#Dancing With Dust Chapter 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-kr8tor · 4 months

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In The Badlands

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW guns, TW death mention, CW blood, CW food mentions, CW violence mention.

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CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

Amidst the tar blackened smoke, a tall stranger appears, puffs of smoke parting way for his leather clad form. His spurs clinks as he moves past the doorway of the homestead, ashes floating by, coating his long coat and steel toed boots. The leather vest is perfectly tapered on his waist, pierced lips curled around a slim cigarette, as if the heated smoke entering his lungs wasn't enough. The dark hat he wears obscures half of his face, shadows dancing on his jade eyes. Fire light flickers on his skin that glistened with sweat. Flames lick at his feet, the roof collapses just behind him.

As he leaves the ashes of the former home, blood coating his thick leather gloves, crimson mixing in with the gray ashes. Knuckles hurting and jaw aching, the still warm barrel of his gun weighs heavy on his waist. His horse, Buckeye, neighs, as if he was calling him over.

Shifting his weight on the last step of the burning porch, he spots someone waiting for him, clad in leather, an armour perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders. Golden gun strapped to his waist, rifle on his back, the man's hazel eyes reflect the flaming chaos that the stranger left. The dappled horse huffs behind him, hooves trotting in fear, ready to leave his owner in the dust.

Death is visited by an old friend.

The hazel eyed man dips the brim of his hat in greeting, it's enough for the flame kissed stranger to scoff. “Fine evening ain't it, Hobie?”

“It was, then you came along.” He says gruffly, voice hoarse from the smoke clinging to his throat. “What do you want, Miguel?” Through narrowed eyes, thumb pressed closely to his gun belt, Hobie's body says it all, ‘not in a good mood for a conversation.’

Yet, Miguel still stays on the now ashen field, nose itching at the stench. “I have a proposition—”

“‘m retired,” Hobie interrupts, now standing beside his horse, he calms Bucky down with a pat on his snout. His loyal steed knows Miguel well, and Miguel has the right idea to steer clear of his behind lest he gets kicked to an early grave.

“This doesn't look like retirement to me. I keep telling you you're too young for retirement.”

“This was just a favour, prick deserved it.” His eyes grow darker at the mere mention of the newly departed soul that is now having an impromptu cremation.

“This one is also a favor,” Hobie narrows his eyes further, he taps impatiently on the scorpion etched on his belt buckle. Miguel can tell that he's close to shooting him right on the spot. “from me.”

Hobie groans, “can't, busy.”

“Tending to your dirt farm ain't being busy.” Miguel tethers on the gallows at his pointed words. Still, he pokes and prods at the reaper in front of him. “Told you that the land you bought was a dud.”

Hobie gets on his horse swiftly, more than ready to leave his former associate behind. “Can you get on with it, Miguel?”

“Just like I said, I've got a proposition, the reward could really help out your farm. ‘sides, early retirement doesn't suit a man of your talents.” Miguel flicks his eyes over to the house when a large cracking sound almost startles him. Proving his point. The porch collapses, embers and ashes floating away like snowflakes.

“I don't do bounties anymore.” Hobie doesn't spare the destruction a glance, green eyes staring intensely at the man before him.

“This isn't a bounty, it's a find and transport.”

“Since when do you accept those kinds of jobs?” Hobie raises a pierced brow, sweat coating the back of his neck irritably. “Sounds like the gang have fallen on hard times.”

“Since they offered me five k.” Hobie's intrigued, just like how Miguel predicted. “Also, I heard from the informant that your target seems to be sailing from your old country. I'm sure you'll get along well, with your teas and shit. But knowing you, you won't.”

Hobie ghosts his hand over the large scar on his neck, like it still bleeds, like the blood he shed still drips on his calloused hands. “‘m listenin’” Sounds like an easy job, he thought. He's not exactly a novice, so he already considers it done.

Miguel gets on his horse with a groan, he can tell that Hobie is biting his tongue from making an old man joke. “You have to do it alone though, I'd take it but I've got another job lined up.”

“You already had me at five k, stop tryin’ to convince me. But ‘m guessing you have a cut in that five k?”

Miguel chortles, “’course I do, why don't we have a drink and we'll negotiate. I'm sure Riri would appreciate my patronage.” Hobie nods curtly. “First of all you need to take care of your wounds, you're covered in blood.”

Hobie rides ahead. “Not my blood.”

Almost two years of being ‘retired’, Hobie hasn't changed one bit. Miguel smirks victoriously, this'll be an easy job for a man like Hobie and an easy fifteen percent for him.

—

You're hungry, incredibly hungry. Stomach growling angrily, you feel like you're about to pass out from starvation. Two days of not being able to eat a single crumb, and almost a day of not having a sip of water, you're ready to dig your own grave. But you refuse to fall without reaching your goals.

You can't fail.

You already hate it here, the air stinks of horse shit, the roads are covered in mud and horse shit, and now the smell of horse shit has made a home in your nostrils. A week in the west and you're already at your lowest, money gone from a quick handed street child, clothes all ratty because you traded off your silk dress and remaining jewels except for the simple gold band around your middle finger. Hair greasy, and skin sweaty and from the sweltering sun, you're more than ready to leave. But you can't let her win, you cannot let her have the last laugh or your life would end before you could actually live it.

Licking your dried lips, eyes glued to the window of the general store, you take your bandana and wrap it around your face, making it a makeshift mask just like how bandits do. Armed with a six shooter that has no bullets left in its chamber, you find courage to rob the place when no one else is inside, or at least get some canned peaches.

Storming the shop, shouldering the door, the bells chimes as you enter. The man behind the counter yelps at the intrusion, wide eyes staring at you in fear. His hands raise next to his head in surrender, mouth stuttering to stitch together a sentence.

“T-take anythin’ from the register! P-please just spare me! I have children to feed!” The man shakes, mustache damp with sweat.

You're equally terrified. “I–I just need food and water. Please,” you almost chuckle at yourself. “I don't want to hurt you—!”

The bells chime again, heavy boots thud against the wooden floorboards, a breeze entering as the slim stranger wanders through the store. The air in your lungs is sapped away, something in the stranger makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

You and the shop owner stare at the masked man curiously, blinking, you watch as he casually takes two cans of peas. Taking the cans to the counter, he doesn't even spare you a look or cower in fear at the sight of your gun.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks the terrified man. His accent reminds you of the land you ran from, the familiar tone would bring you calm but his mere presence exudes danger.

“W-what?” The mustachioed man trembles. You just stare, arm aching from how you hold the heavy gun.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” your breath stops when he finally acknowledges you. “When you rob a place, you don't tell ‘em that you have no intention of hurtin’ ‘em. You just lost your advantage, fear is your main weapon, not your gun.” His jade eyes bore into your skull, you swear you feel the heat of it like you're stranded in the desert. “Which doesn't have any bullets by the way.”

The moment he says it, the shopkeeper cranes his neck quickly to a fumbling you. Quickly taking his rifle behind him, you run before he could even aim at you. A shot rings out in the small building, the bullet lodged in the back doorway where you fled.

“Grab her and I'll reward you!” The man yells at the stranger.

“How much?” He stays in place, casually leaning on the counter, watching your form get smaller and smaller as you run with all your might.

“Ten bucks!”

The stranger cracks his neck, groaning at the relief. “Fine.” Running after you, with his longer strides and full stomach, he's already behind you. “Stop runnin’!” It doesn't sound like a warning but he intended it to be. The sun bares at his back, quick drawing his gun out, the silver barrel shines as he aims at the ground.

The bullet whizzes past you, nicking your ankle, warm blood soaking your shoes. Yet, you still do your best to run. You can't be caught, you can't go back. You cannot go back to the life she planned for you. Limping, trailing crimson on the dusty ground, you feel his heavy presence right behind you.

“You gonna make this harder for me?”

“Yes! Leave me the fuck alone!” You continue to bolt away, but the man casually catches up to you with only a few strides. You smelled him before you felt his hand on your shoulder. Sweat, leather, and tobacco, a scent you've gotten all too familiar with in this new world you've fallen into. But there's a whiff of something you're familiar with. Something you've almost forgotten.

He grabs your shoulder back, but you're still too fast, taking advantage of your adrenaline. Bolting away, he takes his lasso from his belt, with a practiced hand, he swings it and the rope hits its mark, your legs, hemp wrapping around your knees with a slap.

You hit the ground face first, dust on your face, and sand in your eyes. The stinging pain on your chin and nose makes you groan, tears welling up, and blood trickling down from your nose.

The almost silent footsteps getting nearer has you scrambling away. The stranger takes your shoulder, trying and failing to bind you.

Fighting back with a swift kick on his chest that doesn't even faze him, you slap him away in futile. “Stop–! Fuckin-!” You two wrestle on the ground, dust flying all over, nose itching at the particles. You bite his arm, he flinches before he wraps his gloved hand around your wrist, pinning you down. The rough leather is hot against your skin. “Ow! You– stop! ‘m not gonna hurt you!”

“You fucking stop!” Your free hand grip the bandana hiding his face. His legs trap you in between them in retaliation. “What did you say back at the store? Fear is your main weapon, not your gun?!”

“You're bloody butchering it—!” With one strong tug, you take his black bandana off, revealing a familiar face.

You gasp breathlessly, frozen in place. His name falls on your lips, a name you've only whispered before you fall asleep like a prayer murmured to whoever was listening.

“Hobie?”

Hobie's heart stops, now he notices your eyes, those eyes he once loved to stare at endlessly. Eyes that he's fond of, eyes that still hold his promise. With trepidation in his chest, and the ghost of pain around his scar, he gingerly takes your bandana off. Your face greets him, he imagines a scowl on your pretty lips, but instead of hate, he sees relief. A beaming smile on the lips he's all too familiar with, the same lips he'd kiss everyday for two years.

Death's carefully plastered façade falls.

You're his target, the same person he told those three words to a thousand times before when everyone told him it's not meant to be. You proved them all otherwise. The same person he once loved all those years ago, before he faced death himself.

“Y/N?” His voice breaks with the mere utterance of your name. A name that has been tattooed in his mind ever since everything came crashing down. Ever since you two tempted fate too much, and he alone faced the consequences. The scar around his neck proves it all.

Your grin gets wider, and you feel like the luckiest girl alive. Hobie feels like he lost a thousand dollars in poker.

“Hi.” You could only muster, the hands that slapped him away now hold his face carefully, fingers tracing all the new scars and marks on his skin. “I finally found you.”

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mariasont · 6 months

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Ours Minds Entwined----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Spencer Reid x Original Character x Aaron Hotchner

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Three:

The precinct doors swung open, admitting the BAU team into a world where the air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The local officers, scattered like leaves, paused mid-motion their gazes drawn at the badged newcomers. Among them, the chief stood out, his shoulders bearing the slump of defeat.

Evelyn stepped through the threshold, her arrival stirring the calm atmosphere as subtly as a breeze disturbs a tranquil pond. The male officers couldn't help but glance up from their desks, their conversations trailing off as they took in her confident stride and bright energy she carried like a torch. She was oblivious to the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances that followed her path to the map.

Hotchner's gaze, sharp and discerning, caught the brief interplay of looks, a silent conversation in the language of glances. Beside him, Reid's observation was more analytical, noting the dynamics without judgment, his mind already cataloging and discarding the information as irrelevant to the task at hand.

Hotchner's voice cut through the low buzz of the precinct, clear and authoritative. "We're here to assist, not take over. Your insights are invaluable." His words were a bridge, extending partnership to the weary officers.

The chief, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen too much, stepped forward to greet them. "We're at a dead end," he admitted, shaking Hotchner's hand with a grip that spoke of desperation. "This guy is thorough, leaves no trace."

Reid, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses, peered over the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Has there been any consistency in the locations of the attacks?" he asked, his mind already sifting through the data like a codebreaker.

A detective, her badge dulled by the dust of the chase, shook her head. "All within a ten-mile radius, but no specific pattern. Random as far as we can tell."

Evelyn leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the spider web of roads and locations, her brow in concentration. "Not random, a constellation..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

It was there, in the quiet hum of her focus, the pattern emerged--a dance of dates and places that wove together.

"Look at the dates," Evelyn said, her voice a beacon cutting through the fog. "Each one aligns with a local event. It's not random; it's opportunistic. He's hiding in plain sight, using the crowds as cover for escape."

Silence fell, a heavy cloak, as all eyes turned to Evelyn. Reid's lips quivered in a semblance of a smile, his respect for her clear in the warmth of his eyes. "She's right," he affirmed. "The unsub isn't just local; he's embedded in the community, using public events as his hunting ground."

Hotchner's nod was slow, thoughtful, the gears of strategy turning behind his stoic facade. "Good work, Evelyn. Let's get a list of upcoming events, cross-reference with his known comfort zone. We might just catch him in the act."

The office was a cocoon of concentration, bathed in the soft hum of working minds. The only sources of light were the twin glows of computer screens, reflecting off Reid and Evelyn's focused faces. Papers littered the desk, each one a piece of the puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

Reid, his eyes scanning the data before them, spoke without looking away from the screen. "If we consider the unsub's preference for high-density events, it's logical to deduce that he will utilize the inherent disorder as a smokescreen for his escape," he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Evelyn's eyes, bright with the thrill of the hunt, were fixed on the screen as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by the list of events. Her hair had loosened during the long hours of research, giving her an air of approachability.

Reid, ever the picture of academic focus, had his brows furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, the curls just slightly askew. The faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow graced his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Evelyn leaned in, her eyes scanning the list. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to an entry on the screen. "The annual bourbon event. It's popular, draws a big crowd, and it's happening within his hunting grounds."

Reid's eyes flickered with approval. "Good catch," he affirmed, his voice steady and calm, yet there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm for her keen observation.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with pride. The praise from Dr. Reid, sent a wave of elation through her--all the way in between her thighs. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, straightening her posture, as she turned to him. "So, we could catch him there," she said.

Reid observed the transformation with a gentle, knowing smile. There was a vibrancy to Evelyn's enthusiasm that reminded him so vividly of his own younger self--brilliant, eager to prove, and somewhat oblivious to the darkness they were about to face. Yet, there was a shadow of concern that crept into his thoughts; the job had a way of chipping away at one's spirit, and he hoped Evelyn would be spared the harsher realities for a little while longer. He saw her potential for greatness, but also the innocence that he once carried--an innocence he hoped to protect, even if just for a little while longer.

Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Evelyn's with a mentor's patience. "It's a multifaceted problem," he began, his tone measured and informative. "We have to account for variables that could influence the unsub's behavior--law enforcement visibility, crowd dynamics, ingress and egress points."

Evelyn nodded, her pen pausing over the notebook that was quickly becoming a testament to her dedication. "Right, exit strategies," she echoed, her voice a mix of realization and admiration. "I didn't even think about that."

"There's always a pattern, a logic to their choices, even if it's skewed by their own delusions," Reid continued, the profiler in him surfacing as he spoke. "Our job is to decode that logic, to think like them, so we can be there to stop them."

Evelyn's scribbles grew more fervent, her eyes alight with the challenge. "To get into their heads," she mused, looking up at Reid with newfound understanding.

"Exactly," Reid affirmed with a nod, a subtle smile acknowledging her quick grasp of the concept. "And remember, the most seemingly insignificant detail could be the key to unlocking their next move."

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the urgency was palpable in the room. Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the date, her voice a mix of alarm and adrenaline. "Reid, it's tomorrow," she said, the words tumbling out with the weight of their implications.

Reid's reaction was immediate, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. His eyes now mirrored Evelyn's intensity. "We need to call Hotch," he stated, the command in his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

The BAU team, after hours of meticulous planning for the bourbon festival operation, stepped into the hotel lobby--a spacious area with high ceilings and a grand chandelier casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and fatigue from the day's efforts.

Morgan's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the surroundings before resting on Evelyn. His muscular frame relaxed against the front desk, his FBI badge glinting under the lobby's lights. "You know, for a rookie, you're not too shabby at this profiling gig," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Evelyn, despite the exhaustion that shadowed her features, still managed to exude an effortless elegance. Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had strands falling loosely around her face, softening her determined expression. "Oh, please. I learned from watching the best," she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Morgan chuckled. "Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone gets out-profiled by the new kid."

In the hours between the precinct and the hotel, the team had dissected every detail of the unsub's previous attacks. They mapped out the festival grounds, assigned undercover positions, and established communication protocols. They even ran through several scenarios, each time refining their strategy to ensure they were ready for any contingency.

As they finalized check-ins, Garcia buzzed in with last-minute intel, adding another layer to the plan. They would need to be vigilant, adaptive, and above all, united to outsmart a foe who had eluded everyone thus far. The team dispersed to their rooms, Reid lingering behind with Evelyn as their rooms ended up being next to each other.

The dimly lit hallway to their rooms was quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Reid walked alongside Evelyn; his profile bathed in the intermittent glow of the overhead lights. His hair was tousled, likely from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it in thought, giving him a disheveled charm that Evelyn couldn't help but find endearing.

As they reached her door, Evelyn's bag strap slipped from her shoulder, prompting her to grasp it tighter. In doing so, the sleeve of her blouse shifted, revealing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Reid's gaze inadvertently followed the movement, and he felt an inexplicable warmth flood to his cheeks. It was a simple, innocent moment, yet it stirred something within him.

"Here we are," Evelyn said, her voice breaking the silence as she fumbled with her key card.

Reid, still slightly flustered, cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Evelyn. See you in the morning," he managed to say, his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should've before he turned towards his own door.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she replied, her use of his first name sending a ripple through the air.

The bourbon festival buzzed with energy, a tapestry of sounds and colors under the open sky. The scent of oak and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of the surrounding food stalls. Laughter and lively conversations created a backdrop to the twang of banjos and fiddles playing a lively bluegrass tune, setting toes tapping on the grassy grounds.

As Evelyn navigated the festival crowd, Reid found his attention inadvertently drawn to her. The way the setting sun played with her hair, transforming it into a cascade of burnished waves, and the way the sundress accentuated her every curve with an understated elegance. There was something about Evelyn in this light, in this moment, that captivated him, and he caught himself appreciating the sight more than he had anticipated.

Reid's attire was a departure from his usual suits--a plaid shirt that brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that were both functional and inconspicuous. His hair lay in casual disarray, seeming as though the festival's carefree spirit had influenced his usually precise appearance.

The bourbon festival was in full swing, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. Undercover among the revelers, Reid and Evelyn blended in seamlessly, their casual attire and relaxed demeanor belying the sharp vigilance in their eyes.

Evelyn leaned against a wooden stall, sipping her fake drink as she observed the crowed. "So, we're looking for a male in his 30s, likely with a history of gambling debts and penchant for superstition," she recited quietly to Reid.

Reid, who was pretending to be engrossed in a festival brochure, nodded subtly. "Exactly. The four-leaf clover he leaves with his victims--it's not just superstition; it's a signature. It suggests a compulsion, a need to leave his mark, which is indicative of a narcissistic personality. He's taunting law enforcement, believing he can control the outcome of his crimes--like he's playing his own game of chance."

Evelyn, her voice low and steady leaned in. "So, we're looking for someone who blends in too well, someone who's watching but not engaging," she observed, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Reid nodded, his attention divided between her and the faces passing by. "Our unsub targets individuals who are isolated, perhaps separated from the group--easy prey in a setting like this," he explained.

Evelyn's eyes followed his line of sight. "Right, the loners. The ones who look like they're searching for something or someone," she added.

As the evening progressed, the shadows began to cast across the faces of the crowd. Reid and Evelyn moved through the throng, their gazes sharp and discerning. They passed a group of raucous college students, their laughter ringing out as they clinked their glasses in a toast. A little further on, a family of four navigated the crowd, the children's faces painted with whimsical designs, their hands sticky with cotton candy.

The air was rich with the scent of smoked meats and the char of oak barrels, the soundscape a blend of folk music and the murmur of hundreds of conversations.

Reid's voice was low as he leaned in, "It's fascinating how a beverage can be both a social lubricant and a potential clue in a criminal investigation. I suppose that adds a whole new layer to the term 'spirit detective'."

Evelyn's laughter was like a melody that cut through the ambient noise of the festival, infectious and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, not just for its volume but for its genuine quality.

She turned to Reid, her eyes alight with a playful glint. "So, we're adding 'spirit detective' to your already impressive resume? I must say, it's quite the title upgrade from genius profiler," she quipped, her tone teasing.

"Easy, we don't want to draw attention," Reid murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Her laugh was a laugh he realized he wanted to hear again, a candid burst of warmth that cut through the coolness of his analytical mind.

The festival's din faded into the background as Evelyn's attention was momentarily captured by Hotch's presence. He stood there, a figure of quiet authority even in his casual undercover attire. The subtle checkered pattern of his shirt did little to conceal his disciplined build, and the way his jeans fit just right made Evelyn's mouth feel dry all of a sudden.

Hotch's eyes, usually a well of stoicism, held a flicker of something else as they met Evelyn's--a momentary lapse in his guarded demeanor. His gaze, sharp and assessing, traveled over her in a swift, sweeping motion that was both professional and personal. It lingered just a beat too long on the curve of her neckline.

Hotch, after his brief lapse, was once again the picture of professionalism. His conversation with Rossi resumed, his demeanor unreadable, the brief moment of personal interest concealed behind a mask of focus and command. Evelyn, still oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of attraction, turned her attention back to the mission, her mind as sharp as ever.

Evelyn excused herself from Spencer, weaving through the crowd in search of the bathroom. The path to the restrooms was a stark contrast to the bourbon-soaked revelry Evelyn had left behind. The vibrant string of lights gave way to the occasional flickering bulb that did little to pierce the encroaching darkness. The music, once a lively companion, now played a muffled soundtrack to her solitary walk, the notes distorted and distant.

The restrooms, a small cluster of temporary structures, stood isolated at the edge of the festival grounds. Evelyn's boots sank slightly in the soft earth with each step, the recent rain turning the ground to a treacherous mix of mud and grass.

As she stepped out, the sense of solitude was abruptly shattered. A hand clamped over her mouth with startling force, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Her assailant's arm was an iron band around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. Panic flared, her breath hot and desperate against the palm pressed to her lips.

Panic surged, her heart thundering in her chest, her mind screaming for action, but her body momentarily paralyzed by fear. It was him--the unsub. His breath was hot against her ear, his grip unyielding.

Adrenaline surged through Evelyn's veins, her training taking over as she drove her elbow back with precision, aiming for the soft of her attacker's abdomen. The unsub grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his hold. The unsub recovered quickly; his face contorted with anger.

He lunged at her, throwing a punch that Evelyn narrowly dodged. She countered with a swift kick to his knee, causing him to buckle, but he was relentless. He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her jaw.

Evelyn staggered but didn't falter. She wiped the trickle of blood from her lip and glared at the unsub with fierce determination. With a swift move, she stepped inside his reach, delivered a powerful uppercut that snapped his head back, and followed with a knee to his midsection that doubled him over.

As he gasped for air, Evelyn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his arm, twisted behind his back, and pushed him down to the ground. "FBI! You're under arrest," she declared, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The scene was a rush of motion as the team manifested in an instant. Reid's face was a canvas of raw concern, his eyes searching for signs of distress. Hotch allowed a rare glimpse of worry to surface as he took in her appearance--the bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on her cheek. Evelyn's hair, though slightly disheveled from the altercation, framed her face.

The team's anxiety was palpable, a collective breath held until they were certain she was unharmed. It was her first case, and the stakes had never felt more personal. Yet, as Evelyn stood there, her bright smile breaking through the tension, her spirit undimmed by the encounter.

"I got him!" she declared; her smile unwavering as she met the eyes of her team.

Evelyn perched precariously on the cold metal edge of the ambulance, the harsh glare of its lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The EMT, with gentle hands, tended to the gash on her lip--a stark red against her skin. Each touch of the disinfectant was a sharp reminder of the day's chaos, a stinging sensation that seemed to echo her inner turmoil.

Despite the pain, Evelyn found solace in the rhythm of conversation, her words weaving between the EMT's methodical treatment. She spoke of trivial things at first, the weather, the relentless pace of the city, anything to keep the silence at bay. Yet, even as her voice trembled slightly, revealing cracks in her usually unflappable demeanor, she smiled--a smile, wistful curve of the lips.

