#This is the building chapter so the next chapters can be plot filled

[digitalmidnight]

Doubled the word count of the fic, but we are only 1/3 of the way done with the chapter plot wise

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (1/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, kissing, the angst, stalking, woman on the rape pill, drug trade ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he needed to calm down before a meeting with clients or a brutal explanation of certain matters, he would lock himself in some room or his car, close his eyes and return with his thoughts to that summer holiday.

First he would always hear the sound of the sea, and then he would see the beach and the setting sun all around him, somewhere in the distance hearing her laughter.

It was their first and last trip together, which had obviously been his father's idea. He thought it would be a good way to cool a bit of tension in the family and invited his daughter from his first marriage to join them at their summer residence along with her partner, Harwin Strong, her former bodyguard, and their children.

The locals called their house ‘King's Landing’, because in fact the building looked like some kind of modern palace, with a huge garden, a private beach access and a small harbour with their sailboats and scooters.

He had never wondered where his father got money to buy such a great mansion: he thought that he had earned it all and the others had not and that was why they were poor.

Neither he nor his brother were thrilled with the idea: they did not want to share their toys or rooms with the Strongs, which, although they usually stood empty, were sometimes used for playing. Despite their verbal expressions of displeasure, Rhaenyra arrived with her partner and children in a large black Mercedes, disturbing, in his mind, their peace and order.

For the first few days, he simply tried to pretend he hadn't seen them: he would go for solitary hikes along the beach, looking for treasures in the sand, thinking he envied Helaena, who instead of joining them decided to spend her holiday with her friend and could do whatever she wanted.

Their mother allowed them to swim in the sea as long as they didn't swim too far away from the shore, and the smallest children, namely Luke and his sister, wore plastic shoulder pads filled with air to make them float.

Every little thing that made him better than his brother or nephews made him feel superior, so when he noticed that he swam the best out of all five of them, he showed it off by diving underwater once in a while only to emerge somewhere much further away. Their sister was most impressed by this, asking him to teach her how to do it, but he paid no attention to her.

The little squealing girls did not interest him, but Jace's face full of displeasure did.

He grinned in a way that made the eldest Strong's lips pressed together into a thin line and saw him swimming towards him.

He was sure that Jace would just want to hit him or sub him, so he prepared to put up aggressive resistance if necessary, he surprised him completely, however, by pulling his shorts off his legs.

He laughed out loud as he threw himself after him, trying to snatch it from him, fruitlessly, Aegon seeing this, shouted:

"– c'mon, hand it to me! –" He called out and indeed, Jace did so, making his opportunity to retrieve his stolen clothes move away from him towards the shore with them and Luke who also laughed thinking, apparently, that it was a very funny joke.

"– stop it! –" Their sister squealed, being the only one to stay in the water with him.

It was the first time he had felt so humiliated, frightened and lonely – although Aegon often teased him, this time it was something completely different.

His older brother came ashore, waving his shorts.

"Come and get them!" He laughed, throwing them somewhere far out on the sand so that he would have to run naked many metres before he could even reach them. His niece looked up at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

"– wait – wait, I'll get them for you in a minute –" She called out, moving towards the shore, getting out of the water at last and running across the sand – Aegon, Jace and Luke watched her efforts from afar, laughing loudly.

As much as he didn't want to, as much as he tried to stop himself, he burst out into a loud sob, ashamed, sad and bitter, standing in water up to his waist and not moving from his place, wanting to just drown and die.

He finally heard a splash – his niece was swimming towards him with his clothes in her hand, reaching out to him. He snatched his shorts from her in an aggressive, furious motion, whooping with his tears.

"– if you tell anyone about this –" He hissed.

"– no – no, please don't cry –"

"– fuck off –" He growled, pushing her away for some reason, furious that she had seen his outburst of despair, the fact that he was crying like a little girl.

He put his shorts back on and stepped out of the water, heading immediately towards home, paying no attention to Aegon's screams for him to come back, for them to go riding their bikes together, that it was just a joke.

He spent the rest of the day in his room reading history books. He liked to imagine that he was someone else: a great scientist, explorer, king, prince or knight. As he read stories about the great, terrifying dragon Vhagar, he thought he would like to have such a creature for himself, so that he could burn his brother and his nephews.

He answered his mother's questions about what had happened in a perfunctory manner – he knew his brother would take revenge on him if he said too much and he didn't feel like causing any more trouble.

He shuddered at night, roused from a deep sleep when he heard someone's steps in the corridor.

He feared it was them, that they were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose up on his arms, terrified, when the door to his room opened with a loud creak.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet mumble, even barely able to see her silhouette in the darkness he could tell she was crying.

"– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He hissed.

His reply made her draw in air loudly, whooping apparently with her own tears.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She babbled in despair, as if this was the worst day of her life and there were big monsters lurking in the shadows of the room she slept in ready to devour her.

For some reason, what she said made him feel a sting in his heart and sympathy, through which he shifted to the side, sighing heavily, making room beside him.

"– okay, just be quiet already – come here –" He muttered, and she breathed a loud sigh of relief, closing the door behind her.

She surprised him by climbing onto his bed and immediately covering herself with his duvet, breathing loudly as if she was really scared.

"– thank you –"

"– sleep –" He commanded, turning his back to her. "– you are to disappear tomorrow morning – if anyone sees you, I will kill you with my own hands – do you understand? –"

"– yes –" She mumbled out with difficulty.

He heard her turn on her other side, but he could still feel the warmth of her body – his bed designed for one person for two proved a tad too cramped and there was no way their shoulders wouldn't touch.

Although he felt ashamed that he had slept with a girl, on the other hand her presence had a calming effect on him – the conviction that someone was beside him, her warmth and her scent, reminding him of vanilla pudding or cake, made him fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When he woke up, to his relief, she was gone, nor had she told anyone that she had come to him.

What surprised him was that she came to him the next night and jumped into his bed as if it was hers.

"– what are you doing? –" He muttered, looking at her in shock, his favourite book about dragons in his hands.

"– I'm going to bed –"

"– you've got to be joking – go to your place –"

"– I don't have a lamp –"

"– I'll give you mine –"

"– no – this one is too big – for me to sleep it has to be small or someone has to sleep next to me – I swear I'll disappear tomorrow morning –" She mumbled, seeing him tilt his head back, closing his eyes in impatience.

"– I don't want you in my room –" He said finally. "– neither you nor your brothers – I'd rather you never came here –"

It was only when he heard how the words sounded that he thought he had exaggerated, however, he could no longer take it back – he heard her draw in a breath, her cheeks red with sadness, her eyes glazed with tears. She burst out crying, pulled herself up from her seat and ran out of his room.

He thought, returning to his reading, trying to drown out the discomfort in his stomach and the tightness in his throat with the thought that at least she and everyone else would give him a break.

He tried to focus on what he was reading, but then his thoughts returned again to her, alone, in the darkness that had so frightened her.

He remembered Aegon scaring him that there was a great one-eyed monster living in his wardrobe that would come out of there and eat him if he closed his eyes even for a moment.

He cried from exhaustion and didn't sleep for several nights until his mother, when she found out he had fallen asleep in class at school, explained to him that it had been a simple lie.

He thought with shame that she was just a child who was being bullied by them as much as he was, and although he was angry, he decided he would go and see if she had fallen asleep.

Perhaps she was being too dramatic?

He got up quietly from his bed and went out into the corridor, walking slowly to her room, which was next to his. He opened the door and looked inside, noticing to his surprise that her bed was empty; he could, however, hear her raspy, heavy breath.

He stepped inside, looking around the moonlit room, approaching her bed hearing her breathing more and more clearly. He knelt down, bending over and only then did he see, horrified, her silhouette lying on the floor under the wooden frame, her eyes clenched shut, her plump cheeks red from tears.

"– please, don't eat me –" She squealed out.

"– it's me – hey –" He whispered, touching her hand, and she screamed and slammed her head on the bed above her. She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at the spot, and he hushed her by stroking her back.

"– come here – I'm afraid of monsters too –" He whispered, and she, at his words, crawled to him and cuddled into him as if he were a teddy bear, clenching her hands into fists on his back, crying miserably.

He took her into his arms, letting her throw her arms around his neck – when he stood up with her he thought she was unusually light. He laid her down on the bed and slipped under the duvet right beside her, letting her small hands embrace his waist, her face snuggled against his chest.

Only then did he feel her whole body shake.

His hand stroked her hair until she calmed down and they both finally fell asleep in a tender, close embrace.

For the next few days when she came to him, he let her lay her head on his shoulder and read a book with him, which he kept resting on his stomach. They didn't talk then, focused on reading, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

"– can I turn the page? –" He asked, wanting to know if she had managed to read everything.

"– yes –"

She really liked the character of one of the princesses. It was another volume of the story of The Mighty Vhagar and she was the beloved of the Prince who had managed to tame this terrible dragoness. Rhaenys, for that was the heroine's name, also had her own dragon, but a much smaller one, and together with the Prince she flew in the skies.

"I wish I had a dragon like Rhaenys." She confessed to him at last, and he grunted, agreeing with her deep down, not wanting to admit it, however.

The more he got to know her, the more her presence ceased to irritate him: what he liked about her was that she respected his barrier rules. She knew that he liked silence and also that he hated it when someone rearranged or took his things. They sometimes discussed books while sitting on the terrace or walking on the beach pretending to be treasure hunters.

"Kiss your girlfriend!" Laughed Aegon, looking at them from afar, making them both turn scarlet with shame.

His words, however, made him experience a daze.

She was, in fact, a girl, on top of which, in his eyes, she was extremely pretty – her large, bright eyes were framed by beautiful dark eyelashes and eyebrows, her wide smile sweet and comforting. Her voice and touch were also pleasant, tender, her body warm as she snuggled into him at night, seeking refuge in his arms.

He thought he'd never met a girl he liked and fancied, and envied Aegon that he'd already kissed a few of his female friends at school.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking along the beach with her, kicking various stones along the way. His niece lifted her surprised gaze to him, distracted from browsing through the white seashells she had found and wanted to take home with her.

"No. And you?" She asked curiously.

It was easier for him to tell the truth knowing that she had never had anyone either.

"No." He muttered.

They were silent for a long time, walking side by side, thoughtful.

He wondered where he was actually going with this question, his heart pounding like mad.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked quickly, feeling himself turn red with embarrassment – he was unable to look at her, afraid of her reaction, so he just looked around pretending to be intrigued by something.

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She replied softly.

He swallowed hard at her words.

"Do you like me?" He asked. He heard her quiet giggle beside him.

"Yes."

"So?" He continued, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, meeting her curious, bright gaze.

"What are you asking?" She asked, cocking her head, a wide smile on her face.

