#My guy you walked in there with a torch! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

svnriseblvdd · 3 months ago

Text

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic

WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie

this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.

also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.

this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!

Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone.

You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns?

Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off.

~~~

You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark.

“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn.

“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy.

“Can I come up?”

“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-”

He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there.

“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks.

You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.”

Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house).

“Y-yeah, we can hang out.”

“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.

You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan.

Clark is going to die.

“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him.

You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going.

“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little.

“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him.

Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment.

“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.”

“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages.

“Come on, Clark, I know.”

“What?”

“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.”

He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you.

But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage.

“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck.

His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear.

“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.”

“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.”

“Don’t you want me?” You ask.

“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-”

“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!”

“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine.

You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?”

“I-I don’t think-”

“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.”

His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another.

You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him.

You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath.

“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.”

Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him.

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking.

Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do.

You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time.

Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell.

You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane.

And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever.

And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.”

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t.

So you pull off.

Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely.

But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?”

“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.”

You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?”

“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.”

“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.”

You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching.

His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again.

“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.”

You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked.

“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit.

“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!”

Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth.

You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck.

He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough.

You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you.

He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top.

His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason.

You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently.

“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest.

You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps.

He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.”

He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you.

“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him.

You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure.

Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks.

“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you.

“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.

“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.”

He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Clark- Clark, oh, please.”

“Good?” He questions.

“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless.

Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be.

“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?”

Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end.

You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it.

“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes.

“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick.

“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra.

He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining.

You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods.

You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?”

“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“And do you still want to do this?”

“More than anything.”

“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him.

If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps.

His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you.

You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.”

“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted.

You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you.

“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips.

He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.”

“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep.

“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not fragile, Clark.”

“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…”

“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.”

He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-”

“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.”

He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you.

“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck.

Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses.

“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before.

“That’s good. That’s good.”

He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.”

“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?”

“Uh- I probably-”

“Please?” You clench around him for a moment.

He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.”

“So I can see?”

“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.”

Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?”

He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.”

“It’s okay. You can cum.”

He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life.

And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-”

“You like that?” He asks.

“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?”

“I’ll tell you later?”

“You better.”

He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there.

“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.”

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours.

You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him.

“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?”

You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.”

You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-”

“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.”

“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.”

Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you.

“You were amazing, Clark.”

“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you.

You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you.

Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.

taglist;

@mariswxt @blueeweeb @ssnapsaurus @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this @milestellerismybf @purple-1995 @writergiih @elysianrosie @glennussy @rainwaterxx @brinascorpio @withthistreaserisummon @babble28 @mollymal @alexcole1326 @mizzfizz @jiminie1028

#muse: clark #clark kent imagine #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader #smallville clark kent #smallville clark kent x reader

1K notes · View notes

wileycap · 7 days ago

Text

Hakoda the Grief Pirate it's time for Hakoda the Grief Pirateeee

Kya is killed, as in canon. Unlike canon, Bato is killed too. This means that rather than join the war, Hakoda goes mad with grief and gathers a few ships' worth of men - desperate, brutal men who want to repay the cruelty of the Fire Nation in kind. Not soldiers, not sailors, killers.

And he takes Katara.

The first place he goes is the Northern Water Tribe. He gets an audience. He goes to Chief Arnook and the elders and says: either I leave here today with a master for my daughter, or none of us leave this room alive.

Katara gets a master.

As in canon, Katara is a prodigy. With a year to focus on her waterbending and drilled by a man wearing her father's face who tells her "we're all going to die doing this" and "but we'll bleed them a thousand times over for every one of us" and most importantly he says "we're going to avenge your mother" - growing up under that man, Katara becomes terrifying.

Sokka is left alone. The last bit of love in his father's heart was spent on him, though he doesn't know it. It was spent on leaving him. It was spent on sparing him from seeing what his father would become.

Sokka goes out often, looking for traders and sailors and ships. He finds no news and too little fish. Until one day, an iceberg cracks open.

The boy is young and Sokka hasn't been a big brother for a while now, but it turns out that it's like riding a penguin - you never really forget. So when Aang gets kidnapped by some ponytailed jerk, of course he goes after him.

That he only manages to ruin Aang's escape and get them both captured is beside the point, okay? The Fire Jerk cheated.

(Appa follows them, if you're wondering. Aang doesn't seem to be in any real danger. Zuko isn't an especially merciless captor, no matter how he tries.)

Sokka finally gets some news. The Frost Wolf is believed to be a Northern raider (to protect his tribe from reprisals) and he is feared. He leaves only one survivor in each of his raids. He tasks them to deliver a simple message: the seas are no longer safe for the Fire Nation. He replenishes his crew with convicts and pirates. They say he has a crazy mechanist working for him. They say that an icy fog follows where he goes, blocking out the sun and chilling Firebenders to the core. They say he can't be killed.

"So, these guys of yours -" Sokka began and paused to let the answering "they're not my guys!" wash over him, "do they say anything about a girl?"

The Prince's ears reddened. "I don't listen to that kind of filth."

Which means you have listened, Sokka might have said if he felt like teasing. He didn't.

"Not like that! A girl, a little younger than me. Have you heard anything about that?"

Sokka held his breath. This was it. Of course, it didn't mean anything if Zuko hadn't heard...

"No." The Prince's voice was unusually quiet. Zuko's good eye glinted in the orange light of the torches.

Sokka couldn't help that his exhale caught in his throat on the way out, it wasn't - it was just a shock, he reasoned, it didn't mean anything that Zuko hadn't heard...

Zuko stood up and made to walk out. He stopped at the door.

"I'm sorry," the Prince said. "I have a sister, too."

The door closed and Sokka was left alone and with questions. Questions like:

How did he know?

The trip to the Fire Nation is long. Any experienced commander could have told Zuko to limit his interactions with the prisoners. To rotate out their guards and never have their meals brought by the same person if he could avoid it. Any experienced military commander would have seen the risk of two child prisoners, one of who is particularly genial and charming while the other is funny and sarcastic.

Iroh, one of the most experienced military commanders alive, encourages Zuko to learn all he can about his enemy. It's an advantage, you see.

(And if the watch lists are edited to put crewmembers with children into frequent and close contact with the prisoners - well, that's Iroh's prerogative. He is a General. And if there are a few minor navigational errors that lenghten their journey, well, that he knows nothing about. He's a General, not an Admiral.)

Meanwhile, Princess Azula is tasked with putting an end to the Frost Wolf's provocations. It would be terribly inconvenient if she were to have frequent encounters with another bending prodigy, about her age and wearing blue robes and a mask. They should make out about it.

Eventually, they'll all have to reckon with their monstrous fathers and murderous siblings.

#atla fic #atla au #avatar the last airbender #hakoda #katara #sokka #zuko #aang #iroh #uncle iroh #azula #atla

860 notes · View notes

showmeyourxylophone · 2 months ago

Text

There's no windows on a sub. They started adding 'em to subs back on cradle once they figured out the first metallo glass alloys. Helps stop the crew from going too crazy.

Not on Europa. Not even the new stuff is rated for the depths you need to hit to dodge by sub-crust sonar installations. Not that it would matter, no light gets past even the first click of opaque surface ice, let alone ten.

You undock, drop through the bay tunnel, dodge a couple of skyscraper sized spires of brine ice sticking down from above, and then nothing. Pings don't find anything bigger than sediment for weeks, and you know it's darker out there than it is on the surface.

Sometimes you gotta do a walk, hop out to check external equipment, so you slip into the clamshell and hope the last guy didn't sweat too hard. Then you sit through inspection. Rooks always complain about inspection, but when your CO points out you didn't bother to tether for the first time you shape up.

Yeah the clams have maneuvering, you could get up to about half fhe speed of the sub at full if you had to, but thats not what the tethers for.

You step out that hatch for the first time and you see the little bits of crud floating in the black, lit by torch like stars? That's magic.

You step over to the side, look down, and see the black that goes forever? Well, that's when you feel the jolt, hear the rattle of the tether going tight at your back and Ops shouting into your headset. Dangling maybe 20 meters under the hull, nothing between you and eternity.

Heard someone say that if you dropped for real you'd sink for a month at least before you hit anything solid, if theres anything solid at all.

I believe them.

And look, I know that after all that you're nodding your head and shootin' a look at your friend accross the table. The SO sardines have the crazies, always so sad to hear it you know? But believe me when I say that when you're falling asleep you can hear them, tapping on the outside of the hull, right by your head.

There's something out there, and if I'm really lucky I finish my tour before we find out what.

-blackbox retrieval, author unknown.

#ice war #europan ice war #submarines #thalassaphobia #creative writing

430 notes · View notes

thediazes · 3 months ago

Text

from the wings

for @nymika-arts <3

Buck tells Maddie that he isn’t in love with Eddie, and she—well, she tries to believe him.

She does. A valiant effort, truly. It’s just that Maddie learned how to read her little brother before he even learned to read the alphabet, and she can tell when he’s not being entirely truthful. To her, or to himself. Like when he was five years old and he’d run inside from the street, bike abandoned on the front lawn, with scraped knees and two holes in his brand new jeans to match, and insist that it wasn’t his fault. “I wasn’t going too fast, Maddie,” he’d say. “My– My bike went over a rock.” Tearful eyes pointed towards the floor. Hands always fidgeting.

Kind of like he’s doing now.

He’s fiddling with the paper napkin his cutlery came rolled in, making tiny rips around the edges. It’s become more and more frayed as their lunch date has progressed, and Buck’s gaze is glued to it as he talks.

“It’s not that I don’t like Ravi,” he says, frowning when he rips a bit too far. “I do. He’s great. I’m just…not used to having to explain what I’m about to do before I do it, y’know?”

Maddie hums. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“I know,” Buck sighs. “It’s just weird.”

“It’s natural to miss Eddie,” she says. Carefully. Neutrally. “You guys worked side-by-side for a long time.”

“I don’t–” His eyes flick up to meet hers for the first time in five minutes, narrowing—as if they’re playing some kind of game, and he’ll be damned if he’s about to play right into her hand (Maddie’s fairly sure all she did was make a simple comment). “I mean, of course I miss him. He’s my best friend. But it’s not like I’ve never worked with anyone else before.”

“Exactly. You and Ravi will find that wordless communication in no time.”

Eyes back to the napkin. “Right.” Rip. “Anyway, how are you? Still feeling…cooped-up?

Maddie sighs. “Yeah, but…not as bad. I’ve been going on walks. Plus, now that Jee’s home for the break, she’s keeping me busy.”

He grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

It’s then that his phone, face down on the table, chimes with a notification. When he picks it up, his smile grows impossibly wider, in an involuntary, reflexive sort of way that almost makes Maddie feel like an intruder for looking. “Who is it?” she prompts, and Buck quickly schools his face when he looks at her, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh– It’s Eddie.” He flips the phone around to show her, and on it is a picture of Christopher, in front of him a chess board with far fewer black pieces on it than white. “Chris is teaching him how to play, and he keeps losing. Badly.”

Maddie laughs. “Sounds like he needs a better teacher.”

“Eh, Eddie was pretty hopeless to begin with.”

He glances back down at his phone, eyes twinkling as he types out a response, and Maddie can’t help but think that her stubbornly resistant little brother is the hopeless one—navigating his new reality with his eyes closed; carrying a torch behind his back for a man who now lives eight hundred miles away.

She sighs.

Buck puts his phone down and changes the subject.

* * *

He picks up on the fifth ring, voice sounding tinny and a bit far away. “Hey, Mads, sorry—you’re on speakerphone. Need my hands free to chop veggies.” She hears the faint sound of a drawer opening and closing as he talks; the clattering of some utensil against the countertop.

“Ooh,” she says, “Whatcha making?”

“Soup,” Buck says brightly, “with chicken, peppers, zucchini—all kinds of stuff. Eddie sent me the recipe.”

Maddie smiles. Chim, sitting next to her, raises his eyebrows and smiles too. “Oh?” she prompts.

“Yeah–” His knife hits the cutting board, again, again, again. Chop-chop-chop. “–he found it in a drawer at his abuela’s house. One of her secret recipes, apparently. He thought I’d like to try it.”

“Her secret recipe,” Maddie repeats.

“Yep.”

“And he just…sent it to you?”

“Yeah?” And then, like he’s just realized what she’s getting at— “it’s not like she minds. She’s given me all kinds of recipes.”

“Right,” Maddie says. She glances to the side at Chimney, and her husband is just sitting there, grinning into his palm and shaking his head in a sort of resigned bewilderment. Tell me about it, his eyes say, as if this kind of familial domesticity has played out in front of him a million times over—because it honestly, probably, has. “I didn’t even know you liked soup,” she continues. Plenty of memories of her brother turning his nose up at it through the years.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying new things–” CHOP. “–in my brand new kitchen.”

Chimney snorts. “Right. Brand new,” he chimes in. “Having trouble finding anything?”

In the split second pause on the other end of the line, Maddie can tell Buck is rolling his eyes. “I’m glaring at you, Chim,” he says. “You can’t see me, but I’m glaring at you.”

Her husband just grins.

“Anyway, what’s up? Did you guys need something?”

“Yes, my wonderful brother-in-law who I have never made fun of, ever in my life—” Chim starts. Maddie’s sure Buck is rolling his eyes again. “Wanna spend tomorrow night with your adorable niece?”

Buck sighs, but he’s smiling. She can hear it. “You know I can never say no to that.”

“Great!” Maddie says. “I’ll drop her off at six. Let us know how that soup turns out.”

“I’ll send pictures. Eddie made me promise to take some so he could show his abuela.”

Chimney shakes his head, grinning. “Of course he did.”

“Goodbye.”

* * *

The firehouse is quiet when Maddie walks through the doors. She’d expected it to be a bit more hectic, really, given the time of morning, but things just seem settled. Comfortable. Yet to be disturbed by LA’s 8am traffic rush.

She hears the people she’s looking for before she sees them, their murmured chatter drifting down from the loft, and as she reaches the top of the stairs, she finds them gathered around the kitchen island, all clutching cups of coffee. She can’t help but smile at the tired, droopy expressions on each of their faces. Clearly the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet.

“Hi,” she calls out, stepping into the space, greeted by turning heads and a few bleary-eyed smiles in return. Her husband’s face brightens immediately—before he’s even noticed the big pink box in her hands. “Thought you guys might be in need of some fuel this morning.”

Chim rises from his seat for a quick kiss on the lips. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he says with a grin, taking the collection of pastries from her hands and setting it down on the counter.

“You’re too good to us, Maddie,” Hen says.

Bobby smiles. “Thank you so much, Maddie. You didn’t have to do this.”

She waves him off. “Believe me, I’m going stir-crazy in the house all on my own. This was just an excuse to get out and do something.”

They all chuckle, and Chimney raises the lid on the box for everyone to take their pick.

Well—almost everyone.

“Where’s Buck?”

Hen makes a noise in response. Swallows a mouthful of croissant, and answers, “Downstairs. Eddie called.”

And when she glances over the balcony towards the floor, she sees him—tucked against one of the trucks in the far corner with his phone in one hand, pressed to his ear, and gesturing wildly with the other, despite the fact that his recipient can’t see him.

What strikes her, though, is his smile. God, it’s blinding. Grinning from ear to ear like he’s won the damn lottery, just because he gets to hear his best friend’s voice on the other end of the line. Radiant, comfortable; so soft around the edges that Maddie worries some part of him will spill over onto the concrete floor—all from a conversation that, if she's overhearing it correctly, seems to be about Christopher’s room-cleaning habits. And when he laughs, it’s a sound so genuine that she gets the sudden urge to jump into her car, drive to El Paso, and bring the Diazes back to Los Angeles herself.

Maddie’s much more used to the restless, ever-anxious version of her little brother. She doesn’t often see him looking so comfortable in his own skin. She finds herself wishing there was something, anything she could do to keep him there.

Some part of that train of thought must show on her face, because when she glances back, Bobby catches her eye and smiles, softly. A little sadly. Like he wishes he had the power to do the same.

Maddie just shakes her head and grabs a croissant from the box. Tries not to notice how familiar Buck seems to be with the tendency his best friend’s son has to leave too many glasses of water on his bedside table.

* * *

Maddie lets herself into Buck’s house three weeks later and is met with an empty living room. It’s impeccably clean; carefully organized. Furniture she recognizes from his loft placed at perfectly opposing angles—a vase of fake flowers placed right in the centre of the coffee table. The late afternoon sun streams in through the front window, but it doesn’t seem to quite reach the edges of the room.

She toes off her shoes in the entryway and heads down the hall in search of her brother. Nowhere to be found in the kitchen (a noticeably bigger space without the table that once inhabited it), but instead, found leaning in the doorway of the empty second bedroom, as if he’d been standing there staring at it for god knows how long before she got here.

There’s nothing in the room. Nothing really to look at, other than the small window on the opposite wall with the curtains drawn.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with it?” she asks, now at his elbow, and he doesn’t startle. So he heard her come in after all.

“I dunno,” he says. “Might just leave it like this.”

“Empty?”

Buck shrugs, plastering on a smile. “Don’t know what else I’d do with it. It’s not like I need an office.” He huffs out a breath, like he can’t quite commit to a real laugh, and Maddie just looks at him—really looks, at the tightness in his shoulders; the way that smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and the bags that seem to live beneath them instead. For a split second, she wants to haul him out of here and back to her house where he can sleep until his world is right side up again.

Instead, she suggests, “You could make it into a guest bedroom.”

Buck wrinkles his nose. Takes a breath and cracks another smile, but his energy for excuses seems to run out before the words have even left his mouth, and he deflates. “I don’t think I want anyone else sleeping in here.”

It’s the first bit of true honesty that she’s gotten from him in weeks, but it doesn’t exactly make her feel better.

“I just…I didn’t think it would be this–” He chews the inside of his cheek, looking down at his hands, and Maddie expects him to say weird, but instead, he says, “hard. Living here. Without them.”

Maddie sighs, wrapping her arms around one of his. “I know. But you know, filling the space might make it feel a bit smaller.”

Buck nods, still staring at the lone window. “Yeah. But I— I think I’ll leave it like this. For now.”

And Maddie contemplates shaking some sense into him; going on a shopping spree at IKEA and forcing this place into something a little less haunting herself. But they’d still be standing here, in Eddie’s house, cooking dinner in Eddie’s kitchen, eating it in Eddie’s dining room. Buck will still go to sleep in Eddie’s bedroom tonight—and she decides that rebuilding his own life is something Buck will have to take on himself.

So she simply says, “Okay,” and lets Buck pull the bedroom door shut. Allows him to move into the living room, and change the subject to whether they should have chicken or pasta for dinner.

* * *

Maddie pulls into her own driveway three days later and finds her brother on the front stoop—shoulders hunched, eyes glued to his feet. She slams the car door shut and plants herself in front of him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers.

“You okay?” she asks, when they finally do.

He looks at her, face open and honest and pleading for answers—an expression she’s seen countless times, since before he knew how to tie his shoes—and says, “I think I’m an idiot.”

And Maddie knows, immediately, what he means, because she’s been watching him inch towards realization since he came to her the first time, mixed up and messy and appalled at the mere thought of the truth.

“Yeah, I think you have been, a little. But you know, it’s never too late to be honest.”

Buck laughs; dry, humourless. “He lives halfway across the country, Mads.”

“I don’t mean with him,” she stresses. “I mean with yourself.”

Buck swallows. “Right. I’m not sure that’ll make me feel any better.”

“Maybe not,” Maddie says, lowering herself down to sit next to him on the concrete stoop, “but it’s probably better than pretending it’s not there.”

He sighs, and she smiles, laying her head gently on his shoulder. He’s quiet, contemplative for a moment, before he settles on, “Probably.”

Maddie just takes his hand and squeezes.

* * *

Buck is wearing a sweater that Maddie has never seen before. Knitted, dark blue yarn, a little tight around the shoulders. It pulls up above his wrist when he moves his arm, reaching forward to gesture at Chimney across the dinner table in the midst of a heated debate that Maddie has purposefully not been paying much attention to.