Spencer's approach was hesitant, his hands buried deep in the refuge of his pockets, betraying a casual facade that his furrowed brow contradicted. As he drew nearer, the dim light fell upon Evelyn's features, illuminating the stark contrast of bruised skin against the sterile white of the ambulance's interior. His eyes, a mirror of his internal struggle, winced at the sight, a silent testament to the empathy that swelled within him.

"How you holding up?" he inquired, his voice a soft undercurrent amidst the wail of distant sirens. The concern in his tone was evident, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Evelyn, her face a canvas of the day's trails, bore the marks of the ordeal with an unsettling grace. The cut on her lip, now cleaned, was a vivid line drawn across her otherwise smooth complexion. Flecks of dried blood were still visible.

Evelyn's smile, though small and tinged with irony, was a testament to her unyielding optimism. "I've had better nights," she quipped, the humor in her voice a gentle balm against the sting of the EMT's ministrations. As a fresh bandage adhered to her cheek--she winced.

"I know it's part of the job, but... I'm sorry you had to go through that," Spencer said, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.

Evelyn's shrug was a delicate dance of nonchalance, her shoulders lifting in a gesture that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Comes with the territory, right?" she said, her voice a mix of jest and earnest. "Besides, we got him, and that's what counts." Her words were a shield, a deflection of the concern she saw mirrored in Spencer's eyes.

Spencer's response was a nod, subtle yet laden with the weight of unspoken words. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a silent accolade for her courage. "You did good, Evelyn. Really good." His affirmation was simple, but it carried the depth of his respect for her, for the strength she wielded so effortlessly.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, her gratitude genuine, a softening in the steel of her eyes. "For checking on me." It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her armor that allowed gratitude to seep through.

"It's what teammates do." Spencer said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the quiet of the night. His gaze held hers, a momentary tether, it lingered a beat longer than necessary.

As the silence stretched between them, a figure approached, his footsteps measured and purposeful. It was Hotch, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He carried with him a blanket. Spencer, ever perceptive, felt the shift in the air and excused himself with a nod, stepping away to give them space. Hotch's eyes met Evelyn's, a wordless exchange passing between them before he spoke.

"You should keep warm," Hotch said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. He unfolded the blanket with practiced ease and draped it over her shoulders, the soft material enveloping in a gentle embrace. His eyes inadvertently lingered on the wound upon her lip, the starkness of the injury drawing his focus. It was a fleeting moment, but in it, there was an intensity. The EMT, giving them a brief nod, finished up and moved aside, leaving them in a quiet bubble of privacy.

Evelyn pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric against the night's chill. Hotch's proximity was a force itself, the air charged with an energy that seemed to pulse with each of his measured breaths. She was acutely aware of his gaze, the way it rested upon her with an intensity that was both unsettling and reassuring.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lifting the meet Hotch's steady one.

Hotch's stance was as resolute as his reputation, his figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the flickering lights of the emergency vehicles. "Evelyn," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of authority softened by a trace of concern. His eyes, usually a guarded fortress, held a glimmer of uncharacteristic turmoil as they fixed upon her.

Evelyn, still cocooned in the blanket, looked up to meet his gaze. The ambient light played across her features, highlighting the youthful resolve etched into her bruised face.

In that moment, as he saw her standing her ground, something within Hotch shifted. The sight of her in the fray, fiercely fighting for her life, had ignited a surge of panic unlike anything he'd experienced with other team members. It was a visceral reaction, one that puzzled him with the intensity. Was it the paternal instinct to protest the progeny of his old friend and mentor, Gideon? Or was it something else?

Whatever the cause, it was a jarring sentiment that Hotch quickly compartmentalized, returning to the matter at hand with his usual stoic clarity. "You know the risks of going off alone, even for a moment," he reiterated, his stern gaze lingering on the cut of her lip--a silent reproof of her impulse.

Evelyn absorbed the words, her own eyes reflecting a complex mix or appreciation and a newfound understanding of the weight of her actions.

Hotch's gaze softened as he concluded, "Despite that, you handled yourself well out there. It's clear you're Gideon's daughter, and that's not just a responsibility--it's a strength. I have no doubt you'll become an invaluable part of this team. You're going to be okay, Evelyn."

#spencer reid x original character #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner x reader x spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fandom #reid #dr reid #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader x aaron hotchner #Spotify

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luciferlightbringer · 6 months

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Talk to Me

Chapter 1

Lucifer x Fem Fallen Angel Reader

Word Count:4.1 k

CW: Angst, abuse, lies, slowburn,

Chapter 1|Chapter 2 (Updated through Chapter 5)

Welcome back friends! I will be tagging all chapters now under #punching-pentagrams if the tags ever have issues or if you are looking for updates from me 😊

Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates, known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil. Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a troublemaker with “fantastical ideas” for all of creation, and was seen as such by the elders of Heaven. For they knew his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world. So, he was to watch as the other angels began to expand the universe in their ways.

From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Adam worked to take charge over his responsibility to care for Earth, and Lilith refused to work alongside him. She fled the Garden. Drawn in by her rebellious nature, Lucifer found her and troublemaker seduced her to his cause. Together, they wished to the ruin the future of humanity with their selfish dreams and ideas, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who accepted, unaware that this “gift” came with a curse. For with this single act of disobedience, evil finally found its way into the Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin. And the order Heaven worked to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his mistress into the dark pit he had created, to live out his days as the King of the cruel and the wicked.

This was the Parable of Lucifer, known by every Angel in Heaven, memorized, but rarely spoken. His name, or even the threat of falling was akin to swearing, which wasn't forbidden but it was frowned upon. For many eons, his name was rarely mentioned. That is, until the morning his daughter came to visit Heaven.

You watched that morning as Emily, the young seraphim you served under, danced around her room as she got ready that morning, singing and flitting about while talking about how excited she was to be at the the side of Sera, the High Seraphim, later at a meeting with the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.

You listened and nodded at her excitement, trying hard to keep your own thoughts to yourself. You didn't understand how she could be so excited, being in the room with anyone related to Lucifer sounded like a fate worse than death. You were not important enough to be in the room where it all was going to go down, and you were perfectly ok with that.

"And then! Oh! What about the zoo?! Do you think they have zoos in hell? Maybe we have different animals.... Oh I'll just ask them!" Emily squealed with excitement as she brushed her hair.

You were trying so hard not to roll your eyes, why would some hellspawn want anything to do with a heaven zoo? And why did Emily insist on showing them around? It almost seemed cruel to show them around something more wonderful and beautiful than they probably had back home in their dark pit of evil. But it couldn't be helped, that is just who Emily was. Kind and full of desire to make people happy.

You were a "right hand man" of sorts to Emily, a sort of "lady in waiting" or "aid", and had been ever since the beginning of her time as the Seraphim of Joy. You enjoyed a higher status, that was marked by your four wings, but not as many as Emily's six, which marker he status as a seraphim. You liked being by her side, she was sweet and playful. It was her job to keep the people of Heaven happy, and it was your job to assist her in that. She was gentle and kind, and that made your job easy. She treated you as an equal, even if she didn't need to, you were happy to serve her.

"Sounds great, my lady, I hope you guys have fun," you say trying to hold back any sass you wanted to add to your comment in response to the idea of her field trip with the Princess of Hell.

Emily looked at you with a smile, "Oh! You're coming with us, of course. Aren't you?"

You held a strained smile, of course she would want to include you.

"Oh... I wish I could. But I can't I have plans," you responded coolly.

"Plans? Like what?" Emily pouted.

"Well... there uhhh... there is the updates to the Golden Girls theme park! Now that Betty is here, I figured it was important to meet with her and make sure it is correct...ya know... get her ideas..." you start.

Emily floats over and grabs your hands, "Oh but that can wait, can't it? Pleeeeease? This is so exciting and I want my best friend their with me!" She gave you big puppy dog eyes.

You can't help but feel a little shy when she calls you her best friend, you were honored that she thought of you as a friend, but you knew that was not your place, even though you had been by her side for several thousand years. It wasn't forbidden for you two to be friends, just... discouraged. Due to the difference in status. You sighed, she knew you couldn't say no to her when she got all pouty and pulled the "best friend" card.

"Alright, alright! I'll go... Just... Please don't expect me to be all buddy-buddy with them? I mean no disrespect, my lady... The idea of having beings of Hell in Heaven just... makes me nervous..." you nervously confess to Emily.

Emily smiles and pulls you in for a hug, "Yay! Oh (y/n), it's going to be ok! How about this? If you get uncomfortable, you can flap your wings quickly twice and I'll give you a reason to leave, ok?"

"But won't that leave you alone with them? What if they should try to harm you?" you say with worry in your voice.

Emily squeezes your shoulders, "It will be fine. Come on! We are gonna be late!" Emily grabs your hand and she half drags you out the door and out the the main plaza to meet up with Sera before going to welcome the guests from hell. You bow respectfully to Sera in greeting and wait as Emily and Sera fly out to the front gate while you wait inside with Sera's aid, Lily, who also had four wings like you. You rarely talked to Lily, but she was also nice, more serious like her seraphim she served.

"How is your lady feeling about the meeting?" Lily asked calmly, looking forward instead of at you.

"Very excitedly, as is her nature. Almost a little too excited, but that is not my place to tell her, of course. And what of your lady?" You asked Lily.

She shook her head, "Nervous, but collected. She was very distressed by Lucifer's request for his daughter to meet with the council of Elders. Her ideas sound... preposterous, and dangerous. Just like her father's," she responded flatly, her nose crinkling slightly.

"What ideas?" you ask.

Lily looked around for any nearby souls before leaning close and whisper, "Something about trying to redeem souls to get them to give them a second change in heaven."

You blinked, what? She is trying to redeem the souls of sinners? "Is that even possible?"

Lily shrugged, "It is not our place to ask such things, besides, we have no idea why they would want to try that. It sounds fishy to me, and I think it sounds fishy to Sera, too. We have a system in place for a reason."

"Of course, that does seem silly to try to change things," you go back to your neutral stance and start to think. The daughter of Lucifer wants to redeem souls? Why? That seems like a good thing to try to do? But how could they prove they were actually "redeemed" to even attempt something like that. As far as you knew, this had never been done before. This thought left you with so many questions, that from that point on would start to unravel your very understanding of everything you thought you knew.

Eventually you see the gates open and Sera and Emily enter with two others, a girl with long white hair, wearing an eye patch, named Vaggie, and a young woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail and a red suit, who was introduced to you as Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer. You wanted to focus on the Morningstar child but... something about the other one seemed off about the other one, especially in the way she looked at all of you. Specifically she looked... uncomfortable? That seemed like such an odd way to react to Heaven. But maybe a place this beautiful was just hard for a demon like her to feel comfortable in. A pity.

You shifted your attention back to Charlie, you were only briefly introduced as Emily's aid, she greeted you warmly and then went back to talking with Emily and Sera. You liked it this way, it gave you a chance to just watch this daughter of Lucifer at a distance. As you toured Heaven with them, you were surprise by how sweet and bubbly she came off. She talked, mostly with Emily, about how excited she was about the meeting and looked in awe at everything she came across in Heaven. Your face remained a pleasant neutral, but you were processing everything through the lens of what you had been told about Lucifer and the information given to you by Lily about her reason for being here. What was her deal?

Eventually, Charlie and Vaggie were set up in their room, and Vaggie decided to stay at the hotel while Charlie went off with you and Emily to the zoo, and Sera and Lily went off to prepare for the meeting. Great... now there was more of a chance that you would have to interact with the Morningstar child, but you were good at remaining pleasant and neutral. You stayed to Emily's right while Charlie walked on Emily's left as they went through the zoo. Luckily, the Princess of Hell was more interested in fawning over the animals than paying attention to how little you were interacting with her. You exchanged some pleasantries and small talk when addressed, but not much beyond that.

The longer you were around her, the more curious she made you. She didn't act at all like how you expected a hellspawn would act. You know you shouldn't be making assumptions but... something was not adding up. How could this be the spawn of the most hated and dangerous being in all of creation? Either she was a very very very good actor, spinning colorful and exciting tales to disarm her victims and seduce them to her side... or somehow... despite having such an awful and cruel creature of a father... this young woman had an actual passion and love for others. You were worried at how much you felt like you wanted to agree with the latter, especially with how in-sync her personality fell with Emily's. You tried to shake the questions out of your head, again it was not your place to ask such questions.

Before long, it was time for their meeting with the angelic Council of Elders, which meant it was your time to separate from Emily and the Princess. You bid them a farewell and went off to take care of that meeting with Betty White to make any additions or suggestions to the theme park. You had a pleasant meeting with her, luckily there were only a few additions that needed to be made, so you were able make note of them with the construction team and get back to Emily's suite to prepare her some tea for her when her meeting was over.

Before long you heard the quick open and shut of the door, signaling that Emily had returned home, "Welcome back, my lady Emily! How was..." you stopped as you heard the sounds of... something you had never heard before... little sounds in quick secession that would get quieter, she'd breathe in, and then the quick secession of sounds would happen again, but starting louder and growing softer.

You peaked out around the corner to see Emily curled up on the floor right next to the door, face in her hands, making her little sounds. You had heard about this, was... was she... crying? She had never seen anyone cry before. You rushed over to her side.

"My lady? Emily? What's wrong? Why do you cry?" you asked with a slight panic, you had not idea how to help her with this, you had never seen someone sad before.

She let out different higher pitched sound and shook before she looked up at you, tears rolling down her round cheeks.

"Oh (y/n), it's terrible! I'm so angry!" Emily cried.

"What's terrible? What did the Princess do? Are you hurt?" you start to look her over.

"No!" Emily cried, "It's Sera, and Adam, and Lute... They have done something terrible!"

You blinked, you had never heard her speak of her superior sister like that, and you new the First Man to be... a colorful character, but what could he have done? "What happened?"

Emily took a few breathes before looking up at you, "They have been allowing a yearly extermination on human souls in Hell to control the overpopulation down there... Adam has an army of angels that go down with him to kill and erase human souls!"

You sat back a little, taking in the news, "Wait... why... That does not make any sense... why would they do something like that?"

Emily let more tears fall, "It's how they control the overpopulation of souls, trying to keep them from thinking about uprising against Heaven... that's why Charlie was here. She's trying to redeem souls into heaven so that we would stop killing them. She-she's just trying to protect her people, and we have just been slaughtering them! For... centuries!"

You sat in silence as Emily continued to freak out and cry, this was the worst thing you had ever heard of. How could heaven allow something like this?! Sure, the sinners had all earned their place in Hell, and they needed to stay in their place... but the does not mean anyone should be erasing them!

"Who could have allowed this?" you ask quietly.

"Sera..." Emily snarled, you look up at her, and she looks at you... with anger in her eyes, it made you jump, "Sera allowed this it happen, and what's worse... she kept it from everyone! From the rest of the Elders... from me... Only Sera, Adam, and his army of angel exorcists know... The rest of us were in the dark..."

You just sat there on the floor next to her, trying to breathe, trying to work through the thoughts and feelings in your body, this was bad... this was... really bad. You never knew this try of bad could exist, not here, not in Heaven, and you felt it all over your body. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts were racing, everything was a blur.

You looked at the young angel next to you, "What do we do now, my lady?"

Emily's expression went serious and she sat up straight looking at you, "This can't be a secret anymore, we must tell everyone."

Your eyes widened, "E-everyone? Even the human souls? My lady... I don't know if..."

Emily got up, "Yes! Everyone! They have been keeping this secret from everyone! They are breaking one of God's base commandments! Now that we know we must tell the truth! Everyone must know!"

You get up to meet her, "But... that would cause an upheaval! What if..." you change to a whisper "What if this causes you to fall? Like Lucifer?"

Emily shook her head, "If something like this is what caused his fall... then maybe there is more behind his fall than they told us in the first place..." She looked at you, "After hearing Charlie... it's worth the risk... I need to do this. Are you with me, or not?" Emily grabbed your hands.

You froze in place. Do you defy Emily, your seraphim that you are sworn to serve and support? Or do you go against something that you know will make the elders unhappy, and risk both you and her falling? You knew this look on her face, there was not talking her out of it at this point.

You sigh, "Ok... I'm with you." She smiled and hugged you, and you hugged her back. You had not idea what was going to happen next, but you couldn't bear the thought of not supporting her. It's all you knew.

You spent the rest of the night planning with Emily on how you were going to get the word out to the people. Unfortunately for the both of you... Sera had been worried about Emily's outburst in support of Charlie and went to go check on her. Emily was not watching her volume, no matter how much you reminded her, so before knocking, she was able to hear Emily talking out some ideas out with you. With a heavy and broken heart, Sera went to go alert the rest of the Elders.

The next morning, you and Emily did not have a chance to start telling anyone before Emily was brought to stand trial before the Council of Elders. You were brought with to stand witness for the conversation you had with her. Emily fought and cried, angry tears running down her face as she pleaded for the safety and protection of the people of Hell, quoting how the Elders were breaking commandments. The Elders responded of how they were doing what they needed to do to maintain the order in Heaven, and Emily teared back about how they were only proving Charlie's point about "angel's getting to do whatever and remain in the sky" while the people of hell suffered by Heaven's hand. Sera warned Emily not to press but she didn't care, saying if this was the truth that she no longer wanted to be the Seraphim of Joy.

"If you don't stop this now, you may soon not be a seraphim at all!" one of the Elders warned.

Adam sat over on the side, grinning. He was quieter than yesterday, he was trying to play nice after his major slip up the day before when he revealed the existence of the exterminations, but he was still enjoying watching the drama. Sera looked over to you, eyes pleading with do something to stop this. You looked over at Emily. There was only one way you could see getting her out of this, it wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was all you could do.

You stood up and looked over to the council, starting to cry and shake, "I'm sorry! I'm so... so sorry, my great Elders!" You whole room was looking at your now, even Emily.

"Please... please do not blame her! It was my fault! I... I was so excited to see the Princess of Hell, know why she was here. I know I wasn't allowed at the meeting... but I still stood outside of the door and listened! I couldn't bear the news! I've gone mad! Emily came back and didn't want to talk about it... but I did! I made her! I filled her head with ideas of telling the people of Heaven the truth! The angels deserve to know! It's barbaric! All of you refused to listen to Charlie and I can't stand that!" you say grabbing your hair. "Please! Emily is innocent of everything besides being to close to me! Please spare her! Punish me instead!"

"(y/n) what are you doing?!" Emily cried.

"I'm telling them the truth, my lady! Don't try to cover this up for me. You've suffered enough!" you cried, flying down to the floor and standing in front of Emily, fanning out your wings to block her, "Punish me instead! I should fall for my madness! My lady Emily has done nothing wrong! Punish me for my sympathy for Lucifer and his daughter!"

Sera frowned, looked at the others, and shook her head, "What a shame, but not unexpected from you, unfortunately." That comment almost made you flinch, what did that mean? Sera looked to the others, who all nodded at her and looked at you with distain.

"Very well," she said, lifting a hand to prompt two other angels to remove Emily from the floor, leaving only you in the middle, all eyes on you. "(y/n), for your attempt of treason against Heaven and attempted corruption of a seraphim, you have fallen from Grace and will be cast into Hell."

You give Emily one last look as she screams, whispering a goodbye to her. A portal opens up in front of you, giving you a clear but distant view of the rings of hell. Intense fear flooded your body for the first time. You take a step back, only to be stopped by Adam who had flown over an landed behind you, a wicked grin on his face.

Behind you he whispered "See you on extermination day", before breaking off one of your wings and kicking you into the pit, the sound of your screams of pain mixed with his laughter as you began to fall.

What an absolute piece of shit.

Most of your fall was spent in searing pain from your one missing wing, the other three fluttering in the wind as hell grew closer, golden blood oozing from your new wound, your first wound ever. You cried the whole way... out of pain, out of fear, out of hope that you saved Emily from this fate, out of confusion...

As you got closer, you felt more pain sear through your body, but for a different reason. You watched as you hands stared to turn into black claws, horns sprouted from your temples, a tail lashed out behind you, eyes watering as they changed to red, some of the feathers of your wings burned red. More tears burned down your cheeks as you fell, mixing in with some feelings of... anger? You wish that Emily had not dragged you into this... but it was your job to serve her... and you did it until your falling day... Who knew what awaited you in hell. The second fallen angel in all of history...

You realized then, yes, would would be the second fallen angel, would Lucifer seek you out if he found out another angel had fallen? You wanted to avoid that at all costs. As the ground grew nearer, you knew you had two choices, use your wings to ease your fall and risk being seen, or tuck them away and have a much harder hit but hide your identity as an angel. You swallowed hard as you forced your wings to tuck away. It was something angels could do, but it was not common, as it was more comfortable to keep them out.

You were almost to the red floor of the Pride Ring. God Above, this was going to hurt... You braced yourself as you plummeted into the hard rock of the upper part of the ring, making a small intend in the ground from the length and power of your fall. Your body seared with more intense pain, bones were definitely broken, but by some grace you were still barely conscious.

After catching some amount of breath, you looked around. With as much information as you could process at the moment, it looked like you had landed on some old battle ground near the edge of the ring. At least some luck was still on your side. With one good arm and leg, you clawed and crawled your way across the red brimstone ground, leaving a trail of golden blood, before finding a pile of stones that were set in just a way that you could hide. Probably something someone had built for cover at some point.

With the last of your energy, you crawled into the hole, took off your robe, and stuffed it under your head as your felt yourself suck into unconsciousness.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Just wanted to let everyone know that this one will have less of a back and forth between Lucifer and y/n's point of view, it will still have that, but it will be a lot more focused on y/n until they meet. Also it might take a little before they meet, but we will get there! Let me know if you want added to the taglist!

Taglist:

@sapphireravensworld @cimadreamer @froggybich @randomstranger703 @tiredlillypad @melday0105 @btsgangleader @hawke1917 @gbshdhd @pandaquick @littleladydemon @wonderlandangelsposts @hulyenl @willow404

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #lucifer x y/n #lucifer fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #slow burn #angst #punching-pentagrams

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inbloomwriting · 4 months

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Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked.

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be.

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!”

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.”

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.”

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on.

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for.

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.”

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?”

He has a point, she has to give him that.

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.”

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.”

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool?

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?!

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?”

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips.

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?”

“Like two weeks ago.”

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!”

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.”

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst.

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.”

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one.

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?”

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.”

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.”

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.”

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying.

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks.

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.”

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.”

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.”

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?”

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.”

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.”

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?”

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.”

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.”

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture.

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.”

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?”

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though.

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen.

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does.

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?”

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.”

“You feeling alright?”

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.”

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.”

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.”

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.”

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!”

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love.

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!”

“Can you feel that?”

“No, not yet.”

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.”

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks.

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?”

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah, it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.”

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths.

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying.

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise.

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me.

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.”

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.”

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?”

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while.

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant.

Again with the life and the plans.

“I’m fucking nervous.”

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.”

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.”

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.”

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.”

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself.

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.”

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.”

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).”

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.”

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.”

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.”

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department.

“Jamie, welcome home.”

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).”

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.”

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.”

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety.

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones.

“This is surreal.”

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently.

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really.

“Do they know?”

“Does who know?”

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.”

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation.

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.”

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?”

“What about her?”

“Is she — are you — how are things?”

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.”

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.”

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.”

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.”

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.”

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?”

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.”

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x y/n #inbloomwriting #jamie tartt x fem!reader #everythingtomefic #ted lasso tv show fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt imagines

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dilutedconfusion · 5 months

Text

The Nameless

SoftYandere!Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 1) MDNI 18+

CREDITS TO @likeeliterallywtf for requesting this!!! She gave me an amazing request with a detailed description of what she wanted so hopefully I’m doing it justice!!

Summary: Kid sees you for the first time and is stunned. Melting into a cacophony of insistent need to have you. He’s had a rough past with woman before but this felt different. Or at least that was the excuse he was going to use to have you.

Warnings: YANDERE TROPE!!! There is no explicit warnings in this first part but THERE WILL BE. So I would advise not reading this if topics such as mental & physical abuse, blood/gore, and just an overall unhealthy relationship bother you! Of course you can still read this first part if you want just be wary of any of the other chapters.