He was unable to get the words out.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said finally making his heart stop in his throat.

"…but only when we're alone." He said.

"Alright." She replied lightly, undaunted, returning to looking through her shells.

He struggled to hold back a smile, feeling hot in his stomach, thinking with relief that it was simple enough and he felt satisfied.

He had a girlfriend.

For the rest of the day they pretended nothing had happened, talking to each other in passing.

What he was looking forward to was the night and the warmth of her body against his.

Indeed, she came to his room as usual as soon as she made sure everyone was already asleep and jumped into his bed making his heart beat harder. He turned off the lamp even though they were usually still both reading together, laying his head next to her on the pillow, startling her.

"– are we going to sleep already? –" She asked quietly and he nodded.

She blinked when his hand rose slowly and tentatively touched her cheek. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft and warm her skin felt under his fingers, even in the darkness he knew she was blushing.

He pressed his forehead against hers feeling their breaths quicken, not knowing how to express what he wanted so as not to frighten her at the same time. He leaned in slightly, stroking her face with his thumb, his fingers running over her neck making her breathless.

"– may I? –" He mumbled and she nodded quickly, her fingers running over his jaw making him feel the heat rippling through his stomach, his heart pounding like crazy in his chest.

He enclosed her cheek in his palm when his lips finally pressed against hers – he was surprised by how soft, fleshy and moist they were. He pulled away from her immediately with a quiet click and grunted, twisting in his place, closing his eyes, feeling like he was about to have a heart attack from excitement.

"– sleep –" He commanded, feeling that it was too much emotions for one time. His niece answered nothing, snuggling up to him as she did every night, and he put his arms around her.

It was his first kiss with his first girlfriend.

He felt grown up, fulfilled and happy.

They spent the next few days on various expeditions, pretending that they were great explorers of scary temples looking for treasures or great tombs of old kings. They did nothing out of the ordinary apart from the occasional quick, embarrassing kiss on the lips or cheek, however, to his surprise his affection towards her grew each day.

He realised that he genuinely liked her.

She shared his passion, she was excited with him about their finds, which were most often old coins, she helped him come up with their new missions and, above all, she didn't laugh at him, but with him.

Her words, though child-like, were full of understanding and empathy, her commitment and fearless nature made her his indispensable companion, and part of him thought with relief that it would stay that way forever.

That he found his haven.

However, their closeness began to frustrate Aegon, who finally pushed him to the wall.

"Why do you keep running after her? Are you kissing her or something?" His brother asked mockingly, and he felt satisfaction at the thought of how he could answer him.

"Maybe." He replied.

Aegon looked at him in disbelief and furrowed his brows in consternation.

"WHAT? Have you gone mad? It's your niece! That's disgusting and on top of that, illegal! You can't kiss your own family!" He said making his heart stop, cold sweat running down his back.

"– after all, she is not my sister –"

"– but you are her uncle! – do you know what our mother would do to you if she found out? – you're a complete moron –"

"– I was only joking – I wanted to annoy you –" He lied quickly, feeling a wave of shame, sadness and horror run down his spine.

That day he turned on his computer quickly and, although the internet was still running very slowly at the time, he managed to read in the Online Encyclopedia that what he had done was called incest and was considered a socially unacceptable perversion, although some countries allowed marriage between an uncle and a niece or cousin.

It didn't change the fact that he burst into loud sobs, feeling like a fool, regretting everything he had done to her, that he had ever met her, that he had ridiculed himself again because of her.

"– I'm breaking up with you –" He told her the same day, making her eyes widen in disbelief and fear.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

It seemed to him that what he said had completely broken her, because instead of saying anything, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hands, trying to calm herself, but they continued to flow.

He felt some natural urge to embrace her, his heart squeezed at the sight of her suffering, but there was nothing he could do about it.

They were not meant for each other.

Wanting to somehow soften his words and what he had done to her, he wrote her his phone number on a piece of paper and slipped it under her door that very evening, so that she could contact him if something bad happened, but she could call only in a life-threatening emergency.

He didn't want anyone to catch him talking to her, much less Aegon.

He thought their brief relationship and break-up would be the worst and most heartbreaking thing to happen to him on this holiday, but it wasn't.

Fueled by rage and aggression that he had no way to deal with, he threw himself at Jace as he started laughing at him, pounding him with his fists, and Luke, wanting to defend his older brother, hit his head with a glass bottle lying on the sand, which smashed into his face.

It turned out that one of the shards damaged his eye, while the other cut the left part of his face.

They all started screaming, which their parents heard – Alicent, panicked, called an ambulance, while Rhaenyra packed up, took her children and left.

The doctors, to his mother's despair, said that an operation had to be performed immediately and that the eye would have to be removed: he remembered very little of this period, not speaking or looking at anyone at the time, as if something in his mind had switched off and he had lost touch with reality.

He thought only about her.

About his Rheanys.

He opened his eyes, returning with his mind to his car – he glanced at the blue-lit display and saw that it was approaching two o'clock in the morning.

They'll be here soon, he thought.

He stepped outside, closing the car door behind him, pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his leather jacket. He took one out and slipped it into his mouth, leaning over the bright, warm flame, the tip of it turning red. He took a drag, closing his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the smoke out through his nose.

Indeed, it wasn't even a few minutes before he heard the screech of tyres – several black cars drove into the square, blinding him with their long lights.

Turn it the fuck off, he thought, covering his face with his hand, taking another drag.

He heard men start to come out of the cars – most of them were tipsy dudes just doing security, however Jason Lannister, who was supposed to hand him part of the money for the contract, was their opposite.

He looked like a hipster in his jumper, with his blonde hair pulled back and beard, a suitcase in his hand.

"As much as I agreed with your grandfather. Next part in two weeks." He said.

"Open it." He ordered, blowing out smoke through his mouth, looking at him with a grin, from which Jason swallowed loudly.

Lannister pulled a key from his trouser pocket and opened the suitcase, presenting him with elegantly stacked, sorted thick files of money.

He nodded and hummed under his breath, satisfied, going around his car, opening his boot. He pulled out a fake bottom made especially for the police, underneath which was a bag containing several kilos of white powder that Jason sold through his club.

They exchanged bags and shook hands, parting without a word, not wanting to tempt fate.

He smoked his cigarette to the end and trampled the butt with his shoe, climbed into his car and started the engine, eager to get back to his flat and sleep for at least a few hours. He set off ahead with a squeal of tyres, driving out of the harbour onto one of the main streets, a complete blank in his mind.

He felt nothing.

Or at least he thought he did, until her name showed up on his dashboard display remotely connected to his phone, the sound around him indicating that she was calling him made him freeze.

Over the years she had texted him, describing her days, asking how he was doing, wishing him a happy birthday, but he had never written her back, thinking it was pointless.

He only associated her with what he could not have and what happened next.

However, the fact that she called was exceptional.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

FUCK.

He wanted to pretend he hadn't seen it, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to live with what he'd done if it turned out the next day that her dead body had been found somewhere in the woods.

His trembling hand rose to the button on the screen with the handset symbol on it – he swallowed hard when his finger touched it and there was silence.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her trembling, breaking voice, his heart pounding like mad – he thought in disbelief that she sounded familiar and foreign at the same time.

"– what is it? –" He asked dryly, feeling the cold sweat run down his back as he tried to focus on the road.

She was probably just drunk and desperate, he consoled himself.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She mumbled with difficulty between sobs, her breath heavy and ragged – he felt his heart stop, his hands involuntarily tightening on his steering wheel.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –"

All he heard for a moment was her shallow breathing and crying, saw with his eyes her face then when he told her they couldn't be together.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered, apparently losing touch with reality.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked desperately, running his hand over his mouth and jaw, thinking with horror that someone might be about to rape her.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She mumbled, and he drew in the air loudly, knowing what she was talking about.

"– Heavenly Beach? –" He asked, turning on his indicator, making a U-turn even though he should have done it at the next crossroads, several cars started honking at him, braking with a screech to avoid hitting him.

"– Rhaenys? – FUCK! –" He shouted, no longer hearing her voice, slapping his hands on the steering wheel, feeling tears burning under his eyelids for the first time in years.

He felt like he was in a panic, only realising after a moment that he was breathing loudly through his mouth.

He had broken many traffic regulations to get to this place as quickly as possible.

The security guards knew him and let him in outside the huge queue, to the fury of the others waiting – he ran quickly down the stairs, hitting several guests on the way who shouted after him to be careful, the loud electric music completely deafening him.

He wondered, what was she doing here?

Walking through the flickering lights and darkness, he headed straight for the toilets, going inside with a loud slam of the door. Several of the girls inside squealed, horrified by the presence of a man in the women's washroom.

"Get the fuck out!" Shouted one of them, stepping in his way, but he pushed her away. The girl fell over and whimpered, her friend, as drunk as she was, began calling him names, threatening to call security.

"RHAENYS!" He called out, opening one cubicle after another until he came across a closed door from behind which no sound came. When hit it with his foot it opened with a loud clatter and then he saw her: she was lying on the tiles sunken in deep sleep, unconscious, her phone by her face.

Looking at her, he remembered with shame that he knew perfectly well what she looked like, because he stalked her Instagram and Facebook accounts almost every evening: at first he just wanted to mock her and her life, then, however, it helped him control which boys she was seeing.

He destroyed his first phone by throwing it against a wall when he saw a picture of her in the arms of some guy when she was in high school, his rage caused by the fact that she was able to move on and he was stuck, still with his mind in that summer.

He knew she had studied archaeology because she sometimes posted photos from excavations, showing unusual finds. He couldn't bear it when he saw a picture of her sitting next to a boy who was putting his arm around her waist, surely going to university with her.

Robb, because it turned out that was his name when he traced his profile through her friends, liked to have a good time: he'd gone a few times to clubs he'd visited, wanting to look at him from afar.

He watched him chat up strange women and, although nothing happened between them, he came to a certain conclusion.

He didn't trust him.

He didn't like him.

That's why he took a picture of him with a woman, who he put his arm around exactly as it was then, in their picture, and then asked the owner of the club, who was buying drugs from them, to post the picture on their official Facebook.

They often uploaded photos from parties, so this was nothing unusual, and the feeling of satisfaction he experienced when he saw that after a few days she had deleted all their photos together was indescribable.

He consoled himself with the thought that it wasn't because he was jealous, but because he wanted to protect her, like the good, caring uncle he had never been.

And now she, the girl he saw every day on his phone screen lay unconscious in the stinky toilet where others came to fuck and snort cocaine, vulnerable and helpless.

"– hey – hey, wake up, kid –" He muttered, trying to lift her up, tapping his palm against her cheek to revive her, with no effect.

She didn't even flinch.

