.

“Bucky? Are you alright, man?” Sam's tone was laced with genuine concern, his brow furrowed as he studied his friend's distant, troubled expression.

Bucky let out a weary sigh, trying to push away the phantom feelings that still lingered, the echoes of a life he could scarcely recall. "Yeah, just a little tired," he mumbled, the words feeling hollow even as they left his lips.

Sam frowned, the lines on his face deepening as he recognized the familiar signs, the haunted look in Bucky's eyes, the subtle tension in his posture. He knew all too well about the nightmares that still plagued his friend, the horrific visions of his time as the Winter Soldier. But these were different, Sam could sense it. These were the ghosts of something else, a love perhaps, a connection that had been ripped away and now existed only in the hazy, fragmented remnants of Bucky's memory.

“I know you're getting better, Bucky,” Sam said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support and understanding. “But sometimes, the past doesn't just disappear. It lingers, like a shadow, always lurking just out of sight.”

Bucky nodded, the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach growing more pronounced. He needed to know, he needed to find out who you were, who you had been to him. It was a compulsion, a driving need to uncover the truth, to reclaim that which had been lost. And so he began his search, scouring old files, questioning anyone he could from his troubled past, chasing every phantom echo that whispered your name. The weight of this quest was a crushing burden, and there were times when Bucky felt on the verge of giving up, the futility of his efforts overwhelming. But still, he returned to the gardens, again and again, as if drawn there by an unseen force, a connection that he was desperate to rediscover and understand.

*

Bucky had returned to the botanical gardens, his steps quiet and his movements stealthy as he moved through the lush greenery, his eyes scanning the faces of every passerby with a razor-sharp focus. He was certain that if he saw you again, he would recognize you instantly, no matter how much time had passed or how much you might have changed. Settling onto his usual bench, he allowed his weary body to sink into the cool shade, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted into a light doze.

But his dreams were anything but peaceful, they were a jumbled, vivid mess of his own haunting memories, the HYDRA valley where he had fallen from the train playing out in horrific detail. Yet, suddenly, the dreams shifted, and it was no longer him plummeting into the abyss, but you. Bucky jolted awake, a crushing realization weighing heavily on his chest. Had his desperate search been in vain all along? Was his mission to find you a fruitless endeavor, doomed to end in failure and heartbreak?

Shaken, he rose from the bench, his steps quickening as he strode out of the park, his focus distracted as he marched blindly, only to collide with someone much smaller than his imposing frame. Bucky's brow furrowed, his metal arm flexing reflexively as he steadied them, his mind still reeling from the intensity of his dreams and the uncertainty of his quest. 

In that electrifying moment, as your gaze locked with Bucky's, the world seemed to slow to a standstill. The familiar stranger before you was unmistakably the man you had once loved with every fiber of your being, the same piercing eyes, the same chiseled jawline, the same aura of strength and resilience that had always drawn you to him. Yet, the years of hardship and trauma etched into his features were a painful reminder of the ordeals you had both endured. The horrors you had faced together, the anguish and suffering you had shared, had threatened to tear you apart forever. But now, in this fleeting instance, all of that faded away, replaced by a surge of joy and disbelief that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

A flicker of recognition ignited within Bucky, his lips curling into a hesitant, almost disbelieving smile as he uttered “Kotyonok,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it really you?”

In that moment, the years of separation, the torment and uncertainty, vanished into a distant echo, leaving only the overwhelming realization that your unbreakable bond had survived the darkest of trials. The love he had felt for you all those years ago came rushing back, a tidal wave of emotion that threatened to consume you both. As his fingers brushed against yours, an electric current crackled between you, a tangible reminder of the love that had once been lost, but now seemed to have blossomed anew, like a delicate flower emerging from the ashes of despair.

Bucky's gaze was filled with a mixture of wonder and relief, mirroring the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. “I didn’t think you’d remember me,” you whispered, your voice choked with the weight of all that had transpired.

“I thought you were… gone,” he replied, the words laced with a profound sense of loss and disbelief.

“I… I thought you were too,” you said softly, your heart swelling with the realization that you had both defied the odds, that you had both somehow managed to cling to life in the face of unimaginable adversity. 

As Bucky reached up and laid his hand gingerly on your cheek, the tender gesture spoke volumes, a silent declaration of the love that had never truly faded, even in the darkest of times. A wave of emotion washed over him, a mix of relief and heartache. “I thought I had lost you forever,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. 

“I'm here now,” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.”

He leaned down, his gaze intense, a mixture of longing and fear in his eyes. “I don't want to let you go again,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I don't want to let you go either,” you whispered back, your heart echoing the sentiment.

You motioned at the bench and Bucky took your hand as you both sat down.

“How did you find me?” You asked. “I expected Karpov would have ordered your memory wiped.”

“He did,” Bucky sighed.

“Then how-” you started asking.

“I remember you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I remember everything. Being here, it triggered something, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since then, Kotyonok.”

“Kotyonok,” you echoed softly, savoring the sound of his nickname for you, a reminder of a love that had defied the odds. “How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn't. My friend… Steve… he likes to come here. He asked us to come with him a few times, but last month, I… was drawn to this garden,” he said, his voice soft, almost shy. “The smell of the lilies, they reminded me of you.”

You grinned, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up your face. “They're my favorite.”

“You always smelled of them,” he murmured, a fond smile playing on his lips. You loved that he remembered that about you, the little things that made you, you.

“I've been watching you…  on the news,” you admitted, a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I've seen all the good things you've done with Captain America and the other Avengers. You're a hero, Bucky.” You wanted him to know that you saw who he really was, not the person HYDRA had made him.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “I don't feel like a hero. I'm just... trying to make things right.”

“You are making things right,” you said, your voice full of conviction. “You're fighting for what's good, and that's all that matters.”

“Why… why didn't you come and find me?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and apprehension.

You hesitated, a ghost of pain flitting across your features. “I was afraid… that you wouldn't remember who I was. And… I don’t know if HYDRA is still looking for me. It’s not like I was important in the grand scheme of things, but-”

“You are important,” he interrupted, his voice filled with conviction. He gently cupped your cheek, his touch sending a surge of warmth through you. He made you feel important, like you were the most important person in the world.

Bucky's gaze softened, and he reached out, his calloused fingers tracing the lines of your face. “How... how did you survive, Kotyonok?”

Your gaze drifted away, lost in the depths of your own memories. “Honestly, I don’t remember anything. I woke up in a farmhouse, this old couple… they took care of me. They were sweet, but I didn’t stay with them for long. Didn’t want HYDRA finding me with them, hurting them.” His hand on your shoulder gave you the strength to keep talking through the painful memories. “Moved around a lot after that, trying to stay under the radar. But I did it. I survived, and… so did you.”

His eyes held yours, searching for some understanding, some confirmation of the love that had survived the horrors they had endured. “I was so scared, Kotyonok. I thought I'd never see you again.”

“But you found me,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And I'm not going anywhere.”

As Bucky's cool, vibranium digits enveloped your hands, you couldn't help but revel in the sensation. The sleek, metallic limb glinted in the light, its surface smooth and unblemished. You gazed, awestruck, at the intricate engineering on display, the way the vibranium had been seamlessly integrated to create a prosthetic that was both functional and aesthetically captivating. Gone was the harsh, utilitarian titanium that had once clashed so jarringly with the Winter Soldier's dark, menacing attire. This new arm radiated an air of refined elegance and restrained power, its strength and capability hidden beneath a streamlined, sophisticated exterior.

As you traced the delicate golden veins that shimmered against the matte black base, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer craftsmanship that had gone into its creation. Each groove, each contour, spoke to the meticulous attention to detail that had been poured into this prosthetic. It was a true work of art, blending cutting-edge technology with a sense of timeless beauty. You knew that beneath that exquisite exterior lay a strength and power that was truly awe-inspiring. This was no mere replacement limb, it was an extension of Bucky himself, a testament to his resilience and the remarkable feats he had accomplished.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with wonder. “It's incredible.” You took his metallic hand in yours, feeling its lightness and balance.

“How does it feel?” you inquired.

“So much better,” Bucky replied, his voice carrying a newfound confidence. “Lighter, more...natural.”

“I can tell,” you said, noting his improved posture. “You're standing taller.” A gentle smile spread across your face.

“You can't resist, can you?” Bucky said, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Resist what?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Taking care of me,” Bucky answered.

You couldn't help but laugh. “I can't help it. I love caring for you.” Your words were filled with an unwavering affection that warmed Bucky's heart.

“I don't want to let you go again,” Bucky said, his voice filled with both sorrow and a hint of determination.

“Neither do I,” you replied.

His face hovered impossibly close, mere inches from your own, as he sat beside you on the weathered park bench. The warmth of his breath caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, and you longed to close the remaining distance, to feel the familiar softness of his lips against yours once more. Yet, a nagging doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind, a persistent voice whispering that something was not quite right. Was this truly the man you had loved with such fervent devotion all those years ago, the soldier whose every touch had ignited a fire within you? Or had he changed, subtly but irrevocably, during the long years of separation, his eyes no longer holding the same unwavering adoration, his tender caresses replaced by a hesitance that belied a shift in his affections?

Despite his reassuring words, the ones that had once made your heart swell with joy, you found yourself unable to silence the unsettling questions that plagued you. What if the feelings that had once burned so brightly between you no longer mirrored the all-consuming devotion of the past? What if the man you saw before you, so tantalizingly close yet somehow distant, was no longer the same person you had given your heart to all those years ago? The uncertainty weighed heavily upon you, a thick fog obscuring the path forward, as you grappled with the fear that the man you loved may have been irretrievably lost to you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still reading you as easily as he always had.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your trembling hands. “It's just... you're here, and yet…”

“And yet it feels like I'm a stranger?” he finished, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nodded, unable to deny your feelings. “I've missed you so much, but I can't shake this feeling that something has changed.”

A deep sigh escaped Bucky’s lips as he reached out to cup your face. “I know what you mean. I've changed, Kotyonok.”

His words hung heavy in the air, like a weight upon your heart. “But you're still you,” you protested, desperate to cling to the man you had known. “Deep down, you're still the same person, aren’t you?”

The uncertainty lingered, a cloud obscuring the path ahead. But the flicker of longing in his eyes, the soft tremor in his voice, spoke of a man struggling to find his way back to the light. You knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about the past, but about the future. About the chance to rewrite your story, to navigate the uncharted waters of your second chance.

“I don’t know.”

Your heart sank, but before you had the time to process your disappointment, he continued.

“But, if you’re willing to give me a chance, I would like to find out… with you.” He stared into your eyes, his gaze searching, questioning.

“You would?”

And then, a slow smile spread across his face, a glimmer of hope igniting in his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice a soft promise against your lips. “I would, Kotyonok. I want to fight for us. For you.”

In the depths of his eyes, you saw a glimmer of hope, a determination that had not been extinguished. Bucky was willing to fight, to embark on this journey with you, to rediscover the love that had once bound you together. It was a chance, a precious opportunity to rewrite your story, to forge a new path that would lead you both back to the light. And as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, hopeful kiss, you knew that you would be willing to take that chance, to walk this uncharted road by his side, no matter what obstacles lay ahead.

Chapter 10 <MASTERLIST

[cowboyemeritus]

Cenerentola (Frater Imperator/Reader)

Summary: Copia hosts a gala to celebrate his ascension to head of the Clergy. When things go haywire, it's up to you to keep him safe. In the process, it becomes impossible to avoid your feelings for him any longer.

Content Warning: mild violence, a singular Monty Python reference

Notes: me? writing sfw? it's more likely than you think.

i've been doing a lot of social dancing so naturally that made me think about dancing with copia. i am also a sucker anything remotely cinderella-esque lol. reader is sort of based on an oc of mine.

i don't really know how i feel about this — i had ideas for two related scenes and then had to fill in the gaps from there. sorry it's so long lmao

feedback is always welcome :)

Even amidst the sea of people below, it is impossible for you to miss him. Copia shines like the Morningstar, the candlelight glinting off the ruby brooches and bedazzled collar of his new, freshly pressed suit. All eyes are on him as he spins the delighted young Sister of Sin in his arms, leading her with grace and elegance through the steps of the fast-paced waltz. He’s changed so much in the years since you left the Ministry. Now, with his ascension to head of the Clergy, there are moments where he seems like an entirely different person, exponentially more confident and self-assured than you remember. 

You know his new demeanor, however, betrays a deep-seated anxiety, the product of years of vague threats on his life from the organization he’s now expected to lead. And surely, the irony is not lost on him that the very hall in which he is now dancing sits directly above the crypts, where the bodies of his assassinated brothers lay in eternal repose.

From your position, leaning against a column up on the balcony, you have the entire ballroom in your sights. Every step, every gesture, every side conversation, is under your scrutiny. This was by design. Although Copia, by some miracle, lived to see the end of his reign as Papa, the transition of power has not been an easy one. Threats abound, the old guard of the Clergy still dissatisfied with him, many enraged by his recent promotion. His mother’s scheming was meant to protect him, but now it seems to have backfired, putting him in more danger than ever before. While this gala serves as a way for him to potentially smooth things over with the Upper Clergy, asserting himself as Frater Imperator, he is also making himself vulnerable, open to attacks of all kinds.

As a favor to his predecessor, the woman who taught you everything you know, you begrudgingly agreed to provide additional security around Ministry headquarters. At first, returning to the Abbey, its halls so hauntingly familiar, reminded you of why you left in the first place: decadence, hypocrisy, lies — a message lost in a quagmire of sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. Somehow, though, Copia and his ghouls have wormed their way into your frozen heart over these last few months. It was done before you even knew it was happening. Copia has this sort of magnetism about him, some preternatural force that makes it impossible not to be charmed. It was like this even when he was a shy, awkward cardinal. Because of this, although the Clergy wants him gone, he has the distinct advantage of a congregation that completely adores him.

The song ends, and Copia sweeps the Sister into a dip. She giggles, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek. Something in your chest pangs.

At the end of the day, you just work together. It would be foolish of you expect anything more. Still, there’s been an undeniable tension between the two of you since your return to the Ministry. You see the way he looks at you, the way he hangs on to your every word when you speak. But maybe you’re imagining it — you spend so much time around him that perhaps you’ve mistaken proximity for fondness.

You sense a familiar, fiendish presence approaching from behind. “You’re having fun,” Cirrus remarks, entering your field of vision. She has a flute of champagne in each hand and offers one to you. To maintain the illusion of normalcy you accept, taking a small sip of the bubbly, golden liquid.

“We’re on the clock,” you say, eyeing a small group of cardinals that have congregated near the refreshments table. They seem to be merely gossiping. Rain is stationed nearby, carefully observing. “No fun allowed.” The ghoul chuckles, leaning against the balcony railing on her forearms.

“I take it everything’s alright so far?” You nod, thinking back on the hours you spent painstakingly drawing sigils at various locations around the Abbey, setting up one massive alarm spell. If anything supernatural tries to get in, you’ll know. All that’s left is to be on the lookout for any natural, more human threats. You swallow down a lump in your throat, hoping your preparations will be enough.

“Try to relax, then,” Cirrus coaxes, sipping her own drink. There’s a pause. “You should go dance with him.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but keep your composure.

“I don’t have time to mess around,” you state bluntly. Your posture sags a bit. “He’s busy, anyway.” Copia is leading another Sister onto the dance floor, taking the starting position as the ghoul band strikes up another tune. You zero in on the hand resting on her hip, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. It looks like her dress doesn’t have any pockets; the probability of her concealing anything is low.

Cirrus places a clawed hand on your shoulder and gives you a playful jostle. “For you? He’ll make time.” You give her a quizzical look and she winks, straightening back up before taking her leave. “Do it!” She calls. “I’ve got good money on you two getting together!” Your mouth hangs slightly agape, watching as she descends the stairs to rejoin the party.

You take another, longer sip of your champagne, relishing in the sensation of bubbles tickling your tongue. It helps take the edge off, if only a little. You remain up on your perch for another long while. Copia eventually abandons dancing in favor of strolling through the crowd, greeting and shaking hands with various high-profile guests. It’s harder to keep track of him this way, even from your vantage point, so once your glass is empty you descend the stairs, entering the fray for yourself. To your relief, no one pays you any mind as you weave through the mass of bodies. You spot a truly nameless ghoul carrying a tray of empty glassware and flag them down, depositing your glass. You’re about to find a better place to camp out when someone taps you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, signorina strega.” You turn and sure enough, it’s Copia. He’s holding out a hand. “May I have this dance?” Multiple pairs of eyes are now focused on you. Swallowing hard, you flush, smiling nervously. It’s a little more attention than you’d like, but you reason that within arms reach of him is the best place to be right now.

It’s completely logical, not motivated by anything else.

“Of course, Frater Imperator,” you reply, bowing your head slightly. You make it a point to use his full title in front of the guests. “I would be honored.” Gingerly, you take his hand, and he leads you to the dance floor. You pick up your pace a bit so that you’re able to whisper in his ear. “I’m not very good.” Copia gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Do not worry. Just follow my lead.” As the last few bars of the current song play, Copia guides you into the starting position, placing his right hand delicately on your hip and holding the left out for you to take. You try not to think about how, even through the leather of his gloves, his hand is so warm. Having difficulty looking him in the eye, you glance over his shoulder in the brief moment of silence between songs. You see Cirrus, Rain, and Swiss gathered by the refreshments table, watching you with shit-eating grins plastered across their faces. The air ghoul flashes you a thumbs-up and you have to resist the urge to destroy her with your mind.