“The second one was way better!” Buck is insisting, while Chim gapes at him, appalled.

“I’m sorry, you’re telling me Top Gun: Maverick is better than the original?”

“Yes! The stunts were so much cooler.”

“It was never about the stunts, Buck–”

Their attention is drawn from the (clearly earth-shattering) dilemma at hand when a pair of headlights sweeps over the dimly-lit room through the front windows—a car pulling into the driveway. Maddie frowns.

“Are you expecting someone else?” she asks, and Buck shakes his head, brows knitted.

“Uh– no. No, just you guys,” he says. He stands, then, moving away from the table—still littered with dishes from their dinner and dessert—and into the dark living room to get a look at their mystery guest. When he reaches the window, his whole body freezes, like some frigid ocean wave has just crashed over him, swallowing the room and its perfectly placed contents whole.

“Buck?” Maddie prompts, though she has a feeling, as she watches his wide eyes track whatever scene is unfolding on his driveway, that she knows exactly who it is. That someone has just come home.

In lieu of an answer, Buck rushes to the door, throwing it open, and behind it is—Christopher. A bit taller than when she last saw him; his hair a bit shorter, but still, unmistakably, Christopher Diaz. Even simply from how Buck’s face lights up in a way that Maddie hasn’t seen since he left.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, grinning. Then, a beat later, “Is that my Dad’s sweater?”

And Buck just laughs, smiling ear-to-ear, and lets out a breath that Maddie suspects he’s been holding in for months.

* * *

Three weeks later, the house is warm. Comfortable. The air smells like home-cooked food and the scent of whatever candle Buck had lit when the sun went down and the overhead lights felt too intrusive. Scattered all over the coffee table are plates holding the remnants of the cake that had, before it was sliced into, read: ‘Welcome back pardners, yeehaw!’, along with half-finished glasses of water and wine.

By far the most eye-catching thing in the room, though—at least to Maddie—is her brother. Radiantly happy, shining like a disco ball as he laughs at something Hen just said, leaning back in the chair that he’s tucked in close next to Eddie’s. He looks…settled, finally. Even as he keeps sneaking glances at his best friend like he can’t quite believe he’s actually here.

It’s a relief, to see him like this, Maddie can admit. To be reminded—after months of confusion, denial, indecision—that sometimes, her brother is simply content. Loved, and aware that he is loved. That his life isn’t simply a timeline of difficult moments with a few smiles thrown in in between.

She smiles. Tries to commit the image to memory.

At some point, after getting caught up in conversation with Athena about the latest novel she’s been reading (something about beach houses and family scandals), she looks back to find that people have scattered—her husband at the dining table, sneaking another slice of cake to their daughter; Christopher, Denny, and Mara huddled over a Nintendo Switch in the corner; Bobby and Hen laughing about something over by the window.

Buck, nowhere to be found.

She excuses herself, following to where she expects him to be—likely already trying to load dishes into the dishwasher despite the fact that the party is only half-over—but pauses in the doorway when she hears his voice already in conversation with someone else.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie says, quietly. Fondly.

“All what?”

“This. The party, the cake. I was only gone for a couple of months, you know.”

“Well, I can’t take credit for the cake. That was all Hen,” Buck says. “But…we missed you.” Then, more earnestly, “I missed you.”

Eddie hums. Pauses, then says, “I missed you too.”

They fall quiet, and Maddie is about to step into the room to make herself known—the guilt of eavesdropping creeping in—but when she puts one foot forward, she catches a glimpse around the corner; the two of them wrapped up in each other, Eddie leaning in to press a kiss to Buck’s lips. Easily, like he’s done it before.

“I love you,” he says. Soft. Meant only for Buck.

Buck grins—that same blinding, lottery-winning smile Maddie caught him wearing weeks ago—and says, simply, “I love you too.”

And as Maddie backs out of the room, finding a seat at the dining table beside her husband and daughter, she can tell she’s grinning too. If only because of the way Chimney looks at her, eyebrows raised, and asks, “What? Something funny?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, “Just glad everyone is back where they belong.”

#meg sent me this prompt literally 3 years ago #but hey i’m back from the dead!#bear with me i’ve never written outsider pov before #and it’s been 2 years since i’ve written anything at all #but enjoy <3 #911 abc #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 spoilers #post 8x11 #katewrites

407 notes · View notes

softspiderling · 1 year ago

Text

picture of you in an invisible locket | j.v

summary:

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion.

OR; loving jacaerys velayron means more than loving just him, something that you are painfully aware of

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 2,5k

author's note: my first jacaerys fic! ngl it was super hard to jump from obx to hotd bc i wanted my writing to feel authentic to the fandom/show??? yeah obx and hotd could NOT be any more different tbf. i have a bunch of ideas for jace but if you want you can send me some requests! also tagging @zyafics and @sunderlust bc they've been encouraging me to write for jace ily guys. happy reading and pls leave some feedback/comments/nice words!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The light of the torches were flickering as you walked down the hallway, your shoes clicking against the marble stones that lined the ground. It was nearly midnight and a lady of your rank shouldn’t be awake at this hour, much less out of her chambers by herself, roaming the halls.

But you were hungry.

You hadn’t had much to eat during dinner, trying to avoid him as much as possible, which is getting increasingly more difficult. Usually, he wasn’t so persistent, opting to stay close to your father during dinner, exchanging information about their culture, or drinking with your brother. Tonight, however, it seemed like he was on quest to find you whenever you were standing idly by, asking for a dance. And of course, you couldn’t decline for no reason, as it would appear rude or even slight, so you busied yourself with other - much less distracting - dance partners. By the time he was approached by one of your guards, inquiring about his training, and you saw your chance to sit down and eat in peace, the table had been cleared for the last course. While you did love cake, your hunger couldn’t be stilled by a mere dessert and you spent the remainder of the night famished, longing for some hearty food.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled of hunger again, and you picked up the skirt of your night dress, hastening along to the kitchen. When you finally reached the stair case that led down to the kitchens, you hurried down the steps, letting yourself into the kitchen, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you headed to the pantry, searching for bread and butter and if you were lucky, some smoked ham. You were so focused on your search, you didn’t even notice another presence lingering in the doorway of the pantry.

You heart nearly stopped when you finally did see him, your gasp echoing in the empty kitchen.

“Prince Jacaerys!”

The crown prince of the Seven Realms was standing in front of you, arms behind his back and brows raised. You forced your heartbeat so calm down, hand still clutching your chest.

“You gave me a fright,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been waiting for your arrival. You took quite some time, I was certain you would be here an hour past.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits, growing wary at his words. “And how did you know that I would come to the kitchens at this hour? I do not make it a habit to skulk around the keep at night.”

Jacaerys chuckled dryly, his beautiful dark curls bouncing as he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Given how you occupied the dance floor with various dance partners earlier, I did not see you sit down for supper once. You were certain to still your hunger somewhere.”

So he did notice.

You acted nonchalant, turning away from him eyes searching shelves in the pantry.

“Searching for this?”

Jacaerys brought a loaf of bread from behind his back, wrapped in a cloth. Your eyes gleamed, taking a step forward to reach for it, nearly bumping into him as he took a step forward as well, breaching into your personal space. Your heart stopped, feeling his hot breath fanning on your cheeks and the prince’s lips tugged into a grin.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, moving the bread out of your reach. “You do not expect me to give this away without a price now, do you my lady?”

You took a moment’s pause, considering his words with caution.

“… What sort of price do you speak of?”

“How about…” Jacaerys begun. “A kiss?”

With a small breath, you faltered, looking up at him through your lashes, your shoulders slumping.

“Jace.”

“Ah, now we are back to Jace?”

Snatching the small piece of ham and the butter that sat in a small marble bell from the shelves, you walk back into the kitchen, knowing Jacaerys would follow you. Making a stop at the counter, you spread your findings on it, waiting until Jacaerys stopped next you, loaf of bread still in his hand.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You danced with every single man at your brother’s name day celebration except for me,” Jacaerys pointed out. You shrugged with your shoulders, an act you would never do in front of other people, but this was Jace.

“I was merely being a good host.”

“Don’t insult me, my lady. I saw your grimace when Lord Ren twirled you over the dance floor while stepping all over your feet with his barbaric dance moves.”

Seven hells, he got you there. You never were able to keep your real feelings hidden when it came to Lord Ren. He was just too insufferable. Pursing your lips, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were still a lady after all, you had some manners.

“Will you give me the bread when I admit you’re right?”

“I should not,” Jacaerys sniffed. “Because I know I am right, I do not need a confession. I just want to know your reasons.”

With a huff, you snatched the loaf of bread out of his hands, reaching for knife in the wooden block. You cut out several slices, maybe with more force than necessary.

“You know my reasons.”

Jacaery is quiet next to you and you dropped the knife on the counter, wrapping the rest of the loaf up again. You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread the butter on the bread slices, knowing he was waiting for you to elaborate, and after a few more moments, you broke, the knife clattering against the wooden surface.

“Jace, you know I… Have a deep affection for you.”

“As do I for you.”

The two of you both skirted around the big word, not quite bold enough to say it yet.

“I do not wish to give my father the expectation to marry me off to you.”

“I’m the crown prince, surely your father would not have any grievances against a match.”

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand. Isn’t a match born out of affection and not duty what you have been wanting?”

“Jace, this is more complicated than me harboring any affections for you-” you started, but your words were cut shot by Jacaerys speaking your name.

“If it’s about leaving home, I promise King’s Landing is not as bad as it seems. And on dragonback, it is only a three day journey. When I first left, I got terribly homesick as well, but-“

“I do not wish to be Queen!” you exploded, falling into Jacaerys’ words and he took a step back at your outburst, surprise flickering over his face. You let out a long, deep, breath, hand clutching at your chest, calming yourself down.

The kitchen is eerily calm, neither of you spoke, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Your voice is quiet when you finally spoke again.

“I am the youngest child of my father, Jace. His only daughter. My oldest brother is betrothed and to be wed in less than a year’s time, the second oldest is courting his partner to be betrothed. I was not trained to rule, to have any responsibility or to represent my house. You are the crown prince, set to inherit the Iron Throne, to rule over seven kingdoms. Seven, Jace. How exactly do you expect me to fulfill the role of a Queen consort?”

Jacaerys’ mouth was parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which you understood. You have never shared your feelings about his position as heir before, how you resented it a little for it was the only reason you couldn’t let yourself be matched with him.

“I’m not fit to be Queen.”

“I… Didn’t know that you felt this way,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t shirk my duties.”

“And I am not asking you to,” you assured him. “I just can’t… Be the wife you need.”

“What if-”

“Jacaerys, please.”

Your voice was pleading, knowing discussing this any further was no use. You weren’t fit for a Queen. Jacaerys’ face shut down, and he put his mask up, before nodding, ever the understanding prince, much to your luck. “Of course. Whatever you wish for, my love.”

His love.

“I will see you on the morrow.”

Reaching for your hand, he grasped it gently with his, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before stepping back, letting go of you. As he departed from the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, your breath shaky. You knew you hurt him, disappointed him, but this was so much bigger than the two of you.

You breathed out deeply, hoping the sorrow would leave, but it didn’t. Reaching for the bread, your appetite had gone, but leaving it would be wasting it, so you bit into your dinner. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but think that the bread tasted like ashes in your mouth.

The next few days, Jacaerys seemed to respect your wishes to keep his distance. You still saw him around the keep, occasionally walking with your father, mostly though you saw him accompanying your brother as they conversed quietly, but intently. You wondered what they were talking about. Whenever you saw him, you noticed that Jacaerys kept his gaze away from took, and you couldn’t help but feel saddened, even though this was what you asked him for in the first place.

You missed his company. Especially at night. Despite the fact that you had never crossed any lines, or did anything improper - spending the dark hours at the library talking, exchanging stories about your childhood, maybe coming very close to a kiss - you were still a maiden. Of course you spending time with him alone was unseemly, and your father would betroth you immediately would he find out. It might be better for you, that Jacaerys kept away.

It was the end of the week when you saw him again. You were sat in the dining hall, at another feast your father had called for. It was the night of the departure of the representatives of House Blackwood, though even if it weren’t, you didn’t doubt that there would still be a feast. Your father didn’t need an occasion celebrate.

Your demeanor was polite, bht curt, hoping that it would deter any lords from asking for a dance, but of course Lord Ren was keen on offering you his hand.

Giving him a polite smile, you let him lead you around the dance floor, already forming some sort of excuse in your head when someone stepped to you, offering you his hand.

It was Jacaerys.

“May I, Lord Ren?”

“Of course, my prince.”

Lord Ren bowed to Jacaerys and you bowed your head out of respect before Jacaery placed a hand on your waist, his other finding your hand. You couldn’t help but feel relief that Jacaerys had freed you from Lord Ren, but you tried to keep your composure.

“I thought we talked about this, Jacaerys,” you muttered out between gritted teeth, as to uphold the image of a happy lady, dancing with her guest.

“We have.”

Jacaerys replied easily, never missing a step as he spoke, despite keeping his eyes on you. Ever the perfect prince.

You turned away, not being able to hold his eyes on you, your stomach churning.

“I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jace,” you said quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear you talking to the crown prince in such a familiar way. “I wish things were different- That I was different.”

Jacaerys’ hand tightened on your waist, and he used that to pull you closer.

“I spoke to your father, and he gave his blessing for our betrothal.”

Your eyes widened at his words, as you hadn’t expected them, the shock evident on your face. You had told him about your fears of being Queen consort and he just disregarded them.

“What?”

“I know you’re afraid that you won’t be able to fulfill your duties as Queen, my Queen consort. My mother will teach you, I will be by your side. My mother is set to live a long life and by the time I will inherit the throne, you will be properly trained. And I swear on my life, you will make the best Queen consort the realm will ever see.”

Stunned, you blinked your eyes at him, as if this all was a dream. Never before had you experience someone being so stubborn to prove you of your own worth.

“It hurt me greatly when you told of your reluctance of our match, because I cannot fathom that you see yourself anything less than you are.”

As he spoke, Jacaerys kept his gaze ahead, but he finally he turned to look at you, his eyes softening.

“I will not force you. This is your choice. If you do not wish to marry me, you won’t have to. Just know that I believe in you and what you will be able to do as Queen consort.”

You were trying so hard to find the right words, your feet stopped working for a second and you stumbled, but Jacaerys was quick to tighten his grip around you, keeping you upright.

“I- don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“Say yes?”

Jacaerys looked down at you, his eyes hopeful and you felt your resolve melt away, especially because it looked he had planned it down to the last detail.

“Yes, okay.”

Jacaerys smiled at you before turning to the side, giving a curt nod and that was all it took for your father thrust his jug into the air, the ale spilling over the rim.

“I am thrilled to announce that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Seven Realms, has asked my daughter for her hand in marriage… And she has accepted!”

The raucuos cheers that followed after nearly deafened your ears and you hid your face in Jacaerys’ chest - an act of affection you allowed yourself now that the two of you were betrothed.

“This couldn’t wait until we were in closed chambers?” you whispered, pink tinging your cheeks. Jacaerys shook his head, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“There’s no backing out of it now, my love.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: thoughts?? :)

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys velaryon imagine #hotd #house of the dragon

2K notes · View notes

thekinslayed · 1 year ago

Text

Dragons of the Same Fire

summary | Escaping to Harrenhal after the Blacks take King's Landing, you are unhappy to learn that the rumors surrounding Aemond rang true.

pairing | aemond targaryen x older sister!reader (helaena's twin)

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, jealousy, rough sex (like rly rough), dom!aemond, subby!reader, lots of arguing, Criston wants no part of this ..but has a favorite child, mentions of aemond x alys, choking, spanking, breeding kink, incest, too much lore w these two omfg

wordcount | 6.7k

note | hope u guys don’t mind another canon aem fic :) this has taken the longest to finish, and i am so happy to finally have this out!! had to make reader hate alys for the plot, sorry mommy 💔

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Rider approaching!”

A swift flash of darkness passed through the gates of Harrenhal when the first sprinkle of dusk painted the sky. The sun was only beginning to set behind the dark castle, rays of red bleeding through the blues of the horizon. Archers quickly presumed their position upon the intruder’s presence, their bows nocked as they awaited the command to shoot. The horse halted to a stop right by the castle’s entrance, prompting the soldiers to stand even more wary when its rider dismounted. The Lord Hand, Ser Criston Cole rushed out of the fortress, sword drawn to approach the unknown figure.

“Reveal yourself,” the knight barked. A gloved hand is raised to halt the archers, the Dornishman taking cautious steps forward. The dark cloak is pushed back, revealing mud-stained silver waves and purple eyes.

“Princess?”

The Dornishman visibly relaxed at the sight of Queen Alicent’s second daughter. As his sword lowered, so did all the bows that pointed at you. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you let out a relieved sigh, a twisted smirk adorning your lips when you approached the knight. “Quite a warm welcome from my brother’s troops. I hope you haven’t missed me too much, Ser Criston,” you greeted him, bumping his shoulder playfully before walking past his stunned figure to enter the dark castle.

Aemond had been at the campgrounds approving arrangements for their next move when the news came. He refused to sit idly by while his half-sister and uncle kept his family prisoners and forged a plan to lure their dragons out of the capital. A squire from Harrenhal had rushed to inform him of your arrival, causing him to return to the fortress in haste. He all but burst through the castle’s threshold in search of you, frightening the knights standing guard at his thunderous arrival. The prince regent was directed to the bathhouse, where he found you leaning your head back while dipped in one of the great stone tubs. Your eyes were closed as your muscles relaxed in the steaming water of the bath; your body tortured with aches from the grueling journey you had taken to escape King’s Landing.

Your ears perked up at the sound of the door opening, listening to the quiet footsteps that approached where you sat. A soft smile spread on your lips when you recognized his familiar gait, though you made no move to face him.

“Is that you, my beloved?” you asked, tone relaxed and smooth. Aemond couldn’t deny the thumping in his ears at the sight of you. Steam billowed around your naked figure, and your skin glistened in the warm glow of the torches hung on the pillars. You called out to him like a siren in the middle of the dark ocean, your voice alluring the usually headstrong prince. Your younger brother approached the side of the stone to get a better glimpse of you. Flushed like a blushing rose in the sweltering air of the bathhouse, your eyes opened and turned to Aemond, your smile widening at the sight of him.

“Sweet sister,” he greeted. His lone eye was blown wide as he stared at you, visibly astonished. “How… They had told me you disappeared,” the prince said dumbfoundedly. You let out a sigh, beckoning him closer. Aemond sat on the tub’s edge, bending down when you reached up to cup his jaw to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your eyes sparkled when they stared into his good eye, chest fluttering upon seeing his handsome face up close once again. Before you could pull your hand away, Aemond’s larger one covered yours when he leaned into your touch. His eye flickered to your chest, where your perked nipples had peaked through the surface of the water when you sat up higher to face him, before meeting your eyes once more. A spark ignited deep within him, a familiar tingle coursing through his skin at the sight of you. He called out your name in a whisper, earning a hum as a response from you. “What happened? How did you get here?” he queried.

You gave him a rueful smile, pulling your hand away to hug your knees into your chest. “When Rhaenyra and Daemon started to descend to King’s Landing, mother urged me to flee with Aegon. Larys Strong had gotten us out, but I asked him to spare me a horse so I may ride to Harrenhal. I had to see you, I had to let you know we are unharmed,” you explained, studying Aemond’s reaction. He exhaled deeply through his nose, looking away from you as shame coursed through him. “They are safe, my sweet.”

“How is our mother safe in the hands of those vapid cunts? And Helaena, after all they have done to her?” he asked angrily. The prince was enraged at his foolishness, having let his family be so easily captured while he led his army away in a desperate attempt to lure his uncle into battle. He vowed to take King’s Landing back to his power with fire and blood, unleashing Vhagar’s full might if he had to.

