#Little Fire Plume

[dutybcrne]

I like to think that for a time before he got decent control over his Vision, every time Bennett got a bleeding injury, there would IMMEDIATELY be a little flare of fire right over it that cauterized the wound immediately. Scarring it for sure unless he could get to the church fast enough. He didn’t see a problem with it until it happened in front of his dads, and they IMMEDIATELY gave him a slew of reasons to please Never Do That Again.

[charliemwrites]

The long-awaited part 2 for ragdoll!reader.

I’ll be honest, I never intended for there to be another part, so I hope this is alright! I might add more in the future if the worms demand it, but for now let’s consider this the last part. Sorry!

If Price had any optimism that Ragdoll’s reaction to Konig was just a fluke - or perhaps some sort of initial, fleeting interest - he’s quickly proven wrong.

She’s utterly infatuated with him.

Constantly pressing herself close, rubbing her cheek against him and his clothes, bumping her head against his. She chirps and chitters and purrs at him, pupils blown out. Never seems bothered that he has trouble verbally responding; or seems to, though Johnny mentions they might be communicating at a frequency only cat-hybrids can hear.

Price has the briefest notion of keeping them separated. After all, Konig is a big combat placement that doesn’t seem much indulgent of his non-violent instincts. More human than cat - a complete opposite to their sweet companion kitty. It seems inevitable that something goes wrong and someone - likely the 141’s precious girl - gets injured. So naturally they try to keep the hybrids apart.

Try to coordinate schedules to keep her and Konig from passing each other, ending up in the same rooms or at the mess hall together.

It’s futile.

For one, she may be the sweetest little thing around, but she’s still a cat (or cat-hybrid anyway). There’s really no stopping her from going somewhere, especially on a base she’s had free run of for over a year already. Closed doors are blasphemy, and locks are a personal attack against her.

For two, her only job is to be a companion. She is not beholden to most military protocols like rank, SOPs, schedules, or duty. Meaning that, while she usually keeps to the 141’s routines out of desire to be with them, there’s nothing forcing her to follow along. Even as an emotional support placement, she isn’t required to be around them at any time; she always just wants to be. It’s why she’s so good at it.

And finally, mostly importantly here, there’s really just no telling her “no.”

Not with those big eyes that get so watery so fast. That sad curve to her mouth. The fucking mournful cries when she’s been denied and she doesn’t understand why - nor does anyone really have a good reason.

(“He’s twice your size” is apparently not a good reason. Neither is “he could crush your skull in one hand.”)

Worse still, it’s not even that she’s misbehaving as a reason to keep them separated.

While she does present more cat than human in a lot of ways, she understands English perfectly. She can read and even write if needed. Vocalizing human speech is beyond rare, but she has once or twice.

So she knows the hard and fast rules. Understands that she can’t interrupt drills or exercises. That there are regulations for the range should she ever venture out there. That she has to be quiet during briefings. And she does all of this - just while also being as close to Konig as possible.

She sits in the grass or on a perch watching the boys run and call to each other. And as soon as they’re done, she’s up and flitting to his side, head tilting this way and that. She shifts into her full-cat form during briefing to sit on his lap. Even follows him out to the range, lying in the grass next to him with tail swishing and headphones on, while he fires the rifle.

Never mind any free time.

Members of both their teams keep finding them cuddled up together all over the place. In the rec room on a couch, in patches of sun beneath windows, in the grass by the running tracks, even in Konig’s room on base. Most often with Ragdoll lying on him, plumed tail curled around his arm or leg while he rubs her back or ears.

Sometimes they hear him talking to her, low and quiet. She meows back on occasion, but he doesn’t seem to mind the lack of verbal response while he rambles.

And the first time anyone sees them wrestle is nerve-wracking. They hardly make a sound the entire time, rolling around on the floor in a tangle of limbs and fluffy tails. Konig always lets her win - even laughs when she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm. (It’s the first anyone on his team has heard him laugh like that and they’re a bit startled.) The entire 141 pretends not to be on high alert - except Johnny, who watches with ears perked, eyes darting between the two cats.

Price doesn’t know what to make of it. Of course he’s not upset that she’s connected with another hybrid. Johnny is usually the only one on base, and while they’re close, Price knows it probably isn’t the same as her own species.

That she’s so… preoccupied with Konig is, well.

“Is she… ya know…?” Gaz asks at one point.

When Price arches an eyebrow, he makes a vague, nonsensical gesture.

“In heat,” Gaz mumbles awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t be,” Price answers. “She has an implant.”

A hormone implant keeps a hybrid from going into mating cycles or getting pregnant - but it doesn’t stop them from bonding.

Kate is the one to bring up the possibility after speaking to her sister in law. Ragdoll spent time around other cat-hybrids before she was placed with the 141, but never reacted to them like she does to Konig.

It’s confirmed when TF-141 and the KorTac squad deploy for their mission. Ragdoll is near inconsolable. Not actively crying (most of the time) but lethargic and sad, with low appetite and lots of big, long sighs. Her ears never perk more than half-mast for the month they’re gone. Even taking her off-base back to Kate’s sister-in-law for a little while doesn’t seem to help.

The day they come back, she’s the most lively anyone’s seen in a month. Bounces between her four team members incessantly, checking that they’re okay, making little noises in the back of her throat. They happily drop kisses on her head, let her nuzzle up beneath their chins, hug her close. Rub at her ears and squish up her cheeks. Price even picks her up, rubbing his bristly cheek against her temple.

Then Konig steps out.

She wiggles, making a nervous, upset noise. Price sets her down and she bolts into Konig’s arms, crying loudly and pawing at his hood. And to everyone’s shock, he lifts it enough for her to wriggle under with him.

If there was any question that he felt the same way - it’s answered.

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything Pt. 2

Gotham was a terrible place to live.

It was great.

People weren’t overly friendly or familiar with people they didn’t know, meaning they paid Danny no mind. No one mentioned he had fangs. No one commented on his slightly pointed ears. And no one questioned his strange ability to ward off muggers and would be criminals without even having to speak to them. His ghost aura came in handy sometimes.

It also mean that rent was dirt cheap. Especially in Crime Alley where Danny had taken up residence. It was made even cheaper by the fact that Danny didn't need heating with his ghostly physiology. It cut a lot down on bills. Not that it really mattered much. As Ghost King, he had an abundance of funds that he wasn’t sure he could dry it up within fifty lifetimes, let alone his one. However immortal it was.

The downside was the old wiring. Leaving him here. Eating Mac and cheese out of the pot he’d been cooking up as he watched the fire flicker and smoke plume out the windows.

Now, Danny hadn’t been planning to flee his apartment, it’s not like he woulda been in any danger, but his neighbour, some guy named Jason, had gone door to door, ensuring everyone was following the fire drills that children learned in elementary school which were ultimately incredibly flawed. Who really believed that an entire school of children would stay calm and collected during an actual fire?

Jason was nowhere to be seen now, though. Danny wondered if he was okay, but that guy currently helping a family out onto a fire escape, Red Bird. . .Red Helmet or something, would probably make sure he was. He was apparently a crime lord, but a good one?. . . .

. . .

Gotham was weird.

Just as the red guy and the family reached the ground, a scream for help called from the second top floor. They sounded young. Danny looked up to see a little girl at a window and flames raging too close for her to go anywhere.

Well. . . that was concerning. Who had left such a young kid unattended? 

Red Dude was dashing out to the front of the building to get his bearings, looking for a way up. He wouldn’t be able to reach the girl using the fire escape. Danny took another bite of his Mac and Cheese, watching as the man’s grapple gun jammed.

Danny heaved a deep sigh. 

He supposed he would have to get involved.

Leaving the crowd of tenants that had huddled on the sidewalk, Danny trudged back across the street and into an alley. He went far enough that no one would see him and opened a portal. With one hand, he reached in, found purchase on his quarry, and turned away to drag the ladder out and behind him.

Danny found Trigger-Happy-Dude starting to scale the building. Danny interrupted him before he got too far.

He belatedly wondered where the fire-fighters and cops were.

“Oh, hey, look what I randomly found in that alley.”

Red Dude paused to look at him. Looked at the ladder trailing behind Danny.

“It’s a ladder.” Danny raised it slightly from his lazy hold, noting how much he felt like he was giving an infomercial right now. “Pretty long, huh? Long enough to reach that floor, I bet.” Danny added helpfully with an encouraging nod. “How fortuitous.”

The Red Dude was quick to drop down and take it from him, but stared at Danny the whole time as if was abnormally weird.

Which was rude. Danny was just abnormal, thank you very much.

“Uhh. . .good work.” Red Dude said, setting up the ladder with Danny’s help. The vigilante tested it for stability. 

Danny scoffed. As if he would purposefully tamper with it.

Which wasn’t too far-fetched in this city.

Red Dude deemed it acceptable. “Hold it steady for me, would ya?”

Danny nodded.

The man climbed up and Danny held both sides, pouting down at his pot of Mac and Cheese he’d had to set aside for the moment.

Ah, the sacrifices he makes.

Across the street, there were a multitude of cheers as Red Dude reached the little girl and settled her on his front like a backwards piggy-back hold.

Danny stepped aside when Red reached the bottom to pick his pot back up.

Sirens cut into the roar of flames above their heads and the loud call of the tenants that had lasted rather short, a few half-hearted cheers dying on the wind.

It was the middle of the night. Everyone was tired.

The mother of the little girl ran up to take her child and flagged down the first paramedic to arrive on the scene.

Danny returned his gaze to Red Dude who equally eyed him. Or at least, Danny assumed. His head was facing him.

“You’re that guy who punched out Joker.”

Danny paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He slowly brought it the rest of the way. “How’d you know about that?”

“Cameras.” Hood tapped his helmet with a finger. “I saw RR and Robin’s video feed.”

Danny hummed, nodding along as he chewed. He wasn’t terribly concerned. Danny was just a random guy that happened to punch another random guy. It probably happened all the time in a place like Gotham. There was no need for further investigation into who Danny was. The vigilantes had probably forgotten all about him until this instant.

Red Dude looked at his pot. “That’s what you’re eating?” He said, somehow conveying judgement through the modulator.

“Yep.” Danny took another bite. After a moment of contemplation, he left the fork in his mouth to produce another from his hoodie pocket. He held it out to Red Dude. “Mac and Cheese?”

The dude leaned back slightly and his crossed arms gave the impression he was offended. “You just carry forks around in your pockets?”

Danny shrugged. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a back-up fork.”

Red Dude considered him for another moment and Danny thought he’d decline. But then, he shrugged, his stance relaxing somewhat. “Sure.” He accepted the fork.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier.  Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

[alastorsfuckassbob]

We'll Meet Again

Alastorxfem!reader

Part two to "you're never fully dressed without a smile"

Plot: You're down infamously bad for Alastor. You work for a shift for Valentino and somehow you end up at everyone's favorite hell based hotel! I swear to god you will make physical contact with deal Al by chapter 3.

A/N: OH GOD THIS IS A LONG ONE, and honestly for an Alastor fic really Valentino and Angel Dust focused- but like any good story there are more than two characters so we should develop them✨

As always, minors DNI-

Somehow we got spicer and a bit more angsty so read the warnings and think critically if its something you really want to read

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Domestic Violence, Abusive Relationships

-Swearing

-Valentino (has to be its own warning)

-Smoking and Alcohol use

-Sexual Innuendo

"Y/n"

"Y/n, please let me hear you. Your voice lights a fire within me that I cannot ignore"

The static popped, heartfelt and genuine, the phrase echoing throughout the dimly lit room and deep into the pits of your soul. It reminded you of those late nights spent at the studio with him. Of the memories you had created with him, you spent the least time mulling over your time at the station. It was just too much to handle, you would sit for hours talking about whatever fancies fit the time, swaying to the complex chords and swing of the music. No matter what mood you walked in with, it vanished the moment your frame entered his arms. Your hand grazed the edge of your cheek in the mirror imagining how his hand traced the outline of your face as it so often used to do. The show had hundreds of listeners, you were speaking to the world so it would appear, but anything and everything you said or played was made strictly for each-other.

Here you were, lost in time once again. You had missed those little moments, far more than you anticipated. You had always been one to get lost following the tracks of memory. but this..this was different, your body felt as if it was buzzing. His honey lined transatlantic accent reverberated throughout your skull. Sickeningly sweet, holding desperation but still not depravity. It lacked the typical Sadism and savagery, a commonality in your hellish experience. The wicked pair usually found itself wrapped around your arm and caught against your throat. You had become accustomed to those feelings of desperation, but somehow his was different. He hadn't said much of anything and it felt like he had bottled every sweet nothing and loving whisper he had uttered in your direction throughout your life, and poured them into his tonality all at once. The static grew heavier.

"Y/-n y-y-N"

his voice became distorted and crackled. He kept speaking but the words were mangled and malformed. You couldn't quite make out what he was attempting to get across. You couldn't lose him not another time, even if you hadn't really "had him" again.

It was enough to send you into a fit of desperation.The incoherencies faded out, only deafening static remained .

"Alastor"

your wavering voice filled with alarm. You rushed to the radio nearly falling of the counter as you did so. You feverishly tuned the knob hoping for just another moment with him, even if it was just audibly. The electricity crackles, and dark grey smoke erupts from the small box and into your face. You cough rapidly upon contact. The fire sparks, promptly melting the exterior of the radio.

"shit fuck shit fuck shit"

You rasp between coughs. Something ablaze was not entirely out of the ordinary, yet you remained panicked. you thoughtlessly unplug the radio, scalding your hands in the process. Not knowing what else to do, you throw the newly aflame radio into the tub. It wheezes out another plume of smoke before sinking down into the water.

"well that isn't..ideal"

You decide its a tomorrow issue and head off to sleep. Still slightly shaken up, you throw on a silky nightgown and plop into your bed. You wouldn't find peace in your sleep, you never did. You closed your eyes unready to face your demons but too exhausted to care.

The next day comes to pass sooner than you'd care to admit. You don't feel well rested, but you can't find it in yourself to go back to sleep. Your thoughts are still so dreadfully plagued with Alastor. The way his lips felt on your own, the soft gentle curl of his hair. Everything aspect of him was so fundamentally perfect. Even his so called flaws. He may be an attention seeking idiot, but he was your attention seeking idiot. That was all that mattered. You'd be happy to do most anything to supply him his attention fix. You looked at the clock across from your bed, it was already noon. You had told Angel you'd be at the club around one. Unhappily, you rolled out of bed grabbing another outfit from your closet to change into. You applied some simple mascara, and tied up your hair. You could finish getting read with Angel Dust like you usually did.

You arrive at the club meet Angel, you liked to arrive a few hours before your call time just to talk with each other. You had vastly different schedules but you made it work. You walk through the lobby watching other scandalously dressed demons go about their daily life. You could have sworn you saw a flick of shadow watching you from behind the other inhabitants. You shook it off, you didn't sleep well, its possible you're just seeing things.

You arrive at your dressing room, and knock at the door. Its a calm and quiet environment. The eye before the storm working tonight will plunge you both into.

"the fuck do you want, can't a guy do his eyeliner in peace"

you roll your eyes before opening the door, he glances back at you.

"oh hey toots, didn't expect you so soon- you're not late"

"Fuck off angel"

you sit down in your chair and begin brushing out your hair. Val was very particular about the image you portrayed, even if your hair was already curly he'd want it to curl differently, If it was straight, he'd want it consistent coiffed to his liking.

If you didn't have hair he'd probably get you a wig of some kind. You glance down at the black porcelain mask on the counter. It was delicately painted with small golden roses. It was the only thing between you and an army of horny fans. Angel finishes his eyeliner with a small flick of a wing.

He stands up and takes the brush from you. He combs through the ends making sure there aren't any tangles left before grabbing the curling iron. To be quite honest, you both absolutely sucked at doing your own hair, so you did each others. It was nice, and he always made you look good. You had known angel for quite some time, you felt like you knew who he was but nothing about him.

He was always rather private about the details of his life before hell. You had gathered he was Italian by his sound, and that he had been involved with the mob from small anecdotes he sometimes shared.

It didn't really matter who he used to be, he was your friend and you loved him.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible y/n, but you look like shit" He grabbed a strand of your hair wrapping it around the wand.

"oh gee thanks" you deadpan

"long night?" he asks releasing your hair from the curling wand scrunching it slightly.

"something like that, how about you, you look shockingly well rested, and i doubt its just the concealer"

"I'm staying at a new place" he continues working his way around your head.

"Val let you leave?" a hint of shock permeated your voice

"he can't dictate where i stay when i'm off the clock babe" He grabs a smaller curling want and begins with some small face framing pieces.

"does he know?" you ask hesitantly. You didn't want to upset him.

"I don't think he's caught on yet, probably figures I'm just out getting drunk and high off my ass"

"to be fair you often are"

"you're no angel either y/n" He rolls his eyes, he picks up the larger wand again and re-curls a few more of the back pieces.

"where did you move off to?"

You were lucky to have your own apartment. Most souls under contract with Valentino stayed in the complex....Your situation wasn't much better but it was enough. To be completely honest, you only lived about a ten minute walk from here. It wasn't much of a distance, but it was far enough Valentino would rather call upon some other, closer, unlucky soul outside of work hours to do his bidding. It was good enough. It was shocking to hear Angel had managed to find someplace with his cocaine habit and how little Val payed us.

"Its that rickety hotel on the edge of the Pride ring, I know it doesn't sound like much but its free" You almost visibly buffered from shock. How did he manage that? Then it hits you, he's probably sleeping there for free because he's sleeping with someone.

"who'd you have to fuck to get a room there"

"y/n" he groaned, slightly annoyed by your antics.

"No angel I'm serious, its hell people don't just give things out for free" you mused at his reaction.

"I didn't have to fuck anyone, its run by the princess, shes trying to rehabilitate souls"

"is that even possible" your mind began to swim with possibility.

"i dunno, i don't really care. It gives me a space to just exist..as myself..away from all of this"

your hand finds his way into one of his.

"i understand what you mean" your voice comes out no more than a whisper.

He continues curling your hair silently for a bit. Angel had his issues but he was a good person. He just found himself in a bad situation. Unexpectedly, he broke the silence. You two had a lot in common, including your tendencies of avoidance.

"you should live there too y/n, its free, and theres a bar, the bartender isn't too bad looking either."

You smile at the thought, it would be nice to get away from it all. Thats all it could be though, a thought. You were already on such thin ice with Val.

"Angie dear it sounds nice, but we both know I'm already Val's least favorite sinner. I shouldn't aggravate him more" you say with a defeated huff. Angel wraps another tendril of your h/c hair around the wand

"You can't let his life be your only life. I'm not stupid doll, I know you've been spending a lot more time around here." He's visibly and audibly frustrated.

He stays quiet for a minute picking up another strand of your hair.

"you're more than what you can do for Valentino okay? you were a person before you're still a person after, don't let him take everything from you." his voice becomes quiet, almost unrecognizable. Its velvety in a way, he speaks almost as if he's telling you just as much as he's telling himself Its the realest you've ever seen him be.

He quickly shakes it off

"his ugly mug cant be the only thing you see, I swear to god every time I look at him I throw up a little" He releases your hair from the curling iron stepping back to admire his work.

"now don't you look riveting" A jokingly seductive tone takes hold of his voice.

Your mind sparks with an idea, why complain about Val when you can just straight up mock him?

You stand up, rushing to the clothing rack, sift through the items before finding a long cherry red robe. Naturally its angel's. Its far too long for you, the second set of arms gets a little confusing, but eventually you slide it on. You sit back seductively on the counter mocking good ol Valentino.

"angel dust! you slut! you're fucking 20 guys before lunch! " You cross your arms dramatically before standing up on the counter. You strut across, being careful not to step on any of his things, but still maintaining the destructive energy Val usually carries.

A wild smile courses through your features, you grab the magazine Angel had been reading before you came in and throw it back into his face.

"Heres the 40 page shockingly kinky script about some kidnapping scene in France you have an hour to memorize, ignore the syntax errors and improvise!" He looks up at you baffled. I mean, you were right-He starts laughing uncontrollably,

"y/n what the fuck" he sputters out

You laugh along with him. He reaches up placing his arms around your waist, putting you onto the ground with very minimal effort. For a second you feel a bit like a house cat hopeless dragged off the counter. Angel was shockingly strong, for such a lanky guy he certainly wasn't flimsy or weak

A smug look overtakes his features

"let me show you how its really done"

He takes the robe off of your body and dawns it himself. He whips out a pair of bedazzled pink sunnies. Tilting them down, he gives you a cheeky wink. Once the knot of the belt is tied he is fully into character

"My siren! Y/n."

"oh god" you roll your eyes as angel begins his display. He walks across the room dragging you with him before twirling you into his arms. You cant help but be a little dizzy at the sudden motion.

"y/n, baby! You have made much so much money with that truly bodacious rack" He swings his arm around your waist. You both stifle a laugh as he drags his second set of hands across the shape of your body in the air in front of you.

"Angel I don't think Valentino would ever utter the phrase "bodacious rack", at least not in this existence" You form your fingers into little air quotes playfully rolling your eyes at him

"shh toots i am working on a real character here"

"Angel" you sigh

"shh" he hushes you again placing his finger against your lips.

Your collective antics go on for a little over two hours, stopping only briefly for you to style his fleecy hair. He looks at the clock before letting out an aggravated sigh. He pulls his body up from his chair.

"I gotta go doll, Val has me shootin yet another new movie before we shoot the scheduled "film", perks of being Hell's best actor" He grumbles grabbing his robe off of the floor leaving you alone in your shared dressing room.

You continued getting ready, expertly styling your newly curled hair and applying a thick coat of deep red lipstick. It wasn't too long after the door swung open. The suffocating smell of lust filling your lungs.

"My dear sweet y/n! how about we lose the mask for tonight?" Valentino burst into the room as if he owned the place. To be fair, he did. You still found it a bit off putting he didn't knock. Despite your profession, you valued privacy.