“Ready?” As if on cue, the band resumes playing. You recognize the song instantly: Waltz No. 2, Shostakovich. How woefully on brand. The dance begins, Copia stepping forward with his left foot while you, mirroring him, step back with the right. It’s easy enough to follow him after that, stepping to your left as he steps right, then forwards to start all over again.

“One, two, three. One, two, three. You’re a natural.” Once you find a steady rhythm, you’re able to look up from your feet and actually start to enjoy the feeling of whirling around the room.

“How are things?” He asks, clearly trying to remain nonchalant. There are so many eyes on you, and from the crowd you sense intrigue, amusement, and a significant amount of jealously.

“Fine, so far,” you reply through a smile, trying to make it as difficult as possible for people to read your lips. Copia nods.

“Bene.” A few beats pass. “Thank you for all your hard work. I appreciate you coming back after...” He looks away for a moment. “I appreciate it.” You didn’t do it for him and he knows that, but his expression of gratitude makes heat bloom in your chest nonetheless.

“I’m glad I did,” you say without thinking. “This place is different now. Good different, because of you.” Copia smiles, the skin around the corners of his eyes crinkling. He raises his left arm and you pass under it in a spin, feeling lighter than air.

“I had hoped you would be able to enjoy yourself tonight,” he admits, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “Instead it seems you are just fretting over me.” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“It’s that ego of yours I’m worried about,” you tease. “Pretty soon there won’t be room for anyone else in this Ministry.” Both of you laugh at this.

“I had better check myself, then,” Copia says, running a hand through his mousy brown hair. “I would hate to see you leave again.” That catches you off guard and you nearly trip, but his hand finds your hip again, keeping you stable. By now, you’re certain he’s noticed the blush on your cheeks.

“Don’t worry. I’m not-“

Somewhere, an invisible thread snaps. It makes your stomach lurch, the color draining from your face. You pause, your playful expression melting away as you try to pinpoint the source of the disruption. The South Wing. It’s approaching fast. When you return to this plane Copia is looking at you with concern.

“I have to go,” you say quietly. He doesn’t have time to respond before you exit the dance floor, heading for the large double doors at the other end of the ballroom. It’s hard not to shove people out of the way as you duck and weave through the crowd. Dewdrop is at the entrance, minding his post, but as you approach it’s clear from the rigidity of his small body that he’s been waiting for you. He follows you wordlessly out into the hall. Kicking off your heels, the two of you take off in the direction of the intrusion. You internally curse your foolishness for talking yourself out of wearing sneakers, or even flats.

“It’s something nasty,” he says once you’re out of earshot of any guests. You can only nod in agreement, hoping the two of you are enough to deal with whatever this foul thing is.

You round the corner to the South Wing and stop dead in your tracks. The sight before you makes your blood run could. Charging towards you is a hulking creature, easily Mountain’s height but with Aether’s bulk. It’s clearly a humanoid figure, but its edges are poorly defined, a mist-like quality to them. Still, you observe shapes that resemble horns and a tail, and that tells you all you need to know: a rogue ghoul, not bound to this plane by a contract. As such, it’s less of a consolidated form and more of rampaging ball of fiendish energy. This information helps you narrow down the list of potential culprits exponentially.

There’s no time to dwell on that, though. The creature is headed straight for you, no doubt attracted to the smell of your human flesh. Before you can react, Dew puts himself between you and the ghoul, ready to engage. He’s strong in spite of his small size, but the odds of him defeating this massive a beast on his own, especially one this energized, are slim. You realize he’s buying you time to cast a spell, and immediately you formulate a plan in your head. It will take some time to accomplish, but if he can hold off this monstrosity for long enough, you should be able to successfully banish it back to the Pit without endangering him as well. Planting your feet, you take a deep breath, letting your eyes shut. There’s a whoosh of warm air as Dew charges the rogue ghoul. Energy begins to flow through you as you chant under your breath, crafting the spell. A metallic taste fills your mouth, the air crackling with static.

You’re about halfway through the incantation when the sound of a body hitting the floor breaks through your wall of concentration. The creature roars, forcing you to crack an eye open just in time to see it lunge at you. It’s covered in scratches and burns, but Dew is ultimately the one on the ground, desperately trying to pick himself back up. You’re only just able to side-step, the spell breaking as you focus all of your energy on surviving the next few seconds. You’re frantically backpedaling when it swipes at you, claws catching you in the side. You cry out as it tears through the flimsy red fabric of your dress, leaving three long gashes in its wake that begin bleeding immediately. Though profoundly painful it’s a superficial wound; if you had been stationary, there’s no doubt it would have disemboweled you. 

Your back hits the wall. Dew shouts your name but you just stand there, frozen. The creature is about to pin you when a large body slams into it from the side, knocking it to the ground. You immediately recognize the form as Aether, and looking in the direction from whence he came you see Cirrus, Swiss, Rain, Mountain, Sunshine, and Phantom, all approaching with teeth and claws bared. Cirrus gets to you first, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the scuffling ghouls.

“Are you-“ She finally notices you clutching your side, blood seeping into your dress. “Oh shit, are you okay?” You nod, lifting your hand to show her it’s minor. Phantom is helping Dew to his feet. He seems alright other than a few scratches, the fall appearing to have knocked the wind out of him more than anything.

“I’m fi-” Your heart nearly stops. “Is someone watching Imperator?”

“Cumulus and Aurora are with him,” she says. “They’ve got it under control.” You let out a relieved sigh, shoulders dropping. It’s only now you that you notice how much tension you’ve been holding in your body all night. Your body trembles with excess adrenaline.

Aether lets out a frustrated growl. You barely have time to look in his direction before the rogue ghoul, having slipped out of his grasp, hurls itself out of one of the long, gothic windows lining the hallway. Bits of stained glass go flying, scattering across the marble floor tiles. The creature is smart enough to recognize it’s been outnumbered. One-by-one the members of the pack leap through the broken portal, none of them too keen on letting the intruder escape. Dew tries to follow, clearly excited about the prospect of a hunt, but Cirrus shoos him away from the window.

“Go clean yourselves up,” she orders, perched on the ledge. It’s directed mostly at you. “We’ll take it from here.” With that, she jumps down, disappearing from view as the sound of the pack whooping and howling fades into the distance.

Twenty some-odd minutes and a round of healing magick later, you and Dew are sitting out on the steps of the back patio, passing a cigarette back-and-forth. By now, the rogue ghoul has most certainly been torn to ribbons. There could still be threats lurking, but for as much as you’d like to go find Copia, you’re nowhere near presentable and would prefer not to incite panic, or suspicion, among the guests. Besides, you’re hardly capable of doing anything now, your energy completely drained by the evening’s events. You only had enough juice left to stop your cuts from bleeding; anything physically strenuous would certainly reopen the wounds. For now, you’re content to enjoy the cool autumn air, knowing he’s in capable hands.

“There you are.” Speak of the Devil. You look over your shoulder and Copia is stepping out into night, flanked by Cumulus and Aurora. Clutched in one hand are your strappy red heels, and it’s only now that you realize you’re still barefoot. Dew, with a quiet groan, rises to his feet and climbs the stairs, passing Copia as he descends.

“We’re going to go take care of this one,” Cumulus says, draping an arm over the fire ghoul’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but for a moment you swear she winks at you. Dew tries to shrug her off with a huff, and the girls giggle. Copia nods approvingly.

“Thank you, miei cari. We will debrief in the morning.” The three ghouls turn and step back inside, leaving you and Copia on the stairs. Your heart beats a little faster with the realization that you two are alone, although you tell yourself it’s because you won’t be able to defend him in this state. There’s definitely no other reason.

“Your glass slippers, my lady.” You roll your eyes and reach out to take your shoes from Copia, but he refuses to hand them over, kneeling on the stair below you. “Allow me, per favore.”

This might as well be happening. Lifting your foot up, you grant him permission to assist you. Copia slides the first shoe back on, holding your calf with one hand. Again, you can’t help but notice how warm and gentle his touch is. 

“I’m sorry for running off,” you say, needing to break the silence. “I hope you didn’t think that-“

“Not at all. I figured that something was, eh, ‘going down.’” When he looks up he finally notices the gashes in your side. He hisses, wincing. “Ahia! That looks like it hurts.”

You wave him off. “’Tis but a scratch.” He looks like he’s going to protest, clearly upset, but instead opts to tighten the strap of your shoe before moving on to the next foot.

“What happened?” He asks, starting the process over again.

“Rogue ghoul,” you explain, looking out into the forest at the edge of the lawn. “Likely the work of Cardinal Ambrosius. He’s gotten in trouble for trying to make contracts before. Doesn’t look like he’s quite figured it out, though. I can have his head on your desk by Monday morning, if you’d like.” 

Copia laughs through his nose. “You are absolutely vicious, mia strega.”

You shrug. “Just doing my job.” Once Copia finishes with your other shoe he stands, offering you his hand.

“Walk with me?” 

You give him a hesitant look. “I don’t want to keep you from your guests.” He scoffs.

“I have had enough of those two-faced pricks for one night. A lifetime, even.” His expression softens. “But if you are not up for it, I-“

“No!” You shoot up, taking his hand. It startles him a little bit. “I’m good. Let’s go.” Copia smiles, the moonlight sparkling in his eyes. Like an obedient  lamb, you let him lead you down the rest of the stairs and across the patio to where a walkway wraps around the side of the building. He’s taking you to the gardens, it seems. Though your legs feel like jelly, the walk isn’t very long, which you’re thankful for.

The gardens aren’t really a sight to behold this time of year, but the full moon bathes everything in a mesmerizing blue glow, giving the space a dreamlike quality. The ballroom is just up another set of stairs, the music still audible where you emerge. You stop by the fountain, a marble visage of Lilith pouring water from a bottomless goblet. The water is still running, providing a little extra ambiance.

“Care to dance?” Copia asks. “We were so tragically interrupted before.”

“I…” Damn you and your nerves. You’re blushing again. “I don’t want to get blood all over you.”

Still, he persists, shrugging. “It’s a black suit.” It’s hard to say no to that face, but the McQueen jacket? Really? He gives you a pleading look and your resolve instantly crumbles.

“Alright.” It’s all but a whisper. “But go easy on me.”

You don’t wait for the next song to start, you simply get in position and go from there. It’s slower than what you danced to before, and you two end up just swaying to the rhythm rather than following any steps. That’s fine with you, your legs are still shaking, though you can’t tell if it’s from exertion or something else entirely.

“You look beautiful,” Copia says after a few measures. In that time you two have drifted closer together, only a few inches between you now. It’s hard to look him in the eyes when your face is so embarrassingly red, so you choose to stare at the ground.

“I’m a mess.” You laugh, but there’s something bitter in it as your eyes wander to your soiled dress, torn and bloody. There was a silly, naive part of you that had been thinking of Copia when you selected it for this evening. He stops swaying, a hand finding your chin and gently lifting your head. In your opinion, he’s the beautiful one, practically glowing in the moonlight. 

“Nonsense. You are the fairest of them all, cara.” You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth draw up into a slight smile.

“You’re getting your fairytales mixed up.” The two of you share a laugh before dissolving into a few moments of comfortable silence. You can tell he’s thinking about something, and he looks away, clearly nervous.

“Did you mean what you said about coming back?” The question catches you off guard for a second.

“I did,” you finally respond. “I really did. This place feels like home again.” Swallowing, you decide to take a bit of a leap. “Did you mean what you said, about me leaving?” You haven’t discussed it in a long time, but when you first took the job, the understanding was that this was only a temporary arrangement, lasting at least until Copia was able to settle into his new position. The notion pains you now. He nods.

“Yes. I-“ He chuckles. “I cannot stand the thought. Signorina strega, say that you will stay with us, with me.”

You don’t even need to think about it. “I will. Of course I will.” Copia beams, and the sight is breathtaking. There’s another pause, the air between you charged with an energy more powerful than magick. In the ballroom, the final notes of the song ring out, though you hardly notice. A bomb could go off next to you, but even that wouldn’t be enough to pull you out of this moment.

“Beautiful…” You don’t protest when he cups your flushed cheek, running his thumb across the bone. “May I kiss you?” It takes everything you have to not melt into a puddle.

“Please.”

And then his lips — Sathanas, they’re soft —  are on yours. Stars explode behind your eyes as he presses into you, the hand on your hip to pulling you in closer. His body is so warm against you; it feels so right. Your heart is racing, head spinning, as the euphoria overtakes you. 

He kisses you until you’re both out of breath. When he finally pulls away, you want to chase after him, to kiss him until your lips fall off, but then your knees buckle. Copia is just barely able to catch you, letting out a surprised little noise you can’t help but find adorable. He seems less concerned when he sees you’re grinning like an idiot.

“Alas, I have killed her!” You both laugh as he helps you regain your balance. “Why don’t we sit down?” Humming in agreement, he leads you over to the fountain, sitting you down on the edge. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Are you sure you are alright?”

“Just peachy,” you say, gazing at your intertwined hands. “It’s been a long night.” Feeling bold and still a bit woozy, you bring Copia’s hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Ah, young love.” You both jolt, heads snapping in the direction of the voice. Before you stand the glowing specters of Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator. The old man has a wistful, nostalgic look on his face, while your former teacher observes with her arms crossed. How long have they been watching you? “Just like we once were, don’t you think?” Imperator huffs.

“I sure hope not.” Her focus falls on you. The wrath in her translucent blue yes makes your blood freeze. “You think you’re good enough for my son, girl?” For a moment, you’re completely speechless.

“I-“

“Are you two serious right now,” Copia shouts. “Get out of here! Go on! Get!” He gets up from the fountain to shoo them away. Imperator gives you a pointed look before dissolving into a blue mist. Her message is clear: this isn’t over. You gulp.

Copia groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe those two. I finally get to have my moment with you, and then they go and spoil it!” He flops back down next to you, sighing. “I am sorry, bella. I understand if-“

“Forget about it,” you say, holding up your hand to silence him. “Just kiss me, like, forever.”

Copia happily obliges.

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 10 - Convergence~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: The fight with Vox triggers memories of your life on Earth, but a familiar voice calls to you. When you wake, you find an unexpected hand has helped you but of course their aid comes with a catch. More secrets are brought to light and you must choose whose side you're truly on.

Themes: Huge warning for depictions of war/ bombings/ injuries/ death. With everything going on in the world I understand if it is hard to read so feel free to skip the ~8 ish paragraphs. The usual angst, mystery, sassiness, cursing, fluff, actual plot, mentions of blood/bodily harm, slow burn, Lucifer can't take a hint, Alastor is full of surprises, eventual smut, and of course 18+

3k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (You're on it!) Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

Like a movie, you watch different places around the world flash before your eyes. Each scene, you’re surrounded by the same small group of people. A feeling of pride filled your body when you looked at them. Are these people my family? They feel like it. You knew you’d do anything to protect them. 

~~I’m here love…

A final flash puts you at an eerily familiar scene. You sit at the end of a small table, watching everyone laughing, eating, singing - just enjoying the down time together. The sound of an air siren puts an immediate silence over the tent. All eyes snap to you, waiting for your guidance. You stand from your chair, “Alright just like training guys, take your assigned positions around the camp and keep a clear - “, ringing pierces your ears as everything goes black. 

~~You’re stronger than this…

In what feels like a second, you are lying face down on the warm ground. How long was I down for? Pushing yourself to your knees, you watch blood from your face make little droplets in the dirt below you. Dust and smoke fill the air, burning your lungs when you try to take a breath. Fuck…Where is everyone? You look at what remains of the camp around you. Piles of brick, wood, and rock litter the area. The night around you is hauntingly silent, interrupted only by the occasional pop of electricity from what remained of the generators. As the dust begins to settle, you’re able to make out multiple sets of boots under rubble nearby. No…no...no…no please...

You attempt to run towards them but stumble back to the ground. A mix of dirt and blood coat the front of your uniform. Other than the pain in your side, you have no way of knowing the true extent of your injuries as a numbness washes over you. 

~~Fight…please my dear…

Sounds of tumbling brick and coughing distract you from your self-evaluation. You crawl towards the sound and find a man trying to sit up, pushing away the rubble that buried his lower body. “Thank God, you have no idea how relieved I am to - “, an involuntary gasp leaves your mouth when you see the piece of metal sticking right through him. 

He half-heartedly laughs, “I was going to make some smartass comment like - How bad is it doc? Think I’ll be home for dinner? - but uh…I think that answered my question.” Fucker always had to make jokes, even the face of death. 

“No it’s not..It’s not that bad. I just need to find my bag, I can stop the bleeding….just…k-keep talking to me.” Your hands fumble across his chest. You try to apply pressure while your eyes frantically scan the area for your medical bag, but Lord only knows where it ended up after the explosion. 

~~Please…we need you…

Warmth continues to spread under you, his blood now staining your hands and arms. He grabs your hands, stopping your efforts and gently setting them on his face, “Don’t do this - ya know how it’s going to end.” A single tear slips past your lashes and down your cheek. His breathing begins to labor, “Hey now boss lady, no cryin’. We all knew what we signed up for. This ain’t your fault.”

~~I need you…

A deafening sound fills the air followed by a blinding flash of white light.