He grabbed her under her hips and lifted her up, rising from his knees with her, walking out of the toilet, the two drunk girls led them away with eyes full of disbelief.

As he walked with her through the club he noticed two men standing at the bar watching him closely – they turned away, pretending to talk to each other when they met his gaze.

Were they the ones lurking for her?

Were they the ones hoping to have fun with her that night?

He felt disgust and rage at the thought, for although he didn't get into any deeper relationships, he only took from women as much as they were willing to give him.

Sex allowed him to vent and not go crazy, but no relationship was an option.

He didn't want any new girlfriends.

With one hand holding her under her buttocks, he slipped the other into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the keys to his car, opening it remotely. He opened the passenger side door and settled her into the seat, fastening her seatbelt. She mumbled something that sounded like no, clearly thinking he was the one who had done this to her.

"– easy – I'll take you home –"

He hated Rhaenyra's new husband wholeheartedly, as he was their biggest rival when it came to drug deals, however, he had no choice: after Harwin was shot, his older sister quickly found comfort in the arms of another man who was far more dangerous.

Perhaps that was what attracted him to her.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his niece's silhouette plunged into sleep, tense, her body completely numb, her bowed head leaning against the window.

He placed his hand on her palm, clamping his fingers on her skin, his throat squeezed at the thought that he felt exactly like then, when he had found her curled up under the bed.

"– you were right to be afraid of sleeping in the dark – you don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows –" He whispered – her body shuddered, but she didn't wake, her fingers tightening on his.

"– uncle –" She mumbled.

He pressed his lips together feeling a single, heavy, warm tear of sorrow run down his cheek at the thought that she was able to recognise his voice after so many years.

He parked in front of Daemon's house and lowered his window, pressing the button to wake up whichever bodyguard was there. He heard a moment later that someone had in fact appeared under the other side.

"– do you know what fucking time it is, man? –"

"– someone gave Daemon's daughter, and my niece, a rape pill – I brought her –" He said dispassionately, his free hand still clenched on hers.

"– oh fuck –" The man mumbled, and the gate in front of him immediately opened.

He pulled into the driveway and parked at the very entrance, Rhaenyra in only a bathrobe, apparently awakened from a deep sleep, walked out of the house with Daemon running up to his car. He turned off the engine and stepped outside, closing the door.

"– what happened? – how did you find her? –" She asked terrified and pale, looking at him in disbelief.

"– Heavenly Beach – she called me – she barely spoke –" He replied coldly, opening the passenger side door. Her mother immediately leaned over her, gently patting her cheeks.

"– my love? – good God –" She mumbled, stroking her hair and shoulders as if she were a small child.

"– what was she doing there? –" He asked Daemon. Rhaenyra's husband threw him a long, frustrated look.

"– she said she would be staying the night with a friend – I am as surprised as you are –" He replied impatiently, taking his niece in his arms exactly as he had before, heading home with her, her face sunken into a deep sleep lying on his shoulder.

He shuddered when Rhaenyra touched his arm, looking at him uncertainly.

"– would you like a cup of tea? – you can stay the night with us –"

After you ran away without a word of apology when your son ruined my life, you stupid whore?

"– no –" He said immediately, turning around and heading for the driver's side door, getting inside his car without bestowing another glance on her. He started the engine and began to back up, turning around, driving out through the gate back onto the dirt road.

By the time he returned to his flat it was morning, but he did not feel tired or sleepy. He was attacked immediately by the paws of a large brown dog – Vhagar, his gift of comfort after losing his eye, looked at him with big eyes and barked with rage that he had left her alone for so long.

"I know. I know. I've had a rough night." He hummed, stroking her head. His dog grumbled for another moment, whining and howling, until she gave up, returning to her sleeping place.

He pulled off his jacket and boots, lay down on his bed and unlocked his phone, going into his messages, clicking on the icon that said Rhaenys.

He scrolled through her messages, imagining as he did so that she was lying right next to him, that everything he had read she had just whispered in his ear, embracing him tenderly as she had then, that summer.

He didn't write her back because he didn't know what he should say.

He was ashamed to admit that if it hadn't been for Aegon, this would probably have gone on for a while until their parents found out and they would be completely humiliated.

He was ashamed to admit that his most beautiful childhood memory was both something disgusting and shameful, something that some part of him wanted to forget.

He was ashamed to admit that his grandfather had told him that he could forget about the University, because once you enter this world, you stay there forever.

He was ashamed to admit that he felt that it had always been too late for him, that there was no moment in his life when he could change something.

He fell asleep in the end and didn't wake up for several hours, tired and shaken; he shuddered when he heard his phone ring and reached for it quickly, thinking it might have been her again.

He swallowed hard, disappointed when he saw it was his grandfather and answered reluctantly, closing his eyes.

"Did everything go according to plan?" He asked.

"Yes."

"What were you doing in Heavenly Beach?"

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad.

Lie or tell the truth?

"Rhaenyra's daughter called me. Someone put a rape pill into her drink."

Silence answered him for a moment, from which he felt a discomfort in his stomach.

"Aemond –" His grandfather began. "– this is the last time you interfere in their affairs. Do you understand?"

He looked ahead, biting his lower lip so hard that he felt the taste of his own blood on his tongue, his throat squeezed so tightly that he felt like he had stopped breathing.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [5]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous Chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: OMG I’M SO SORRY. this chapter was so hard to write and it kept getting away from me, because i really wanted to pivot hard into some of the main plot points. i really hope you enjoy it, please drop me a comment and let me know even if you didn’t.

“Come.” Your mother’s voice is firm. Her mourning veil just barely outlines the shape of her face, as her lips move beneath the fabric. It billows behind her as she walks down the darkened line of empty pews toward the front of the little chapel, a flickering candle held steady in her gloved hand. 

Your father is to be buried tomorrow. 

You know his grave is already dug—a fresh square cut out of the dark earth next to his father’s. The thought of him alone in the dirt is enough to make your throat tighten, though no tears come. You have cried them all already; a veritable ocean. Even so, your dry eyes ache for lack of them.

“W-wait, mother, I—” You do not want to see it, the vacant thing your father’s soul has left behind. At the end, you could barely recognize him in the fragile body decaying in his sick bed. You catch at her sleeve with numb fingers, lowering your head in shame. “I do not want to see—” Her icy fingers wrap around yours, long and thin, her jagged nails digging into your skin. 

“We must each place a stitch upon the shroud.” You wince as she presses the long needle into your stiff hands. “It is our duty.” Only when you accept it does she release you, and for a moment, you see her lips quirk cruelly beneath the veil. You tremble as your mother steps aside, your breath catching as you see the shape of the body on the altar. 

Just behind her is your father, his shroud dotted with the shapes of dead flowers and bare trees. It does little to quell the horror you feel to behold him, though, his thin outline visible through the shroud, limbs folded and delicate like a baby bird.  You remember what he looked like two nights prior, his rheumy eyes dull and deep set into his skull, skin thin and sallow. He looks small now, too, beneath his shroud, and you find it hard to believe this withered corpse had once been a great mountain of a man. A good man, a strong man, now reduced to the barest scraps of skin and bone. 

“Stitch.” Her command fills every inch of space, in the chapel and in your head. And though you want nothing more than to close your eyes and be gone from this place, your body will not obey. You raise the needle. 

“Please, mother—”

“Stitch.” Her voice is like iron nails in your skull. Blood drips from your nose, and you taste the warm copper of it on your lips. You pinch a corner of thin fabric between your fingers, and push in the needle, pulling it through until the knot at the end of the thread catches. You lower your hand to the shroud as you sew another stitch, and as you do so, your fingers brush your father’s sunken cheek, and you retch. 

You cannot stop—

She will not let you. 

You look down at your father’s body with tears in your wide eyes, and as you do, a scream builds in your throat. You pinch his lips together between your forefinger and thumb. Delicately; like you would the hem of your gown for a curtsey— and sew another stitch through the meat of them. He is beginning to rot, now, you can smell it over the cloying scent of incense.

“Mother stop!” Your scream is swallowed by the heavy darkness of the empty chapel. Your mother sighs, her breath curling against your ear. 

“How else can we make sure the dead don’t speak?” She threads her fingers through yours as she pulls your hand toward his sunken eyelids. You pinch the stiff flesh between your fingers, holding it taut for the needle. 

“Now close his eyes.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed as you cover your mouth with one hand, fingers searching for the thick black funeral thread—but of course, you find none. The dream clings to the edges of your vision like spider silk, the taste of decaying things still heavy on the panicked air you draw in. A ra sob wrenches its way out of your throat as you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyes. 

Perhaps I am mad, after all.

Ain’t supposed t’see the dead ones. Maybe Madge’s old superstitions had borne fruit in your own mind. You recall the symbol she made with one hand, finger on thumb, finger on thumb, before spitting down into the dirt as you left your father’s burial. She’d shaken her head then, some the silver-gray locs piled on top of her head coming loose. Ain’t supposed t’see them. They stay when you see, them, Lady. 

They stay.

“No!” You throw the blankets off of yourself, lurching out of bed and stumbling towards the wash-bowl on the dresser. The thought of that day fills you with the same cold dread you have come to know too well. You’ve little choice in your dreams; the specter of his burial hanging over you like overripe fruit. But here, in waking, in the chill autumn daylight, you have the power to turn your thoughts to other things. 

At least, you try to. 

The water is shockingly cold, but you are grateful for it, staring down into the porcelain bowl. A knock at the door startles you, and you jump.

“W-who is it?”

“Kassandra, Majesty. Might I come in?” 

“Yes,” you sigh. “You may.” You pat worriedly at your swollen eyelids, and you frown at your reflection as the door swings open. Your mother has an effortless sort of beauty, one that needs neither rouge nor powders to enhance—a trait you certainly do not share. Your disturbing, sleepless night is written plainly on your face. 

Kassandra sets the tray down in the sitting area, before turning to you with a worried expression. 

“Her Majesty hopes you are well,” she says, nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with dainty fingers. “As you were not at break-fast this morning.” 

“I was… I did not sleep well.” You shake your head. “I trust my mother made her displeasure quite clear.” She stifles a laugh. “She’s good at that.”

“She did.” Kassandra gestures to the tray, porridge and an assortment continental fruit cut into bite size pieces. “You should eat, Lady. While it’s hot.” You pick uninterestedly at the porridge until it is mostly gone, along with the tart green grapes and sweet winter melon. At the very least you do feel better for it, or at least, more present—more grounded in this world, not the dream one. 

You clear up the remains of your breakfast, piling the dishes neatly back onto the tray. In the armoire, you note that more Rivian style gowns have been hung, your light Redanian dresses folded neatly and shunted off to the shelves on the side. Your mother’s thin excuse makes you wrinkle your nose in distaste as you finger one of the heavy sleeves. “Much too light for these Rivian winters, Dear,” she’d said, patting the neatly folded dresses. 