"Val-" You began, he cut you off.

"I don't believe I was asking." a smirk decorated his sly features.

"Respectfully, sir. It's not within my contract to appear as I truly am."

This shit again. Val was always on your ass about this. He always wanted more. Usually after a few minutes of arguing, he'd give up. There was nothing else he could do, so you don't think much of it. You pull out a cigarette, flicking the lighter, the small white stick begins to blaze.

You blow a cloud of hot red smoke in his direction. He rolls his eyes gritting his teeth in frustration. He takes a deep breath, sordid displays of force didn't work the best on you. You'd be frightened, but your stance would rarely change. Not unless he got physically violent, and quite honestly he was not in the mood today. You were not the most important thing to deal with. Its not that he didn't want to hurt you, he didn't want to waste his time. He tries a lighter, more manipulative approach.

"Think of how much success your beautiful little face would bring us. Sinners and Hell born alike already get off to your body, its just revealing a little bit more"

"No, I won't do it" your voice is small but resolute. He didn't have the patience for this. As soon as the word "no" left your lips Val had begun to lose it. "Wasting time" became a lot less important. Members of the Ars Goetia family would be present in tonight's audience. You had to look your best, so he could look his best.

"You are going to out there without that fucking mask and give all of hell a good show. You won't like what happens if you don't listen." He growled through gritted teeth

"Its breaking the contract. Val" You take another lazy puff from your cigarette. He ripped the cigarette from your hand, throwing it on the ground. He was done with your shit.

"I own you. Did you forget that, I own your body and your voice. you speak only when i want you to. You fuck who I choose. The only thing you technically have a right to is your name, isn't that right my little siren?"

His voice is sleazy to say the least, the tone makes you shudder. You couldn't help but think,

...was he right? you had asked to be anonymous, you never thought to specify how. He continued before you had a real chance to observe your thoughts. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, snakelike and seductive. He was getting tired of this, tired of you.

"the mask is getting old, hell will get tired of you if you don't give them more. you won't like what happens if they deem you all washed up.."

You attempt to move away, His grasp on your arm grows tighter. You flinch slightly from the pain, but not enough for him to notice. He wants to elicit a reaction in you, perhaps if you stay calm he'll give up.

"I have some very specific clientele coming to tonights show I need you to wow them"

You could hardly believe the audacity. Sure, Valentino was always kind of a prick but this complete and total discount of your previously agreed terms was relatively new. He had suggested removing the mask before and brought it up countless times, but this level of disregard was new. Screw being calm you weren't about to be this fundamentally disrespected.

"No I won't do tha- " his hand waves cutting you off. your voice caught in your throat the sigil on your hand marking his ownership glowing a dull faded pink.

"I can do whatever I please. I've let you forget that, I've been going too easy on you. Rereading our little contract brought me the enlightenment I needed. Those who bite don't get to speak" he pauses moving away from you taking in your figure.

"it looks like you'll just be dancing tonight, and what a wonderful performance that is going to be."

The click of his shoes taps against the stark white tile as he walks towards the clothing rack in the edge of the room. He hums, picking out a dark red burlesque outfit. He exchanges it for the mask from the table and breaks it in his hand.

"I think a more revealing number will compensate more than enough for your silence..don't you?"

Your last defense had been shattered. The last ounce of your personage robbed for the sake of pleasing some sleazy unsavory high end customer. You tried to speak but the words stayed nestled inside of you. You wanted to scream or talk honestly you'd take a whisper at this point, still, nothing. The anger in your heart welled its way up into your throat and without an outlet, your frustration took root in your tears."Great" you thought, "just what i needed to look respectable, yet another crying fit."

He grabs you by your shoulders, it had never registered how small you were in comparison. You knew he was tall, but in ten years, you'd never noticed how much taller he was. Usually the moth hunched over in some way to communicate better as his eyesight is less than superior...Yet here he stood a good three or four feet taller than you, anger almost visibly steaming off of his purple fur. two of his hands grasped firmly on your newly bruised shoulder, the other on your neck, and the last raised and ready to strike you. Closing your eyes you accept your fate. the contact comes and as soon as it does you are sprawled on the floor. Unable to move, unable to run. You had never been strong enough to fight. After all you were still the same person you were in 1936 and long after that. Your nose gushes blood, splattering droplets onto the tile as he abruptly jerks you up from the floor.

"maldita cabrona! quién se cree que es?"

he tuts clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It sounds oddly like the loading of a gun. Every aspect of his body was drenched this newly violent attitude. His moth like horns lined with anticipation, twitching with every rigid breath.

Valentino had gotten rough with you before but not like this. This time, it felt more real. He leans in closer, his face directly in front of your own. From another angle perhaps the pose looked sweet,loving even. The thought made you sick.His arm rested against your shoulder, just forceful enough to cause you pain but not so harsh to send you tumbling to the ground again. The sharp talons tipping his long fingers traced the edge of your face, deep red blood madly racing after it. He would have killed you then in there if you weren't such a "valuable asset".

"Next time you'll learn to listen, I've killed fuckers for less than this shit you're giving me. If I don't have the patience with angeldust I certainly won't have it with you, even if you're named hell's favourite pequeña pecadora." He pauses glaring deep into your eyes

"I made you y/n, i can take that away and kill you myself whenever i please. try not to forget that again"

His inflection is wickedly sweet, but not sugary enough to hide his true malice.

He grunts in frustration, throwing you against the dressing room table, the back of your head shatters the mirror. An all too familiar feeling. He laughs viewing the position he's put you in, it is a dry, heartless, and dirty sound. The silence after is chilling. You close your eyes bracing for another impact that just doesn't come. He must have gotten bored with you, he usually did after a while. The door finally slams, the lights of the dressing room flicker and then click off. You slide down onto the floor, all you are left with is the small pool of blood and regret.

The performance that night felt like an eternity. Your skin practically peeling off as lustful eyes burned holes through your skin. You had drank a few more than too many cocktails. It wasn't nice to refuse a gift, and it kept you a little less than fully conscious. stumbling through the hallway you arrived once again at your dressing room. you sat down hopelessly viewing the dark purple bruises formed from your previous alteration through the shattered remnants of your mirror. So much for not "damaging the merchandise" as Val would so often say.A soft knock rattles you from your thoughts. the door creaks open and Angel Dust slides in. You silently look at each other's exhausted frame and scratched faces. Angel was the closest thing you had ever had to a friend, and just about the only person who could ever understand what you're going through. After all, your experience was modeled after his.

"Whats wrong y/n? cat got your tongue?"

Despite his exhaustion he kept up his usual performance. You didn't respond, you couldn't. The tears so expertly rimmed in your eyes threaten to fall. His expression falters and he walks up to you hugging you tightly. You didn't need to say or do anything to explain. He knew exactly what you were going through. For just a moment you relax into his arms.

A minute or so passes and you break the contact. You figure a little context wouldn't hurt. You motion to the glowing sigil on your wrist and then to your throat, hoping he understood the signal.

"You can't speak can ya doll?" He asked softly his hand ruffling your hair. You shook your head no.

"God i hate that fucking prick, he can't just play fair. Maybe if he did that sorry fuck wouldn't be making shitty porn and running washed out clubs for a living". He angrily paces around the room. As he speaks you grab an eyeliner pen and the back of some flier someone left taped to your door. It seemed like the easiest way to communicate. You messily scrawl the words

"Can I stay with you I promise its just for one night"

He takes the page from you a smile taking root.

"damn toots what happened to not mixing personal and professional life?" he joked. You sat there motionless, tears threatening to spill. He takes the hint and grabs a coat off of the rack wrapping it around your shoulders.

"I thought you'd never ask-I've been dying to hang out outside this shit hole. Let's head out, Its gonna rain soon and these boots are too hot to be messing with that acid bullshit"

He posed albeit dramatically earning a smile from you. He tilts his head towards the door and the two of you leave the messy dressing room behind. It was one of the few things you didn't have to worry about. After all, Valentino values appearances, any mess you had made would be gone in the morning. In one way or another, you could fuck up any way and make any mess, and Val would have it cleaned up. The only messes he wouldn't fix were the ones he made himself. The cuts on your body always lasted longer than your reflection in a broken mirror. Unlike you the mirror could be fixed.

Not long after you arrive at this so called "Hazbin Hotel"..you didn't have much to say other than it...seemed fitting. You walk up a few flights of carpeted stairs. His hand calmly connected to yours. He continues down the long winding hallway before reaching a large wooden door at the end. He unlocks the room, and it is exactly what you'd imagine it to be. An embodiment of everything "angel dust".

A few hours and a pack of cigarettes later, the rain starts. The acid falls from the sky burning sinners and generally..most everything in its path. The sizzle on the sidewalk almost sounds like the crackle of a record player. Leaning further back into his bed, you pull out yet another cigarette. Your hand waves, gesturing towards the box and Angel takes the last of the pack. He lights the end of yours first and then clicks the lighter again in an attempt to get his own fix. However the lighter had other plans, it pops and ticks before sputtering out completely. He strikes it a few more times to no avail

"Shit what does a guy gotta do to get a decent lighter in this shit hole"

His arms raised above his head in some odd exaggerated performance of anger. Despite the lack of necessity, you found the fake drama to be amusing. It reminded you of Alastor in some strange way. It was different than the usual drama you found yourself viewing. Hell is full of overdramatic assholes, at least Angel isn't.. cruel. You take the first hit of your newly lit cigarette. The pink smoke fizzling into your lungs, giving you a sense of calm you cant really find anywhere else.

"What you aren't gonna share?" he deadpans before he presses the edge of his previously unlit cigarette to yours.

You look at him as if to say "Angel you dumb bitch that never actually works you're just going to put mine out and then we'll both be miserable"

He rolls his eyes with his signature smug look. He presses his cigarette a bit closer to your own. Shockingly it lit up in a hot pink flame.

"Working with Val sucks but at least you learn a few useful things",

He deeply inhaled from his own newly lit cigarette, puffing the strawberry coloured smoke into your very clearly unamused face. Still. you couldn't help but laugh.. or you tried to anyway, not that it would have worked. You took another long delightful drag and sent the smoke his way. A fit of giggles ensued, at least on his part. You were just happy it worked and he didn't end up pissed off.

The action made you wonder, what if you weren't just meant to hurt others. perhaps you could light them up instead of burning them down. You sat there for about another hour, listening to Angel's sleep deprived rambles. It wasn't too much long after that your own exhaustion finally carried you safely into a well deserved slumber. It was peaceful, the most restful night you'd had since your fall into this desolate shit pit known as hell..For once you didn't "dream." You weren't haunted with his face. His shadow didn't suffocate you. The ghost of your past stayed simply that, a ghost.

The night passes swiftly. Almost as quickly as the stars had appeared they retreated deep into the hazy maroon sky and bright carmine clouds. The rain had stopped, somehow the damages caused weren't entirely discernible from the average look of things. It was then you heard radio static again.

Familiar and soothing, his gravelled voice broadcast to the denizens of hell.

"Good morning to all of you lovely listeners ! Today's broadcast is brought to you by hell's favourite sinner, what isn't to love about that little starlet. Tune on in dearest, I've been hearing so much about you."

the music started softly carried by the wind and into your ears. You felt intoxicated.

We'll meet again

Dont know where, dont know when

but I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through, just like you always do

til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

It was irrevocably, unmistakably unquestionably him.

Alastor, your Alastor.. was in hell. Not to mention an overlord (shocker there). Despite that fact, you were evidently on his mind. He was speaking to you and only you. There was nothing you could do to respond.

So you listened, to his voice, the instrumentation, the melody, everything. Maybe it would somehow bring you closer to him...

Unbeknownst to the both of you, you were no more than a few rooms apart, enjoying your stay at the Hazbin Hotel.

a/n: I SWEAR I PROMISE YOU, ANGEL, AND ALASTOR ARE GONNA WRECK THAT LITTLE FUCKERS SHIT, dw

[writeforfandoms]

Glitter and Gold

Find the CoD masterlist 

As the princess, you always knew you'd marry for power and politics. What you did not expect was to be married to the dragon.

My own take on dragon!Price because I love dragons and I love Price and I went a little feral. Sorry not sorry. 

Warnings: Swearing, political discussion (brief), mostly glossed over wedding ceremony, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, mention of pregnancy, brief violence (not towards reader), dragon!Price. 

Word count: 7.7k

You stood on your private balcony, torn between disbelief and anger. Not that you should have been surprised, really. 

Your father, the king, was a stubborn man. For as long as you could remember, he hadn't much liked either of the neighboring kingdoms, speaking of them with contempt. Your kingdom was the smallest of the three, but strategically placed, with access to the sea and rivers and mountains. Yours was a kingdom of natural wealth. 

But even so, you'd never have guessed that your father would go so far in his quest to spurn the other two kingdoms (and try to attract a more lucrative offer from a further away kingdom, undoubtedly) as to offer you to the dragon! 

The dragon lived just on the border of the kingdom, and had for centuries. He mostly kept to himself, only very rarely making an appearance when he deemed it necessary. You could remember the last time you'd seen him - you'd been much younger, staring up in awe at the massive form flying high above the capitol city. From the distance, it had been hard to tell what color he was, or how big he really was. 

And your father had offered your hand in marriage. To this dragon. 

You blew out a sigh and shook your head. It was unlikely the dragon would reply. This was just a political move. 

A breeze rustled your skirts, and you frowned a little. Actually, the breeze was picking up. Looking out over the city, you could see flags beginning to snap in the wind. 

Shouting drew your attention, and you looked down into the streets, only to see people clutching clothing and staring up at the sky. You followed their pointing and froze. 

A dragon was coming down from the mountains, heading straight for the city. Sunlight gleamed off him, all reddish-copper, and every beat of his wings sent wind gusting down to the city. Baskets fell, curtains whipped, and one or two people even fell from the force of the wind. 

Being elevated above much of the city was worse - you clung to the balcony railing to keep your footing, eyes narrowed against the sheer ferocity of the wind. 

You'd been wrong, you and your father both. The dragon was upset, and he was coming to punish you, to destroy your city for your father's arrogance–

The dragon was nearly to you now, so huge he eclipsed the sky, dark and foreboding. The dragon tipped his head, one jewel-bright eye staring down at you. Smoke plumed from his nostrils, thick and dark and completely obscuring the sky for the longest moments of your life as you waited for the fire and the screaming. 

But it never came. 

There was a thump almost directly in front of you, and the smoke cleared enough to show a man crouched, perched, on the balcony railing. Jewel-bright blue eyes held your gaze for a long moment before he blinked once. A hat was perched on his head, obscuring much of his hair, but he had a full beard in dark auburn, hints of gray peppering it. His clothes were sturdy but out of date. Those eyes drew you in again, too bright to ignore. 

"You must be my beautiful bride," he rumbled, low and rough as a rockslide. 

"Bride to be," you corrected him crisply, lifting your chin a little. Nothing about this made sense, so you may as well stand up for yourself and what you wanted. 

His lips quirked in amusement. "Bride to be," he agreed, gaze raking over you in a way that felt far more intimate than it actually was. A faint curl of smoke escaped from his nose when he breathed out. 

The door to your room burst open, you could hear it even from the balcony. "Princess!" Half a dozen guards trooped through, although really only one of them fit on the balcony with you and your draconic fiance. "Uh." 

"I suppose we'll need to talk to my father." You straightened your shoulders, looking at those blue eyes again. He was smirking now, apparently amused. But he hopped lightly down from the railing, nimble for a man of his size. And oh what size he had - easily taller than your father, with broad shoulders that spoke to his strength. 

“If you insist,” he agreed, motioning for you to go first. When you stepped ahead of him, he placed a proprietary hand at the small of your back, light but warm. The warmth seeped through your layers, too warm to be human. The little reminder sent a thrill down your spine. 

But it wasn’t fear. Not quite.

The guards all moved out of your way, and you didn’t even glance back to see if they were following. They were. 

This time of day, normally your father would be in talks with his advisors. But, given the very recent upset of having a dragon arrive in the city, it was possible he’d be in his receiving room instead. 

At least, you hoped he would be. 

The dragon-man kept up with you easily, long strides unhurried despite the pace you set. His hand never left you back, ensuring you stayed close to him. 

You snuck a glance at him only to find those blue eyes already focused on you. But you refused to duck your head, refused to look away, refused to be embarrassed. 

After all, if he was to be your husband, what was the harm in looking? 

One of the guards got ahead of you to pull open the door to the receiving room, and you swept in first. 

"Father," you greeted, finding him already standing, staring, a little pale. 

"Welcome," your father greeted, focused on the man next to you. "I wasn't expecting you to respond so quickly." 

The dragon's lips quirked in amusement. "I can see that." 

"Perhaps we should discuss the necessary arrangements privately." The king glanced at you, his two advisors already standing to leave. 

"No." The dragon didn't move, the one word short and sharp. Everyone froze. You barely dared to breathe. "She stays. It is her life, after all." 

Your father frowned, just for a moment. "If that is your wish." 

"It is." The dragon was calm, confident, unhurried. And his hand hadn't left your back.

The door closed softly after the advisors, leaving the three of you alone. 

"Well. I assume you're here to accept my offer." Your father didn't spare you a glance, instead focusing on your dragon. 

"Yes." He prompted you forward with gentle pressure at the small of your back. "I will take her as my bride." 

"Of course." Your father eyed him shrewdly, calculating. "I will need some time to arrange everything–" 

"Send it after us." The dragon shrugged, unconcerned. "We will depart shortly." 

You turned to look at him, frowning. "Without a wedding?"

He shifted with you, keeping his hand pressed to your back. "Do you need one?"

"Yes, I do." 

He huffed in soft amusement. "Very well, my bride." He tugged you closer, gently, coaxing. 

"It will take time to make such arrangements," your father started slowly, calculating. 

"You have three days." Your dragon was colder with him, less patient. 

"But–"

"Three days." His eyes narrowed a little, a wisp of dark smoke escaping with the words. 

Your father paused and swallowed. "It will be done," he agreed. 

And that? Seeing your father back down and bend to the dragon's will? That sent a thrill down your spine, made your pulse pick up. 

"Any other supplies needed will be sent after us." The dragon looked down at you again, his expression softening. "You will tell me if there is anything specific you need." 

You blinked at him but nodded. "I will," you agreed in a murmur. 

His lips twitched and he nodded. "Then we should have nothing else to discuss." 

The king stiffened a little but apparently decided it wasn't worth potentially angering the dragon, because he nodded. 

The dragon nudged you out ahead of him, hand still against your back. "Do you need to prepare?"

"I should," you agreed, looking at him. "But…"

"Yes?" He raised one eyebrow at you. 

"What can I call you?" You shifted slightly closer to him. "Since I am to be your wife." 

His lips twitched in that little smile again, private and pleased. "John." 

"John," you repeated. "Will I see you again before the wedding, John?"

"You will." He smirked, stopping when you did. "I'll see you soon." His hand finally left your back, leaving you almost cold, and one big finger tucked under your chin. Eyes wide, you tipped your chin up at his insistence, your gaze locked on his. He leaned down, sending your heart pounding. For a wild moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. 

But he simply nosed your cheek, gentle and warm. He stepped back, releasing you from the sheer pull of his gaze, and dipped his head to you in the only sign of respect you'd seen from him. 

Leaving you warm and flustered and chilled all at once, standing outside your rooms. 

The rest of the day and the next passed in near-frantic preparations. You directed some maids to pack up the things you decided you could not live without, and fortunately a dress had already been in the works. There was no way to get any other dignitaries or even leaders from the other towns in your kingdom. 

It was going to be an unconventional wedding, for an unconventional marriage. 

But you couldn't deny the stirrings of excitement in your veins. 

Especially after John came back to visit you. 

He found you outside in the gardens, walking slowly, letting the familiar paths help settle your mind. You didn’t even hear him approaching - one moment you were alone, and then he fell into step next to you, startling you. 

“Apologies, princess,” he murmured with a smirk. 

You huffed. “You’re quiet,” you observed, glancing at him. “I’m surprised.” 

He shrugged. “Habit,” was all he said on that. He reached up to adjust his odd hat, gaze interested as he looked around the garden. “Have to admit mine doesn’t look this good.”

“You have a garden?” The thought was so surprising that you stopped, blinking up at him. 

“A garden was left behind,” he corrected gently. His hand landed at the small of your back again, gently pushing you into walking. “I don’t do much to maintain it.”

“Hmm.” You eyed him curiously. “Where do you live?” 

He glanced down at you, openly amused. “You’ll find out,” he murmured. 

“Do you live alone?” Curiosity had reared its head now, refusing to relent until you had at least a few answers. He hadn’t gotten mad at you yet, after all. 

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

That got him to pause for a moment, considering how to answer you, even as he kept walking. “Never taken a mate,” he said finally. His teeth flashed briefly in a grin. “Never been offered a bride, either.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Then I suppose this will be something new for the both of us.”

“Suppose it will.” His fingers flexed against your back before he tugged you closer, close enough to feel the heat pouring from him, the scent of smoke seemingly a permanent fixture around him. “And what does my princess think of marrying a dragon?” 

You warmed at the easy, possessive way he referred to you. “I think I will not be bored with you.” You tipped your head, playful but still watching. 

He chuckled, rumbling and delicious. “No,” he agreed, his voice even lower than normal. “You won’t.” 

The pair of you paused near one edge of the garden, although you couldn’t look away from him. He wasn’t upset with your testing - if anything, he seemed to be enjoying this as much as you were. 

You would need to go, and soon, but first, one more thing… 

“You know,” you started, casual, watching him intently, “I have heard a few rumors about dragons.”

“Oh?” One eyebrow lifted in clear invitation to keep going. 

“As much as I don’t think this one is accurate, I still feel I should tell you…” You risked taking one step closer to him, trying to hide your humor. “Just so you know… If what I heard is true… If you eat me, I will give you indigestion.” 