Word Count: 4.4k

The clawing feeling that Kid felt inside when he first saw you wasn’t something he had expected.

The insistent pumping of his warm blood could be felt like a flame across every inch of his skin. Tying his stomach in knots and melting his marrow as he just stood there like a deer in headlights to watch you from afar. Expecting a glance. Expecting a conversation. Expecting your blood to boil with passion forcing you to run into his arms.

I’m a handsome guy. I’m the future pirate king. I could get any woman I want. But if you impress me enough...then maybe I just want you. This thought dripped like honey on his mind. Enveloping every crevice and stem with just this all-encompassing thought of you.

He could nearly taste you on his tongue. He could nearly feel your hair dance between his fingers. He could nearly see you smiling at him shyly as you spoke to him. A bright red dusted across your cheeks like the slow sweet blossoming of a flower. A flower he wanted to encase in glass and delicately touch whenever the urge hit him.

But just like the glass a wall of space separated the two of you. A gruesome space separating you from the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He just couldn’t wait to tell you the good news of his arrival.

“Earth to Kid! What the fuck man? Are you even listening to me right now?”

As if cold water had splashed over his face Kid's body jumped a little as he stood. The muscles in his neck tightened spastically. His eyes were weary and his hands nearly vibrated as he slowly came out of his stupor.

“Yeah..yeah uh what..what were you saying?” It was almost physically painful for Kid to take his eyes off you. To give even Heat an ounce of his attention. The slight sheen of sweat gracing his brow got swept back into his hair as he adjusted his goggles a bit.

“Since you’ve been blanking out everything for the last 10 minutes I’ll tell you what’s happening. We’re going shopping right now. Buying some ingredients before we head home. Look I get it, you hate shopping. But at least help me instead of just standing there.” Heat's voice was aggravated and low. A whisper of words meant to reach Kid's ears whilst trying not to reach others.

Kid didn’t particularly understand why Heat seemed so reserved. It was just a crowd. Just a herd of unmentionables moving through the open market. The sun oppressively beat down on the civilians. Their awkward and wayward gawking at the aforementioned pirates wasn’t something new to Kid. But if he wanted anyone to pay attention to him, to look at him at all, he was hoping it’d be you. Yet his hopes were not being met just yet.

You seemed to be staring out just like him on the other side of the street. Thanks to Kids' tall height he could see you past the bobbing heads walking by. No glaring sunlight or bright colors or the vendor's canopy fluttering above him would steal away his attention. Everything seemed to center on you as if it was where his eyes naturally glided.

Side pressed against the tagged and rough alleyway wall you stood. A thin hood covering the softness of your face in a deep shadow. The rest of your clothes seemed worn. You’re canvas pants shredded in a few places along with a rough patch of what looked like dirt on the calf. They led down right to a pair of shit-kicker boots slightly scuffed in some places. The deep red shawl laced with the hood itself covering up the loose black t-shirt hugging your torso. Though compared to the deep rift of darkness in that alleyway nearly swallowing you up, he could still see you crystal clear.

Maybe she’s just trying to stay in the shade. Beat the heat.

There was a keen look in your eye that fluttered over the passersby’s in the street and vendors at their stands. It was sharp and antagonizing. A slight snarl quirked at your lower lip.

You were looking for something or moreover, you were looking for an opportunity.

A thief are we now?

“KID!” A loud thud of pain erupted onto Kid's shin. Making his jaw get even tighter if that was even humanly possible.

“What the hell man? Don’t fucking kick me!” Kid's cheeks became noticeably flushed. Trying to mask his anger but also trying to appease the shop vendor to think that the two of them were at least partially normal.

Heats hands were still occupied with filling a small crate with supplies. Cans, jars, and a load of nonperishables slowly getting jenga-d in there. His sad-looking eyes not even sparing a glance towards Kid. “Quit being creepy and help me pack this shit up or I’m making you carry everything.”

Those words caught in Kids' ears like a fish on a hook. His lips flattened out into something far more ashamed. “I’m not being creepy. You don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Heat chewed on the inside of his mouth. Holding himself back from saying something too stupid but glowering at him regardless. “Well I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing and it sure as hell doesn’t involve helping me. But since you wanna just gawk, you’re carrying the crate.”

“No the fuck I’m not”

“Yes the fuck you are.” Heat stare didn’t falter in the slightest. Sure this big red-headed brute was his captain but he was also his friend. A friend that just so happened to be a bit strange at times. Heat knew not to try and change him but he also knew to not let Kids habits get in the way of their work.

“Fine” Kid grumbled while sliding the full crate over towards him. Heat then promptly picked up some bags as they were sitting loosely on the floor. Kid hoisted the crate up easily and held it snugly under his right arm. Following Heat in a slow meandering pace out into the street.

Where is she? His eyes glazed over the spot where you once were. That full figure of yours is now gone from his sight. Heat of course was walking way too damn fast. Already a good bit ahead of him and siphoning through the crowd.

Fucking hell where is she? He made no move to walk faster and just scanned the crowd in utter desperation. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your red hood bounding through the streets.

Heat of course gave a wayward glance back towards Kid. His abnormally tall height made it easy to spot him along with the red hair of course. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, coming to a stop in the middle of the street until Kid met up with him.

“Should I just leave you here? I want to get home man it's hot as hell out here.” Heat's voice rasped out in a solemn whisper. Watching the way Kids eyes seemingly couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. Like the rest of the crowd held the promise of wealth and fame if he just looked hard enough.

Or it held another girl like always.

“I’m...I’m coming. I don’t want to have to hold a stupid crate when I…” Kid trailed off. Rubbing his prosthetic hand through his hair as he wistfully imagined the first conversation he might have with you.

She is going to swoon for me. Look up at me with those pretty eyes just begging to be mine. I have to be perfect. I need to show her what I am. What I can provide.

Heat had waited for Kid to finish his sentence but he never did. The redhead just chewed on his lips and looked off into the distance with a thousand-yard stare.

“God if I knew any better I would think little hearts should be floating around you right now. You gotta control yourself, man. Let’s just get home and then you can come back...and do whatever.” Heat stepped next to Kid's side. Trying to persuade him to keep walking as if he were a child.

“There’s no fucking hearts floating around me. It ain’t like that.” Kid snapped his head towards Heat with a snarl. Taking long board steps forward in a stomping motion to get a move on.

“Yeah? Well if that’s true then water must not be wet huh?.” Heat again gnawed on his cheek like always. His sarcasm was raw but his willingness to say more was seemingly gone.

“Shut up! I just don’t want to leave and then I don’t see her again. What if she’s leaving tonight? What if she doesn't live here?” That very thought made Kid's heart skip. Still trying to take notice of every passerby on the street hoping and praying one of them was you.

“So it is about a girl huh? Knew it. It’s fine if she leaves because what does it matter? You could pull someone else or go to a brothel like the rest of us.” Heat cocked his head up at Kid. A wry smile pulled at his lips, or at least the sort of half smile that his sad face could manage.

“I know that asshole. But I’m allowed to want what I want. Don’t judge me for being particular about the chicks I pick up.” Kid scoffed a bit and looked away from Heat. That smile did little to pick up his mood. He began walking even a bit faster. Urgency on his mind as the heels of his boots clicked against the cobblestone road.

“When have I ever cared about what you do with women, Kid? I literally don’t give a shit unless you start acting weird and not doing what you’re supposed to.” There was a slightly serious tone under the natural wave of relaxation that Heat often held. Kid has been infatuated with a few girls in the past few years. Picking them up just to string them along for a month max before leaving them on some island. It was...a questionable choice in his and some of the other crew mate's minds. Though if he was being honest it particularly annoyed him.

He gets hung up. He gets what he wants. He realizes it is not what he wants. He gets mad at the rest of the world for it. What a fun cycle about to start again. Heat nearly rolled his eyes at his thoughts. Gripping the bag handles a bit tighter as he offhandedly glances up at Kid once more.

“All I did was not help you buy and pack shit? Are you seriously complaining about that?” Kid couldn’t particularly see the logic in why Heat was complaining. To him this was simple. To him, he didn’t remember about those handfuls of girls he’d been maybe halfway committed to. It felt real and full and passionate at the start. But then they break his little heart by being completely different than what he expected.

This girl doesn’t seem like that though. She’ll be different. She’ll be perfect. She needs me. I can feel it.

“I’m complaining because I know how you are. You take things too far sometimes.” Heat mumbled his words a bit. Trying to cautiously weasel around the big elephant in the room that was Kid's love language.

Kid, though emotionally unintelligent as he is, still caught on to how Heat was avoiding specifics. He wanted to know what his crew mate thought of him. He wanted to wear it on his chest and feel the piercing sting it might cause.“Too far as in what?” Rolled off his tongue with an emphasis on the what. Eyeballing Heat as they slowly made their way out of the town. A rural glance between here and the sea upon them.

Heat paused for a moment, biting his lip in thought as he tried to piece together the best way to put it. “You..seriously don’t remember that blonde chick? The one that you...” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Not because what happened particularly bothered him. But Kid…just seemed different in the worst possible way the last time he had one of these so-called partners.

“Oh, you mean that. Whatever. She was pushing me to do it. It was practically her fault. I don’t like getting taken for granted and I don’t like my women looking at anyone else. She was just a fling and I’m fucking regretting it.” Kid once again scoffed. Brushing that whole incident aside like it was just dirt on his shoulder.

It wasn’t just nothing though. I’ve never seen him like that before. Heat's worry continued onto the present day. A day he was hoping wouldn’t be another chance for Kid to sink his teeth into someone.“It didn’t seem like a fling at the time...”

“You don’t know how it was! I’m saying she was worthless from the start and I’m fucking right about that. I didn’t take it too far, I took it exactly where it needed to go.” Defensive as always Kid couldn't see his actions as wrong. Heat knew they weren’t good people and he didn’t expect Kid to be a saint.

But what if he gets worse?

“So...are you planning on being the same with this girl?” The question was simple and didn’t point blame at Kid. He hoped Kid would come up with a resounding no. Saying he would take it slow, maybe test the waters a bit more before diving head first. If not for the girl then at least for his own sanity.

“She was pretty. She seemed interesting and there’s not a single doubt in my mind telling me she wouldn’t love me. I’m allowed to go for things that seem good, so quit being jealous.” The strong air of confidence that Kid held was average. He was confident in each and every single syllable that slipped off his tongue. Heat could tell there was no changing that but sometimes he wished his captain wouldn’t be so...persistent.

“I’m not jealous. Like I said, I literally don’t care what you do, I just don’t want it bothering the rest of the crew.” Heat averted the blame for Kids attitude towards him. Shaking his head dismissively as he walked a bit faster to finally approach their ship lined at the docks.

Heat was never much of a man who needed sexual pleasure to get by but Kid definitely was. So it didn’t make sense why Kid thought he was jealous. But Heat supposed Kid would even turn a scorned eye at Killer if he touched his ‘toys’.

“Well, you sound jealous. So don’t be catching looks when I come home with my woman later.” Kid eyed the few crew mates hanging out on deck. The sun slowly dipping into the watery depths of the evening gave him hope that he would have you soon.

Maybe even before midnight if I’m lucky.

Heat cast an accusatory yet playful smile towards Kid.“What are you going to do? Kidnap her? You’re sounding like a creep Kid.” There was a sense of worry in his voice though he tried to laugh through it regardless. Because it simply had to be a joke or else he wouldn’t be laughing.

I mean he would never do anything like that…would he?

Kid's body instantly paused. Leaving Heat to do a double-take and suddenly stop a bit ahead of him. He turned around towards the redhead with a weary glance. Noticing the piercing gaze that shot through him like a pistol.

Resolutions and ravenous tendencies dripped out of the hellhole that was Kids painted mouth.“I am a creep. I’ll be anything and fucking everything I need to be to get what I deserve. And I deserve her.”

__________

Fuck.

With sprinted exhaustion, each breath became a fiery roar of necessity. Legs close to throbbing from the amount of hits they had taken. A marred bruise turned to blood against your thigh. Each pounding step kept you unbalanced and staggered as you ran as fast as you could.

“Get that fucking thief!”

Shit. There was no time to realize what was happening until someone had slammed a stool down on your thigh. It had sent you toppled over ready to take a few sparse kicks in the spine body before you scurried upwards. Nearly falling face first as you barely managed to climb out of a window and out into the alley.

Now here you were running with a decent amount of money and scraps of food hitting your back. Thudding against your already sore spine you desperately clung to the makeshift tarp you were using as a bag. Your eyes skidded along the road in front of you as you made a sudden and sharp turn into another alleyway. It was slightly more crowded then the last and filled with exactly what you needed.

Perfect. It was a last resort in your mind but you were glad you had thought of it before stealing from that noble's house. You had a way to get into their town connected to the far more poor and dangerous area you were from near the shore.

A water flow system that brought water from the lake down through their city and back into the ocean. Of course, it was guarded on every inch of that huge wall that separated the rich from the degenerates. But you knew how to get in and had for a while now.

The sounds of racing footsteps behind you made your nerves go into overdrive. Hands shaking in a mix of fear and excitement from the rush. You quickly darted into the crowded alleyway. Running behind some large dumpsters you had pushed as a barricade into the middle of the road. Just a small enough slit to let you squeeze through their metal encasings just filled to the brim with rotting food and something a little extra.

Maybe if these dumbasses behind me had a lick of sense they would smell the gas in the air.

There was about a quart of alcohol sprinkled over the perfect kindling that was trash. Along with a very small and homemade piece of dynamite and a half-assed Molotov cocktail just to make it a bit more...well what would you call it?

Eyebrow scorching. Finally, these bastards will look about as ugly as their insides do.

You were quick despite your shaking hands. Picking up the Molotov cocktail you had hidden behind some trash bags. Eyes fluttering down the alley to spot the hoard of angry guards you had roused closing in on you. With quick succession, you threw your bag of goodies a good 20 feet away. Flicking out a lighter tucked into your pocket and walking backward from the men.

A devilish smile couldn’t help but quirk itself at your lips. The darkness that surrounded you now getting filled with the faint spark of light turned that turned into a flame. Butane hitting your senses just so you can breathe it in a bit deeper.

This is going to be satisfying.

You pressed that small flame against the dry rag sticking out of the bottle. Taking no time to throw it as hard as you can directly into the dumpsters.

“BURN IN HELL FUCKERS!” You yelled, a crazed laugh shaking in your chest as you heard the ceremonious crash of glass which of course quickly escalated into huge balls of flames.

The boom that resounded through your stomach and skull was nearly climax-inducing. Your body struggled to fall back as you took in the contrasting flames now filling up the once-dark alleyway with a piercing light. The roofs and windows of the nearby building instantly set on fire. The dumpster now jagged lines of half-melted metal barfing out trash onto the street.

You had shaken your small portion of the world yet again. A small triumph amongst an endless sea of crimes that were your playground.

Their screams took hold of your attention long after you had been staring at those rolling balls of flame. Backing up towards your bag of goodies you listened to the people panic. Trying to find a way to put out the fires the owners of the houses on each side of you called up yet another round of authorities.

Welp, that went accordingly. You walked up to a manhole cover hidden behind a few cardboard boxes you had placed. Picking up the heavy metal with a grunt you slid it over. The men were still trying to see past the dumpsters. Some of them were weaving their way around the buildings to make it to the other side. But you were already two feet underground before they spotted you. Every civilian's eyes were on the fire and every guard just a moment too late.

__________

The walk home was damp and dark. A small cement trail perfect for a brisk stroll. An underwater river that made up the water system of the city to add to the ambiance. A few rats following you along to keep you company.

It was gross and it was dark and it felt like you.

You had been feeding these rather plump rats for a while now. At first, they nearly bit your fingers off but now the little guys couldn’t help but find your light inviting. The small pitter-patter of their feet across the cement and piping brought you comfort despite being alone.

“Here you go you guys.” You mumbled softly. Quickly breaking off little pieces of bread for each rat as they scurried up to your feet. Standing up on their hind legs as their little hands greatly accepted the bread.

It was a ritual at this point. Like paying the toll on a bridge except you were underground and the toll was entirely self-inflicted. Though the rats clearly appreciated it or so you’d like to think. Their black glassy eyes just near a smile and their quiet squeaks a thank you. Letting you scratch their soft tummies before they hurried into the nooks and crannies that were their home.

A home that was akin to yours as soon as you made your way out of these tunnels.

We’re not so different, you and I.

It was a bit difficult getting out of these tunnels because it required nearly getting swept up in a strong current. A smaller cement walkway slanted down towards the river where all lines of water conjoined back together. So you had to tie your bag to your pants. Looping it through your belt and leaning forward as far as you could go without slipping into the water.

The ceiling above was curved and made out of scratchy brick. You’re ass pressed against the wall as you side shuffled towards the light of night. The cool milky sparkles cast upon the rushing water only halfway distracting you from the gross spiderwebs you sometimes ran across.

Eventually, you made your way out. Quiet as a mouse you pressed you’re back to the tall wall separating the towns. Eyeing a forest line off to your right that would ensure nobody would spot you. Of course, the guards up top swung their blinding lamps and guns at anything that got too close. So you had to hide in the shrubbery that lined the walls. Thorns pricking into your skin though you made sure to wear nothing but long selves as you hurried your way towards home.

Thank god that's over with. You slipped into the forest, finding the trail you had carved out to lead you through the darkness. Your home was pressed against an outcropping of rocks. Wood, tarps, and thatch make up the cabin you belong to. One that was made with inexperience but love.

Walking up to the door you let out a little huff of air. Dusting off the dirt on your clothes before grabbing the handle and walking on through. The cabin was dark inside as you started slipping off your boots. Setting the loot bag down on the ground and bending over to unlace your shoes before kicking them off lazily.

Your thigh was of course still hurting like a bitch even if it had stopped bleeding. Your spine basically imprinted with the few kicks they managed to land on you.

A soft sound caught your ears and made you halt. Noticing the small sliver of light coming from underneath the door to your kitchen.

Did I leave that on? No, I always make sure to turn it off. But maybe I didn’t?

Fear struck you like lightning. You’re body halting as if it had been frozen before you forced yourself to move. Carefully craning your neck and pressing your ear to the wall. There were no loud sounds but you could tell there was some faint shuffling. As if someone was walking around in there looting the place.

I’m getting fucking robbed. Nobody knows I live out here! Did someone trail me to my place?

What once was fear became rage. Grinding your teeth unconsciously as you made your way over to the hallway closet. You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Clicking the door open and grabbing out a stolen rifle. Pressing the hilt of it into your armpit you got yourself ready. Aiming it steady as you cautiously walked up to the door. You gave yourself a second to breathe and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before quickly opening the door. Letting it slam across the wall as you peered into the lit kitchen.

Eyebrows knitted as you found a nearly 7-foot-tall man at your stove. His wide back turned to you before he swiftly turned around, a big smile on his rosy face.

“Ah, glad you’re home dear. I’m making you something.” His voice was smooth and warm. The light rasp of his throat and the soft light of a lamp cast across his imposing figure. His amber eyes looked up and down between your confused face and the gun in your hands.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Growled out of you. Hands steady as you pointed the gun right at his head. Not daring to take a step closer from the doorway.

With a grunt, he pressed his lower back up against the counter and crossed his hands over his wide chest. The corners of his smile turning more sarcastic around its edges. “Making you dinner that’s what. Though I personally don’t think rifles and pasta mix. But whatever makes my doll happy.”

A/N: So basically Kid is weird as hell. A walking talking red flag if you will. Dude just stared at y/n and was like “Yep…she literally needs me”. AFTER LITERALLY NOT SAYING SINGLE WORD TO HER. JUST DELUSION. Hope you like him like this 💞

#eustass kid #one piece #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #kid pirates #one piece x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader #heat one piece #yandere #writing trope #toxic love #toxic relationship #18+ mdni

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alice-angel12x · 7 months

Text

Born Of Unknown Stardust

Chapter 2

summary: The angles formed the world and all mortal life from dust. One day from the unknown the angels came across bizarre dust, that seemed to have a will of its own. It refused to be molded and shaped to the angel's will. So they cast it aside, till a certain angel got his creative hands on it.

(bittersweet story)

<-Part 1/ part 3 ->

---------------------------------------------------------

150 years Later

Yuu quickly runs through the halls, searching for a place to hide. A flapping of wings was getting closer. Finding an open room, Yuu quickly hides under the desk. Staying as quiet as possible, as the sound of fast-beating wings zipped by the room. Yet Yuu knew better to stay there for long.

Sadly they were no longer the size of a duckling, but the size of a young toddler. So hiding was a lot harder.

So not wanting to get caught, Yuu quickly dove under a pile of sheets and clothes. Soon the chaser returned, and footsteps could be heard.

"Where are you Yuu? I know you're in here?" Lucifer said as he took his sweet time. "You can't hide forever."

Yuu covered their mouth to muffle their giggles. Lucifer chuckled to himself as he heard them. But decided to humor them for a bit, as he quickly looked under the desk. To obviously not find anyone.

"Alright, I guess no one is in here. Where did you go?" Lucifers said as he slowly left the room.

Yuu, the clever little tot they were, knew he was up to something. So burning up some sheets into a ball, and using some magic. Shot the sheet out the door, letting it float like someone was running under the sheets. Lucifer quickly gave chase, as Yuu ran in the opposite direction.

As Lucifer gave chase to the decoy, he heard the small pitter-pater of feet behind him.

"Hey! You Little Trickster, I got you know!" Lucifer chuckled as he swiftly changed direction and quickly caught the young tot.

Yuu squealed and laughed as Lucifer began to relentlessly tickle the child.

"You had me chasing you all morning, when I told you to clean your room. Will you clean your room now?" Lucifer asked as he continued to prod at Yuu.

"I Promise!!!" Yuu gasped from all the tickling.

Yuu giggled as they finally slipped out of Lucifer's hold when something caught their eye. Just beyond the pearly gates, the malted surface of the newly formed earth could be seen. From the window, Yuu stared in awe as Lucifer watched on.

"Da? Did the elders let you join the project yet?" Yuu asked.

"Nope. Still too radical my ideas. Are what they tell me," Lucifer sighed as he picked Yuu up.

"Hmm. Can we make our own earth?" Yuu asked.

"Our own earth? Hmm, maybe. But what would you put on this earth?" Lucifer asked.

"I would... I would fill it with Ducks!" Yuu said proudly.

"Ducks? A world full of ducks huh?" He smiles with a chuckle.

"Yeah, an earth of ducks," Yuu smiles. " I can create stuff like you. I can do it."

"Well, small things. You need to be a little stronger than that to make a whole planet. It takes multiple elder angels to form an Earth," Lucifer explained.

"Then I'll just get stronger, you'll teach me. Won't you?" Yuu asked.

"I'll teach you everything I know," Lucifer promised.

---------------

Yuu from then on would practice and study harder than anyone to accomplish their dream. Lucifer watched with pride as they watched Yuu also become a dreamer like him, yet so unique from him as well.

Lucifer watched with pride as Yuu showed off their most recent invention, the aurora machine. The other angels watched in awe as colors danced across the air.

"Da! Da! Did you see?! It worked!" Yuu shouted excitedly as they leaped into Lucifer's arms.

"I think all of heaven is going to see it the aurora continues to stretch across the sky like that," Lucifer smiles as He and Yuu watch the rainbow light show.

"When we make our own Earth, can I fill its skies with Auroras?" Yuu asked with a hopeful smile.

"It will be our planet, so you can fill it with whatever we want," Lucifer smiles.

-----------------

Soon Yuu's craft got more and more ambitious, but being the craft person they were. Most of these amazing inventions looked unassuming at a glance.

One day they created something special, thou to the naked eye it seemed like a regular ceramic jar. They excitedly hurried down to Lucifer's workroom...

.....

Only to see that Lucifer was not there, or anywhere.

"Da? Da!" Yuu called, but their voice echoed throughout the empty house.

Yuu sighed as they realized that Lucifer once more had run off to earth. Ever since the elder's completion of the blue planet, Lucifer would visit the planet. At first, it was every once in and while, then it turned 3 times a month, and before Yuu knew it, Lucifer would be gone for days on end every week. This went on for years

But when he was home, his mind was always elsewhere. Sadly for Yuu, they were too young to understand that their Father was love-struck. Yuu would see him eager at work in his workshop on the few days he remained at home.