“You won’t need them.”

The truth remains unspoken, but you know it still—she does not want you to need them. You pull a heavy crimson dress from its place and begin to undo the lacing. Kassandra clucks her tongue at you. 

“Highness, please. Allow me at least one task.” You roll your eyes in response.

“I believe you are capable of more than dressing me—and that I am more than capable of dressing myself,” you reply. You change into a fresh shift before shrugging into the dress. You twist around to reach for the lacings, but Kassandra shoos your hands away to do them herself. 

“You’re doing them wrong.” She chides you gently. “Up for lift, down for compression, my Lady.” Kassandra nods at you in the mirror and then positions your body so that if you crane your neck just a little, you can see her hands as she easily threads the thick ribbon through the eyelets. “Opposing sides. Like this.” 

You purse your lips. “We don’t wear these dreadful things in Redania,” you mutter, your breath hitching as the corset tightens. She laughs before stepping away, brushing loose lint from the folds of the heavy fabric. 

“Even so, our fashion does suit you.”  You can tell she wants to say something else, the way her mouth opens and then closes, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“You’ve another correction?” You ask, gesturing at yourself with a chuckle, but she shakes her head. She glances at the door, as though reassuring herself that it was still shut.

“No, no, I—I do not mean to be insolent, Highness,” Kassandra begins, “but I do not think I have ever heard you say you have rested well within these walls.” Your smile turns brittle and tired. 

“No. I have not. And your concern is not insolence. I am grateful for it.”

“Healer Janna—her draughts have not availed you?” You hesitate, wondering if you should describe the shape of your demon, give it form and substance outside of your mind. You shake your head, steepling your fingers together to stop them from trembling. 

“It seems the dreams that plague me require more than nightroot and dried frogspawn to satisfy them.” I see my father. I see him dead a thousand ways. 

“Healer Janna’s draughts for sleep and pain are as close to magic as they’ll allow in the White Keep, you know that.” Bastard’s magic. You do. You think of Father Rame’s disgusted expression. He does not seem the type to suffer a witch to live. “But I have… there is another. A woman—they call her The Dock Hag.” Her voice is a low whisper, as if she fears the good Father ears will ring with her heresy, even here. 

“And she can… she can rid me of these dreams?” The prospect is a tantalizing one. “You know her? You have visited this woman?”

“I—yes. I met her. Once.” Her smile is sad. “When I was small, and the older Ladies had need of her.” Kassandra’s words are aged, heavy with the weight of years that both do and do not belong to her in equal measure. “And then again, for the memories.” 

“She…” You cannot bring yourself to say it. Kassandra nods, the smile going brittle and crumbling from her face.

“Not many Lords will claim their bastards, Highness, if you will forgive my candor.”

In your mind’s eye you see a small Kassandra, attending her own mother, most likely, or perhaps even an older sister or cousin who… had need of this woman. The witch who had taken their babies—

And then burnt their dreams out. 

“What did it cost?”

“Nothing special. Gold.” You let out a relieved sigh at her words. That, at least, is an easy enough problem to solve. Kassandra cuts her eyes at you. “Are you going to go? To see her?”

Perhaps Madge was a superstitious old northern goat—But maybe she was right too: the living are not meant to mingle with the dead. Perhaps it is some guilt that drives your father’s image to the forefront of your mind, some secret thing that the specter of his death clings to—you cannot know. 

But the witch might. 

—

The east stair is narrow, cut roughly out of the stone as if it were an afterthought. The iron railing is pitted and mottled from the salt in the air, and it rattles dangerously as you grip it. The stairs themselves are uneven, still slick from the inconsistent rain that had stopped only hours before. Every step feels as though you are lurching forward, being pulled down the long winding stair to the paving below. 

There are more ways to enter and exit this keep than the main gate, Majesty. 

The east stair wound around the back of the White Keep like a snake, the steps hidden in the stone like a secret. As you take another cautious step down, your foot slips and you gasp, the railing shaking as you cling to it. You steady yourself, locking your trembling knees tightly as you recite Kassandra’s instructions. 

You will take the east stair down from the parapets over the chapel. Through the gap in the wall is the city. Go straight to the docks, ask for the Hag.” She had not wanted to stay behind, though you had convinced her with a stern look and an order to send away any who came knocking at your door till you returned. You would need her to provide a believable excuse in the event that anyone came looking—and an empty room would be cause for alarm, especially with you… “ill.”

Below you, the city glitters with light even as the dark begins to deepen. Beyond it, the sun sinks into the sea, lingering on the horizon before disappearing completely. Like Kassandra had said, near the foot of the stairs—twenty feet back, and behind a column, but near enough—is the gap in the wall. It is overgrown thick with dying ivy, the orange leaves already turning spotty brown at the edges. 

Crushed leaves litter the hood and shoulders of your cloak as you start to squeeze inside, the stone catching at your clothes. You push your way through the narrow passage, panic coiling in your gut at the feel of the unyielding pressure at your chest and back. Your fingers meet open air at the next push, and you practically drag yourself out into the streetlight, fingers digging into the stone. 

The misty street that greets you is practically empty, and what few people there are do not seem to have noticed that you have joined them from nowhere on the wet cobbled street. Hurriedly, you brush dirt and discarded leaves from your cloak before you adjust your hood, angling it down over your eyes. You keep your head down, your hands clenched into trembling, nervous fists. Every heavy step you take away from the keep sets the warning bells in your skull to ringing, as gooseflesh rises on your arms. 

It isn’t too late to go back. It isn’t. Not too late to turn around, slip back between the ivy covered crack in the east wall and seek your mother’s counsel once more—and go to sleep, knowing that you will see beyond the veil again. 

The thought spurs you onward. 

The streets are even more unfamiliar in the growing dark, and as you watch the lanterns flare to life to chase it away, you swallow nervously. There is so much to see, here—too much. As you approach the city centre the market is still bustling with activity, the shops open and windows bright.

You spare yourself a few moments to watch the people. A woman buys bread, her son playing in her skirts, a man pulls shut the door of the tavern across the way, a blacksmith’s hammer falls rhythmically like a drum, the chapel’s bell rings for evening prayer—there is so much here, the sheer amount of everything almost dizzies you. A woman bumps your shoulder as she passes by, and it stirs you out of your reverie. By the time she turns to apologize, you are already gone, hurrying off through the square. 

The air turns salt with brine the closer you get, and you lick your dry lips, tasting it. The night had been thick with sounds in the city center, but the further you travel from it, the more quiet the streets become. It is eerie, the stark difference between these silent, empty streets and the lively square only moments ago. 

The last time you had been to the docks was when you’d stepped off of the ship, in the scant few days before your mother’s wedding. Now, the narrow streets look different, unrecognizable from the snatches you remember through the carriage windows. You look in one direction, and then another, frowning.

“You’re lost, Sweet.” There is no question in the old woman’s voice. You see her then, standing beneath the street lantern in a pool of pale light.

“I—I am looking for—”

“Me, Sweet. You’re looking for me.” The shadows fall away from her face without her moving, like the light has only just decided to accept her. The Witch’s white hair is wild about her face. And her face… she is a severe beauty, like wind whipped ocean waves. The years define her jaw, sloping in gentle strokes down around her eyes, and her ears slope upward into gentle points. She is older than your mother, though you know this not by sight but because you simply… know it. An uncanny feeling that has grown in the back of your mind that she is like you, but… un-like you, too. 

She is an elf. 

It is not just the ears, but the air about her, an ethereal quality that surrounds her as thickly as the shawl about her shoulders. It is in the delicate set of her jaw, perhaps, or the distinct lack of canine teeth in her amused grin. You take a halting step forward, and then stop, wary.

“You are the W—you can help me?” The Witch wraps her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and fixes you with a hawkish look. 

“Don’t know that yet.” She purses her lips. “Shall we do this in the street? Or will you oblige me my own roof?” You nod hurriedly, and follow her as she turns quickly on her heel down the street. You are close enough to the docks to hear the water as she approaches a small house, pushing open the door. You follow her inside, halting briefly at the doorway. There is dried heather inside, hanging in a braided bushel on the arch. She watches you step inside, her dark eyes narrowed. 

“Shut the door behind you,” she snaps, flicking the edge of her shawl over her shoulder. “Never met a Princess raised in a bloody barn.” You brush aside the bushels of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling as you make your way inside. 

The Witch rounds the other side of the table, where you see the evidence of her unfinished work. A grindstone, laying on its side, with half-ground herbs lying in the bowl. 

“How did you know?” You ask as she picks it back up, the sound of stone on stone filling the room as she resumes. “That I was looking… for you.” 

“I always know,” she replies, somewhat exasperated. “Like a rabbit knows a fox.” Her sharp eyes find yours once more. “What ails you, sweet Princess?” There is mockery in her tone, though you dare not take umbrage at its presence. “A suitor you wish to beguile? A fair maiden you wish to remove from his eye?” Her gaze drops down, and then darts back up again. 

“Or perhaps an unseen consequence?” 

Your throat tightens. 

“No, I—my dreams.” You say. “I dream the most terrible things, and I—I want you to take them away.” 

The stone stops. 

“Come here, child. Into the light.” The Witch holds out her hand, beckoning you forward. “And take down that stupid hood, you’re not hiding from anyone here.” She clucks her tongue at you as you approach, fingering the edge of your hood reluctantly. She already knows who you are—though you are not quite sure how she knows. With one hand, she reaches for your face. You do not flinch away from her—you do not fear her, though perhaps if you were smarter, you suppose you would. Her touch is gentle as she tilts your chin up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The fire crackles in the hearth, louder for the silence. 

“And what do you dream?”

“I see…” You swallow. “I see dead things.” She peers into your eyes, her pupils wide. “I see my father.” You tremble as she steps away, your mouth suddenly dry. “These dreams, these-these nightmares, you can stop them, can you not? You can—”

“I’ll not hear more about what I can and cannot do from the maid in the high castle,” she snaps. “And they are not dreams, though you walk through them in yours.” With her other hand,  she reaches beneath her collar, producing a thin leather cord. There are all manner of things tied to it—feathers, beads, and small, clean animal skills that shine dimly in the firelight. There is a long black needle there, too, hanging by its’ eye. 

“There is a spirit tethered to you.” She turns your hand over, stroking her fingers over the lines in your palm.  She snaps her fingers, motioning for you to give her your other hand. “By great sorrow—” The Witch squints, bringing your hands closer to her face. “Or rage.” She drops your left hand, holding onto your right. “I can no more remove it than I could your shadow.” 

“Tethered?” You repeat. “These are—they are dreams, they are not real—” You sputter in protest, but the Witch merely looks at you, orange firelight dancing in her dark eyes. 