He blinked at you, eyes wide, apparently stunned with your daring. And then he tipped his head back to laugh, loud and unrestrained, baring the long line of his throat to you. 

Oh, that was an absolutely lovely sound. You could get addicted to that sound far too easily. 

“You are a feisty one,” he murmured, finally looking at you again with a smirk. “Good.” He looked back towards the castle, eyes narrowing, before he huffed. Smoke plumed out of his mouth with the exhale, thick and dark. “You need to return before they come searching for you.” 

“I suppose so.” You couldn’t hear anything, but perhaps his hearing was better than yours. It wouldn’t truly surprise you. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, princess.” He leaned in again, slowly but surely, his hand big and warm at your waist. But this time, his lips brushed your cheek, so light you could just feel the touch. 

And then he was gone, turning and walking away from you. 

The remaining time passed too fast until you found yourself at the ceremony. Since everything had been rushed, the ceremony had been opened to the city - people were gathered outside the pavilion, jostling and shifting to get a better view.

Not necessarily of you. But of your soon-to-be-husband.

John stood tall, shoulders straight, hat gone to show the horns arching from his head. Those did make you blink, at least until those blue eyes met yours again. Then everything else just… faded into the background. The crowd didn’t matter. Your family didn’t matter. Even the droning of the priest didn’t matter.

All that mattered were those blue, blue eyes. 

The ceremony finished, and you had to blink yourself back to the present. Right. You still had to sit through the rest of the celebration. 

Except John took your hand, tugging you closer to him. You blinked up at him, caught off-guard. 

“Time to go,” he murmured, ignoring everyone else as he began to walk. 

“Already?” You debated seeing if you could get him to relent to you again, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

“I’ve already waited three days for you,” he rumbled, amused. “Got everything ready for you before I came to get you.”

And that? The knowledge that he’d not just received the offer and immediately come, but had put thought into this? Had something prepared for you? That melted you, just a little, sent your heart thudding into your ribs. 

“How are we getting there?” You thought that was a fair question, once again focused on him to the exclusion of the rest of the world. Vaguely, you noted people getting out of his way, well-wishes yelled to you both. But you ignored the lot of it.

The smile he slanted at you was amused and more or less hidden by his beard. “You’ll see,” was all he offered, taking the fastest route out of the city. You stumbled once, not exactly attired for a quick walk through the city. A moment later you were scooped up in his arms, held securely there. Your gasp made him smile. 

“You don’t have to–” you started to say, uncertain, hands gripping his shirt. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, just for you. “You’re fine.” 

You’d only known him for days, and yet you believed him. You didn’t protest again, simply curling further into him. The deep, pleased hum from him was something you felt more than heard.

He didn’t stop until you were outside the city, the walls well behind you before he finally set you on your feet. 

“Now you’ll see how we’re getting home.” He grinned briefly, taking a few big steps back, away from you. You blinked, curiosity overpowering anything else, and watched him. He breathed out smoke and there was a low sound, like distant thunder. Suddenly pressure in the air made you take a half-step back, wrinkling your nose and shaking your head briefly to clear it. 

A low rumble drew your gaze back to where John had been. The smoke was clearing slowly, but enough that you could see the outline of something much, much bigger. Your heart slammed against your ribs and you went very still, caught in the ages-old terror of a predator much bigger than you. 

The dragon moved slowly, making a low noise almost like a purr except much deeper. His head snaked forward, long neck straining a little, before halting right in front of you. His head was bigger than you were tall, thick horns curving back over his head. But his eyes were still that same jewel-bright blue. 

"John?" Your fingers trembled as you held out one hand, still moving so slowly. 

Those big, bright eyes blinked slowly and he pushed his snout into your fingers, more gently than you would have thought him capable. Copper-red scales were warm and smooth to your touch, and touch you did. Your fingers started on his snout but moved up until you were on your tiptoes to explore, curiosity quickly overriding your fear. The ridges above his eyes were a little tougher, but he leaned into the touch when you scratched gently, and something in you melted. 

"You're not so scary," you teased him gently, scratching harder at his eye ridges to watch his eyes close in clear enjoyment. "Are you?" 

He huffed, smoke blowing out his nostrils, but you just laughed. 

"Okay. How are we…?" You trailed off, uncertain how to ask the rest of the question. 

He nudged you very gently with his snout, pushing you towards his shoulders. There was a spot you could just see, at the end of his neck before his wings, where you could hold on. 

It would not be the most dignified way to travel, but… who was there to judge you anymore? Who would even dare? 

Your lips stretched into a slow grin at the realization, heart fluttering. You had a dragon for a husband. Nobody would dare to mock you now!

He huffed again, nudging you gently. You patted his nose. 

"Yes, alright, let me figure out how to get up there." You eyed the vast expanse of scales and muscle in front of you. There were, of course, no clear handholds, or places to put your feet. 

You did shriek, just a little, when he suddenly picked you up by the back of your dress, teeth closed very carefully around fabric only, and deposited you into place. 

One new observation: your husband was impatient. Or at least not currently willing to indulge your curiosity. You pouted.

Until he stood up, the sudden motion making you cling to his scales, hunkering down. He rumbled again, the noise vibrating through his chest and straight into you, at once comforting and electrifying. 

That was all the warning you got before he started moving, loping several strides until his wings snapped out. One flap of those great wings nearly unseated you, and you were quick to adjust your seat and grip before he beat his wings again, and you two were in the air. 

Wind whipped at your hair and clothes, and it took you a few minutes to find a comfortable place to sit and cling to him securely. You made the mistake of looking down only once, the trees far below you bending and swaying with the force of his passage. A little sick now, you closed your eyes tightly and just hung on tight. 

You weren't sure how long the two of you traveled. Longer than you liked, certainly. Much shorter than it would have taken on foot, or even on horseback. 

The sun was still bright out when he flew lower, aiming for the side of a mountain. You squinted, trying to see where he was going. But the wind was too strong and he was going too fast. 

The sun was suddenly gone and you gasped, blinking rapidly, even as he slowed and then landed more delicately than you would have thought. 

Finally giving you a chance to look around. 

The cavern was big, easily big enough for him to fly into or out of, and fairly dark. You tipped your head back, looking up at the rough ceiling above, awed. 

A soft grumble from the dragon made you blink and look back at him to find his head turned to look at you. One big eye blinked, and he slowly lowered himself all the way to the ground. 

Guess it was time to get down. 

Very carefully, you slid down his shoulder until your feet touched the floor. But your first step was wobbly and your knees nearly gave out under you. But you remained upright, more or less, until you could stagger against one wall of the cavern. 

The air around you shivered and shifted again, and a moment later you heard footsteps. 

"Easy, princess," he murmured, voice even raspier than normal. "You're alright."

"I'm fine," you agreed, still a little shaky. "Just… not accustomed. That's all." 

Big warm hands settled at your waist, holding you steady. "Hmm. Your shoes are no good down here. I'll have to fix that." His hands left you for a moment before he was scooping you up into his arms again. 

"I could manage," you protested gently, though your hands were already curling into him. "You've already carried me a lot." 

"You're fine," he insisted, holding you a little tighter. "I've got you." 

You hummed and relaxed into him, enjoying the warmth after the chill of the flight here. You did hold a little tighter to him as the light all but vanished as he walked down a hallway. 

"Almost there," he assured you, rumbling soothingly. 

You swallowed but nodded once, waiting a little anxiously for the light to return. 

Which it did with grandeur. 

You gasped as John turned a corner, light streaming down from above, tinged gold as it bounced off strategically-placed mirrors and shields of gold. The entire space was large, and somewhat open around what you could only assume was his hoard. Gold and gems piled up in the center of the room, jewelry spilling out onto the floor. A goblet lay on its side on the floor, little red gems set into the precious metal. 

"Welcome to my hoard," John rumbled, walking closer, still not letting you down. "You will have plenty of time to explore to your heart's content, princess. You should see this first." 

You blinked, shaking yourself a little out of the momentary daze, and looked up at him. "Oh?" 

He merely hummed, walking around the long side of the hoard to the back. You could see another hallway leading to a set of stairs, but your attention was quickly diverted. 

Tucked between the back of the hoard and the back wall was, for lack of better term, a nest. A long piece of blue fabric had been stretched over the top to allow for some privacy, while pillows and blankets had been piled into a rough circle. 

"Oh." Your eyes went wide as you examined the space, gaze darting everywhere. "Is this…?"

"For you," John agreed, setting you on your feet. 

You stepped forward slowly, pausing at the edge of the blanket nest before you knelt down to feel it. It was softer than you'd expected, well cushioned. You could sleep here easily. Surprised and undeniably touched by the thoughtful gesture, you turned to him with a smile. 

"This is amazing," you murmured. "Thank you." 

"It's my pleasure." He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Have to keep my princess comfortable, hm?" 

You warmed a little at the possessiveness in his voice but stood again. "Show me around?" 

His hand settled at your back again, his warmth welcome now in the cooler air of the cavern. He didn't take you all the way around the hoard, saying you'd have plenty of time to explore that on your own. Instead he took you up the stairs, lighting a torch to carry along with you two. 

The stairway opened up into another corridor, this one relatively short. An open doorway showed a very old-fashioned kitchen, quiet and empty now. Beyond that were the pantries and cold larder, also all empty. 

Another set of stairs brought you up to a servants corridor and then to a formal dining room. The furniture was mostly gone, although the table remained. But the windows remained, mostly intact, and your lips parted in surprise. 

"Where…?" You couldn't quite finish your question, gaze darting around, steps slowed to almost nothing. 

"My home." John puffed up a little in obvious pride at your reaction, gently tugging you forward. "You will see." 

You allowed him to lead you forward, craning your head to try to see everything at once. Although it was old and clearly much depleted, it was easy to see the once-grandeur of this place. Mosaics still remained on the floor, one wall although cracked still showed a mural: a mountain towered over a castle, a fertile valley stretching below. 

"Oh." You blinked at the mural. "Oh, this is the old castle, the abandoned one." 

"Been abandoned for a long time," John agreed, coming up behind you to rest both hands at your waist. "Before I moved in, certainly." 

"And how long ago was that?" You tipped your head a little to one side, still drinking in the mural. 

"A long time ago." His voice rumbled through you, making you shiver. 

"I'm surprised it's still standing." You leaned back, just a little, into his warmth. 

"Not all of it does," he murmured, lowering his head to speak close to your ear. "Parts of the castle have crumbled, and parts of it are unsafe. But some of it remains intact. I have not had much use for it, but perhaps you would." 

"I just might." You smiled, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling, still in good repair here. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all," he agreed. 

You spent a good little while exploring with him. John was never more than a few steps behind you, letting you lead but always warning you if you got too close to anywhere potentially dangerous. It was, actually, quite a lot of fun. These ruins hadn't been inhabited for a long time, John excepted. And you suspected he didn't spend a lot of time up here. 

This was not how you'd expected to spend your first day as a married woman, but you were not going to complain. 

Eventually, though, the sun dropped and the temperature with it, leaving you fighting off the chill in the air unsuccessfully. John huffed softly and gathered you in close, his warmth absolutely delightful now. 

"Need to get you somewhere warm again," he murmured, lips pressing briefly to the shell of your ear. 

"I can walk," you insisted. 

"Very well, my princess." The amusement was clear in his tone, but he let you walk back through the castle and down the stairs back to the hoard. And, more importantly, to your nice warm nest. 

You paused, though, glancing at him. Normally this first night was… more than simply sleeping. 

He didn't seem to notice your trepidation, instead stepping aside and over to a small goblet set aside from the rest. You watched him curiously as he pulled a dagger from the same short table the goblet rested on. Before you could ask what he intended to do, he sliced the end of one of his fingers, merely grimacing. 

"What…?" You gasped, watching with wide eyes as blood welled and dropped slowly into the goblet. 

"You will need this." Sharp eyes glanced at you and away again. "This will help to keep you warm, as well as to protect you."

"Protect me?" You took a single step closer to him. "From what?" 

"It gets much colder here than you are used to." John breathed in slowly, gaze fixed on yours. "It will also protect you from me. I run too hot to couple with a human more than once." 

You warmed but refused to look away from him. "I see." 

He looked away first, looking down into the goblet and wrapping a spare piece of fabric around his finger. "Drink." 

The goblet was warm to the touch and you peered into it, a little apprehensive. The blood inside was dark with a shimmer, almost, on top, a shifting slide of colors that changed as you tilted the cup back and forth gently. 

Well. You were already here, had already done this much. You just had to trust that he wasn't trying to hurt you. 

You tipped the goblet back, drinking the contents down in one go. 

It was warm, just the right side of hot. Not unlike a good cup of tea on a chilly evening, only the flavor was all wrong. Iron and something burnt and metal. You swallowed, shivering briefly, the warmth traveling down to your stomach. But it didn't stop there, continuing all the way to your extremities until you were warm, too warm, fever warm. Shaking hands went for your dress to start getting your layers off - you were suffocating in them. 

"Easy," John rumbled, catching your hands and pulling you in close. Oddly enough, the warmth of him was soothing rather than too much, especially coupled with the strong hug. "You're alright, princess. Give it a minute, let it settle." 

"What–?" You gasped at another wave of warmth pulsing through you, your hands clamping tight around his shirt. 

"Shh, love." Gentle lips pressed to your forehead. "It will pass." 

You made a very undignified noise, trembling through the heat until it ebbed. Then you rested against him, still trembling but steadier. 

"Alright?" John tipped your head up gently, fingers gentle against your skin. 

"I… think so." You blinked at him, just now aware of the wetness on your eyelashes. "That was…"

"Necessary." He pressed another kiss to your forehead. He still felt warm to you, but not quite as warm. "You did very well." 

You blinked up at him, lifting one shaky hand to wipe away the wetness at your eyes, but he beat you to it. Gentle fingers wiped your cheeks and under your eyes, and he hummed softly. 

"You should sleep now," he murmured. "Rest will help you to get back to normal." 

"I'm alright." You frowned a little, trying to will yourself into being alright. Very rarely had you been so physically affected by something. 

"You will be in the morning." His lips quirked in amusement at your stubbornness. "Let me help you, princess." 

You huffed but gave in, still feeling just off kilter enough to not argue further. John helped you out of your gown all the way down to your slip, hands slow and steady over newly-bared skin. 

But that was all he did before he helped you settle into the nest. 

"Where are you sleeping?" You asked, already getting comfortable, eyelids heavy now that you were horizontal. 

"I'll join you later," he murmured. "You just sleep." 

You huffed a little complaint but, soon enough, your eyelids closed. 

Rather to your surprise, John didn't do more than help you dress or undress for three days. His touches lingered, warm and both soothing and exciting, but he didn't ask for more than that. He seemed happy enough to let you explore, following you into and around the castle and onto the grounds. 

Finally, though, you caught his hands as he was undoing the laces to your dress. (A new one today, one that had simply appeared next to your bed that morning with a smug-looking John watching you subtly.) 

"Something the matter?" John asked, low and gentle, holding quite still. 

"Not exactly," you hedged. "I just… you did mention… and we are married…" You looked down, heat rushing to your cheeks. It's not like you had a lot of experience with asking for this kind of thing. 

He chuckled, moving closer until you could feel him pressed up against your back. "Yes, princess?"

You puffed out your cheeks, burning, and almost none of it had to do with his warmth. "I'd like you to… to touch me." 

"I can do that." He bent his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. At your shiver, he pulled his hands from under yours and finished unlacing your dress, letting it pool around your feet. "How much does my princess want to be touched?" 

"Enough to ask for it." You tipped your head to give him better access, hands curling and uncurling to release some of your nervous energy. 

"Ask nicely, then." Teeth a little too sharp to be human nipped your ear, and you gasped. 

"P-please."

"Mmm, good girl." He rewarded you with another kiss to your neck. 

He moved the two of you easily, lowering you into the nest and settling above you to kiss you, his hands working up under your remaining layers to palm your bare thighs. His eyes, when he pulled back enough to look at you, were nearly black with desire. 

"Do you have any idea how good you look?" He asked in a low growl, hands squeezing your thighs. "Dressed in things I brought you, in a nest I made for you?" 

You gasped at the sheer possessiveness in his voice, shivering once. “John…” 

He licked his lips before leaning down to kiss you again, taking his time, discovering exactly what you liked. He didn’t stop until you were panting, hands fisted in his shirt. 

But you were still surprised when he ripped the last layer of clothes, sharp nails making short work of the fabric and leaving shreds on the nest around you. Your eyes went wide at how easy it was for him, at the strength he’d been holding back. 

And he had been holding back you realized, watching him look over all the newly exposed skin with something almost feral in his gaze. He’d been holding back for you, giving you time. 

All thoughts flew from your mind when he dipped his head, lips landing in the divot of your collarbone, hands grasping your hips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the thundering of your pulse. “And mine.” His lips traveled down your body, slow but determined. When your hands tugged in his shirt from the grip you still held, he huffed a warm breath against the skin of your navel. But he was quick to pull his shirt off, gently taking your hands and guiding them to his head. “Hold on to me, love.” 

You licked your lips, one hand threading into the thick mass of his hair, the other carefully exploring one of his horns. 

All thoughts of exploring flew from your head with the first kiss he placed to your inner thigh. 

He moved slowly but steadily, his tongue exploring the space between your thighs. Every gasp, every whimper, every moan that escaped your lips urged him on, his tongue sweeping broadly through your wetness. Warmth pooled low in your belly, tension coiling through your muscles. 

John pulled his head back and you whimpered, lifting your head to look down at him. He grinned, teeth just a little too sharp to be human, wetness smeared across his lips and cheeks and beard. 

“Tell me if anything hurts, love,” he murmured, low but commanding. 

“I will,” you managed, a little surprised you got words out and not just noises. 

With a satisfied noise of his own, John dove back in. But a finger slid into you slowly, the intrusion odd but not unwelcome. You couldn’t resist wiggling your hips. 

Until his arm banded over your hips, holding you down. 

“John–” Your fingers tightened, desperate for something solid to hold onto. 

He hummed softly, the sensation shocking and far too good. The noise you made would have embarrassed you if you had any space to think about it, but he must have liked it, because he growled long and low. 

The coil in your gut snapped and you shouted as pleasure coursed through you, intense and unrelenting for long moments. Until it ebbed and you relaxed, panting, eyes wide. 

“Still with me?” John had shifted up a bit, his chin resting on your hipbone, eyes fixed on your face.

You nodded, slow and languid, eyes fixed on him. "Mmhm." 

"Good." He pressed a kiss to the skin of your hip before nipping gently, playfully. "Ready for more?"

You swallowed but nodded, loosening your grip on his hair. He moved up your body slowly, taking his time to place kisses and gentle nips across your skin. 

"Tell me if it hurts," he murmured to you, fingers still in you starting to rock again, gentle but insistent. Your eyes fluttered as the warmth in you started up again, slow and steadily building. 

"John." You tipped your head to kiss him again, fingers exploring the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn't long until you were moving under him, hips rocking to meet his fingers, your own fingers holding tight to his shoulders. He breathed out against your neck, damp and hot. 

"Alright, princess." He pulled his fingers from you, ignoring your little whine. "We'll go slow, hm?" 

You didn't understand for a moment, until you felt the thick of him press against you. You breathed in deeply, watching his face. His brow furrowed a little as he started to press in, taking his time as promised, until you had to toss your head back against the pillows with a whimper. 

"Alright?" He didn't move, holding himself still, holding back. Again. For you. 

"Yes," you gasped, the fullness distracting but undeniably pleasant. "More, please–" 

He groaned, one hand clamping over your hip, fingers smearing wetness across your skin. His movements started slow, cautious, until you arched up into him and nearly begged for more. Then he moved faster, that delicious feeling of fullness near-addicting as pleasure coiled. 

The heat of him pressed into your skin was more than you'd expected, only heating further as he moved. You quickly understood why he'd made you drink a few days ago - the heat would have been uncomfortable, perhaps unbearable, before. 

But now it was all part of this curling pleasure, higher and hotter with every stroke. 

"Come for me, my princess," he growled into your ear, teeth sharp against your skin. "Give it to me. One more, give it to me." 

Those sharp teeth bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder and you cried out wordlessly as your pleasure crested and broke. His low growl vibrated against your skin, your chest, even in the deepest parts of you, and you writhed underneath him. 

His teeth didn't leave your skin as he thrust a few more times into you and stilled. Heat settled in you, just on the edge of too hot. You gasped, unsure if you wanted to get away from it or not. 

"Hush, love." His voice was still ragged but calmer, and he pressed soothing kisses to your skin, even as he kept himself firmly inside of you, keeping that heat trapped in you. "Easy." 

"What…?" You blinked slowly, hands slow as they traced his shoulders. 

"Just relax," he rumbled, voice dropping to a soothing rumble. "Relax for me, my princess." His hands smoothed up your sides, slow and firm. 

You relaxed, lulled by his voice and his touches. Eventually, the near-burning heat in you settled back to something easier, leaving you pleasantly tired. 

"Ready to sleep?" He kept his voice quiet and low, one hand reaching up slowly to smooth over your brow. 

"Mmhm." You blinked slowly, struggling to keep your eyes open. 

"Sleep, then." He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. That pleased little smile was the last thing you registered before you drifted to sleep. 

The two of you settled into a routine after that. You got to go anywhere you wanted. John brought you anything you desired (and then some). It was not the life you'd expected, growing up, but it was better, because your choices were your own. If you ever said no, John respected it. 

Things were close to excellent.

A year had passed before you knew it, your belly slowly growing round with the child growing within you. John had started hovering more as you showed, occasionally refusing to even leave your side. (He was just a little overbearing but you knew he meant well.) 

One afternoon, he stopped you from leaving the treasury and stalked off, anger rolling from him. Curious and refusing to be left out, you followed. 

John stalked out of the long entrance tunnel, plumes of smoke billowing out behind him. Well, whatever had happened, he was very mad. 

It didn't take you long to figure out why. 