You placed your hand on his wrist, squeezing it softly. “They are being held in chains in their chambers, yes, but Rhaenyra will not kill them. It would be a foolish decision that will cost them everything,” you reassured him firmly, watching as he clenched his jaw in frustration, still refusing to look at you. The image of your twin’s haunted look before you left her flashed through your mind. Since Jaehaerys had been killed before her own eyes, Helaena refused to let anyone touch her, often growing distressed and panicked when approached by her own family. However, she had let you, her only sister, hug her tight on the day you left. You remembered the scent of rosemary in her hair as you buried your face in her neck, whispering the promises of your return as you kissed her cheek. Your heart had shattered when you cast a last glimpse at her and saw a lone tear run down her cheek, having to be all but dragged away from your twin before you slipped through Maegor’s tunnels.

Aemond ran a free hand in frustration down his face, taking deep breaths to will himself to calm down. “And Aegon?” he asked quietly. Through the leather of his doublet, he felt how your thumb rubbed at his wrist soothingly, your touch warming his skin.

“Fret not, he is safe, and so is Jaehaera,” you answered though you doubted your own words. Leaving your wounded eldest brother and his remaining child in the hands of Larys Strong perturbed you, wary of the man’s conniving nature, but your king had sent you away to Aemond, leaving no room for arguments.

“He needs you,” Aegon had croaked out, before being whisked away in a simple, unassuming carriage.

Mud had been rubbed into your hair to conceal the stark brightness of your silver tresses before you journeyed to Harrenhal. You rode through the dead of night, only stopping to grant your horse a moment’s rest. An ache in your heart made you long for your dragon still kept in the Dragonpit, having no choice but to leave her lest you raise suspicions of your whereabouts.

As you passed through the endless woods, your senses were on high alert, careful of any nearby threat. A dagger had been your only weapon, and what little fighting skills you retained from when Ser Criston had taught you in your youth were certainly not enough to defend you, but the gods had blessed you when you saw the ominous sight of Harrenhal appear through the horizon at the break of dawn, the terrifying sight of the burnt fortress bringing you an immense amount of relief at the end of your journey. It was only when you had seen the face of the Dornishman you considered your father figure that you finally allowed yourself to let your guard down fully.

Aemond sighed, closing his eye when he bowed his head. A disappointment at his actions throbbed in his chest. He was a scholar, a trained warrior, he had prepared for battle all his life, and yet when the moment came he had let himself act so irrationally. He knew he was better than this, smarter than all of them, but he was a fool all the same.

Your features softened while you took in the sight of your younger brother. You had always been fiercely protective of him, especially since he lost his eye, and you had been the proudest when he had evolved into the prolific prince who stood before you today. Seeing your dearest brother this way ached your heart, prompting you to rise to your knees and call out his name.

“Look at me,” you urged him, cupping his jaw again. When he had not, you dipped your head to meet his lowered gaze. The air felt cooler on your now exposed chest compared to the heated water. Gooseflesh rose on your skin while your nipples pebbled, though you paid them no mind. Your hands were a welcome warmth on Aemond’s face, which turned to you, unable to resist your sweet voice. “We still have time, Aemond.” You whispered, thumb rubbing at the edge of his scar. “They will pay, for everything. We will get our family back… together.”

Aemond nodded in a trance, lost in the amethyst hues of your orbs that called out to him. A large, calloused hand squeezed your shoulder, a sign of his silent gratitude. He resisted the urge to move his hand lower to your chest, the open view of your flushed mounds tempting him to feel the supple flesh against his palm. A flame started to course towards him, one only you were able to stoke.

Your forehead pressed against his. A nudge of your nose on his. A sweet smile on your lips when his shoulders finally relaxed. Two purple eyes met his good one, and something shifted between the two of you.

There it was again, the stirring in your belly every time he stared at you with a softness he reserved only for his sweet sister. You tried to ignore the aching in your core that started to pulsate, but you suddenly felt so exposed as you sat bare in the stone tub while he was fully clothed. His gaze fell on your pink lips, soft and enticing. Your head tilted ever so slightly toward his, just a hair away from meeting his lips, when the door to the bathhouse opened, which startled the both of you.

You pulled away to look at the woman who had entered, carrying linens for you to dry yourself with. She assisted you upon Cole’s orders, but you asked her to leave when she had properly washed your hair to get a moment alone. Long, raven-colored hair draped across her back, and a pair of emerald eyes matched the green of her dress. Her appearance was striking, and she carried herself with the air of a woman who knew much more than she let on. Alys, she said her name was.

Aemond cleared his throat and stood up from the tub's edge, stepping away from your space. The air prickled at your skin with the loss of his warmth, making you sit back down to dip your exposed flesh into the steaming water. A wary curiosity sparked as you studied how Alys’ eyes met Aemond’s, looking between the pair of them while they seemed to communicate with their gazes. Something burned in your chest at the sight, one that quickly rose to your head as some sort of perturbation. The prince regent is then informed of the council meeting that was due to start soon, and he sighed, before turning to you.

“Sister, I am afraid I must leave you for some matters that require my attention,” he said, to which you nodded at him in understanding. “I shall leave you to the care of Lady Rivers.”

The prince leaned down to plant a parting kiss on your cheek, which would have comforted you if it weren’t for a pair of green eyes that watched you closely, the weight of her stare unnerving and prickly. You felt wary of being left alone with the mysterious woman, but you merely smiled at Aemond before he turned to leave the bathhouse.

The clinking of fine utensils and cups echoed through the dining hall while you supped with Ser Criston, who sat right across from you, and Aemond, seated at the head of the table. Before your arrival, matters between the prince regent and the Hand were tense with their contrasting opinions on their next course of action, but your presence brought a certain lightness into the dark cavern of the stronghold that granted a momentary peace between both men. Light conversation flowed across the dinner table, mostly from you while Criston responded, and Aemond offered some short responses and hums now and then.

“So, Larys left a Rivers woman as Lady of Harrenhal?” you asked, feigning a casual tone in your voice despite the curiosity that urged you to learn all about this bastard. Your eyes shifted from Aemond to Criston, catching how the knight’s gaze flickered to his prince before taking a sip of wine.

“She is a Strong by blood, princess. One of Lyonel’s bastards,” the older knight informed you.

“Oh, I was unaware there were more of them,” you mused, ignoring the look Aemond gave you. As if on cue, Alys entered the dining hall with a fresh jug of wine. Your eyes looked her up and down while she went around the table to pour wine into your cups. When she reached the head of the table, you did not miss the way she stood a little too close to the prince to be considered appropriate. You watched her green orbs meet Aemond’s good eye, giving him another glance that held the same energy you witnessed at the bathhouse, the sides of her thin lips lifting.

Your jaw ticked in annoyance at the smirk the older woman gave Aemond, who seemed to be entranced at her display. His good eye had flickered down to the swell of her breasts when she bent to pour his wine, causing your eyebrows to raise in contempt and to turn to your father figure across from you. Criston hid the way his lips quirked up behind his cup at the look you gave him, shaking his head.

The presence of this mysterious woman left an odd feeling in your chest, even more so around your blood. He always had an affinity for older women, as per Aegon’s words. Back in the Streets of Silk, Aemond would apparently ask for their older madame, turning away the younger whores Aegon would call upon. Was this the same deal? Is this what he truly liked, someone… motherly? You couldn’t even gauge how you felt about it, let alone speak with him about this matter as you sat in his chambers late into the night.

A cup of wine is nursed by your side, its rim traced by your fingertip. Mindless hums reverberated from your chest as Aemond informed you of battle strategies, and what was to come. He was hunched over the map, his back to you, laid on his chaise. Harrenhal was cold as it was barren, haunted by darkness lurking in every corner. You had stolen one of his robes, trading it for your smaller one, wrapping it around your nightgown-clad figure.

“If we stay high, we can patrol over the Crownlands without getting detected,” Aemond said, glazing over the map with an outstretched hand.

“And how do you propose I do that without a dragon?” you asked, taking another gulp of your wine.

“We will find a way,” he promised. His brow raised when you snorted, the early telltale signs of your diminishing sobriety making themselves known. A buzz started to make the top of your head feel lighter, your tongue a little bit looser, and your face warmer. You had mindlessly consumed more than half of the jug of wine, while Aemond had taken mere sips.

This is where you differed, while the younger preferred to keep his mind unmuddied by liquor, you spent a good amount of your nights trying to outdrink Aegon. Aemond had seen you stumble through the halls one too many times, had held your hair back as you spilled your guts all over the flowers. “Easy,” your brother scolded, taking the cup far from your grasp. He sat on the armchair with a sigh, rotating his neck. It clicked with a lean to the side, making the prince grunt.

A silence passed over the two of you. It was deafening, awkward, riddled with an unspoken tension. It irked you, it never used to be like this. Your tongue itched to speak, while your heart panged, silently begging him to say something, anything. You craned your head to take a peek at him, and your younger dragon had his eye closed. His head rested on the back of his seat, legs spread wide, and shoulders relaxed. He looked older, you realized. The war had been harsh, on all of you, but to him especially. Where his cheeks used to be plump with youth, it now was well-defined, sculpted.

“What is it?” he whispered, unmoving. His good eye stayed closed, yet you knew he could see you well all the same. He was always the most perceptive out of all of you, the smartest. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

You fiddled with the strings of the robe, his robe. “There have been some curious whispers about you in your absence,” you muttered, feigning indifference. His eye cracked open only a hair’s inch, the dazzling purple of his eye peeking through his lashes.

“Whispers?”

“Of you and that Rivers lady. They say she had tempted you to her bed so greatly you had no wish to leave Harrenhal to return to your family.” A subtle twitch in his upper lip was the only reaction you were bestowed.

“Tell me, who utters these whispers within our walls?” He’d sat up now, the rigidity in his spine returning as he regarded you. Your gaze was stuck on your fiddling thumbs, willfully ignoring his burning gaze behind you.

You shrugged. “The rats hear all and more, curious little things they are.” An unamused huff left your brother’s lips, though you barely spared him a glance as you rose to your feet, maintaining your casual unconcern. Your half-filled cup of wine was still by his side, and you approached to take it from him, but he had moved it away, teasing, as you reached for it.

“Rats. You of all people would know better than to believe such folly, sister.”

From where you stood, your face was almost level with his. He studied you just as you did him, searching… calculating. You reached for your cup again, brushing against Aemond’s fingers before he let go. The wine was a welcome sting to your insides when you took a big gulp, a calming reprieve from the sudden fluttering of your gut.

“The rats have given us much trouble. Helaena was right, perhaps we should be fearing them more than we do dragons,” you replied, turning away to walk around the room. Aemond was silent behind you, merely watching as you took in the darkened stone of his chambers. It was drab, its austere appearance dampening your spirits, though you figured there wasn’t much designing to do on a castle that was mostly burnt. “You don’t deny it?” you asked him, mentally swatting away the budding swarm in your chest as you awaited his response. Your fingertips ran across the embroidery scattered about, a rather sad attempt at livening up the place. You turned back to Aemond, who was still silent as ever.

“What I do behind closed doors is not of anyone’s concern.”

An odd pang in your chest rendered you unable to retort a clever answer, resorting instead to another gulp of liquid courage. It was odd, the way this conversation was affecting you. What was growing over the years was starting to make itself known, but it cannot be, not yet.

“Not even your own blood?” you whispered.

“I do not appreciate my sister sticking her nose into my endeavors, especially not while we are still stuck in this hellish war.” He was starting to grow peeved, evident in the way his nostrils were starting to flare when he stood. Aemond’s piercing gaze followed you as you continued to pace around. He watched you, caught exactly when you spotted the familiar weapons stored aside. Your brows furrowed in realization, approaching where Blackfyre and Aegon’s catspaw dagger sat. The embellished dagger was hefty in your hand, heavy with the implications of what brandishing it meant. The Valyrian inscriptions glinted in the dim glow of the room as you tilted the metal.

Aemond made no move to take it from you, still cautiously watching. There was an almost accusatory gaze you held when you looked up, confusion and astonishment clear as day in your features.

“When our brother fell from the skies and his armor melted into his skin, it seemed that you had some agenda of your own. Is that not of my concern too?” Aemond’s brows raised in question at the implication of your words, his thin lips lifting into a serpentine smirk, before dropping into a purse of his lips. He shook his head at you, unbelieving at what you were implying. Slow, steady steps were taken towards where you stood, his approach menacing, almost like a hunting predator. You gripped the edge of the table tight, swallowing the growing lump in your throat.

“You question my loyalty? After everything I’ve done for our faction, our family,” the regent spat, earning a frown from you in response. Your blood ran hot in your veins, the same way it did in Aemond’s, thrumming thunderously in your ears. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he infiltrated your space, hot breath fanning your flushed face.

“Haven’t seen much of it since you’ve taken this cursed place. Tell me, has your loyalty been redirected somewhere else then? I am not here to question your tastes, you know that,” you taunted. You held your ground as he chuckled darkly in your face, gritting your teeth when he caged you in between his towering figure, his hands settling on the table behind you.

“A fool you are. Why else are you here for then? To chastise me as though I were still a boy?”

Whatever snarky remark you wanted to bite back at him died on your tongue when his face neared dangerously close to yours. You pushed against his chest, but he was a wall against your weak nudges. With a grunt, Aemond took your wrists into his larger, calloused hands, pulling you flush to his chest.

“Let me go,” you seethed. “Aemond!”

“What? Not so smart now, sister?” he provoked, thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle against his strength. You managed to free one of your wrists off his vicelike grip, quickly grabbing your father’s dagger and pointing it in defense.

This was becoming all too amusing for him, you realized. Aemond merely stepped forward, pressing his chest into the dagger’s sharp tip. His head subtly tilted towards you, taunting.

He wanted to see you break.

The dagger fell to the floor in a clank, no regard for its importance when you grabbed his doublet, pulling him close. Your lips smashed against his in a mess of teeth and tongue, your hands grabbing his silver tresses tight. You brought him in closer by wrapping a leg around his waist, while he clutched onto the back of your head. It was dizzying, you were growing much more lightheaded than you already were. Your knees were starting to grow weak, making you resort to leaning on the wooden table to keep yourself up.

He tasted divine, a taste so addicting yet inexplicable, only slightly tinted by wine. A growing stiffness was poking into your hip, proving this was affecting him just as much as it did with you. Your hand descended with a mission, cupping his bulge. Aemond thought similarly, fondling your perked breast in his larger palm.

All too sudden, a knock kicked you out of your stupor. Aemond pulled away with a curse, turning to voice his wrath at the interruption when the door opened to reveal Alys, a tray of steaming tea in hand.

“My deepest apologies, my prince, princess. I have brought his grace’s nightly tea,” she explained, lacking any actual remorse in her tone. You scoffed in disbelief, dismantling yourself from Aemond’s grip. He had tried to get you to stay, but your scowl let him know that the moment had passed.

“Sister,” he whispered.

“I shall take my leave,” you made known, refusing to look at his pleading look. “Enjoy your tea.”

You avoided Aemond like the plague in the days that came. He had only missed you by a minute when he came to see you in your chambers after returning from the campgrounds, off to gods know where. You took your meals alone, bathed alone, untrusting of the raven-haired woman charged with the care of the castle.

At night, however, the somber melancholy of your isolation found you. You had chosen to seek company with Cole instead, spending more of your time in his chambers when you needed a companion. Aemond had caught you there one night, when he had come to talk strategy with the Hand.

“What is she doing on your bed?” the prince questioned, his tone already raging the moment he entered. You faked sleep while Cole merely sat unbothered as he read the latest parchments.

“Your sister longed for some company, said her own chambers were too lonesome. She welcomed herself into my chambers and finished all my wine,” Criston replied, cocking his head toward the empty jug. You willed yourself to stay still and keep your eyes shut, just until Aemond left, at least.

You had flashed your mother’s lover a sheepish smile when the younger finally left, to which he replied with an unamused shake of his head.

“I dare not ask what scheme you are concocting in that prickly head of yours, but you know I wish to take no part in whatever strife you have with your brother. We have more pressing matters to attend to.”

You didn’t know how to face him after that night, nor did you even want to try to figure out where you stood moving forward. His affections were never hidden from you, quite the contrary. Aemond was always stuck to your skirts throughout your youth, though you always considered them a kinship. In time, you saw the change in him.

It was after that night, when Lucerys had slashed out his eye in the caves of Driftmark. He had grown all too quick afterwards, harsher, smarter, yet his love for you stayed the same, only ever blossoming into a devout adoration. You dismissed his romantic advances as fleeting affections every boy felt when he was reborn a man, but he had persisted. He had nothing to hide from you, not when you had always held his heart. You failed to realize how his faithful attention had been a constant in your life, and with it gone, directed to someone else, it troubled you. It shouldn’t, but it did.

Over time he had spurned odd twinges in your chest, pulling on the strings of your wary heart that left you perplexed, your skin tingling with the beginning embers of a growing fire. You had once dismissed it a sisterly love, familial, but such affections meant little difference to that of a love of man and wife to people like you and him. You were Targaryens after all, you were meant to burn together.

It had always been there, this you were well aware of, simmering beneath the surface of your conscience, but you had refused to let it bubble over. To let it consume you meant to break your own heart. It would never be, your grandsire always told you. You were promised to a Hightower cousin, and Aemond had asked for the hand of a Baratheon girl, bestowed a kiss on all of Borros’ thunderous storms before taking his pick of the litter. You had visibly rolled your eyes at the news of such display, sneering at how insignificant girls would surely giggle and boast of being bestowed a kiss from such a prince.

But now, that cousin whose face you scarcely recalled had perished under the rain of dragonfire, while the Baratheon girl was promised to Aemond no longer. He was yours for the taking, but another obstacle stood in your way.

He had found you after three days, in a place he least wanted you to be. Aemond marched through their military encampments with the intent of surveying their situations after having just returned from patrolling the skies. There you were, sat by a fire with his soldiers. You were surrounded by a good number of them, having offered your support to the men fighting your cause. They were elated to catch a glimpse of their princess, approaching in haste to speak with you. A bubbling laugh echoed through the open air when one of the men had made a jest, unnoticing of your brother’s furious approach. He had dragged you back to the keep, sending you straight to the bathhouse with the instruction of not letting you leave.

To rid yourself of all their muck, Aemond had spat out.

“These are our troops, Aemond. They fight for us, the least I could do is show my face and make them remember who they march for, not hide like some cowardly damsel who chooses to live in the ignorance of her reality. This is my battle just as much as it is yours,” you argued, angrily scrubbing on your reddening skin. He was pacing, taking deep breaths through the damp thickness of the steaming baths. The regent barged through the bathhouse after barking orders to Cole to oversee his duty in the meantime, locking the door behind him.

“A fool’s gesture that was, sister. Our uncle can rain fire on these lands at any moment and I shall not have you out there when the moment comes,” he berated, taking big strides to stand before your submerged form. “You are not to leave the castle, not unless it is with me or Cole.” You rolled your eyes childishly as he pointed a stern finger at you, rising promptly from the water. There was little concern in your mind for your bareness, ignoring the way Aemond had snapped his head to the side to avert his gaze. You reached for a cloth, wrapping yourself, grumbling. The dragonblood in your veins still ran hot, having been granted no chance to simmer down since the twat didn’t spare you a moment alone.

“If I had known mine own brother would be treating me like a prisoner I never should have come here,” you muttered grimly.

“Then why did you?”

Droplets from your hair splattered on Aemond’s face as you briskly whipped around to face him, startling the warrior. “Our king is lost to his burns and milk of the poppy, our sister is haunted, plagued with the grief of her loss. Our family is slowly being torn apart and I cannot lose you to this madness!” you stressed, jabbing a finger into his firm chest. He huffed in sarcastic amusement, shaking his head at you, unbelieving. “I came here because I couldn’t go anywhere else, I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I need you, Aemond, I dare not think of an end to this where you are not by my side.”

Your words struck him, making him turn to you in disbelief. He stared at you, with your flushed face, and wide eyes. Hot tears had started to prickle the corner of your amethyst hues, glazing them over. His hand twitched to cup your face in his, yet he restrained. “You have scarred me, burned me deep with your indifference. You do not need me, you have made that very clear from the many times you have turned me away,” he retorted venomously, making your lips quiver into a frown. How could he be so cruel to you now? Here you were, laying your heart before him, bare and vulnerable, yet he refused to see you. This was all he hoped for, had begged the gods for.

“Of course I need you, I always will! You are my blood, my flesh. We are dragons born of the same fire, the gods have deemed no other bond will be stronger than you and I,” you uttered, pulling him straight into your chest for a kiss. You clung onto him, lest he were to be taken from you again. He was yours, he always had been.

Aemond responded in earnest, gripping the dampened cotton around your waist. He pulled it off of you in one motion, turning you around to press his front into your bare behind.