Your eyes bolt open as you sit up gasping for air. Alastor nearly jumps out of his chair, hastily sitting himself behind you in bed to wrap his body around yours, “I’m here, dear. Breathe. You’re safe.” You try to relax in his arms while your mind reels. Was that a dream? A memory? Is that…how I died?

You look down remembering the fight with Vox. Other than a few blood stained cotton bandages, you appear to be mostly healed. “How -?” you begin to ask. Alastor tightens his grip on you, making you wince from the pressure on your still healing wounds. “Please…just…give me a moment.” he begs quietly into your neck. You feel his chest rise and fall against you with ragged breaths. If it was anyone other than Alastor, you would think he was crying. 

Gentle sounds from the wooded bayou fill the room. After a few moments, he breaks the peaceful silence, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” he breathes through a raspy voice. You lean your head back to look up at the demon. He looked just as rough as he did that night in the tower. 

You bring your hand to his cheek and pull him into a tender embrace against your lips. He sighs into your mouth as his body relaxes. He needed to feel you, to know you weren’t gone. The corners of your mouth curl into a smile, “I don’t know how but I heard your voice…through the darkness you were calling to me. Even as I dreamt of my life on Earth.” Alastor huffs amusingly, “My dear, I never left your side. Charlie said talking to you might help. I thought it was silly really but I was willing to try anything. Good to know my efforts weren’t in vain.” 

Alastor delicately brushes his fingers through your hair, “I didn’t think it was possible to feel something worse than the initial fall into Hell, but you seem to enjoy keeping me on my toes. As much as I hate to say it, you might not have made it if Lucifer hadn’t -”

“Lucifer!?” you yell in surprise at how casually Alastor mentions him, “Why would he bother saving me?” A few taps on the door interrupt before you can get an answer. Without waiting for a response, Lucifer walks into the room, “Ah good you’re awake.” he chirps casually. 

You swing yourself to the edge of the bed in an attempt to stand but Alastor keeps a firm hold on your hips, slotting you between his legs to keep you sitting. He scolds quietly in your ear “Easy love, let’s not move too quickly. You’re still healing.”

Lucifer makes his way across the room, puffing his chest out arrogantly as he leans against his cane, “There were only a few wounds I couldn’t get completely healed but you seem to be a strong one! Of course someone had their doubts.” he glares at Alastor, lip nearing a snarl. 

He did help when he didn’t need to, ulterior motives or not I should be grateful. You muster a smile and cool tone, “Well you did wonderful, sir. I am feeling pretty good to be honest. Thank you. I suppose I owe you.” What the fuck did I just say?

Alastor exhales against your neck and digs his fingertips into your sides, making you curse at him under your breath. It didn’t help how smug Lucifer suddenly looked. He nonchalantly fiddles with his suit, “Well we do have some private matters to discuss. If you’re feeling up to it of course.” No but do I have a choice?

“Sure! What’s going on?” 

“I uh - would prefer there to not be an audience, if you don’t mind.” Lucifer shuffles his cane to his other hand. Your chest hitches at the request. I rather not be alone with this man right now. Alastor notices your apprehension, “Anything you have to discuss can be said in my company. You have quite a nasty habit of putting your hands - amongst other things - where they don’t belong.” his tone cut with such sharpness even the well collected King looked visibly uncomfortable. You feel him disappear from behind you only to reappear in a chair by the fire behind Lucifer, “You may continue sir.”

Lucifer scoffs but doesn’t speak right away. You fumble nervously with your hands as his eyes burn into you. Chills creep across your skin from the tension filling the room.

“Soooooo - what did you need to speak about, sir?” you ask wearily, wanting to get this conversation over with. “I told you to call me Lucifer,” he takes a seat next to you on the bed, “And I think you know damn well what we need to talk about.” his once sickeningly sweet voice now harsh with ire. 

Cool, nothing like pissing off the King of Hell. You try to hide the anxiety building in your chest, “Lucifer, I appreciate your offer from the other day however I am staying here. With the sinners and with Alastor. I am capable of  -”

“Yes, yes - you looked quite capable as you were dying in my arms just a few nights ago!” he bites, “Do you think you’re of any use to the people you claim to want to help if you’re dead? Do you think he will actually support you in your efforts?” his eyes dart to the demon across the room.

“Oh and you will!? You want to keep me like a pet in your little castle! Remind me, how did wanting such things from Lilith turn out for you?” 

An unsettling smile crosses his face, making a pit form in your stomach, “You tread on thin ice my dear. If you wish to take low blows, fine. You’re naive to think he actually loves you. You said yourself, he just wants to use you -”

“I was wrong. I was only naive to think you did not want to use me.” you interrupt plainly. R̷͈̈u̸̦͌l̸͍̍e̴͔̅ ̷͉͛#̸̗͒1̶͍͂ ̵̮̐B̵̬̊e̷͖͐ ̵̡́o̵̡̿p̵͎͂e̴̢̋n̷̡̆ ̵͚̋t̵͕͠o̵͔̽ ̵̺̉t̶̰͗ȓ̴̠ů̷̹s̶̩̄t̴̙̅,̸̈́͜ ̶͉̓b̶̘͗ǔ̵̮t̶̯̂ ̸̝̿n̴̳̍ȅ̷͔ṿ̵̀e̴̗̾r̸̨̔ ̵̻͒ḑ̶̾ǫ̴̉ ̴͎̉ś̴̤ō̴̩ ̴̣̒b̶͉͠ḻ̸͗i̶̳̽ṋ̷̀d̶͉͒ĺ̵̘y̸̙̕

He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, “I - I don’t know what you mean. I - I saved you. I protected you when - when he couldn’t. Of course I would have never allowed you to get hurt in the first place.” Alastor clears his throat and shifts in his chair, using every ounce of restraint to not lose his tongue. His eyes pinpoint to Lucifer through a sharp grin. 

I’m not the only one on thin ice here. “I appreciate you helping me, truly. But I think we both know deep down…you’re scared. You’re weaker than you let on. Locking yourself away, ignoring your duties. Without Lilith you’ve become just a shell of the ruler you once were. And, not to sound arrogant, but I get the feeling you think I can somehow change that.”

Lucifer’s look softens and he takes your hand, eyes glued to his thumb tracing across your palm, “I’ll admit there’s some truth to your words. She was my strength. She knew how to lead better than I ever could. The city has gone to shit without her. But…” his other hand cups your cheek as he meets your gaze, “...you can change all of that. Standing by me, you can do so much good for our people. Isn’t that what you want?” his words seem to plead with you. You hear a crack from Alastor’s grip tightening on the arms of his chair. 

You shoot a glance at him, silently asking him to calm down. With a gentle touch, you take Lucifer’s wrist to remove his hand from your face, “I want to save souls, Lucifer. Charlie’s dream is incredible and I plan on helping her see it through. I do not wish to assist in the rule of Hell.” You say soft but stern, trying to make him understand. He stands abruptly to look down at you, “Does this demon share these same sentiments?” 

Fuck he does NOT let up. “I don’t understand. Why are you so against him!?” you raise your voice making the Radio Demon’s ears twitch. 

Lucifer kneels in front of you, tightly gripping your shoulders, “Listen to me…” Alastor stands to say something but you raise a hand to stop him. You wince as slender fingers dig deeper into your skin and the King’s voice darkens to a whisper, “He will never stop trying to gain more power. You want to save souls yet you stand by someone who would sacrifice anyone and anything to get what he wants. You help bring him to power…and he will destroy everything. You, me, Charlie…He - won’t - stop.” 

Your heart pounds against your chest, fighting against the thoughts racing through your mind, “How are you so sure about his intentions?” you squeak out. He gently brushes some hair away from your face, “My sweet girl, there are darker secrets to him than you know. Secrets, I fear, that will destroy you.”

“That is enough.” Alastor’s voice warns with a heavy static. 

Lucifer angrily stands back up, bringing you to your feet with him, “Why can’t you just trust me? Have I not proven myself enough? He will take away everything.” Your hands press against his chest in an attempt to keep him from getting any closer, “Please, stop! He -”

The lights of the room begin to flicker. Alastor grabs Lucifer away from you by his jacket collar and pins him against the wall, “I said that was enough.” he spits. The two men snarl nose to nose before Lucifer lets out a jarring laugh, “Oh-ho - so she really doesn’t know? How far are you going to try and bury the truth?” he peeks over Alastor’s shoulder to you, “See my dear this is what I mean. If he truly loved you, he would have been honest about his - situation.” 

Alastor pulls back and slams Lucifer’s smaller body against the wall again, seething through gritted teeth, “You have no right to -”

“W-what is he talking about?” You brace yourself against the bedpost and take a step towards them. Lucifer shoves Alastor off, sending the pissed off demon half way across the room. His body hits the wooden floor hard enough for the planks to creak beneath him. He half-heartedly struggles to pull himself up onto one knee, panting like a dog about to attack. 

Lucifer saunters over to you. You hear a low growl from Alastor as he watches the small King move his hands over your waist and his lips to your ear, “His soul is bound to another. He only needs you because your power combined can break him free. And what do you think he’ll do the moment he is unchained?” he breathes through a wicked smile. Your entire body tenses, both from shock and how intimately his hands run against you. 

He gives a coy chuckle, raising his voice to ensure Alastor hears him, “Come see me tomorrow. Alone. We can speak further on how you can repay me for helping you.” with a flick of his wrist his cane flies into his hand. You flinch as he presses a kiss to your cheek before disappearing behind his red ribbons.

Alastor remains frozen, kneeling in the middle of the room. His eyes stare into you while flickering between red and black dials. You can’t tell if he’s about to explode or break down. Although a hundred questions are running through your mind, you know better than to poke an already agitated bear or in this case, deer. 

In a moment where you should be angry or confused, where you should yell and scream, you instead do something that takes both yourself and Alastor by surprise. Ignoring the pain and soreness in your body, you drop to your knees in front of him and throw your arms around his neck in a tight hug. He moves his hands up but hesitates before touching you. “Wha-what are you doing?” he asks with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. 

Within an instant, a plan forms in your head. This is going to get messy. But it’s the only way to protect me…and protect us. R̶͚̀u̷͍̿l̷̦͛ȅ̸̥ ̸͔̀#̷͇̿4̶̫͝ ̴̧̌Ț̶̈ù̷̫r̸͓̃ǹ̷̩ ̸̘̚y̴͔͊ò̵͜u̸͙͝r̸͜͠ ̶́͜w̸̮̉ẻ̴͚á̵͚k̶͎͌n̵̘͛e̶̪͐s̵̜͝s̵̛̤ ̸̼̋ĩ̸̭n̴̘̈t̷͙̎o̴̡̓ ̵̩͌ŝ̷͉t̴̺̊r̴͈̍e̶̡̔n̷̝̓g̶̭̚t̴̺̓h̸̩̓ You pull him closer and run a hand up into his hair, caressing the back of his head, “You already know the questions I have and I fully expect answers. However, at this moment, I only need to know one thing…” you move away to rest his head in your hands, forcing his crimson stare to you, “...if I help you to break your deal, are you willing to keep your chains and bind your soul to me?” Your tone is serious but affectionate. He needs to know I’m not asking from a place of selfishness. Ȓ̸̤u̷̞͗l̶̫͂e̸̛̩ ̴̬͝#̴̼̒3̶̙͝ ̷̣͂K̵̜̓e̴̘̽ë̶̤́p̸̳͑ ̷̣͘t̷̥͆ẖ̸͐o̶͉̐s̷͗͜e̷̛̻ ̵̪̍y̴͎͗ǒ̴͎u̵͘ͅ ̸͇́ĺ̵̮ö̴̧v̴̩̏ę̷̀ ̷̝̋c̸͠ͅl̶̫͑o̸͈͆s̴̟͠ë̵̢́

“Yes.” he says without hesitation. His immediate response takes you aback. The last thing you expected was the ‘all powerful’ Radio Demon to give into your request without a second thought. For a moment you are left completely speechless. 

Unassured by your lack of response, Alastor places his hands over yours, “You’ve already managed to obtain my heart and my mind. The second my deal is broken, I will give you my soul. I will give you everything.” Your heart flutters at his words. 

There isn’t a single hint of anger or regret in his voice. His eyes lock to yours as he peppers kisses into your palm and down your wrist. The image takes you back to the first night you spent with him just months prior. That night he looked hungry and desperate but now there’s nothing but devotion, a silent plea for your trust. 

You can’t fight the heat rising in your face from his affection. He always has a way of clearing your mind yet clouding it all at once. You’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear the pounding of your heart from his willingness to give everything to you. Well phase one of this plan is already going swimmingly. He cocks an eyebrow at how smug you suddenly look, reading you like an open book, “What schemes are you concocting behind those eyes?” 

You lightly peck his forehead, then his nose, stopping just above his lips. A sly grin spreads across your face, “I have a plan but you’re not going to like it.” He rolls his eyes and groans, “It involves Lucifer, doesn’t it?” 

He helps you to your feet and pulls you into him. Your hands rest perfectly against his broad chest as you smile up at him without an answer. His eyes close with a deep sigh, “My dear, I already do not like where I think this is going.” he mumbles, knowing you’ve already made up your mind. 

You stand on your toes to give him a quick playful kiss, “I believe it’s time for me to go make a deal with the Devil.” R̸̢̉u̷͙̔l̷̺̇e̴̡͌ ̷̢̿#̶̠̍2̷͊͜ ̵̤̕D̷̦̐o̴̞̒n̷̠̈́’̷͔̆t̵̪̀ ̴̬̊b̸̺͋ẽ̶͈ ̴̣͘a̴͚͋f̶͔͗ṙ̶͔a̵̻̕i̸̪̾d̵̲̂ ̸̙͗t̷̛̥o̸͕̐ ̸̟͊s̵̖̒h̸͔̊ö̷͇́ẃ̶ͅ ̷̯̓y̸̭̔o̸̮͆u̴̠͐r̷͙͝ ̶͚͝p̵͔͌ǫ̷̛w̵͔͝ė̶̝r̴͎̂

Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers 

@alastorssimp @alastorsgirl48 @mysterisumone @ohnah2022 @catticora

@eris-norwega @kaylopolis @littlebluefishtail @little-slyvixen @laudrawin 

@qu1cks1lversb1tch @diffidentphantom @rapturenyx @purplerose291 @mcntsee

[maniiaccs]

Echoes of silence

Jennifer Jareau x fem!reader.

In Which: JJ reunites with her first love in a unusual way.

tw:violece.

(˖𓍢ִ໋🦢⊹𐙚)

word count:3.5k

The late afternoon sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a soft orange glow through the windows of the BAU jet. Jennifer Jareau sat in one of the leather seats, her gaze fixed on the file in her lap, though she wasn’t really seeing the words. The faces of the victims stared back at her, each one hauntingly familiar, each one drawing her deeper into a past she had tried to leave behind.

“Another one,” Hotch said as he approached her, his voice low, his expression grim. “We just got the call. A fourth victim.”

JJ’s heart sank. She had been afraid of this. Afraid that the unsub was accelerating, getting bolder. Afraid that her past was catching up with her in the worst possible way.

“Same MO?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Hotch nodded. “Young woman, early thirties, found in a remote location. No signs of a struggle. She was killed quickly and efficiently.”

JJ closed her eyes, the image of the latest victim flashing in her mind’s eye. She didn’t need to see the crime scene photos to know what the woman looked like. The unsub had a type, and that type was disturbingly close to one person she had been thinking about more and more since the case began.

The team had been working the case for days, chasing leads that led nowhere, piecing together a profile that was as elusive as the killer himself. The victims—four women now—all shared similar physical characteristics: blonde hair, blue eyes, around JJ’s height, with a quiet demeanor that suggested they were easy targets. But there was something more. Something personal.

JJ felt a cold knot of dread tighten in her chest as she considered the implications. The unsub wasn’t just killing women who looked like her. He was killing women who looked like ____.

It had been years since JJ had last seen you, years since she had chosen the BAU over the relationship that had meant everything to her. You had been her first real love, the one person who understood her in ways no one else could. But the job had demanded more and more of her time, her energy, until there was nothing left to give. The decision to leave had been mutual, but the pain of it still lingered, a dull ache in her heart that never fully went away.

And now, with each new victim, that ache was turning into a sharp, desperate fear. Fear that you were in danger. Fear that she was already too late.

“JJ?” Hotch’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I… I think I know why the unsub is choosing these victims.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“They look like someone I used to know,” JJ admitted, her voice tight with emotion. “Someone I was close to. I think the unsub is targeting women who resemble her.”

Hotch’s expression darkened. “Have you contacted her?”

JJ shook her head. “Not yet. I didn’t want to believe it was connected. But now… I have to.”

“Do it,” Hotch said firmly. “We can’t take any chances. If she’s a potential target, we need to keep her safe.”

JJ nodded, her mind racing as she pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating for just a moment before she dialed your number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before going to voicemail. Your voice, still so familiar, filled her ears.

“Hey, it’s _____. Leave a message.”

JJ’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice. She had imagined this moment so many times, but it had never been like this. Never with a sense of urgency that made her chest feel tight, her pulse race.

“_____,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s JJ. I… I need to talk to you. It’s important. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”

She ended the call and let out a shaky breath, her mind already spinning with worst-case scenarios. What if the unsub had already found you? What if he was watching you right now, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

The thought made her feel sick.

“JJ, what’s going on?” Morgan’s voice interrupted her thoughts, concern etched on his face as he approached.

JJ looked up at him, struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I think the unsub is after someone I know. Someone I used to… care about.”