John emerged into the bright daylight and moved silently down the hill a little ways. You barely had time to catch up to him, hand cradled protectively over your belly, when John lunged and tackled something. 

No. Someone. Someone who shouted in surprise, sword falling to the grass at his feet. Dark-skinned hands rose to grasp and claw at John's forearm as John lifted the intruder off his feet and into the air. 

"I told you to stay inside." John didn't raise his voice, because he never raised his voice at you. But he was displeased. 

"I was curious." You took two slow steps closer, eyeing the intruder. "Why did you come here?" 

The intruder’s gaze flicked from John to you and back, his brow furrowing. His voice was tight when he finally asked, “Are you the princess?”

“That’s me,” you agreed, amused, lifting your chin. “And?” 

“I, um.” He paused, trying to suck in a breath and coughing a little. 

“John.” 

Your dragon growled, low and displeased, but allowed the intruder’s feet to touch the ground again. He did not let the man go. 

“I heard stories,” the man said, glancing between the two of you again. “That a dragon stole a princess, that she needed rescuing.”

“Stole?” Both your eyebrows flew up. “Well. Someone is lying to you all, because I married him.” You finally stepped close enough to put a gentle hand on John’s back. 

“...What?” The poor man looked a bit gobsmacked now. 

“Who told you I stole her?” John sounded a little less furious, which was a good thing as far as you were concerned. 

The man faltered. “I mean, no one in particular, just, there were stories going ‘round…” He shrugged. 

You tipped your head, looking at him. He didn’t look like someone from your city, and if he had been, he’d have remembered the wedding. (You were quite sure that people still told stories of the day a dragon had come down from the sky to marry their princess.) So, he was either from another town in your kingdom, or from another kingdom entirely. “Why did you come here?” 

“I told you–” he started, confused. 

“No, I meant you. Why did you come?” You nudged the sword on the ground, taking a closer look at it. It was old, the edges not sharpened properly. Not the sword of a current knight, certainly. 

He paused at that, jaw clenching, fingers still curled around your dragon’s forearm. Then he sighed softly. “Don’t have anything left, figured I’d try.” 

“John.” You turned your gaze on your dragon.

“No,” was his instant retort. 

“John.” You stepped closer, pressing up against his side, looking up at him hopefully. 

John lifted his upper lip in a silent snarl, blowing out some smoke at the intruder, who made a face and tried valiantly not to cough. You ignored the little fit of temper. 

“He’s not even a knight,” you murmured. “He was just trying to help.” 

“And if I let him go, how many more will follow?” John asked, low and vicious. “Hm? You are mine. I will not allow them to hurt you.” 

“So let him stay here.” You shrugged.

“What?” John looked down at you, eyes wide.

“What?” the intruder choked out too, also staring at you.

“You know we could use the help, and I wouldn’t mind the company.” You batted your eyelashes at John. “And that way you’ll know I’m not alone when you have to go do your dragon stuff.”

John looked torn. He was loathe to deny you anything, something you knew and shamelessly took advantage of. He just needed a little nudge. 

“What did you do, before you decided to come here?” You looked at the intruder. 

“I was a baker,” he admitted slowly. 

“Oh, excellent,” you sighed with real pleasure. You’d been missing fresh bread. 

John’s shoulders slumped, and you hid your smile. “You have a choice,” he growled at the baker. “You can stay and follow my rules, or I can drop you in the ocean.”

“I’ll stay,” the baker was quick to agree, finally releasing John’s forearm to put his hands out at his sides. 

John finally released him, though he still looked grumpy. You ignored that, smiling and introducing yourself properly. 

“I’m Kyle,” he said, his smile small but warm with gratitude. “Kyle Garrick.”

“Well, Kyle Garrick, allow me to show you around.” You tucked your arm through John’s, gently tugging until he allowed himself to be led back inside. Kyle fell into step on your other side, though he kept a bit of respectful distance. 

Oh yes. You wouldn’t trade this life for anything. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

You looked up at the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath boots to see Daryl coming toward you. He looked a little unsettled. His hands were fidgeting.

"Hey," he drawled, stopping beside your fire ring.

"Hey," you replied softly, avoiding his gaze and instead poking your stick more forcefully into the coals, sending up a rising plume of sparks and embers.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "Look, 'bout earlier today—"

You sighed and interrupted him. "Daryl, you don't—you don't need to try to make me feel better about fucking up."

There was a tense silence. "Are ya gonna let me talk?" he drawled, his tone patient.

You looked up in surprise. You'd been expecting to get scolded at.

"I was tryin' to say... I know ya've got this need to—to prove yerself or whatever... But ya dun have to. Yer... family. Ya dun need to prove yerself anymore than ya already have. In fact, I'd rather ya didn't try. Yer gonna give me a damn heart attack runnin' into shit like that..." he trailed off.

You were staring up at him, your expression slightly unreadable.

He cleared his throat, wringing his hands nervously again. "Anyway... s'all I came to say so..."

He turned to leave but you finally found your voice. "Daryl—why don't you sit down and stay a bit? If you want to..."

He gulped and then nodded eagerly, taking a seat beside you on another round of wood.

Prompt: "I know you've got this need to prove yourself. But you don't have to. You're family. You don't have to prove yourself anymore than you already have."

[megamindsecretlair]

Pray For Me

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!Shy!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), size kink, all consensual. Praise kink. Use of n-word. Mention of jail, smoking, and drinking. Established friendship.

Summary: Franklin has just been released from jail. Jerome and Louie welcome him home in style. You had grown up around the corner from Jerome and you stop by to show Franklin a little love.

Word Count: 3,404k

A/N: Sometimes you gotta take your own advice. I was nervous to write this. But we are our own worst critics! I had fun writing this though, and hopefully it's one of many. Hello brainrot. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: Special shoutout to @planetblaque for encouraging me to watch this show and fall in love with this man!

You heard the music before you rounded the corner with your friends. You tugged on your skirt for the thousandth time, wondering if you should’ve just worn jeans and been done with it. 

“Girl, you look fine, c’mon,” your friend said and pulled you into the house. Damn, it’d been a good while since you were here. Probably not since the fourth when Jerome nearly set the roof on fire. There were plenty of bodies spilling out of the house, people hanging on the porch and in the front yard. 

Plumes of smoke rose into the air with the loud stink of weed. “How you doin’ ladies,” someone said as you passed by the front door. 

“I thought you said this was more lowkey,” you said. Somehow, you didn’t think Franklin was into…all of this. You grew up on the block near his uncle, so it was nothing for you to see Franklin from time to time. Over the years, he only got more handsome. He was tall, good looking, and that voice…

You spent many a night dreaming of that voice. You’d kill to have him look your way once. Just once. But everyone knew that he and Melody had something going on, always sniffing after each other. So you only got to admire him from afar and at the few moments like these, spent at parties at his uncle’s house.

Your friends dragged you inside and you immediately searched the room for Franklin. You didn’t see him yet but..fuck, it seemed like half the block was inside Jerome’s house.

“Hey baby!” You turned to the sound of Louie’s voice and smiled wide. You hugged her and leaned back. 

“You look good!” You told her. Louie was always who you wanted to be when you got older. She was so pretty and she always had her hair in interesting styles. 

“I always look good!” She said and you laughed with her. 

She moved on throughout the party. There was shouting in one corner and through the press of bodies, you saw Jerome shadow boxing with Leon. The size difference between them made you want to laugh. They were both handsome in their own ways, but you weren’t sure how Louie handled Jerome’s jheri curl. 

You gave up your search for Franklin. He probably had a hundred people congratulating him on getting out or wanting more of his time. Or he had his tongue down Melody’s throat somewhere, if her dad let her out of the house.

You came here to celebrate him, yes, but also just to get out and be among your people. There was something cathartic about having like-minded people all in a good mood. Dancing, drinking, or smoking or just having a good time. No arguments, no petty dramas. Nothing but Black folk and good music.

The song switched and Cutie Pie came on. The party exploded in noise and people flocked to the living room, bumping hips and pulling each other into dancing. You shook your head of thoughts of Franklin and focused on having fun with your girls. 

You danced and moved around the tight space, singing along to the words. You twirled the floor with your friends and got lost in the music. Heat erupted in the living room as everyone moved in tandem. You laughed as guys tried to show out for the women. 

“Goofy ass niggas,” your friend cackled. 

“You like them goofy ass niggas!” You said. 

“And!” Your friend said and you laughed with her. 

After a few songs, you were worn out. You waved your hand as your friends tried to keep you going. You had sweat pouring everywhere. If you didn’t sit down now, you were going to pass out. You fanned yourself as you collapsed on the couch. Your leg bumped someone’s.

“My bad,” you said.

“You look like you’re havin’ fun.” There. That voice.

You looked to your right and saw Franklin Saint smiling at you. Franklin. Smiling at you. 

“Yeah, I am.” You swallowed hard and was thankful that the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear it. Damn. He looked amazing. Dressed in a simple purple T-shirt and dark jeans, he looked delicious enough to eat. 

Franklin nodded and smirked. “You don’t though,” you said. You weren’t sure where that came from, but the more you looked at him, the more you realized it was true. He looked set apart from everyone else. 

“I’m havin’ fun,” he said. He had to yell a bit to be heard over the music. His head dipped towards yours and you smiled. He smelled so good. You hadn’t been this close to him in forever. You soaked up every single detail. You felt silly, but this was already the greatest night ever. 

“Been a minute since I seen you,” he said.  

You shrugged. “Just been workin’,” you said. The more you spoke to him, the more the initial shock wore off. You were able to hold a conversation like a normal person. Slowly, Franklin seemed to relax into the conversation just like you. You didn’t talk about anything important, really. Just the latest books you’d read, the latest movies you’d gone to see, or how work was going. 

“What?” You asked. You were in the middle of talking about work when you noticed that Franklin was just staring at you. 

“You’re really beautiful,” he said softly, his words nearly drowned out by the loud music. You ducked your head and scratched absently at your cheek. Franklin took that hand in his and played with your fingers.

His large hands swallowed yours and you stared at your hands intertwined. His hand was warm and sent tingles up your arm. You looked at him to find him focused on your face. “Thank you, Franklin,” you said with a smile. 

“I should be thankin’ you,” he said.

“Why’s that?” 

“You’re the first person to talk to me like I’m normal. Since I got out,” he said. 

You squeezed his hand. “You are normal, Franklin,” you said. You made sure to look him in the eye so that he really believed you. He smirked and nodded. “You just need some rest, that’s all.” 

“Or maybe I need to hang around you more often,” he said with a grin.

You sucked your teeth. “Stop playin’,” you said. 

“I’m not playin’. I like talkin’ to you,” he said.

Your heart plopped to the floor. Warmth spread through your body and you curled your toes in your shoes. “I like talkin’ to you, too,” you said.

“You want a drink or somethin’?” He asked.

You shook your head and played with his hand. Your thumb ran over the space between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t mess with that stuff.”

“Me neither. Why don’t you?” Franklin’s attention was unnerving. It was hard looking him in the eyes sometimes. Almost as if he was peering into the depths of your soul and judging what he saw. 

“The truth?” 

“Always the truth,” he said. 

“I got control issues sometimes. Drinkin’ or smokin’, I don’t like being that out of control.” 

Franklin’s smile was slow but it spread from one side to the other. He laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You said and shoved his knee. He shook his head but continued to laugh. 

“I’m not!” 

“Then why you laughin’?” You watched him settle down and shake his head.

“Just somethin’ funny. You might like being out of control sometimes,” he said. 

“I’on know about that,” you said. You knew it was an issue with you. But you couldn’t help it. Between your family and your job, you were constantly thrown in responsible roles before you were truly ready. It wasn’t like you had a choice to not rise to the challenge. You saw the way drinking and smoking made people crazy. You weren’t into it.

“Hey, wanna come with me?” He asked.

Before you could ask him what he meant, he smiled and stood up from the couch. The living room had cleared out a bit since you had been talking to Franklin. How long had you sat there? It was a little disorienting looking around. The crowd had pushed out onto the front lawn. There was more room to breathe and think. 

He pulled you up by the hand he still held. He was really damn tall. You looked up into his mischievous eyes. His smile never left as he inclined his head and pulled you through the living room towards the hallway. 

You suppressed a giggle as he pulled you into a room and closed the door. The music from the main room was still thumping, but it was significantly muffled by the closed door. Your ears rang as Franklin turned on a light. This time you giggled. You were standing in Franklin Saint’s room. The situation was a little absurd. 

“It looks like you,” you said.

Your eyes roamed around the things he put on the wall and his cassette collection. You leaned down and looked through the tapes. 

“What it look like? Tell me,” he said. 

“Clean and studious. Lots of books,” you said and pointed to the books on his desk.

“What, a nigga can’t read?”

You laughed. “I didn’t say it was bad,” you said.

Franklin turned that assessing gaze on you as if he couldn’t figure you out. Like you were a mystery book and he hadn’t reached the final reveal yet. He stood leaning by the door so he walked slowly towards you. You stood your ground.

He brought his hand up and traced your lips with his thumb. He leaned down and kissed you. You committed every detail to memory. The way his lips slanted against yours. The heat was pouring off of his body. The way the purple shirt rustled against yours. His hand as it dropped to your shoulder and then to your waist to pull you closer. 

You smiled when you broke apart and glanced at Franklin. “Damn. You sure no one’s gonna come barging in?” 

“Door locked. Scared?” He asked with a smirk. 

“No. I’m a lady,” you said and Franklin laughed. You smacked his shoulder. “I just want to make sure no one’s gonna walk in,” you said. You were too shy to say what you really meant. And you also needed time to think. 

This was completely unreal. You were standing in Franklin’s room, kissing him. It was like someone peeked inside your head and offered you everything you dreamt of. 

“Hey, it’s just us. I promise,” he said. “Trust me?” 

This was Franklin. You’d known him all your life. You nodded and smiled. You did trust him. Damn everything, but you did. 

Franklin kissed you again and you relaxed into it, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders and hugging him tight. His arms came around your waist and he started to walk you backwards towards the bed. 

Once your legs hit it, he stopped and smirked down at you. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his chest. You’re pretty sure you drooled as you took him in. Your hands explored his body as he lifted your shirt out of your skirt and pulled it over your head.

You took off your bra as he unzipped his jeans. You kept your eyes on each other, smiling and giggling as you two quickly disrobed. His eyes perused your body and you never felt sexier. 

“So beautiful,” he said. 

You ducked your head but it only made you look at his swelling dick. You knew he was packing, skinny dudes usually were, but damn. How the hell did he walk with that between his legs? It was a miracle he wasn’t always drooping forward. 

“Oh shit,” you said. 

Franklin laughed and kissed you again, distracting you. You could become addicted to his kisses. They were at once soft and hard. Sweet but forceful. He kissed down to the side of your jaw and then onto your neck. 

His big, juicy lips suckled on your neck as he lowered you to the bed and climbed on top. You moaned just from the feel of him slotting in between your legs. His dick pressed into the crook of your leg, warm and thick. 

Franklin kissed up to your ear. “That pussy wet for me?” 

You moaned and bit your lip. You wouldn’t survive a night with Franklin Saint. Not if he kept talkin’ nasty like that. You nodded. 

“Let me hear that pretty voice then,” he said. He kissed back down from your neck to your chest. When he got to your nipples, he hummed in pleasure and suckled one of them into his mouth. You watched as he turned that intense gaze to your chest. Sucking on your nipples as if it was his only job in the world. 

You moaned and squirmed beneath him. If you were wet before, you were soaking right now as his warm tongue teased your nipple into a needy little bud. 

“Franklin,” you said with a gasp. 

He let go of your nipple with a loud pop. He looked at you as he lowered his mouth towards your other nipple and gave that one as much attention. Keeping eye contact was hard when all you wanted to do was roll your eyes back. Your hands massaged his shoulders and the back of his neck.

“Focus,” he said. He kept going until your nipples were matching buds. He kissed down your belly stopping every so often to suckle a bit of skin in between his teeth. 

You twitched every time he did that and you slapped at his shoulder. “Franklin!” 

He chuckled as he continued to travel down, nosing your damp curls and inhaling. You bit your lip and wiggled. You were used to guys getting right down to having sex. It was rare that someone went down on you without you having to beg like a fool. 

“Hm, lemme taste it,” he said, that slow drawl of his like its own symphony. He didn’t wait for permission. He latched those beautiful lips to your pussy and you moaned and melted into his bed. It smelled like him too. You moaned from smelling his clean scent and from the magic he weaved in between your thighs. 

Your legs involuntarily closed around his head. He felt so damn good. He alternated between flicking your clit and suckling on it. Between licking you like his own popsicle and tracing little circles. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined and rolled your hips. Franklin grabbed your thick thighs and pried them apart. You looked down at him with an apology on your lips but licked your pussy again and robbed you of all coherent thought. 

“Need some room to work, woman,” he said. He kissed your pussy and then dived back in, fucking you with his tongue. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” you said. He returned his attention to your clit and sucked hard. You came on his tongue, your body betraying you and twitching and jerking. 

Franklin found your hands with his and held you as your orgasm ripped through you. You held on for dear life as your moans competed with the music outside. He continued to kiss and makeout with your pussy as you convulsed. As you came down, he rubbed the remainder of your juices on the back of your thighs. 

He crawled up the bed and braced himself with his elbows. He was level with you as he kissed you. You faintly tasted yourself on his tongue. As he kissed, he moved his hips until his dick pressed against your entrance.

He started to push in and you moaned into his mouth. “Let me hear you,” he said. 

He looked into your eyes as he pushed further in. The sweet burn of him stretching you out made you hiss. You drew your legs up and wrapped them around his lean frame. “Franklin!” You wrapped your arms around him as he started to stroke.

With each stroke, he pushed in deeper until he hit a spot deep inside of you. You fell apart under him. That stroke was a switch inside of you. You never felt someone go so deep or so hard before and you were clutching him to you, shaking and moaning as your orgasm fractured you into a million tiny shards. 

Franklin watched you as you floated back down to your body, panting. The room was burning up. Or maybe that was you. You were both slick with sweat as Franklin smirked at you. 

He continued his slow, deep strokes. Again, he hit that spot deep inside of you. “I can’t, I–”

Fuck, you had cum so many times already. But with every glide of his dick, your belly flipped and your pussy clenched him. 

“Sure you can,” he said. He nodded and continued to move inside of you. He hiked your legs higher until your feet hit the top of his ass. It allowed him to truly move deeper inside of you. 

Your arms wrapped under his so that your palms were directly on his back muscles, feeling them contract and expand as he slid in and out of you. It brought his chest down to rest on top of yours. He held his weight, but now your overly sensitive nipples rubbed his chest. 

“Franklin, please,” you said. You weren’t exactly pushing him off. But these slow strokes were killing you. You could deal with jack rabbit niggas that just wanted to bust and get off of you. You could even deal with the niggas that thought they had a little game and you managed to get something out of it.

Franklin was completely different. He took his time. Your pleasure came first. This was the difference between fucking with ignorant muthafuckas and a grown man. Something must have shown on your face because he kissed you, bringing you back to the moment. 

“Please, what?” He demanded. 

“I can’t…” You still couldn’t form the words. His dick was slick with your juices. He slid in and out with ease. He eased all the way out and went even slower sliding back in. 

The noises that left you should leave you embarrassed. But you felt nothing but safe in his arms. Safe to be yourself. Safe to give him every moan, every excited utterance, and every cry. Another orgasm was building in your belly. 

“Can’t what?” He asked.

You looked into his eyes. That was a big mistake. You were trapped in the liquid pool of his eyes. His grin spread across his face. He was having fun while he was breaking you apart. 

“Franklin,” you cried. You pushed at his shoulders but he was an immovable force. He pecked your lips and smiled at you. 

“I just want one mo,” he said. 

You shook your head back and forth. There was no way. Franklin kissed you and toyed with your lips while he continued his deep strokes. Never breaking eye contact. 

You didn’t want him to stop but you also needed him to. He felt too good stretching you out and wringing any and all sounds you were capable of. 

“I know you can do it,” he said and kissed you again. 

“Fuck,” you whispered as your orgasm rolled over you like a bulldozer. You tensed up, cries and moans scratching the back of your throat, clutching him to you as if he were the only thing keeping you together. Your pussy contracted around him and triggered his own release. 

“Goddamn,” he moaned as his cum spilled inside of you. You felt each hot spurt bathe your pussy. 

Franklin held you as you calmed down. He rained kisses all over your face as he slipped out slowly so he wouldn’t hurt you. You caught your breath as you felt him leave you. You shivered and Franklin rolled onto his side and pulled you closer. 

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while,” he said.

“You have?” You asked and looked at him.

“Mhm,” he said. He pulled your leg over his and he rubbed your thigh. You caressed his cheek and he smiled at you. 

“I wanna do that again,” you whispered to him. He chuckled and nodded. You didn’t have to pinch yourself. This may have been a dream come true, but it was a reality you weren’t ready to wake up from.

Liked this? There's more! The Secret Franklin Saint Files

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Ngl I've been thinking about tev Yuuniverse too but explicitly the part where they all eventually have to die.

Idk I may write this as a one-shot or something if requested yk?

🙋🏽‍♂️🙋‍♀️I volunteer to request

🐱

The Murder of Yuu 

I decided to cut out the opening ceremony and chandelier cause it was boring and not an interesting read, may do a part two with a good and bad ending. It's up to interpretation if Yuu dies or lives.

Tws: Gn! Yuu, Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Potential Gore Tw??, Overall angst and stuff. 9k Words

Ace’s Fireball

“Ahahaha!” The red-head’s grating laugh reverberated in your head. “Anyways, just thought I’d tease you for a bit and I’m glad I did, it’s been a blast! Unlike you two, I actually have classes to get to!” The bratty student sneered at you and your companion before walking off. You simply rolled your eyes and continued your job. You had better things to do than to fight with some snot-nosed brat.