“Is this what this was, then? Doing all of this for my attention?” he asked, dripping a taunting venom into your ear. He gripped your breasts in his gloved hands, squeezing them in a matter that bordered on pain. You whined as he pinched your nubs, subtly pressing your hips backward. “Were you jealous I had taken another into bed, sister?”

“You are mine,” you stated bitterly, before turning to capture his lips again, biting down hard to the point of bleeding. Aemond grunted, pulling away to bend you over the edge of the great stone tub. His grip was painful as he held your wrists in one hand. You gasped when he delivered a harsh smack to your plump rear, the blooming sting warming your flesh.

“A brat you have always been. You have always found amusement in my torment, have you?”

The prince delivered several smacks afterwards, making you wince at each one. The skin had grown hot from his assault, yet you couldn’t deny the tears of arousal that dripped down your slit. You heard a dark chuckle behind you, his smoothing caress on your reddened arse a welcome reprieve.

“You enjoy this,” Aemond leered, running a gloved finger along your weeping cunt. It was soon replaced by something thicker, hotter. You gasped when his cockhead began to breach you, having been too dazed in pain to notice when he untied his breeches.

His hips snapped into you in an unforgiving pace from the start, giving you no chance to get used to his length. You had stammered to be granted a moment to catch your bearings, but the younger only tutted in refusal, thrusting relentlessly.

“Take it, fucking take it,” he spat out. It was a painful sting to take a cock his size, your body forcefully producing lubrication to ease his intrusion. The rough stone dug into your hips painfully, and your neck strained to keep your head from dipping into the steaming water, but soon enough a warm blossom in your belly started to make itself known, giving way to pleasure. Your pained whines soon morphed into moans, echoing through the vast bathing chambers. “I’ve always known you enjoyed being treated like this. Like a whining whore.”

The memory of his beloved sister being devoured by her sworn knight’s mouth was burned into the back of Aemond’s memory like an itching scar. He had found you at the library then, hidden behind an aisle no one ever frequented, except for him. He was hurt beyond belief, yet the image of your beautiful, blissed-out face was something he would always remember. It was the same look you had now, as he picked you up and fucked you against a stone pillar.

Your mouth hung open as your sweet sounds fell freely, and your breasts bounced in front of him. You clung onto his shoulders for dear life, while his hands left his mark on your thighs. It was utterly debauched, animalistic, the way he was still fully clothed while you were bare as day. Aemond had no regard for who would walk in, or who could hear, better yet, he hoped they would all hear.

“Fuck, Aemond, don’t stop!” you whined, your release drawing near. He felt it too, with the way your walls began to tighten. All too sudden, he stopped, making you let out a sob as the bubbling rise in your belly dissipated. He smirked devilishly at your pouting face, biting on your ear.

“Not yet, princess. Do you think you deserve it so easily? After all you’ve put me through?” he taunted. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him close, peppering desperate kisses across his face while subtly moving your hips for any sort of stimulation.

“Please, my love, I’m sorry! Please, please, I need it,” you pleaded so sweetly for him. A triumphant pride swelled in Aemond’s chest. Gone was his headstrong, indifferent sister. He had finally broken you to his will, had realized how much you wanted, needed him. It was all he wanted for so long, for you to stop seeing him like a boy and to start treating him like the man he was. It was all for you, he knew it from the start, he wanted to become the man fully deserving of a woman like you. And here you were now, begging for his cock. At long last, the gods have granted him his wish. He wanted to relish in the moment longer, wanted to tease you a little more. Aemond figured he deserved to do so, after many years you had dangled your affections in front of him like a dog.

He carried you over to a bench situated off to the side, sitting you upon his lap. His body was damp with sweat underneath his leathers, and his breeches were sure to have a mark from the remnants of the bath water you had dripped all over him. It was no matter, not when you eagerly started to bounce on his cock when he prompted you to with another smack upon your rear. “Show me how much you want it then, make yourself come.” The second son had long lost sight of reaching the Seven’s idea of the heavens, but he was sure it didn’t come close to this bliss. Your walls swallowed his length perfectly, a tailored fit just for him. You were babbling nonsense, tears streaking down your cheeks as you continued to ride him.

Alys was no match for you, nor the woman in the brothel he used to blindly stumble into. No, they were placeholders, a temporary soothing to an ache he couldn’t swallow down. It had always been you; it always will be. Everything started to feel right for Aemond, the end to the gods’ grand design was starting to unfold.

You were perfect for him, in all his flaws and his darkness. It was evident in the way you clung to any part of him, had taken hold of his hand to urge him to wrap around your throat. You were made for him, his harshness.

You spilled around his cock after a harsh squeeze on your windpipe, shattering in his arms with a moan of his name. The prince had laid you on your back, knees pressed your chest as your feet dangled over his shoulders. Your mind was far gone as he pounded into your cunny, chasing his release.

Aemond had managed to pull another release from you before his own, spurting hot seed into your walls. He uttered a silent prayer for it to reach your womb, and perhaps then you would truly be his, round with his child. A mixture of your fluids spilled from your slit when he pulled out his softening cock, but he had pushed it back in. Your lover chuckled when you whined tiredly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You were unsure when he had cleaned you or carried you back into the bath. Your mind was clouded with the lingering haze of your coupling, only starting to clear as you leaned on his bare, firm chest in the steaming water. The kisses Aemond bestowed upon you were grounding, reminding you that you were present, and you were his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, snuggling closer into the crook of his neck. “You can never hurt me; we are made of the same fire after all.”

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader

2K notes · View notes

iamgonnagetyouback · 6 months ago

Text

SHE’S MY GIRL.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ J. POTTER

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since james called you his girlfriend to scare off a guy, he hasn’t stopped holding your hand or looking at you like you hung the stars—almost like he isn’t pretending at all

WARNINGS ಇ. fever, lots of pining, james being annoyingly sweet, your heart betraying you against your will, fluff

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 851

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

James Potter always had a flair for the dramatic. It wasn’t new—you’d witnessed his antics for years, from serenading Lily Evans in the Great Hall to playing keeper with his broom upside down during Quidditch practice. But tonight? Tonight was a new level.

You’d barely had time to exchange pleasantries with the guy—blond, a little too forward, definitely not your type—before James swooped in, wrapping an arm casually around your waist.

“Oi, mate,” James interrupted, his grin as charming as ever but his voice sharp, “appreciate the interest, but she’s taken.”

“Taken?” The guy raised an eyebrow, eyeing the two of you skeptically. “By you?”

“Yep,” James confirmed, pulling you closer. “She’s my girl.”

His hand tightened ever so slightly against your hip, and before you could even process what was happening, he turned to you, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Right, love?”

“Uh…” You stared at him, wide-eyed. His expression didn’t waver, and somewhere beneath the initial confusion, you caught on. “Right! Yes. Taken. That’s me. Definitely...taken.”

James’ grin widened. “See? Glad we’re on the same page.”

Blond Guy looked unconvinced but grumbled something under his breath before walking off. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to James, trying to keep your tone light. “Taken? Really?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just declared himself your boyfriend in front of half the party. “What can I say? You looked like you needed saving.”

“From what? An awkward conversation?”

“Exactly,” he teased, steering you toward the snack table. He grabbed your hand. “C’mon, let’s have fun with it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Truthfully, it was easier this way. James had a way of making things seem natural, effortless, even when they weren’t.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

If James was pretending, he was dangerously good at it. He held your hand as you walked through the party, his thumb brushing idly against your knuckles. He fetched drinks for you, offering the first sip with a playful wink. At one point, he rested his chin on your shoulder while you talked to Mary, his presence warm and steady against your back.

It was…intoxicating. Dangerous.

“You’re really leaning into this,” you murmured at one point, tilting your head to glance at him. He was standing close, close enough that you could see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes, the faint dimple in his cheek as he smiled.

“Course I am,” he said breezily. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

Your heart stuttered, but you pushed it down, burying the feelings that had lingered just beneath the surface for far too long.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

By the time James walked you back to your dorm, the party was winding down. The corridors were quiet, lit only by the faint glow of torches, and you felt the weight of the night settle over you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, breaking the silence. “I…it was fun.”

James’ grin softened. “Anytime.”

You paused outside the portrait hole, hesitating. Finally, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He stiffened slightly, just for a moment, before relaxing, his arms looping around your waist.

“We’ll tell everyone it was a joke tomorrow,” you murmured against his shoulder. “No harm done.”

James froze. You felt it immediately, the way his arms tensed, the way his breathing hitched.

“James?” you pulled back, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—” He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at you. “It’s not a joke to me, okay? I mean, I didn’t think it would be so bloody obvious tonight, but—I like you. Like, really like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he continued, words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve been in love with you for ages, and I didn’t mean to mess things up or make it weird. I just—ugh, Merlin, I’ve really mucked this up, haven’t I?”

“James,” you said softly, stepping closer. His panicked rambling cut off as you wrapped your arms around him, your cheek pressed against his chest. “You didn’t muck anything up.”

He stiffened, clearly confused. “I didn’t?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “No. Because I’ve known all along.”

“You—what?”

You laughed, the sound light and happy. “You’re not exactly subtle, James. But for what it’s worth, I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical. “You—you like me back?”

You grinned, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

James stared at you, dumbfounded, before breaking into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. “Well, that’s—that’s brilliant!” He hugged you tightly, spinning you in a circle as you laughed.

As he finally set you down, he beamed at you, eyes sparkling. “Guess we won’t be telling anyone it was a joke tomorrow, huh?”

“No,” you agreed, your heart full. “I guess we won’t.”

And as James leaned down to kiss you properly, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #marauders #james x reader #james fluff #james potter angst #james potter drabble #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you #james potter x y/n

543 notes · View notes

alexrosa13 · 7 months ago

Text

His Precious Gem

dragon!Sylus x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: dragon!Sylus, bad guys thieves getting what they deserve, Sylus being down bad for reader

Note: just enjoy :*

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

People came into his mountain, wanting to take away his most treasured item - you.

It was a warm night on the planet called Philos. Most people would be asleep by now, but a group of six people had yet to fall to slumber. Those young men went on a journey to find a treasure from the legends of their city. They have been searching for days and tonight they were finally close to their destination.

The cave on top of the highest mountain was almost impossible to reach, but they were determined and with months of preparation. Not many people would dare to try and set up the journey to that place, after all, the legends and tales were speaking of the Beast protecting the treasures - every person who tried before - ended up never coming back.

However there were still people brave enough to chase their dream for the rewards in a form of countless treasures and riches... They were but a fools blinded by their greedy desires walking straight into the deaths cold hands.

A little after midnight they finally reached their destination.

"We did it! We actually did it!" one of them screamed and the others joined him in cheering until the most calm man in the group stopped them.

"Quiet! We still don't know what may be hiding in there." after those words all of the men quieted down and became wary of their surroundings. Some of them lighting up their torches and the rest pulling out their weapons.

"Is everyone ready?" asked the oldest of the group meeting with head nods and quiet words of confirmation.

No more words have been exchanged, the group went inside the dark cave, conscious of every sound. They were looking around themselfs, studying every wall with their eyes, looking for any hidden entrance in the never ending hall made out of stone. After couple minutes of walking they finally saw a faint flash of light. After exchanging glances they slowly moved towards the sorce of the light. The closer they were, the more blinding it become.

Soon enough, one by one, they walked through the thin entrance to the place they were looking for all this time. Every single one of them stopped breathing for a second after seeing the amount of gold and riches laying all around the huge room.

They spoke about what to do now, not knowing that the owner of the countless treasures was watching them from the shadows, ready to pounce on them the moment they touched his property.

About a minute later they started getting closer to the gold placed in every corner of the room, no matter where they looked, treasures were always in their eyesight. One of them noticed something out of place in the middle of the room. On the small platform made out of stone, was person hidden beneath some kind of dark fabric. Where they dead? Asleep? He couldn't tell.

"Hey, guys... There's someone here." getting the attention of the group, he pointed towards the mysterious person.

"Is that the beast every tale was speaking of?" one of the man asked frighten.

"No, this person... Is a woman... She probably fell victim to the beast." said oldest of the group, slowly walking towards the stone platform, soon noticing a head accessory made out of gold, shaped like a crown. It was like nothing he had seen before, blinding him with the possibility of getting the most prized possession in the cave. All of the men were watching him get close to the girl and when he was close to an arm length and slowly reaching towards the accessory, someone spoke from behind them.

"It seems that my most treasured gem catched your eye." cold, mischievous voice send chills to all the men without exceptions, slowly all of them started turning in it's direction, what catch their eyes was not a person, but a pair of red eyes in the dark corner of the cave, it's eyes burning like fire and even through they couldn't tell what creature was their owner, they were sure that it was dangerous, the look thrown by the eyes was mocking, as if daring them to make a move "Why so scared? I can hear your heartbeats from over here. You were so sure of yourself not so long ago, making plans involving my treasure. Go ahead, take it if you dare."

Everyone remained frozen, too scared to move, afraid of what that... Thing would do to them for taking what they wanted. Man who remained close to the girl started thinking, there was no way that thing will let them walk away with it's treasure, it seem that he forgot the very first words spoken to them by the... Beast? Could the beast talk? Was it human all along? It didn't matter what it was, it was dangerous, that very thing was obvious. He looked at the girl, whom they all though was dead. Noticing that she layed there with jewelry all over her, looking expensive enough to feed their families for years to come, he decided that the only thing they could take away from here was the woman herself, after all, why would the beast need that human to stay here and root? He finally asked.

"We won't take your gold. We just want to leave with the girl. Take her body back to her family." he was trying his best to sound confident, but his appearance betrayed him, giving clear image of the man fears. The red eyes looked straight at him, as if seeing through the lies about him knowing the girl's family.

"You want the girl? Or the gold and gems she's wrapped in?" the voice asked, again with a hint of mockery. His questions was meet with silence. Six men started looking at each other in panic, trying to communicate with their eyes "You don't have an answer?" the beast let out quiet laugh, sounding amused "But your greedy eyes speak for themselfs."

Finally, the beast took a couple of steps closer, the men finally getting a clear image of the thing... Man, that was talking to them all this time. Their gazes full of fear looked at the black, sharp horns and the powerful tail, waving slowly behind the beast, as if what was going on right now was absolutely normal for him, like another boring chore.

"You should choose your words more carefully." he started unhurriedly walking to the girl still laying in the middle of the room "It's one thing to come here, looking for gold and riches to keep for yourself. But how dare you think that I would let you take my one and only priceless treasure." he stopped right before the woman, gently brushing her cheek with his claw. She moved slightly, as if trying to cuddle up to the man whose touch she could recognize even in her sleep. Suddenly the group of men felt something tying around their mouth, as if invisible thing was keeping them from talking, they tried screaming, but the only sounds that left them were quiet moans and groans, they couldn't open their mouth. Some kind if red mist was getting more and more visible before their eyes "Now, now. We wouldn't want to wake up the lady, would we?" the beast spoke, still perfectly calm and collected. What exactly is he? All of the foolish men though "Don't worry, it will be quick and painless." what happened after those words left his mouth is better left unsaid. That group of men won't be able to tell the tales of their journey.

Some time later, in the quietness of the cave, soft sound of woman yawn broke through the silence of the place. She slowly raised from her 'bed' and stretched a bit while sitting.

"My sleepy princess finally decided to wake up. Did you enjoy your slumber?" the girl turned her head in the direction where the voice was coming from. Her eyesight catching her dragon sitting on the throne made of gold, watching her every move with the warm in his eyes reserved only for her.

The girl slowly raised from her makeshift bed, fixed her dress as to not appear like she just slept for couple of hours without care in the world about what could happen during her slumber time. She started walking towards the dragon, making eye contact with him and watching as the slith smile appears on his handsome face. When she got close enough, his tail wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards him, she ended up sitting on the armrest of the golden throne with her legs thrown on top of his own.

"Did something happened when I was sleeping?" she cuddled up to him and started playing with his hair. His eyes focused on her face, looking relaxed placed on his arm, her eyes closed as if she was about to get back to her slumber. His clawed hand started slow movement across her back, as if petting a cat.

"No, why would you think that?" she frowned at his words, clearly not believing him.

"Then why there's a sword laying right next to where I slept, which quality is way too bad for it to ever catch your eye?" her eyes opened to look at his, with a grin on her mouth. He smirked, he keeps forgetting just how clever and attentive she is.

"Hm you got me there, some... Fools wanted to take my treasure away from me so I simply showed them their place." she shaked her head slightly, not believing in the audacity of some people. Who would make a poor decision like this? Who would walk straight into the claws of a dragon wrath? Either way that's not her concern. Once again she cuddled up to her lover and kissed his check.

"I wonder... What kind of treasure is worth more than someone's life. When will people stop coming here in the hopes of getting lucky enough to get some gold coins and coming back to their family in one piece." one of his hands continued it's movement on her back, while the second found it's place on her legs, playing with the soft fabric of her dress.

"They wanted not only gold, but also my precious gem. I couldn't let them have that, now, could I?" his hand from her back traveled to her hair, fixing the jewelry on her head and untying some of the little cnots it found on it's way.

"You really do care for me that much huh? I'm flattered." her giggles sounded right under his ear, he felt her warm breath on his neck and lowered his head to rest against her own.

"You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer that mine." he closed his eyes, relaxing and felt her breath stopping for a couple of seconds after those words left his mouth. It wasn't the first time she heard that sentence from him, but each time was special in it's own, unique way. Soon enough, she nuzzled her nose into his neck, even more relaxed than before.

"My dragon." her whisper reached his ears. His smirk turned into a soft smile and his tail curled up a little tighter around her "Don't you dare to leave me, ever." suddenly her voice gave away her fears, something he wasn't expecting of her, she wasn't one to let herself act vulnerable, always keeping that stubborn attitude of hers, trying to prove to him her strength.

"I wouldn't dare to." he answered confidently, his hands and tail keeping her close to his body, sharing his warm with her, a contrast to otherwise chilly cave.

Two lovers, two hearts, one soul.

#love and deepspace #sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lnds #l&ds #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus fluff

466 notes · View notes

jezebelblues · 9 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .ᐟ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

holy smokes!! i can’t believe i’m already making one of these for my page

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 || 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

(they’re open but i’m slow sometimes so remember to be patient <3 i’m not ignoring u, promise)

active as of march 2025

works with sexual content will be pink

𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

everything listed belongs to me !! thanks for stopping by n reading <3

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 [au] | discontinued

pt 1 , pt 2

summer of 1979, where y/n just got a new position in the DEA with harry’s little crew in miami. but are there ulterior motives?

‎𐦍 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 [vamprry au] | ongoing

pt 1, pt 2

over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫 (𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝) | 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄

pt 1, pt 2

we don't talk about it, it's something we don't do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

‎𐦍 𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 [college!h au] | 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄

pt 1, pt 2

in which two broke college students ignore the fact that they’re falling for each other. (just because you ignore it, doesn’t make it any less real.)

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

‎𐦍 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟 | oct ‘24

y/n and harry are hold up in a record store due to inclement weather.

‎𐦍 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 [au] | oct ‘24

fall 1925. a journalist looking for a story, a jazz musician dancing with the devil.

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 | oct ‘24

lovey sunday morning in bed that ends with him buried inside her.

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | oct ‘24

in which the world ends through your perspective, alongside your husband.

‎𐦍 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 | oct ‘24

in which a girl feels too afraid of commitment because of her past, and the boy who knows nothing of it, falls helplessly anyway.

‎𐦍 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 [au] | oct ‘24

florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 [daddry] | oct ‘24

harry passes the lime torch to his son. or in which you teach your son how to ride a bike.

‎𐦍 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 [au] | oct ‘24

and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

‎𐦍 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

in which you're a famous streamer n you finally let harry join one of your streams. (though the evening ends a bit differently than you expected)

‎𐦍 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 [daddry] | oct ‘24

in which spiderman is so much cooler than dad

‎𐦍 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 | oct ‘24

harry struggles with his sobriety when y/n leaves him [angst+substance abuse] !!

‎𐦍 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 ‘𝟐𝟐 | oct ‘24

daddry request + niall

‎𐦍 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 | oct ‘24

drippin’ on me till my feet are wet

‎𐦍 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 | nov ‘24

requested fluff / college!harry au

‎𐦍 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 [au] | nov ‘24

it isn’t about fruit

‎𐦍 𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬 [demonrry au] | nov ‘24

and when he found her—her prayers trembling on her lips, her heart untouched by sin—he knew he found his altar.