Morgan’s expression softened. “You should tell us everything. We need to know who she is, where she is.”

JJ nodded. “Her name is ____. We… we were together a long time ago. She lives in New York now, but I haven’t spoken to her in years. I’m afraid the unsub is going after women who look like her.”

Morgan’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t press her for more details. “We’ll do everything we can to find him before he gets to her. But you need to make sure she’s safe, JJ. She’s the key to this.”

JJ knew he was right, but the weight of the situation was almost too much to bear. She had left you behind to protect you, to focus on the job. But now, that decision felt like a mistake, one that could cost you your life.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, pulling her from her thoughts. Your name flashed on the screen, and JJ’s heart leapt into her throat as she answered.

“_____?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“JJ,” you replied, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and concern. “What’s going on? Why did you call?”

JJ closed her eyes, struggling to find the right words. “I need you to listen to me, okay? There’s… there’s someone out there, and I think he’s targeting women who look like you. I need you to be careful. I’m coming to see you.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and JJ could practically hear the wheels turning in your mind.

“JJ, what are you talking about? What do you mean he’s targeting women who look like me?” you asked, your voice rising with a mix of fear and confusion.

JJ swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from creeping into her voice. “I don’t have all the details yet, but I know you’re in danger. Please, just… trust me on this. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

Another pause, then a sigh. “Okay. I trust you.”

The relief that washed over JJ was almost overwhelming. “Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stay somewhere safe, and don’t go anywhere alone.”

“I will,” you promised. “Just… hurry, okay?”

“I will,” JJ repeated, her heart aching with the knowledge that she had dragged you into this nightmare.

As she ended the call, she looked up at Morgan, who had been silently watching the exchange. “I’m going to need your help on this.”

“Anything you need,” he said without hesitation. “We’ll find this guy, JJ. I promise.”

JJ nodded, but the knot of fear in her chest only tightened. She had to believe they would catch the unsub before he got to you, but the clock was ticking, and every second felt like an eternity.

The drive to your apartment was a blur. JJ barely registered the passing scenery, her mind consumed by thoughts of you. Memories of your time together flashed in her mind—late-night conversations, quiet moments of laughter, the way you’d look at her with so much trust, so much love. And then the memory of the day she walked away, the pain in your eyes as she explained that she couldn’t do both, couldn’t have both.

JJ clenched the steering wheel, guilt gnawing at her insides. She had left to protect you, to keep you from being dragged into the darkness that consumed her life at the BAU. But now that darkness had found you anyway, and she wasn’t sure she could live with herself if something happened to you.

When she finally reached your building, the sun had set, and the city was bathed in a cool, twilight glow. JJ parked and rushed inside, her heart pounding with each step. The elevator ride felt agonizingly slow, every second stretching out as her mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

The door to your apartment was slightly ajar when she reached it, and JJ’s blood ran cold. She pushed the door open, her hand instinctively going to the gun at her side as she stepped inside.

“_____?” she called out, her voice echoing in the empty space.

Silence.

JJ’s heart hammered in her chest as she moved through the apartment, her senses on high alert. The living room was empty, the kitchen undisturbed. But when she reached the bedroom, she froze.

The bed was neatly made, but there was something on the pillow—a small, rectangular object wrapped in plain brown paper. JJ’s stomach twisted with dread as she approached it, her hands shaking slightly as she picked it up.

She carefully unwrapped the paper, revealing a photograph. It was a picture of you, taken recently, judging by the clothes you were wearing. The angle was close, too close, as if the photographer had been standing just a few feet away from you.

On the back of the photo, in messy handwriting, was a single sentence: So close, yet so far.

JJ’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the words, her pulse pounding in her ears. The photo slipped from her trembling fingers and fluttered to the floor, landing face down on the carpet. The words felt like a taunt, a cruel reminder that she was too late.

Panic surged through her as she grabbed her phone, quickly dialing your number again. Each ring felt like a lifetime. When your voicemail picked up again, JJ’s heart sank deeper into her chest.

“_____, please call me as soon as you get this,” she said, her voice tight with fear. “I’m at your apartment, but you’re not here. Please, just let me know you’re okay. I’m going to find you, I promise.”

She ended the call and forced herself to focus, to push back the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. There had to be something here, some clue as to where you had gone. JJ scanned the room, looking for anything out of place, anything that might give her a lead.

Then she saw it—your laptop, still open on the desk by the window. The screen was black, but when JJ touched the trackpad, the screen lit up, revealing an open email. It was from an unknown sender, the subject line blank. The message itself was short, just a set of instructions and an address.

JJ’s eyes widened as she read the message, the fear in her chest sharpening into a cold, hard dread. The address was in an industrial area on the outskirts of the city, a place she knew well from the case files. It was where the last victim had been found.

The unsub had lured you there. He wanted JJ to follow.

Without wasting another second, JJ grabbed her phone and called Hotch. The moment he answered, she relayed the situation in clipped, urgent tones.

“He’s taken her, Hotch. I know where he’s keeping her.”

“We’re on our way,” Hotch replied, his voice calm but firm. “Don’t engage until we get there, JJ. We’ll handle this together.”

JJ knew he was right, but every instinct in her body screamed at her to go now, to get to you before it was too late. She ended the call and took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not when your life was on the line.

She raced back to her car, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and determination. She wasn’t going to lose you—not like this. Not when she had a chance to make things right.

The drive to the address felt both agonizingly slow and terrifyingly fast. JJ’s mind raced with scenarios, each one worse than the last. She tried to push them aside, focusing instead on the memory of your voice, your smile, the way you had always looked at her with such unwavering trust. She had to believe that she could save you, that she wasn’t too late.

The industrial area was dark and deserted when she arrived, the buildings looming like silent sentinels in the night. JJ parked her car and grabbed her gun, her heart pounding as she approached the building. It was an old warehouse, the windows boarded up, the door slightly ajar.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of dust and oil, and the only light came from a few flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling. JJ moved cautiously, her senses on high alert as she swept the area.

“_____!” she called out, her voice echoing in the empty space.

There was no response, only the sound of her own footsteps echoing off the walls. JJ’s grip on her gun tightened as she moved deeper into the building, her eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.

Then she heard it—a faint noise, like a muffled cry. JJ’s heart leapt into her throat as she followed the sound, her pace quickening. She rounded a corner and froze.

There you were, tied to a chair in the center of the room, your hands bound behind your back, a strip of duct tape covering your mouth. Your eyes were wide with fear, but the moment you saw JJ, that fear shifted to something else—relief, hope.

“_____,” JJ breathed, rushing forward. She dropped to her knees in front of you, her hands shaking as she reached for the tape. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here.”

But before she could remove the tape, she felt the cold press of metal against the back of her neck. The click of a gun’s safety being released echoed in the silence, freezing her in place.

“Drop the gun,” a voice hissed from behind her. “Or she dies.”

JJ’s blood turned to ice as she slowly raised her hands, letting her gun fall to the floor. It clattered against the concrete, the sound reverberating through the empty space.

“Good,” the voice said, satisfaction dripping from the word. “Now stand up, nice and slow.”

JJ did as she was told, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the unsub’s presence behind her, could sense the cruel anticipation in the air. He had been waiting for this, for the moment when he could finally confront her face to face.

“Turn around,” he ordered, the gun still pressed to her neck.

JJ turned slowly, her eyes locking onto the unsub’s. He was younger than she had expected, with a sharp, angular face and cold, calculating eyes. There was a sick kind of satisfaction in his expression, a twisted delight in the power he held over her.

“Why are you doing this?” JJ demanded, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. “What do you want?”

The unsub’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “I want you to suffer,” he said simply. “The way I’ve suffered. The way you made me suffer.”

JJ frowned, trying to make sense of his words. “I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he sneered, his grip on the gun tightening. “You ruined my life, Agent Jareau. You took away everything that mattered to me.”

The realization hit JJ like a punch to the gut. She had seen that look before, in the eyes of the families of the unsubs they had taken down. The anger, the bitterness, the desire for revenge. This man wasn’t just a random killer—he was the son of one of the men the BAU had put away. One of the men she had helped bring to justice.

“You’re Robert Lincoln’s son,” JJ said, the pieces finally falling into place.

The unsub’s eyes flashed with rage. “He was all I had! And you took him away from me! You took him away, and now I’m going to take everything from you.”

JJ’s heart raced as she glanced at you, still tied to the chair, your eyes wide with terror. She had to find a way out of this, had to find a way to get you to safety. But with the gun pressed to her neck, her options were limited.

“What about her?” JJ asked, nodding towards you. “she had nothing to do with this. Let her go. This is between you and me.”

The unsub laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? I know how this works. You’re the one who taught me, after all. Hurt the ones they care about the most, and you can break anyone.”

JJ’s blood ran cold. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. “It won’t bring your father back.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice low and menacing. “But it will make you feel the same pain I’ve felt every day since you took him from me.”

In one swift motion, the unsub shoved JJ to the ground, the gun now aimed directly at you. JJ scrambled to her feet, her heart in her throat as she saw the terror in your eyes.

“Please, don’t!” she cried out, her voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll do anything—just don’t hurt her!”

The unsub smirked, savoring the power he held over her. “Begging already, Agent Jareau? I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

JJ’s mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, a way to get to you before it was too late. But before she could move, she heard the distant sound of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. The team was closing in.

The unsub heard it too. His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer to you, his finger tightening on the trigger. JJ’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what he was about to do.

“No!” she screamed, lunging forward.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, a deafening crack that seemed to freeze time. JJ’s world narrowed to a single point, her eyes locked on you as she watched in horror, praying that she wasn’t too late.

But the sound of a body hitting the floor wasn’t yours—it was the unsub’s. JJ blinked in shock, her heart still racing as she realized what had happened. The team had arrived just in time. Morgan’s shot had taken down the unsub, his body crumpling to the ground, the gun slipping from his lifeless hand.

JJ rushed to you, her hands shaking as she tore away the tape over your mouth and untied your hands. The moment you were free, you threw yourself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” JJ murmured, holding you tightly, her own tears spilling over. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

You clung to her, your body trembling with the aftershocks of terror. JJ pressed her forehead against yours, her heart still pounding in her chest. She could feel the warmth of your breath against her skin, the steady thrum of your pulse beneath her fingertips. You were alive. You were safe.

The rest of the team moved swiftly, securing the scene and confirming that the unsub was indeed dead. Hotch approached JJ, his expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

JJ nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she really believed it. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and the lingering terror of how close she had come to losing you. “Yeah. Thanks for getting here in time.”

Hotch gave her a small, reassuring nod. “We’ll take care of everything here. You should get her out of here, JJ. Take her somewhere safe.”

JJ glanced down at you, still wrapped in her arms, your grip on her as tight as if you were afraid to let go. She didn’t blame you. The ordeal had been horrifying, and she knew it would take time for both of you to process what had happened.

“Come on,” JJ whispered, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, letting her guide you out of the warehouse and into the cool night air. The team’s vehicles were parked outside, the flashing lights casting long shadows on the ground. JJ helped you into the passenger seat of her car before sliding in behind the wheel. For a moment, she just sat there, her hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady herself.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked softly, turning to look at you.

“Anywhere,” you replied, your voice hoarse from crying. “Just… stay with me.”

JJ reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[chiyoso]

Okay here me out...... If you could fuck Aeons...... Nanook

A WARLORD'S SOLITUDE

nanook, an eldritch, ancient mystery of destruction, had been playing as the puppeteer of death all over the continent since ancient times. a being, involved in the horrors of the world with one simple goal; to destroy and decay life. however, the day he decided to wreak havoc, his eyes wavered at the sight of a familiar figure, you.

ა content warnings. reincarnated lover reader · immortal god au · reader is implied as female · mentions of death and destruction · mature content · he gets hard at the end for you lmao · nanook goes by he/him in this fic · dead dove.

ა author notes. this wasn't smut (sry anon), but i did cook something. wc estimated to be 2k above?? not proofread and edited thoroughly cos this shit was made at 3am.

You couldn't be more mesmerized.

The dread in his face couldn't compare to the ones that witnessed his glorious, aurate form.

He was brilliant, a transcendent being, and he was an Aeon who was filled with mixed emotions of fear, love and confusion.

He looked more terrified than the mortals that ran for their lives beneath his wavering gaze, as the lustrous, golden irises landed upon a creature whose familiarity was certain, and it had shook the Aeon's core deeply.

The divine being was left with intensifying feelings of fear, his chest dripping with golden liquid, leaving out of him just like his shaky breath.

You were there, standing and taking witness to the golden-colored darkness, taking in a situation that will be left recorded in the history books. Your eyes hover and dilate upon a figure that was twice the size of a mountain, the once blue and calm moon that illuminated the world, was now enveloped with a golden hue, assumingly so from the revered Aeon's sudden appearance.

You trembled at the sight of the renounced being that was loathed, feared and looked down upon — but you didn't feel fear, you felt undeniably drawn to its sudden presence in an artistic way, you were always quite an explorer. Your fear of the unknown made your surroundings feel uneasy about you, a beautiful human, that was filled of eccentricness.

In your trembling hands were a coal-tip pen and a thin book with contents of your accumulated sketches, you couldn't hear the deafening screaches of terror as the crowd runs to the opposite of where you were walking towards, it was art or nothing.

It was either to create a masterpiece for future artists to take and witness, or nothing.

Nothing mattered except the heavenly sight that was bestowed upon your eyes in this moment, you were transfixed, in awe, as your irises gloss upon the gold that was within his dark complexion, his long braids that destroyed an ecosystem in mere seconds and beneath him was that of a crater.

You continued to stare at the giant, drunk with inspiration — his golden, translucent, and glowing eyes, filled with a confusion of depair reeling you in deeper as you wondered about that seemed uncharacteristic of an Aeon, but you didn't dwell long on the thought as your hands starting to move on its own, beginning to draw your heart out while your head kept glancing back and forth repeatedly towards the coal-filled page and godlike piece you were drawing, your feet, bringing you to him as you continued to draw, unfortunately, you were finally deemed crazy by the people running for their lives, momentarily eyeing your actions, bringing them a millisecond of confusion, before continuing to sprint from the grasps of death.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! RUN DAMMIT!”

One said looking over to you with a mixture of panic and anger in his expression, his volume of voice minimizing as he ran away from the deathly scene. People continued to run from the hauntingly glorious sight, pushing one another in a panicked flurry, the sounds of their stomping, shaking the earth.

A majority of eyes had forced themselves onto you, physiques mostly dodging your still body in their attempt of preservation for their loves, except when—“F-... Fuck!” A person from your village knocked into you, resulting in your book of sketches, falling down onto the dirt as a wave of feet stomped on it repeatedly.

A turbulent of emotions raged within your heart, the feelings of heartache and despair surfacing physically as your eyes glisten with tears, bringing a hand to your mouth with shock from the thought of years of progress and creation, crumbling to dust with such a simple yet cruel act.

Nanook reacted to the spectacle, the sight of your grimace in your face, snapping him out of his thoughts, his protective instincts kicking in as the tip of his finger reaches out towards your direction, his burning ambers on the sight of the village — or more specifically, the man whom caused you pain.

A striking sharp sound ensued from the heavens, the nightly sky flickering with a golden hue repeatedly, the dark sky was like a canvas as lighting marks decorated the ether. You reacted, raising your head towards the source of the noise, your glistening eyes glimmered at the event, causing your despair to a sudden halt, replaced with excitement and artistic intuition from the ethereal sight before your eyes.

Suddenly, golden rays of light from the heavens came crashing down vertically towards the earth with intense velocity and speed, raining glorious hellfire upon the land surrounding you with a blinding light that forced you to cover your eyes. Even then, you were beyond satisfied with the thought of dying to such a disaster, it was a beautiful chaos.

The art before you made you speechless, and it filled your heart and mind with bliss as you feel the heat surrounding you closing in, the light almost engulfing and grazing your skin.

You were ready, you were happy and satisfied to perish within a beautiful aurora of gold.

You liar.

A deafening silence followed shortly after the intense, crackling sounds of power and despair. Confusion welled up inside you as you were still able to feel the nightly breeze grazing your skin, hugging your form, trembling in the sudden dread of cold air lapped around you.

You open your eyes slowly, reluctantly, revealing a gorey sight, a field of grim and lifeless art surrounding you. The hateful village that you once knew, had fallen apart, a future ruin that is now left as a remnant for future inhabitants of the world, a fragment of a history laid to waste by the Aeon of Destruction, who stayed and proved true to his myth.

“You're not real,” the Aeon, who bathed and dripped in gold, voiced out with a solemn, shaky tone.

The once giant of a man that shook the earth, was now of a size of a human adult male, and he was walking towards you, the gold from his figure and his steps, dripped down on the bloodied floor of lifeless bodies, leaving a trail of golden liquid before stopping just respectfully before you.

How could you possibly react to the situation at hand? Such a destructive, force of nature, shakily uttering your name with undertone of despair, the sight of his beautiful, ornate eyes dilating, studying you, memorizing you.

Myths that you had a hard time believing from your continuous torment from others, praying and hoping to be enlightened and saved— now being preyed upon with such power under his watchful gaze.

“H-How did you-” You voice cracked, heavy confusion accompanied with slight fear were apparent in your whole being.

How did he know your name? Why were you alive? Why was he looking at you this way? Why did I only get spared?

You continued to overthink, your mind racing with thoughts.

The great Nanook, who painted your only home in red and ashes.