“If they are only dreams, why do you fear them so?” You cannot answer. “They are messages. You should be grateful for them, there are few feats quite as great as bridging the divide between us and those who have gone before, Little Queen. Your father cannot watch over you forever.” 

“I am a Princess.” The Witch smiles. 

“Is that right?” She grasps your hand, gripping your index finger hard and watching as the tip reddens. You flinch as she pinches the needle between two thin fingers. “Come now, Sweet. Mustn’t be afeared of a little pain.” She jabs it into the meat of your finger, and you yelp, tugging uselessly at your hand, but her grip is iron. 

“Ouch!” With a twist of her hand she swipes the fat drop of blood from your fingertip and flicks it into the fireplace. It does not fizzle out, but instead lands on the topmost log, bubbling until it turns black. It smells like ozone—not copper. You do not know why, but you tremble a the sight of it. You have come here to have something taken away, but as you watch your blood crack and burn, you feel as if perhaps something is being given instead. 

“What does this mean?” You turn to her. The Witch rubs your blood between her fingers, sniffing the residue for a moment before wiping them clean on a rag. She does not answer you right away, staring thoughtfully at the thin line of black smoke curling from the fireplace. 

“Please, I—”

“It means, Princess, that we are kin, you and I.” She tilts your chin back as you stare at her, wide eyed. She runs the tips of her fingers over the narrow curve of your left ear—not pointed, not like hers, but… You push her away before you can stop yourself, clutching at your chest with your other hand as if to calm your racing heart. 

“This cannot be true, it—it cannot!” 

“Less than half,” she continues as if your sputtered refusal had never been spoken at all. “Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still.” The Witch looks you up and down, and this time, there is pity in her gaze. “I cannot take your dreams.” Cold spreads through your trembling limbs. “You must release them yourself.” 

“Release them? How?” She cups your face, and the movement of her thumb over the swell of your cheek is almost affectionate, though the words she speaks next send a cold chill down your spine. 

“No fear, Little Princess. No fear.” For a moment, you swear her eyes go gold, and Geralt’s voice echoes again in the space between you. Before the Witch can say more, you quickly dig the gold out of your pocket, tossing the coins down onto the table as you flee. You do not register her cries to stop, to wait as you barrel through the door, throwing it shut behind you. 

It is raining again, hard sheets of cold water pouring down from the dark, angry sky. You can hear the sea raging against the docks, water crashing in thunderous waves up against the harbor’s weathered stone. Your head is spinning, full to bursting. You are elf-kin—perhaps? Maybe?

Your mother had never seen fit to mention that minor detail—and for that matter, neither had your father. You tug your hood up roughly over your head and turn your face down, away from the cold rain pelting against your skin. Had he even known? 

Would he have even wanted to?

Perhaps I can just ask him myself.

The thought makes you shiver, wrapping your cloak tighter around your shoulders. I can no more remove it than I could your shadow. You do not know which is worse—having left your father behind alone in the dirt, or the restless specter of him living in your dreams. Your finger aches from the point of the dock witch’s iron needle, and you clutch your hand to your chest as you make your way back towards the White Keep. Above you, a white hot arc of lightning splits the sky, throwing up stark shadows against the row of dark houses. 

It is by that grace alone that you see the man. 

You stop short, your heart leaping into your throat. He stands in the shadows beneath the sagging eaves, his stony face surprised as your eyes meet. He steps forward with a heavy sigh, a gloved hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip. 

“Highness.” Your throat tightens, and you take a cautious step back as he comes into the meagre light offered by the street lantern above you. “Please don’t make this difficult.” His cloak is drawn over his chest, but you can see the shape of the armor underneath, jet black. 

Nilfgaardian.

 You turn—and run straight into a hard, armored chest.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Duke Emhyr’s long fingers dig hard into your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. His black hair is slick with rain. He was waiting here… waiting for me. “I shall have to inform Lady Kassandra of your whereabouts,” he sneers. “She seems to think you are asleep in your bed.” You lift your heel and grind it hard into the top of his foot, and the Duke curses, his grip loosening. You pull away, but he manages to catch the edge of your cloak, pulling hard until you fall backwards. 

The impact knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping and dizzy, staring up at the dark sky. 

“We did not get to finish our little chat, in the garden.” He says, squatting down over you as you struggle up to your knees on the wet street. “I think we should do that now, Princess.” 

Your heart pounds heavily against your ribcage as you stagger to your feet. 

“No.” 

“It is not a request.” He motions to the guard behind you, and he grabs you as you struggle, wrenching your arms behind you. 

“Filthy witch,” he hisses, and you flinch. “You and your whore mother.” 

“Gavin, your manners.” He tuts mockingly. “I would be honored, Majesty, if you would accompany me for tea.” You stare at him in silence, the rain soaking through your cloak. “If you would, Ser Gavin.” He forces you forward, and you stumble. 

“It is late for tea, Lord Emhyr,” you snap, dragging your feet against the paving stones. “Perhaps a discussion with Her Majesty herself—” Ser Gavin grunts with irritation at your resistance and shoves you, hard. You stumble as the Duke makes an angry noise deep in his throat. 

“I’ve little stomach for lies.”  

A cold shiver winds its way up your back. You hear the threat though the words remain unspoken. The streets are deserted, and you cannot tell if it is the weather or the hour. Behind you,  clears his throat. 

“Here, my Lord.” 

The faded, splintering sign hanging above the door reads Madam’s Tea House, though by the riotous noise coming from inside, you suspect they serve a few things little stronger than tea. Ser Gavin places a rough hand on the back of your head, forcing it down as he steers you through the doorway. Your stomach drops as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

The air stinks of ale, sweaty skin and something more pungent and sour that you cannot identify. There are people everywhere, draped across tables, lounging on pillows and pinned against walls in various states of undress. Your throat goes dry, at the sight of the bare-breasted women sprawled over the tables, their dresses rucked up around their waists. A woman with white painted cheeks and cherry red lips steps quickly out of the way as you are shuffled through, her eyes lowered and lips pressed into a thin line. You understand their choice of venue now—

No one will even remember you were here— and no one will remember when you are not.

As if sensing your rising panic, Ser Gavin’s hand tightens on the scruff of your neck, and with the other hand, he grasps your shoulder. On the raised dais in the center of the dim room, a woman twists lithely, scarves gripped in each of her dainty hands. Gold rings dangle from her bared nipples, matching the one in her nose. Your eyes meet and for a single moment, for a single step, she falters.

The crowd at her feet turns on her in an instant, jeering and spitting. The same men who had watched her dance with silent awe now mock her openly, insults dripping from their lips along with stray drops of ale. 

“Let’s get a new girl up here. One who can remember her bloody steps!”  There is no end to the praises of men when one is perfect—nor an end to their venom when you are not. The truth of it is as plain as the room Duke Emhyr and Ser Gavin force you into. There is a bed with a bare, stained mattress upon its dilapidated frame, and a wooden chair stands between it and the weak fire in the hearth. 

“Sit.” Emhyr instructs you with a bored gesture, and when you do not  comply, Ser Gavin squeezes your shoulder hard until you gasp from the pain of it. You lower yourself reluctantly to the chair as the Duke watches, and you get the feeling that he enjoys it, watching you be forced to heel. If not my mother, then me. Through the silence, you can hear the muted noise of the brothel outside. As uncomfortable as it is for you, you hope it is doubly so for them. 

The Duke stares at you, his eyes narrowed. 

“You wouldn’t see it, not at first,” he says. The disgust drips from every syllable, like he is speaking of something unsavory. “The way you favor them.”

Your heart pounds even as you feign ignorance, schooling your features into shocked offense at his words. He cannot know that this is the second time you have heard them this evening, that you are already itching to get to a mirror to confirm these revelations for yourself, because you do not even know if they are true. The memory of black blood curdling in the hearth is enough to set the uncertainty in your lead filled stomach rolling. 

“I know not of what you speak, my Lord.” The words feel fragile, like they are made of glass. “There—there is still time to let this be nothing but an unpleasant misunderstanding—”

The duke stands in front of the hearth, his hand resting on the mantle. The curve of his back speaks to his weariness, and you wonder if he has been looking for you all night. 

“You and your whore mother have upset the order of things quite a bit, here. Whatever other things you may be, you are not unintelligent enough not to have seen so.” He turns, the fire reddening his cheeks and setting the whit es of his beady eyes ablaze. “Two seasons of talk and courtships undone in a month—and for a woman who is too old to bear a new heir.” 

“His Majesty has an heir,” you remind him. “Or have you forgotten? If you disagree with your king’s decision, you are more than welcome to challenge it before the court a second time, though Their Majesties might not be so prone to leniency given the circumstance.” His jaw tics at the reminder of his position—and yours—but the sly upturn at the corners of his mouth do not disappear. 

“So the Witch does inspire loyalty in you.” He squats in front of you. “Do you know what we do to witches, in the North?” He asks, fingering the dagger at his belt. “Father Wolf is the devourer of all things. Even savages.”

 “Ever since I stepped from boat to shore I have heard that word, and I cannot help but wonder,” the words pour through the gaps in your gritted teeth, and you hope he chokes on the broken glass of them—“if you have ever uttered them looking in a mirror.” 

He raises his hand, as if to backhand you across your face, and you duck down hunching your shoulders to prepare for the blow. It does not land, however, and when you look cautiously up at the duke, he is staring behind you, locked above your head. There is a fourth presence in the room now, one you feel pricking at the back of your neck. 

“No, no, continue.” The drawl that fills the empty room is both shocking and achingly familiar. “I would see the treason with my own eyes.” Geralt stands in the doorway, filling it to the brim with the width of his shoulders. Water drips from his sodden silver hair, though he makes no move to push it back from his face. His hand rests openly upon the sword hanging at his hip.

“That way it passes fewer lips on its way to the king.” 

Duke Emhyr’s eyes go wide, and then angry. 

“I protect the crown, and you call it treason,” slowly,—almost regretfully —the duke lowers his hand. “Can you not see? Can you not see how they twist—” Geralt turns his gaze to you, and somehow his golden eyes seem darker. Harder. 

He came for me.

Ser Gavin fingers the pommel of his sword nervously, playing at the thought of unsheathing it, but too craven to commit. Still, he stands between you and the prince, and does not move. The duke’s rambling of treason and bewitchery continues behind you, rising to a fever pitch as you approach the door. Briefly as you turn, you see him, his face red and lips flecked with frothy spittle as he flings a long, accusing finger towards you.

“They will poison this empire, it’s people! You cannot allow them to sit the throne, it is treason to do it knowingly, you must act!” The fire burns bright in his wide eyes, and you see reflected in them the same vicious zealotry that burned in Father Rame’s. “That which is rooted in rotten soil cannot grow! I will not stand idle while we are destroyed from within.”