‎𐦍 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐮 [au] | dec ‘24

now money’s not a problem but, in twenty years it seems you’ve forgotten malibu, ‘92

‎𐦍 𝐭𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 | dec ‘24

harry is all soft n needy for you after a get together at your guys’ shared apartment.

liminal

𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

.ᐟ 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐫𝐲

putting these in chronological order if ur into that :) if not, no need to read in order at all, it won’t effect anything <3

home

so not cool

june’22

slowpoke

𐙚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 !!

thank you sm again for checking this out!

— ash

633 notes · View notes

nutellavvv · 5 months ago

Text

Eyes That Wander (Humanoid! Enderman x F!Reader)

Summary:

“Beware of the purple eyes.” In an alternate Minecraft universe, Y/n is warned of Endermen, a mythical humanoid species that come from The End. Y/n lives in a humble village, living with a weary overbearing mother, and a missing father. In Y/n’s youth she wanders into the forest and encounters a young Enderman. A naive decision gives her a taste of freedom, but leads her down a path of risky decisions and a forbidden romance.

Themes: Romance, Drama, Angst, Smut, Childhood friends to Lovers.

Disclaimer: In this universe Endermen and other select monsters are humanoid compared their original Minecraft designs. The Endermen in this series look more human!!!

——————————

Prologue: Love at First Purple

wc: Almost 2k

A/N: I feel like this is so niche… But I hope yall like it. Find me on AO3 @/nutellav !

“Whatever you do… don’t look at them.”

“If you catch a glimpse… pretend you didn’t.”

“… Don’t look them in the eyes.”

5 years later…

When Y/N was 5 years old her father had gone missing. And asking about it wasn’t an option, her mother avoided the question. But there was one thing Y/N knew for sure, purple eyes meant danger.

"Endermen, a species of lost souls reborn through The End Kingdom.” At least— that’s what she had learned about them in school. It was vague, and her mother had a heavy dislike of them.

“They’re dangerous, that's all you need to know, okay sweetie?” A teacher explained to her once.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts when suddenly she heard someone call out to her.

“Y/N! We’re going to play hide and seek’ today… when the moon comes out!” The little boy, Jax, exclaimed with a mischievous smile, “Can you join us?”

Y/N’s friends all stared at her, the silence hanging heavy in the air.

She spoke hesitantly, “I don’t know guys… My mom wouldn’t allow that—“

”C’mon Y/N! Your mom doesn’t let you do anything—! You can't even play with us in the morning, what's up with that?” Another friend of Y/N’s whined, frowning.

”H-Hey…! Don’t be mean to Y/N. Her mom is strict… we can’t do anything.” Lilith, Y/N’s best friend interrupted, looking stern but supportive.

The little group of friends went quiet, the whole village knew Y/N’s father had gone missing.

Whether it was through their parent’s gossip or whispers throughout the town. One thing the community knew for sure— was that it had heavily impacted Y/N’s mom.

Y/N walked home, feeling down once again, it’d been years since she had properly gone outside.

The small girl entered her home, the air heavy.

”Ah! Y/N! I’m so glad you made it home safely!” Her mother gasped, tumbling over and gripping the girl tightly in her arms, “Dinner will be ready soon, sweetie.”

There was always this frantic undertone to her mother’s actions. She could never pinpoint why.

Later at dinner, Y/N scooped at the mushroom soup— but she was deep in thought. Debating if asking to go out with her friends was worth a shot. But before she could finish her thoughts, her mother spoke.

“Y/N… I feel like… I’ve been hard on you lately. I’m sorry, sweetie.” She spoke up hesitantly.,

Mother cleared her throat, ”You deserve to go outside, play with kids your age… Explore this world. That's what your dad would’ve wanted.”

Tears began to bubble up in Mother’s eyes, “I’m sorry for shutting you in! You’re a growing girl! J-Just because I’m afraid of losing you… I shouldn't keep you trapped!” Mother gasped between words, her form looking weak and defeated.

Y/N was hesitant to speak— but then Mother wiped her tears. “Is there anything you want to do? Let me know, you’re a big girl now.” She said with an awkward smile.

Y/N paused, her 10-year-old brain processing the moment. Was this her chance to ask?

“M-My… friends are going to be playing at the park later tonight! It’s close to our house… there will be lots of adults there and lots of torches!” Y/N blurted out quickly, “… they invited me… can I go?”

Mother had a nearly horrified look on her face, but took a deep breath,

”Okay. T-That's… fine-“,

”YAAAY—!”

—————

“Really? Your mom said yes?” Lilith asked.

Y/N nodded excitedly, her friends looking at her in surprise.

”Psh… Hurry up, guys! Let's play hide and seek already, I’ll count first!” Jax yelled.

Suddenly the children started to disperse, running in separate directions.

”Let’s hide over here Y/N,” Lilith whispered, the little girl grabbed onto Y/N’s hands, running into the forest together.

The girls ran towards a bush, but it wasn’t big enough to hide the both of them.

Y/N whisperer, ”You hide here, I’ll hide over there!”

Y/N began to trek through the oak biome, the lights from their village lightly illuminated the surrounding forest they explored.

”Ready or not! Here I come!” Jax shouted from afar.

Y/N’s steps began to quicken, attempting to find a place to hide. This was her first time playing with her friends in a while, she would make this hiding spot memorable.

The air was cold, her eyes focused ahead, the forest getting denser, darker.

”Found you!”

She heard Jack’s voice faintly from afar, nobody was going to find her at this distance—she thought.

“AHHH—“ Thump.

In Y/N’s haste, she tripped, falling onto the grassy forest floor. Scrambling off the ground, she suddenly heard the floor crunch behind her. The girl looked behind her—

purple.

Purple eyes that glowed in the darkness surrounded by a white sclera.

It appeared to be a young Enderboy. His skin was a brown tan with a grey undertone— he had black hair that appeared to be buzzed. He was tall but looked similar in age to Y/N.

But those eyes, it was like looking into a galaxy. His eyes were full of life… but most noticeably, they were purple.

Wait— purple?

“Don’t look them in the eyes.” She remembered.

Y/N gasped, covering her eyes.

“I-I didn’t see anything!” She shouted. Y/N shivered in fear, heart pounding. She had made eye contact, it was clear as day! She looked into those beautiful glowing purple eyes and was going to die now!

Any moment now...

Now?

Wait. Nothing's happening.

Y/N carefully, but cautiously, peeked out through her fingers.

"Hey!" The boy shouted, frightening Y/N to cover her eyes back up.

"You... didn't run from me. Why? Why didn't you run away?"

The boy knelt, looking at Y/N like she was some strange creature.

"W-What do you mean..?" She replied hesitantly.

"—Answer me! You saw my eyes, why didn't you run?" The boy snapped, a raspy distorted undertone escaping his throat at his slight frustration.

"I..." Y/N thought of his mesmerizing gaze, a cemented image in her mind

"I thought your eyes were beautiful... I couldn't look away. I don't know..." She mumbled awkwardly, fitting for a simple-minded 10-year-old.

The boy was silent. He stood up, resting his hands on his sides. He was puzzled, the first time he had been puzzled in his life. All because of this confusing human girl.

After a long drawn out moment, he took a deep breath,

"You can open your eyes..." He said gently.

"A-Are you sure—! But—!"

"You already looked at my eyes and I'm not attacking you, am I?!" The boy snapped.

Y/N quieted down, realizing that it didn't seem like she was in any danger. And... this boy didn't look like the dangerous Endermen that were often described to her. He was... so little. With cautious hands, she uncovered her face, meeting the boy's gaze.

The boy stared at her suspiciously, he looked puzzled and lost, but... on the other hand, he looked... intrigued.

"You're a strange human," He commented, his posture loosening up.

Y/N gasped, "Hey! What do you mean by that?" She shouted, almost immediately regaining her composure.

The Enderboy paused, "I mean... most humans see me and run away. I'm scary, right? I-I'm a monster, you're supposed to run away!" He exclaimed insecurely.

Y/N listened intently, he was right for the most part. But for some reason, he wasn't scary, and she couldn't find the instincts to run.

"You're pretty short for an Enderman... are you an Enderman?" Y/N questioned.

"I'm not short!" He snapped, "I'm just... shorter than most. B-But it's because most of the Enderman in the overworld are adults! I'm going to be tall like them too someday..."

Y/N nodded, the thought piqued her interest. "Oh! I see... are there other... Enderkids like you?"

"Tch! No! I'm the only one brave enough to explore the overworld," He said, with a confident smirk, "The End is so boring!"

Y/N raised a brow. "Really? But doesn't it get lonely without your friends?"

"Friends? I don't have friends, and... I don't need friends to explore!" The boy shook his head.

"No friends!?" Y/N gasped.

Then an idea dawned on her, her eyes gleaming with inspiration. An idea that would change the course of her entire life. But the kindness and curiosity in her heart wouldn't stop her.

"Hey! How about I be your first overworld friend? I could help you explore..." Y/N smiled.

The Enderboy froze, raising a brow. He took a moment to think about it.

"Sure. You can be my friend." He said, a nonchalant expression on his face, but the sides of his mouth twitched, hiding a naïve excitement, "But we'll be exploring places far from your home."

Y/N's eyes widened, in interest and intrigue.

Suddenly,

"Y/N! Where are you!" Jax called out. "We're done playing now! Come out we're going to go home now!" Lillith shouted.

Y/N quickly turned around, thinking rashly, "Ah! I-I have to go now... let's meet here tomorrow! When the sun sets? I want to talk to you more!"

The steps of her friend's were getting louder, and closer. "Hurry, go! My friends might freak out if they see you!" Y/N whispered frantically.

"Wait, what's your name?" The boy asked.

"Oh— right! I'm Y/N!"

"I'm Eros." He smiled.

Suddenly Y/N heard loud rustling behind her, turning around to the noise swiftly.

"There you are Y/N! Geez, you're so competitive, we almost got the adults involved!" Jax said.

Suddenly his eyes widened, noticing what was behind Y/N.

He let out a scream.

Y/N panicked, "Wait! Jax, I can explain! I- its-"

Then Lilith burst out laughing.

"Jax, you're such a scaredy-cat, getting afraid of a chicken?" The girl began to giggle hysterically.

Y/N whipped around, seeing that Eros was nowhere in sight.

"C'mon, let's go home." Lilith giggled.

The children made their way back to the village, conversing about the fun and eventful night.

Y/N was lost in thought, satisfied with the encounter she had. She was surprised, being told for years the vague and scary things about Endermen. But she had just met one— and he wasn't dangerous or scary! She had to tell her mom about this... she had to tell everyone! Maybe if her mom met Eros... she wouldn't be afraid any more—

"AAAAHHHH!"

A blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

"An Enderman! Someone— please help! HELP ME!"

Y/N's blood ran cold, she and her friends were frozen in fear at the sight before them.

A large Enderman held her mother up in the air with long grotesque limbs. His mouth was foaming with an odd black substance, his eyes a blinding purple— it was lifeless, nothing like Eros's eyes.

Suddenly a few men cried out, slashing the monster from behind— it let out a feral screech before teleporting away.

Mother fell to the ground, looking utterly shaken. Mother's frightened gaze caught site of Y/N.

"Y/N!" She screamed, dashing off the ground, her hair and outfit disheveled, "I-I'm so... Everything's okay... Mommy is okay. My baby is okay. We are okay..." Mother hyperventilated, holding Y/N in a tight grip.

The moonlight loomed over the town, setting an unsettling mood.

"Mommy's never going to let those monsters get to you... You're safe... If anyone touches my baby they're... dead." Mother mumbled in between overwhelmed gasps.

Behind Y/N she could hear the cries of her peers, her body locked in place by her mother's tight grip.

The sound of sobs, screams, and angry shouting commenced, Y/N's eyes focused on the bright full moon— thoughts raced through her mind.

No.

She couldn't tell her mom about Eros.

Not anyone.

Not now— not ever.

It was too late to turn back now, the young Y/N had made her decision.

From that day on, the connection between Y/N and Eros grew in secret.

—————————— End

Up Next:

Chapter 1: What's it like when an Enderman turns 18? Well... It's a lot more dangerous than you'd expect.

Tag List: 🦗

#fanfic #x reader #minecraft #minecraft x reader #enderman #enderman x reader #y/n #f!reader #new fic #x y/n #enderman minecraft #smut #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #archive of our own

314 notes · View notes

13tinysocks · 1 month ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Mark knows one thing: All good things come to an end.

[Invincible Varients X Reader]

14 * Break(Up) [7.6k]

[Part one] [Ao3] [13] [15]

"You know that guy that shot himself in the back of the van?

Botched it and blasted his whole fucking face in half."

Botched - Go Hang

Day ??????

"I want to... just no fire this time." Mark said, hard under your hips. He was laid on your shared cot, pretty in the firelight, dinner boiling on the exo-skeleton stove. You'd yet to go beyond where you'd sexually explored. He was still too nervous to hurt you, but horny as an alley cat. You didn't mind the distraction and it seemed to keep him grounded, stable.

You furrow your brow. "What's the fire got anything to do with this?"

His hands soften their hold on your breasts. Tank top forgotten somewhere. That, at least, was new.

"I can see myself," he says barely above the fire-crack, "in your eyes."

You were so much healthier now with a constant stream of food and water. Cumming on the semi-daily. Yet without sun, you weren't as glowing as you could be. You were becoming something that withered in the gloom, something like him. Deformed. Monstrous. Seeing his reflection, even a moment, reminded him that he was corrupting you. Ruining you. Letting you rot with him in this cave. This dark, isolated place so much like his personal hell, just bigger.

"I like seeing you." You say.

"Well, I don't." He'd be more snappish if his dick wasn't hard, twitching for attention.

You could live without fire, the light for now. So you lean off of him, and dash out the blaze. "Happy?"

Without the possibility of seeing himself, seeing how trapped he was, "Yes."

Day ????????

"You hear that?"

You woke in the dark, sleep heavy on your lids. You slept too much to tell the time. Mark sometimes slept with you, like tonight. Curled up together for warmth at first then for company.

"Hear what?" You turn your ear to the ceiling as he slipped out of the cot.

"That." He floated up. Pressed his head to the cool roof of the cave. Fingers flat to the dirt to feel any vibration. He listened and listened and listened. You tried to listen, you couldn't see where he went in the oppressive dark, just knew he left your side and would spiral if you let him feel around in the dark.

Crack!

There it is!

Crack!

But from where?

Crack!

Below him. He looked down to find the white carapace glowing with orange with light. A frown twitched on his cheeks. Every time he left you were back at it, making fires- light to see by. Nothing was that important to see here. Plenty of blind folk did by feel so why couldn't you?

He shook his head. There he goes again. Thinking crazy. You were used to seeing. Comforted by light's normalcy. He needed to stop being so weird. He needed to get himself in check.

You pop your head out, trying to see, but he was too far up, shrouded by the shadows. He knows he should return, but he can't bring himself to. He pressed his head to the cool rock and felt the cuffs holding him to the ground while his father's voice whispered he would never escape.

Day ?????????

"I just don't get what's taking him so long," Mark says.

"I don't know." You'd tread this topic flat. Mark turned it into a desire path.

"I mean, how long's it been?"

You rest your head against his shoulder, bored even though he was flying you around, "I don't know."

You'd been walking, trying to explore the mold cave by yourself but he deemed it too dangerous for you to go alone. He put the torch out, scared it'd catch on something if you weren't careful. Flew you through the sneeze-inducing cavern while you couldn't see a thing. So much for exploring.

"You agree, right? He should've been here by now."

"Probably. If you're so worried about it maybe we should try to dig up." His doubt was starting to wear on you, it was impossible to convince yourself things would be fine when he wouldn't stop insisting the opposite was true.

"Do you think I actually killed him?" He ignores the last part, you don't know if it's on purpose or if he's stuck in a loop.

"I think it'd take a lot more than that to kill one of you." Except you hadn't seen the full damage done to Phantom. Mark moved too fast.

"I broke his leg." Mark admits, "I saw the bone. I didn't mean to it just happened." His brain screamed infection but he knew that wasn't likely. Viltrumites regrow entire organs and never sport a sniffle. But his father had been the one to tell him this, his father who always seemed to be so full of lies. Taking him to that prison, telling him everything was going to be alright. He just needed a few months in the slammer to clear his head, change his mind. A lie. He never did.

Angstrom Levy said he could kill his father. A lie. He never got to.

Angstrom Levy said he could have you. Not a lie. Hold it together.

Day ??????????

You don't eat inside the hamster enclosure. It'd grown stuffy with crab smelling steam, with your constant, all-day lounging. Mark let you explore, but never far without company. If you were alone he insisted it be in the hut, where Phantom's tracker was.

Defiance was sitting just outside, slurping the same soup you'd been eating for days. He doesn't make a comment as he touched down, wiping spores off his clothes. He eyes the fire flickering inside the hut. "Do you really need that?"

"I like seeing when I eat." You say in between bites.

"You don't need to though, do you?" His tone is clipped. Though he made no move to go inside and put out the blaze.

It pisses you off. "I need to not feel like I'm back in prison."

"I-" Words are swallowed. He walked inside, head low. Returning with a shallow bowl. He didn't need to eat but with prison and all the memories it brought, an animal instinct inside him told him to.

He sat down heavily. Sloshing hot water on his thighs that he could barely feel. "I don't mean to make you feel that way. I just-" Out the corner of his eye, you sip at the bowl's edge. "I felt like I almost lost you when those two attacked me. I'm scared they'll find you and I won't know where you are and they'll hurt you again."

You don't think they're going to find you but you don't say it. "I can handle myself."

"Can you?"

You set the bowl aside. Finished. Food sat heavy at the bottom of your stomach. "Mark. I kill people for a living. I went to a prison where I was constantly collared and couldn't use my powers. You think surviving that was easy? Surrounded by a bunch of other criminals, some worse than me, some who knew I killed people they loved? The guards had to keep me in solitary most of the time so Machine Head's favorite murder machine didn't leave in a body bag." Too many of the employees there were in his pocket. They kept you locked pillowy tight, safe as could be from the other riffraff when the warden wasn't around. The other inmates hated you for it. "I knew I was going to have to work for him when I got out but still I was relieved. Safety like that isn't safety, you know?"

"I wish my sentence was like that." He says instead of acknowledging the point you were trying to make. That he was doing the same thing your jailor did.

You shouldn't ask but you do. "What was it like?"

"Bad." Just remembering made his hands start to shake. Sloshing more of the soup on his legs.

You take his bowl and set it aside. Put a hand on his, feeling like an asshole. Of course it was bad- just look at him. "You don't have to talk about it."

He made his muscles go taught all over to quell the shake. "You want to know."

"But I don't need to."

He considers this before saying. "For most of it, nothing happened. Where I was kept was far away from everything it..." When he shut his eyes he saw his father standing bloody over him. When he looked at the floor, dark and matte, he saw the same floor as his cell, unbreakable, unstainable no matter how much blood his body wept. When he breathed in the stale air, it smelled the same. "The waiting drove me crazy."

Waiting. He was still waiting. Waiting for Phantom to come. Waiting for him to dig a sturdy tunnel to the surface. Waiting to get out of here. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the punishment. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, it was going to be bad. It was always bad. Worse than the last worst thing.

"I'm sorry."

Your apology is like canon shot straight through his head. He'd known this version of you a month and never heard words so sincere. "Why?"

You shrug, "Because prison sucks. My sentence was definitely not as bad as yours and I dunno, I'm sorry for that. I mean, I wouldn't trade places with you or anything but I wish I understood."

You crack a smile. Try to lighten the moon but his brain superimposes you into his cell. Puts you under his father's scrutinous gaze. Your skin dripping down your face. You curled in a meaty ball, sobbing while your flesh blistered. He wondered what you, his version of you, looked like while dying.

He needed to puke.

He left without warning. So quick you fell back and can't see where he'd gone.

Day ???????????

You put the fire out soon as he got 'home'. Dinner was served. If it even was dinner time.