"Da, check out what I made," Yuu said as they held up the ceramic jar.

"Oh, what a beautiful jar. Just put it on the workbench. I'll make sure to check it out later," Lucifer smiled as he tapped his hand on the table.

"What are you making Da?" Yuu asked as they floated a bit to get a better look.

"O-Oh it's umm Nothing!" Lucifer panicked slightly as he hid it from Yuu's sight.

Yuu only caught a glimpse, seeing something red.

"Is it for Earth? I thought the Elders said to leave it alone," Yuu pointed out innocently.

"Y-yeah, but I... Umm. It's. It's gonna be something amazing. They'll see," Lucifer said as he looked down at the red fruit with fondness. "She thinks so," He mumbles softly.

"Huh?" Yuu asked with a confused expression. "Da?"

"Yes, Bud/sweety?" Lucifer said, snapping out of his daydream.

"Can you promise me something?" Yuu asked nervesly.

"Of course, What is it?" Lucifer asked as he kneeled to Yuu's level.

“Promise me… You won’t do anything that will get you in trouble,” Yuu said. “Don’t do something that will put you in timeout.”

"Yuu I'm not going to get in-" "Please Da!" Yuu interrupted.

The Angel could see tears of worry begin well up in Yuu's star-filled eyes. Lucifer smiled slightly, slightly conflicted, but promised Yuu to avoid trouble.

“Alright, but it’s your bedtime isn’t it?” Lucifer smiled as he picked up Yuu.

“Ugh Da! No bedtime," Yuu laughs as they try to wiggle out of Lucifer's hold.

After a bit of a playful struggle, Lucifer managed to get his energetic tot into bed.

"There," Lucifer gasps as he catches his breath. combing his back into place.

"Were's wrinkle?" Yuu asked as they looked for their stuffed toy.

"Oh, we can't forget Wrinkle," Lucifer smiles as he picks up Wrinkle the Duck plushy. He smiles as he watches Yuu get comfy as they snuggle their duck plushy.

Lucifer leans down and gives one last warm hug, as Yuu did return.

"I love you Da," Yuu says sleepily. "No trouble stuff."

"No trouble stuff, and I love you too," Lucifer said with one last squeeze.

With a yawn sleep soon took over Yuu as Lucifer gave a kiss on the forehead. Turned off the lights he quietly slipped out of the room. When Yuu knew that Lucifer was mostly heading out, they pulled the drawstring from Wrinkles back. Activating the music box inside.

(Song: Waiting in the wings reprise. From Tangled)

🎶"Guess by now I oughta know my place. Do your humble duty with a smile on your face," Yuu sang quietly. 🎶"Father knows how much I love him. But he's always doing other things. So I'll keep waiting in the wings."🎶

Yuu slowly slid out of bed and floated over to the window to see Lucifer sneaking out. Most definitely looking to go to Earth once more.

🎶"I crave so much. And yet I kept on waiting. One glance, one touch. And I just kept on waiting,"🎶 Yuu continued as they watched Lucifer open a portal to Earth.

"🎶And when it came, it came with strings. So I kept waiting in the wings,🎶" Yuu sang as a tear ran down their cheek. It's so tough pretending it didn't hurt.

____________________________________________________

Continue? Angst enough yet 😏

Masterlist Here

#luficer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: Fire

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

Word count: 4.4 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for the likes, reblogs, and comments! I'm really happy you guys are enjoying this story! This chapter is based on the beginning of the manga "Disney Twisted Wonderland - Episode of Heartslaby

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You stand on the edge of a cliff. Below you, your boots leave deep impressions in the dark green grass, and the loose parts of your wet clothes dance with the violent wind.

A storm. It was supposed to be a thunderstorm, but somehow it turned into a powerful hurricane.

You can't see what's in front of you, just three silhouettes — on the opposite sides of you are two people you believe to be male. They're screaming, but not a sound is coming out of their mouths.

But there's a third figure in front of you, a terrifying gigantic creature emerging from a whirlpool created by the pale blue sea.

Elongated limbs with claw-like fingers extend into oblivion, a set of pointy teeth form a psychotic smile that opens and closes as if it is laughing or talking, and sharp spikes sprout from its head, forming a crooked crown. But what scares you the most are its empty, void-like eyes. Even though the creature is shrouded in darkness, you can feel it staring at you. Not with anger or hunger, but… with curiosity.

“Kneel, for before you rises the king of gods!”

The gray light in front of you casts a shadow on the monster, making it appear ethereal, even though its form is that of what you would find in your worst nightmares.

“Thine presence in this world…”

Before the voice can finish its sentence, you awaken.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Everything around you is silent. Small particles of dust dance around your body, landing softly on your hair, eyelids, and chest. You feel dizzy as your eyes open and confusion sets in as you find yourself surrounded by a terrifying darkness. It's so dark that you can only see your own hands and shoes and nothing beyond.

The piercing headache from earlier has now subsided to a mild throbbing, a reminder of the voices that once plagued your thoughts, begging you to reveal your hidden desires. Under your hands you feel a velvety surface, like that of felt, gently scratching against your palms. Your back feels warm, but the rest of your body is strangely cold.

"Where am I?" you whisper weakly, raising a hand to reach into the void, only to come in contact with an icy, solid surface a few inches away from your body. Moving the rest of your limbs, you try to measure how much space you have, only to find yourself constantly bumping into a steel-like material.

You feel enclosed, as if you have been placed inside a box. And suddenly, a flood of memories comes back, the scenes flash like a movie as you remember the horses, the missing people, the hearse carrying three coffins... wait a minute.

"Am I... dead?"

No way! You can still feel temperatures and sensations, so you must still be alive. But just in case, you decide to double-check, as your hand immediately flies to your neck and quickly finds your carotid artery. You breathe a small sigh of relief as you feel the pulse of your heart beating against your fingers, but your stomach drops as you reach a secondary and more terrifying conclusion.

You are going to be buried alive!?

Panic runs through your veins as your hands fly over to the object on top of your body, and you begin to push with all your might. Damn it! You don't want to die like this, you thought your death would at least be peaceful and in your sleep, surrounded by your loved ones or your precious and extremely expensive figurines. Instead, you probably got run over by a horse and are now being buried alive by accident or worse, on purpose!

There’s something strange though, as you don’t feel any pain. You were most likely crushed beneath an animal that on average weighs around 900 to a thousand pounds, followed then by a vehicle that’s carrying three coffins. Yet you feel completely normal, minus the small headache. No body pain, no broken bones, not even a single scratch. Just what is going on!?

But your thoughts come to a screeching halt as you feel your hands push the lid open with surprising ease. After applying a little more force, the lid slams against something, the loud sound making you cringe. Light finally pours into the small, darkened space and your eyes squint, taking a while to adjust to the brightness.

"Holy shit! Someone else managed to open the 'door' by themselves!" you hear hushed and surprised whispers outside your box, eerily reminiscent of the voices that plagued your mind earlier, but thankfully not coming from inside your head. ‘Okay, time to find out who the hell wanted to bury me alive.’

You stumble out of the space, your bag smacking the side of your thigh as you accidentally miscalculated the distance between the floor and where you're standing, but fortunately, you don't fall. The whispering grows even louder, as if your appearance stirs something in the room. The slightly warm air from the room brushes against your cold skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you open your eyes to examine your surroundings.

An enormous glass chandelier hangs over your head, its warm light reflecting off the huge mirror that strangely floats below. Elegant curtains are placed in front of the tall windows with intricate designs showing the stars that decorate the dark sky, and in their reflection, you can see the flames of the small candles softly dancing.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the hundreds of coffins floating softly around the mirror, the lid in yours fully open revealing a burgundy-colored interior. Were you drugged? No, maybe you're still dreaming! Nothing like this is physically possible unless you have landed in some sort of simulation, or perhaps you somehow ended up inside an elaborate theme park.

As you turn your head around to see the source of the whispering, you can feel the color drain from your face as your mouth hangs open in pure shock and your stomach lurches. Sitting in rows of pews there’s a sea of people in front of you, wearing elaborate black and purple cloaks that obscure their features. “Is this a cult!?” you can’t help but shout at the scene in front of you, quickly backing away from them as if they were a group of predators. Your outburst causes some figures in the crowd to snicker and snort at your comment, others taking out their phones or using their figures to point at you.

“Honestly, you children are very impatient! Coming through the door of your own accord is practically unheard of”, a voice speaks in an exasperated tone, as you hear the sound of a cane approaching. Instinctively, you turn in the direction of the voice and laugh almost sarcastically when you see the person standing in front of you. You're too tired and confused to even question what's going on.

What the hell is that man wearing? Two glowing orbs are staring right at you from behind a crow mask, the over-the-top feather coat completely ruining the rest of his expensive-looking outfit. You wonder how long it takes this man to get dressed and undressed, given the amount of accessories he carries.

"Hello? Are you listening, young-", out of the corner of your eye, the crow man slowly approaches, golden claw rings shining in the warm light of the chandelier as a hand reaches out to you. Out of instinct to get away from this man, your hand quickly reaches into your pocket before coming in contact with a small rectangular object.

Driven by pure adrenaline and desperation to get out of this place, you pull out said object and point it at the man, who recoils in shock. Wasting no time, you turn the device on and press the button, a flash of light followed by a crackling sound has the man emitting a short shriek. "One more step and you'll be eating 50,000 volts of pure electricity, my friend."

"What is wrong with you two!? First, you break the door and get out before being called, and now you two are threatening me with weapons!" Two? Who else is he talking about? The man steps aside, revealing the other person he was referring to, a young man holding a large covered object while pointing it at the crow man.

Your breath catches as you instantly recognize the undercut haircut and piercing eyes. You briefly recall his grandmother's screams and the CCTV footage of him exiting the gym before it cuts to black still very fresh in your mind.

"Yuuken Enma?" you whisper his name in disbelief, it feels unreal to see him in the flesh after spending so much time discussing his disappearance.

Hearing his name, the Kendo student turns in your direction, his eyes widening in surprise, and he opens his mouth to speak, but he resumes his defensive position as soon as the crow man moves again.

"Please, both of you, calm down, I mean no harm!" he raises his hands in surrender, and you loosen the grip on your taser slightly. You have tons of questions that desperately need to be answered, and it doesn't look like the crow man has any intention of harming you.

To be honest, he looks even paler than when you first saw him, so it's best to interrogate him before he shuts down and refuses to answer any questions.

"No offense, dude, but you're suspicious as hell," you suddenly find Yuuken standing at your side, still holding what you assume to be his Kendo sword. When did he get here? You weren't the only one who didn't notice the sudden movement, as the crow man stares back and forth from where the Kendo student once stood to you.

Anyway, you don't have time for this, you want to get out of this bizarre place as soon as possible. "Where are we?" you begin, getting straight to the point. At your question, the crow man relaxes, his shoulders straightening as he clears his throat. "I see, you two aren't quite lucid yet. Ah! Must be the effects of transportation fogging your brains," he whispers the last part, a pointy finger scratching his chin.

You and Yuuken exchange a confused look. With a sigh, the crow closes his eyes before continuing. "Very well, let me explain. You're currently at Night Raven College, a magic school in Twisted Wonderland. Here, students with exceptional magic gather and are trained to become the best magicians in the world," he explains, proudly puffing out his chest like a bird as he finishes his explanation.

On the contrary, you and Yuuken are completely lost, the explanation making no sense to any of you. "Ma... gic... As in the type you see in an anime or a movie?" the black-haired boy asks innocently, his eyes widening in shock. You can hear the previously silent "students" now laughing softly at the two of you, mockery evident in their voices as they whisper between each other. Fuck this, you're so over this sick joke!

"I don't know what kind of crazy cult you're running here, but we want nothing to do with it!" you yell, this time tightening your grip on the taser. Even though you're speaking on behalf of Yuuken, you can guarantee that he's also incredibly disturbed by what's going on here.

"Well, you're here because the Mirror of Darkness" — the crow-man points to the giant floating mirror in the middle of the room — "has recognized your magical abilities. You were picked up by a carriage, weren't you?" you instantly remember the panic that ran through you as you watched the horses run towards you. That thing going so fast was supposed to pick you up?

You slowly nod. "I see! Now that we're done clearing up any questions, it's time for the entrance ceremony to begin!" his tone suddenly changes to a more cheerful one and the crow man begins to walk away with a slight bounce in his step. Millions of questions run through your mind, but his nonchalant reaction makes you even more angry.

"Wait a damn minute! We were never even informed of this decision! Our families must be so worried, we suddenly just disappeared out of the blue!" you yell angrily, while Yuuken nods fervently at your side. "Yes! Besides, the two of us can't even use magic!" This sentence seems to silence the entire room. Suddenly, the student's eyes feel like bullets as they dig into your back and neck, staring at you with scrutiny or surprise.

"What did you say?" the crow man stops and turns to look at you with a puzzled expression on his face. Is this man on drugs? No one can use magic!

Fortunately, Yuuken has grown tired of the conversation and prepares to leave, swinging his Kendo sword over his right shoulder and grabbing the strap of his gym bag with his free hand. "This is pointless! Pembroke and I have important things to do, and our families must be worried. So excuse us," you're surprised he knows your last name since the two of you never really interacted.

But you don't pay much attention to it, giving the crow man a nod before turning off your taser and stowing it in your bag as you follow Yuuken down the large corridor. The whispers of the "students" now turn into full conversations, expressing their disbelief that the two of you would just walk away from a "once in a lifetime opportunity", as one of them put it.

Yeah, right... being kidnapped from your hometown to suddenly wake up in a coffin with bizarre special effects decorating a gothic-looking room, and having a cult leader with furry tendencies dressed like a crow tell you that you're in a school where they can teach you magic. Ha! ‘A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, my ass.’

Behind you, you hear a gasp before a pair of footsteps quickly approach the two of you.“W-wait just a moment! Let’s all calm down and–”

BAM!

The sound of breaking glass frightens everyone in the room, shocked gasps and quiet screams can be heard as everyone turns to face the source of the sound. The window behind the mirror now has a huge hole in the middle of it. Shards of crystal fall at your feet, but what scares you most is the creature that has caused such a scene.

A rather large gray cat with blue flames sprouting from its ears and a tattered black and white ribbon tied around its neck stands proudly on its hind legs. Its right paw reaches to the sky, showing a row of sharp claws before it points them at you and Yuuken. "I've been listening to ya!" it, no, he shouts proudly. "Do ya know how many people would kill for a chance to get into this school?"

The little guy walks awkwardly towards you, and you can't help but freak out as you stare at whatever this creature is. "So, tell ya what? If you don't want it, let me enroll in your place!" the cat exclaims happily, a grin spreading across his face. You can hear the crow man complaining about something, but you're too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

"Pembroke," Yuuken's soft voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn to face the young man. A look of pure disbelief is on his face as he points a finger at the creature. "Why is the raccoon talking?" the creature's face contorts into an expression of annoyance, the flames on its ears growing larger in pure rage. "HUH!? I AM NOT A RACCOON! I am the Great Grim, who’s going to become the greatest wizard of all time!"

You’re going to pass out. Laughter can be heard across the room as the "students" criticize and mock the cat's sentences. This angers the creature even more. "Yeah right! A monster becoming a wizard? As if!" a certain row of students to your left roars in laughter at the thought, but you are more concerned with the next words "Grim" says.

“OH YEAH!? I just have to show ya, what I’m made of!” the creature spits a small ball of flames as a test try, before inhaling a large gulp of air and–

FWOOSH!

He’s setting the students on fire!

In a matter of seconds, the entire room is engulfed in blue fire and chaos. The beautiful linen curtains burn quickly, you hear how the chandeliers fall and the metal twists in the flames, and you feel Yuuken take your wrist as he guides you through the sea of people trying to escape the room.

The students scream in panic, and you end up helping several of them extinguish their cloaks that have caught fire. As one boy thanks you under his breath for the help and promptly heads for the door, another guy accidentally runs into you while screaming at the top of his lungs, the tail of his cloak slowly burning.

You don't waste a second before stomping on the fabric, quickly extinguishing the fire as the boy breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the help!" he replies in a cheerful tone, surprising given the situation, short white hair peeking out from under the hood as his red eyes stare up at you. He's quickly led away by another man who carries him to safety.

Your head swivels again as you hear more cries for help, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a strange movement in the background.

One of the coffins floating near the ceiling begins to move violently from side to side. You don't know if it's the heat waves or the smoke that's making you cough and sneeze, but you swear you can see the lid starting to open. You are still unable to move, a blockade has now formed at the entrance of the room, and the students are shouting in panic for those at the front to move.

"I'm not done yet!" Grim continues to spit small balls of fire, not aiming at anything, just showing off the amount of chaos he can cause. Your eyes briefly focus on the creature jumping happily in the middle of the room- ‘That thing's a tiny psychopath!’ -but your attention is quickly diverted as you hear a loud banging noise.

Your eyes focus on the previously moving coffin, the lid now open and whoever was inside is lying on his side on the floor, completely still. The flames continue to spread and you soon realize that the most likely unconscious person is incredibly close to a curtain that is about to be completely consumed by the fire.

"Enma! I’m going over there! Another person has escaped from the coffin! You get out!" you free your wrist from Yuuken's grip and move skillfully through the crowd, slowly approaching the person.

‘Move! Move! Someone is about to be burned alive!’

Yuuken shouts for you to wait for him, but you don't pay attention, as you manage to get out of the crowd and can move more freely. The person is already a few meters away from you, curling himself into a fetal position, the fall of the coffin has possibly knocked the air out of him, or worse, a rib may have been broken. ‘Shit! Hopefully, the injury isn’t too bad!’

You're stopped in your tracks, however, when a red-haired young man crosses your path and begins to make his way to Grim with full determination. "First people refuse to enroll, and now a monster breaks in? How dare you sully our initiation ceremony!" the young man points what looks like a pen at the creature, who glares back at him with a frown.

"You... REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS SCHOOL IMMEDIATELY!" his scream projects throughout the room, causing some of the students who were previously panicking to stop dead in their tracks. You, on the other hand, are completely taken aback by the display in front of you. What is this kid thinking? Does he have a death wish!? Grim, however, takes his command as a challenge, as you can see the hairs on his back stand up, and this time he stands on all four paws.

"Get out of my WAY!" the small creature screams, spewing a huge ball of blue fire straight at the boy. Even from where you stand, you can feel the heat of the fire warming your skin. The boy does not even attempt to move out of the path of the threat, much less impressed at the magnitude of the attack.

You turn your head to look at the crowd behind you, staring intently at the scene. "HEY! ALL OF YOU, GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!" you yell, snapping some students out of their stupor.

Instinctively, as if you were a puppet, your legs move on their own as you run toward the redheaded boy, the projectile growing larger and larger. Your right arm quickly hooks around the young man's waist, and you pull him hard against your chest, he gasps in surprise as his hands clench into fists and grab a hold of your shirt. You pay no attention to it, more preoccupied with the threat in front of you, so you quickly maneuver your two bodies away from the path of the fireball.

You turn your head to look at the students, who fortunately heard your command, as they lie flat on the floor, the fire quickly leaving the building through the open doors and exploding in the air outside. Some students scream at the sound, hands flying to their ears; from the corner of your eye, you see Yuuken covering the heads of some boys, shielding them from the debris.

You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that nobody got hurt. But the momentary calmness is gone when you hear someone grunting in anger. "You... JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" the pair of hands that were clinging to your shirt now lie flat on your shoulders, and he shoves you, hard, your back hitting the side of a nearby pew, the air momentarily leaving your lungs.

You stare owlishly at the red-haired boy, who doesn't even spare you a glance as he points his pen at Grim. ‘How the hell does such a tiny person have so much power?’

Your lungs feel like they're on fire, the room spinning as the throbbing of your headache seems to rear its ugly head around the corner. You feel two pairs of hands grab your forearms tightly, lifting you off the ground with ease, and you come face to face with Yuuken, whose expression is one of concern.

"Pembroke, are you okay?" the tone of his voice is soft, you can hear it despite the screams and relaxation in the background. You nod slightly, the adrenaline coursing through your veins a few minutes ago now replaced by exhaustion. "The guy... the one who fell out of the coffins," you remember the poor man writhing on the ground in pain and Yuuken takes his eyes off your face for a moment to observe where the boy is.

"I'll go get him, you get out of here, and we'll meet again outside. Can you walk?" the Kendo student studies your appearance with complete determination, and you nod quickly, praying that nothing has happened to the boy. You feel a tad intimidated underneath his watchful eyes.

After a few seconds of staring, the two of you separate, Yuuken swing his gym bag on his free shoulder, sprinting towards the figure at full speed while you make your way to the entrance, helping various students up from the floor and pushing them to get out of the boiling hot room.

"SILENCE!" the redheaded boy yells behind you, but you ignore him, still pushing through the crowd. "Get ready!" someone steps hard on your foot, and you're pushed, your body turning to the opposite side. Yuuken grabs the injured man's arm and swings it over his shoulder, helping him to stand.

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" your eyes shift to the redhead, watching the tip of the pen lights up before it shoots a bright light. Dust-like particles, twinkling like stars, surround the creature's neck before a heart-shaped collar magically appears on the creature, who screams in disbelief.

‘… No way… there’s no way…’

"What is this thing? Get this shit off me!" Grim uses his small paws to pull at the collar, then his hind legs to kick at it, but the object doesn't even move. His head whips around to look at the redhead with fury, and he sucks in air again to launch another attack. But this time, not even a tiny flame comes out of its mouth. "HA!? My magic! What have you done to the Great Grim?"

The red-haired boy sneers, and even from where you're standing, you can feel the shit-eating grin he's giving the monster. "I used my magic to seal yours," the Grim's eyes widen in shock as he continues to kick at the collar, unintelligible complaints and colorful words coming out of his mouth.

Soon, several cloaked figures begin to use their "magic" to put out the fire, spraying water on the flames that are eating away at the curtains and carpet. Another group focuses on calming the students, getting them back into the room, and checking for injuries; fortunately, it doesn't appear that anyone has been badly burned beyond their clothing.

Suddenly, the crow man, who you strangely didn't see during all the chaos, reappears from the shadows and proudly claps as he heads towards the red-head. "As expected from the Heartslabyul house warden! Great catch, Mr. Riddle Rosehearts!"

Suddenly, the crow man, who you strangely didn't see during all the chaos, reappears from the shadows and proudly claps as he heads toward the redhead. "As expected from the Heartslabyul house warden! Great catch, Mr. Riddle Rosehearts!"

The boy named Riddle is showered with compliments, however, he ignores them, more concerned with cleaning the dust and debris that have soiled his cloak. But, between the celebrations and gasps of relief, you and Yuuken stare at each other with pale complexions and worried looks. It's clear you're both thinking the same thing.

The monster, the magic fire, the heart-shaped collar and the pen... where exactly are you right now? How far away from home are you?

Honestly, fuck this place.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

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@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar

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humanpurposes · 9 months

Text

We're Born At Night

Chapter 1

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war

Words: 4.3k

A/n: a self-indulgent post-dance fic and I'm excited about it :)

She rocks with the carriage as it rolls over the cobbled streets of King’s Landing. Bricks and tiles in dull shades of red, yellow and browns move past the window, and the air is thick with dust and all sorts of unpleasant smells.

Her heart sinks at the absence of greenery, like the forests and fields that surround Runestone, the sounds of rivers and streams, the bright bursts of colour in the wildflowers. The Red Keep overlooks Blackwater Bay, she remembers that. She loved rising early to watch the sunrise, to see the waves glow red and gold. She loved going down to the beach below the castle to feel the warm summer sun on her face and dip her toes into the cold water.

It is autumn now. Grey clouds dull the sunlight and there is a chill in the air.

Daena sits opposite her, tugging at her sleeves and the collar of her travelling cloak. They are in matching gowns of dark green velvet, newly made for their visit to court; a cheap play for the King’s favour, but she needs all the help she can get.

Her younger sister’s constant fussing is irritating, but Rhaelle cannot blame her.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” says Morra, Rhaelle’s handmaiden who sits beside her, a sharp and observant young woman.

Daena’s harshly violet eyes glare up at her. She gives a small huff and drops her arms into her lap. “I look better in red,” she says.