The great Nanook, who inflicted countless of deaths, disasters and terror since the beginning of time. He was the true form of destruction and despair himself.

Yet, that gaze... It wasn't befitting of a God.

Nanook looked at you with such an almost unrecognizable look, unfathomable emotions in his eyes, wavering at the sight of you, his beautifully constructed face faltered into the depths of similar to a heartache, weeping in gold within his eyes while the memories from his over lived lifetime continue to hit him like a celestial disaster that would engulf the whole world, his whole world... being you.

The you who was so familiar to him, the you that would bring back countless memories about love wnd happiness, the you who left within his arms in your previous life eons ago, the light in your eyes leaving, dreading him from ever loving again. Reincarnation was a mystery even to destruction himself, some would reincarnate after death, some would take millennium, eons, or a lifetime.

And yet, there you were, a fragment of himself, and he felt whole again, witnessing such a miracle, seeing you again, so close yet so far to him.

“Aeon,” you called out to him in a hushed voice, your face filled with confusion and fear replaced with concern and worry because your gaze landed upon the golden liquid, cascading down from his saddened eyes.

Nanook, flinched to your voice, the sound reverberating within his ears, causing his heart to flutter to your dearly missed chords.

It was different, but it was yours.

He'd only stiffen up, dilating irises staring longingly into yours, having intense, overwhelming feelings of confusion, aching, a deep longing for none other than you.

You weren't the her that he knew, but you were still the soul that he ached for and cherished. He brought a hand to his head, exhaling short, heavy breaths instead of audibly sobbing despite the golden tears that stained his cheeks.

The Aeon was both smitten and terrified at the sight of you, his eyes glossing over every feature that existed before his eyes, cherishing every millisecond with you. He took several deep breaths, composing himself before taking another step forward to you.

“D- Don't come any closer-...” You said in a panic, taking a step back simultaneously as fear began to creep back within you again.

“Please...” You continued, your voice starting to tremble, you had expected him to not listen, since, he was after all—a being of decay and havoc, but instead, you witness him flinch to your words, his heart shattering from your desire to make him stay disganced, retracting his reaching hand from you and standing in place as he stares at you with a visible faint frown.

“Do you... Do you know me?” You asked, steadying your quickened breath as you steel your gaze towards him, looking for answers, keenly observing his body language and facial features with the accumulated skill you had as an artist.

Nanook was silent for a few long moments, taking deep shaky breaths, he was starting to calm as well, finding solace in your voice, savoring it this time more intensely, not wanting to part from the existence of you again.

“It... It matters not flowe-”

“It does, and you know it.”

You cut him off without missing a beat, your courage returning, confident that he won't be able to hurt you—having that identified from the way he was acting.

The firmness of your tone accompanied with your unwavering gaze, caused him to look away to the side, his cheeks beginning to heat.

It was all so closely familiar to him, the way your voice rang with a firm, fearless tone, the way you would hold your ground in every situation even if risked your precious life, the way he knew of your unquenchable curiousity and wonder, the way your plump lips frowned to him, as fragments of memories continue to overwhelm him, flickering in his mind.

“Aeon Nanook,” you called out to him again but with alias name, echoes of his name replaced the silence with no response from him.

He couldn't respond.

Instinctively, you began to pace forward to him as your curiousity began to grow—remembering the spectacle before this situation, on how the air filled with an aurora of gold, the air, filled with shimmering particles of the same color that was flowing all over his body, his well carved, toned and physique that you couldn't help but glance to it every now and then, your womanly and artistic senses battling each other in your internal struggle

And the nickname for you? Flower? Why does he act in such a manner? What does he—

“You are aware of my prominence and alias, yet you continue to call me by my title,” he'd intercept your thoughts, trying to sound like his normal, glorious self, but the sight of you accompanied by your voice was too much for his fluttering heart, the beads of his sweat trickled along his neck, the darkened hue all over his cheeks that had spread to his ears the moment you stepped several paces closer towards the higher being—and that confused, but intrigued you even more.

The latter was winning.

“Then,” you said, before stopping before him, a safe yet risky distance as the gap between was far more lesser.

“Your eminence, Nanook of Destruction...” he stiffened as you call out to him, simultaneously placing a hand to your chest, your gaze locked and piercing as your fear completely diminishes from your body, replaced with overwhelming curiousity, and determination.

“Forgive me for my insolence, but if I were to die, I'd rather be informed,”

He could never hurt you.

“You have spared me, even upon laying waste on the land I once called my home, your brilliant attacks managing to—not once, move towards my way,” you've arrived just infront of him, a genuine frustration apparent in your expression.

“Why.”

The toughness of the situation may have affected your senses right now, but you could have sworn you heard him curse under his breath seeing his mouth part slightly, his bangs covering his face as he tilted his flushed face down, but you didn't dwell on it further as you were brimming with a desire for questions.

The blush remained on his face, his eyes narrowing to you, causing you to retract back a few steps away, the reality returning to you that you were current demanding a being far from the mortal grasp, your grasp.

You didn't know, but his head spun from the flood of emotions and memories of the past, and your actions tipped him over the edge, causing him to get drunk with overwhelming love, affection and lust for you, the golden liquid all over him starting to boil, looking towards the earth beneath the both of you.

He was reduced to a weak man as of right now.

“I...” He cleared his throat, his gaze returning to yours as his body language tells you all kinds of information, and dammit, everything was an itch to your brain as to how illogical the situation was.

“Flower...” There it is again.

“You wouldn't believe m-”

“I speak with an individual who is considered to be a myth at the moment, try me,” you interrupted again, showing the firmness of your question and decision, and he was so absolutely smitten by you once more, falling in love all over with you again, a personality that he missed so much, causing his heart to blare, interrupting his internal thoughts, thoughts of how to answer you.

You then take a step forward once more, your eyes never leaving his, and if you walked two more paces, towards him, you would've been within his personal space, not that he would mind.

“A supreme being, speaking to me as if I were someone dear to you, sparing me from the demise of your powerful feats. A manifested concept of destruction, gazing—carrying this heavy tone similarly to a man who's utterly lovesick towards a maiden he admires from afar.”

You weren't far from the truth.

You then narrow your eyes to him, closing the distance once more with one more step, looking up to the towering sunlight of a man before you.

“Forgive me talking in such a way that would invoke discomfort towards you, but I want to address the illogical problem—you continuing to call me a name like I am a person so familiar and so close to you.” At this point, he couldn't hide the flush in his face anymore from the almost closeness between you two.

You're just so...

Nanook continued to gaze downwars to you, listening to every word you're saying intently, your strong will, courage and curiousity that he was all too familiar with, finding you absolutely adorable and alluring—but he won't admit that, at least not for now.

“Reincarnation, my flower. It is because you are, familiar,” he took a deep breath, lowering his gaze.

“So very familiar and known to me...” his voice trails, you noticing the trembling of his lips.

You were so, so close.

He bathed in your familiar scent that was addicted to before, and taking a whiff of it after so long, he seemed drugged, dazed wnd intoxicated.

His eyes starting to haze as well as his mind, savoring the closeness of the two of you. His dazed, loving gaze continued to study and savor you like a revered, famous artwork, amused by the visible disbelief and contempt on your expression that he caused.

You felt out of touch from the emotions you were experiencing, every emotion you were feeling were so foreign to you, and it was a scary yet thrilling experience.

You didn't want to melt to the nickname he kept calling you, you didn't want to react to his sweet, rich voice, talking to you like you were the best thing in his whole, supreme existence, but your body betrayed you, showing the faintest hint of a blush, starting to show.

You didn't process the information he uttered out to you, you couldn't, and you didn't want to, even if you knew it wasn't a lie, since it came from an Aeon especially.

The fact that you knew the meaning behind his body language, the way you tried being oblivious to his facial expressions, his flushed out face, and the way his gaze would make you feel so special and wanted.

You didn't want to come to a correct conclusion, you didn't want logic to... logic. Perhaps some other Aeon of Life and Death were playing a sick game towards the both of you.

The astronomical luck of this Aeon, as well as yours, meeting you in this era, this lifetime, was most, most absurb.

You couldn't fanthom it, and the thought of being intimate with such a destructive force of a being like him, doing all of those things together.

Fuck, you then quickly turn around from him, feeling your cheeks grow hot, resulting in Nanook to jolt, your actions bringing him back to reality as your back was now faced towards him.

He has killed and ceased many souls, he has caused endless death and destruction for eons and eons of his existence, his sole purpose was and is to take and destroy, being a puppeteer to his Emanators and subjects who did his deeds for him. He was a feared and revered being, he is a glorious, beautiful being whom destroyed your village, he would most likely continue to lay destruction if it hadn't been for you, and—

Your mind contined to wander about, your cheeks continuing to feel hot as the red tint finally revealed itself, spreading to your ears.

“Flower—?”

“Why... Why do you continue to call me that—!”

You hissed, your voice came out high pitched, reducing the aggressive tone you originally wanted, but you couldn't help it, you were feeling yourself fluster further for the wrong reasons.

“I- I don't know you... I can't perceive you in such ways,” you say meekly, lowering the volume of your voice.

Hm?—“What ways, do you speak about flower?”

The Aeon mused, walking to your side, tilting his body down and taking a glimpse of what was happening, the moment he saw your mirrored blush, he felt more alive than he already is as his lips curl into a faint smirk, placing his hand onto the top of your head, rubbing your head gently and affectionately, and since he knew you through and through, he most definitely knew you were in denial about the facts that even you yourself didn't want to accept, because you were such a smart woman, such a lovely, lovely intelligent woman whom he cherished dearly.

He would've included you within his golden auroras of death if he wanted to harm you. He would've already killed you even after you somehow escape from the attack if he wanted to. He wouldn't be patting your head so lovingly if he wanted to cause you pain. Why would you let him touch your hair even? Why did you want to get closer to him? Why would he—

“Love,” He muttered to you, not realizing his mouth was near your ear, causing shivers down your spine as a soft yelp escapes your mouth in shock from the new cute name along with his actions.

“Shall I continue to inform you? I assume your... thoughts are currently running with a vast amount of things, correct me if I'm wrong,”

His usage of coyness only continued, having your confidence wavered—intentions of breaking that wall of strength, just like him when you managed to tame him.

“You can resist me,” the hand from the top of your head currently wasnow tracing down along your nape, his thumb brushing along your skin, the warming of your skin being felt as your cheeks burn further.

He certainly knew how to make you feel, he'd know how to rile you up, whether it'd be wholesomely, or sinfully, he knew you through and through, at least—the soul harboring the current body of yours that is, and all that could be achieved by none other than him, and him only.

“Nanook...” You call to him, soft and vulnerable, turning your head towards him, revealing your uncontrolled reddened face, your expression trying to not show any signs of weakness to him.

His gaze softened further, the sight of you causing him to chuckle as his deep, rich laughter felt so pleasing to your ears, not helping you in your situation.

“Even-... Even if I was reincarnated as you said, I-I don't know you,” he moved closer, needing to hear you, wanting to hear you.

“At- At least not like in the life that you and I were...” You attempt to look away, your face sunken, dusted with a deep, visible blush, showing such a side that spiked Nanook's heart rate, along with yours

Neither of you were dumb, nor ignorant.

Both of you were intelligent enough to know that there was a lingering air of attraction and warmth surrounding the two of you, despite the you in this lifetime not knowing absolutely anything about him, be it his personality, the intimacy you two shared, and what you cherished most, emotional vulnerability.

The thought of being lovers, being so heavily intimate with such an attractive, powerful being left you pondering deeplyyou, making you wonder about all kinds of things as your cheeks remained heavily flushed.

You then flinch, the feeling of his hand formerly on your nape, now moving down towards your lower back, wrapping his hand to your curves, gently and sensually caressing it.

“You're right,” His other hand then reaches up to your chin, making you face him as his face grows near to yours.

“And yet... you aren't resisting my advances as of this moment, why is that?” He hummed, his smirk remaining on his face, knowing he caused your head to spin and fluster you into the depths of warmth and affection, but he was also absolutely experiencing euphoria along with you, experiencing so much happiness and warmth from your familiar presence that had always had such a strong effect on him.

He was acting coy and smug, masking that unconditional, unwavering deep love and affection that he had for you, previously buried until forgotten, except his all of his weaknesses began to starting to resurface, having trouble discerning if it was good or bad, but—the only thing that felt good, was him basking in delight from your presence again.

He was right though, why weren't you rejecting his touches? His forward advances? The way your cheeks would flush deeper he speaks in such a loving tone that caused your heart rate to spike its pace, the way he would brush his thumb across your chin as he held it, gazing lovingly upon your face with a warm smile that you almost melted to.

He most definitely saw you before this whole situation erupted, he saw your familiar eccentricity, he saw the way your eyes gleamed whilet you passionately drew your heart away to the sight of him, he saw the familiar wonder and the way your eyes would shimmer, seeing him in the reflection in your eyes amongst the chaos he previously cause, and... since you assume he knew you through and through.

Does that mean he accepts you?

“Does this mean you accept me?”

You thought aloud, your lips parting to say your uncontrollable thoughts as your eyes continue to gloss over his face, emotions welling up within you.

He accepted you before then? He accepted the way you are? He accepted the parts where you yourself loathed along with the people who casted looks of disdain and unease to you? He accepted the you that was true and weird? All your flaws, and he loves m—?

“And love you, yes.” His words interrupting your thoughts simultaneously, gently pulling your face closer to his with his fingers, his warm breath grazing upon your trembling lips as he smiled so warmly and affectionately towarss you.

“You may not know me in this life, you may not know who I am from within, but believe me when I say this,” He then leaned forward, tilting down his body to match your height, thus presses his lips against your forehead, his soft and warm lips lingering for a few long moments before reluctantly pulling back.

“I have made a promise to you since then, that if I had ever encounter your lovely soul once more and that I have—even in another lifetime, the next one after that, and until my existence is eradicated from existence, until then, I would make you mine. Over and over and over,”

“Do you understand me, love?”

“That... and is there a problem with getting to know me again?” He added, coyly, affection imminent, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, staring at it with an intense loving gaze, biting his own as love filled lustful thoughts seeped into his mind, reminiscing the memories of intimacy.

Ah, his cock underneath pulsed, twitching slightly under his white drapes from the reaction of your lips. Your quivering, plump lips were already moist just by his touch, as a soft whimper escaped your mouth from the heavily intimate gesture he was demonstrating to you.

Your took a sharp, shaky inhale from his loving, impactful words. You didn't know this man, you didn't had anyone look at you, care for you, love you, cherish you, look at you in such a way that everything started to feel blocked out. It was only you and him that existed in the both of your spaces.

The both of your hands travel to his wrist, moving his hand towards your cheek, closing your eyes as you savor and melt into his palm, his thumb continuing to rub against your moist lips.

“You're beautiful, you are.” His pupils turned into hearts just looking at your own gesture, accepting his advances and the intimacy between the two of you.

“You really, really are,” bathed in affection and warmth, an unspoken agreement of a certain love and lust filled and surrounded the two of you.

A vast majority wished to experience the intensifying love these two had, despite their heavy, heavy differences. A mortal, and an Aeon, the Aeon of Destruction in specific. It was a bizzare sight again.

The ground shook, a rumbling was heard in the distance, your moment of loving was cut short, interrupted, as sounds of yelling in the distance catches both of your attention, turning both of your heads to the source of the noise with annoyance and confusion, only to realize the people whom worshipped under other Aeons, a faction whom dedicated themselves to destroy anything and everything about the path of destruction, arrived with an overwhelming multitude of armies, shaking the soil both of you stood on as the skies above them also had soaring fleets, moving towards you and the Aeon.

Nanook's eyes narrowed in annoyance, clicking his tongue to the sight, extending his hands towards the direction of the interruption in an instinct as the golden liquid slithered from his chest to his hands in veiny, lighting marks that appeared all over his extended arm, the tip of his finger radiating a sudden black orb of what seems to be a black hole, the orb surrounded with his signature golden liquid, accompanied with a golden mist and—“Nanook!” You grabbed and placed yourself upon his arm, lowering it as you look to him wincing from the uncomfortable sensation of the golden marks touching against your skin, you shook your head frantically, before speaking to him.

“Don't, please.” He took a fleeting moment, processing your words and pondering deeply to himself. A defeated sigh escapes mouth from the pleading tone and glistening eyes of yours, his gaze softening shortly after as his other free hand grabbed you by the waist, holding you tightly against him, before pointing the summoned black orb of space to the nightly atmosphere, sending the orb soaring up to the stars, his gaze lowering to the armies and fleets that were moving quickly towards the both of you.

“And flower, I'll also get you a new book to draw on as an apology to destroying your home.” He smirked, teasing you as he snapped his fingers, the orb dissipated, a few seconds of silence ensued, before a massive, beautiful explosion shaped of a widened northern star followed suit, causing panic and bafflement to the incoming starskiffs and cloud soldiers from all continents within the Xianzhou.

The ethereal explosion that was just performed, dissipated slowly, but the golden, dust particles of exploding northernstar began to engulf the both of you, covering all of your form, shortly after a bright light emitting towards the both your bodies, before a sudden familiar moonlit darkness returns to the world again, making a hasty, easy escape into the darkness as a golden shower of dust particles illuminated the night sky, leaving unsatisfied feelings of anger, regret and pain towards the army that arrived.