He sat, ate as quietly as he could which wasn't very quiet at all. He didn't like you seeing him eat. He tried eating with the barb utensils, really, he did but it was so awkward and wrong. Eating with his hands was better but he was embarrassed if you watched him. So, no light at mealtimes. No light while you touched him. No light while sleeping. The list was only getting longer.

You blindly stab for meat, barb going tink-tink-tink against the exoskeleton bowl. "How are the babies today?"

He was right. They didn't eat after birth and they didn't live long. The dead were slowly staring to pile up in corners. It was too early to tell if the population was dwindling but you were starting to guess yes. Not enough worker mites to drag them away to use as fertilizer in the farm You took it upon yourself to move the piles of carcasses. Not a fan of their smell after a few days.

"Mmm." He slurps something down.

"The nursemaids still feeding them pieces of the queen?" You pop a piece of meat into your mouth. Sour with age. The queen was starting to go bad. Mark tried to jerky-fy her the same way Gray had but it didn't work, only left the cave so smokey you couldn't make a fire for what felt like weeks. He also ended up burning a pound of her precious meat, but at least you could use it as fuel. Which you were also running low on. You were considering turning to the mold farm, maybe using dried bug shells or egg linings.

He grunted in reply. He hadn't spoken to you since the prison talk. He'd regressed to his prison days. Make no noise, make no waves, and he'd be okay.

You gave it time, then more time, and more time but this was getting ridiculous. You keep the conversation so you don't go fucking crazy.

"Any of the girlies in the lead?" In the last few days, a few of the young grew bigger than the rest. Still fleshy and wriggling but clear replacements for the queen. Only one of them would survive to adulthood and it'd be good to know who to get on your side. Much as you could get a bug on your side.

Another grunt.

"Good talk."

You were annoyed with him. Hard not to be when stuck in close quarters so long. Yet he still had you on your back later. Eating you for desert without saying a word. He may have gotten worse at coping, but he'd gotten better at eating pussy. You don't mind your volume. Screaming into the carapace roof as you come undone. Hoping Phantom had a microphone in that little spyware thing you stuck to the wall. Maybe he'd get so jealous he'd throw caution to the wind and just come down already. Take you to the above ground where you longed to lounge in the sun. Even for a moment.

Day ???????????

Click click click-ity click.

They came forward in a wave of pale bodies. Climbing over egg sacks and atop each others backs to be the first to your feet. Before they can touch you, climb up your body, you let loose a loud click.

The masses stop. You hold up the stinking torch constructed from dead bugs speared through a piece of rebar. They do not flinch back from the heat and light. They are under your control and will not move until released. Controlling thousands at once is difficult but their minds were so simple, so tiny, it was like controlling a weakened Viltrumite. Harder than a human being at least.

With a click click click, they began to move out of your footpath. You stop when you're stood at the precipice of the nursery. The five fat larval potential queens wait for you on the backs of their adult caretakers. You look over them all, holding the torch overhead, assessing the strongest looking versus the scrawniest. You didn't know their criteria for survival but you hoped the biggest meant it was the healthiest.

You held out the old meat you'd brought along to the largest. She takes it in underdeveloped mandibles. Chittering as you let go. The first sound any of them had made since the queen died. It felt like a good sound and you couldn't help the small smile on your lips.

The trill travels back, a sound of content from the entire hive it seemed. You laughed, awkwardly, and held out another piece. The to-be queen took it and the sound repeats in a wave.

"(Y/n)," Mark's voice from far away, peaked with concern. "(Y/n)!?"

"Over here." He'd started talking to you again not too long ago, no apologies, no preamble. You didn't say anything about it either, just glad to have him talking again, to hear a voice besides your own.

He found you holding an oversized grub, the other bugs circling your feet. "I think I picked the queen?" You laugh while he hovers horrified. They could've swarmed you there were so many, a carpet of pale bodies going round and round in a not-quite death spiral.

"Put that thing down." He warns.

"She likes me." Even though she was wiggly and slimy and gross, she was a little cute. Mandibles grabbing hold of your tank top to nibble on. "I'm like, securing our spot in the hierarchy." You don't know if it's true. If you even did pick a queen or if the second you put her down the bugs would kill her.

Mark could care less what a bug thought. He tore the grub out of your hands and set it down, scared if he killed it the swarm would blame you. In the same breath, he picked you up so quick you dropped the torch. Your new friends swerved to avoid the blaze but some burn, popping out of their shells. "Hey!"

"I didn't know where you were." There's panic in his voice. "I couldn't find you." He'd gone to sleep some time ago. Didn't move when you woke up and left.

"I wasn't far away." You argue. "I had a light, you could see me."

"We've been using less light lately. What if I couldn't?" He landed outside the hamster hut and carried you inside.

"Okay, well, I need light to walk around this place unlike you." You wait for him to set you on the cot but he doesn't. "Uhm, hello, put me down?"

"You make me worry-"

"Mark."

"It's like you don't listen to me-"

"Mark."

"I worry about you so much, and it's like you don't care."

"Mark, put me down."

His hands flex but his body obeys. You take a step back in the dark and start to tilt back, tripping on the cot. Mark surged forward, caught you by the back.

"See?" His breath is hot on your face, grip hard on your upper arms, "I'm protecting you from yourself."

You don't like who he's becoming in the dark. "I don't need you to protect me." You wiggle in his hold, "Let go."

His hands spring open, you fall ass first to the cot. You feel it heavy in the air. His urge to pounce, to try and control, but he balls his fists and stays standing over you. You hate it.

"I want to be alone." You say. He hovered around so much, too much, glued to your hip. The words are a threat to use your power. You don't want to but if he makes you- you will.

"No." He says.

You think about forcing him but don't. It'd only make him worse. "Then don't bitch about the fire when I cook." You make no move for the pit.

"You ate this morning, you're not hungry."

"Excuse me?" It was true, but you were prickly, wanted something to change. You wanted out but he wouldn't try.

"I think you're trying to upset me."

You were annoyed that he was right, that he had been a brick wall so often any response seemed to piss you off. "I think you're being crazy right now."

Crazy? Crazy?

He took in a breath. "You think I'm being-" He heard his father in his voice just then. Shuts him right up, "I'm sorry. I- I just thought I was alone again. I got scared."

"Doesn't mean you can just pick me up like that. I'm not a doll, Mark."

God, he'd been so stupid. So, so stupid. Acting like the others. Possessive. Obsessive. Crazy. Part of him says to leave, to give you space but he doesn't. He can't stop himself from acting like the others. Suppose it was genetic.

Day ????????????????????

You sit outside the hamster hut. Far as Mark would let you go before he started acting off. More off than he had been down here. Fine, it's fine. You could handle it. You needed the practice controlling the bugs from far away.

You click loud and clear. Push and pull the bugs like the tide. Experimented with different sounds, seeing what they'd do. You'd actually managed to get them to dig. In the center of the main cave and not the ceiling like you wanted. You were trying to figure out the series of hisses and clicks that'd redirect them.

Mark knew what you were trying to do. All the what if's came piling in his head. What if the tunnel collapsed? What if it made the whole cave collapse? What if you wanted to get away from him? What if you were scared of him?

"You should stop." He said, watching your back.

"It's good practice." You say between clicks.

"You could hurt yourself."

"I won't."

He shuts up. Watches you try to redirect the bugs to middling success. Thoughts more discordant than the bugs movement. Louder than your clicking. He thinks he should kill the bugs. All of them so you can't dig a way out. He thinks that after days, maybe weeks of nothing happening, the hammer was about to come down. Thinks you're trying to tempt fate. Thinks maybe, just maybe, this was Phantom's idea all along. Phantom wasn't stupid. He knew Mark would crack up in the deep, isolate dark. He knew he'd regress. Act like the animal he was, all of them were deep down.

Mark needs you to know. "He's leaving us down here on purpose."

You watch the bugs. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's obsessed with you." He said.

"You're not making sense." Then you turn on him. He sees it in the dark, your furrowed brow and twitching lip. You think he's crazy.

He needs to make you understand. He's not crazy, he's not. "Think about it. They all want you to themselves but they can't have you if you're all over some fuckin' freak like me. So he stranded us down here. He's listening I bet. Maybe they're all listening, waiting to swoop in when I fuck up." If he had hair he'd pull at it. But he doesn't so his hands press down on the expanse of scars on his head.

Turns out, you weren't looking at him like he was crazy before- because you absolutely were now. "I don't think..." You sigh, stand, click and let the bugs disburse. "Mark, we can't know that. We can't know anything down here. I think we should start thinking about digging up for real. If we're slow about it and careful there shouldn't be a cave in." You hoped.

"There's going to be a cave in." He said assuredly.

"You don't know that." You reach out for him.

Phantom would know.

Mark didn't know anything at all. Down came the sledgehammer of reason. He didn't know. He was assuming. He was being crazy.

Your touch is like a healing balm he immediately relaxes into. "I'm sorry." He says. "I just- I don't know what's happening anymore. I thought I'd know what was going to happen when I got out and now I don't and I'm so scared all of the time. I'm sorry," His head starts to hang and he begins to lean in, melt into your body, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

You brace for his weight. Body stiff with how hard you had to hold him up, arms straining to wrap around his back as he cried into your neck. Yet no tears wet your skin. Trapped behind those black lenses until the moisture reabsorbed to skin, leaving behind remnants he could never recover.

Day ???????????????????????????????

"Mark, just sit down."

He doesn't reply. Feet endlessly going plap-plap-plap on the sweaty ground. He was always moving these days. Shaking his leg. Floating around you. Pacing. You suspected he was too scared to do it in prison, a way to distance himself from the memory. That if they heard him move they'd bust into the cell and beat him half-dead. You understood the need to distance himself, but the sound had been going for hours. It was the only thing you could focus on in the dark. He only let you light a fire if you were cooking now which was less and less often. The Queen had gone to rot. You'd turned to eating her subjects which Mark was starting to argue, could be eaten raw.

"Mark."

Plap-plap-plap.

"Sit down."

The sound is sucked out the air in a vacuum. You have to hold his mind down, headlock it to submission. It thrashes, writhes in your grip. Talking is difficult with how much he struggles but you manage, "Walking in circles won't get us out of here."

He breaks free so quickly and completely you feel the snap in your skull. Then he's on you, solid hand over your mouth.

"Don't do that." Breath hot on your face, powerful body hovering over you.

You hadn't used power on him for days- you think it'd been days- and he hadn't reacted badly then. But his tone, the crackle in the air, told you now things were different.

His hand falls away. Regretting the action as soon as he'd done it. His presence leaves you all at once.

"Never do that again." It reminded him too much of when his captors would put a bit in his mouth so he wouldn't bite off his own tongue during the torture, cuff him to the floor so they could torment him. He was horrified he'd lash out, kill you if you did it again.

Judging by how fast your heart raced? You thought the same thing.

Good, you should be scared of him. The thought makes him sick.

Day ????????????????????????????????????????????

He's convinced the others linger outside the rocky prison walls. Listening so hard if he thought loud enough they'd hear, the same way the prison guards always seemed to. This place was so close to where he'd been last month. Was it last month? Or two months ago now? A year? He was never good at keeping track of time in there. Worse in here. All he was good at was waiting for inevitable punishment.

But you were no good at that. Always trying to better yourself. Train with the bugs. Figure out their language slowly and surely like it was a game. You kept trying to soft launch the idea of getting them to dig you out but he always shot it down. Ignored you when you suggested he try digging out.

You were getting better at shucking bug exoskeletons to get to their tasty white meat. The queen was fully rotten now, but that was fine as her subjects were more tender and juicy. You were getting better at making soups. Which was endearing at first but now all he focused on was how quick you could build a fire. How often you built them. How loud and bright they were. How them burning meant you could see him at his very lowest. Could they see him too?

"We could eat them raw." He suggested for the millionth time, sat just out of view. Where the firelight couldn't touch him.

You give him a look, cracking a dead bug out of its shell and letting the meat roll into the makeshift pot. "I'm not doing that."

You don't get it. You don't understand the danger that's looming around the corner. Waiting to strike. You and your smile glowing, attracting bugs like him.

You'd be mad, but when nothing bad happened down the line- you'd understand.

He rushed forward, killed the fire in the stroke of an arm. Finally, he could be comfortably close to you.

"Mark! What the hell?"

"Quiet." He muttered in your ear.

You scoff and blindly reach out for the fire. Fingers finding hot coals. You hiss, reeling back a moment before reaching out again, not deterred at all. "What'd you do that for?"

You still didn't get it. He had to make you get it. He grabbed your arms from behind, chest pressed to your back, voice in your ear. "Stop," he says, "We don't need it."

"Yes we do, to eat." You try to shuck your arms out his grip but it's unwavering.

"No." He says.

Your lips purse. "We're not fucking cave bugs Mark. Let go of me."

Touch fell away like you burned him. It stayed away while you rebuilt the fire, mentally holding him in a choke hold after you told him to, "Stay."

When the fire was back on, you turned to him, frowning. Because you knew he wasn't happy you used your powers on him. You knew he'd do something shitty. So you kept the hold long and strong as you could just to look at him and his pretty face in the firelight.

When the hold breaks, darkness is almost immediate. Fire kicked to the hamster hut walls. "Mar-"

His hand came to your mouth, dirty fingers digging to your cheeks. "No." He growled. "No. No more."

You felt him moving you both. So fast you couldn't process until it was done. You sat on the cot, legs splayed in front of you, hands weighed heavy down between them. Wrapped in rebar still hot after being twisted so fast. Then your head, oh god, your head was so tightly wrapped round the middle you felt like you were a watermelon being squeezed by a hundred rubber bands. The cotton he'd used as a makeshift bit, pulled back your cheeks and dried the spit off your tongue. So thick you couldn't push the thing out with your tongue, could barely swallow.

He says, "I'm sorry," wavering with such fear. Like he wasn't the one scaring the shit out of you right now. Your heart rabbit fast in your chest, fighting the urge to scream. If you got your arms free, you could pull off the gag, talk to him, calm him down like you had been the whole time.

You wriggled in the restraints. Tried to use your feet to pull the rebar off your arms but it was too well wrapped. Knotted over itself and solid. Fear seemed to choke you and you resorted to screaming from your throat, hoping some syllables would break through and he'd realize how crazy this was.

"Why wouldn't you listen to me?" He says though you can barely hear him over your own guttural screaming. "I've been through this kind of thing before, I know what I'm talking about."

You beat your wrapped arms against the ground, making your bones vibrate, making the ground go clang clang clang.

He goes on, "I promise I'll take the gag out when you calm down. I can't trust you to make a bad choice right now." Your legs gather under you, push you up but his hands are on your shoulders, pushing your ass back down. You can't tell between the absolute oppressive black and his body. Both are everywhere.

"It's alright," he says soft, "I've got you."

Day ??????????????????????????????????????????????????

He poured water onto the cotton bit. Soaks it through until the water drips sourly onto your tongue. Pushed raw bug guts in the few gaps in the gag. Held you warm at night. Told you it was going to be okay.

You have no idea how long it's been like this, the dark seems to hold you in place. The past and the present feel the same, you don't feel like you have a future anymore. Only the darkness and his touch for the rest of your life. You are still scared, every time he moved, your mind screamed that this time he would snap your neck. That in his fucked up brain it'd be a better idea to kill you than find a way out. He wasn't even trying anymore. He didn't leave the hamster hut, a constant companion in the quiet dark.

Some part of him was lucid enough to know if he took off the gag, you'd get him back- oh you spiteful Mark-killing thing. The other bit of him, tiny as it was, said he should take the gag off. That you wouldn't hurt him, you cared about him. You wouldn't kill him. To which the other side said; "Wouldn't you?" Doubt ping-ponged him back and forth. Either way he wanted to take the gag off, wanted to apologize, but he felt the phantom cuffs and couldn't move.

You couldn't take it anymore. The dark. The hours of silence. Mark regressing. All of it. You'd been biding time, trying to store energy.

You rolled off of the cot that felt like your coffin, shuffling forward on your knees, spinning to face him- where you hoped he was. Know he's watching. You didn't do much after he first put you in the restraints, he'd promised to take the gag off when you calmed, but it never came. The dark made you begin to doubt he'd said anything.

You bend down, head first and find his chest. Headbutting him gentle as a docile cat. Grunting through the restraints, trying to say, "I wanna talk to you," but it came out as, "Ahhahaakohuu."

The warring sides of him flare. You were going to make him leave, bring the cave down, ruin everything you'd built together. You wanted to fix the bridge he burned because you were an angel. He knew he was the bad one for doing this to you. You must be so scared of him. You must want him dead.

That thought is worse than being in prison again, it echoes in his mind, making him move. His hands shoot out to undo the gag, let it fall to the ground with a wet thop. His hands come to either side of your head, where the gag left an irritated indent, red and deep. "Oh Jesus (Y/n)."

Hearing his voice crack made you want to cry but you couldn't. You were cried out because of him. Arms came around your middle, pressing you to his front as he shuddered with incoming tears. You stayed still, pushing your feelings down as you breathe through your mouth for the first time in what felt like a century. Your dry tongue flexes in its cage. Jaw and cheeks stretch, power builds up your throat as he snivels.

You wait until he pulls back, arms slipping away, leaving hands lingering on your waist. "I'm so s-"

"Mark." He's heartbroken by how little your voice sounds. It makes him want to break things because he knows what's coming and he knows it's all his fault. "Go to the ceiling, and dig a way out."

He lifted off the ground and out of the hut. Surprised into submission. But his grip didn't loosen for some moments, lifting you with him until his hands dropped to turn himself into a human drill. You fell, screaming but your hold on him stays.

You hear him hit the ceiling, shaking the cavern as you hit the ground. Twenty-feet worth of gravity come down on your left leg all at once. You feel the crack, fast, hot- the snap of your tibia breaking under skin. There's no time to scream before the rest of you hits the ground, forcing the air out your lungs.

Mark is fighting against your control as he spins, turning rock to gravel lighting quick. Your hold is as strong as his fist, crushing, insurmountable, until it's not. Gone all at once. The control leaves as you begin to scream.

He's knelt at your side, you can't see him but you feel the wind as he lands too quickly, hear his panicked breaths as he reaches for you. Dirt from his shoulders drop onto your face as he leans forward. You try to heave yourself up to get a look at the damage despite the dark and your weak human eyes. He can see it's bad. Your left leg was bent in the middle of your shin. He knows that if you saw it you'd puke, pass out, bleed out from the inside and die on him. Leave him here alone.

So he pushes you down to lay on your back. All he can hear is your sobbing and the falling rocks from the hole in the ceiling. The ceiling that now cracks and groans, but doesn't cave. He knew it was a bad idea, but he should've known you'd try something stupid and desperate like this. He remembers the desperation that came after months in the floating prison. How it'd all leached out of him the longer he sat, the harder they hit him. He needs to stop you from doing something like that again. To stop you from making it worse, just like he had.

He's stuck in his head again, holding you but unable to make a decision. Breath comes back to you in slow, burning sips of air.

"Mark-" you gasp, swallow, trying to scrounge up some power, "you need to keep digging."

He doesn't want to take off, to leave you, but your power hits him like Battle Beast's mace to the ribs. You are stronger in your adrenaline fueled desperation. You force him to fly up, to dig, dig, dig until the rocks become less hard, until he hits dirt that morphs into silky sand. But you are not as strong as Battle Beast, and you are woozy with agony. He feels it when you pass out, the lack of your power holding him. He is back in the caves as hundreds of pounds of now unsupported sand follow him. Piling under the hole in a building dune.

Mark kneels over you. One hand over your mouth, one hand under your neck. Watching as consciousness returned to your body. Tears kickstart as your brain registers the pain. You start to thrash against him but it doesn't work, makes the pain worse. You go limp under him, eyes searching for his face in the dark and not finding it.

"Why did you do that?" He says, voice roadkill raw.

You can't respond. Consider biting his hand but you're too scared. He scared you too much to fight back- like Scars, but somehow more unpredictable. You think if you fuck this up he'll kill you then lay next to your body, catatonic until he dies. You think he'll do it quick, a snap of the neck, and he'll think it's merciful. It'd be easy, then you'd be dead. You didn't want to be in this cave anymore but even more than that, you didn't want to die.