“Careless talk like that will cost you your tongue the moment we’re through the castle gates,” Rhaelle warns.

Daena tuts and turns her head towards the window. “What an awful place,” she says.

Rhaelle pulls back the thin curtain with the tip of her finger. Miserable faces, crowds of bodies, market stalls, bands of mummers, and an endless array of buildings pass her by. She has prayed to the old gods and the new that their visit to the Red Keep will be short, but that is wishful thinking and she has never been much of an optimist.

Ten years ago she had been hunting with her late mother’s cousin, Ser Gerold, when a raven appeared over the hills, headed for Runestone. It had filled her with an inexplicable dread and she could not understand why until she returned to the castle to learn of the death of Laena Velaryon, her step-mother. Daemon had summoned his eldest three daughters to Driftmark to see her laid to rest and mourn alongside two sisters they had never met. In a matter of days, Ser Laenor was dead too, Daemon had married Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, and had plans for three more marriages.

Their oldest sister, Alyssa, and Prince Jacaerys were married at the Red Keep little more than a month later, she being sixteen and he a boy of ten. Baela was betrothed to Prince Lucerys, and Rhaelle was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, only a babe at the time.

While Rhaelle and Daera had returned to Runestone, Alyssa had remained at Dragonstone with her husband and so her fate had been sealed.

They come to a gatehouse made of red stone, where the banners of House Targaryen loom proudly over the walls and flutter in the breeze. The sight sparks a memory Rhaelle had forgotten she had, and suddenly it feels like she never left this place at all. Her family’s sigil, the three-headed dragon, should be more familiar to her than it really is. She finds more comfort in the colours of white and bronze, black pebbles and the ancient runes of her mother’s house.

She looks down at her own sleeves, at the runes embroidered into the cuffs with golden thread. The right reads the words of House Royce: We remember. On the left though, is a saying far older, so old that no one can truly say where it came from, only that it has been passed down in proverbs amongst those who carry the blood of the first men. Now they are written in books and scripture, carved onto tombs, whispered in prayers said before a weirwood, spoken to her by her mother: Learn to die.

Did those words pass the lips of Rhea Royce when she fell from her horse and cracked her head open on a rock? Did they echo through her mind when she lay in her bed, either unconscious or incoherent for nine days?

Does Alyssa utter them to herself in the darkness of the Black Cells?

The carriage comes to a stop. Rhaelle takes a deep breath, checks that her hair is neatly pinned back, that her gown sits right and that her boots are spotless. There can be no room for weakness here, not where people will judge every move she makes, note every word she says and stare into her eyes as if to read her very thoughts.

The door is opened for her and she steps out into the courtyard clutching the hand of one of her household guards.

Lord Corlys is waiting to greet them by the steps to the castle, dressed in fine robes of sea green and silver. On his collar she spots a gleam of gold, the pin that marks him as the Hand of the King.

When she had last seen Lord Corlys he was the Seasnake, a naval hero who carved out his own legacy and built his seat of Hightide to fill with the trophies of his victories. Now Hightide is nothing more than ruins buried in ash and Lord Corlys is an old man leaning on a cane, with long silver locks, a thick white beard and a tired look in his eyes, the look of a man who has seen his last war.

He offers her a small bow of his head. “Lady Rhaelle, what an honour it is to welcome you to the Red Keep.”

Daena follows her and greets Lord Corlys with a perfect curtsey. He smiles and notes how much they have changed since he last saw them, but they were girls then, young and sweet, only grieving their first loss.

Morra takes their travelling cloaks before Lord Corlys leads them inside, followed by their household guard. The halls are quiet and solemn, the colours she remembers from childhood somehow duller and she wonders if it is because she is older.

Eyes fall to the sisters easily and whispers echo wherever they walk. She hears a faint whisper of “traitor” as they come to the great stairwell in the very heart of the castle. She looks around her and above, up into the cavernous space overhead where faces peer down from balconies and galleries, made hazy by smoke and heat from the braziers.

Traitor, the accusation clings in her stomach and throat, until Daena’s hand gently wraps around her wrist and urges her to walk on. But perhaps the whispers are right. She is the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a traitor, perhaps it is in her blood and she cannot escape it.

They are shown to their chambers in the west wing of the castle. A small reception room joins two privy chambers and two bedchambers beyond that. It is a pity, she would have liked a room where she could see Blackwater Bay or the Kingswood to the south.

Her bedroom is a little smaller than her own bedchamber at Runestone, decorated with tapestries, furnishings and details in green, gold, red and black. She looks from the window, over the towering walls of Maegor’s Holdfast of her lavishly decorated prison, a thought which she immediately reprimands herself for. She will not allow herself such pity, not while her sister is a prisoner.

Alyssa had stayed by her husband’s side through the war, donned a widow’s veil when he fell in battle and decided that she would stay on Dragonstone when Rhaenyra took King’s Landing.

The war went on. Alyssa's letters stopped abruptly. Word came that the commonfolk had revolted against Rhaenyra, and her own betrothed, the boy Joffrey, was slain in the fighting.

Then came the raven from King Aegon. Rhaenyra was dead and their remaining siblings had been taken captive: Little Aegon, Baela, Rhaena, and Alyssa. She can still the words scrawled onto the parchment: “She has been treated with no unnecessary cruelty.”

Aegon wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on Baela and Rhaena, not with Lord Corlys on his small council. Alyssa had no such protection, not with their father rotting alongside the corpse of the dragon at the bottom of the God’s Eye.

And now the man who slaughtered him wears the crown.

Lord Corlys has invited her to dine with him, in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Daylight fades swiftly into twilight as she crosses the courtyard that her bedchamber overlooks, past the lowered drawbridge of the Holdfast. With winter approaching, the days are growing shorter.

A servant of Lord Corlys’ leads her up a single flight of stairs, through a reception room and into a small dining hall. The table is set with fine silverware and glass cups, lit by flickering flames of candles and a blazing hearth. Lord Corlys sits at the head of the table and rises to meet her. She offers him her hand, and he presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Is your sister not joining us, my lady?” he asks.

She smiles politely. Daena fears for Alyssa’s life as much as she does, but she is not meant for the delicacy of a negotiation.

Her place is set to his right and as she sits he pours her out a glass of wine. “From the Summer Isles,” he says. “I could never understand why anyone would bother with the stuff that comes from the Arbour.”

“We are lovers of ale and cider in the Vale,” Rhaelle says, “but I trust your taste, my Lord.”

They raise their glasses to each other and take small sips as two servants bring in plates of beef, bread and butter, and roasted vegetables. They move like shadows between the candlelight, their footsteps light, their movements gentle and unobtrusive. They are gone as quickly as they came.

When the door is shut, Lord Corlys leans forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together. He says quietly, “I intend to put your matter to the King in the morning.”

Rhaelle places her glass down on the table, her hand lingering on the base. Sadness suddenly strikes her heart. “You mean you have not spoken to him at all?”

“I have told him you seek to improve your position, and the position of your younger sister, of which he has been supportive.”

“But what about the matters we have discussed?” she asks.

His eyes are distant, settled on nothing in particular. He reaches to take a roll of bread from the table, but he does not eat it, he simply places it on his plate. “Lady Alyssa is an admirable woman, truly. She reminds me much of Baela–”

“Not admirable enough for you to appeal on her behalf,” Rhaelle says sharply. “I only wish to see her returned to her home, to Runestone.”

“In the eyes of the King, she is a traitor to the realm. She challenged the true line of succession.”

“As did you,” she says, “at the start of the war, you pledged your support for Rhaenyra.”

“Aye, I did, for the good of my family, and the cost was great.”

“Greater than siding with those who killed your wife?”

Corlys looks to her with a grave expression. “And Aemond killed your father, but you have come to his court, in the hopes of lobbying him, to plead for his mercy and his favour.”

But that’s different, isn’t it? Her father was a rare presence at Runestone, his name hanging over her head like an unspoken secret. He did not come to lay his first wife to rest, but he had tried to claim her inheritance and had no difficulty condemning their daughter to a marriage that would tie her to a war.

“I just want my sister to be safe,” she utters.

“I want that too,” Lord Corlys says and she can almost believe him.

“When can I speak to him? When will he release her?”

He takes a slow breath. “We must approach this matter with caution,” he says, “and it will be worth your while. Many say Aemond is a far more reasonable man than his brother was.”

“You served them both. What do you have to say on Aemond’s reason?”

A sad look falls over his face. He looks the way he did the day his daughter was buried. “Aemond is just, in his own way, but the Targaryens have always ruled with fire and blood, and he is no exception.”

When she returns to her bedchamber, she finds Daena curled up on a chaise by the dying hearth.

“She wished to see you after your dinner with Lord Corlys,” Morra mutters as Rhaelle fetches a blanket from the bed and drapes it over her sister. “It has been a tedious few months, and I do not doubt she is tired after the journey from Runestone.”

As a child, Rhaelle often wondered if she and her sisters had been born cursed. They had inherited nothing of their father’s looks save for his violet eyes; three Targaryen girls with dark curls and the stern face of their mother. Daena has always had a softness that she and Alyssa never had, a fuller face, a smaller nose, slight but pouted lips and large eyes. She looks like a doll, even in sleep.

She smooths her hand over Daena’s head, lightly so she will not disturb her, like she used to do when she was a babe. Daena makes a small humming noise in her chest but does not rouse.

She wishes her sister could rise from her sleep well rested, to a world where she would never know fear or uncertainty. Such a possibility seems close; in her heart she chases it like a hare, a flash of movement through a forest. She need only draw an arrow and strike her target.

Rhaelle is awake before dawn. By the time Daena will have started to stir, Morra has her bathed, skin scrubbed with sugar and honey then scented with lavender oil, dressed, then adds the finishing touches to her hair. She takes the top half and braids it around Rhaelle’s head like a crown, the rest falling freely down her back. With no Queen, the ladies of the court are said to follow the fashions of Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Helaena. If she is to be a lady of Aemond’s court, a Targaryen, she must appear the part.

She breaks her fast in her privy chamber. Servants bring in jugs of cherry juice, bowls of sweet stewed oats, platters of blackberry tarts and slices of apple dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The sun rises over the courtyard and a pale shade of red shines through the window where the light reflects from the red stone of the Holdfast.

Daena bounces into the room like an excitable child and takes a blackberry tart before she has even taken a seat. She will need to work on her table manners before she dines before the King and his court, Rhaelle notes. Her hair has been brought into one thick braid that falls over her shoulder and her gown is black, like Rhaelle’s, but detailed with silver rather than gold.

“What did Lord Corlys say to you last night?” she asks, following her pastry with a sip of cherry juice.

“He said that he means to put our cause to the King, and that we must employ patience.”

Daena scoffs, “patience?”

Rhaelle shares a pointed look with Morra, standing by the table. “We have no other choice,” she says, “and you will mind what you say, even in private, even when you think we are alone.”

“I thought the Master of Whispers had been put to death, or does Larys Strong still manage to spy on the Kingdom without a head?”

“And will you continue to slander the King if I find a smith to wrench out your tongue?”

Daena glares at her, then pouts her lips to stifle a giggle.

They finish their meal in relative peace and when they are done, Rhaelle is left with a pleasantly sharp sweetness on her tongue from the fruit. Morra adorns her with jewellery, all gold and set with rubies, a chain about her waist, earrings and a necklace. For the final touch she dabs tinted rosewater on her cheeks and lips.

“They say he’s terribly dull,” Daena says, patiently waiting her turn.

Rhaelle frowns at her through the mirror. “The King?”

“Tyland fucking Lannister– yes, the King.”

Prince Joffrey had been far too young to be her escort to the wedding of Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys. Aegon was already betrothed to Helaena, and so on the day of the festivities Rhaelle had been presented with a sombre looking, silver-haired Prince. He frowned constantly, which she did not doubt had something to do with the cut through his left eye. The wound and his skin was red, held together with stitches. He often had his hands balled into fists, breathing deeply through his nose as though he was in pain. He tried to talk to her about his studies, and asked her about the histories of Runestone and House Royce. He led her through one dance after dinner before he retreated to his chambers. She had despaired with Alyssa the next day that she hadn’t been allowed to be escorted by any other young man of the court. That boy is a man now, and a kinslayer thrice over.

“Better a dull King than a drunk King, I suppose,” she says quietly.

“Who’s a slanderer now?” Daena says with a wicked smile.

There are less clouds in the sky this morning. Sunlight bleeds through tall windows and floods the halls of the castle. It is more lively now, servants hurry about with baskets of food and fresh linens, men and women in all their finery walk through courtyards and galleries, though most are gathering at the throne room.

Rhaelle and Daena stay arm in arm, until they reach the entrance hall and the great oak doors that lead into the great hall.

“These carvings are new,” Rhaelle wonders aloud. The stone is cleaner here than it is in the rest of the castle, images of dragons carved into walls, pillars and archways.

She hears the ominous hum of voices on the other side of the doors. She can picture them, the staring faces like a pack of wolves eager to sink their teeth and claws into the daughters of Daemon Targaryen.

And she can picture the Iron Throne, where her uncle once sat with the golden crown of the Consolidator atop his head.

Daena leans in close to Rhaelle’s ear, tightening her hold on her arm. “But he was a dragonrider, and a warrior, surely he cannot be so dull.”

She tries to imagine that boy from the wedding feast, his serious expression, his round little face, a single sad blue eye darting around the hall. Then she imagines a killer, a bloodthirsty monster with fangs for teeth and talons for hands. She cannot place them in the same body.

“They say he has a sapphire set in the empty socket, but that he wears an eyepatch so as not to frighten the ladies at court.”

She has heard of this story, like Ser Symeon star eyes. “How considerate of him,” Rhaelle adds, glancing over her shoulder but no one seems to have heard them. She clenches her jaw and takes slow, steady breaths in the hopes that it will calm her nerves, just enough to get through this ordeal.

“I wonder if he is handsome?” Daena adds.

He’ll be wearing the Conqueror’s Crown, Valyrian steel and set with square rubies, the same worn by his brother, by Maegor the Cruel. She has only seen it in history books.

“There were awful rumours about Aegon, but he has his own now, doesn’t he?”

He will surely have Blackfyre by his side too, unless he managed to claim Dark Sister from their father’s hands once he was slain. Would he take it as a trophy of war? The thought makes her stomach churn.

“The Harrenhal whore,” Daena hisses.

This tale she is also familiar with. Aemond had marched to Harrenhal and left King’s Landing undefended. When he arrived at that cursed castle and heard the news that he had lost the capital, he slaughtered all of House Strong for treachery, save for a bastard woman, some kind of servant who he took as a bedmate. “He made her Lady of Harrenhal,” she adds, much to the ire of the realm’s Lords.

"A generous patron then," Daena chuckles, and then she falters. She lowers her voice even further till it is scarcely a breath against Rhaelle’s ear. “Will he kill Alyssa too?”

A familiar feeling of fear strikes her in her chest, squeezing on her heart and lungs. She can make no promises, not before she hears the sound of wood creaking as the doors are swung open and the voice of Ser Willis Fell calls, “Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone, and her sister, Lady Daena Targaryen!”

She drops Daena’s hand on instinct and takes a step before her like a sworn shield. The hungry faces stare up at them but she looks ahead, to the Iron Throne, to the man who sits amongst the mass of swords.

He is too distant for her to make out the details of his face, but they become clearer as she walks through the hall. If there are any whispers of “traitor,” she does not hear them.

The crown sits proudly upon his head of silver hair, long enough to pass his shoulders and fall to his chest. He is dressed all in black with no other distinguishable colours other than the silver buckles on his jerkin, and wears an eyepatch over the left side of his face.

She stops at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, knowing Daena is lingering behind her. Now she sees more of him, the line of his scar, the sharp angles of his face, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. Most of all her attention is drawn to his mouth, to the curve of his lips, the way they settle in an expression that could almost be amused, were it not for the look of fury and hunger in his remaining eye, which is violet, like her father’s, like hers.

Lord Corlys stands by his side, but she keeps her eyes on the King and curtseys as deeply as she can. She feels her legs trembling under her skirt, her hands shaking by her sides no matter how she wills them to stop. Aemond stares at her all the while, not sparing a glance for Daena who will be following her lead.

“My King,” she says, only to find her jaw is trembling too. She dare not take her eyes from Aemond, should he take it as a sign of weakness.

She knows the words she must say, Lord Corlys had been very specific, but there’s a thick feeling in her throat, a reluctance that she never had before, now that Aemond’s one eye is boring into her very soul.

She allows herself a breath. “My King, my sister and I have come to renounce the pretender, Rhaenyra, and all those who supported her treason, including our late father–” her eyes fall to the ground before she can stop herself.

“You have come to ask something of me, cousin?” Aemond says. His voice, hauntingly gentle, draws her eyes back up to him.

“We have come to beg your forgiveness, and pledge our undying love and fealty to you,” she bows her head once more, “the one true King.”

Relief lifts a weight from her body but fear creeps under her skin like a fever, burning and chilling all at once. Murmurs fill the air and she hears Daena let out an exhale of breath, further away than she had expected her to be.

She keeps her head down as she sees movement in front of her, as the murmurs die down and the sound of tauntingly slow footsteps approach her where she kneels.

“Rise, my Lady,” Aemond says.

She does as she is instructed, straightens her body, her neck, and the last thing she lifts is her gaze.

There is something sinister in the intensity of his eye as it moves about her face, the care he takes in reaching for her hand and pressing an achingly light kiss to it that lingers on her skin, but then he does not let her go. He holds his hand firmly over hers as if to keep his kiss there. “You shall be an honoured guest in my court, Lady Rhaelle.”

She cannot tell if this is kindness or a butcher calming a lamb before the slaughter.

He goes to Daena and kisses her hand, but he does not hold her the way he did Rhaelle.

“Those of my blood who are loyal shall always have a place at my court,” he says to the hall and is met with a cautious applause.

Rhaelle meets Daena’s eye as they turn to face the crowd. Her sister frowns innocently, wide eyes begging for an explanation. Why should they trust him? Why should they have to appeal to him when they played no part in the war, when they did not challenge his brother’s inheritance? Why should they beg for forgiveness from a kinslayer King?

Aemond looks over his subjects with his head held high and his hands behind his back. He carries no sword, just a knife tucked in on his right hip. He does not regard his people with the warmth of King Viserys, instead he watches them like he’s looking for fear, like he thrives in it.

And he is so utterly captivating.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #hotd fandom

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suugarbabe · 3 months

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Respect the Family

| Chapter 1 |

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of drinking

an: Surprise, it came earlier for you all. I told you things would happen fast once i could write comfortably again. this is the first chapter in the sequel to the Protego Series. click the hyperlink if you haven't read that first. While it isn't necessarily a need for you to read Protego first, it may help you better understand some of the characters personalities and how they function as a family. There will be sections in later chapters that call back to portions of protege that may make you confused if you have not read this series. <3

The reflection in the mirror was someone you didn’t recognize. Yet every time you moved, it moved with you. You applied mascara, the reflection did the same. You glossed your lips, so did the woman looking back at you. A pair of hands landed gently on the woman’s shoulders in the mirror and you felt the pressure on your own. “You look great, hun!” Roxy’s chipper tone was an encouraging attempt to calm your nerves. Pouting slightly you made eye contact through the mirror, “Dunno, Rox. I’m super thankful you got me this job but I’m proper nervous.” Roxy gave your shoulders a squeeze, “It’s alright, hun, happens to all of us. I’m having the bartender bring you a little liquid courage to help with all that.”

You let out a low groan, closing your eyes and using the tips of your forefingers to rub your temples with slight pressure. A clinking of glass on table made you straighten up. A large shot glass filled with clear liquor was sat down in front of you. Looking up you were met with a tall and lean frame of a man. A messy fluff of dirty blonde hair settled and framed his features after he ran his hand through it, “Erm, Rox said you needed this?” His eyes seemed to dance with a mixture of shyness and mischief as his finger pointed toward the shot glass in front of you. You nodded, smiling awkwardly as it felt like your voice was lost in your throat. Taking the glass you threw your head back, clearing the shot in one smooth motion.

The man in front of you let out a low whistle, “That nervous, huh?” You let out a small laugh, adjusting the straps of your outfit in the mirror, “Just a little. First day jitters I guess; we all get them right?” The man smiled back at you, the action reaching his amber eyes. “I’m Lorenzo by the way, erm, Enzo. My friends call me Enzo. You can call me either, w-whatever you like,” his slight stammering made you smile, a real genuine smile and you felt yourself relax slightly. Enzo mirrored your expression, asking for your name in return. You enlighten him, giving him your name before listening to him repeat it to himself like he’s trying to commit it to memory. The way he looks at you, smiles at you, there's something different, you can’t quite put your finger on just what yet.

A voice calls out behind you, “Bunny, you’re up next! Oh, hey Berk, what’re you doing in here?” Enzo’s cheeks turned a blushing pink, “Erm, hey Blaise. Roxy asked me to bring a drink to -” he turned to face you, “I thought you said your name was-” You cut him off with a raise of your hand, “It’s my stage name, you can call me that if you’d like, or any other nickname variation your pretty little head can think of.” You threw him a wink as you stood up, Blaise stepping aside to let you exit towards the stage. Enzo’s eyes never left your figure your entire walk out, his vision trained on the door you walked through. He didn’t notice Blaise walked towards him, now resting against the vanity you were just sat, “Developing a crush on the new girl already, bruv?” Blaise’s teases caused another dusting to cover Enzo’s freckled cheeks before he cleared his throat, “‘Course not. Roxy just asked-”

“Roxy just asked,” Blaise mimicked Enzo with a teasing high pitched tone, “Come off it, mate, you might be able to fool Nott with that shite but you’re not fooling me. Have your looks and your fun, but you know that’s all it can be. You know Riddle’s rule.” Enzo rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry, mate, you know I’m not a relationship type of guy. Like you said, I’m just gonna have my fun while I can. You know we haven’t gotten any new faces around here since long before Birdie showed up and she’s like my sister. I’m just enjoying the new fruit.” Blaise clasped a hand on Enzo’s shoulder, “You keep telling yourself that.”

Enzo shoves Blaise’s hand off his shoulder playfully before straightening his vest, smoothing his hands down his chest as he walks out of the dressing room. He makes a b-line for the bar, responding quickly to Birdie when she asks how he’s doing, “Fine!” his voic betrays him at first, high pitched and cracking before he clears his throat, “Erm, fine, doing just fine.” Birdie’s eyebrows raise slightly, “Three fines and a crack? What’s got your pants in a twist huh?” Enzo rolls his eyes, taking a drink order for the man in front of him and turning his back to Birdie while looking for the right liquor. Birdie, ever the persistent one, isn’t too keen on this reaction, “One of the dancers reject you again or something?”

He scoffs at this, “Oh, please, Angel. You know they never reject me.” The playful smirk on Enzo’s face makes Birdie laugh out loud. He hands the drink to the patron in front of him, seemingly getting distracted by the scene over his shoulder. Up on the main stage was something Enzo should’ve expected but wasn’t prepared for. He knew you were a dancer, but he didn’t know you could dance like that. His eyes were trained on your figure as he watched you spin around the pole, the thickness of your thighs sparkling with whatever lotion you had coated yourself in having him in a trance.

When you crawled on your knees to the edge of the stage, picking up muggle money being thrown in your direction he felt his jaw tense reflexively. You sat back on your heels, knees spread wide open as you ran your hands up your body to the suggestive lyrics of the song. You pulsed up and down on your knees slightly as you ran your hands through your hair before leaning back fully, the position making your chest push out more and Enzo’s pants tighten. You flipped over to your stomach before pushing back up to your hands and knees, back arching to put your ass on full display for the patrons as you twirled your head in a circle, your hair whipping around wildly. Bills and galleons started hitting the stage like rainfall and Enzo could feel his grip on the neck of the liquor bottle tighten dangerously.

“She’s a cute one, isn’t she?” Birdie's teasing tone brought Enzo’s focus back from his growing delusions, his cheeks heating exponentially. “Who’s cute?” He wipes the top of the bar with a rag, avoiding eye contact and hoping he can avoid accusation. Unsurprisingly he’s wrong for both, “Bunny, obviously. You’re basically fucking her with your staring, Enzie.” He shakes his head a little more adamantly, a mistake leaving his mouth without him realizing, “That’s not her real name you know.” He stops mid-motion, eyes closing as a low curse leaves his lips in a whisper.