Let his destructive calling be damned, he wasn't going to let you go, not until you two meet in another lifetime again.

the amount of editing i did cause this shit was so old... i mean uhhh—reblogs help my audience reach, thank you.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Liminal (RL!Mia Winters x MC/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8/Resident Lover Genre: Fluff and angst and fluff and angst Rating: Idk T? for blood. kind of. Warnings: Major character death, major spoilers (mainly implied) for Resident Lover, minor violence (not in detail) Summary: Mia's memories layer over each other, nineteen lives and hundreds of different loops, confusing and muddling her perception of the present. There is only one constant: Love. Notes: Less of a series of scenes and more like a lot of musing, with a tiny, tiny "scene" at the end. Most of the Mia/MC vibes are implied (referenced past fwb situation, but it's implied that they had feelings beyond that). References to the MC dating a few of the other characters because loops.

She doesn’t intentionally seek the memories out, doesn’t chase the heart-killer of nostalgia, the wretched thing hiding rot behind a shiny facade. But neither does she spend any effort to avoid the trappings of the past. When the moments come, when deja vu greets her, Mia only ever lets it wash over her. Peacefully. Hauntingly. After this many lives, it is the easiest lesson to heed.

Sometimes the memories come with a smile, a soft exhale that flows into a snicker. The first time she watches you on stage, pouring your heart out as Romeo, she can’t help but remember having to help you cram for your Language Arts final. Recalls the way your lips pouted after a particularly exasperated sigh; she can trace the mental image of the way those lips curled back into a smile at one of her dumb jokes. It’s the joke itself she can’t remember. A jab at Shakespeare, probably, the man an easy choice of target.

There’s a moment (it repeats, by God it repeats, a dozen times over the loops, every instance layered on top of the last) where she sits next to you on a couch meant for three. Instinct makes her legs twitch, yearning to prop her feet up on your lap, not letting anybody sit between you. Instead, she suppresses a smile, and watches as one of your roommates all but sits on top of you. It doesn’t matter which one; in Mia’s eyes, they’re both better than Miranda, if only in this moment, for this purpose.

Other memories make her breath hitch in her throat, words stuck to the sides of her mouth like cotton, another stone to sink in her stomach. These are the ones that blend together the most, twisting further with every loop, muddling her perception of which life she’s in. Most come by accident, echoing the way she’s met you before. A bump in the hallway, papers scattering, both crouching down to pick everything up. Sudden rainfall making you scramble to share an umbrella, going back and forth between who gets most of the cover. Teaming up to take down the reigning asshole at whatever drinking game the campus is currently obsessed with.

“You look familiar- have we met before?” You’ll ask, once in a blue moon of a loop, except this time it’s more than reuniting with a childhood friend. This time it’s reaching out to pluck the heartstrings of your soulmate. One of your soulmates, that is. Mia’s response only ever comes with unearned confidence, mirth dancing on her tongue, deflecting, deflecting, denying- a hint of flirting, maybe, when she can afford it. Getting you to blush had been a favorite pastime of hers, once, twice, many times. Even if it never extended into anything more official than sharing a bed.

Seeing you at parties makes her feel like so little has changed. Always the same drink of choice, always too readily egged on by friends. If she squinted, it would be easy to put herself in Daniela’s place at your side, and so Mia never lets her gaze linger for too long. When the cups get too deep for you, it’s far too easy to stop herself from intervening. She never did before. Even when she should have. Those are the timelines where Angie does more for you than Mia’s past self could ever dream of.

It almost makes up for the time she finds your body crumpled in front of the doll’s car, crimson splashed across the bumper. She stares, only for a moment, wondering when she stopped feeling anything at the sight of your corpse. Then she catches a glimpse of three familiar fanatics in the crowd, makes note of the way their horror differs from those around them. Figures their attempts at keeping you out of the spotlight would go too far, eventually. Figures that the real nostalgia greets her fingers as they wrap around the handle of her knife. Revenge was an old friend- just one rarely visited these days.

Hard for her to thrive on revenge when she’s got the bloodiest hands of them all. Strange how the feelings shifted over time, guilt warping into freeing comfort. The first time she killed you, the first time she brought on a new loop across a knife’s edge, she almost threw up. Stared at the deep cuts and lost herself in the memory of finding Miranda cradling your lifeless body, the end of your past incarnation. It made her stomach churn, made her heart drop, and fully solidified her need to make sure the loop would meet a perfect end (the only way to guarantee you’d never meet that fate again).

By now, the blood flows freely, remorse a trinket left forgotten on dusty shelves. It’s for the best. Better her than someone else, better for her to soak your bond in blood than to let it rot in the open. Ending the loop fills her with relief, with joy, as she invokes her promise to give you not just a happy ending, but the right one. She loses track of how many times she’s knocked you down or out, how many loops she’s filled with blood, how many times she’s allowed you the comfort of bleeding out in her arms.

Ironic, then, that you never accuse her of murdering you, only someone far less important. More ironic yet that the finger of blame forces her to recall the life that bound your souls together. But that memory doesn’t perfectly layer over the present, when she’s not burning by your side, dying with your name on her lips. The way you look at her almost makes her miss the flames (the next moment she focuses on has your hands touch in passing, knuckles brushing up against each other, and she feels an entirely different kind of fire).

There are times where she wonders how much you remember. Not consciously, not truly, but which memories are etched into your soul itself. Now those are the moments that test her resolve, that tempt her to chain herself to pursuing the past the same way that Miranda does. All it takes to make her heart stop is for you to tilt your head to the side, eyes not quite narrowed, a sly smile paired with a twinkle in your eye. Something about that expression always lets her know you’re on the verge of remembering something. Half of the time you’ll follow it up with a carefully worded question, never sure if Mia feels the same deja vu that you do.

Your timing isn’t always perfect; she can’t blame you, not with the way her memories layer over each other, fighting to see which controls her present.

One hand in her pocket, clutching her switchblade, the other placed gently on your shoulder. Now that the election is over (again. how many times have you won? why do you never walk away, even when Bela begs you?), she needs to remove you. But your eyes light up as soon as she touches you. Head tilt? Check. Sly smile? Check. You should be scared by the way she’s looking at you, by the way she has you cornered on the balcony, but somehow your mind has skipped past the familiar danger and right into the familiar flirting. Aren’t you supposed to be in love with Bela this time around?

“Care to dance?” You ask, offering your hand. How long has it been since the two of you danced?... Not since Miranda refused to go with you, a lifetime or two or five ago, long before the loop. Mia had been the one to ask you then. Her expression now must mirror what yours had been that day. Surprise, amusement, and adoration. Of course she agrees.

By the time Bela interrupts, the way she does in too many loops, Mia is grateful. It had been hard enough to avoid kissing you in that past life, it was almost impossible now. Still, the Dimitrescu stands frozen for a moment, her own layered memories not finding any match for the sight. She’s supposed to be tackling Mia, knocking her off the balcony, body breaking in the bushes below. Neither of them move, trying to calculate a route to familiar endings.

Mia misjudges her decision, ruins the feelings, guarantees that you’ll harbor a hesitance to dance with her for all loops and lives to follow. She holds your hand, she holds her knife. She holds your hand, she takes your life. For once, Bela is the one who’s two steps behind, her shove coming too late, even if it still carries Mia off of the ledge.

Death never takes either of you for terribly long. Miranda pulls back the fog of limbo, breaks the rules, makes the void spit you both back out, resetting the loop. One wakes up with memories of everything, the other with only impressions. Lingering pieces of nineteen strange dreams, and a hundred futures cycling over one another with interlocking grooves, the only set pattern being love and love and wretched, bloody love. Mia doesn’t chase the nostalgia, doesn’t seek out the ways she knows will lead to love, to the familiar warmth of your heart next to hers. Why would she? All roads lead back to you.

[angelsberrymilk]

AU where Sam and Dean find out they have an 11 month old half brother a year after John Winchester's death. And worst of all, his mum is just about 20.

I need the angst, the anger and the fucked up situation of it all.

When they first meet the girl, she's a waitress at a shitty dinner in a random town, serving Dean his greasy burger and Sam his salad. She looks so terribly young and exhausted despite the polite customer service smile and laughs she lets out.

She's pretty and Dean throws one of his charming grins her way and flirts with her, watching her trying to keep it professional and scribble aggressively their orders in her little notepad. Sam kicks him under the table, feeling bad for the girl. And then she leaves, but without Dean's eyes following her until she disappears to the back.

Then her manager gets brutally mauled in the diner by the monster of the week after closing hours and Dean and Sam investigate the scene. They spend a night after the other following each of her co-workers back to their homes, watching over them and for the beast to strike. Nothing happened, not a single peep from the monster. And so the next night was her turn to be stalked by the brothers in the dead of night, parked not far away from the filthy and run-down apparently she calls home.

They wait, and wait, taking turns walking around the building in case anything pops up. Until a screams makes them run up the stairs with weapons in hand, breaking the door without a second thought. Bullets fly and sobs gets louder and louder from the poor waitress, curled on the floor against the wall. When the thing's dead and it's all over, Dean tries to get her to stop crying, until he realises it wasn't her sobbing but a little baby boy clutched to her chest and he gets hit with hauntingly familiar eyes and dark hair.

Sam helps the girl up when Dean is all but frozen, still dripping with sweat and hair stuck in every direction and smelling of the impala and shitty coffee.

The girl shushes her babyboy, trying to stop her body from trembling and trying to rip her eyes away from the disgusting sight in the middle of her flat, blood soaking most of the wooden floorboard at their feet.

It takes them a while to all calm down, sitting in the other side of the flat, on her bed with her babyboy still in her arms. Her eyes look foogy, they have that far away look in them, her hair sticking in all directions and her thin t-shirt falling of one shoulder, blood drops drying on her barefeet from the chaos.

"Who are you? You're not FBI.." She whispers, looking up at Sam and Dean with a sad and scared face, a face that only begs to be hugged and protected from all dangers of the world.

"We're hunters, we help get rid of-- monsters." Sam explains, trying and failing to give her a reassuring smile, unable to look at her in the eyes for too long.

"How old are you?" Dean suddenly asks and she feels scared, his tone empty of any comfort.

Sam doesn't say anything but looks at Dean, frustration, anger and fear swimming behind his tired eyes.

"Why?" She asks, eyes flitting between the two in fear.

"Answer the question." Dean repeats.

"Dean," Sam says, unsure what he's even trying to do. He wants to know too, this couldn't be a coincidence at all, the little boy looks a lot like their father and them for that matter.

"I'm," She clears her throat, "I'm 20."

"Fuck," Dean says and all but collapses on her bed, sitting with his elbows on his knees, Gun still in hand while his hands covered his face.

"What?" She says, eyes wide. "What does that have to do with anything?" She quickly asks, defensive and scared at the same time, looking at Sam, eyes begging for answers.

"Who's his dad?.." Sam asks and gulps, watching her while Dean has a breakdown next to her on the bed.

"Uhm... It was a one night stand and I didn't bother looking for his dad-- But I don't understand-"

"Just answer the question." Sam cuts her off, making her flinch. He grimaces at her reaction and adds a, "Please..." Just for good measure.

She looks down at her babyboy sleeping against her chest, and back up at Sam, "He said his name was John."

And Sam throws up right then and there.

[xsommeee]

This beautiful art by @chuuyameows on twitter. (Go check more of her artwork there)

This also cause me skk tgcf brain rot. So...

Here's the link to the fic it lead to - Against the flawless Autumn sky.

An exerpt.

Chuuya notices the change in the floor under his feet now polished and a lighter hue. Remaining mindful of the constraints his kimono puts on the length of his strides. They pass through a hallway lined with grand shining pillars and he bobs his head up to see mesmerising bright paintings of forest cloves and farmlands. All of the scenes feel hauntingly familiar to him and he loses himself in trying to capture the details, like a faraway cherry blossom, a canary in a toddler's hand. 

That's when he missteps, feeling the rim of his dress catch and a pull on his veil. He expects to crash onto the floor but feels himself spin mid-tumble. An arm wraps around his waist and his head falls back to have his eyes widened at the proximity of the man. He looks up at the ghost through his eyelashes, in awe of the disguise that he adopted. An oval face with a forehead hidden by curly brown bangs and narrow chocolate brown eyes that gape at him with parted lips.  

Chuuya knows this isn’t sane, as he remains still with his body tilted and lost but he is unable to ignore the intensity of emotions swirling in those deep brown eyes, emotions that hit him like flowing waters from a flooded river which has broken all boundaries.

[artsyannierose]

Nene’s Dead Corpse and her ghost bf

randomly made a crap ton more sense to me

why?

fricking school (screw school I hate you (no not rly I’m just stressed))

Anyway I’m a biomed class where unit 1 is studying medical investigations forensic science style

and one of the things is like, what happens to a person after the body has been dead for a while (post mortem or sum, see im learning :D)

Things like algor mortis, livor mortis, I’ve heard of. In fact I’ve even studied the clouding of the corneas before, but it never got to me till today

maybe it’s cause I cannot for the life of me study forensics without my wild imagination giving me nightmares or just panicking when I’m alone but aNyWays

I tend to imagine characters associated with death in these scenarios so I don’t lose it in class💀

*cough* Nene *cough cough*

So as I was taking notes on the slideshow, some of the images of clouded corneas reminded me strangely of something familiar, but at that point I couldn’t tell. There’s something haunting about the eyes (or maybe it’s just my over-analytical brain loving small details like this) they’re GORGEOUS

LIKE

IDK THEYRE PRETTY

Maybe it’s ‘cause the true color of the iris is completely visible in all its glory, without the pupil obscuring it

(something like this?? A little vivid tho lol)

but like

there’s no

life

no reflection, no emotion…nothing (which is so hauntingly beautiful leave me alone I’m a sucker for this now)

it’s literally just an eye with nothing but color

and then it hit me…it’s exactly the look Nene had when Mirai fast-forwarded her time

you can see in the image it’s just her plain magenta eyes with a fuzzy de-saturated blob in the center…aka clouded corneas

And that honestly made me realize that in this scene she’s not—she’s not even unconscious

No she’s literally, physiologically dead

THAT IS A CORPSE HE IS HOLDING

she is literally a dead body this hits me so hard😭😭

and I can imagine algor mortis kicked in by then, her body was probably cold to the touch

so imagine how he felt, and I’m aware people have analyzed his emotions but just think about it

he’s always seen her so full of life and hope, and now all he has left is an empty shell of her, cold and dead with no life left inside

…just like him

the more I think about it Hanako is just an animated corpse

he has no reflection in his eyes most of the time because he is ✨dead✨

I mean Mei, Mitsuba, and Hanako don’t have a little white reflection dot like Nene and Kou

Or maybe I’m overthinking it and Nene’s eyes are just super reflective

even for someone who presumably took his own life, he probably never saw tsukasa’s body start postmortem and actually feel dead bc it looked extremely bloody ngl (I’m guessing he killed himself right after 💔)

and now he’s holding someone he cares about like this for the first time and I’ll bet that scarred him

and he figured out that never, never ever did he ever want to see his sweet assistant like this again, lifeless in his arms

and so after that, cue Hanako in his villain era who basically became a yandere the entire picture perfect lmao

and he was unbelievably adamant about it too

I mean honestly if I held anybody I knew lifeless like that I’d be scarred for life and crying for days

seeing the light drained from someone’s eyes is so interestingly sad to me

Look at the difference:

Happy

vs Sad/Determined

vs Depressed (ig??)

vs Dead

She still has so much emotion in her eyes

and then d e a d

literally looks like a porcelain doll

wait she looks so pale in the last image compared to the others now that I think about it

I love aidairo’s eye for detail it’s so fun to figure out

Well anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk essay atp-

IT’S PAST 1 AM AND I SHOULD BE STUDYING FOR SAID BIOMED CLASS AND HERE I AN GOING ON A TANGENT ABOUT A FICTIONAL CHARACTER’S EYES

send help

anyways excuse me while I grab a box of strawberries to munch on and cry my eyes out all over my homework before I sleep-

[sincerelyamee]

You fell into an uneasy slumber, your mind fraying at the edges and your exhaustion warped into nightmares — Sukuna’s unmistakable silhouette grinning wickedly amid the smoldering wreckage of what had once been department stores and office buildings.

Those crimson eyes seemed to sear straight through you, piercing into the deepest recesses of your soul with sadistic delight. His razor-sharp smile was that of a primordial predator scenting fear in the air as he reached out to you with deceptively inviting arms.

“Are you not tired of this pathetic, shackled existence?” Sukuna’s deep timbre resonated with hypnotic charisma, strangely soothing despite the malevolent undercurrents. “Why choose to be weak? To be afraid? When you could be so much more…”

His honeyed words slithered through your psyche like venomous serpents, paralyzing you in unwilling awe. City ruins stretched behind him in a hauntingly familiar scene of catastrophic destruction. 

As his laughter echoed all around, you found yourself utterly transfixed by his presence. He looked so cold and cruel. 

And powerful.

And… magnificent. 

You knew this was nothing but a fever dream. The product of all the stress and anxiety of the past few days. Still, when you looked into his eyes, so full of sugary malice and perverse divinity, you felt it - that yearning darkness unfurling deep inside you, whispering how intoxicating it would feel to step into his embrace, to become more. Even if it would mean getting devoured whole by the insatiable void eternally stretching behind his vicious gaze. You teetered on the precipice, suspended between visceral horror and terrible, terrible longing.