Grim, however, had other plans. “No way you just insulted me like that, Explodey-Head!” “Hah?” The red head glared, amused. “Who’re you callin' names, kitty-cat?” “Why you—“ Grim suddenly spewed out a plume of fire right at Ace making him yelp.

“Oh you wanna play like that, huh?!” Ace yelled. He started to send a few spells Grims way, a few missing and hitting a little too close to you. Instinctively, you backed into the Queen of Hearts statue behind you. “Cut it out you guys!” “Oh shut it, janitor!” Ace snapped, Grim threw another fireball right at Ace, just for him to cast wind redirect it… directly to the statue where you were at. You stared at the ball of flames, knowing there was no way to avoid it as you covered your eyes to try and at least protect them.

“No! Wait!” The prefect yelled before letting out a deafening shriek as the flame made contact with their face, enveloping up their skin and hair within an instant. The redhead froze as a crowd gathered around the scene, horrified murmurs and gasps erupted from within the group.

The prefect crumpled, trying their best to put out the fire and suffocate it while crying out for help. Oh shit, oh shit what has he done?! No! It wasn't his fault that stupid janitor stood where they were! Ace’s mind was in a frenzy, complete panic enveloping him as all he could do was stand in watch, the thought of putting out the poor student not even occurring to him. Grim frantically jumped around them, swatting at the flames and crying out their name. Ace tried to cast a few water spells, but they were reduced to steam the second they made contact with your skin

The familiar tapping of a pair of heels approached him, quicking as they got closer. Oh fuck he was really in trouble now. None of his spells were helping. The headmage approached the scene. “Oh dear god, Yuu!” The crow said horrified, immediately running to their side and using the magic cloak he had to put out the flame. The Prefect stopped flailing and curled into a ball, covering their face as much as they could with the cloak around them. 

Most of their clothes were either burned or singed at this point. The fingers that peaked out, looked as if they were melting as they pulled the cloak even further onto them to hide their face. “Everyone dismissed!” The mage yells out with a newfound rage, scooping up the student and rushing to the nurses office. The crowd dispersed, all trying to get back to class except for two. “H…henchman… HENCHMAN!” Grim shrieked before running off after Crowley 

And Ace just stood there, the events of everything weighing in on him. He should consider himself lucky that the headmage was too busy with Yuu to even try and figure out what happened, but instead he felt sick. The students hands and legs shook as he tried to move.

He's so sorry…

Deuce’s Recklessness

“Get away from that thing!” Grim shrieks as he sprints on all fours, running out of the mine. “But the magestone!” Deuce cries out. “We need the magestone!” “We need to be alive to get it!” Ace huffs as he pulls on Deuce’s arm to drag him out of the mines.

“No, we can't give up like this!” Deuce yells out before pulling his arm away. “Deuce! What the hell are you doing?!” Yuu cried out as the card soldier ran back into the mines, directly to the strange monster within it. “Stoones! The stones are MINE!” It screeched as it sped up to meet with Deuce.

“I can't get kicked out! I need to risk it—“ Deuce desperately wheezed. He would slide between the monster's legs and back into the mines to grab that stone, even if it killed him! Deuce was so tunnel-visioned in his own plan, he didn't even see the pickaxe ready to swing down on him.

“Deuce!” Yuu cried out. It was the last thing he heard before he felt himself being pushed into the side of the cave wall. The runner’s back collided with the rocks behind him as he collapsed onto his knees. Where he sat gave him the perfect view of what was about to happen.

Yuu pushed their entire body into him to get him out of the way, making the prefect in turn take Deuce’s place in front of the blot. As they fell, Deuce realized there was no way for them to possibly avoid the attack coming down on them. He felt sick as he watched the concerned face in front of him contort into a cry, their eyes widening as the pick lodged itself into the spine of the magicless student, coming out through their stomach

The prefect wretched, gagging as they started to cough up blood. “YUU!” Deuce panicked, throwing himself over to where Yuu was in an attempt to try and save them, just for them to be dragged into the darkness of the cave. Yuu cried out in pain as the monster held them by the pick, crying out for it to stop.

“No… NO!” Deuce was frozen as he watched the silhouette of the creature take out the pickaxe, just to lodge it into the crumpled figure’s head. “Henchman!” Grim cried. “C’mon let's go!” Deuce felt Ace grab onto his arm to pull him back onto his feet and drag him out of the cave. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Fuck…” Ace huffed, panting, staring in disbelief at the cave in front of him. Grim also stared, face completely blank as he sat where he stood, as if processing what just happened. Deuce wretched, covering his mouth. He was so stupid! He should have never been so… so… stupid! That student, who he barely learned the name of, died because of him. Died protecting him. Just because of his stupidity. 

It was all his fault.

Riddle Overblot

“Riddle…” Trey panted, brushing the hair out of Riddle’s sweat-slicken face. The clover's face paint was smeared and his hair disheveled, hat nowhere to be seen as the man adjusts his cracked glasses. This was the first time Riddle has ever seen his friend like this. He looked panicked, shaken up. 

Something was wrong. Why did his body hurt so much? Why was his head pounding?

“Trey…?” His voice was hoarse and dry. 

“What… what happened…” The last thing he remembers was being angry… “What… what did I do?'' The last line came out weak. 

Looking over, he saw a certain problem freshman approach him, shaking with rage and tears in his eyes. His mind kept telling him to stop, that he shouldn't look at what his dorm members were crowding around, but he pushed himself up on his arms.

He was immediately hit with the scent of iron hanging heavy in the air, smell making him nauseous as it assaulted his senses. As he sat up he noticed how Cater and Deuce seemed to tense up, fear in their eyes. They were completely on edge. Ace stopped in front of Riddle, opening his mouth in an attempt to yell at him before closing it as a sob came out instead.

In that moment he realized what happened. “Who did I… Who was it?” Riddle’s voice shook as Ace glared. “Who?” Trey looked away from him, Riddle pushed himself up to his feet as he saw who Deuce stood in front of protectively as the other students backed away in fear, even Cater hiding the crowd. The spade and heart didn’t budge. Even Grim stood strong.

It was Yuu. The student who has been nothing but kind and concerned over him. The one that he berated and criticized over and over. The one he was never nice to once throughout their time at NRC. Their body now impaled through a rose bush, some of the thorny branches weaving under their skin and poking out like it was growing into them. They were not dead yet though.

Their chest twitched in an attempt to breathe and Deuce held their head up for up so they wouldn't suffocate on their own spit. With his other hand he attempted a few healing spells, but each one fizzled out from inexperience. “Dammit! Will one of you just help me!” He cried out to the crowd, but no one came.

Yuu’s eyes were watery as let out a sob. “I dont…” they wheezed. “I don't want to die like this! I never…” “Shh shh, save your energy.” Ace commanded, helping Deuce with holding them up and using the tie around his neck as makeshift bandages. “I never got to see the world…” the prefect continued. “Don’t say that!” Grim yapped. 

“I don't want to die like this, surrounded by strangers! I don't want to die alone!” Tears started to fall from everyone as the student spoke manically, each word faster than the last. “I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to be with my family! My friends! Not here! Not like this!…” The prefect started hyperventilating, now in complete hysterics. “Yuu, please!” Deuce sobbed. “I don't….” Yuu’s eyes started to glaze over. “I don't…”

Riddle shook, tears streaming down his face as hesitantly reached out his hand just to receive glares from the trio in front of him. “I’m sorry…” He stuttered. “Im so sorry…” Ace suddenly seems to snap. “Sorry isn't going to do shit! It’s not gonna bring them back!” The heart shakes, hatred evident in his eyes.

He was right.

Ruggie’s Slip-up

“Get back here!” Grim yelled as Ruggie snickered, gripping onto all of the magical pens he snagged from the freshmen. Poor poor freshies, not knowing where to stick their nose. It’s their fault they got involved. 

“Dammit he's fast!” Ace wheezed. “Don't let him get away!” the spade next to him spoke, following right on his tail. Oh this was too easy! A simple turn and he's— As Ruggie turned the corner, the flash of a camera blinded him. He blinked to see no other than Yuu, ghost camera in hand. “Caught you.” 

Shit shit shit. Did they have enough evidence? Ruggie began to sweat before he lunged at the prefect, aiming for the camera in their hand. But the prefect was slick, easily dodging the attempt. Hmph, fine, what can a simple magicless human do against this!

“Laugh with me!” Ruggie smirked as he took control of the prefect's body, what he didn’t account for was Yuu’s position— and his magic was not immune to gravity. What he planned on doing was making Yuu hand the camera to them, what he didn't realize was just how close they were to the edge of the balcony and that they were still airborne from jumping away from him.  Yuu gasped as their arm stuck out behind them, making them no longer able to catch themselves as they hit the balustrade and fell off the edge down to the ground below. 

Ruggie froze. “Yuu!” A choir of voices exclaimed as they rushed to the railing where Yuu fell from looking over. He has to retreat, now, the prefect should be fine, it's not that high up! Panicking, Ruggie dropped the magical pens in an unspoken apology as he ran off. “Holy shit that's a lot of blood…” he heard one of the freshies say. Pfft how is that possible unless they broke a bone or hit their h…ead…

Ruggie peaked over the railing as he ran, though it was far away his hyena eyes locked on to the ground below. The ghost camera’s parts were scattered across the field, and blood was splattered everywhere, originating from their head now cracked open. 

Adrenaline kicked in, and Ruggie started running faster. It was an accident, he tells himself, they'll be fine, he's done some bad stuff before but he’d never kill someone! They couldn't pin it on him anymore anyways! It was just an accident. 

It was just an accident!

Leona Overblot

Leona felt his head pounding as he sat up. The lion let out a groan as he rubs his head and looks around. Piles of sand surrounded him, and he sees some of the freshmen shakily get up, heavily bruised. Those damned Diasomnia dogs also stood about on their guard as the smallest one, Lilia, seemed to sift for the sand as if looking for something. Riddle himself was on his knees as he dug, allowing himself to get filthy. 

Across from him Ruggie sits, holding his arm that was dry and cracked from his Unique Magic. An attempt on his own vice leader's life. The hyena warily glares at him, more fearful than angry as he stares at something behind Leona. “Ruggie… I…” “Do you remember what you did?” Another voice cuts in, Lilia’s.

The lion looked at the fae that stood beside him, noting at how frantic the freshmen were in the background, digging through sand piles, even Jack was in his wolf form as raced around them. “I overblotted… Didn’t I?” Lilia’s gaze was unreadable, he didn’t look angry, however the neutral expression he had was mixed with pity. Ruggie pushes himself further away from Leona. “You did more than that,” he wheezes out as he scoots back, staring at someone behind Lilia. Leona turns to look only to see the lizard bastard walking through the sand, his guards on either side of them.

What happened? Why is everyone so worried? Why are those stupid freshmen digging about? Actually wait, where's that ramshackle scavenger? “Kingscholar,” Malleus paused, voice filled with disbelief, “What have you done?” What did he do? He didn't do whatever he think he did… right…?

With a wave of Malleus' hand, he blows away the sand gently, leaving behind a large pile of what looked like ash. Was that…?

Deuce immediately ran over, allowing himself to skid on the ground kicking up dust as examined the pile. Ace, Grim, Riddle, Jack and even Lilia kneeled down at it. “I feel something!” Riddle gasps, pushing off blackened sand to reveal an arm sticking out. The others start to carefully dig out the figure from the sand as Leona could only watch, unable to stand up. Malleus along with his retainers joined.

Leona could see the body emerge from the sand, their head carefully cradled and laid onto Malleus’ lap as the fae examined their tear-stained face covered in a layer of dust. There wasn't an inch of skin on them that wasn't dried or cracked, some of it completely breaking off to sand, muscle was exposed and oozed blood. “Careful, try not to touch them, they're still alive.” Lilia's calm voice leaves no room for argument. 

Riddle carefully holds his hand over Yuu’s body, warm light emanating from it to soothe the prefect's pain. Yuu lets out a strangled wheeze, and suddenly turns their head to the side and hacks up a mix of sand, bile, and blood. “Fuck, I’m sorry!” They cry out, wheezing, trying to catch their breath. “Back away. I’ll take care of it.” Malleus demands as the sky turns dark and cloudy. Everyone obeys, and Malleus gestures with his fingers, making whatever remains of Yuu float upwards.

Their clothes were tattered and you couldn’t even see a patch of skin on them that wasn't drowned out by cracks or blood, even their eyelids were cracked, making tears leak out easier. “It hurts… it hurts so fucking much…” Leona swallowed, standing up as he saw double and reaching out to Yuu in front of him.

“Away from the young master!” Sebek said through gritted teeth, surprisingly quiet as to not disturb Yuu further. “You have done enough already! Now stay back!” The half-fae scowled, eyes watery. Leona retracts his hand and stares at it, ignoring all the murderous stares sent his way.

He really does destroy everything, doesn’t he?

Jade’s Mistake

Jade was a calculating eel. Everything he does is done with purpose, from what he cooks to what he says, to what emotions he shows. Jade is aware of his strength as well.

Like his brother, he knows when to reign it in and hold back, humans are so much more fragile than mers, after all. He doesn’t need to use a lot of force with how dense his bones were from living in the ocean, still he does test out various assortments of forces on others. Everyone around him was his personal lab rat really, he's quite fine with being alone.

If anyone expected one of the twins to take it too far, they would have never expected it to be Jade. Jade could hardly believe it himself either. He was just doing business as usual. Jade simply had to make sure the naive little freshmen got a reality check. There was no way they could ever win against the contract they made. Azul sent them out to make sure of that, yet this human, a magicless one, of all things, seeks to oppose them? How utterly interesting, and here he thought the prefect was boring.

The freshmen's spells were nothing noteworthy, his brother's magic made it so that he didn’t even need to attempt to dodge. And yet, that magicless little prefect charged onwards despite having no way of defending themselves, as if they actually expected to somehow slip past him. Jade chuckled, making a show of his eel form as raised his tail and then dipped down to the sand, not giving Yuu a chance to react as his tail snatched them up, coiling around their waist and arms, binding them.

Floyd squealed with laughter as he watched his brother come back up to him with Yuu in tow as they kicked and squirmed, struggling against the slippery eel. “Hey! Let my henchman go!” Grim snarled as Jade flaunted the prefect in front of him. “I do wonder, do you still plan on attacking us when there's a possibility you can hurt your darling prefect?” “Dammit!” Jack huffs, and all the freshmen look at each other, unsure of what to do next.

Yuu however has not given up, they have a fire of defiance in their eye that turns Jade intrigue to excitement. They were smart, he noted, the prefect kept their arms out to their side in order to give them the most space they could muster, though it didn't matter much with his grip. They used their bound arms and their hands to push against his tail, in an attempt to unravel it, even twisting their body to loosen Jade’s hold. In response, Jade squeezed ever so tighter, yet they still didn’t give up.

They thrashed again, making Floyd cackle and Jade chuckle. This time the prefect was using their own biology against him, using the mucus on his body as a form of lubrication in an attempt to slide out despite the tight hold. Jade decided to entertain them, slightly loosening his hold on them to see the flash of hope in their eyes, before squeezing even tighter.

The prefect wheezed, then snapped their head down in attempt to bite him, only to have their face held back by him by yanking back their hair. “Aw, you poor unfortunate soul~ In pain, in need.” Jade didn’t bother to hide his sadistic smirk. “Let go of them!” Deuce yelled, making Floyd shriek with laughter once again. Yet despite everything, Yuu still kicked, still squirmed. Just how much would it take for them to stop? It would be a great experiment~

Jade tightened his grip, not even allowing for the slight squirm, yet the prefect continued to kick their legs out, this time more panicked. Tighter, and tighter, and— Crack!

Floyd suddenly snapped his head over his brother, looking at his prey. “Yuu? YUU!” Ace was the first to try and swim up to the tweel, not caring if he was attacked. The prefect's eyes were glossy, their body stiff, but they were alive as they writhed in pain. Jade completely unraveled around Yuu, allowing them to slip out. He grabbed at them, trying to assess the injury done to them, just for them to pull away. He assumed they were going to swim off to Ace but they didn’t.

They cough out bloody air bubbles as they hold their throat as if they were suffocating, before using what was left of their strength to swim up towards the surface. The tweels understood immediately. Jade wrapped his tail around them gently, and Floyd gripped onto him to help propel them to the surface faster, the student shivering the whole time.

Once they breached, Yuu took a deep breath of air before throwing up seawater trapped in their lungs. Jade laid out on the surface to give Yuu more of an area to work with as he tried to see what was broken. Yuu was still shivering for some reason, was it just adrenaline? 

“Little shrimp, are you okay?” Floyd asked, voice laced with panic. In the distance the other freshmen breach the surface, looking around for the tweels that blended in with their environment seamlessly. Yuu seemed to gurgle. Despite the fact they had air, they were still suffocating. But from what?

Suddenly Yuu coughed more blood, trying to choke in air as they crumpled onto Jade, smearing his chest a deep red. They shivered more and more. The realization hit Jade. “Their ribs must punctured their lungs.” Jade notes, and he tries to sit Yuu's body up as it starts to go limp. 

“Yuu!” Grim huffs as he swims over to the tweels and reaches out to his leader. “Geez, you're freezing! Come on, come on! Let's get you back to some heat!” Jade's eyes widened further as another realization hit him. Grim and the other freshmen were completely dry still from the effects of their potion. Yuu on the other hand has goosebumps all over their body and trembled. The potion must have worn off when their lungs were punctured, and now it was a race between them choking on their blood and hypothermia.

“Yuu!” Deuce cried out, “Give them back, we need to take them to the nurse!” They were practically already dead. “Shrimpy? Shrimpy? Little shrimp! Hey!” Floyd lightly shook the human. “They won't make it to the nurse. Our best bet is a mer doctor.” Jade suddenly commanded, casting a warming spell on his body. “Floyd, using a water breathing spell, hurry!” 

The freshmen cursed at the eels as they swam off in a frenzy, Yuu cradled gently in Jade's arms as the two glid through the water with ease. “Hang in there prefect, help is almost here.” Jade spoke, though for once it was more to soothe himself as adrenaline and guilt coursed through him. 

Humans really were weak, huh?

Floyd’s Mistake

As you imagine, it was during the photo heist of book 3 as well. It just so happened that this time, Yuu ended up in Floyd’s grasp instead. His slip up could have been seen a mile away. Everyone expected it, they just never expected it to be so violent. 

Floyd liked the little shrimpy! They were fun and squishy and never boring! They always got into some sort of trouble, and here they were literally signing up for it as they signed the contract that started it all. Even when he confronted them in the cafeteria, they would shy away until he started to mess with their friends, then suddenly the little shrimp became a mantis shrimpy.

To say Floyd was excited to meet shrimpy in the water was an understatement, he was elated! He couldn't wait to see how his little shrimp would fight back against the big bad eels! Would they be boring and give up? Or will they fight to the very end?

Floyd relished the panicked expression on their face when they saw the shadow of his figure in the water before he came into the view. The shock became a fiery determination that Floyd was going to have fun toying with. The annoying freshies fired their annoying spells at him that he didn’t even entertain dodging, opting to just use his magic instead.

The little shrimp had no magic, so what were they gonna do in the water? Floyd looked at the group of freshies just to see that Yuu wasn't there. Did the shrimpy decide to go back? That doesn’t seem like shrimpy though. Floyd looked around, just for his eyes to catch onto a small figure hiding amongst the seaweed during all of the crossfire. Ah so that's what shrimpy’s trying to do! What a smart little shrimpy!

The eel cackles maniacally as he dives down and snaps his tail around Yuu in a violent motion, knocking the wind out of them in one move. Floyd then swims back to Jade, showing off his catch. “Jade, looky looky~ I caught myself a little shrimpy!~” Floyd teases as he gently shakes the prefect.

“Hold your spells, they got Yuu!” Jack warned the others as they held back a spell, cursing under their breaths.  “Ahahah! Whatcha small fry gonna do now?” Floyd teases. “Floyd, you should consider binding your preys arms, you know?” “Eh but it's boring if they can't do anything, huh shrimpy?” Floyd uses the remainder of his tail to make Yuu nod before laughing again.

Yuu swings as Floyd, just for the eel to lean back. “Nice try!~” The eel's voice suddenly drops lower into a more threatening and serious tone. “You don't seriously think you're winning, are you?” Yuu kicks and pushes at the tail wrapped around them. “Okay I get we're fighting but you're squeezing too tight Floyd! It hurts!” Yuu uses their fists to pound against Floyds tail.

“Oh yeah? Really? I say its not tight enough…” “Floyd.” His brother's warning falls on deaf fins as Floyd leans in face-to-face with Yuu before squeezing tighter, making Yuu cough and tear up. Just as Floyd was about to let go, satisfied with his warning, Yuu suddenly shoves their fingers into the gills on Floyd’s neck violently gripping the slits of flesh. “Let go of me, you fucking bastard! I can’t breathe!” The prefect screams.

Floyd lets out a strangled gasp as he coughs, the feeling of Yuus nails scratching the inside of his throat making him feel nauseous. Their other hand finds the gills on his sides and pinches them roughly. Floyd then violently digs his claws into Yuu’s arm, making them straighten out their fingers in pain, enough for him to yank them out with ease. Yuu let out a cry of pain, but he doesn't loosen his grip at all, rather driving his claws in deeper. His other hand grabs onto Yuu’s neck in effort to push them away further without compromising his hold.

“Bad shrimpy!” Floyd yells. “Floyd please, I'm sorry but I need to—“ Snap.

“Shrimpy?” Yuu was limp, Floyd shook them slightly. “Hey shrimpy! This isn't funny! Shrimpy! Come on, Shrimpy!” There was no response. “Yuu… I…” A blast of flora hits Floyd in the chest, making him drop Yuu, the prefect unable to hold up their own head. “Get them and get out!” Grim yelps as the trio of students go to grab their friend. Deuce holds onto Yuu, holding their head carefully and applying pressure to the puncture wounds on their neck.