The grin that encompassed Birdie’s face made Enzo’s stomach twist nervously, “Oh! So she introduced herself real name first, huh? She must have looked into those pretty eyes of yours.” She pinched his cheek playfully before being swatted off. “Did you give her a handsome smile, bub? Shoot her a signature wink like you do?” Birdie grinned as she bit into an orange slice from the bar. Enzo huffed in annoyance, “You know, Angel, you’re acting like a fucking tosser. Been hanging out with Nott more lately?” Birdie doubled down, her grin growing knowingly at her friend, “You fucking choked up didn’t you…does this girl make you nervous Enzo?”

Enzo rolled his eyes, taking one last peek at you on the stage, “You know I don’t get nervous, Angel,” he patted his vest pocket, checking for his cigarettes, “I’m going for a smoke, I’ll be back in 15.” Birdie made an ‘okay’ symbol with her fingers, giving him a wink before turning back to her tasks. Enzo took long strides through the club to get to the back door, pushing it open with more force than probably necessary. The outside air was cool on his skin, a relief to the warmth he seemed to be overwhelmed with since meeting you earlier tonight. A chill overcame his body, the hairs on his arm standing up; he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the slam of the back door, “Fucking Salazar, mate you sca-“, he cut him self off when he realized who had come through the door. He expected Blaise or Theo to have followed him out, but he was blessed with a surprise instead.

You sauntered over, still in your stage outfit, the slightest of quirks on the edge of your lips, “Awh, are we mates now, Lorenzo? That’s so sweet of you. Can I bum one?” You nodded toward the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He held them up wordlessly, his own loose on his lips while his eyes followed your every move. You took one from the pack, your glossed lips wrapping around the butt in such an average way yet to Enzo it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. With a snap the tip of your finger was on fire. Lighting your cigarette the flame disappeared and you took a deep inhale.

“The crowd always so eager?” You sat into your hip, voice causing Enzo to repeatedly blink himself out of his daze. “Erm, m’sorry, what?” A soft laugh left through your nose as you took another inhale, smoke billowing from your pillowy lips as you spoke again, “Is the crowd always so eager with all the dancers?” Enzo took a long drag before answering, “Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to boost your ego?” A sly smile toyed on your lips, “Can you do both?” Enzo hummed to himself, trying to hide his growing smile. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but something about you made it feel like his insides were on fire. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to impress you, intimidate you, or push you up against the brick wall and take you right in the back alley.

Enzo flicked his cigarette, ash tumbling off the end, “Most of the men who come here are pretty mindless, always throwing their money carelessly at any dancer on stage with the delusion that maybe they’ll get to take one of you home. You are one of the more beautiful dancers we have though, I'll give you that much.” You snorted at this, Enzo smiled, “They probably seemed so eager because you’re the new girl. You know, fresh meat to their eyes; the new shiny toy.” You raised your eyebrows at this, nodding as you took your last drag before tossing your cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath your pump, “So you and them aren’t much different then, huh Lorenzo?” Head tilting to the side, Enzo’s eyes squinted slightly, “Dunno what you mean by that, love, care to enlighten me?”

Maybe it was the responses you were getting on stage that made your confidence flip from earlier in the night. Or maybe it was the three additional shots you had downed with the other dancers backstage as your ‘completed first dance tradition’. Either way you were feeling braver, feeling like you were more in charge of yourself, feeling more like your actual self. “Aren’t I just the new shiny toy to you too?” You took a step closer to Enzo and he took a step back towards the wall as a response. “I don’t mess around with the dancers, Bunny,” Enzo took his last drag as a cover for any facial expression that might give him away. You, however, weren’t buying it.

“That’s not what I heard,” you step closer once more, making Enzo’s back hit the wall and a grunt leave his lips. “I heard Berkshire has a list of dancers he’s shagged, and I was just wondering,” you toyed with one of the buttons on his vest, “am I gonna be added to that list?” You had to tilt your neck slightly to meet his eyes now, but that was exactly your plan. Peering up at him you batted your lashes, the teenset of pouts on your lips. Enzo was thanking every high wizard, Merlin, Salazar, hell even fucking Godric Gryffindor for the strength of his restraint in this moment. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that was toying with his vest, the action so quick it startled you that it even happened. “Oh, Bunny girl, you will never be on that list,” he leaned down now, lips ghosting at the shell of your ear, “but if you really want me that badly, I’d never say no to a pretty girl throwing herself at me so desperately.”

You took a step back from him, trying, and failing, to jerk your wrist away from his grasp, “I’m not acting desperate.” You were insulted at the insinuation. But it seemed like Enzo wasn’t listening as his brows furrowed looking just past your shoulder and then he rolled his eyes, “I have to go, we can do this again your next shift, yeah?” He released you then but the heat from his palm still radiated on your skin as you watched him walk back into the club.

Enzo shook his head a few times, trying to clear his mind of all the horrible and raunchy thoughts that were consuming him about you as he tried to ignore Draco’s voice in his head again, We’re waiting on you, Berk, get your ass in here, NOW. Enzo huffed out an annoyed sigh as he opened the door to Mattheo’s office, all eyes turning to him as he entered. Enzo wore a saccharine grin as he touched his cheek, “What? Got something on my face?” Mattheo wore a less than pleased look as he leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest yet still not a wrinkle on his black designer suit. Birdie sat perched on the desk next to him, a smirk on her face as Mattheo spoke. “What the hell took you so long, Berkshire.”

Theo raised his hand as if they were back in school, “I know, call on me, Matty!” Mattheo gave a half-assed wave of his hand, but it was all the permission Theo needed to be his idiot self before he opened his mouth again, “Berk was in the alley with Buuunnnyy.” Theo said the end in a sing-song voice before settling into a quiet giggle as Enzo glared at him, ignoring the glare he was receiving himself from Mattheo. Enzo opened his mouth to respond but was cut off quickly by Mattheo's harsh tone, “Cut it off, Berkshire. And do it now. We don’t have time for you to go gallivanting around with your cock out for the new dancer, not with what we have coming up right now.”

Enzo clicked his tongue in response, “Okay, first off, I don’t go gallivanting my cock around or whatever the fuck you just said. Secondly, I just turned her down in the alley, thank you very much.” Birdie and Blaise both raised their eyebrows before exchanging a look that Enzo did not want to delve into right now. Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose, growling out in slight frustration, “Whatever the fuck it is, stay clear of it. We’ve got more important things to worry about and I need your head on straight, Enzo. You can’t be weakened by some stripper when we’re dealing with the Corvo family.”

Pansy gasped in disbelief, “The Corvo family, are you serious Mattheo?” He braced himself with a hand on his desk, the other grabbing hold of Birdie’s thigh, “Yes, I’m serious, Pans. I know everyone thought they were dormant, but at the last meeting there were rumors.” Draco crossed his arms, “What kind of rumors?”

“Like the kind of rumors that could start a war, Cousin,” Mattheo took a slow glance around the room, making sure everyone took in what he was saying, how serious this information really was. “We have four shipments to get out in the next four weeks; there cannot be any mistakes, do we all have an understanding?” A unified ‘yes, boss’ rang out in the room. “The Corvo’s cannot interrupt this arrangement. The trades we’re doing are creating allyships that are heavily important to our family. No one outside of this room is to be involved. I understand some of the dancers have a suspicion of what we do beyond the club, but as far as anyone else is concerned, it’s all rumors. Outside of the mansion and outside of this room the business is not to be spoken to with anyone. Inside this club, the club is all we speak of, that’s the only business we have and that’s the only thing anyone is concerned about.

“With this mess of rumors concerning the Corvo’s we cannot and will not have any information leaked in any capacity. While we love our Birdie,” Mattheo turned and kissed his girl on the cheek, “we fucking hate rats.” Enzo and Theo made eye contact across the room, both simulating a fake gag at the scene. However, Enzo perked up at the end of Mattheo’s speech, “You know, personally I love a rat, they’re one of my favorites to kill.” Enzo wiggled his eyebrows while cracking his knuckles. Pansy rolled her eyes, “Okay, killer, calm down. If we need you we’ll call for you.” Enzo blew her a kiss. Pansy pretended to catch it mid air before turning her hand and displaying her middle finger.

Mattheo groaned in annoyance, “Alright, if we all understand then there shouldn’t be any problems. You all can go.” Except you Enzo, you stay, Mattheo’s voice rang in Enzo’s head. The other’s all left the room as Enzo took a seat in front of Mattheo’s desk. With the click of the door locking again, Mattheo’s full attention was on Enzo. “Are you sure I don’t have anything to worry about with Bunny? I know I didn’t hire an ugly dancer, I never do and I know how much you enjoy that.” Enzo pulled at his bottom lip, head nodding, “I know, I know, but I swear, Matt. I’m good. I was serious earlier, girl came on to me hard, asked to be my shiny new play toy and everything, I told her it would never happen. You have nothing to worry about. I’m fully focused on the family business.” Mattheo raised his eyebrows, as if to ask one more time if Enzo was sure.

Enzo held his hands up, sincere smile on, “I promise, Mattheo. Bunny means nothing to me.”

#its heeeeeeeeeeere #respect the family #mafia!slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #protego series #enzo berkshire x you #mafia!enzoberkshire #slytherin boys #theo nott #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #Matthew riddle

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distortionbobble · 1 year

Text

Royal Flowers Chapter 1

series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x f! reader

summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings.

a/n: hello hello hello! i’m working on creating more appropriately sized chapters and spacing things out but i’m so excited to work on this series. this series is based on a request from @breatheeagainnnn

word count: 2.7k

Anakin Skywalker is lost.

The revelation comes to him when he is lost in the deep waters of his meditation, distanced from the buzzing matter of physical reality as he is swept by the currents of the Force. He drifts without anchor, each surge threatening to submerge him, to overwhelm him if he loses his control.

He seeks to control the Force. The Force seeks to control him.

And the network of the universe ebbs and flows around him when the truth is drawn from his bones. It’s a presentation of three fragmented parts that unsettle Anakin right down to his soul.

The first. He is afraid. He is the Chosen One, something he’s heard so much that it has lost its meaning. The Messiah lost the message.

Bring balance to the Force. Bring balance to the Force. Bring balance to the Force.

He doesn’t know what that means anymore. And if he fails, what then? His fear of falling into the Darkness paradoxically increases the hold that it has on him.

The second. He pines for what he cannot have.

Padme Amidala is the breath in his lungs, reviving him with each heartbeat. But she couldn’t love him the way he loves her, telling him as much with just a hint of sadness on her graceful face. She shut him out and without her, he feels weaker.

The third. Anakin is losing control. Obi-Wan can sense it too, because every training session is overshadowed by a sense of urgency. Every move is sloppier, more dangerous, and even in training, his desire to triumph is clouded by his desperation, as if winning would allow him to truly understand it all.

And all of this culminates in him realizing that he is lost, without hope and without guidance, and nobody will understand. Obi-Wan could never understand, for he still sees Anakin as the child that he rescued so many years ago. Obi-Wan just doesn’t get him. Master Obi-Wan would do anything for his padawan, truly, but Anakin can’t bear the thought of burdening Obi-Wan with this. Besides, it would only reinforce Obi-Wan’s view that Anakin isn’t ready to be a Jedi Master.

A knock on the door to his quarters startles him and he scrambles to get up as Master Obi-Wan opens the door.

“Anakin, there’s someone here to meet us,” Obi-Wan says, frowning. Anakin runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he frantically pieces together an appearance of cool indifference. He’s a Jedi. He can’t feel rattled. The two Knights obscure their faces with their hoods and walk out of Anakin’s quarters.

Anakin follows Obi-Wan to a room where a single figure stands hidden by a hooded cloak, surrounded by a number of handmaidens each adorning the same pinched, tight-lipped look.

“Leave us,” a low voice says from under the cloak, and each of the handmaidens file out of the room without sparing even a single glance behind. Anakin reflexively reaches for his lightsaber, but then the figure steps into the beam of light streaming from the window and takes off the hood. And he lays eyes on you for the first time.

You’re not nearly as beautiful as Padme, nobody is, but still, there’s something so mesmerizing about you. Motes of dust dance in Coruscant sunbeams around your head and it looks like a halo, makes you look holy, and he can’t stop himself from staring. He’s studying the details of your face, scanning, and it’s to a point that he can’t pretend it’s for threats. He almost forgets to breathe when you bow your head to him in respect, and he has to bow back. Anakin’s eyes are still transfixed on you when you begin to speak.

“Master Kenobi, General Skywalker,” you begin, and the two Jedi push their hoods down. “I come to you in need of assistance. As you are aware, the current Queen of Naboo’s two terms are near their end. But what has been kept secret is that I’ve been chosen as her successor, which will be revealed to the citizens of Naboo in a fortnight.” You take a deep breath and smile weakly as Anakin and Obi-Wan mutter half-hearted congratulations. “What I need is protection.”

“So then why do you require our aid? I’m sure you’re aware that Naboo has its own governmental protective forces, and I’m unsure that they’d take the Jedi Council’s interference in their sovereignty kindly,” Anakin asks. He’s more guarded than he intends to come off, but the question holds still. You don’t appear to be a fool, so there must be more depth to the matter. At his questioning, your eyes flit briefly towards the door before you step closer to the Jedi, toying with the front of your robes as nervousness overtakes you.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m much older than the usual elected Queen, and it is not by coincidence,” you murmur. “I did not get here alone. Under the command of Senator Amidala, I’ve spent the past couple years infiltrating the Naboo separatists. They manipulated the selections such that I would become Queen.” At the mention of Padme, Anakin bites back a sigh and forces himself to pay attention to your words.

“That is very dangerous,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing his hand over his beard. “I assume you’ve been relaying your findings to the Senator thus far?”

You nod sharply in response.

“I see. The Council—“ Obi-Wan begins, but you shake your head frantically and grasp him and Anakin by the robes, pulling them closer to you.

“No. Not the Council. I do not know who I can trust. There are Separatist spies everywhere. My handmaidens, for example, are all Separatist spies who don’t trust me because Padme is my cousin. While I don’t doubt the integrity of the Jedi Masters, I fear putting them in danger if my operative fails, or if word gets out.” You’re frantic but quiet, and constantly checking at the door to see if any of your wardens have overheard your betrayal.

“And yet you trust us,” Anakin rebuts. He doesn’t trust you, not one bit; how could he ever trust a spy? If you’re so willing to lie, even if it is to the Separatists, how can he be sure that you’re not lying to him?

“Padme told me that I could trust you. She said to give you this,” you say, shoving your hand into your pockets to produce a necklace, which Anakin recognizes immediately. It’s one he knows all too well, as it’s the necklace he’d gifted Padme before he had even joined the Order. And he decides that if nothing else, you are honest about Padme. And that’s all that matters to him. The part of him that still burns for her overtakes him and he knows that he can’t let her down.

“I’ll do it,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan glances warningly in his direction, but there’s a certain resignation and relief in Obi-Wan’s posture. Anakin hasn’t taken this kind of initiative in a long time, and Obi-Wan was beginning to grow concerned that all hope for the Chosen One was lost.

“Alright, the matter is,” Obi-Wan pauses mid-sentence, looking at Anakin’s determination, “settled. We will aid you in your transition away from the Separatist group and expose their interference.”

”You have misunderstood me, Master Kenobi,” you whisper, voice hush with urgency. “I’m so close to finding out the identities, locations, of key leaders. There are Sith Lords that are regularly hologrammed into our meetings. Should I be tasked with something significant as the Queen, Darth Sidious has already alerted me that I will be tasked with the assignment in his presence.”

Obi-Wan begins to respond to you, but Anakin cuts him off. “If you have a plan, why don’t you tell us already?” He’s frustrated by your impatience. Maybe Obi-Wan was right about politicians. You glance at him, annoyed.

“I was getting to it, General Skywalker. As I was saying, this mission is imperative and it is essential to the fate of the Republic and thus, the galaxy, that I am not put in harm’s way before I am able to succeed in exposing the identities of key Separatist forces. I cannot trust the guards provided by the Naboo government, as I don’t know who is a Separatist plant. So—“

“So you need our protection to… what? Kill the spies? And how would that work if Naboo has its own protection for you? I highly doubt they’d take the involvement of the Jedi Council kindly,” Anakin says sharply. You nod at his rapid-fire questioning, unfazed.

“Something like that. I need to make sure that any communications I have and discoveries I have are protected, and if anyone finds out, that they’re eliminated before they can eliminate me. So not necessarily kill the spies, but I need actual protection, and I need someone that I know I can trust. And…” you trail off and step back, toying with the hem of your sleeves as you sigh.

“What is it, milady?” Obi-Wan asks you gently. You press your hands to your neck and look up at Anakin.

“The way I see it, there’s two things we can do. General Skywalker, I understand that as a Jedi Knight, you have a padawan yourself. Ahsoka, correct? We could have her—”

“No,” Anakin interrupts quickly. “Ahsoka’s far too young, and while I believe that she will grow to be a very competent and powerful Jedi, now is not the time to thrust her headfirst into a mission alone.” You nod at the Jedi’s assessment.

“Of course, General. We’re thus presented with the second plan. I am, as Queen, permitted to have a husband. I’ve been building the identity of a lover in my life, and while there is none, this leaves me room to marry without suspicion in the eyes of the Separatists.” You take another deep breath and look at both Anakin and Obi-Wan, shoulders tensed. “If I marry either you or Anakin, then I’ll be able to have you in my chambers regularly, privately.”

“And you’re certain it must be us?” Obi-Wan asks. You nod quickly, sharply.

“I can’t trust anyone but the two of you,” you whisper. Obi-Wan nods at your words, then bows his head. Anakin follows suit.