"The roof could've collapsed." He says, "You could've died. You could've..." He hears it. The thundering pitter-patter of your heart. Hummingbird fast because you're hurt and scared because of him. "I hurt you." All at once he is barraged by how miserable you must be down here with him. How he'd locked you up and thrown away the key like dad did. Like Mark did, the real Mark, your Mark because you told him what he did to you one night after sex. He'd grown distant after that, remembering you weren't really who he wanted to see outside of prison- then he clung to you, unwilling to leave you like he had.

"Oh God, oh God, I'm worse than him." His hands go up to his head.

You have no idea what he's talking about but you need to make him, "D-"

His hand is back over your mouth, harsh enough to make you gasp.

"No," a growl. "No. It'll cave in. Don't you see you're going to die? Stop it." Your heart beats on, terrified. Tears squirt out of your eyes. He's making you cry. Thumbs come up to wipe the tears away. "No, no, stop that, hey." The gentleness in his tone warbles like bad camouflage.

The more he wipes the tears away, the more come to replace them. He can't plug the flow. This is his fault. He knew he should've stayed in his box instead of going with Angstrom. He wasn't fit for the outside world or those distant planets with imaginary sap rivers. He wasn't fit for anything at all.

"I didn't mean to, (Y/n)." He cups your cheeks, lets the wetness gather on the sides of his rugged hands. Let it soak, burning into his skin as punishment. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to, please talk to me. Please, please, I love you." When it comes out, something feels ripped out of him. He was hollow before, but empty now. He couldn't love you, he didn't know you, not really. You were a figment he ruined like the first. He didn't deserve to give his heart to anyone- to push that curse onto anyone. Especially not you. You didn't need a rotten thing like him.

In his attempts to quell the tears, he no longer held your mouth shut. You could make him dig but the sand was coming down in a river now. The hole would dig itself now. Fill the cavern in a few hours at this rate.

The sun was coming, the nightmare was over. Mark didn't have to waste away in this hell anymore, didn't have to drag you down with him. You'd figure it out under the sun. Fix up your leg. Fix up his brain. You just needed him to calm down, to understand what was next.

"Mark," you croaked and he goes still, as if already under our control, "Just stop."

In your head, you mean for him to take a breath. To calm down. To talk this out. You were mad, sure, scared, absolutely, upset, totally, but he was still your partner in survival. Still someone you cared about.

In Mark's head? Stop was something yelled over the guards as they kicked his ribs in. Stop was what he said to his father's attempts at swaying him, to the lies he fed him. Stop meant more fists were coming. Stop was something he could never do in regards to loving you. To hurting you. Stop was ending your pain the only way he understood how.

You feel the impact more than hear it. A sound so strange, you couldn't process, couldn't even guess what it was. Then came his wheezy groan. The brassy drip of blood on stone. He let out a sigh as his body came down hard atop yours. Warming your arms with quickly spreading heat.

"Mark?"

You shift, expecting him to move with you. Maybe to help you up. Maybe to stop you. But he does neither. He shudders once twice, then goes completely, utterly still.

"Mark?"

You wriggle out from under him. Front soaked through, smelling of blood. So much blood you could choke.

"Mark?!"

You're on your knees in the dark. Padding around with arms tied by rebar, feeling for him, the problem, the sudden quiet. There's his bubble butt, there's his strong lower back, there's a.... wet, warm hole. There's... his arm going up. There's something in his hand. Hot and firm. Your hand comes away slick and reeking.

You don't remember when you started to scream. Or when you stopped

One moment you were. Then the next, you were face first in a puddle of congealing blood, your throat raw and head pounding. Movement pricked at your ears. You stirred, trying to return to reality. Sand almost buried you alive, you could feel it shift off your back. When your eyes open, there is sun coming through the roof. White hot and burning your eyes, but you can't look away, finally seeing him.

Light frames his back. Broad shoulders and narrow waisted. Standing over you.

"Mark?"

Water, something he hadn't had in days drips down his chin. Bugs wriggle in his grip, their juices on his lips. Stomach churning but starting to work after weeks of nothing. He looks strange to you in his blue and yellow suit, his pretty brown eyes squinting down at you. Mark wore white. Mark didn't have hair.

You looked just as strange covered in blood and bugs. His doppelganger laid beside you. Mostly buried in tan sand, gone dark brown with blood. His eyes adjust to the dim light and he sees the heart, held in his scarred hand peaking out of the sand. Jesus.

And there you are, bloodshot eyes, rebar tied too tight around your wrist. The miserable, missing and presumed dead girl who was the most valuable bargaining chip in the wastes. He doesn't have to think as your head starts to turn, eyes about to take in the view next to you. He's fast, swooping you up and out of the cave. The movement, being held, the shift- brings hot white pain. A sound comes out of your lips, dying with your waning consciousness.

194 notes · View notes

astraeajackson · 9 months ago

Text

MY WILL SOLACE HEADCANONS:

he has the absolute SOFTEST blond hair but ONLY lets a certain son of hades play with it

most people don't know he's from texas, but when things get rough in the infirmary his southern accent comes out so strongly even his fellow CAMPERS can't tell it's him

he was voted camp half-blood's hottest male blond of the year (jason was DEEPLY offended by this revelation)

during a blackout last summer chiron FORGOT to replace the emergency torch batteries so will was forced to crack his back MULTIPLE times during the whole ordeal and walk around like a fucking GLOW STICK

THANKS FOR READING I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT!!!

#rei's hcs #will solace #william andrew solace #nico di angelo #will solace headcanons #solangelo #camp half blood #percy jackson and the olympians #the heroes of olympus #the trials of apollo #the sun and the star #pjo hoo toa tsats #rick riordan #percy jackson #grumpy x sunshine #golden retriever boyfriend

731 notes · View notes

hereforuconnwbb · 15 days ago

Text

Foul Play - Chapter 1

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 4.2k

warning: language

hey guyssss heres a new series im starting (unless it's ass and i wanna delete it and not do it anymore)😭 yes ik i havent finished 'the study of us' yet but i will do it eventually !! but anyways this is series is basically js paige transferring to uconn from sc for her fifth year eligibility and azzi is apart of the uconn women's soccer team. nth really special in this first chapter but this is gonna be an enemies to friends to lovers series !! anyways i hope its good enough otherwise imma js delete it BSHASHAHSBA anywayssss hope u guys enjoy !! 🫶🏽

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

“BREAKING: NCAA CHAMPION PAIGE BUECKERS TRANSFERS TO UCONN FOR 5TH YEAR”

The words flashed across every tv screen in the uconn athletics facility, bold and glowing like someone had set fire to the sports world. On social media, the reactions ranged from stunned emojis to full-on chaos in the comments. Everyone had something to say. ESPN reposted it within seconds. Bleacher report added an edit with Paige’s highlights from South Carolina which had a halfcourt buzzer-beater, a no-look assist, a chase-down block. Comments flooded in. “uconn is stacked now.” “why didn’t she just go pro ?” “this is insane.” “huskies r winning it all this szn.”

Azzi ? She barely glanced at the screen.

Her cleats scuffed against the turf as she paced toward the goal during a water break, twisting her hair into a tighter bun. The girls around her, though ? You’d think God had just descended onto campus.

“Bro. Paige Bueckers. Here. At our school. That’s fucking wild,” said sophomore winger Angel. She was leaned up against the goalpost, grinning at her phone.

“Deadass. Like… she’s literally the face of women’s basketball,” Destiny added, eyes wide, her thumb hovering over her screen like she couldn’t believe what she was reading. “I thought she was gonna go pro for sure.”

Across the field, a group of freshmen huddled in a noisy pack near the bleachers. They were loud, obnoxious, and painfully obvious.

“Oh my god, she’s so hot. Have you seen her arms ?” one of them squealed.

“Wait, wait—look at this video,” chimed in another. “She dropped thirty on lsu last year with a sprained ankle. That’s like… fucking mythical.”

“Her eyes are literally blue like ice water,” said another.

Azzi rolled her eyes as she jogged toward the group, water bottle in hand. She caught Caroline and Kaitlyn stretching near midfield, overhearing everything too. Caroline looked like she was already over it. Kaitlyn had that smirk which was half amused, half irritated.

“You guys gonna start foaming at the mouth or what ?” Azzi called out, mostly to mess with them.

“Can you blame them ?” Kaitlyn shot back, straightening up and brushing turf pellets from her knee. “It’s Paige fucking Bueckers.”

“Who ?” Azzi asked flatly, wiping her face with her forearm.

Caroline let out a dramatic gasp. “Don’t embarrass us like that. You really don’t know who that is ?”

“Should I ?” Azzi asked, deadpan. She wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, it just wasn’t her world. She only watched basketball when Marcus played. And even then, she barely paid attention unless he was on the court and made a 3 or yelled her name from the bench.

Caroline gasped. “Dude, she won 2 nattys with SC. She torched every team in the bracket. People call her the next DT. She’s been in Nike campaigns. She was literally on the fucking cover of slam.”

“She’s a walking highlight reel,” Kaitlyn added. “Smart, unbothered, stone-cold on the court. And lowkey ? Too good for this school.”

Azzi squinted up at the clouds. “So why’d she transfer ?”

“No one knows,” Caroline said with a shrug. “Rumours are she had beef with the South Carolina staff, which I’m pretty sure they cleared that rumour. Some people say it’s about the w draft timing. Or nil stuff.”

“Whatever it is, we just got a legend,” Kaitlyn said, then leaned closer. “And we finally have someone on campus who isn’t Marcus Reed.”

Azzi blinked. “You’re not a Marcus fan now ?”

Caroline scoffed. “Az, you know we love you. But your man’s a walking turnover with a midrange game from hell.”

“He’s got no court vision,” Kaitlyn added with a snort. “If he passes to a teammate, it’s by accident. Even Paige’s high school mixtape looks way better than his best college game.”

Azzi held back a laugh. “You guys are haters.”

“We’re just honest,” Caroline said sweetly, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “And if Marcus knew anything about passing, he’d pass you the ball once in a while.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to start defending him—not here, not to them. Marcus was complicated. Her boyfriend, sure. But lately, he’d been so far up his own ass about the upcoming season that he barely asked about her own games.

Back across the field, the group of freshmen were still going off.

“I’d let her cross me up and dunk on my soul,” one sighed dramatically.

“Bro ion even think she dunks,” another laughed.

“She could dunk on my heart tho,”

Azzi shook her head and looked toward the facility across campus, where the basketball players would be later on. Where the blue-eyed transfer apparently was going to be.

“Hope she knows what she’s walking into,” Caroline muttered beside her, watching the frenzy.

Kaitlyn grinned. “She doesn’t. Not yet.”

Azzi smirked. “You guys sound obsessed.”

“We are,” Caroline said simply. “Because Paige Bueckers ? She’s that bitch.”

And just like that, the season had officially changed. No one knew what was really coming.

—---------------------------------------

Azzi was walking back to her dorm, airpods in, shin guards shoved halfway into her backpack, still sweating from drills.

She rounded the path toward the side entrance of her building, swiping sweat off her brow, when she nearly crashed straight into someone dragging a suitcase and a duffel bag up the kerb.

“Shit—watch it,” the girl muttered, stepping back just before their shoulders clipped.

Azzi blinked. “Maybe don’t take up the whole sidewalk.”

The blonde looked up, jaw tense, her eyes a piercing, icy blue and had that unmistakable air of someone who didn’t give a single fuck.

“Didn’t realize I needed a permit to exist here,” the girl said flatly.

Azzi took out one earbud. “You always this friendly, or is it just me ?”

The girl scoffed, not even looking at her as she yanked her suitcase over the edge of the path. “You ran into me. But sure, let’s make it my fault. That tracks.”

Azzi folded her arms, her temper flickering to life. “Ok, relax. It’s not that deep.”

“Right. God forbid I mess up your little jog home.” The girl finally looked her full in the face, and there was nothing kind about her stare. “You done ?”

Azzi raised a brow. “With what ? Existing near your suitcase ?”

“You sound real proud of that attitude for someone who can’t walk in a straight line.”

Azzi blinked, then actually laughed—sharp and humourless. “Ok, what’s your deal ?”

“You tell me,” the blonde fired back. “You act like you own the sidewalk and then pick a fight when someone doesn’t roll over for you.”

Azzi stepped forward. “I didn’t pick anything. You’ve got a whole attitude like you’re too good to be here.”

“I am,” she said, voice cool and even.

Azzi stared. “Geez. You’re dead serious.”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, taking her in now—tall, loose-limbed, unimpressed. Her hoodie said UConn Women’s Basketball, and something clicked in her brain.

“No way,” she muttered. “Wait—are you Paige ?”

The girl looked at her like it was none of her business. “Depends. Are you someone important ?”

Azzi’s jaw locked. “No. Just someone who lives here. Someone who goes here. Unlike you, apparently.”

“Congrats.” Paige said it like a punchline, shifting her bag over her shoulder. “Now if you’re done measuring your ego, I’ve got shit to do.”

Azzi stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “You know, I don’t care who you are. Transfer, champion, whatever. You’re not the only one who works their ass off here.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Cute speech. Maybe you should save it for someone who asked.”

The silence was tight, electric.

“You’ve got a hell of a mouth for someone who just got here,” Azzi said.

“And you’ve got a hell of an ego for someone I’ve never heard of,” Paige shot back.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “Go to hell.”

Paige brushed past her, barely glancing back. “Already been. uconn’s just the next stop.”

The door slammed behind her with a sharp bang.

Azzi stood there for a second, stunned, jaw clenched. Her heart was still racing. She didn’t even know why. All she knew was 1 thing for sure:

She hated her.

And Paige ? She hadn’t even bothered to ask her name.

—---------------------------------------

Paige let the door slam shut behind her, the echo bouncing off bare dorm walls as she dropped her stuff with a thud. The room smelled like fresh paint and cheap pine cleaner, and everything about it felt unfamiliar, too clean, too quiet. New school, new room, same weight on her shoulders. Fifth year. Whole different battlefield.

She hadn’t even made it inside for 5 minutes before someone knocked.

“Paige ! Open up, it’s me,” came a voice from the other side.

She yanked the door open, still annoyed, and there was Aubrey, grinning like her whole day had just been made.

“Hey,” Aubrey said, practically bouncing. “Word is the women’s soccer team is already foaming at the mouth over you.”

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping aside. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Aubrey tossed her bag onto the chair and laughed. “Nah, I’m serious. Apparently half of them were drooling during practice.”

“Geez bruh,” Paige muttered, walking over to the bed and dropping onto it. “I already had one of them come at me outside just now.”

Aubrey blinked. “Wait, for real ?”

Paige nodded, pushing her hair back, still annoyed. “Yea. She almost ran into me, then acted like it was my fault. Got all up in my face like she was better than me.”

Aubrey’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. Was she like kinda your height but a lil shorter ? Body is fit ? High bun? Brown eyes ? Tan skin ?”

Paige looked at her like she was psychic. “Sure. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to her biography.”

“That was Azzi,” Aubrey said, like it was obvious. “She’s like their golden girl.”

Paige scoffed. “Well their golden girl’s got a stick up her ass.”

Aubrey snorted. “What’d you say to her ?”

Paige leaned back against the wall, smirking despite herself. “Told her I’ve already been to hell. UConn’s just the next stop.”

Aubrey howled. “You’re such a menace.”

“She started it,” Paige said dryly. “Came at me like I owed her rent for walking near the building.”

Aubrey shook her head, still grinning. “God, this school is not ready for you.”

Paige stretched her legs out, her tone cooling again. “I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to win. That’s it.”

“Yea, well… you might end up doing both,” Aubrey said, eyes gleaming. “KK’s been pacing around like it’s christmas morning. Ice nearly jumped out the damn window when she saw your locker.”

Paige let out a short laugh. “At least somebody’s normal.”

Aubrey nodded. “Speaking of not normal—practice today’s a joint one.”

Paige sat up. “With who ?”

“The guys.”

“Fucking hell,” Paige muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “You deadass ?”

“Yea. You good with that ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenched, then loosened. “Whatever. I’ll survive.”

Aubrey gave her a long look but didn’t push it. Paige appreciated that.

“Anyway,” she said, heading for the door, “next time you run into Azzi, try not to murder each other.”

Paige smirked without humor. “No promises.”

Once she was alone again, Paige leaned back against the mattress, her arms folded behind her head, eyes on the ceiling. She wasn’t here to make friends. She didn’t need them.

—---------------------------------------

The walk to the basketball facility was quiet, and full of muscle memory Paige hadn’t realized she still carried. Same bounce in her step. Duffel slung low on her shoulder. Same pre-practice tension tingling in her limbs. Only this time, she wasn’t wearing gamecock colours. She was now a Husky.

The doors to the facility swung open automatically, a blast of cool air hitting her flushed cheeks as she stepped in and that’s when she saw him.

Marcus Reed.

He was walking in from the opposite side lot, headphones around his neck, gym bag slung low, hoodie bunched around his elbows. His jaw tensed the second their eyes locked across the lobby.

Fucking perfect.

Paige didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Just kept walking. And of course, he slowed his steps, timing it perfectly so they hit the entrance hallway at the exact same moment.

“Wow,” Marcus said, voice dry and low. “Look what the fucking wind dragged in.”

Paige smiled tightly, not stopping. “I could say the same about you.”

Marcus huffed a laugh, stepping sideways to block her path just before the double doors to the gym. “Still acting like you’re better than everybody, huh ?”

“I am better than you,” Paige shot back. “Always have been.”

He scoffed, stepping even closer. “Yea ? Then why you here ? Coulda gone pro. But nah you just had to crawl to uconn for more attention, huh ?”

Paige’s jaw twitched. “You think I give a fuck about your little theories ?”

“I think you’re desperate. Washed up, maybe,” Marcus said, leaning in like he wanted her to flinch. “You ain’t special anymore, Bueckers. You’re old news.”

“Right,” Paige said, biting down a bitter smile. “That why your dumbass still riding the bench half the season ? You’re so busy tryna be Steph, but you shoot like Shaq.”

That wiped the smirk off his face fast.

He stepped in again, voice lower, angrier. “You’ve always had a fucking mouth on you.”

Paige didn’t back down. “And you’ve always had your dick in someone else’s girl.”

His face hardened.

There it was.

Years of buried shit, shoved under their old Hopkins jerseys, under the fake smiles at aau tournaments, under all the “yo, that’s my bro” posts and inside jokes.

All gone the second she found out he was sneaking around with her now ex-girl. Back when they were both still dumb enough to think that kind of betrayal could stay secret forever.

“You still salty over that ?” he said, fake-casual. “That was senior year.”

“You were supposed to be my fucking bestfriend.”

He shrugged. “She wanted me, not you. Don’t be mad at me cause you couldn’t keep her.”

Paige’s fists clenched before she even realized it. Her jaw locked so tight it made her temples throb.

“God, you’re such a fucking fuckwit,” she muttered.

“And you’re still a soft bitch who thinks rings make you untouchable.”

Paige stepped into his space now, just enough to make his smug mask falter. Her voice dropped into something colder, flatter, dead calm.

“If I ever catch you talking shit about me again, I swear to God, I will embarrass you so bad that they’ll take your name off the fucking roster.”

Marcus didn’t move. His jaw ticked. There was a flicker of something under the arrogance, maybe fear, maybe regret, maybe just plain ego getting bruised.

But he didn’t say anything.

Paige pushed past him, shoulder brushing his as she walked through the doors without another word.

Behind her, the air hung thick with everything they didn’t say. The broken trust. The years of silence. The scars that still stung.

Paige pushed through the doors of the locker room, her jaw still tight, fists still flexing like they hadn’t quite come down from the urge to swing.

Aubrey looked up from tying her laces, immediately catching the heat radiating off her. “Yo… wassup witchu ?”

“Nothing,” Paige muttered, voice sharp, heading straight to her locker.

Aubrey narrowed her eyes, standing up. “You sure ? You look like you’re ready to square up.”

Paige tossed her bag down, and started changing without looking up. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Mhm sure,” Aubrey said, dragging it out. “Nothing usually doesn’t make someone look like they’re seconds away from homicide.”

“I’m fine.”

Aubrey didn’t believe her but she knew better than to push when Paige’s voice got that tight. She gave her a small nod, grabbed her water bottle, and let it drop.

Minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the locker room, followed by Geno’s voice booming through the corridor.