Eventually, your subconscious lost its tenuous grip on reality. You tumbled helplessly deeper and deeper into oblivion, consumed by darkness. Your panic gave way to an eerie sense of weightlessness. All your senses unraveled at the seams.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 69

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

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

Chapter 69: Birds in a Cage

AO3 - Masterlist

With Aemond leading the way and flanked by two solemn guards, Daenera walked the silent, desolate corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, her skirts whispering against the stone. They emerged into the inner courtyard, where the chill of the morning air kissed her skin, drifting through the gap in the roof above.

As she descended a pair of shallow steps, a subtle movement caught her eye, not of stone but instead dangling from the bannister of the second floor. Her gaze shifted to the anomaly at the edge of her vision. It started with the boots, rugged and motionless, then slowly ascended to the suspended figure that was draped between two stoic columns. The body was adorned in a black doublet, its fabric stark against the pallor of the hands that dangled lifelessly at his side. Finally, Daenera’s eyes locked onto the face of the man, the visage of Lord Caswell, a sight both hauntingly familiar and profoundly unsettling. 

A surge of horror washed over Daenera, halting her in her tracks as a look of dread and confusion marred her features. Her gaze drawn irresistibly to the lifeless figure dangling beside Lord Caswell, dressed in the familiar garb of a servant. The fabric was soaked in blood that had turned a dark, nearly brown  color as it had dried. The sight of the gaping wound in her stomach, where the blade had completed its deadly passage, was starkly visible. 

A shiver of disbelief coursed through her as her gaze settled on the hands before her–weathered yet tender, hands that had once offered her solace in moments of distress, that had brushed her hair with gentle strokes, the hands that had protected her, and had tended to her with unwavering care during times of sickness and health. These were the hands that had cradled her through the tempest of her life, now eerily still.

Daenera’s eyes traveled upward, settling on a face that had once been animated with life but now lay pallid, the lips taking on a ghastly shade of blue as her mouth, edged with dried blood, was slightly agape as if caught in a final, silent musing. 

The eyes of Joyce, half-lidded and lifeless, met Daenera’s in a haunting gaze, devoid of the spark of life and the spirit they once held. 

The anguish that seized Daenera was both swift and suffocating, a vice tightening around her heart while the sting of unshed tears burned at the back of her throat. The question haunted her, resonating with the echo of her despair: Why? Why would they subject them to such a macabre display–why her, in such a merciless exhibition? It was an act of sheer cruelty, a stark manifestation of malice that begged the identity of its perpetrator. 

It was a brutal awakening, a grotesque scene that etched itself into her memory, a vivid testament to the loss she had endured–and a harrowing prelude to what more she might be forced to forfeit in this grab for power. The perpetrators, cloaked in their veneer of righteousness and honor, revealed their true nature through this act of violence. 

The anguish in Daenera’s chest blossomed fiercely, a tight knot of pain that made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Her voice, when it finally broke the heavy silence, was laced with a tremble of disbelief and burgeoning anger. 

“Is this your way?” She managed, fighting against the surge of emotions threatening to choke her words. “Is this the fate of those who dare oppose you–hanging by the end of a rope?”

Aemond turned towards her, his eye flickering towards Joyce and Lord Caswell before returning to her. His reply was delivered with a chilling resolve, his tone devoid of any empathy. “Traitors will hang.”

“Joyce was no traitor!” Daenera spat out, her voice thick with scorn, fighting the urge to let her tears fall. “She doesn’t deserve to be put on display like this! And Lord Caswell–what treachery did he commit to merit such a fate?”

A tense silence fell between them, broken only by the subtle clenching of Aemond’s jaw, a visible sign of his exasperation. “A choice was laid before the court’s nobility. Swear fealty or face the consequences as traitors. Lord Caswell pledged loyalty while secretly planning his escape to warn your mother.”

In her mind’s eye, Daenera could almost see the likes of Otto Hightower or The Queen, presenting the court’s nobility with a choice: bend the knee or be considered traitors to the realm. The choice, though framed as such, was little more than a thinly veiled threat, compelling many to pledge loyalty out of a desire to survive.

Honor seemed a scarce commodity, sacrificed by all to many at the altar of self-preservation. It dawned on her with a grim certainty that should the conflict escalate into war and the ranks of the hanged would swell exponentially. 

“Lord Caswell appears to have been the only one among you with any semblance of a spine,” Daenera remarked, her tone laced with defiance. 

Aemond’s response was immediate, cold, and unyielding, “His sense of honor proved to be the theft of his last breath.”

Aemond’s demeanor remained stoic, impervious to the weight of her accusation. 

Daenera’s eyes lingered on Joyce, her heart aching at the sight of her friend reduced to a mere symbol of warning, her face forever marked by a blend of surprise and sorrow in death’s eternal embrace. 

“Take her down,” Aemond issued the command with an air of finality.

Daenera’s turned her eyes back to him and found his eye on her, solely on her. 

“But, my prince,” protested one of the guards, his voice tinged with unease, “The Lord Commander has decreed she remain displayed as a deterrent against any thoughts of treachery towards the king.”

Daenera’s heart sank at the mention of the Lord Commander’s orders, malicious and cruel as they were. She found it hard to believe Lord Commander Westerling, known for his integrity and honor, would sanction such cruelty. 

“And I am now commanding you to take her down,” Aemond countered sharply, his sneer palpable. “Take her down and ensure she is given a proper funeral.”

As the guards hurried off to obey, Daenera felt Aemond’s presence loom over her. She searched his expression for any sign of empathy or conflict. Yet, his features betrayed nothing but a detached nonchalance, leaving her to grapple with the piercing realization that she might never truly discern the man behind the mask–whether it was a facade meticulously crafted or the genuine visage of the man before her. 

Daenera’s gaze drifted back to Lord Caswell, her mind inevitably conjuring the image of Tris. “What of Lord Caswell.”

Aemond’s response was unyielding. “It’s either one of them or none of them.”

With a heavy heart, Daenera acquiesced, the sorrow within her burgeoning at the thought of leaving Lord Caswell in such a state. She turned to reluctantly follow Aemond as he led the way out of Maegor’s Holdfast. Behind her, she could sense Joyce’s body being slowly lowered by the guards. 

As they emerged from the threshold into the dawn’s light, a solemn column of guards and soldiers awaited, their formation casting a foreboding shadow of what lay ahead. The group ascended the stairs to the outer courtyard, their breaths visible in the cool morning air.

The horses, seeming to sense the gravity of the atmosphere, grew restless, their hooves pawing at the ground, unease rippling through their ranks despite the efforts of their riders to calm them. Daenera’s gaze was drawn to the pair of ornate litters, each harnessed to four horses. The litters, with their elaborate woodwork and soft colors, were highlighted by fine golden embellishments.

Aemond approached the first litter, offering his hand to assist her in climbing aboard. Daenera, however, chose to ignore the gesture, gathering her resolve to ascend into the wagon unaided–annoyed with him for allowing Lord Caswell’s body to remain up. She settled into the cushioned seat with a silent assertion of her independence. 

Turning to glance back through the litter’s open door, she caught Aemond’s gaze, noting the slight displeasure etched on his face. 

Her confusion surfaced as she observed him standing apart, not climbing onboard. “You’re not coming with us?”

Aemond’s reply was swift, delivered with a straightforward clarity, “I have no fondness for the confinement of a litter. I will ride alongside on horseback.”

It seemed almost a luxury, Daenera thought, that Aemond would choose the freedom and agility of horseback, while she, compelled by circumstance, was to endure the city’s uneven cobblestones within the ornate prison of the litter. Indeed, the option of horseback was far more preferable than the jolsting discomforts of a carriage ride. 

As Aemond offered his assistance, it was Helaena who accepted, placing her hand in his to gracefully ascend into the litter’s interior. With a delicate step, she positioned herself beside Daenera, the doors closing firmly behind them, sealing their only way out. The interior, though luxuriously appointed, felt like a gilded cage, its silence punctuated only by the distant and dull sounds of the procession outside. Slivers of sunlight found their way through the small apertures, playing across the space in a dance of light and shadow. 

Helaena sat demurely with her hands folded, her fingers restlessly twining and untwining the fabric of her gown. Her gaze lingered on her hands, her eyes conveying a depth of sympathy, as she lifted her gaze to meet Daeneras. 

“I am sorry for your loss,” Helaena said. 

In response, Daenera reached out, her fingers softly enclosing around Helaena’s quivering hand, offering a squeeze of solace. “And I yours.” 

There was a shared sort of loss, with Viserys’s passing–as a father and grandsire, as the King and what it now meant. It was a mutual recognition of the sorrow that burdened them both and the fear that came with it. 

Daenera’s gesture was gentle, her thumb tracing soothing patterns over Helaena’s hand in a silent offering of comfort amidst the turmoil that enveloped them both–though selfishly, it was as much a way to comfort herself. 

“You are to be Queen,” Daenera whispered, her voice a soft echo of the reality they faced. 

The notion seemed to weigh heavily on Helaena, her brows knitting together as a shadow of reluctance crossed her features. A sliver of sunlight pierced the enclosure, illuminating her troubled expression as the wagon began to roll. 

“I have no desire to be queen,” she confessed, the light accentuating the depth of her concern. “And Aegon has no desire to become king...”

“If Aegon truly doesn’t want the throne, he has the power to reject it.” Daenera’s response was marked by frustration, her brow furrowing in disapproval. “He could renounce his claim, and swear fealty to my mother. His acceptance of the crown isn’t a foregone conclusion.”

“It is not as simple as that, I think,” Helaena responded, her voice a delicate reflection. “Aegon finds himself ensnared, much like you–bound not by chains, but by the expectation and ambitions of those around him. His desires are overshadowed by the burdens placed upon him from birth. Is it so strange that he so often seeks solace in wine? I only fear what happens when he’s got a taste of it…”

“Of what? The wine?” Daenera asked, her frown only deepening. 

“The power,” Helaena said and then, in a breathy voice, she mued, “Beware the beast beneath the boards.” 

As Daenera absorbed Helaena’s words, she felt an acute pang of empathy for the young woman beside her. Her heart pounded within the confines of her chest, resonating with a blend of compassion and concern. Though the full comprehension of Helaena’s musings were like catching smoke, a sense of foreboding took hold of her. She wondered if Aegon was the beast beneath the boards, and she asked as much.

Helaena paused, her eyes reflecting a moment of consideration before she replied, “I’m not certain. Aegon is… simply Aegon. It is his nature, perhaps, to take that which is not willingly offered, and even that which is, he claims in equal fervor. He is what he’s been made to be.”

“I understand you love him–” Daenera began, her tone threaded with caution. 

“He is my brother,” Helaena contemplated. “There’s an inherent bond that comes with it… But I do not always like him.”

“He’s a monster,” Daenera said, her indignation at the theft over her mother’s claim leaving little room for understanding or sympathy. 

“He is what he’s been made to be,” Helaena reiterated, her fingers absentmindedly toying with Daenera’s, finding solace in the gesture. “Aemond shares that fate. In truth, we all are shaped by our circumstances–you included. It seems inherent within humanity to harbor an inner beast; some nurture it into monstrosity, while others strive to suppress it, to keep it dormant. Once it evolves into a monster, it becomes ravenous, more difficult to tame… A beast acts instinctively, in response to the world around it. A monster, on the other hand, is insatiable, driven by a hunger for devastation… Whether beast or monster, we are all molded by our experiences.”

The quiet stretched between them, growing dense as Daenera’s words evaporated before they could fully form. She turned her gaze towards the flickers of sunlight that danced through the small apertures in the litter’s walls, casting ever-changing patterns of light and shadow. Outside, the sounds of the world seemed distant, muffled beneath the constant rattle and shake of the wagon rolling over the uneven cobblestones.

Breaking the silence, Helaena’s voice emerged carefully, her fingers idly spinning Daenera’s ring. “If it were your mother being crowned instead of Aegon, do you… do you believe she would have sought our deaths?”

Daenera watched Helaena, her brow furrowing as the words sank in, her heart breaking at the notion. “No. No, I don’t believe she would have… But she wouldn’t have allowed your mother and Otto to plot against her. They would have been sent back to Old Town. Your brothers, provided they didn’t challenge her rule and conducted themselves with respect, would be free to live as they pleased–failing that, exile or the Wall would have been their fate. But you? She would have cherished you, and your children as well.”

“Daemon has no love for us…”

“Daemon’s priority is to protect my mother and her claim,” Daenera explained, lifting her finger to allow Helaena more freedom with the ring. “His concern is for the glory of House Targaryen. He’d offer counsel, issue warnings, and, if necessary, take action.”

“I am scared,” Helena admitted, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears as they flicked up towards Daenera, seeming to expect disapproval on her face. 

But Daenera held no judgment of her fear, only empathy, understanding Helaena’s apprehension all too well. She leaned in, their foreheads touching, sharing a moment of comfort as she whispered back, “So am I.”

Encased within the confines of the litter, they journeyed on, the world beyond blending into a distant haze. Sunlight, in slender beams, penetrated the small apertures, showering Helaena’s face in a soft radiance. This light, tender and forgiving, eased the melancholy etched into her features, and cast her pale, silvery locks in a glow that seemed stolen from the moon itself. 

“I’ve often imagined myself as a bird, ensnared within a cage,” she shared, her voice imbued with a haunting beauty. Her eyes closed as though conjuring up this fantasy. “I’ve often dreamed that I would sing endlessly, weaving melodies of my own–songs that were both enchanting and sorrowful, and frequently misinterpreted. I would perch in my cage and spread my wings wide, and dream of taking to the skies, escaping the world as I knew it.”

A gentle smile graced her lips, bringing a fleeting glimpse of happiness to her demeanor as she opened her eyes again, meeting Daenera’s. “The barriers of my cage seemed to fade, even if just slightly, when I nurtured two fledglings, with a third just emerging from its shell. My love for these tiny beings was so intense, it momentarily dissolved the walls that held us captive. What need of the sky did I have when I had them? I would sing to them, sharing stories of the sky above, nurturing the hope that they might one day explore them.”

Yet, the flicker of joy in her expression was soon overshadowed by a veil of sadness, her features creasing in anticipation of grief. “But then, a cat came lurking, meant to catch the rats hidden within the walls, yet it cast its gaze upon our little sanctuary. With silent steps, it approached, and with a merciless swipe of its paw through the bars, it cruelly claimed the life of one of my babies…”

As Helaena’s voice waned, a veil of sorrow enveloped her countenance, the slight quiver of her lips revealing the depths of her despair. Daenera drew nearer, wrapping her in a comforting embrace, her own heart breaking at the tale. 

“My melody turned into a sad one,” Helaena continued, her voice breaking as she delved deeper into her tale. “And then, a hand reached in, snatching away what remained of my children as I was deemed mad, a danger to them–a verdict not without merit, I think. Grief is such a strange thing… And I was mad with it. All that was left to me was the emptiness of my cage.”

Her eyes shifted to Daenera’s. “Until one day, the window of my cage had been left open. I thought the sky so beautiful as I perched on the windowsill…”

Feeling Helaena’s hands tremble with emotion, Daenera sought to offer comfort, again clasping her hands within her own, holding them with earnest firmness, offering her something to hold on to. 

Helaena’s pale gaze lowered to their intertwined hands, “I wished to ascend to the skies, to fly far away from everything, and so I unfurled my wings for flight and lept off the windowsill… Except… I do not have wings, and so flight eluded me; instead, I found myself falling.”

Lifting her eyes to meet Daenera’s, a spark of insight illuminated her face. “Yet, in that descent, I believe I found a semblance of comfort.”

Daenera observed Helaena with a profound, reflective intensity, her soul heavy with the understanding that they were both like birds confined within a splendid cage, restrained by the whims of those around them–yet, they were not merely birds, but dragons, and dragons were much harder to restrain. 

“I fear I am destined to fall,” Helaena mused. 

“You are not destined to fall,” Daenera answered her, “You have wings, Helaena. You have tasted the skies, you have soared through the clouds, and you still can. Dreamfyre are your wings, and she will take you wherever your heart desires.”

Helaena looked back at her, an expression of bewilderment dawning upon her face, as though the realization that she did indeed possess wings was something she had not considered before. 

“I don’t have to fall,” Helaena hummed, seeming to allow the notion to take root within her, bringing her some semblance of comfort. 

“And should the time come when you choose to take to the sky, take me with you,” Daenera proposed, gently bumping Helaena’s shoulder with her own, smiling. “That is all I ask.”

“Where’d we go?” Helaena inquired softly, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity, if not a bit of hope. “Dragonstone?”

Daenera considered it, but recognized the weight of such a proposal. She understood that persuading Helaena to abandon her family and seek refuge on Dragonstone was likely trading one cage for another. She would be asked to swear her loyalty and that of her childrens, and perhaps, in doing so, it would end the war before it ever really started. But Daenera knew the Hightowers, knew that they wouldn’t stop, even at the cost of Helaena and the children.

“No, not Dragonstone,” Daenera answered, choosing to let the two of them dream, “Perhaps we could journey to Pentos. And from there we could travel the lands, exploring until we find a city that feels like home.”

Daenera offered another life, one unfettered by the confines of expectation and the bars of this cage they found themselves in–free of duty and politics, of the crown and titles, of the struggle for power. A dream in which they could be free. A fantasy. “We could see the Titan of Braavos and travel the canals on boats, or visit the craftsmen of Myr. We could fly to the Isle of Lys–where we could disappear if we so wished.” 