In the spaces between his words you can see the calculation. He’s chosen death, you realize. You taste it in the air before he speaks, the power of his decision already shaping the world around it, like chaos—but not the kind they shunned. It tastes like the air inside the chapel; the still, thick air, perfumed so that the smell of his body would not leak further than a few feet beyond his corpse. 

“You know the truth of what I speak, Majesty, you must see that His Highness is not himself! He pants after the elf-bitch, like a man possessed! It is unnatural, you must—you must see it!”

Geralt’s mouth creases with anger. “I see your distrust in your King has bred treasonous discontent. I see your desire to rise above your station would have you slavering after my father’s throne like the dog you are.” He steps into the room then, and you watch as the Duke’s hand closes about the grip of the dagger strapped to his waist. “Your dedication to this fiction will cost you.” 

You had not been able to see Geralt’s other hand, positioned behind him, his arm taut as though he were dragging something heavy. He steps aside, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see why—

A dead Nilfgaardian soldier lies behind him, dark liquid pooling thickly underneath his armor. The duke sees it too, his body tensing. 

“If you will not serve your people, if your father will not protect them, what choice have you left me?” The duke murmurs, the words underscored by the quiet ring of steel as he unsheathes his blade. You jump up, knocking the chair over in your haste to get away from him. You trip over your skirts, stumbling forward as Ser Gavin grabs for you, his hand knotting in your cloak. 

“You will let her go.” Geralt delivers the instructions as truth—no ultimatums. 

“Oh, aye,” Emhyr, nods, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “On that we agree.” You expect him to lunge for the prince, to hear the sharp clash of steel on steel, but you do not. Instead, his face fills your vision. “You may go wherever you wish, now, Lady.” 

You taste death on his words and in the air, and when he steps away, his hands are empty. There is a strange coldness in your belly, and slowly, your hand drifts up to investigate. The leather grip of the dagger is warm, but the steel is cold, so cold you can feel it all the way inside. It’s strange, the way it doesn’t hurt, the way the blood does not feel hot on your trembling hands but cold—

The death Emhyr had chosen was neither his own, nor Geralt’s—but yours. 

Dimly, you are aware of Geralt, of your body tucked tightly against his, the sound of steel on steel, the feel of cold rain on your face. Weakly, you lift a hand to your belly, your fingers slipping on the handle. Geralts hand closes over yours.

“You must leave it, Doe, you must. I know it hurts.” It doesn’t. You want to tell him, but you cannot find the will to move your lips. You feel your grip slacken on his cloak, your fingers releasing themselves without your permission as your vision tunnels. Geralt tells you not to close your eyes, and the words echo far off in the encroaching dark. 

I have to, you think that perhaps the words escape your slack lips in a low mumble, but you cannot be sure. 

Just for a little while. 

to be continued…

next chapter

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour, some of it gets a little rough. Some mention of an emotionally abusive parent, and readers problematic views of her own autonomy. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.5k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, pulling your attention from your pancakes. “You’ve been really quiet.”

Your cheeks warmed and you immediately felt bad; she’d shown up early to go to breakfast with you before taking you to the Met, and all you’d been able to think about was the Homeland agent who’d approached you the night before.

“I’m fine,” you answered, forcing a smile. “Just tired. We were out late last night.”

“Billy took you out?” She seemed surprised.

“He took me dress shopping,” you explained, reaching for your coffee. “He’s throwing a party next month and he wanted me to have a new dress.”

“Oh, his Vampire Night party,” Karen nodded and you shot her a confused look. “He does it every year, it’s to celebrate the anniversary vampire’s being accepted into society. It’s supposed to be a big deal but, for Billy, it’s just an excuse to throw a crazy party every year.”

“Does he normally invite the person who’s...” you struggled for a moment, not wanting to out-and-out state what you did in the busy little diner, “working for him when he throws parties?”

“Usually - I mean, it’d be pretty shitty to throw a party in the penthouse and not invite the other person living there.”

“So, the others, they all went to his parties and they enjoyed themselves?”

“Yeah, if there’s one thing Billy knows, it’s how to throw a good party,” she answered, fixing you with a look, as if she could sense there was more you wanted to ask. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “It just seemed like such an easy job and, I guess, I just don’t understand why anyone would do anything to ruin it for themselves. Do you know what happened to them once they left?”

You needed something, some sort of sign, to tell you that you weren’t wrong, that you were safe with Billy. And, if you weren’t...

Well, in that case, you needed to find a way out that didn’t involve going home with your tail between your legs.

“As far as I know, they all went back to their lives. Though there was one...” Karen trailed off, the thought alone making her wince. You shot her a questioning look, silently begging her to continue. “Not the last one, but the one before, she had to be removed by building security. She tried to come back a couple of times but she eventually got the hint.”

The one before the last one - so, one of the last three, one of the ones Madani thought was dead. She’d been fine when she left and she’d been seen a couple of times since. So, that meant that Homeland was wrong about Billy, right?

With your mind set at ease, you happily finished breakfast and, before you knew it, you and Karen were stepping into the Met. You felt like a kid at Christmas. It was everything you’d imagined and more. Karen could barely hold back her amusement as you moved from exhibit to exhibit, never seeming to lose any of your initial excitement. It was something you’d always wanted to do, filled with things you’d always wanted to see.

By lunch time, poor Karen needed to sit down, and you needed a coffee so you ended up in the cafe. When Karen headed to the bathroom, you looked over the map, making a mental note of what you’ve seen and what you still wanted to see. Distracted, you didn’t notice the figure beside you until she’d taken a seat. The Homeland agent, Madani.

“Are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice low.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Madani answered, ignoring your sharp tone. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed last night?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’m pretty sure Billy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She fumbled with her pocket, quickly pulling out her phone and showing it to you. “These are the three missing women; Layla El-Faouly, Krista Dumont and Mary Poots.” With each name she moved to a different photo, letting you see each of the missing women. “Has he mentioned any of those names?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Have you seen anything in his penthouse that might belong to them?” You shook your head, quickly feeling overwhelmed by all of the questions.

“No, and anyway, you said the last three women, right?” You asked and Madani nodded. “People have seen one of them since. She even got thrown out of Billy's building a couple of times.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yes,” frustration slipping into your tone. “Whatever you're looking for, it's not -”

“Has Russo done anything to hurt you? Is he forcing you into a sexual relationship or have you felt like you’re being controlled?”

“What? No.” 

“You might not even realise that he’s doing it. Some vampires are very good at controlling their victims, Russo is -”

“He’s not controlling me,” you told her as firmly as you could, glancing around, hoping to spot Karen. “Can you please leave me alone? I don’t want to lose my job because of this.”

“I can protect you -”

“I don’t need protection, I need this job,” you told her. “Please, I wasn’t kidnapped, he hasn’t hurt me, and I know he hasn’t hurt anyone else. Can you please just leave me alone before you cause any trouble?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Madani relented, “but I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You muttered that you wouldn’t as she stood and left, just in time for Karen to return.

“Who was that?”

“She was asking me for directions,” you lied, as you stood, not wanting to think about anything Madani had said to you. 

It was all crazy, ridiculous. You weren’t being coerced or controlled and you still didn’t believe Billy was capable of hurting anyone. Fortunately, there were plenty of exhibits left to distract you for the rest of the day.

By the time you returned to the penthouse it was getting late. You rushed to draw blood and to throw some pasta onto the stove. When you were done, you found Billy on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the view of the city until he heard you approach.

He smiled and you felt butterflies, and there was a spring in your step as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass for his blood before joining him on the sofa.

“You look nice.” His eyes trailing down your body.

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and the skirt-blouse combination, “Karen took me to the Met. We got back late. I haven’t had time to change yet.”

“I’m glad,” Billy said, taking the glass from your hand, “I love your legs.”

Your cheeks warmed and you bit your lip. As much as Billy liked to pay you compliments, you still weren’t used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it, especially when Billy managed to make every compliment sound simultaneously sweet and filthy.

“I got you something,” he said a moment later, motioning to a large paper bag on the floor in front of him. Cautiously, you pulled it towards you and pulled out a large yellow, faux-fur blanket. “You can leave it out here for when we watch TV together.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the gesture, but there was one thought you couldn’t quite shake; “it’s yellow.”

And yellow didn’t exactly match the dark and minimalist decor in the penthouse.

“It made me think of you when I saw it,” Billy shrugged.

The butterflies in your stomach seemed to multiply; it was a warm and happy colour, it was the colour of sunlight, and it had made Billy think of you.

Hugging the blanket to your chest you thanked him before carefully placing it back in the bag.

“I’ve got some time before I need to leave for work, if you want to hang out?” He asked as if he needed to, as if he thought there was any chance that you wouldn’t want to stay there with him.

As he drank, you told him about your day and every little thing you’d seen in the Met. And he listened. It seemed like he was actually listening, hanging on your every word, like he cared, like he wasn’t just indulging you and letting you run your mouth.

“Maybe next time I could take you?” He offered. “They do night openings a few times a month.”

“I’d love that,” you answered without a moment's hesitation.

“Really?”

“Of course. I like spending time with you.”

He finished his drink and quickly put the glass down, licking his lips as he turned himself towards you.

“You like spending time with me?” He repeated. 

You couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused. “Yeah, you’re... different to the sort of people I’m used to being around. I like talking to you.”

“Just talking to me?” He asked, a smirk starting to tug at his lips. You felt your face start to heat again as your gaze dropped to your lap. “Still so shy, so easy to embarrass,” he muttered, placing a hand on your bare knee, “but I bet you’re already wet under this little skirt.”

Your breath caught and your thighs clenched together at the realisation that he was right.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look until you realised he was moving. You watched, confused as he slipped onto the floor, his hands on your knees, urging your legs apart so he could sit between them. It wasn’t until he started to slowly kiss your thigh that you realised what he was going to do. Your heart started to race, and Billy noticed.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his cold fingers tracing soothing patterns on your leg.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ve just... I’ve never...”

“It’s okay, hummingbird,” Billy reassured you, smiling softly. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

While you managed not to show it, those words almost broke you. He always seemed to care about you, about making sure you felt good, and that wasn’t something you were ever sure you’d get used to.

Your cheeks burned hotter when he reached beneath your skirt and eased your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. He pulled you towards him, lifting your legs over his shoulder while continuing to trail kisses up your thighs. Up and up and up, until -

“Remember the rules,” he told you, gazing up at you from between your thighs, “and breathe.”