“Thank you, milady. We’ll meet you at midnight, in the gardens, to settle the matter.” Obi-Wan and Anakin hide under their robes once more, being even more careful to disguise themselves as you call out loudly for the handmaidens to return.

~~~

The hours pass quickly, and you soon find yourself in the cover of the night’s darkness. Sleep eludes you tonight, and you are filled with restlessness. Your handmaidens have retired, sleeping outside of your bedchamber to ensure that you don’t leave. But they fortunately didn’t notice the ledge that goes from underneath the bedroom window to the bridge connecting the guest quarters to the Temple.

The air in the room feels stale and suffocating as you toss and turn, counting down the minutes until your meeting with the Jedi. Your heart thumps torturously in its cage before you abandon your futile attempt to chase sleep. You find yourself at the window, sliding it open quietly as the breeze rushes in to kiss your face. Coruscant is beautiful and silent at this time of night, with only the whispers of distant sounds of the city blowing past you.

The building ledge meets your bare feet when you slide over the window, and the distance from you to the ground is dizzying. Your palms and feet begin to feel slippery from sweat as your thoughts begin to spiral, fear of falling weakening you. You force yourself to shuffle closer to the bridge, focusing on controlling your movement as you do.

And yet somehow, it’s all so freeing from this far up. No restrictions, no eyes on you, and all the troubles in the galaxy seem so small at this height. You could fall. Or you could keep going. The fear wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was that you were here and alone and it felt safer than you have felt in years.

You force yourself to keep moving, ignoring the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck. Once you reach the bridge, you quickly jump onto it and hurry towards the gardens.

The moons make the night soft with their hazy light. You swear that the temple seems so much more powerful in this light, with fewer Jedi wandering the grounds. They spare you a glance when you run past, your nightgown fluttering behind you.

General Skywalker is the first thing you notice when you reach the garden, twirling a flower in his hands. It looks almost out of place with him, delicateness contrasting the strength of his hands. You get the feeling that he knows you’re there, despite the quietness of your arrival and the fact that you’ve been almost holding your breath as you watch him.

“It won’t be a real marriage, you know. I love Padme, and I’ll love her til I die.” Ah, yes. Padme had warned you about this— about the intensity of his affection. Anakin Skywalker is not a man who works in subtleties. You hold back a scoff at his arrogance, choosing instead to clasp your hands in front of your nightgown and nod.

“I don’t ask for your affection, General. Nor your companionship. I would, however, like for us to be allies.” The light of the planet’s four moons is muted in the garden, distorted by the thick layer of clouds and it makes the moment feel private. But you’ve been a double agent for long enough to know that there are always ears and eyes. You hold your tongue in fear of revealing something that could expose your mission just to get General Skywalker’s favor.

General Skywalker clenches his jaw and drops the flower, studying you before nodding quietly. The flower is crushed under his boot as he stalks towards you.

“But-” Your breath catches in your throat as you look into his eyes because he’s… pretty. You hadn’t thought of it before now, but as the moons’ lights fall so gently onto him, he seems ethereal. “But you will have to fake your affection, General. If you are unable to do that, I will respect that, but I’m afraid that would mean that you wouldn’t be suited for this mission.”

“Padme recommended me for this mission, didn’t she?” General Skywalker asks you quietly, and you bite back a sigh at his obsession but find yourself nodding, albeit hesitantly. “Then the matter is settled, milady.” He leans in towards you, and you are lost in his eyes.

“The matter is far from settled,” Master Kenobi’s sharp voice cuts through. You step back from Anakin, pressing your hand gently on your collarbone as your heart pounds against your ribcage. Your ears ring with embarrassment at the closeness that the Jedi Master had found you two in.

“Agreed, Master Kenobi. I propose that General Skywalker join me within a month’s time on the planet. We will rendezvous somewhere we’ll be caught, publicly but also by my handmaidens.”

“Force their hands,” Master Kenobi says, rubbing his jaw with the pads of his fingers as he thinks through the details of your plan.

“I take issue with one large part, milady,” General Skywalker objects. He looks irritated, as he mostly has within the short time that you’ve interacted with him. Is this how he is as a lover? If so, no wonder Padme left him.

Master Kenobi sighs aggravatedly and waves at the General, urging him to continue. “Padawan, I’d like to finish this conversation before the sun rises.”

“I’ve got the feeling that it’ll do more than raise a few eyebrows if the Queen suddenly gets a new husband, all while one of the Jedi Knights and padawan to one of the greatest masters is… what, on a mission?”

You smile grimly at his question.

“There’s an easy answer to that question, General.” General Skywalker narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “You’ll have to fake your death.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker x fem!reader #anakin skywalker fic #fanfic #fic #skywalker #star wars fic #reader insert #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x f!reader #my writing #distortionbobble's fics #royal flowers series

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asleeponelmstreet · 3 months

Text

Burnt (part 1)

Part 2 Part 3

You are an imp with a mysterious past who recently moved in to the Hazbin Hotel. Not necessarily to be redeemed like a sinner, but you are seeking some sort of redemption. Helluva Boss characters will be heavily involved in the story in future parts, but for now... you just have your memories.

Tags: Alastor x female reader, allusions to past Blitzø x female reader, angst, PTSD, panic attacks, eventual smut, I have no idea if there is an audience for this but I wanted it so maybe someone else will like it

wc: 3,018

This is from a female reader's perspective! If people like it, I'd be happy to write a male or GN counterpart. This was initially written for just me, but I like where its going so I thought I'd share it. Also, I've already written the next two chapters but I want to rework them because I want the story to go in a slightly different direction. So I def plan on continuing this! I also posted this on AO3, but I'm not sure where it will get the most traction. I'm still figuring out this whole posting my fanfiction thing, usually it just sits on my computer.

If you'd prefer to read it on AO3, the link is here.

Minors DNI!!!

Screams filled you with terror. The rumbling roar of the fire followed, but a high-pitched ringing overpowered it. The steady sound drowning out all the other clamor distracting you from finding help.

As everything around you burned, the temperature rose. Sweat collected on the nape of your neck and dripped down your forehead, obscuring your vision. Your nostrils flooded with the smell of ash and burning flesh. The scent was so pungent, it mixed with the metallic taste of blood on your tongue from when you bit into your lips.

You ran barefoot, trying your best to avoid shards of glass and the other broken things that lay at your feet. Flames danced around you, licking at the charred ribbons. The only remnants of the tents that once surrounded you.

Your breaths came out short as you panicked. Your entire body quivered when you allowed yourself to think you may never get out. You may never find help. May never see those you loved most again.

A loud screech rang through the air, breaking through the buzzing in your ears. It was only when it ceased that you felt the raggedness in your throat. And you realized that you had been the one to create the sound.

“Where are you right now?” The heated voice whispered against your cheek was so familiar, but also different. Not quite the voice of a childhood friend or a long lost lover.

His breath against your cheek hitched. “Where are you? What’s wrong?” Panic registered in his voice. He lifted his weight off of you but tears blurred your vision so you couldn’t see him.

“Fuck. Answer me damn it. You’re really freaking me out right now.” Even without his body pinning you to the bed, you couldn’t move. It felt like something invisible was holding you down.

A sharp pain blossomed across your chest. You tried to get words out between shallow breaths, but nothing ever came.

“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” Those were the last words you heard him say before it all went as black as ash.

Startled awake by a loud crashing noise, you sprang up in bed. Relief washed over you when you realized it was just another nightmare. A familiar nightmare, but a nightmare all the same.

You took in your hotel room that you had grown familiar with over the past few weeks as you collected yourself. But the sight of the red stains on your white sheets startled you, making you shove yourself out of bed and tumble to the floor.

You had just built up the nerve to stand up and investigate the bloody mess when someone slammed open your door.

“What was that sound?! Is everything okay?” It was Angel Dust, another resident at the hotel. His room was just across the hall so it made sense that he would investigate the cacophony of sounds coming from your room. But he was also quickly becoming someone you would consider a close friend, so you hoped his intrusion was a sign he cared.

“I-I fell out of bed.” You said the first thing that came to mind. Your head still foggy from sleep. Your simple response clearly did not work for the porn star whose mouth was agape as his eyes locked on your torso.

You looked down at your nightgown and saw it was soaked in blood. Deep gashes in the thin white material cut through the skin across your chest. Your mouth dropped open with a barely audible, “Oh.”

“Doll face, what happened?” Angel came up to your side and wrapped you in a side hug, attempting to comfort you without covering himself with blood in the process.

Your brain was taking its sweet time thinking of a response. Before you could get words out, two more faces peaked into your room. One belonged to Charlie Morningstar, the princess of Hell and the owner of the Hazbin Hotel where you were currently residing. The other was her girlfriend, Vaggie.

Both women looked like they had just woken up, still dressed in pajamas with their hair mussed from sleep. “We heard a noise. Is everything okay?” Vaggie asked as they tentatively let themselves into your room.

Seeing the worried looks on their faces seemed to jumpstart your brain a bit. At least enough for some semblance of words to come out of your mouth. “I’m okay, guys. I’m really okay. I must have scratched myself in my sleep, but the blood just startled me when I woke up so I fell off the bed.” Concerned looks were still plastered on all their faces. “I’m really sorry if I woke y’all up. I really need to file my claws.”

The buzz of radio static sent a shiver down your spine. Your body went stiff. You knew what that noise meant. He was near.

“What is all the commotion in here?” Alastor, the radio demon, appeared in the doorframe and welcomed himself into your room as if he was walking into a party. He twirled his microphone like a cane until he saw you in your disheveled state.

“My, my dear. What happened to you?” He said, his red eyes narrowing. His tongue darted out of the corner of his mouth, wetting his lips as his gaze rested on the blood splattered on your chest. It made your skin crawl.

“I was just telling everyone that I scratched myself in my sleep. I was just really startled when I woke up covered in blood. It’s really not a big deal.” Your skin flushed in embarrassment as you explained the story to the deer demon.

“You should use a nail file to prevent this sort of scene then.” You rolled your eyes at that comment, wondering if he had been listening in on the conversation before making his grand entrance. What a pompous tool, you thought.

“Is that it?” Charlie asked, looking at you sweetly with those huge of eyes of hers.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need to get cleaned up. And maybe, Nifty wouldn’t mind cleaning my bedsheets. If not, I really don’t mind doing it.”

“No way,” Vaggie said. “It’s her job. You should take a bath and we’ll send her up to take care of the bed.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling at her. The angel could be cold towards you, but a part of you felt like the two of you could be good friends one day. It will just take some time to warm up to each other.

“Again, I’m really sorry if I woke any of you up. I used to scratch myself when I was younger but it’s been a while.” You tried to not let your mind wander to the last time this had happened in your sleep. “And there was just so much blood.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor chided. “Don’t your worry your pretty little head.” He tapped you with his microphone, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes. It made you feel like a child… and made you want to sink your claws into his grey skin. “I’ve been awake for hours.” He turned on his heels and waltzed out of the room, humming an upbeat tune on his way out.

Charlie reached her hand out yours, giving it a little squeeze before she and Vaggie left too. Angel was about join them, but you stopped him.

“Wait, Angie. Don’t leave.” You said, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts quite yet.

“Sure thing, toots. What’s up?”

You tried to think of something to say, but that was when Angel’s foot brushed up against a shard of glass on the floor. “Hey, what’s this?” He followed a trail of glass to a small broken picture frame. That must have been the crash that startled you from the nightmare.

Angel picked it up and scanned his eyes over the photograph. It was an Imp couple with beaming smiles, proudly holding their baby girl. “Aw, is this baby you and your parents?”

You nodded, tight lipped and too scared to let yourself speak.

“You’re so cute! Look at that lil’ baby tail. And your mom is gorgeous. You look just like her…” he squinted a bit, “But definitely with your dad’s eyes.”

“Thank you,” you responded politely.

Angel picked at the corner of the photograph and your stomach dropped. “Wait, is there another picture behind it? Can I see?”

You grabbed the picture frame from his hands. “No,” you growled. But seeing the hurt in the spider demon’s eyes made you feel horrible. “Uh, maybe later. I’ve got to wash all this blood off, but I’ll see you at breakfast.” You followed him out the door, locking it behind him.

Once it was just you in the room, you leaned on the back of the door sinking to your knees. You let the facade break and tears rolled down your cheeks as you carefully took the second photo out of the frame. There were actually three in total. But you couldn’t bare looking at the third photograph so you just slipped out the second one without peaking at what lay behind it.

The picture featured three imp children. You, in the middle, with your arms slung around the boys on either side of you. The three of you were so close together in the image that your cheeks squished against one another’s as you all wore huge grins.

The memory almost made a small smile form on your own face beneath all the tears. You lovingly traced a finger over both of their faces, longing for a time that seemed so far away now. But then the feeling of rage bubbled up inside of you, and your bloodied claw scratched across the face of the boy with braces who stood on your right.

Shame followed and you wished you could rewind time to undo what you had just done. You ruined the last memory you had of that happy boy. Before the fire. Before everything.

A knock at your door jolted you out of your self-pity. “Open up,” Nifty said. “I’m here to clean up your mess!”

Once you scrubbed all the blood off your body and dressed for the day, you joined the rest of the hotel in the kitchen for breakfast. Almost the whole Hazbin Hotel crew had finished their meals — Angel was still picking at some fruit left on his plate — but they were still hanging around.

Well, everyone except Alastor, but he enjoyed his unique tastes in the privacy of his own room. That was a relief.

You loaded up your plate and sat next to Angel across from Charlie, who was showing Vaggie some scribbled plans for the hotel on her notepad.

“Hey Angel, I’m really sorry about how I reacted when you saw that picture. I’m not really comfortable sharing.”

He stopped his nibbling and pulled you in for a hug. A real one this time. You melted into his touch, the feeling of his soft fur against your skin. “It’s okay. I get it, babe. You’ve had a rough morning.”

Husk approached you on his way to the kitchen sink with his dishes. “Hey kid, heard you had a lil’ accident this morning. I’ve been there, especially when I first got to Hell. Wasn’t used to having to maintain these claws.”

You could tell the bartender was trying to be comforting, but it embarrassed even more. Not because someone told him about your mess, but because you were born in Hell. You had these sharp talons your whole life.

“Thanks Husk,” you said, taking a sip of the coffee you had just poured. “Honestly, I’m normally good. I just had a nightmare last night.” You were hoping the excuse would make you feel less pathetic but then Angel let out a fit of laughter.

“A nightmare? We’re in hell. Hell, you’re from hell. You’re in the nightmare, sweetheart.” Your skin grew heated and tail flicked in annoyance. You could see from the look in his eyes that he realized how insensitive it was and regretted making fun of you. Joking was just his knee-jerk reaction.

Charlie chimed in just in time before things could get really awkward. “Ya know, what might be fun?!” She bounced in her seat. “You, me, a night out on the town! I finally have someone who I can venture outside of the pride ring with!”

You shifted in your seat, not sure what to make of this. A little worried that Vaggie might be jealous, but when you looked at her she looked totally unbothered. In fact, she looked quite pleased.

“Sure, Charlie. That sounds like fun.” You looked down as you picked at the food on your plate, trying to hide your uncertainty.

“Maybe, there’s a show tonight in the greed ring!” You hesitated at the mention of your old home, but the all-imp circus was long gone and so were most of the survivors. Many dispersed, escaping to the simple farm life in the Wrath Ring or the absolute dumpster fire that is Imp city.

“Sounds good. Thank you for inviting me.”

She bounced out of her seat so quickly that she knocked over the empty plate she had pushed to the side. But she didn’t care, she was too excited. The princess was genuinely one of the bubbliest, kindest individuals you had ever met in Hell, which was shocking considering the people she ruled.

“I’ll go look up tickets and then I’ll let you know what time to be ready!” she said as she sped off with Vaggie picking up the mess the princess left in her wake.

“Is that going to make Vaggie jealous?” you whispered to Angel.

“No, it was her idea. They were brainstorming ways to cheer you up while you were getting ready,” Angel said, a bit louder than you would have liked. “I’m jealous though.”

Charlie told you to be ready at 5, so when you finished your makeup and hair a half an hour early you decided you would make yourself a snack. Back in the kitchen, you gathered some cheese and hot sauce from the fridge. Squirting a bit of the red sauce on a big chunk, you took a bite and were mid-chew of the delicious combination when the whirring sound of a radio stopped your enjoyment.

“What an odd combination, my dear.” Alastor appeared right behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. “Is that a normal snack for your kind?”

Something about the way he said “your kind” made you want to punch him. “No,” you said proudly. “It’s just something my best friend showed me as kid.” You almost gasped when you realized what you had just revealed to him. And that you still referred to him as your best friend. “Want some?” You offered, knowing the overlord would refuse.

“No thank you. It’s not exactly my taste.”

“You won’t know until you try it!” you said, thinking only of him. Not the radio demon standing before you. “And who are you to judge? You’re a fucking cannibal.”

“Such foul language coming from the lips of such a pretty creature,” Alastor paused, humming to himself for a moment. “You look absolutely divine tonight darling.”

You almost choked. Is he flirting? You couldn’t really tell. So many of his words were just lies to manipulate soaked in honey. But you were dressed a bit differently than you normal tonight since Charlie had told you to dress up.

You didn’t know what to say so you settled on being polite since you knew it would appease him. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“What are you all dolled up for?” He grew closer to you, his face now only a few inches away from your own. You backed up to create some space between you two but hit your back against the counter.

“Charlie and I are going to see a show.” You nervously ran your hands up and down your arms as if it was cold – even though the room was getting quite toasty.

“Oh, how wonderful. Would you two ladies want a gentleman to accompany you on your outing tonight? I just so happen to be free.”

“No,” you said. His eyebrows raised and he squinted those devious eyes at you. “No, thank you. And anyways, we’re leaving the pride ring so unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to join.” You gave an exaggerated pout as if you were actually devastated at the thought of Alastor not being able to crash your night out with Charlie.

Alastor’s smile never wavered, but you thought you could see a twinge of disappointment in his eyes. “I never learned why you moved in to this old hotel with us. Certainly a hell born imp like yourself wouldn’t think she could be redeemed.”

You wracked your brain for what to say and settled on the same censored, but true story you told Charlie weeks before when you had arrived on her doorstep. “I wanted to help. I may not be redeemable, but at least I could try and do some good.“

“Mmm-hmm.” You could tell he knew you weren’t telling the whole truth. The whole truth would be too much.

“I’ve done so many horrible things during my life in hell and I thought this might be my only opportunity to make up for it.”

Alastor’s smile grew even wider, clearly glad to get at least a little more information out of you. You hadn’t told that last part to Charlie and you honestly wondered what made you share it with him now. Before you could get too lost in your thoughts – speak of the devil’s daughter, she saved you.

“Oh, hey Al,” she said, looking surprised to see you two talking so close together. “You ready to go? I know it’s a bit earlier than I planned but I want to make sure we can beat the crowds.”

“I’m down!” you said, happy for the excuse to slip out of this oddly intimate conversation with the radio demon.

Thank you so much for reading! I thought I was done with the next part but I want to rework it to make it better. Until next time...

Part 2

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #hazbin hotel x helluva boss fan fiction #helluva boss #helluva boss fan fiction #hazbin hotel alastor #helluva boss blitzo #eventual smut #fan fiction #alastor x reader #past blitzo x reader

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collapsedglasshouses · 1 year

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Consequences || Noah Sebastian x Reader [Part 3]

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: After not hearing from Noah for weeks, Y/N finds herself at a wedding with the boys.

Warnings: swearing, a tiny bit of angst, tension, mentions of previous sexual events, MDNI, alcohol consumption, let me know if I forgot something :)

A/N: Hello my beautiful people. I wrote this chapter last night. All at once. My head was completely empty after that. Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger ._. Please let me know how you liked this chapter! Enjoy c:

It’s been two weeks since the eventful night that ended with you under Noah’s bed. To your surprise Nick didn’t catch you, not even when you nearly sneezed because of the dust under Noah’s bed. But to your disappointment you didn’t talk with Noah about this whole thing. In all honesty you didn’t even talk at all. The day after the event, you got called by your landlord that your apartment was ready to be lived in again.

That's way you were now, two weeks later, on a thursday, sitting in front of your computer and answering work emails while listening to your upstairs neighbors screaming at each other repeatedly.

When you looked at the clock, it told you it was already time for bed since tomorrow was going to be an important day. One of your childhood friends was getting married this weekend and invited you as well as the boys, since she knew almost everyone out of the group personally except Jolly. But since he almost became everyone's 'service human' she invited him as well.

When you shut down your PC and stretched your back, you couldn't help but think about Noah. You hadn't heard from him in a while. While your brother told you they were working on planing another tour, even going to Europe, you felt kind of sad that he didn't tell you that himself, since you fucking crawled under his bed to escape being caught by your brother.

You almost started to feel something like regret when you stepped into your shower, your mind still infested with the thoughts of Noah's and your 'adventure'. Even though you knew better, you couldn't help feeling like he just used you. It wasn't like Noah had no options, he was the fucking lead singer of a popular metalcore band and looked like the reallife version of Eren Yeager.

It wasn't like you hadn't any options too, having your families genes, but something about Noah just made you feel different.

When you stepped out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around your body before swiping over the fogged up mirror and looking at yourself. Work drained you the last couple of days and you really looked forward to tomorrow since you would be away for almost three days.

So when you packed your bag and finally lay down on your bed, you tried to think about the break you had from your life here for the next couple of days.

Your alarm woke you up at 8 AM. While your plane wouldn't take off until 6 PM, you knew the boys and yourself well enough to give you some extra time to arrive to the airport.

You stood up, put on some music, that being your Bring Me The Horizon playlist today, and began to get ready. First you did your chores and cleaned everything that needed to be cleaned before you would leave for the next days.

Than you made your way to the bathroom at around 11 AM, brushing your teeth, putting on some light make up and than packing the last bit of the things you needed for the wedding.

You almost danced into the kitchen to finally make yourself breakfast, still wearing nothing but a very tiny crop top and mickey mouse panties.

"Time stood still the way it did before" You sang while opening your fridge to grab a milk to pour inside your filled cereal bowl. "It's like I'm sleepwalk-... AAH WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Out of fear you let your bowl drop to the floor, it making a loud shattering noise while the whole content spread across the kitchen tiles. The intruders, outing themselves as Nick, Folio, Noah and Jolly, laughed violently.

You cursed them out while starting to clean your kitchen and at the same time trying to cover yourself up. "What is wrong with you, guys? I could have been naked! You know I have something called a bell which you can ring to make yourselves known instead of breaking into my stupid apartment, you little fuckers?!"

"That would have been a sight." Jolly joked while standing up with the other boys to help you clean up the mess. "I'll kill you, Karlsson. They'll have to find another guitarist and buy a new guitar because I'll smash yours at your fucking beautiful head." You cursed while wiping up the milk with a rag. You heard Noah laugh behind you, who made it his task to prepare you a new cereal bowl.

"Here you go." He handed you your breakfast. "Sit down and eat, we'll clean the rest."

While you still wanted to set them on fire, you bit back you anger and thanked them for their help before sitting down to eat.

"We wanted to come here early since normally you're always the one being early." Folio explained while sitting down next to you. You took the last spoon. "It's fine but if you do that ever again, I'll take the key from my brother, break it into four pieces and show it up your asses."

"Arousing.", Jolly joked again, causing you to throw the paper work, laying on the kitchen counter, at him.

"Oh, we didn't tell you." Nick started his sentence. "Davis is waiting outside in the car. He offered to drop us of at the airport."

You sighed while cleaning up your bowl, before making your way to your bedroom, getting dressed in something comfortable, grabbing your bag and your dress for the wedding, before heading out of your apartment, not even looking back at the boys. They quickly followed you.

At 5:45 PM you found yourself getting onto the plane and soon realised you were seated next to Noah, meaning you would spent the next five and a half hours sweating out of nervousness.

The first thirty minutes you didn't say a word. Just looked straight ahead and thought about not thinking about Noah which resulted in (oh wonder) thinking about Noah.

The next thirty minutes you tried to listen to music while reading a book, but after you read a spicy scene while listening to The Death of Peace of Mind, you gave that up too.

The next ten minutes you shifted uncomfortably from left to right, causing Noah to finally break the silence. "Are you okay?" His tone gave away that he was in fact slightly annoyed by your actions.

"Why shouldn't I be okay?", you asked finally sitting comfortable and looking him in the eyes. "Because you ignored me for the past hour?" - "Do you have something to say to me?" He stayed silent. "That's what I thought."

You looked straight ahead again, trying to ignore the confused gaze Noah shot you. When he didn't look away for the next five minutes, you glared at him again. "What, Noah?" - "Why are you like this?" He tried to stay as quiet as possible. "Like what?" - "Almost... bitchy?" Your mouth fell open, startled by his words. "What did you just say?" You almost hissed at him. "You heard me." - "Maybe you should think about your own actions before calling me bitchy, Mr. Davis." -

"Oh, don't 'Davis' me, Ruffilo." He shot back and now fully turned to you. You really didn't know how you managed to keep it quiet until now. "Oh, I'm going to continue to 'Davis' you until you realise not messaging someone for weeks who gave you head and than hid under your bed, isn't really 'Noah-worthy', don't you think?" You whisper-shouted at him and were glad that so many people were talking on the plane that the others surely didn't hear your argument.

With that sentence of yours his attitude was slapped out of his body and he began to back down a bit. You knew Noah had a big ego but it was definitely not as big as yours.

It went quiet between you for another thirty minutes, before Noah sighed. "You know, I'm really sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never would want that."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms before your chest. "But you did." You heard him take a deep breath before he placed a hand on your thigh, instantly giving you goose bumps.

"Please let us talk about this when we come back home. I don't wanna fight with you." He requested honestly, causing you to shortly look at him before gnashing your teeth in consideration. "I don't wanna fight with you either."

He squeezed your thigh for a short moment before smiling at you lightly.

The next hour you spent avoiding the big topic hanging between you and decided catch up since you didn't hear from each other personally for almost two weeks. You didn't even know when it happened but the next thing you knew was when someone pushed your hair out of your face.

"Y/N, you need to wake up." Noah whispers into your ear, causing your neck hair to stand up. "We'll land in a couple of minutes."

When you opened your eyes, you noticed you had leaned against Noah's shoulder in your sleep. You quickly sat up and stretched your back before shooting Noah a shy smile. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that Jolly had noticed what had happened and now was smirking to himself.

When you arrived at the location, which was a mansion-like hotel only booked for the wedding party over the weekend, you were quickly assigned two rooms for the five of you. Since you were all tired and drained from the flight, you decided Nick and Folio would share a room and the rest of you would get the other.

You quickly changed and fell onto your single bed when you got to your room and slept in to the sound of Noah and Jolly chatting before sleep.

You woke up before the boys and decided to get ready before their alarms would go off. So when you came out of the bathroom, showered and only dressed with your towel, you didn't think to hear a 'Good Morning' from Noah, considering it was about twenty minutes before 6 AM.

"Morning." You mumble, slightly overwhelmed by the sight of him. He didn't wear a shirt, fully displaying his tattoos. His arms were crossed behind his head and he shamelessly checked you out.

So while you gathered your clothes, you couldn't help but look at him a couple of times, before returning to the bathroom. Right before you were about to close the door, Noah slipped into the bathroom as well.

"What are you doing?" You whisper-shouted at him, before putting your clothes on the bathroom counter. He also put down his clothes and his towel next to yours.