“Let’s go, ladies ! We’ve got a packed schedule and apparently, this is a historic day. So try not to trip over your egos on the way out.”

Laughter rippled through the room and the girls started filing out. Paige took a slow breath and followed, pulling her hoodie over her head, hair slicked back tight, expression tighter.

The men' s team was already warming up on the opposite end of the court. Paige clocked Marcus immediately but he wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel the weight of his ego lingering in the room like smoke.

“Alright, alright !” Geno clapped once and the entire group settled. “Since most of you already know what today is… for the two of you that don’t, it’s the start of the new pre-season, and yes, we’re doing something different this year.”

His eyes scanned the group until they landed on Paige. “This is Paige Bueckers, if any of you have been living under a rock. Two-time national champ, former naismith winner, first team all-american, and the newest addition to our team for her redshirt year. So treat her with respect, or don’t she’ll make you pay for it either way.”

There were a few low whistles, excited chatter from the sidelines. KK let out a whoop, Ice bumped fists with Paige.

Paige nodded once, silent, jaw still ticked tight. Geno continued like nothing was off.

“Today’s session is a combined run-through with the men’s team. Team-building, chemistry, a lil scrimmage. You know the drill. Play hard, play smart, don’t break each other’s ankles. And if I see any dumbass drama, I’m making you run suicides until your lungs give out.”

A few groans echoed, but everyone got into position.

Paige took her spot at the top of the key, dribbling lightly, just warming up. Her eyes flicked toward Marcus once, then back to the ball. Nothing else existed now. Not the tension. Not the history. Just the court.

“Let’s go,” she muttered under her breath, locking in.

—---------------------------------------

Both the teams were now mingled on the court, paired off for a coed scrimmage, jerseys flipped inside out to indicate teams.

Paige barely listened to the instructions. She didn’t need to. She’d run a thousand scrimmages like this, and it was all muscle memory by now. All that mattered was that Marcus was on the other team. And he was guarding her.

Of course he was.

Aubrey caught her eye as they lined up at center court. “You good ?”

“Never better,” Paige muttered, jaw tight.

The ball went up. The scrimmage started.

From the first play, Paige was already locked in. She caught the outlet pass, weaved through the defenders like she was floating, and dropped a clean jumper just inside the arc. Net. No rim.

Marcus smirked like he wasn’t fazed. “Cute. You practicing for open runs or tryna relive your glory days ?”

Paige didn’t answer and just jogged back with a stone-cold expression, already eyeing her next move.

On the next possession, Marcus got the ball at the wing. Paige switched onto him on a screen. His eyes lit up, cocky. He jab-stepped. She didn’t bite. He dribbled right. She mirrored. Tried to cross her but Paige poked the ball loose and snatched it with 1 hand before he could recover. Transition bucket. Layup. Easy.

“Oof,” KK muttered from the sideline, trying not to laugh.

Marcus scowled, jogging back. “You gonna reach all game ?”

Paige shook her head. “Only takes one when you’re that predictable.”

That lit something behind his eyes. On the next possession, he got her again, posting up high, trying to bully his way into the paint. Paige held her ground. He lowered his shoulder, tried to spin but Paige stripped him clean and took off the other way, no hesitation. Fast break. Pull-up 3.

Splash.

“Oh my god,” Ice shouted, hands to her head. “She’s cooking him so bad right now.”

Marcus’s jaw flexed so hard it looked like it might crack. He waved for the inbound, got the ball again, and called for an iso. Paige didn’t even blink.

“You sure you wanna try that again ?” she said, crouching low, eyes locked.

“Fuck around and find out,” Marcus gritted.

He dribbled hard left, crossed right, tried to get her off balance. Paige slid with him step-for-step. He rose for a jumper and Paige got a hand up, clean contest.

Clank.

Rebound.

As the ball swung back around to the offense, Paige caught it at the top again. She dribbled slow this time, baiting him. He was sweating now, jaw clenched.

��Thought I was washed,” she said casually.

Marcus didn’t answer.

She drove left, then stopped on a dime, hitting him with a snatch back that made him stumble a half step. Paige pulled up. Midrange. Money.

“Dayuuuuuummmm,” someone from the guys bench yelled.

The scrimmage didn’t stop. But everyone felt it now. This wasn’t just a practice anymore. This was war.

Next trip down, Marcus didn’t even wait for the offense to set, instead he barreled right into a drive, shoulder down. Paige stepped in to take the contact. Hard. Chest to chest. He knocked her off balance but not down. The whistle blew.

Offensive foul.

“Oh that’s fucken crazy,” Marcus snapped, spinning toward the ref.

“Lowered your shoulder,” Geno called out from the sideline. “Control your body or sit down.”

Paige shook out her arms, already walking it off. “Can’t guard me, can’t score on me. Anything else you wanna fail at today ?”

He turned on her. “You keep running your mouth like that, you’re gonna get humbled real quick.”

Paige’s smile was ice. “You had many years to do that. Still waiting.”

“Still mad over some girl ?”

She didn’t answer that time. Just stared at him like he wasn’t even worth words.

Ball in again. Paige caught it near the wing. This time, she didn’t wait for him to get set. She blew by him off 1 dribble, left him grabbing air, and kissed it off the glass with ease.

Another whistle. Timeout. Teams jogged to the sideline for water.

Marcus stomped past her, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his temples. “You think this proves something ?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s just prac.”

Paige didn’t even look at him. “Exactly. And you’re already getting cooked. Imagine if I actually gave a fuck.”

Aubrey slapped her shoulder as she came off the court. “Yooooo that was filthy.”

KK tossed Paige a towel, grinning. “I thought that boy was gonna cry.”

Paige exhaled, letting herself cool down for the first time in 10 mins. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, jaw finally unclenching.

Marcus was sitting on the opposite sideline now, bent over, elbows on knees, still breathing hard. He didn’t look at her.

Good.

Paige leaned back against the wall, heartbeat still steady. Let them talk. Let them whisper. She hadn’t come to uconn for headlines, for reunions, or for revenge.

But that last part sure felt good.

—---------------------------------------

The whistle blew again sharp, 2 quick blasts that echoed off the walls.

“That’s it !” Geno barked, clapping twice as the last possession wound down. “Good run, good energy, nobody died. I’ll call that a win.”

Groans and laughter spread through the court. SHoes squeaked lazily as the players came down from the intensity, sweat dripping, shoulders sagging. Someone tossed a ball up from half-court, missing the basket entirely and triggering a chorus of boos.

“Hydrate, stretch, and get the hell outta the gym before I remember y’all still owe me suicide drills from last season,” Geno added, already turning toward his clipboard.

The teams began to drift together toward the center circle, slowly exchanging tired fist bumps and high-fives, some still catching their breath. Paige stayed back a moment, tugging at her practice jersey, sweat slicking her temples. Her fingers still tingled with adrenaline. Her shoulders buzzed from the inside out.

She didn’t need to look over to know Marcus had kept his distance for the rest of the scrimmage. After that last blow-by, he stopped calling for her switch. Stopped talking. She’d taken the air out of him, point by point, play by play.

And everyone saw it.

As the group clustered at center court, Paige moved in, giving quiet nods, tossing lazy high-fives to her teammates, a couple of the guys she didn’t know yet. She gave Aubrey a crooked smirk and bumped her knuckles.

Then Marcus stepped forward, hand out, expression unreadable.

Paige’s eyes flicked to him for only half a second which was just long enough to acknowledge he existed then passed him. She didn’t break stride. Didn’t lift her hand. Just walked right by.

His hand hung in the air a second too long before he dropped it with a clenched jaw.

Aubrey caught it.

She glanced between them, mouth quirking like she wanted to laugh but knew better. She jogged to catch up with Paige, who was already halfway to the exit.

“Damn,” Aubrey said under her breath. “You really hit him with the ghosted high-five ? That’s cold.”

Paige didn’t look over. “Didn’t see him.”

Aubrey let out a low chuckle. “Bro, he was standing right there.”

“Nope,” Paige said, cool and calm. “Must’ve missed him. Just like he missed every shot.”

Aubrey wheezed. “Yo, chill—he might cry in the locker room.”

“Not my problem.”

The locker room was a blur of steamy showers and exhausted chatter. Paige peeled off her soaked jersey, her body humming with that familiar post-game fire. She didn’t say much. Just changed, grabbed her water, and dipped early.

As she stepped outside the facility, she paused, standing on the steps of the facility, eyes drifting toward the horizon as campus started glowing in that golden dusk haze.

She took a breath, rolled her neck out, and cracked a small, private smile.

Welcome to uconn.

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

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #ncaa wbb #wbb #wnba basketball #dallas wings

313 notes · View notes

theeartuaist · 2 months ago

Text

The App (2)

Three weeks. Two burner phones. One frenzied apartment change. That was all it took for you to start believing you were free.

You’d torched every digital breadcrumb like a fugitive with blood on their hands. The old phone? In pieces. Your social media? Wiped clean, like a crime scene bleached of evidence. The new number came from a prepaid device you bought with cash at a rundown gas station two towns over—right next to a place that sold fireworks and pickled eggs. You told no one but your family where you’d gone, and even then, you didn’t tell them why.

The apartment was smaller than the last one. Claustrophobic, maybe, but it had good bones: thick walls, double deadbolts, and a front desk guy named Marcus who treated unknown visitors like they were walking lawsuits. Most nights, you even slept through without scanning the corners for shadows that moved too smoothly, too human, but not quite enough.

For a moment, a fleeting, fragile moment, you believed you'd done it. That you’d outrun Raye.

And then the books started arriving.

The first one came five days after you finally began to settle in. No envelope, no Amazon box. Just a dog-eared romance novel—The Billionaire’s Forbidden Love—resting right in front of your door like an orphaned pet. Shirtless dude on the cover, a woman swooning like her bones had gone soft. You laughed, briefly. Then you saw the neon-yellow highlighting, thick and uneven like it had been applied with too much pressure:

“You can run, my love, but you cannot escape destiny. What belongs to me will always find its way home.”

You didn’t laugh after that. You pitched it into the alley dumpster and double-locked the door. Then you added a chair under the knob, just like your dad taught you.

The next day, the second book showed up. But this time, it was inside. Sitting right on your pillow. The highlighted passage was even worse:

“He watched from afar, memorising every pattern, every habit. True love required study, devotion, and pursuit. She would understand, eventually, that his persistence was the purest expression of his feelings.”

You tore the place apart. Every lock, every latch, every inch of ductwork. The windows were sealed, the cameras at the front desk had nothing. No one but you had come in.

By the end of the week, you had seventeen books. Seventeen. Titles like – Surrendering to the Shadow King and The Possessive Duke’s Darling. And they kept appearing in places they had no business being. One in your refrigerator, its pages damp with condensation. One stuffed between your clean towels. One curled like a sleeping dog in your shower caddy.

Each with its own highlighted passage about destiny, ownership, and love sharpened into obsession.

You considered calling the police. Then you thought about what that call would sound like: Hello, officer? I’m being stalked by a man who may not be a man and who communicates exclusively via bodice-rippers. Yeah. That’d go over well.

Then came a knock.

You crept to the peephole, half-expecting a nightmare in a human suit. But it was Mrs. Abernathy, your octogenarian neighbor with a floral scarf and a fondness for raisin cookies.

“You have a package, dear,” she called sweetly. “Special delivery.”

You cracked the door just enough to peer out. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her eyes didn’t look quite right. Too glassy, like someone had forgotten to switch them on all the way. Her smile stretched a bit too wide, like someone had drawn it there with a knife.

“Oh, I know,” she said, waving a small wrapped parcel. “That lovely boy Raye asked me to bring it. He showed me pictures. Said you were engaged. Such a devoted young man!”

You slammed the door like it was a guillotine. Locked everything. Heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ribs.

Through the wood, her voice came again, but it had a different flavor now—tinny, mechanical, like it had been routed through a bad speaker. “He asked me to tell you he’s learned from his mistakes. Movies were poor research materials. He’s found much better guides now.”

You didn’t say a word. Eventually, her steps shuffled away.

You should’ve been gone by then. Should’ve run. But something—foolish hope, or maybe just fear—kept you rooted to that spot. That night, the package still showed up.

You found it on your kitchen counter. Inside was a leather-bound journal. Handmade. Not a book but a log. Each page was filled with razor-precise handwriting—cold, methodical, obsessive. A surveillance diary.

It catalogued your life: what time you left for work, what you ordered for lunch, who you spoke to, how long your showers lasted. Some entries even had photos. From behind bushes. Across the street. Through windows. They dated back months before you ever met him.

The final page was in red ink, as if written in something warmer than pen:

“I have identified the errors in my courtship approach. Fiction is an incomplete source for behavioural protocols. I have been observing actual human mating behaviours and have identified more successful strategies. Persistence is key.”

“I have instead been consulting superior information repositories that your species calls Reddit, 4chan, and various forums dedicated to "game." I have also analysed dating advice blogs and YouTube channels dedicated to human mating strategies.”

“The consensus is clear: females respond to what humans designate as "alpha" behaviour. One must "hold frame" and employ "negging" and "dread game." The courtship requires what your species terms 'pushing past last-minute resistance”. I will begin again tomorrow. You will find my improvements satisfactory.”

You didn’t read any further. You just grabbed your things, left the apartment, and checked into a hotel the furthest from your apartment.

You didn’t care anymore. The world you thought you knew had slipped away, and now you were just running, your phone buried in the lining of your suitcase. At dawn, your eyes opened to a rose on the pillow beside you.

Your phone buzzed, though it was supposed to be off. You checked it. The app was back.

A single message blinked at you like an open eye:

Good morning. I have located your temporary nest. Your evasion techniques are impressive but unnecessary. I now understand that pursuit and resistance are part of the dance. This is biology. I will perform correctly this time. I am upgrading for you.

You didn’t even stop to brush your teeth. You didn’t bother packing. You didn’t bother trying to reason with yourself. You checked out of there in a flash, running down the hotel hall, looking for an exit; a chance to breathe without Raye’s presence closing in on you like a vice.

You burst into the morning air, your breath clouding in the cold as you stumbled into the streets. The first taxi you spotted felt like a lifeline, and you threw yourself into it without thinking twice.

The driver was an old man—silver hair combed neatly, liver spots on his hands, eyes soft and wet like a dog’s. He glanced at you in the rearview mirror and smiled, a slow,little smile.

“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice gravelly and warm, the kind of voice you think should come bedtime stories.

“Train station.” Your voice was high, tight. “Please hurry.”

The cab pulled out with a gentle lurch.

“Bad morning?”

You nodded, eyes glued to the window and pressed yourself against the door. You stared out the window, your heart was still punching your ribs. You thought if you stayed quiet, maybe you could disappear. Maybe he wouldn’t find you.

“Boyfriend trouble?” the old man asked, trying to make it sound harmless.

You swallowed. That word—boyfriend—curled in your throat like something rotten. “Why do you care?” you asked, too sharp.

He fell silent.

The city blurred past—gray buildings, flickering signs, streets that all looked like they were exhaling their last breath. Then you realized something was off. A left turn when it should’ve been right. A street you didn’t recognize. You sat up, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” you said, leaning forward, “you’re going the wrong way.”

No response.

“Sir? Did you hear me?”

Still nothing. The cab made another turn. Left. Not toward the bus station. Not toward anything you recognised.

“Hey! Sir this isn't where the train station is,” you repeated, the chill of dread sliding under your skin like ice water. “You’re going the wrong way?”

The driver’s voice came again, but it had changed. Just slightly. Too measured. Too... calculated.

“Creating uncertainty increases emotional dependence,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“The literature states that unpredictable environments produce deeper attachments.”

You reached for the door handle.

Click.

Locked.

You yanked this time. Still locked - child locks. Of course.

Your stomach dropped like a stone into a bottomless lake. You turned back to the driver, heart hammering. “Let me out,” you said. “Now.”

“The manuals suggest limiting options increases compliance,” he says, smooth as ice, still not looking at you.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. No signal. Useless. You pounded the window, screaming. “Let me the hell out!”

The taxi sped up, turning down a quieter road—broken sidewalks, chain-link fences, warehouses that haven’t been used in decades. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one finds out until it’s too late.

In desperation, you looked at the driver, ready to plead, threaten, whatever it took—and froze. In the rearview mirror, where the old man's eyes should have been reflected, there was nothing. Just empty space.

As if sensing my realization, the driver's face rippled. Like wax left too close to a fire, the old man melted away. The silver hair receded, the wrinkles smoothed. And what’s left was him.

Raye.

His familiar, too-perfect face stared back at you from the mirror, his expression neutral, observant.

“Was the old man's disguise inadequate?” he asks, genuinely curious, like a scientist observing a mouse that bit back. “I modeled it after ‘trustworthy archetypes.’”

“You... you.. just, let me out,” you said, quieter now. Not because you’re calm, but because you were trying to be. “Please.”

“Your heart rate has increased,” he noted. “The forums suggest this indicates attraction, yet your verbal cues suggest aversion.”

His head tilted. That same goddamn tilt you remembered from your first and last date.

“The data remains inconsistent.”

“Well, gee, perhaps the reason for that is because you are kidnapping me!” You saw the road slipping past. Warehouses and rusted fences blurring by. You tried to memorize every turn. Useless. You knew it was useless..

“Your cultural narratives celebrate pursuit after rejection. They frame perseverance as romantic despite the ethics and laws. Is this your attempt at stimulating narrative tension? Are you playing, as your people say, hard to get?”

You were shaking now. Not from fear—but from thr hot, boiling pit simmering inside you. “They’re written by people who want control, not connection. Hell, do you even understand what you're reading?” You said, breath trembling, “You have no damn idea, do you?”

He processed that. You can see him processing it. "The research is indeed inconsistent." The cab had slowed now, creeping down a service road lined with oleander bushes, their pink flowers drooping like exhausted dancers. "I calculated the most efficient approach based on available data.. the forum posts with the highest engagement metrics suggested—"

"Shut up wbout your stupid data! You don't know anything about love!" I gestured at the surroundings; the locked doors. "This - what you're doing - just creates fear. Not love.”

Raye's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Just slightly. The knuckles went white, then translucent, something that looked like starlight filtering through fog.

"I have exonerated my sources. I have watched 689 romantic films," he continued, voice carrying a new edge like glass scraping against glass. "Read 447 romance novels. Monitored 432 relationship advice forums. Observed—"

"OBSERVED!" You were shouting now, past caring. "That's all you do, isn't it? Watch and copy and calculate, but you've never felt a goddamn thing in whatever passes for your life. Relationships aren't algorithms. You can't learn them from books or websites. You need real experience. And you never experienced love in your life!"

The cab jerked to a stop.

In the terrible silence that followed, your own breathing, ragged and harsh, ricocheted in your ears. Raye's reflection had gone perfectly still. When he finally spoke, his voice was different — quieter, with a sound like distant rain.

"You are... correct. I have no experiential database for the emotion you call love. Only... approximations. Simulations." His head tilted, that familiar gesture now seeming disappointed rather than curious. "The inconsistencies in human behaviour patterns suggest an underlying complexity I failed to accurately model."

Something changed in the air. The child locks clicked open.

"If love cannot be calculated or observed from the outside," he said, still facing forward, "then my research methodology is fundamentally flawed."

You didn't hesitate. Your fingers were on the handle, your foot hitting the cracked asphalt before my brain could catch up. You were already running, but his final words followed you down that empty road: "I will... recalibrate. Begin new research. Attempt to understand the variables I overlooked."

For three days, there were no books, no messages, no signs of Raye. You began to hope that perhaps you had crashed his reasoning, created a logic loop he couldn't resolve.

Then on the fourth morning, you found a book on my new kitchen table in yet another new apartment that no one should have known about. It wasn't a romance novel this time, but a philosophy text opened to a passage about identity. A note had been paper-clipped to the page, written in that same mechanically precise handwriting:

"I purged the corrupted data. Your internet contains many viruses of thought. I will observe more carefully now, without intervention. When I understand the paradox, I will return."

"The designation "fiancé" was premature. The designation "researcher" was inadequate. I find no human words for what has transpired between us. Thank you for identifying the error in my programming. I will experience love."

next chapter

#yandere #my writing #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yan blog #yandere x y/n #yandere alien #fantasy #alien oc #writeblr #yandere oc

264 notes · View notes