Until he mentioned it, you hadn’t even realised that you were holding your breath. With a nod, you let out a slow breath, trying to steel yourself for this new experience. His cold fingers gently parted your folds and a shiver ran down your spine. You bit your lip, keeping your eyes focused on him until you finally felt it. His tongue slipped through your arousal, delicately at first and then with a little more pressure. You back arched and your hips pressed forwards, and you could have swore you felt Billy’s lips pull into a smirk against you.

He alternated between long, slow laps of his tongue and faster flicks, obviously taking note of your reactions. One moment he was focused on your clit, the next, you felt the tip of his tongue against your entrance. Your body shuddered, completely overwhelmed, and you almost lost your mind when you heard Billy groan.

“Billy -” you gasped, knowing that you weren’t going to last long.

“Not yet,” he almost-growled from between your thighs.

Before you could even think to beg, his tongue was against you again. Your fingers slipped into his hair, needing something to hold on to as your thighs started to tremble. It felt like you were being devoured by his mouth, his lips and his greedy tongue making you feel sensations you’d never felt before. Soon enough, it felt like his grip on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from crushing his head - it was too much and not enough all at once, you desperately wanted the release of an orgasm but you didn’t ever want him to stop.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck...” you whimpered, barely holding back. “Billy, please...”

It almost seemed cruel when you felt his lips on your throbbing clit, gently sucking. Your back arched again, trying to press yourself closer but his strong grip kept you in place. 

Your fingers tugged on his hair, twisting and pulling, earning another groan from Billy. Every muscle tensed and you felt like a spring coiled too tight, like you could snap at any moment. And, thankfully, Billy seemed to realise that.

“Okay, hummingbird, you can come,” he muttered, barely pulling his lips away from you. 

One more flick of his tongue and you were done for, crying out as you came undone. All the while his tongue kept moving, lapping the wetness that spilled from you, and not pulling back until your thighs were violently shaking.

While you struggled to catch your breath, Billy lowered your legs and rested his chin on your thigh, grinning up at you. 

“What are you smirking at?” You managed to ask, fighting back a smile of your own.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks starting to warm again. “I think the situation called for it.”

That got a laugh from Billy. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said before getting himself off the floor and sitting beside you again. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you couldn’t answer. Once he’d asked the question you couldn’t even look at him. All you could do was give the slightest little nod, suddenly acutely aware that your panties had ended up on the floor in front of the TV and, as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes from them.

That is, until Billy placed a hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. For a few seconds he simply looked at you, almost seeming confused, before smiling again.

“What is it about you?” He asked quietly, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “Why can’t I get enough?”

Before you could answer, he’d closed the distance between you, kissing you and sending you into a tailspin. How could he keep saying things like that, how could he keep making you feel so special, when he seemed so reluctant to - god, you didn’t even know. You still didn’t understand how this casual thing was supposed to work. The time you spent together left you feeling like there was something, a connection between you, but that wasn’t what you’d agreed to. It was just supposed to be fun.

But, surely casual fun was supposed to lead to sex, right?

“That’s not what I want to see when I kiss you,” he remarked, pulling back a little, leaving you even more confused until he clarified; “you’re frowning.”

“I was just...” you fell into silence for a moment, not sure how to say it. “Do you want me, Billy?”

“Do I want you?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I mean like -”

“Oh, hummingbird, I know exactly what you mean,” he almost laughed, his hand still on your cheek. “I’m just not sure how you can ask me that after I’ve just been on my knees worshipping you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, you kissed him, tasting the lingering traces of your arousal on his lips and tongue. You pressed closer and closer, until you felt an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he muttered against your lips.

“You’re not,” you answered breathlessly, sinking back into his lips.. 

He pulled you closer, positioning you so you could feel the bulge of his erection against you. The feeling alone was enough to cause your hips to shudder and buck, still feeling sensitive from his tongue. Billy groaned, his lips pulling from yours and finding your neck. You barely noticed the buttons of your blouse being undone until he started to push it off your shoulders.

Trembling fingers started to pull open his shirt, hands exploring every inch of cold skin that you revealed, feeling the raised lines of scars beneath your touch. Billy squirmed when your hand trailed over his shoulder, his body pressing up against yours.

Your heart raced faster when you felt him unclasp your bra. You barely had time to finish removing it before his lips were on your breasts, kissing, licking and sucking. Every cold touch sent a jolt of pleasure right to your core and, before you knew it, you were gently rocking your hips against him.

“Billy,” you gasped as his lips closed over your nipple.

Desperately, you dropped your hands to his waist, fumbling with his belt then, when that was open you started on the fastenings of his pants.

A yelp escaped you when you felt his teeth on your nipple, not biting hard enough to break skin but more than enough to give you a shock. An eager growl sounded in the back of his throat as he moved to your other nipple. But his sudden roughness wasn’t enough to stop you.

Despite his cold touch roaming your body, you felt hot, like you were on fire. Every deep breath you took was him; his cologne, his clean shirt, the products in his hair. You were intoxicated, drunk on Billy Russo. His fingertips pressed into your hips with a bruising force, but all you cared about was getting his zipper down and letting him possess you completely.

“My little hummingbird,” he muttered in that low, dangerous tone as his lips moved back to yours. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth with an unbridled want that seemed to match your own. The words didn’t shock you like they perhaps should have, they didn’t worry you at all. You trusted him to stay in control.

Clumsy fingers tugged at his zipper and -

“Shit!” You yelped as the zipper nicked your skin, pulling back from him, lifting your finger to your lips.

Billy’s whole body went rigid beneath you, eyes narrowing, dropping to the finger between your lips.

“It’s alright, I just -” you started and stopped just as quickly, looking at the small bleeding cut before looking at Billy.

His eyes seemed to get darker and you watched his throat bob uncomfortable as he tried to swallow. You squirmed as his grip tightened on your hips, holding you in place. The tiny cut bleeding in a way that only tiny cuts could.

“Billy...” you muttered softly, trying to soothe the monster inside of him.

Gingerly, you reached for him, tenderly running your fingers through his hair while you returned your bleeding finger to your mouth, trying to remove temptation. 

His jaw tensed before he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, desperately seeking your finger and the tiniest drop of blood. You tried to push his face away, your hand on his jaw, your finger ending up between his lips.

“Billy, stop,” you pleaded, “please.” 

Suddenly you found yourself hitting the floor as he stood and moved away from you. It took you a second or so to get over the initial shock before you grabbed your blouse and covered yourself. By the time you got to your feet, Billy was halfway to the elevator, buttoning his shirt as he went.

“I’m sorry.” The words left you in a desperate and broken tone, not knowing what you could possibly say to fix the situation or stop him from leaving.

Billy froze, taking an uncomfortable breath before turning back to you, confusion written all over his face. His eyes moved from you to the elevator and back again, weighing his options.

“Why are you sorry?” He asked, a crack in his voice that made your heart ache. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I was clumsy, and I pushed you, and I -” you sniffled, blinking as your eyes threatened tears. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told you, voice firm and certain, “that’s not what happened.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Billy was at a loss, staring as you tried not to break down in front of him. Your mind was racing over everything that had happened, over everything that you had done wrong - all the things that Billy seemed to want to ignore. You’d always been clumsy, never careful enough. Your mother had always chastised you, telling you that you only did it for attention, telling you that you were needy, criticising you for always wanting to be the centre of attention.

It was easy to spiral into those negative thoughts, to see all your faults and failings, to feel broken and unloveable. 

He stepped towards you, confusion softening into something more like concern.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, “I did. I almost lost control, I could’ve -”

“I shouldn’t’ve complained, I -”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to jolt you from your self-loathing. “I told you that you always have a choice here. Always. No one gets to hurt you, and you never have to go along with anything that scares you or makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

On some level you did, you understood completely, you knew that he was right, but years of being made to feel like you were the problem were hard to overcome.

Reluctantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand finding your cheek, urging you to look at him.

“How you feel matters, hummingbird. What you want matters,” he told you. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s me, I - there’s something wrong with me, something I can’t always control, and you deserve better than that. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not a hundred percent certain about. I never want you to regret anything that we do together.”

It felt like your throat was closing up and your vision started to blur, it wasn’t until the first sob shook your body that you realised you were crying. The idea that you had a choice, that you got to decide what you wanted, and that your feelings mattered - no one had let you have that before. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“No one gets to hurt you,” he told you again. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Even from himself, though the words went unsaid.

He shushed you as you whimpered the word sorry again and held you tighter when you hid your face against his shoulder. Minutes passed, and Billy held you, not moving, not pulling away. Eventually you stilled, your breathing slowing and the sobs subsiding. But, still, Billy didn’t move. His hold on you didn’t loosen until you slowly pulled back.

Your head instantly dropped, the back of your hand trying to scrub the tear stains from your cheeks. One of his hands remained on you, resting gently on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“What are you sorry for?” 

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

The question hung awkwardly in the air between you, neither one of you wanting to answer it. It was more than obvious now that you both had baggage, you both had parts of yourself that you were desperate to keep hidden, but it was also becoming clear that you weren’t going to be able to hide forever.

“I think we’ll have to eventually,” Billy told you.

As much as you hated it, you knew he was right. 

Silence lingered for a few seconds before you quietly confessed; “I feel safe with you.”

It felt important to tell him that, like everything else could come after. Despite his little lapses in control, you trusted him. He looked like he wanted to ask how you could feel that way after everything but, at the same time, it was clear that he didn’t want to know.

“Are you... okay?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s complicated,” he said and, for a second, it seemed like he was going to leave it at that. “I just - when you’re a vampire, everything is so loud. Everything feels like it’s too much. It makes you want so much. Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it.”

You stomach knotted as you watched him struggle, the jagged edge to his tone furthering something he’d already let slip days ago; he didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be a vampire.

“I feel like that too, sometimes,” you offered softly. “Not exactly the same but - my mom always used to tell me that no one likes emotional women. Whenever I’d get upset, she’d tell me I was being hysterical or call me an attention seeker. So I started holding it all in. I wouldn’t complain or get upset, I’d just pretend I was fine, and it made me feel like I was going to burst...”

Without warning, he pulled you into another hug, and you let him, your face pressing back into the damp spot you’d left on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding almost guilty, like he thought he was somehow to blame. “You don’t have to hold it in with me, you don’t have to pretend or go along with anything that you don’t want.”

“I do want this though,” you confessed, stopping short of telling Billy that you wanted him, that you were starting to feel something for him. It had only been a few weeks but, already, you felt a connection to him, something you didn’t want to give up. 

He seemed torn, almost like he wanted to cut his losses and end things now, and you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through the rest of the year if you had to go back to how things had been at the start. That is, if he even wanted to keep you around. Technically, because of him, you’d broken your contract.

“You need to promise me something; if you’re ever not comfortable, you’ll tell me to stop, and if I ever scare you, you’ll tell me,” he told you in a firm and uncompromising tone.