Floyd freezes and looks at his grip on their arm. His claws threatened to go all the way through and the bones were both now broken. Yuu let out a painful shriek, but it was off, garbled. Floyd looks over to his grip on Yuu's neck, his claws digging deep into their throat.

“Guys, they aren't breathing!” Deuce’s voice is shrill with terror. “Get them back through the portal now!” Jack yells. The students all book it back to NRC. Floyd watches with Jade, before the two start to swoop in, hoping they can help the group get back faster just to have a fireball thrown at them.

“You! You've both done enough! Stay away from my human!” Grim growls. “I understand your reservations but we're trying to help.” Jade attempts to soothe. “Yeah right! Like I trust you! I don't care if I get beat up here, which I won't! I'm not letting you hurt them!” Grim stands strong, unleashing another fireball for them to dodge

"You twins wouldnt get it, you have each other! You've always had each other, a nice family, a home! I never had any of that! Then one day, BAM the nicest henchman ever appears and helps me get into my dream school!” Grim is sobbing at this point.

“And they supported me the whole way through! Even though I’m not even human! Even when I get in trouble, they still treat me like I'm the best thing that ever happened to them despite my race! And now they might..!” Grim shakes. 

“I'm not letting you near them! Not now! Not ever!”

Azul Overblot

Azuls eyes fluttered open, blurry vision clearing up to see Jade kneeling over him. “Are you up? Can you see me okay? Can you hear me?” “Yes… yes I can…” His throat hurt, his body was sore. “Follow my hand…” Jade waves his hand over Azul’s face to see if his eyes track it. Azul shuts his eyes for a moment before opening them again to look at Jade, his hair a disheveled mess. He could hear Floyd crying in the background.

“What… What happened? What’s going on??” Azul rubbed his forehead as he sat himself up. “It's Yuu! They’re dead!” “What?!” Azul snapped himself up just to hold his head in pain at the sudden movement. “Don’t say that!” Grim screeches at Floyd. “They can pull through!”

“Stop hovering!” Leona barks at Floyd as he props up the prefect on his lap. “We need to give them CPR now before anything else, they won't even be able to make it to the nurses otherwise.” Leona says as he ties back his hair. “You guys, their ribs are gonna have to break even more, prepare to heal them.” Leona presses his mouth to the prefects, blowing in air and giving rough chest but rhythmic chest compressions to them, the sound of cartilage crackling and snapping made Azul cringe inwardly as an invertebrate as he looked over at Yuu.

Their skin was paler than before from the lack of oxygen was the first thing he noticed, it was hard to really see what he had done with the amount of people crowding them. As he shakily stood up, he watched as other dorm members slowly back away from him in fear. This is what he always wanted, why does it feel wrong now?

Looking over Leona, he froze at the sight of Yuu’s body, they looked like they were stretched out, certain parts of them looked crushed or exploded. There was suction all over them, most of them taking off the skin underneath from how hard they gripped onto them. Azul trembled and he looked over at Jade, who’s expression was unreadable until he looked at him, a sad disappointment in his eyes, like he expected better.

Floyd on the other hand looked utterly distraught as he held onto Yuu’s hand, mumbling about the shrimpy staying strong under his breath. Ruggie was for once, concerned about someone else besides himself as he watches Yuu completely unsettled. 

Jack looks up at Azul before looking away as if offended to even keep eye contact with him. The others were too focused on Yuu to even notice except Ace, who had nothing but malice in his eyes. “Was anything ever enough for you?” He spat. “You had everything! But it was never enough, huh?!” “Ace not now,” Deuce nudged the red head. “Fine, but I will say that at least now people will never mess with you again! Just like you wanted, right?” Deuce nudges Ace again. As the CPR continues for an uncomfortable amount of time, Azul realizes the possibility that Yuu is probably gone for good. Azul teared up.

He always was that pathetic little crybaby.

Jamil Overblot

“Now GO!” Jamil screeched, throwing the group of mages that opposed onto the broken pillar of the dorm. He lifted the pillar up with a wave of his hand and set to aim it at the horizon, until he saw them. That damned prefect that started it all.

If it wasn't for them, he would have won, he would be free right now! His eyes darkened as he locked onto them, grinning wryly at the fearful expression on their face. He held out his hand to Yuu in a flicking motion, the floating pillar staying in place. “Yuu get out of the way!” Floyd rasped, voice on the verge of giving out from how much we was screeching.

Flick.

The pillar flew straight into Yuu’s abdomen, sending the entire squad flying way out in the distance. A sense of peace filled the young man's mind as he relaxed, allowing his brainwashed servants to care for him. The weight of what he just did not set in on him. In his mind he now won, and he remembers the weight of everything lifted off his shoulders as his reign continued.

The very next thing he remembered is his pounding head, and a muffled voice resonated in his head, his ears were ringing and everything around him was so bright. “…mil… Jamil…. Jamil!” The viper’s eyes shoot open and he takes a deep breath of air. “Jamil!” Kalim cries, crushing Jamil into a hug and sobbing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I didn’t know how you’ve been feeling this whole time! If I knew, this would have never happened. We could have been best friends! You wouldn’t have blotted! And… Yuu…” The mere mention of their name, makes Jamil push himself up harshly, the blurry memory of what happened moments before weighing in. Fuck, fuck, fuck that pillar! That’s at least a broken rib, and at worst…

“Floyd, stop crowding them, they need space right now!” Azul scolds in the background, Jamil’s gaze follows the voice and he forgets to breathe. “Prop them on their side, both their back and ribs are too injured. Focus your magic on this point," "Yes, Jade!” A few of the students say. Jamil stares at the body in front of him, borderline unrecognizable. Their front looked as though it was caved in, and as they are turned to their side he saw that most of the muscle and skin looked as though it was shredded off of them, whatever skin they had left was covered in friction burns. Clothes they once wore, now scraps.

Jamil doesn’t feel relief in the slightest when he hears them let out a weak, strangled cry of pain. The fact they’re alive at all is a miracle, but death would have been a much better mercy. When they recover, would they even be able to be the same? The wary glances from the other dorm members in the room tell him they’re all thinking the same thing.

“Hey! Let us in, let us in!” A few voices ring out in the distance, and Grim perks up. “Deuce! Ace!” The cat cries out, refusing to move from Yuu’s side. The pair burst into the common room, out of breath. “Grim, we got your guy’s message! Are you okay where’s—“ Deuce freezes, trembling when he sees what the cat stood in front of. “N-no way… please don't tell me that's…” 

Ace turns his hands into fists. “Who did this?! Which one of you did this to them?! I fucking kill you!” Jamil spaces out, only able to stare at the back of his most unfortunate victim. The voices in the background of the trios arguing in the background faded as he allows Kalim to shake and hug him.

He was never going to get his freedom.

Vil Overblot

“..il…Vil!” Vil groggily opened his eyes to the sound of Rook's voice, sitting himself up as he looked around. “You’re alright…” Another voice said, but it was strained and weak. “We thought you were dead.” The leader tried to look at the source of the voice, just for his vision to blur. He blinked a few times and pinched the bridge of his nose before opening his eyes again tiredly, just for his tired expression to change to horror.

“Yuu?!” Vil boomed before letting out a cough. The magicless student in front of him looked horrible, acid burns across their arms and part of their face that burned off the first few layers of skin along with pitch black, discolored veins that surged with poison even after his blot. They had a pained expression as they panted, shaking as they stood and gripped one of their arms.

Some of their skin looked like it was already peeling. Epel had the student lean on him as Jamil casted some restoration magic on them, just for it to fizzle out or be ineffective. A frustrated and baffled expression grew on the scarabian's face. Ignoring his own dizziness, Vil stood up with the help of Rook. He approached Yuu who was on the verge of passing out.

Charging up his own curing magic in his hand forming a ball, he held it close to Yuu before unleashing it. Everyone around him looked relieved and Kalim was practically beaming. A bright flash of light blinded the group before fading and everyone looked at Yuu expectantly, waiting for their blackened veins to fade. A few seconds passed, then a minute. Nothing was happening.

“Are they okay now?” Kalim asked dumbly. “Do they look okay?” Ace rebuttals. No, something was wrong. It was his spell, his poison, why wasn’t it working? Searching through his mind through all of his knowledge of poisons, he casts another spell to try and counteract it instead. Nothing happens. Panic started setting in. His expression grew more and more concerned, making the students around him worry. 

“Good grief what happened here…” Another voice echos among the ruins of the stage. “M-Malle-“ Deuce stuttered out, unable to finish the name. “Oh, hey Tsunotaro! You… came at a bad time…” “Tsunotaro?!” Jamil, Rook, Vil, and the freshmen erupt. “Dude are you trying to get finished off?!” Ace whisper-yells.

At the sight of his injured friend, Malleus’ expression becomes shocked, then grows dark. “Child of Man, what happened?” The group all went silent, even Vil didn’t speak. He wanted to claim responsibility then and there, but he knew that right now, Malleus would only listen to Yuu. Yuu tries to speak, starting a sentence just to stop.

“I… I don't know… I don't know what I was thinking…” “Come with me, you require serious medical help.” Malleus offers his hand for Yuu to take and put their weight on. “But the stage…” “You’re concerned about the stage in your state?” “… Crowley is probably going to blame me for it…”

Malleus pauses, and raises his hand, the rubble of the stage lifting back up to reassemble itself. As the others stare in awe, Malleus leaves with Yuu in his arms.

***

Vil was about to open the door to the nurses office until he heard two voices talking. It was Malleus and some of the medical staff he assumed.

“Mr… sir… uhh. Prince Malleus, about your friend…”

“Yes? What about them?”

“Do you happen to know their blood type? We have tested their blood and it’s not like anything we have seen before, hell the dna samples we took they’re… otherworldly…”

“I see… If that's the case…” Malleus sighs. “I don’t know anything relating to their health.”

“We are trying every treatment we can for magic or poisons but none are effective, sir, they are completely… ineffective.”

“I see…”

“Um… Prince Malleus, I do not mean to be rude but um, could your magic be used to heal them..?”

Vil’s breath hitched.

“I cannot. I originally planned to use a curing spell and then take them into Diasomnia for recovery, but my magic didn't work either.”

“How…? Are they cursed or something?!

“Perhaps it is because of their origin—”

Vil felt sick. He was killing them slowly.

Grim’s Freakout

You hoped to examine that strange blot gem that Vil dropped, and made sure to take extra precautions hiding it from Grim. As dumb as it sounded, you felt as though these were important somehow, that maybe they can help you find your way home. You placed it down on the nightstand after examining before heading off to use the bathroom. In retrospect, you probably should have put it up or hid it, as when you came out of the bathroom you immediately heard the familiar sound of your companion crunching down on something. 

“Agh! Grim, no! Don’t!” Yuu rushed into the room but was too late, not even a shard of the gem was left. “Grim! I told you to stop eating those!” Grims mind was hazy as his body started processing the effects of the gem, Yuu's voice faded in and out. “I hid from you cause I KNEW… And now what?! That was my only lead… I’ve been here for a YEAR fixing everyone’s problems…. And I just want to— Grim? Grim, are you okay?”

Grim looked up at the human that was reprimanding them. For a moment, he recognizes them, their stressed and tear-stained face made him feel bad for a moment, until his vision blurred. He grabbed his head in pain and felt himself being worriedly picked up and examined. “Grim! Hey! Grim!”

When his vision returned, the world was darker, the face that was a friend now foe as it was blacked out and blurry. “Grim are you—AAGHHH! NO STOP PLEASE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS?! YOU’RE MY FRIEND!”

***

Deuce and Ace ran into the Ramshackle dorm at the emergency text they received.

> Theres aN emercy at ramshckle! SOmething happened to Grim please hirty

Yuu would never mess around like this for a prank. Something bad must have happened, they run through the halls and practically body slam into the mirror leading to Ramshackle. From there they run through into the dorm. “YUU! Hey Yuu! YuuuuUUUUU!”

Ace yelled out before panting. “I swear if its nothing…” “Come on let's go check their room.” Deuce offers, taking the lead up the stairs and wiping the sweat off his brow. “Yuu!” He calls, “We got your text…” Ace grumbled and followed Deuce, lagging slightly. Deuce reaches the top, freezing when he hears a soft sob. “Did you hear that?” “Hear what?”

Deuce sighs, a serious expression emerging as he quickens his pace to the door. “Yuu? Are you in there?” Deuce knocked on the door just for it to open as he did so. Ace looked at his friend as he made his way over. He watched as Deuce's expression become terrified before turning into utter devastation. His wide eyes glaze with tears and he covers his mouth with his hands, gagging slightly.

“Geez man what did you s—“ Ace stood next to Deuce and was immediately hit with the scent of blood and something burning, he glanced at the floor which had a blood trail coming out of the room. Following the trail slowly, he stared into the room and froze. He felt as though he was going to puke.

Blood and soot covered everything. The curtains and furniture along with the walls have scorch marks and dried blood on them. The sheets and mattress of the bed were torn up and soaked with blood, blankets still smoking from the recent flames that were put out. The mirror on the wall was pitch black. Worst of all was Yuu.

They were curled into a ball in the center of the bed, trying their best to cover their face, or what remained of it. There were claw marks exposing bones of the prefect's skull, which was completely drenched in their own blood. Some of the wounds cauterized from the flames that were blown on them. Fingers melted together. Patches of skin looked as though they were still burning, yet worst of all were their eyes.

The eyelids on one of their eyes were torn off, exposing their eyeball that stared off in the distance, and the other appeared to be soldered shut. Ace shook. “Holy shit… Holy shit!” Ace gags, and the sound elicits another sob from Yuu. “Holy shit! You're… You're alive!”

Deuce moves first, running over and cradling Yuu’s face looking for a pulse. Ace follows and reaches out before retracting a hand, not knowing what to do. “I’m… I… Cmon, let's take them to the nurse!” “On it.” Ace helps Deuce lift the prefect, pulling out his phone and messaging his Dormleader with the news, begging him to contact Crowley.

They couldn’t die like this.

Idia Overblot

Idia awoke to the sound of sirens blaring. In his tired state, he didn’t recognize what it was at first, the sirens screeching faint before getting louder. Idia jerked awake from where he was and was greeted by a sobbing Ortho who practically squeezed him. “Ortho? I… Eh… What’s going on?” The announcer on the speakers kept repeating the word “Overblot In Progress'' like a mantra, before Ortho gave the command to shut off the sound, red lights still flash and all screens on the walls keep the warning up. That was strange, he was no longer blotted, and any phantom that unfroze should have been frozen again.

Idia gets up from the bench he was laid on and looks around, recognizing that he’s in one of the many lab rooms of Styx. Many scientists hovering around the holograms projected on the table or at the computers mashing their keyboards. The previous blots, along with Rook and Epel were also hovering around the tables with wide-eyed expressions. “Ortho what's happening?”

“Shroud!” One of the scientists yells. “There is an emergency, we need your guidance!” “Wh…” Idia’s head felt like it was splitting in half. Looking around he cant help but feel someone is missing, but he didn’t have time to think about it. “Ortho, report!”

“There’s an abnormal Overblot occurring down in the phantom chambers! We have never seen anything like it before!” “Abnormal? What do you mean by that?” Epel interrupts, spitting words with a venom and letting his accent out. “It means ma best pardner who happens t' be magicless is currently filled with blot!” “That’s not possible! What do y…”

Idia pushed through the other members around the table seeing what was unfolding. A menacing figure stood in the middle of phantoms, all of which pushing and stampeding across each other to reach them. The figure looked like a huge humanoid made of ink, limbs abnormally long and outstretched reminding Idia of some beast from a soulsborne game. Its face was blank aside from two glowing eyes that keep getting brighter and brighter, within them, you can see a figure trapped within the beast.

Idia immediately started typing on one of the keyboards, attempting to input the freeze command just for it to fail over and over. He sweated as he tried to input a few others, just for the same error to pop up. “C’mon c’mon c’mon…” Idia opened the code to try and troubleshoot, if any of the phantoms reach where Yuu is—

“HENCHMAN!” Grim screamed, making Idia nearly crack his neck from how fast he looked up. The phantoms reached the blot creature, immediately being absorbed into the creature, getting bigger and bigger, inky geysers swirled around the figure, then it shook. “Readings say blot implosion is happening sir—-AUGH!”

The entire facility shook. Within an instant, the impossible amount of blot condensed and swirled into the student within the figure. A deep darkness flashed like a light, and suddenly, Yuu was suspended in the air, before they suddenly dropped. For a moment, all the alerts cleared, and zooming in on Yuu showed they were breathing. 

“Ortho can you get a scan?” “Scanning… All vitals are sta…ble…?” “That doesn't sound good…” Leona groaned. The alarms went off again, this time louder and more frequent. “Ortho, turn it down!” “On it!”  A new warning appeared everywhere. “God-Level Phantom detected.” "God level?" Jamil gawked.

“How could this happen?” A few scientists moan. 

“No person would ever do this!”

“Idia, sir! Their DNA! It matches nothing from this world!”

“sir, there has appeared to have been a significant amount of blot in them before!”

Idia paled and a realization hit him. They are not from this world, and so they would have a different reaction to being in contact with blot… They have also been the one common denominator in every blot at NRC, they were in contact with each one, no one has ever been around that many overblots in such a short period of time … That blot. It must have accumulated in them, and they never had enough time to fully heal before their contact with the next one. It must have been clawing its way into them since the very beginning.

Still, a god leveled phantom… Nothing like this has happened since the war of Gods millennia ago! There was no tech that could even handle that… Idia looked at the cameras again. Yuu trembled, before standing—no, floating— to their feet. They looked normal aside with their roughed up clothes, but something felt off. The way they stood, they way their head hung down. It wasn’t Yuu. Black smoke seemed to emanate off them, causing the NRC bunch to start yammering.

They suddenly lifted their head, making direct eye contact with the camera, eyes glowing. Ferrymen rushed into the chamber, all surrounding Yuu before firing their weapons, but nothing hit. The once magicless student just simply raised their hand, lifting everyone in a tidal wave of blot before washing them out. They then grabbed one of the men, tearing off their mic and speaking into it.

“Release us.” Idia paled. “What the hell…” Epel whispered. “Release us… Shroud…” Idia gestured for the intercom. “You know I can’t do that Yuu.” Yuu stayed eerily calm, but this time when they spoke, Idia felt sick. “Please brother… It's been years. I want to be free!” Idia and Ortho shared looks of horror as they went through the stages of grief all at once.

“It's dark down here. I’m scared.” Idia hands shivered. “I’m sorry Ortho, you know what has to happen. Please just… Don’t fight it…” Idia, this time, put in another command, finger hovering over the button. “Ortho, prepare for evacuation.” He pressed the button. The entire chamber started flooding with temperatures reaching lower than ever allowed in the facility, and in a larger amount than ever done before.

Ferrymen and scientists all started escaping and running out of the facilities, the NRC students chauffeured on the hovering vehicles Idia commanded as everyone made it for a safe point on the surface of the ocean. “I can't believe it…” Rook mumbles. “Just like that…” Riddle says in a daze.

The students were all quiet for the first time in the entire trip there. Idia could only stare at the ocean as he sobbed.

“I'm sorry Ortho… I'm sorry Yuu…”

Malleus Overblot

“Can I… Help you with something…?”

The storms over NRC have yet to fade, and each day the weather only seems to get worse. It has been two weeks since that fateful day. Two weeks when he was defeated and everyone was free for the price of them. Two weeks when one of the best humans he has ever known was taken from him.

“They aren’t dead yet, Malleus.” Lilia replied, standing in the doorframe of his room as Malleus continued to stare melancholically out the window. He closed his eyes. “I know.” “So why are you already mourning? There's still hope.” Malleus doesn't respond. “It is unfair to everyone to ruin the weather, you know?” Usually the fae wouldn’t try to push Malleus when he’s already upset, but many of the streets have started flooding on Sage Island.

Silence hung in the air until Malleus broke it. “It’s impossible. They will never wake up.” “They could. It will just take—" "True loves kiss.” Malleus finishes. “But that is impossible for them, and you know it too.” Malleus turned around to look at Lilia, it was one of the rare times you could see the ancient fae mourn as well. “But there is a chance.”

Malleus shook. “The only one that had a chance was Grim for a familial love… but the spell does not for allow monsters.” Silence hung in the air again and before Lilia could open his mouth to speak again, Malleus did. “Please Lilia, leave me be.” Lilia deflated and turned to leave. 

His fingers dig into the windowsill. “Enough!” He booms. “There is no way for them to ever get a true love's kiss in this world. Some stranger cannot develop true love for the idea of them. Every student here has not been true enough to their feelings for them in a proper way for any sort of love to develop, and there is no way it could ever be me, not after what I have done!” 

***

Malleus stood in your room, or rather, your room in Ramshackle. Around and on your bed were offerings of all sorts. Snacks, flora, cards, plushies along with an assortment of other items surrounded you from students across both NRC and RSA. It was probably the only time that foreign students were allowed on campus without issues. 

He stood over you. You are just as peaceful as ever, and the sight of your unconscious body only continues to remind him of what he did. How after you defeated him, and awoken everyone, you seemed tired. And during the brief period of celebration, the fanfare, as everyone woke up and started to appreciate you, you collapsed. 

He worried that it was from a more severe injury he couldn't see. You were a bit roughed up. Some minor burns on your arms and bruises painting your body. There were a few nasty cuts you bled from, but surely they weren't enough to cause blood loss? Students saved you from your fall, checking for injuries and using magic.

A tear fell onto you as he hovered over you, black hair forming a curtain, he didn't even realize he was crying. “Oh dear, I’m sorry about…” The fae couldn't get the words out. He gently wiped the tear off of your face as he admired it closer. You were beautiful. His breath hitched, as he adjusted your face to fit his, then pressed his lips to yours, hoping that by some miracle, it was true love. 

The fae finds it both amusing and frustrating that nearly everyone in this school seemed to have only noticed how much they appreciate and care for you, after you are no longer with them. It's not fair… It's not fair to you at all. You've done so much.