Her smile was gentle and reassuring as she gently arranged a stray lock of Helaena’s hair behind her ear, letting her hand fall to her back to offer a tender caress against her spine. In the Free Cities Helaena could vanish among the people, become as indistinct as she wished–though, Dreamfyre would garner attention. 

“We could travel to Volantis, where we could see the palace and see the ruins of Old Valyria, or as close as we dare. And should we desire, we could venture as far as Meereen to behold the harpy and the great pyramids, or even as far as Qarth. We could go wherever we want.”

“I cannot leave my children,” Helaena whispered. 

“We’ll take them with us,” Daenera said, her smile growing as Helaena’s did. “We could make our escape during the coronation and disappear down into the tunnels to get Dreamfyre. Then we’ll go to the Keep and land in the gardens, taking the children before taking to the skies again, and from there… Wherever we want.”

Yet, as the words left her lips, Daenera was acutely aware of the plan’s inherent flaws. Daenera was well aware that Aemond would keep her within arm’s reach at all times, never giving the chance to step away. Any chance of slipping away unnoticed was foiled by the fact that Helaena would be Queen. And should they, by some stroke of fortune, manage to escape during the event, the moment they landed at the Keep to take the children, they’d be apprehended. 

But there was a solace in the dream of it. And so, they dreamed. 

“Imagine a place that’s ours alone,” she mused. “A home with a lush garden and an inner courtyard, crowned with an orange tree at its heart. Days would pass in leisure, and we’d eat nothing but cake, letting ourselves grow plump and content.” 

She paused for a moment, then continued. “You’d study your bugs–”

“Insects,” Helaena corrected with a gentle laugh, her smile crooked with amusement, her eyes alight with the joy of the moment.

“You’d study your insects, and I’ll study my plants and the art of healing. I’d make potions and poultices–”

“You’d become a woodswitch.”

“Maybe, if there’s a woods to be a witch of,” Daenera smiled. “The children would run around in the garden, their laughter weaving through the air as they chase around the orange tree.”

It would be a peaceful existence, a life far removed from the chaos of their reality, and the war that would follow. 

“He would come for you,” Helaena observed quietly, bringing a somber note to their dream, “for you hold his heart.”

Daenera exhaled a sigh tinged with resignation, acknowledging the inevitable pursuit. “I would present him with a choice–to join us or leave us be…”

“It wouldn’t be a choice,” she whispered, the weight of their reality pressing in. “They would come after me as well, and for the children.”

Daenera’s reply sparkled with a hint of defiance, a playful solution to their predicament. “Then we will feed them to Dreamfyre. She’d thrive alongside us, grow nice and fat as well.”

Helaena’s laughter, light and melodious, filled the air. “I like this dream.”

The soft smile on Daenera’s lips widened. “Me too… Whenever you are plagued by sad dreams, think of this one. And if it slips your mind, come to me. I’ll recount it, every detail, until you forget the sad one.”

Leaning into Daenera, Helaena rested her cheek against her shoulder, gratitude woven into her simple thanks. Daenera responded with a kiss atop her head, sealing their shared moment of fleeting respite from the world outside the litter.

Aemond closed the door of the litter and secured the latch before turning to the bustle of the courtyard. His eye settled on Larys Strong, who stood near Ser Criston Cole, engaged in conversation as Ser Criston gripped the saddle and mounted his horse. The white cloak fluttered over the rear of the mount, the horse stamping the ground impatiently as the Lord Commander settled into the saddle, his armor gleaming in the morning sun. 

Moving through the bustle with decisive steps that belied his intention, Aemond closed the distance between them. Without warning, he deftly struck Larys’s cane with his foot, dislodging it from beneath his weight, causing Larys to momentarily lose his balance and stumble. Aemond’s firm hands caught him, steadying him with a grip that suggested assistance but was anything but assisting.

A flicker of surprise passed over Larys’s features before he regained his composure, masking it with a guise of civility. “My Prince.”

“A moment,” Aemond commanded, his voice brooking no argument, turning the request into an assertion of his will. 

“Of course, my prince,” Lord Larys Strong responded with unflappable smoothness, straightening his attire which had become slightly disheveled in the brief scuffle. His voice carried a veneer of respect as he added, “I believe congratulations are in order for your betrothal with the princess.”

Aemond’s sharp gaze detected a fleeing scowl on Ser Criston’s face, but he paid it no mind, turning his attention away from the Lord Commander. He directed Larys’s steps towards the base of the grand staircase leading to Maegor’s Holdfast, ensuring some semblance of privacy amidst the morning’s activities. Leaning on his cane, Larys’s face remained devoid of worry, a mistake he would soon come to regret. 

The anger Aemond felt was palpable, a tumultuous storm brewing within his chest, fueled by the vivid image of Daenera recounting her humiliation seared into his mind–the unshed tears brimming her eyes, droplets clinging to her lashes, and the tremble of her lips as she struggled to recount her experience without losing her composure. 

“You laid your hands on her,” Aemond accused, his tone thick with barely contained fury. 

“Is that what she told you?” Larys met Aemond’s accusation with a flicker of amusement in his deep, murky, gray eyes, betraying a hint of mockery. “I assure you, my prince, I never laid a finger on her.”

“Your men put their filthy hands on her,” Aemond spat out with contempt, his disgust evident in every word. “You ordered her to be stripped to her undergarments. You left her that way–with–with nothing!”

Larys responded with a calm that seemed almost calculated to inflame Aemond’s temper further. “A necessity to confirm she carried no concealed weapons or poisons. The princess is resourceful, one can never be too careful. It was an unfortunate but reasonable safety measure.”

“You humiliated her,” Aemond interjected, cutting through Larys’s attempts at justification with palpable anger. “Was it necessary to leave her without her clothes?Hm? To leave her in her undergarments?”

“My intentions were purely precautionary, my prince,” Larys countered, his expression one of a measured assurance, inspiring no sort of reliability in Aemond. “It was never my intent to humiliate her; it was purely to eliminate any risk she might represent, whether to herself or others, while she’s being confined. Necessity breeds ingenuity, turning the mundane into potential tools of harm.”

“I couldn’t care less about your intentions,” Aemond sneered, his fingers tensing into fists, the urge to throttle the Lord Confessor itching at his fingertips. “It was intentional, you stripped her of her dignity.” With each word, Aemond advanced, his posture rigid with barely restrained aggression, his stance domineering. “Should you dare to lay a finger on her again, or subject her to further humiliation, I swear, I’ll use your own cane to break your knees with.”

Larys, irritatingly unfazed, placed a hand over his heart in a gesture to convey sincerity, though it was anything but. “My prince, there’s absolutely no need for such threats. I regard the princess with the same affection as I would a niece of my own blood. It’s never my desire to see her in any distress.”

“Is that so?” Aemond’s response was laced with scorn, bordering of an unamused scoff, his voice heavy with contempt. “Your past deeds haven’t been forgotten, Lord Confessor. I’m well aware of what you’re capable of, even towards those you claim to hold dear.”

Aemond had not forgotten Larys’s involvement with the plot against Daenera upon her return to King’s Landing. He could still see her, her dress torn and stained with blood, her skin marked by the violence she had endured, dreadfully pale and a haunted look in her eyes, tears having carved paths down her face. He recalled the peculiar and deadly chaos in the dungeons, where prisoners and a guard had been found dead from an inexplicable altercation. And he remembered the discovery of the firefly pin amidst the carnage–the proof of the Lord Confessors involvement. 

He had dispatched thugs to pursue the girl he claimed to regard as a niece, instructing them to attack and violate her before placing her on a ship back to Dragonstone, leaving her disgraced, ruined, and of no further threat to their cause. 

“Daenera will be my wife,” Aemond declared, each syllable slicing through the air like a finely honed weapon. “Should you dare to lay a hand on her, or engage in any act that seeks to humiliate, injure, or demean her in any way, I swear you’ll be left with no good leg to stand on. You’ll hobble on what’s left of your crippled limbs, not even half a man.”

As Aemond turned to leave, Larys’s voice cut through the tension, halting his departure. 

“Allow me to extend my congratulations once again on your betrothal to the princess,” Larys said, advancing with a peace that echoed the deliberate tap of his cane against the earth, the tip slightly sinking into the soft soil. “I understand it was you who pressed for this union. You’ve been quite… dedicated to the princess for some time now, it seems–perhaps even longer than most are aware. One might wonder about the length of this devotion, and the lengths you’d go to secure her hand, to the point of removing any… obstacles… that stand in your way.”

Larys’s gaze was piercing, designed to penetrate Aemond’s defenses, all too calculating and all too clever. “Naturally, I would never indulge in idle speculation.”

Aemond met the Lord Confessor’s gaze with a measured calmness, though inside, a fury sparked into a roaring fire. The audacity of Larys’s insinuations was not merely a veiled threat to reveal secrets; it was a declaration of his awareness–or at least his presumption of knowledge. Much of it had to be conjecture; after all, no one had been close enough to witness Lord Boris Baratheon’s tragic fall from his mount. No ears had caught the exchange between them, no eyes had seen Aemond ensure the ‘fat stag’ could no longer utter a word. There was also no proof of any poison at play, of Daenera’s involvement at all. 

The events that unfolded within the secluded embrace of the woods remained a mystery, a tale known only to Daenera and Aemond themselves. But speculation was enough to spark a fire. 

In a sudden and decisive action, Aemond grabbed Larys Strong by the front of his doublet, catching the Lord Confessor off-guard. The surprise was evident in Larys’s eyes, a clear indication that he hadn’t anticipated such a visceral response. With a firm grip, Aemond then wrenched the cane from Larys’s hold, relinquishing his grip on the man with a swift shove. Staggering, Larys Strong’s back collided with the stone railing of the staircase, leaning on the unyielding structure for support as Aemond wielded the cane with a taunting flourish, spinning it around with the skill and ease of a practiced warrior, the wood spinning between his fingers, well balanced. His expression remained icy and composed, a stark contrast to the heated action, as he masterfully manipulated the cane in a display of control and warning.

Then, driven by a surge of anger that had been building for days, he forcefully broke the cane over his thigh. The sturdy wood yielded to the intense force applied, snapping sharply in two amid the sound of splintering. 

“I suggest you keep your speculations to yourself,” he warned with a cold intensity, his voice low but carrying. “Otherwise this will be your neck.”

After regarding the broken pieces of the cane for a brief moment, Aemond discarded them, flinging them in opposite directions with a disregard for the onlookers who had witnessed the entire scene. 

Aemond disregarded the surrounding commotion as he mounted his horse, and steered it to stand behind the litter that carried both his sister and betrothed, observing the subtle stir from within its confines. He adjusted his position in the saddle, casually grasping the reins with one hand, exuding a composed patience as he waited  for the procession to commence its journey through King’s Landing and towards the Dragonpit. 

“Your exchange with the Lord Confessor seemed quite charged. What was the cause?” Ser Criston Cole inquired, positioning his mount alongside Aemond’s as the bronze gates of the Red Keep swung open. Another moment passed, before the litter started to move, and then the horses, the procession finally commencing its journey. 

Banners and cloaks billowed in the wind, with commands periodically barked at the smallfolk who paused to gaze at the spectacle. Members of the City Watch, in their golden cloaks, waved among the crowds, their voices loud as they directed the citizens to the Dragonpit for the impending royal declarations. 

Aemond’s response was marked by silence, his focus undeterred, even as he felt a persistent ache on his thigh from where he had snapped Larys’ cane. The act, spurred by a surge of anger, lingered in his thoughts. There was a part of him that regretted showing such a burst of emotion, viewing it as a momentary lapse of control–and revealed far more than he’d like. Yet, another part of him felt a grim satisfaction, a clear message to Larys that any disrespect directed at his future wife would not be stood for. He would not tolerate threats towards him or his wife, let alone from a snake like Larys Strong. 

Receiving no immediate response, Ser Criston Cole pressed on, “It’s said that they’ll be making the official announcement of your betrothal to the princess at the coronation…”

Aemond hummed a non-committal acknowledgement, his focus squarely ahead. The lack of any further response was meant to discourage any further conversation. 

“Is it a wise decision?” Ser Criston ventured further, his voice carrying a semblance of neutrality, though the underlying presumption was hard to miss. “Given her nature…”

The question seemed to tighten Aemond’s grip on his horse’s reins as his irritation began to grow.

“‘Her nature,’” Aemond echoed, the words leaving his lips as sharp and biting as a steel blade. He thought he understood her nature more profoundly than anyone else could claim, familiar with the fervor of her soul and the shadows that danced in her heart–a darkness he had tasted, one similar to his own. He was acquainted with her as closely as one might know the edge of a keen blade; he had been witness to the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her joy. He seen her dream, and reveled in her warmth. He had suffered her ire, and knew how to ease it. 

He knew her soul, steadfast and wild as the sea–both merciless and magnificent, embodying the raw power of nature, unyielding in its perseverance. 

“What do you know of her nature?” Aemond asked pointedly.

“As you well know, I served as her mother’s sworn shield for many years,” Ser Criston began, adjusting his posture in the saddle while maintaining a steady hold on his horse. “From her youth, Princess Rhaenyra displayed unmistakable arrogance. she wielded her status as the heir to take advantage of others, leading them towards disgrace and indecency. She was brazen and relentless in her pursuits, and I fear her daughter has inherited these traits.”

Aemond’s teeth clenched, his jaw tightening noticeably, and perhaps there was an edge of irritation in his voice sharper than he intended when he retorted, “You mean she took advantage of you.”

He felt a flicker of satisfaction as he noticed from the edge of his vision the way Ser Criston’s eyes darted towards him, filled with scorn, his lips tightening. The Lord Commander was clearly not pleased by the insinuation. 

This was hardly a secret; Aemond was well aware of the past liaison between Ser Criston Cole and his half-sister, Princess Rhaenyra. The details of who seduced whom, and who might have exploited the other, held little interest for Aemond. Nothing had ever been explicitly stated. What was undeniable, however, was the lingering animosity Ser Criston harbored towards Rhaenyra–the disdain of a spurned lover. 

Aemond wondered whether Ser Criston’s bitterness would remain as fierce as it was, were the children his bastards instead of the offspring of Ser Harwin. Would he harbor the same disdain towards his own illegitimate children, or would he carry the dishonor as Ser Harwin had?

“Princess Rhaenyra often exploited the affections of men,” Ser Criston Cole remarked, his tone laden with vexation. “She made a cuckold of her husband, debased herself by bearing bastards, and made a fool of the King by passing them off as Ser Laenors. She was a spoiled little cunt that showed scant regard for anyone else–”

“Didn’t you once say that every woman embodies the Mother and should be revered as such?” Aemond interjected sharply, turning towards Ser Criston with a challenging glare. Aemond was relatively indifferent to Ser Criston’s derogatory remarks about his half-sister, referring to her as a ‘spoiled cunt.’ His own feelings towards her were of similar sentiments. However, he found it unacceptable for ser Criston to extend such insults to Daenera with the same sort of animosity. 

Meeting Aemond’s gaze with a look of frustration and reproach, Ser Criston gave a resigned sigh, his head shaking slightly in disapproval–as though he expected Aemond to agree with him. His lips briefly parted to wet them before he spoke again. “Rhaenyra, with her insolence, exempts herself from such grace. And I’m apprehensive that the Princess Daenera exhibits a similar insolence.”

“I don’t remember having asked your opinion,” Aemond responded tersely, his voice carrying a dismissive tone.

“A man of wisdom listens to the counsel of his elders,” Ser Criston intoned. “Based on my observations of the princess, her nature is both vindictive and relentless. It might be more prudent to choose a wife who understands her obligations and would act in your best interests.”

Aemond did not want a wife other than Daenera, however vindictive and spiteful she was, and he replied with a note of finality, “While a wise man might heed the opinions of those close to him, a man of greater wisdom recognizes the strategic value of this union. The decision has been made; there’s no changing it. I will marry Daenera Velaryon.”

“Be that as it may, I urge you to carefully consider what this marriage truly means, for both you and her,” Ser Criston persisted. “Unless her mother relinquishes her claim to the throne, your challenges won’t be confined to the battlefield. Your marriage itself will become a battleground, with your wife as the enemy.”

Aemond gritted his teeth, his lone eye rising to the large structure ahead, towering over the city below.

AN: I know that it's not as long as some of the other chapters, but if I kept it along with the coronation it would have been like… 53 pages, which is just under 30k words. Anyway, Daenera struggles with the confines of being a hostage and having little choice--while also being in love with someone who is just as confined in his duty. And Aemond may have made a mistake in showing his heart as clearly as he did with Larys, but I feel like the boy is a very… emotionally explosive person once he reaches the boiling point, which makes him reckless and he had certainly reached a boiling point with Larry's treatment of Daenera. How can he be emotionally constipated and still this hot tempered, you ask? Well… He can! We saw it with the last supper, cool and collected, until offended, then he becomes reckless and may reveal a little too much, you know? ALSO PSA!!! My mom and I (yes we live together, I'm autistic and we get along) have bought a house, which means we'll move around the time season 2 comes out lol Mom couldn't have picked a better time to do this 😂 Anyway, I look forward to it, and I will churn out the chapters as I usually do, but I may need to take a week or two off for the renovations--we will cross that bridge when we get there. But I expect that this season of the story may just about fininsh by the time S2 comes out. I hope that I will have some chapters for s2 written by then, but right now I focus on editing the stuff I have. Next chapter is the coronation!