"If you don't mind I would shower while you put on your make up." He said and before you could answer, he turns away from you to strip out of your clothes, making your eyes widen. "What if Jolly wakes up? What the fuck do you tell him than?" - "He won't wake up" After that sentence he climbed into the shower while you stared at him through the shower glass.

"Sometimes I hate you, Noah Sebastian." - "No, you don't."

You were halfway through your make up when Noah came out of the shower. You swallowed hard while trying your utter best not to stare at him but when he wrapped his towel low around his waist, you couldn't help but shoot him a glance. The way the water drops found their way down his torso sent a wave of heat down your core.

"Do you have something to say?" He asked teasingly. "No, you?" When he said nothing you took a deep breath before applying mascara while he put on some underwear. Right when you placed the mascara back into your make up bag, you felt his hands on your hips, making you sigh.

You closed your eyes when you felt his breath on your neck. "You already look so beautiful, I can't wait to see you in your dress." I can't wait for you to take it off of me. You thought but quickly regained control, clearing your throat and opening your eyes to see Noah already looking at you through the mirror. "You look really good yourself."

"I'm not even wearing clothes." - "As if you don't know how gorgeous you look right now." That was the moment. The first time you saw Noah's cheeks turn into a slight pink color before a small smile crept onto his face. In all those years, this was truly the first time you left him speechless.

He squeezed your hips one last time before mumbling a small 'Thank you.' Than he left the bathroom right in time for Jolly's alarm to go off.

About an hour later the three of you were almost ready when there was a knock on the door.

"We are late." Your brother announced when Noah opened the door for him and Folio but stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing there while braiding a strand of Jolly's hair. "I don't even ask"

"What? Have you seen him? Have you seen his hair?" You defend your actions while you secure his small braided strand with an elastic. After Jolly thanked you, you turned to fully face you brother.

"Wow, you look amazing, Y/N." Nick states while admiring your dress. The motto of the wedding being 'Black/White/Red' gave you the idea do base your outfit off of the iconic Morticia Addams. You wore a long black dress that flattered your curves with slightly too long bat sleeves. Your fingernails matched with your lipstick, both being the same shade of dark red.

"More than amazing." Noah added shooting you an honest smile that made your stomach twist with joy.

You all hurried to make it in time for the ceremony, not having time to catch up with old school friends, since you were already late.

Even though you weren't that close with the bride and groom, only remembering her from school, you had tears in your eyes by the time they exchanged their vows. This didn't go unnoticed by Noah, who slowly but surely grabbed your hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

No matter how delusional that sounded, for a brief moment you thought if there was any future where you would be standing up there with Noah. You quickly shook the thought out of your head by how imaginary the thought sounded but you knew one thing, even if you weren't the wedding couple, Noah would be standing up there with you. There was no way that a universe existed were Noah wasn't in your live. As confusing this whole thing had gotten, there was this one thing you were sure of and from which you would never let yourself be dissuaded.

So you looked at the man you had known for so many years and gave him a smile while squeezing his hand in reassurance.

Around six hours and 30 half-hearted conversations later, you found yourself sitting next to Jolly at your assigned table. "If another person asks me how i've been since school ended, imma drown myself in sparkling wine." You complained to your friend who chuckled at your statement. "I feel with you." You both let your gaze wonder over the party room. A lot of people were pretty wasted, including the bride who was currently dancing to Gangnam Style with her maid of honor. When you looked to her right, you almost choked on your drink. "Fuck, Jolly. You know who this is?" You slightly point your finger at a guy standing at the bar, talking to the groom. "Uhm... no. I don't know anyone except you guys." "That is Michael fucking Baldrow." "Who?" "She slept with that guy when she was... let me think... 18?" Noah answered for you, scaring you a bit before sitting down next to you, looking absolutely done.

"Naaah, was he the one who picked your cherry?" Jolly teased bumping his arm against yours. You almost immediately looked to Noah and with that your fate was decided. You couldn't stop Jolly from putting 1 and 1 together. "NO FUCKING WAY."

You tensed up, shooting a glare at Jolly. "Shut the fuck up." - "Noah and you... No fucking way. This story is getting better everyday." - "I told you to shut up." - "Noah fucking took your virginity?! I can't even breath."

You grabbed Jolly's arm and looked him dead serious in the eye. "If you don't calm down I assure you, this will be your last breath."

Jolly hold his laughter while apologizing to you. You took a deep breath before looking at Noah, who smirked at you. "What, Noah?" - "It's been ten years, I think it is okay if we finally let someone know."

"Nick doesn't know, does he?" Jolly than asks while searching for your brother in the crowd. You all found him standing at the bar, talking to one of his old friends. "No, he doesn't and I think I like it that way." You took a sip from your glass.

"He also doesn't know about the last weeks, does he?" Jolly than asks while smirking, causing Noah and you to ultimately choke on your drinks.

"What did you say?" - "I talked about the fact that you two were definitely fucking on his birthday party." He said that with such a lack of emotion that you weren't sure if he was joking.

You and Noah's eyes met and for a couple of seconds you both seemed to try to process what your friend just set, when he added: "No need for excuses, I also heard that Noah showered while you got ready this morning."

You shot Noah the 'I told you so' glance but before you could defend yourselves, 'Sweet Child of Mine' by Guns 'N' Roses started playing and Jolly forced the two of you on the dance floor, leaving no room to protest.

On the way to the dance floor he managed to catch Folio and Nick and you found yourselves in a circle, dumbly fidgeting around, but with every second passing you forgot about the fact that you couldn't dance and just let go of your worries.

You were here with your bestest of friends. That was everything that mattered to you in this moment.

And than. Than Noah came close to you and whispered in your ear.

"Meet me at our room in five."

What?

READ PART 4 HERE

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #rpf #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites #bad omens cult

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delicatebarness · 2 months

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bring him home | chapter five

Summary: After almost two years, you find yourself back in Wakanda.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Mentions of Grief and Loss. Violence. Mental Health Themes. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1700

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-Fi

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: My heart breaks itself. I swear. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Six months had passed since the support groups had been established and continued to flourish, they provided solace and strength to make who had been lost in their grief. Every meeting you attended, and every story shared was a step toward healing. Not just for them, but for you as well.

The more you share with the other victims, the more you feel a pull– a need to return to the place where so much had changed. Wakanda. With trepidation and determination, you boarded a Quinjet, the familiar hum of its engines filled the air as it took off. For the first time since the Snap, you flew back to find peace for yourself.

Arriving in Wakand, you were greeted with warmth by the Dora Milaje and the people who remembered you and Bucky, as well as the Avengers’ sacrifices. Okoyoe herself welcomed you, her presence a comforting reminder of the strength and resilience of the Wakandan people.

“It’s good to see you again,” Okoyoe said, her voice calm and reassuring. “Wakanda has missed you.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Thank you, Okoyoe. It’s good to be back.”

Walking through the vibrant streets of Wakanda, memories of your time on the run flooded your mind. The scars of Thanos’ attack were still visible, yet the landscape had recovered. Your destination, however, was a secluded hut on the outskirts of the city, the place where Bucky found solace and freedom before he disappeared.

Standing untouched, the hut was a silent testament to Bucky’s time there. Creaking softly, you pushed the door open, stepping inside. Dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight as the air stayed still. After almost two years, you could almost feel his presence again– as if he had just stepped out and would return any moment.

You took in every detail as you moved carefully through the small space. His belongings were still there– a few worn journals, a simple wooden carving of a wolf, and Polaroid photos. You ran your fingers over the carving, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as a sense of connection and longing overwhelmed you.

As night fell, you sat by a window, glancing out at the Wakandan landscape. Looking up, the stars above you were bright, a reminder of the vastness of the universe and the small place you held within it.

You reached for one of Bucky’s leather-bound journals, feeling a pull toward its familiar texture. As you read his raw emotions and thoughts, the events he recounted stirred a deep sense of recognition within you.

Washington D.C. 2014

A buzzing on your nightstand jolted you from your restless sleep. Groggily, you reached for it, squinting at the unknown number flashing on the screen. Rolling your eyes, you answered with a tired voice. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Natasha’s familiar voice, came through low and urgent.

“Nat?” you sat up, immediately more alert. “Why are you using an unknown number?”

“No time to explain,” she said, her tone clipped. “I need you in Washington, like yesterday.”

Sighing, you rubbed your temples. “I can’t, Nat. I–”

“This isn’t optional,” she interrupted, her voice hardening. “This is serious.”

“What’s going on?” you asked, trying to gauge the gravity of the situation.

“It’s him,” she said, her words heavy with implication.

Your heart skipped a beat. The mere thought of The Winter Soldier brought back a flood of memories– painful, complicated memories. Pushing aside your initial reluctance, you took a deep breath.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady as you rose from your bed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The feeling of unease couldn’t be shaken as you flew to Washington, anxiety and anticipation blurred your mind. The Winter Soldier was a lingering shadow that shaped your life, he was more than a ghost from your past.

Natasha’s eyes scanned the surroundings with practiced vigilance as she waited in a small cafe. Before ushering you to a secluded corner, she pulled you into a brief, tight hug.

“Glad you made it,” she said.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you replied, your eyes scanning the small cafe. “Where is he?” Natasha proceeded, giving you a brief rundown of the situation and what they were dealing with.

Within a couple of hours, Steve and Natasha introduced you to Sam Wilson. They assured you that he could be trusted, but you couldn’t help but feel skeptical. The plan was to abduct Jasper Sitwell, with Sam handling the talking and you on standby ready to fire if necessary.

“And why would I do that?” Jasper Sitwell’s voice crackled through your comms. As if on cue, you readied your gun, aiming its red laser at the man.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up.” Sam retorted, Sitwell glanced down, spotting the small red dot on his tie.

From a vantage point, you watched in disbelief in the car behind. It was true; he was here. Soldat landed on the roof of the car carrying Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Sitwell. He yanked Sitwell out through the window with brutal efficiency, hurling him into oncoming traffic.

You tried to shoot while driving, struggling to maintain control as you watched him open fire on your sister and friends. Suddenly, someone slammed the brakes, causing Soldat to drop onto the road.

Chaos ensured. Colliding with their car, another vehicle pushed them dangerously closer to the assassin. Soldat leaped back on top, smashing through the windshield and ripping out the steering wheel before jumping onto the following vehicle.

As the car door broke off, you saw Steve clinging to Natasha and Sam as they began to slide across the highway. Soldat and the HYDRA agents unleashed a hail of bullets at them.

You stopped your car along with the rest of the panicked traffic, getting out and ducking for cover. When you were clear, you scattered along with the trio, running off in different directions. At first, he was shooting at Natasha but she managed to shoot him in his eye goggle mask and run off.

And that was when he noticed you.

For a moment, the two of you locked eyes, and the chaos around you seemed to fade. His piercing gaze held you, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. A brief, split second where the ruthless assassin appeared to hesitate. In that heartbeat, you saw the man he used to be, the one buried deep.

Suddenly, he fired his weapon. You closed your eyes for a moment, it seemed like the shot was aimed at you, but it whizzed past, striking Natasha in the shoulder just as she was making her way toward you. She cried out and fell to the ground.

“Nat!” you shouted, rushing to her side. Soldat closed in behind you, ready to fire again. Anger boiled within you as you sprang to your feet, delivering a swift powerful kick that sent him staggering back.

“Remember me!” you yelled, trying to break through the haze of his conditioning. “It’s me, remember!”

He didn’t respond, lunging at you with a cold and unyielding expression. Swinging his metal arm in a powerful arc. You ducked and the force of the blow whistled past your ear. Countering with a quick jab to his ribs, he barely flinched and retaliated with a series of rapid punches that you struggled to deflect.

“You know me,” you pleased between strikes, desperation edging into your voice. “You taught me, all of this.”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. Yet, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Driving his knee into your stomach, he knocked the wind out of you and sent you sprawling to the ground. Gasping for breath, you rolled aside, avoid his follow-up stomp.

Scrambling to your feet, you launched yourself at him with determination. He roared in frustration, grabbing you by the throat. The cold metal grip tightened, cutting off your air and lifting you off the ground. Your hands clawed at his arm in a desperate attempt to free yourself, your legs trying to kick out.

“Soldat, please!” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Before he could react, Steve burst onto the scene. With a powerful kick, he knocked Soldat away from you and sent him sprawling to the ground. As they fought, Steve managed to catch Soldat’s metal arm mid-swing and twisted, using his own momentum to throw him across the debris-strewn street. Soldat crashed to the ground, his mask dislodging in the process, revealing the face Steve less expected to see.

Freezing, he lowered his shield. He started at the man who had once been his closest friend. Recognition dawned in Steve’s eyes, shock, sadness, and determination mixed.

“Bucky…?” Steve asked in confusion, his voice both filled with disbelief and hope.

Tears welled in your eyes as you relived a pivotal moment through Bucky’s perspective. As you read through the pages, you traced the lines. His words painted a picture of internal struggle, grappling with memories and emotions buried deep within his fractured mind. It was then you realized that Bucky had indeed recognized you that day. Guilt and anguish coursing through him from his actions.

Outside, the Wakandan night settled. Closing the journal, you held it close to your chest. You allied yourself to grieve for the lost time, but also cherish the gratitude that even in the worst of times, he was still, always in there.

With a steady breath, you set the journal aside and took in the stillness of the hut. A mixture of leather, wood, and a hint of something indefinable that was distinctly him– the air was imbued with a faint scent that was uniquely Bucky. It enveloped you like a comforting embrace, soothing the rough edges of your heartache.

Untouched since that morning, the bed still held his essence. You lay down, allowing yourself to sink into the familiar scent, bringing you peace and belonging. It was the first time that sleep came easily. The weight of grief and relentless striving for closure seemed to lift as you closed your eyes.

---

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lola-writes · 3 months

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One-Eye & the Dreamer

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,9k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond and Aylana's POV.

Chapter 1 (Prologue)

Chapter 2 (Aemond)

Chapter 3 (Aylana)

Chapter 4 (Aylana)

- AYLANA –

I want a trouble-maker for a lover; blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea.

The celebration was a suffocating spectacle. Meaningless chatter swirled around me like dust motes in a sunbeam, while servants drifted through the masses with food and drink, but the tension never abated. It sat there, uninterrupted. Like an echo before the words were even spoken.

Parched, I plucked a goblet from a passerby tray and secluded myself in the shade, twisting uncomfortably in my gown.

In that same moment, I watched the Queen return to the godswood. The masses parted from her course like waves before a storm. She strolled right up to her first-born who was nigh-on asleep in his chair at this point. A curt exchange, a forceful tug on his arm, and the heir to the throne stumbled out of the gardens, escorted by two King’s Guard.

“She looks unhappy, do you not think?” Jace had materialized beside me, plopping a grape into his mouth.

“Who?” I stifled, feeling as if though the heat had thickened my mind to mush, because I swore there was two of him.

“Helaena,” he said blatantly.

My eyes found the poor girl at the edge of the garden, a flurry of nervous energy. Her hands danced in a silent, rapid rhythm, a desperate attempt to soothe the storm within.

“Well, I would be too if I were engaged to my brother. Or even worse, to Aegon,” I laughed, nudging his shoulder, to which Jace rolled his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” he parried, “She looks positively miserable. We should do something.”

I raised a brow and turned to my brother, smiling slyly in equal disbelief and mockery, “What are we to do, dear brother? Kidnap her? Take her with us to Dragonstone? Do be serious.”

Jace shot me a look and shook his head in realization.

“Besides,” I proceeded, “I don’t believe happiness would touch any of the Greens with a five-foot stick.”

Jace scoffed and fixed me with a disapproving glare. He really did have a heart of gold and I chastised myself for being so insensitive. There was no disputing that the Greens were not as we had left them. A deep sadness settled around them like a poisonous mist, though Helaena appeared to bear the brunt of its affliction.

Alicent grabbed hold of Aemond next, her fingers digging into his leather sleeves, her air vibrating with repressed worry. Aemond listened intently, a flicker of defiance warring with a deeper concern in his face, though he spoke to her softly, listening attentively to her wishes, but by the look of it, he was being castigated. He caught my gaze then, a spark of surprise before a steely resolve settled in his stare. My own breath hitched in my throat as our eyes locked for a heartbeat, a silent exchange that crackled with something unspoken.

I looked away.

“Is everything well, sister?” Jace peered at me with eyes the color of a huntsman’s hound, rimmed with the most genteel glint.

“Naturally,” I forced a smile, pulling on my skirts. There was no denying the heat. The thick, moist air covered the city like a woolen blanket.

No breeze. No respite. Just the broiling sun.

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Luke appeared at his brother’s side with an ominous plea, wiping his upper lip.

I looked at him quizzically.

“Mother and Daemon,” he clarified.

Though, they had been absent all but ten minutes, my youngest brother had grown timorous beneath the scrutiny of the Greens.

“I’m sure they’ll be along,” I reassured him, though my voice must have lacked conviction.

“We shall go find them,” said Jace with great solicitude.

With the jolted realization that I’d be left all alone, I grabbed Jacaerys by the arm. “Do not,” I blurted out, a bit too loudly than I had intended.

“We won’t be long, sister,” Jace consoled.

“Our presence is of greater service than our absence.” My heart hammered strangely against my ribs as they turned to leave.

“Which is why you will remain here.”

Before I could protest further, Jace and Luke melted into the throng, leaving me nonplussed and perturbed, a chill whispering across my skin in the heat.

A longing gnawed at me as I gazed across the glittering waters below the city, out of which our volcanic island sprung a mere thirty-minute flight away. I shamed myself for faltering so easily. A one-eyed eunuch with a grudge and a court full of Greens shouldn’t be enough to dismay me.

Faint laughter followed by sounds of plunges and splashes could be heard down below. Women swam naked in the river, right beneath the castle. I grew acutely aware of the sweat leaking out of me in hot pulses, the heat clinging to me like a second skin, and the new dress that Mother had made me wear was not exactly helping my affliction.

What I would give to be low born for a day.

A low voice, rich with an accent that hinted at sun-baked sands, startled me out of my musings, “With beauty like that you’ll leave cities in ruin.” His accent exposed what his complexion would otherwise suggest. But my train of thought was cut short when I met his heavy gaze.

Dark eyes, rimmed by thick black lashes, his skin olive and his hair gleamed like onyx in the summer sun. He donned a golden robe of samite, fitted tight around his waist by a jeweled belt, adorned by the sigil of Sunspear. A sharp rush of reservation ran down my spine.

“A Dornishman in the capital is a rare sight,” I remarked, disregarding the honeyed words that coated his flattery.

“Indeed.” Something amused and dangerous played in his eyes as he wafted a hand by his face. “We don’t like the smell,” he grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

A wry smile tugged at my lips. I could hardly disagree with him about that.

The stifling heat might have been unbearable, though the city’s stench was masked somewhat by the prince’s cologne – a curious mix of citrus and spice, like a desert oasis after a long journey.

“Prince Marius Martell,” he rumbled, his voice as rich and warm as Dornish sand. He pressed soft lips to my knuckles, dark eyes never leaving mine, “At your service.”

The son of Qoren Martell of Dorne - a traitor to the Crown, some say.

Their people were said to be descendants of the Rhoynar.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

And rightfully so, because they had never been conquered, and bent the knee to no king. Not even Aegon the Conqueror who united all of Westeros could bring Dorne to heel. Their independence had always sparked a thrill in me, though their reputation at court was as one might expect.

“I’ve been told that to trust a Martell is to be disappointed.”

He laughed. It was such a big, hearty, exuberant laugh, it came as a surprise. He tilted his head to the side. “Princess Aylana,” he chuckled, his timber disarming. “You Targaryens take yourselves far too seriously.”

My name on his lips caught me off guard.

“Your father joined forces with the Triarchy against Prince Daemon for control of the Stepstones some years ago, did he not?”

Prince Marius gazed out over the open water with a devilish smirk still plastered on his lips. “Dorne and the Crown has rarely seen eye to eye, it’s true”, he said. “But surely we have the right to our own waters. Do you not agree?” His mouth expressed its words in a stretching and sort of rolling manner, providing them with surprising weight, entrancing me like a siren’s call. “Besides,” he continued, and clicked his teeth together. “That was some years ago, was it not?” he smirked, echoing my words for a playful comeback.

It was impossible not to be charmed by him, with his Dornish drawl and inquiring eyes. It felt like I knew everything about him, yet not a single thing at the same time.

He spoke of his homeland with a passion that ignited a fire in my chest, reciting the histories, legends, and customs of his people, and I came to realize he was from another world entirely. A world painted in vibrant hues, vastly different from the courtly intrigues that choked King’s Landing. A world where bastards were not despised and daughters had as much of a claim as sons.

It was riveting.

A prickle of unease danced on my skin. My gaze flickered to Aemond as if I’d felt him watching me. His eye was burning me. His fingers trailing the hilt of his dagger like strings on a fiddle, playing the tune of its blade across my neck. My hand travelled instinctively to the blooming crimson.

“You’ve been hurt.” Prince Marius’ words snapped me back to attention. I whirled away, the movement a touch too swift, a touch too desperate.

“Dragons can be unpredictable creatures,” I offered tersely, an attempt of a smile on my lips. My mother’s words echoed in my head, a cruel reminder,

Know that you’re a terrible liar.

But it wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

“That may be,” he drawled. “Though, unlikely to wield a blade.” He watched me with an inquisitive gaze, his perceptiveness sending a tremor through me.

“My sword is yours to command if you reveal the culprit.” Prince Marius drawl dipped a notch lower, duress coating his voice, as if he had not heard my explanation, or simply ignored it as a response of a silly girl.

For the briefest second, I genuinely believed he was a mind reader and I fought so hard not to let my eyes travel back to the source of my injury. Prince Marius’ sudden resolve tickled opposite emotions out of me, and I laughed.

But the prince of Dorne did not jest. He stood there, unmoving, waiting on his command like a sellsword.

My laugh fell short. “That will not be necessary,” I assured him. Though, I had to admit that his sudden determination to root out my enemies without the slightest hesitation brought me satisfaction and comfort.

Perhaps a Martell could be trusted, after all.

I watched his mien soften to my reassurance.

“How long do you plan to remain in King’s Landing?” I asked, attempting to sway the conversation in a different direction.

“Until the tourney, princess,” he replied. He was to join the tournament list? “Though everything after depends.”

“On what?”

His gaze locked with mine for a beat too long as a secretive smile spread across his lips. “On you.” The words dripped from his lips like honeyed wine.

My cheeks flushed and nerves played beneath my skin.

On me?

He bowed deeply and kissed my knuckles valedictory, before disappearing through the press of bodies.

The boldness of Prince Marius, it seemed, had thrown open the gates for every lord of a noble house to present themselves to me. Lannisters, with their gilded smiles and promises of influence. Tyrells, draped in silks, whispering of wealth. Baratheons, booming with hearty laughter and boasts of strength. Tullys, with an air of cautious calculation, and even a Greyjoy, his presence a salty reminder of the unforgiving sea. Taking their turn one after the other. It was overwhelming. Each echoing their house words in the stale air like hollow promises. Each offered a variation on the same theme: a plea for favor at the upcoming tourney, and requests to spare a dance at the wedding feast in two days’ time. The sheer volume of it all threatened to drown me.

“Cregan Stark of Winterfell.” A young lord, no older than myself, bowed deeply before me in black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather, making him appear curiously feral amongst courtiers in delicate fabrics.

His forehead glistened with beads of sweat, and though his face remained stoic, a flicker of discomfort danced in his blue eyes.

“You’re far away from home, Lord Stark,” I said, offering him a gentle smile. “How are you faring in King’s Landing?”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Implausibly hot, princess,” he rumbled, his northern accent wafting me like a welcomed breeze.

“On that we agree.”

He was beautiful in a stark kind of way. In the way snow glaze mountains, and the way ice reflect the first rays of dawn.

“Please accept this gift as an apology for the namedays I’ve missed, and as a token of my fealty to you, and to your family.” Ser Cregan’s hulking bannerman lumbered forward, the leather leash creaking in his grip as he unveiled a magnificent white wolfhound. “I’ve heard how much you adore the creatures.”

A gasp escaped my lips before I could contain it, as I observed the majestic beast at my feet.

“May she offer you comfort and protection,” he continued, adding weight to the word, and if it wasn’t for the bliss I was currently basking in, I would’ve grown coy.

I could only imagine the state of myself from his view – a scarred face and a slashed neck.

Must’ve been a sight.

“This is a most generous gift, my Lord,” I managed, my voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion. I dropped to my haunches and allowed the hound to sniff me. Her fur, the color of a winter blizzard, was matted and dusty from travel, a stark contrast to the pristine white of her glacier eyes. Her chest heaved with exertion, a giant pink tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was clearly parched. How long had she been out here?

“See to it she has water and a bath,” I commanded a nearby maidservant, and watched as the girl scurried into the castle with the panting hound.

“I shall be watching your prowess at the tourney on the morrow, my Lord,” I declared with a smile.

Lord Cregan dipped his head. “Thank you, princess, but I am not on the list. I will join merely as a spectator.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall save you a dance at the feast.”

“I don’t dance, princess,” he rumbled, a hint of apology battling with his natural stoicism. “But if you find yourself in need of… meaningful conversation,” he offered, “I am at your service.” A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips for a moment before he bowed once more, and took his leave with his bannermen in heel, leaving me feeling oddly dissatisfied.

As the throng thinned and the servants descended upon the revelry’s remnants, I found myself beneath the white oak tree. Its bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved into its trunk, and its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines wrestled beneath the soil. Birds sang their melodies from hidden nests and brought a sereness to my overwhelmed mind, but the thumps of a cane against stone made my skin crawl.

“We have missed you, princess. I dare say, none has sparked the court alight quite like you these past years. Not even your mother when she was your age,” Lord Larys Strong drawled.

A tight smile played on my lips, a flimsy shield against the disdain bubbling within me. “You flatter me, my Lord.” The image of feet flashed before my eyes, and I had to do everything in my power not to gag.

“I must offer my condolences on the passing of Ser Harwin,” he said, his voice laced with venom, “You were so very close growing up. Even as a babe you were special to him. The gods are cruel.”

My jaw tightened. “He was your brother, Lord Larys. I believe it is I who should offer my condolences,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

Larys lifted a shoulder and stacked his hands atop the head of his cane, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm. “Grief, princess, is a tapestry woven with many threads. One person’s sorrow does not diminish the anguish of another.”

I met his gaze, a challenge flickering in my eyes. “Is it such grief, after all?” my voice was barely above a whisper, “You took his place as the new Lord of Harrenhal.”

My statement hung heavy in the air.

Larys looked at me as if I’d hit him over the head with my goblet. But I knew he was full of shit.

“Sharp as a winter wind, as always, princess,” he said, almost in a state of admiration, as a grin tugged at his lips.

The nausea I felt rising in my throat had nothing to do with the wine. Rolling my eyes, I gazed up into the crown of the heart tree, its face looking like it wailed in agony.

“They say the children of the forest carved the faces in the weirwoods during the dawn, centuries before the coming of the First Men across the Narrow Sea.”

Trying to dissociate from Lord Larys’ strenuous tale, I caught Aemond’s lingering gaze over my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but notice that he had not touched a scrap of food, nor drunk a drop of wine since our earlier encounter.

A spark of triumph ignited in my chest – I had rattled him.

But whether this unexpected advantage would prove to be a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

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