He already knew the answer though. He was one of the students that didn’t allow for his feelings to develop enough for true love. Your still-sleeping face proved that. If only we were more open, if he approached you first…

You’re gone.

[violetflowerswrites]

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

9

freakin

AM

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

[sapphire-writes]

Playing with Fire (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Your adventure in the capital continues as you grow closer to more than one Targaryen prince.

warnings: some sensual themes, drinking

word count: 3.4k

A/N: In absolute awe of the love for part 1!! Hope you all enjoy part 2 as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💚

masterlist

“I shall not have my daughter late for such a charming event,” your mother says, moving to fix a broach from its tilted position on your neckline. You purse your lips. Your time in the Red Keep was to be full of different social events, all catered to winning Prince Aegon’s affection. 

“I suppose I do not need to attend,” you tell her, batting your lashes, “the Queen did specify it was not mandatory.”

“We came to the capital to find you a husband,” your mother said, giving you a stern look, “and after last night’s escapades you need to remind the members of court what a charming young lady you are.”

You groan at your mother’s words but are silenced by her fierce motherly glare. You press your lips together in a thin line. She smiles at your surrender.

“A walk in the gardens is quite the romantic opportunity, Y/N,” she says, brushing your shoulders. Your mother moves to caress your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, and you can’t help but smile at her kind words and the loving look on her face.

As you make your way to the gardens, your mother is an overflowing fountain of advice. 

“Make sure to take his arm,” she informs, “and smile often, but not too much, we do not wish for him to think you are fatuous.”

You tilt your head to the side, frowning at your mother.

“What?” she says, ushering you forward through the castle doors. 

“You think me fatuous?”

“I do not,” your mother argues, “hence why I wish you do not act like it.”

The gardens of the Red Keep are a beautiful sight. Rows upon rows of flowers from all over the seven kingdoms make a colorful sanctuary, with tables and benches scattered throughout the many paths that twist and creep throughout them. 

The air is perfumed by the sweet scents emitted by all the flora. You have never traveled to Highgarden, but if it is anything as beautiful as the gardens in front of you now, you can scarcely imagine it. 

As you enter the gardens you are greeted by several of the lords and ladies from the previous night. Everyone is dressed in gowns of expensive Myrish lace, colors bright as though the plumes of birds. 

“Does Prince Aegon enjoy bright colors?” you ask and your mother shrugs, clearly surprised as well by the fashionable efforts. 

Cassandra Baratheon spots you, a smile overtaking her. You raise your eyebrows at her as she approaches, only to realize too late she was smiling at someone behind you. She brushes by you, with little decency, causing you to stumble. 

“My prince!” she says, skirts dancing around her as she approaches Prince Aegon, who has entered just behind you. He smiles at Cassandra before his gaze falls on you. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as his eyes light up.

I remember you, they seem to say. 

Cassandra loops her arm through his, attaching herself to his side. Aegon’s eyes widen at her boldness and he allows himself a once over of the Baratheon lady. She is breathtakingly beautiful, everything a future queen should hope to look like.  

“I would be honored to join you this morning, my prince,” she says, leading Aegon toward the gardens and away from other ladies who seem to pout as they see Aegon’s arm has been claimed.

“That would be lovely, my lady,” he says to her, but as they pass his eyes stay on you. You look away first, unable to hold his piercing gaze. You swear you hear him chuckle, before the pair disappear within the greenery, trailed by several goldcloaks. 

“Perhaps when Cassandra returns,” your mother says hopefully, watching where the pair headed off to. You shoot your mother an exasperated look.

“It is rather pointless,” you tell her, “Cassandra is quite determined the prince is her match.”

Your mother pats your arm, attempting to comfort you. You roll your eyes at her efforts. 

“We shall see,” your mother says, ever confident in her daughter. You stay next to her as other ladies begin to promenade. 

“I have seen one near the tulips,” a voice says softly, causing you to turn. Prince Aemond stands behind you, a small smile on his face. His hands are crossed behind his back, violet eye sparkling. 

“Good morrow my prince,” you tell him brightly, crossing your ankles in a brief curtsey. 

“Or perhaps near the golden roses?” he continues as if not hearing you. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“I do not follow, my prince,” you tell him, following his gaze into the gardens until it landed on a table full of refreshments.  

“I only assumed you may need another hiding space,” he says. Cheeky bastard. You scoff in surprise, but a smile forms on your face at his jest. Blush blooms on your cheeks and he chuckles. 

“I apologize, my lady,” he begins, “I could not help it.”

You smooth your gown, as a laugh escapes you. Prince Aemond was jesting with you. 

“I suppose I deserve it, for my foolishness,” you tell him, more laughter bubbling from your lips. 

“May I?” Aemond said, offering his arm to you. You smiled at the kindness, linking his arm in yours. 

“I promise not to lose my slipper this time,” you tell him, earning a chuckle from the one-eyed prince. 

You began your promenade through the gardens. You glance behind you and your mother gives you an encouraging smile, trailing behind a modest distance from you and the prince as a chaperone. 

As you continue your walk with Aemond, you notice sideways glances from ladies as they pass. You turn, watching them whisper and giggle before hurrying along down the path. 

Aemond notices your confusion and clears his throat. 

“I suppose it is a strange sight, to see such a beautiful lady on my arm,” he says softly, flashing a half smile. You can tell he is trying to ease the awkwardness of the encounter. Your eyebrows cinch together, not understanding what he is implying. 

“Why would that be strange, my prince?” you ask.

“My condition frightens most women of court.”

You look at Aemond, and note the way his mouth sits in a tight line, blush blooming on the tops of his cheekbones. Your face softens. 

“It does not frighten me,” you tell him. Aemond meets your gaze, expecting to see some hint of displeasure. He finds none, only fierce honesty in your expression. You stop your walk as the path opens to a large courtyard. Lords and ladies are deposited around, talking and drinking leisurely in the warmth of the midday sun. 

Aemond picks a goblet up, filling it with wine. He hands it to you before pouring one for himself. 

“You are very peculiar, Lady Y/N,” he says, sizing you up once more, “I do hope you do not take offense to me saying that.”

You shrug nonchalantly, taking a sip from your cup. The Arbor red burns a path down your throat. 

“Not at all,” you assure him, “I do not believe there is shame in the odd or unusual.” 

Aemond cocks his head, before nodding in agreement, taking a sip from his cup. You watch as a dragonfly buzzes by, opaque wings catching in the sunlight. 

“Fascinating,” you murmur and Aemond follows your eyes.

“You should speak with my sister Helaena,” he tells you, “she is fascinated with the creatures that reside in this garden.”

“I did speak with her,” you tell him, recalling your late night discussion with the princess, “she is a very interesting woman, your sister.”

Aemond feels a sense of sharp pride at your words. Helaena was the sibling he was always closest to. He spent most of his time defending her from odd looks and jests from ladies of court, it was a refreshing change to hear you speak so kindly of her. 

“She was telling me about her recent readings of insects outside of the seven kingdoms,” you continued, craning your neck to see where the dragonfly had flown off to. You make a noise of contentment before taking another sip of your wine. You feel your body beginning to warm from the liquid. 

“I quite enjoyed the time I spent with her,” you continued, glancing at Aemond, “and with you , of course my prince.”

Aemond chews at the inside of his lip as he takes in your words. He suddenly wants to sweep you away from the gardens, keep you out of sight until Aegon chooses a wife. Aemond cannot help but remember why you are here. You have come for his brother’s hand, not his. A rush of possessiveness rolls through him at the thought. Aemond places his cup on a table closeby, before leaning closer to you, speaking low into your ear.

“You enjoy that?” he asks, the look in his eye changing, “spending time with me?”

Gooseflesh prickles on your skin at the feeling of his breath on your ear. 

“Of course, my prince,” you say, and you can feel your nerves, twisting and twirling in your stomach. He is so close to you, leaning over your frame, and you find yourself stumbling backward. 

Your foot catches a loose stone and you feel your ankle twist. As you throw out your arm to steady yourself your goblet flings from your grasp and into the chest of Aegon Targaryen. You hear the shriek of Cassandra as drops of red liquid rain down on her. You watch, eyes wide, as the red liquid seeps into the fabric of his shirt. As you feel your cheeks heat up, you meet his gaze. 

You’re not sure what you expect. Anger, fury perhaps. But as you look up, Aegon’s smile is wolfish, his eyes hungry. You feel your heart drop into your stomach as his eyes meet yours. It is the same look he gave you in the corridor the previous night, as though you are a feast to be devoured.  

“When I suggested we have a drink,” Aegon begins, the grin never leaving his face, “this was not what I had intended.”

“Seven hells!” Cassandra grumbles, wiping the wine from her arm. The expression on her face is murderous. Aegon barely pays her any mind. 

“Your grace, I do apologize,” you say, flustered by his words, by your mistake. You reach for a handkerchief, for something, and Aemond holds one out to you. 

“Thank you,” you say, looking up at his chiseled face. His mouth sits in a taut line, and he does not meet your gaze, only giving you a slight nod. 

Your mother saw the scene, unfortunately for you. Eyes wide, she hurries over to you, skirts a whirlwind behind her. 

“My prince, you must excuse my daughter,” she says nervously, snatching the handkerchief from your hands as you bring it towards Aegon’s chest. You look at him, a wild look in your eyes. His face is the picture of amusement, as he takes the handkerchief from your mother. 

“Lady Y/N is quite ungraceful,” Cassandra sneers, attempting to re-engage Aegon. His attention is lost, and Cassandra can sense it, eyes flickering from the prince to you. 

“No harm done,” Aegon says, dabbing the red liquid that pools on his shirt, “it has happened to me on more than one occasion.”

Your mother gives a courteous laugh, but you can tell she is embarrassed by your actions. 

“May I introduce my daughter, Lady Y/N?” she says, smiling cautiously. Aegon looks from your mother to you.

“Yes,” he says, eyes flickering again to your mouth, “we have been introduced.”

Your mother’s brows lift towards her hairline. You bite your lip. When were you supposed to tell her? When you arrived in your chambers she was deep in sleep, and as you sat to break your fast the conversation of the previous night had quickly shifted to one of the new day. 

You could picture your mother’s face if you had told her about your rendez-vous with Prince Aegon. It would probably look an awful lot like the expression she wore now; of confusion and anxiety. 

“You have?” she asks, looking at you for help.

You swallow, thinking of a delicate way to phrase it.

“Yes,” you tell her, “you see I happened to run into Prince Aegon on my way to bed last night.”

You can’t help but notice the way Aemond’s shoulders tense at your words. Your face flushes. You want to continue speaking, tell him that nothing happened. He probably thinks Aegon did something unseemly to you. You imagined the red haired lady he was with, his lips on her neck. Suddenly you imagined yourself in her place, your fingers tangled in Aegon’s hair, his hands all over you. Surely that was what Prince Aemond was thinking. 

You opened your mouth to speak, to clarify what had happened, when Prince Aegon interrupted you. 

“Might you escort me to my chambers, Lady Y/N?” Aegon asks, “if it is alright with your mother of course. I should like to change.”

Your mother nods encouragingly. You raise your brows at her. Perhaps she is hoping Aegon does have his way with you. A babe in your belly would be a reason for Aegon to marry you. You shake off the thought.

Cassandra is furious. 

“Are you sure you would not like me to escort you, your grace?” she asks, attempting to mask her anger with a polite smile, “surely Lady Y/N should take a moment to compose herself.”

Aegon gives her a gracious smile.

“How right you are Lady Cassandra,” he tells her, “ever more the reason you should join me, Lady Y/N, let us get you out of the sun.”

Aegon winks at you, so quickly you’re sure no one else had seen it. 

“Of course my prince,” you tell him, as he holds his arm to you. You turn to Prince Aemond as you take Aegon’s arm.

“Thank you for the walk,” you tell him earnestly. Aemond’s expression warms. 

“It is you I should thank, my lady,” he tells you, bowing slightly. You smile at him, as Aegon ushers you toward the castle.

“Quite a dramatic way to get my attention,” he murmurs, a sly grin on his face. 

“I did not mean-”

“I jest, my lady,” he says, grinning, “though I had hoped to find you. It was getting rather boring with Lady Cassandra.”

You laugh as Aegon leads you to the door of his chambers. He opens the door and you walk inside with him. The room is spacious, and full of light. Aegon closes the door behind you.

“I shall wait outside,” you tell him, as he is already unbuttoning his shirt.

“Nonsense, I’ll be quick,” he says, looking up from where his fingers work. Aegon takes in your expression, your wide eyes at the sight of his bare chest. He makes a face at you.

“Relax,” he says, laughing slightly, “I’m not whipping my cock out.”

You gasp like a fish on dry land. 

“I-I’didn’t say-” you begin, turning beet red. He grins wolfishly.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, fully shirtless. He tosses the soiled shirt onto a chair. You can’t help but admire the muscles of his back as he turns towards the wardrobe to pick another shirt. You clasp your fingers in front of you nervously, before moving to hold them behind your back.

You have never been alone with a man before, let alone a prince. Let alone Prince Aegon. You shift from one foot to the other. Aegon picks out a shirt, putting his arms through the sleeves. He glances over at you and smiles at your nervous expression. 

“My lady?” he asks, beginning to approach you. 

“Mhmm?” you say, not trusting your voice. Aegon tilts his head as he comes to stand in front of you. His eyes flicker down, then back to yours. 

“Might I ask your assistance?” he asks, motioning to his unbuttoned shirt. Your lips part, drawing his attention to them. 

“Of course my prince,” you tell him, reaching forward. You will your hands not to shake as you begin to button his shirt, fingers brushing against the skin of his chest and stomach. 

“Did you enjoy the gardens?” he asks, studying your face as you continue your task.

“Very much, my prince,” you tell him, trying to focus on the buttons instead of his closeness. Instead of the feeling of his breath on your face. His skin under your touch. 

“I see you are acquainted with my brother,” Aegon says, causing you to miss a buttonhole, nail scraping against his chest. You feel your cheeks flood with color as you quickly loop the button in the whole.

“Yes, Prince Aemond was very kind to me last night,” you told him, glancing briefly in his violet eyes that watched you suspiciously. 

“Kind?” Aegon asked, tilting his head back as you got to the collar of his shirt. You nod. 

Aegon reaches up as you secure the last button, fingers wrapping around your wrists. He holds you in place as your eyes widen. Aegon’s mouth turns into a lazy smile that sends warmth pooling in your belly.

“Thank you, my lady,” he murmurs, “it is much appreciated.” 

“Of course,” you whisper. 

Aegon releases your wrists, wetting his lips. 

“There is a feast tonight,” he tells you, eyes flickering about your face. 

“Yes, my prince,” you tell him. 

“I require your presence there,” he commands, “I shall escort you later on, since you evaded me the previous night.”

Your lips part and Aegon reaches up toward your face, grasping your chin between his fingers.

“You’re very beautiful, Lady Y/N,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“You flatter me, my prince,” you somehow manage to get the words out, squeaking the final word. Aegon smiles at that, teeth biting into his lower lip. Fire coils in your lower stomach, your eyes cannot seem to stay on his. Eyelashes fluttering they keep dropping to his lips, so soft and inviting. You wish to bite it as he does, to sink your teeth into the pink flesh. 

“It is in my nature,” he tells you, giving your chin a squeeze before setting your free. You suck air into your lungs, not realizing you had been holding your breath. 

“Come, my lady,” Aegon says, leading you towards the door, “I shall have my guard escort you back to your chambers, to prepare for the festivities.” 

“Yes my prince,” you tell him, reaching to open the door. Aegon places a hand on it before you can open it. You turn back to him. 

“Fuck,” he growls, before placing his hands on your cheeks and pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and warm, just as you imagined they would be. Fire courses through you as he deepens the kiss before he pulls away, gaging your reaction. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks, not moving his hands. 

I am hoping you’ll kiss me again.

The words do not come. 

“My lady?” he questions, concern evident on his face. 

“I was-” you begin, head feeling airy and empty, “I enjoyed it.”

Aegon smiles, before pressing his lips to yours once more, a softer, sweeter kiss this time.

“Now you may leave,” he tells you when he pulls away, leaving you dazed, “I shall see you tonight, my lady.”

He opens the door for you, relishing in your dreamlike expression. You stand outside his chambers for several moments, his guard waiting for you to begin walking. 

You walk towards your chambers in a haze, before deciding to stop and get some air at a veranda you pass. As you lean across the balcony letting the air of early evening cool your burning skin, a dragonfly lands next to you. Your heart cinches in your chest, confusion flooding your mind. 

Aemond. Aegon. Aemond. Aegon.

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[insomniac-dot-ink]

Wolves at the Door

In a tidy well-built home on the outskirts of a village on the outskirts of the world, lives a doe in homespun skirts. MaryAnne lives in her ancestral home with antlers nailed to the mantle. Aged enough to be an old maid but not old enough for it to be charming, a howling comes for her. 

Oh, the Beast Folk of the north know better than to live alone. Lighting candles in the darkest months. Hanging Evil Eye charms in their windows to ward off wickedness. MaryAnne, all the same, cuts her own firewood and pickles her own vegetables. She survives the winter.

That is until that howling comes. Wolves are at her door. 

Claws scratch at the wood. A long snout snuffles at the windowsill. A voice croons, as they always do, in a plaintive song. In those long months, the villagers and MaryAnne bury their faces in their arms. Stuff their ears with wax. Cluster together if they can. That is how you made it through a winter in the north.

Yet, a howling comes.

That year, MaryAnne forgot to restock her wax. Too late to go out, she curls into a ball on the hard floor, buries her face, and refuses to look up. A voice floats through the cracks.

“Little doe.” A growl. “Why do you hide inside your nest?”

Mustn’t answer. A female wolf casts a long shadow through the window. Backlit by a yellow moon. She has a voice for turning wine to honey. MaryAnne squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

“You’ll turn to dust within these walls. Nothing left but bones.” The voice laughs, guttural and wind-rough. Heavy steps sound from outside, crunching in the snow. “The breeze is fresh. The snow is young. A night for running.”

Mustn't answer to the night.

“They have marked your door with Juniper. Tell me, what makes you so unlucky?”

A whine escapes from deep within MaryAnne’s chest. There is no escaping rumors it seems– even among wolves. A gentle sun-tanned face flashes through her mind’s eye. He is smiling there. The memory frays at the edges in an instant, like crumpling paper by the fire. He is frozen in that eternal melancholy look. Like he knew what was coming.

MaryAnne lets out a second hiccup of sound.

“There you are.” The voice laughs long and harrowed. A scratch drags down her door, rattling the hinges. “Why don’t you come out?”

“Leave me alone!” Her voice is hoarse from disuse. “Leave before I, before I. . . Leave!"

Oh no. She had answered. What a silly girl she was. The beast outside throws her head back and howls. And howls still.

—--------

Days pass in which MaryAnne doesn't hear the howling. She sweeps and mends and peels peas. Sometimes, the doe wakes in the predawn hours, half-frozen and shivering. She stokes the dead embers and looks out. Faded stars and quilted black look back at her. The night is quiet then, peeled to its barest layers and forgiving. An exhale. 

But those aren’t most days. A howling comes at her door. MaryAnne's ears begin to ring with it. She dreams of fangs and rust-colored waters. In the light of day, MaryAnne rubs at her eyes until she sees spots and some curling grin remains. I won’t survive the winter, she thinks. My time has come.

MaryAnne goes to the village Wise Woman. 

She trudges through the glittering snow and ducks behind trees when strangers pass. Mother Grace lived near the outskirts of town too. Though unlike MaryAnne, footprints ring her squat home– deep grooves of movement. MaryAnne follows the grooves and creeps forward like she might fade into her own shadow. 

The house is dark evergreen and churns enormous plumes of smoke. Charms for luck hang in the window and MaryAnne averts her gaze. Some of them look like pawed feet. She hunches her shoulders, tugs at her sleeves, and lifts a hand to the entrance. A door thick as slabs of good brown bread swings open at her touch. 

“Hello?” she calls into the gloom. “I am MaryAnne. Daughter of . . .” She doesn’t finish the thought. If there was one thing to know of Mother Grace, it is that she hates tedious things. “Mother Grace, I have come to ask you of the world. I’ve come to ask you what wolves fear.”

“Questions, questions.” A grumbling answers her. “For yourself, child? Or some grand cougar king. Conquering their enemies.”

“For me. Yes. Myself. I am, I’m a doe.” MaryAnne stumbles forward and eyes adjust to the dimness.

“I can smell that.”

An old woman sits before a stone shelf, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by books. An iron stove dominates the living space and the air shimmers with heat. Mother Grace rocks back and forth in her chair. She is entombed in pillows, waiting to remind the young that the winter is long. And bound to grow longer.

MaryAnne repeats her question. “Do you know how to rid yourself of wolves?” How to escape being hunted? She dare not speak those words into existence though. Hunted. Cursed anew.

The woman grumbles under her breath once more. Grey-haired and petite, her rabbit ears hang long and limp down her shoulders. Her milky eyes were unseeing and body bent forward. Yet, her bearing is steady and unflinching. MaryAnne wishes in some distant way she could embody the same self-assured air. A knowledge of herself, good or bad.

Unable to bear it any longer, she repeats herself. “Please. Wolves are at my door. You are the most learned Folk. What do they fear?”

Mother Grace doesn't look at MaryAnne as she speaks. Her voice creaks. “I cannot say. Fear is a shifting thing. Wolves, too, shifting creatures." The Wise Woman grunts a dry laugh. “Hard to separate the two.”

"Ah,” MaryAnne says like she understands, heart sinking to the bottom of her shoes. 

Mother Grace sets her jaw and looks past her. "Go to the mulberry tree at sunset and bow your head. Speak true and earnestly.” The Wise Woman gnashed her gums. “It will show you how to greet a wolf.”

MaryAnne swallows. “Will that save me?” 

The wisewoman does not answer.

—-------

The sun sets in in a purpling line, sending the towns folk scurrying behind their locked doors. The Beast Folk know better than to linger alone after dark. But MaryAnne is Juniper-marked and given a task. She approaches the Mulberry tree in the shadow of a hill. Red ribbons tied in its bare branches and framed by twilight.

MaryAnne bows her head and kneels on the snowy earth, her cheeks pinched with cold. The knees of her pants soaking through.

“How do you escape a wolf?”

The Mulberry bush sways in the wind. The ribbons turn a dull navy in the light and MaryAnne shivers.

Two knotted eyes blink and the nymph bows back. Her hair sticks straight in the air– naked branches reaching for sky. She considers MaryAnne for a long moment. 

“Your father came to me once. Asking questions.” A pause follows that could suck the marrow out of bones. “He could not deter his fate. You may not be able to either."

“Please.” MaryAnne swallows over and over, suppressing the stinging in her eyes. “There is a wolf at my door. She will not leave. She has my scent.”

“Ah,” the Nymph says, pity trapped in her wispy vowels. “A Stray perhaps of their terrible rituals. The Bone Cities are far and often cruel. Come closer, girl. I may teach you to greet a wolf and thus defer her task a while longer.”

—-------

The wind whips against MaryAnne’s walls, battering the sides of her home. The dark wood was tightly joined and held. A syrupy silver light bathed the snow outside and MaryAnne’s eyelids grew heavy. She had been watching her door since she returned from the Mulberry tree.

And it had not ceased since the moon arose. A long cry mixed with the violent gusts of wind. A howling. MaryAnne’s shoulders set in a hard line, back aching and mood even more dour. Let it be over, she prays to the Great Mother Doe. Though, who knew if the starry mother listened. Let the wolf go home empty-handed.

MaryAnne’s head nods to her chest, jerking upright at the first sound. A scratch peels down her front door. Claws against wood. 

“Little doe, why do you hide?” the wolf sings in that beseeching tone. 

MaryAnne does not bother to curl into a ball. She straightens to her full height, nubby horns facing the door as if she might charge. Fangs flash in her mind’s eye and she takes deep breaths. MaryAnne forces her legs to work.

"Good evening," she booms. An imitation of how she imagines governesses speak to future kings. MaryAnne bows before the door, taking her time falling to her knees. Her chest tightens-- a thrum of terrible life. “I am pleased to meet you."

“Pleased?” The wolf sounds amused. Perhaps wolves can always afford that.

“Yes.” In slow increments, MaryAnne brings her wrists near the crack under the door. Bile rises in her throat and she pushes closer. “I see you've come to call on me. Perhaps I may have you over for tea. Do you take it with cream or sugar?”

The laugh is thunderous. A long snuffling follows and MaryAnne thinks she imagines whiskers under the crack.

“You smell like fear. Are you afraid?”

“Always,” MaryAnne says bitterly. “Is that not our nature? You, at our doors. Me inside my home. But you could knock.”

“I have a home too, you know,” the voice purrs. “Many leagues away and by the sea. Perhaps you might enjoy running to it.”

“You may have me over for tea,” she keeps her tone even. “Come back in the morning to exchange invitations. I have stationary you might borrow.”

Hot air blows against her wrist. The wolf audibly inhales. “You think yourself clever. Juniper-marked and clever.”

“What else could I be?” Her voice trembled and she didn’t like the way it broke on the last words.

“I can make a few suggestions.” The crunch of heavy paws against the snow. “Open up the door and I will show you.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” MaryAnne grits out despite herself. Run, run, run. her mind says. Her feet say. But the Mother Doe isn’t there to light her way. “My name is MaryAnne. I would like to invite you to tea.”

The door gives a violent shake, a weight thrown against it. Dust rains from the rafters. The hinges shrieks and the wolf lets out a howl to match. The door holds– as it was meant to.

Life spikes in her chest this time and fills her belly with warmth. MaryAnne holds herself perfectly still, wrists shoved to the crack in the door. 

“I am Shier of the Northern Pack,” the wolf spit out the words. “You may keep your twice-damned tea.”

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

Part 1 of 3

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 2

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, then a lot of fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— A/N: Here's part 2 of the fic requested by my dear @pugsnotdrugs92 💕 I expect the next chapter will be the last (and it will be the one with the smutt). Enjoy, my dears! 😘

— TAGGING: @rbdiggory @sammysgirl1997

The house she rented was near London, on the outer edges. Looking out the window, Sebastian could see empty dirt fields all around, land prepared for more construction, and to the side toward the south plumes of chimney smoke coming from the city. The grey skies were turning red with sunset.

A couple of lamps turned on behind him in the room, he could see their glow reflected in the window. Cutting through them, a shadow approached. She hugged him from behind.

“I must’ve told you a hundred times today,” she said with her cheek pressed against his back, “but I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said.

It was true. He’d missed her every day, and every memory of her the Dementors pulled out was like a splinter chipped off of his heart. But since learning of her… situation, he no longer knew what he felt. Was it hatred? Was it rage? Was there even a feeling left inside of him for her, or was the hatred and the rage all for himself?

“Come on,” she said with a calm and loving voice, blissfully ignorant of the storm raging inside him, “let’s give you a little wash.”

She had him sit on the sofa in front of the lit fireplace, and one by one the space before him filled with bowls of water pitchers and little mounds of towels. He wasn’t sure how he looked anymore, he’d only caught the faintest reflection of himself in the window, but he imagined it wasn’t good. His hair felt matted, his skin crusted with dirt, and he didn’t even want to look at all the bruises anymore…

After she placed everything she needed, she brought him chocolate to eat, and on the table next to him she placed a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Sebastian smiled as he picked up a little chocolate square and let melt on his tongue. He remembered reading about this remedy against Dementors in his third year. How long ago that was…

While he ate the sweets, she tended to him. She took his jacket off, his boots, his tie and vest and shirt, and limb by limb she scraped the dirt away, while his feet rested in warm salt water. She had the nerve to blush when she cleaned down his chest, her hands moving slow and enticing. When she reached his thighs, she worked down each one with both hands, sneaking glances up at him through her long lashes.

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat, but he no longer had it in him to be aroused at the sight. At least, not yet. The picture of her at his feet, his naked skin beneath her hands — bruised and bony as he was — was soiled by the thought of what Ominis would think if he saw this…

The next hour was spent cleaning the wounds on his wrists and ankles, applying salves wherever she found the smallest scrape or bruise, and then washing his hair. She placed a basin on a table behind the sofa and had him lean back, close his eyes, and gave him a bit more chocolate. Her fingers soothed his nerves as they massaged his scalp, lathering him slowly, untangling the knots made across so many restless nights… She rinsed the foam out, and then lathered his hair again until she was satisfied that he was clean. He was covered in a blanket by now, feet warming by the fire.

Once he was dry, she brought new clothes out for him — just a comfortable pair of nightclothes to start.

Sebastian let her dress him, but stayed silent the whole while. Unnaturally silent.

“How do you feel?” she asked with an encouraging smile as she rubbed the towel against his still-damp hair.

He avoided the question. “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “How so?”

“How far along?” he asked brusquely, not even looking at her.

“Six months,” she said with a sad smile, her hands threading gently through his hair.

Sebastian nodded and was quiet for long moments while the feelings he’d kept trying to hold back bubbled to the surface. Then, all of a sudden, he got up and walked all the way around the sofa. He started to pace up and down the centre of the room.

It wasn’t exactly unexpected… What did he, a convicted murderer with a broken wand, have to offer somebody like her? And who else to take her from him than Ominis — wealthier, more handsome, well-connected, kind and gentle and always far more level-headed than he ever was.

He should be happy for her, if he loved her. But he couldn’t manage it.

“I’d like to go,” he said, looking aimlessly around, everywhere but at her.

“What? Why?”

“I can’t stay here…”

“But —”

“I can’t.”

“Sebas—”

“It was difficult enough,” he started, “to be in there, wondering about you all the time, doubting whether… whether you would even want to speak to me after everything. But to see… to see you and…”

“And what?” she asked tearfully.

Sebastian took a deep breath in, then out. His swallowed thoughts and feelings poured out of him faster than he could control them.

“Every good memory I ever had was drained out of me, every day, every day,” he mumbled, “but however bad it was, I still thought… I still had… you.”

“Sebastian,” she whispered, approaching him slowly, “what are you talking about? You do have me, you do.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, working up the courage to say it. The chime of her steps on the wooden floor rang like a death knell in his ears.

“Seeing you and Ominis today…” he spat, sounding exactly as angry and betrayed and lonely as he felt, “was worse than any thoughts the Dementors put in my head.”

She stood there quietly and listened in a state of shock. Nothing he was saying made sense. Wasn’t he happy to see his friends? Was this an effect of his imprisonment? Would it go away with time? He sounded jealous, but he couldn't be. Nothing had changed between the three of them since they were at Hogwarts — nothing aside from…

“I should have known,” he continued, shaking his head as if he could get rid of the awful thoughts, “I should have known when you were always at the trial together, always whispering to each other…”

“Sebastian,” she said, speaking more sharply than she meant to, “whatever you think happened between me and Ominis, it didn’t.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dull and bleary but full of anger.

She met his gaze and held it gently, and reached out to take his hand. “Is this what you’re worried about?” she asked as she placed his palm on her lightly swollen stomach. “Because this is ours.”

She said it as if it had been the most obvious thing, but it struck Sebastian like a revelation. Suddenly, he looked at her as if she were a new person, and as if he were new as well. His frown relaxed and his lips lost their tension and the brown in his eyes turned sweet again from the smoulder that was there before.

“W-what?”

“That night after they announced your trial… Remember?” she said with a shy smile, blushing a little. “It’s ours. I was never involved with Ominis, we’re friends, like we’ve always been… It’s you I love, you I want, you I’ve been carrying this for.”

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat and looked down at her body, his hand still on her stomach. He nearly had forgotten… How could he? How could he? After years of circling around each other that night of finally confessing, finally accepting their love… It had meant everything to him, and if only for a moment it eclipsed his past sins and the looming trial and made everything fade into nothingness. Showing his love for her had been the sweetest moment of his life… So, how could he have forgotten it?

“The Dementors,” she frowned, answering it for him. “They steal happy memories, that is what they feed on.”

“I suppose they must’ve had a feast with that,” he said with a hoarse chuckle.

“My poor darling,” she whispered, her hand going up to cup his cheek. She knew she couldn’t begin to understand what had been done to him. Even seeing it unfold distraught her...

Sebastian, meanwhile, was fixated, fascinated, his hand warming on her tummy. “Mine,” he muttered, his hand caressing the expanse of her little swell. “W-wow…”

He was just beginning to understand what it meant: how wrong he’d been about her, about Ominis too, and about himself… And how beautiful of a future they had together now.

It also made him realise how horrible he’d been to her so far.

“I’m sorry,” he said briskly, looking into her eyes again.

“Why?” she frowned.

“For doubting you. For being ungrateful, most of all…”

“Oh Seb,” she sighed, and in the same breath reached up to hug him. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain it at first,” she whispered. “I know I should have. I just… felt so uncomfortable about it, so —”

“Ashamed?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

His arms tightened around her back. “We’re both ashamed then. And we both shouldn’t be.”

She laughed a little. “I suppose so…”

Sebastian leaned back enough to look into her eyes again and his right hand cupped her cheek. With a trembling thumb, he wiped away a little tear that beaded at her lashes.

“And I’ve been letting you fuss over me all day,” he smiled sadly, wanting to sink into the ground with guilt.

“Don’t be silly,” she chuckled. “I’ve been alright… It’s you I’m worried about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

He knew it wasn’t really true, he knew he was still troubled and far from the man she used to know, but he was determined — especially now — to put Azkaban and all its woes behind him.

She hugged him loosely at the hips and smiled up at him, drinking in the beautiful sight of her Sebastian with finally a little bit of hope in his eyes.

“So what do you think?” she grinned. “Will you let me take care of you now?”

“I should be taking care of you. I did this to you, after all,” he said with a cocked brow. His hands slid down her neck and to her shoulders before settling around her waist, and all the while he looked her up and down suggestively.

She blushed at the shamelessness of him. “How about we take care of each other?” she chuckled.

“Well, you’ve already taken care of me enough for today,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I think it’s my turn now.”

She giggled and shook her head, but found her heart fluttering excitedly, just like it used to when they were still at Hogwarts, young and careless and in love… Of course, they were still quite young, and very much in love. They just needed to work on being careless again.

“And how do you propose to do that?” she whispered.

His arms wrapped around her waist more tightly and he tucked her head beneath his chin.

“That’s exactly how,” he said dreamily. “I’m going to propose.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She pulled away enough to look at him. She could tell that he was being serious.

“You don’t expect I’ll let you go on this way, will you?” he said. His gaze was playful but with a serious edge beneath it. “We shall have to marry soon. This month. This week, if possible... Then we can go somewhere nice and quiet for a while, so neither your family nor any of our friends will be able to tell the months…”

“Seb, you’re not ready yet…”

“What am I, one of Garreth’s potions? I’m ready when I say I am.”

She laughed in spite of herself.

“So, what do you say?” he grinned.

And he pulled himself away from her, and held her hands in his, and with a surety that he had until now thought lost to him forever he got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

She didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes. I will. I love you.”

Sebastian’s smile was so big and broad that it hurt his cheeks. It was so nice to have a dream come true every now and then… It felt like he’d been given a new life, a new soul that wasn’t tarnished, a fresh heart to love her with. His arms curled around her waist and he rested his weary head against her stomach, his eyes closed, and his ear to the little life inside her.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

He heard and felt her giggle, and then her hands came down to his ruffled head. She covered him like a star-speckled and cloud-soft firmament, and he’d never felt more safe.

[tinycoded360]

Firefighter-g/t one-shot

Part 2: here

Flames licked the walls of the old warehouse, sending plumes of thick black smoke billowing into the night sky. Mike Johnson sprinted towards the inferno, his heavy boots pounding the pavement. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he gripped the axe in his gloved hands.

"Let's move, let's move!" Mike shouted to his crew. His eyes watered from the intense heat radiating from the building. Debris rained down around them as part of the roof caved in. Mike coughed, the acrid smoke burning his lungs. He had to get in there fast. People could be trapped inside.

Mike kicked down the front door, axe raised. "Fire department! Call out!" He strained to hear voices over the roar of the flames. No response. Mike forged ahead, checking each room methodically. The fire raged on, greedy tongues of orange flame devouring everything in their path. He had to hurry.

Mike wiped the sweat from his brow. The sweltering heat was overwhelming. Come on, hold it together, he told himself. You can do this. Adrenaline coursed through Mike's veins, pushing back the fear and exhaustion. He would not stop until he saved everyone.

Mike moved deeper into the warehouse, ducking under a collapsed beam. The smoke was getting thicker, limiting his visibility.

"Is anyone here?" he shouted. "Call out!"

A faint sound caught his attention. Mike turned towards a small crevice along the wall. Peering inside, he could make out a tiny figure - a girl no more than four inches tall. Her wide eyes were filled with terror as she huddled in the crevice, choking on the smoke.

"It's okay, I've got you," he said in a soft, soothing voice. The little girl hesitated, then climbed onto his enormous hand. Mike slowly withdrew his hand, cradling the miniature girl safely in his palm. She stared up at him with a mix of wonder and fear.

"Let's get you out of here," Mike said. He tucked the tiny girl into his coat pocket to protect her from the flames and falling debris. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Mike charged back the way he came.

The girl peered at Mike's hulking frame from the pocket. From her four-inch perspective, everything was gigantic — the walls, the furniture, even the man who held her life in his massive hands.

Now, here she was, being rescued by a human bean. But she had no choice but to trust him. They dodged falling beams and leaping flames. The girl braced herself against the pocket as Mike kicked down a warped door and stumbled outside to safety.

The cool night air was a shock after the inferno. Mike gently lifted the girl out and set her down in his palm. "Are you okay?" he asked. The girl coughed but gave a brave nod. Mike just smiled, amazed at how small and fragile she was. He just wants to hide her away from the world.

Mike looked down at the tiny girl sitting in his palm, still amazed that someone so small could exist. She was no bigger than a mouse, with delicate features and wide, frightened eyes

"Don't worry, I've got you," he said in a gentle rumble. "You're safe now."

Carefully, he curled his fingers to form a protective barrier around her. She grabbed onto one giant digit to steady herself as Mike began jogging away from the structure.

"Well, aren't you something," Mike murmured.

The girl tilted her head. "My name's Lucy," she said in a voice that sounded like tinkling bells.

Mike blinked in surprise. "You can talk?"

Lucy nodded, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Of course, I can talk. I'm a borrower."

"A borrower?" Mike repeated. He shook his head in bewilderment.

Lucy shifted, dangling her short legs over the edge of Mike's hand. "We borrow what we need from you giants to survive. I was just looking for some scraps when the fire broke out."

Mike frowned, his protective instincts rising again. "That's dangerous. You could get hurt."

Lucy lifted her chin. "I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for years."

Mike had to smile at her stubbornness. "I can see that. But now you don’t have to worry about stuff like that; I’ll keep you safe.”

Lucy looked troubled. “Hey, I appreciate the save, but I don’t need any more help.”

Mike just shakes his head and closes his hand over the tiny girl.

Mike cradled the tiny girl gently as he approached the ambulance. Her body was no bigger than a doll's, fitting easily in the palm of his large hand. As he walked, Mike examined the minuscule person with fascination.

Her limbs were perfectly proportioned, if unnervingly small. Mike noted her tiny hands and feet, no larger than the tip of his pinky finger. Her face held an elfin beauty, with large eyes that watched him warily. Mike felt an urge to touch her, to confirm something so impossibly tiny was real.

Unable to resist, he lightly stroked her arm with one finger. She flinched at the contact, letting out a squeak of alarm. Mike quickly withdrew his hand.

"Sorry," he rumbled. He kept forgetting how his casual touches could seem rough and intrusive to her fragile body.

Mike reached the ambulance and gently set the borrower girl down on a bench. As he explained the situation to the bewildered paramedic.

“That’s weird, man; I don’t think it’s human.” The paramedic replied, unable to take his eyes off the tiny creature. “What if it’s cursed or something.”

“Never mind that just look her over, she inhaled a lot of smoke.”

The paramedic reluctantly did his job, interacting with the tiny borrower like she was a diseased pest.

After the paramedic finished, Mike was quick to scoop Lucy up. He could tell she was frightened the entire time his coworker was manhandling her.

The girl's brow furrowed. "But...where are you taking me?" Her voice was barely a squeak to Mike's ears.

"Somewhere, you'll be safe."

Mike felt a pang of guilt seeing the sadness that crossed the girl's face. He knew she likely had a home here that was now destroyed. But he couldn't just set her loose, not at her size. She needed protection.

Arriving at his truck, Mike carefully lifted the girl out and placed her on the passenger seat. He dug out a small old rodent cage out of his trunk, one he kept for rescue animals.

"Just for now, until we figure things out," he said apologetically as he deposited the girl inside.

She grasped the bars, conflicted emotions playing across her face: gratitude that this human had saved her life and longing for the freedom she had lost. She hoped his kindness would extend to letting her go someday. “I’m not an animal; you can’t keep me!”

Mike latched the cage door, hating to confine the little thing. But it was the only way to keep her safe on the ride home. They would work things out. He was determined to earn her trust. He would protect this fragile life. “This is for your own good; you won’t want for anything with me.”

****

Mike carried the small cage into his apartment, the tiny girl gazing around with wide eyes at her giant surroundings. He set her down gently on the kitchen table.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Thirsty?"

The girl nodded hesitantly. Mike opened the cage door but she made no move to exit.

He rummaged through his pantry, looking for something suitably small. He held up a cracker crumb. "How about this?"

The girl crept forward and nibbled at the crumb. As she ate, Mike stared in fascination, still struggling to believe such a tiny person existed. He felt a rush of possessiveness. He’d keep her safe.

Despite her appetite, the girl kept glancing warily at Mike's enormous hands. He felt a pang, hating that she saw him as a threat. He wanted her to feel safe here.

"I know this is strange," he said gently. "But I promise, I mean you no harm. You can stay here, where no one will find you."

The girl looked uncertain and scared. Mike understood her longing for freedom. But the world was too dangerous for one so small and vulnerable. He could protect her here, keep her hidden away. Surely, she would come to appreciate that in time.

The girl said nothing, but her eyes told Mike she remained unconvinced. He would just have to earn her trust, day by day. For now, she was here, and she was safe. That was what mattered.

****

Mike closed the cage door softly once the girl had finished eating. She retreated to the back corner, eyeing him warily.

He sat watching her for a while, still mesmerized. He noticed she was shivering slightly. Carefully, he opened the cage again and placed a small scrap of cloth inside, like a blanket. After some hesitation, the girl wrapped it around herself.

"There, that's better," Mike murmured.

The girl blinked at him with her huge eyes. Mike felt that same tug in his chest. He wanted to understand her, know her story. How had she survived alone for so long? What was her life like?

He knew it would take time to gain her trust. But Mike was patient. He would start by making her feel comfortable here. He wondered how long it would take for her to stop flinching at his touch. He just wanted to hold and pet her. He had plenty of experience taming feral cats on his family farm. He knew it took time. He imagined that, with her size, she was very similar to prey animals. It’s just natural to be afraid. She’d appreciate him one day, and plus, she’d make such a good little companion.

Tomorrow, he could build her some furniture scaled to her size and get supplies from a dollhouse shop—tiny dishes, clothes, books. Bit by bit, he would make this cage feel more like a home.

There were challenges ahead, but also possibilities. This chance encounter felt meant to be. Mike would care for this little one, keeping her safe in his big world. It never crossed his mind that she would resent him for keeping her as a pet. After all, she wasn’t human—just a tiny creature that would have a better chance of survival with him.

For now, the girl needed rest. Mike turned off the lights, enveloping the room in darkness.