“I promise, but -” you hesitated, not sure if he’d appreciate your condition, “- but you have to tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

Billy nodded and you sank forward into his arms again, holding him tight for a little while longer until he finally had to get ready and leave for work. And, of course, you felt terrible that he had to go and change out of his crease, tear-stained shirt before he went. He left with the promise of spending time with you tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

End Note : The Marvel name drops are mostly just easter eggs (and because I HATE coming up with names for side characters. I feel like a lot went on in this chapter but I don't actually have a lot to say about it. I'm just slowly piling on the mystery and angst.

Anyway! Thanks for reading! I've really loved all your comments and questions on this series. Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

[hwashotcheeto]

𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 (1)

Best Friend's Mother Masterlist

Chapter: One

Milf!Park Seonghwa X gn!reader

Summary: You finally meet Wooyoung's father, and he isn't who you were expecting at all.

WC: 3.3k

CW: Mostly more plot/character development, but suggestive at the end (teasing, flirting). Wooyoung is a brat (no one is surprised), Seonghwa uses pet names on the reader (darling, dear, (little) doll)

AN: Ahhh, here we go, first official chapter! There's no smut just yet BUT the next chapter will be, promise! I hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @hyunjinsjeans

You let out a huge sigh of relief as you submitted your final assignment for the semester. You flopped back onto your bed and laughed in relief, feeling your pulsing headache beginning to ebb away. 

The last day of the semester came way faster than you were prepared for. And you weren’t nearly as stressed as your normally would’ve been. 

Maybe because tonight, you and Wooyoung were leaving to go visit his dad. 

Wooyoung told you the next day after you asked that his father responded with an “enthusiastic yes,” and couldn’t wait to meet you. The last week of the semester flew by after that, and now you were here. 

You checked your phone, and you had thirty minutes before you had to meet up with Wooyoung before you started the drive back to his dad’s house. Thankfully, you’d packed most of your things the night before, so you spent your time double and triple checking everything, and collecting everything else you might need. 

And before you knew it, Wooyoung was texting you. 

Heyyyyy

I’m parked outside your dorm, I finished early

Did that essay kill you? 

Come onnnnn, we gotta go sooooooon

You ignored his texts until you were leaving the dorm. You got outside with your bags, being met with the early Winter weather. Cold air, a little bit of snow on the ground. Par for the course for northern November weather. 

Wooyoung got out of the car and helped you with your bags. “Did you bring your whole closet?” He asked as he put them into his trunk. 

“I had to, this is all I have.” 

“Oh, right. Well, you can borrow some of mine if you run out while we’re there.” 

You were going to be with Wooyoung and his dad, and maybe other family, until classes started again in January. A whole month away really was a small vacation, and you were ecstatic to be away from this building with your best friend. 

“Thanks, Wooyoung,” you said softly, hoping you wouldn’t have to bother him with borrowing his clothes. He smiled and motioned for you two to get in the car. 

And then you were off. It wasn’t a long trip, about a forty minute drive, but it felt way shorter to you. You were both incredibly relieved to be away from school, but also incredibly excited for what this Winter Break would hold. 

Your heart was pounding as Wooyoung entered his home town. He hadn’t told you much about where he grew up or where his dad lived, so when Wooyoung drove into a rich suburban neighborhood and pulled into the driveway of an extravagant house you were floored. 

The house was a minimalist, modern aesthetic. The colors were sharp and contrasted starkly, the windows were clear and clean, there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere.

“You didn’t tell me your dad was loaded,” you joked as Wooyoung turned off the car. But when you looked at him, he was nervous. You couldn’t really fathom why Wooyoung was nervous to be home, unless he himself didn’t want to see his father. 

But if Wooyoung didn’t want to see him, why did he bring you along? It didn’t make sense. 

“I need to tell you something about my dad before we go inside,” he started, looking down at his hands in his lap, fidgeting with them. You couldn’t help the numerous ridiculous thoughts that filled your head, trying to predict whatever Wooyoung was about to say. 

“My dad…” He was already hesitating and trailing off. Warning bells were going off inside your head. Wooyoung thought for a long while, before you could see him mentally make the decision to just rip the bandaid off. “My dad isn’t a masculine man. He prefers to dress like a woman.” 

And you sat stunned for a few seconds as to why your best friend thought this would be an issue for you. 

“Wooyoung, I’m sorry, but do you know me?” You asked. He looked up at you, and along with nervousness, guilt started creeping into his eyes. “I don’t care how your dad wants to dress or act, as long as he’s not an asshole.” 

You saw Wooyoung’s whole body relax, melting back into the car seat. He laughed softly. “Yeah, I don’t know why I was so nervous. I just didn’t want you to be surprised when we went inside to see him.” 

You nodded, and smiled encouragingly. He smiled back, and you both went to get out of the car. 

As you two were grabbing your respective bags, Wooyoung said “ah,” remembering something. “By the way, he prefers being called ‘mom’.”

“Are you sure your dad doesn’t have something to confess?” You said, half joking. Wooyoung laughed and shook his head. 

“No, no, it’s not like that. Believe me, I asked a couple years ago. He likes being a man, he just also likes looking feminine.” 

And then the nervous excitement bubbled up inside you as you both walked up the driveway, then the sidewalk, then the stairs to the front door. You could feel the mix of emotions clawing at your body from the inside out as Wooyoung struggled to grab the correct key. 

The excitement of meeting your best friend’s dad, along with the nervousness of wanting to impress him was making your stomach churn. But not in a way where you felt sick, your body just didn’t know how to calm down from everything. 

Wooyoung finally got the key out and unlocked the door. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest and run away. 

You walked inside and were greeted to the inside of the house reflecting the outside. Modern, stark, clean, but with tasteful decorations scattered throughout. Some paintings, statues, plants, decorative lights. 

But all of that was second to the gorgeous man in front of you. 

Wooyoung’s father-or, mother, as he preferred-was sitting on a large, plush couch to the left of the door, watching a movie. He looked over the couch and smiled at the two of you. You forgot to smile back, because you were staring in awe of how someone could be this beautiful. 

You didn’t hear what he was saying as he stood up to greet you two, because you got a full view of him and all the air left you. 

He was wearing a long sleeved sparkly sweater dress that stretched down to his knees, with sheer tights underneath. His black hair was fluffy and fell freely around his perfect face, reaching down to his jawline. 

Oh, his eyes and smile made your knees weak. You could feel nervous tremors run up and down your thighs. 

What might’ve surprised you the most was his hourglass figure. He had tits, hips, and a tiny waist. 

Oh, what a Winter Break this was about to be. 

“Hey!” Wooyoung called, and you suddenly remembered you weren’t in a dream. Both men were looking at you, Wooyoung slightly annoyed, and his mother amused. “Eomma, this is my friend. This is my mom, Seonghwa.” 

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Seonghwa said, holding out his hand. You took his hand and tried to give the best handshake you could. His grip was firm, but delicate. Your eyes flicked down to look at his hands, and to your surprise, even his hands were feminine. 

“Thank you, it’s good to meet you too,” you babbled out, struggling to make sure your voice didn’t waver. Seonghwa smiled warmly as he pulled back, and he turned to Wooyoung to hug him tightly. Wooyoung struggled to return the hug with his bags on his arms, but he still managed to make it work. 

“Did you go out?” Wooyoung asked Seonghwa as he pulled back, looking over his mother’s outfit. “You’re all dressed up.” 

“No, but my son and his friend visiting me is reason enough to dress up.” 

You swear you could feel your head starting to get light. Wooyoung glanced at you, then back at his mother. 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go unpack.” Wooyoung looked at you before continuing. “There’s a guest room close to mine, I’ll show you.” You nodded, and you two started for the stairs. 

“Don’t be too long!” Seonghwa called, “Dinner will be ready soon!” 

You felt your heart stutter at the mention of a home cooked meal for the first time since you couldn’t remember when. 

Wooyoung brought you down the hallway, turned to the right, and stopped at the end. “This room on the far end is the master room. Belongs to my mom, obviously.” Wooyoung waved his arms around to express his point, then motioned to the door on the left side of the hall, the one he was in front of. “This one is the guest room, and the one on the other side by the corner is mine.” He pointed to the door all the way down the hall. 

You nodded, your eyes betraying you and drifting to Seonghwa’s bedroom door. The forbidden room, your brain was telling you. You had no reason to go in there, but the idea of going beyond it- 

“Okay, dude, I can see that you were checking out my mom, okay?” Wooyoung blurts, making you whip your head back to him. You’d hoped you didn’t look as obvious as you felt, and your worst fear came true. 

If Wooyoung saw it, so did Seonghwa, and the mortification slowly took over your body as you felt your face burn hot. 

Your first instinct was to apologize, but you stopped yourself. All possible words left you, and you just stared at Wooyoung with fear and embarrassment all over your face. Wooyoung sighed and shook his head. 

“We’ll talk about this later, go unpack your stuff. Wait until I come get you.” And with that, he walked off to his room and disappeared into it. 

You didn’t even get to appreciate the gorgeous room you got to stay in, because you were too consumed with guilt to properly look over it. It was large, lavish, and comfortable, but you felt awful as you started unpacking. 

You were drooling all over your best friend’s mom the second you walked in the door. You couldn’t help yourself from feeling awful the entire time you put your luggage away. 

You jumped a whole foot in the air when you heard a knock on the door. The door creaked open and Wooyoung peeked inside. You were just finishing up as he came into the room, and you felt simultaneous relief and dread. 

Before you could stop it, words began tumbling out of your mouth. “Look Woo, I’m sorry, I know it was insanely disrespectful of me to act that way in front of your mom, I should’ve acted better and I-” 

“Woah, slow down,” Wooyoung said, holding his hands up. You stopped and swallowed back the rest of the words you thought of saying. You realized then that Wooyoung didn’t look upset anymore. In fact, he looked resigned. “I’m not mad. I think I was just protective.” He looked away for a second before he looked back at you. “I didn’t want you to think of my mom as some kind of porn character.”

“No, never!” You immediately blurted. 

“I know you’re not like that, and I’m sorry I snapped at you.” You could see in Wooyoung’s eyes, he felt remorseful. You found it a little weird, because he was justified in being upset. “People have done it in the past, he thinks he found a partner, and it turns out they liked the idea of having him as a personal porn star object, nothing more.”

The fact that such a revelation didn’t surprise you made you doubly upset. 

“So, I guess, what I’m saying is,” he started, and then sighed again. “I mean, if you fuck, just don’t tell me about it.” 

The bluntness of his request makes you choke, and you can feel your face instantly burn hot. Wooyoung finally breaks and laughs, and his laugh makes you laugh. 

You really were lucky to have an amazing friend. Not because he just gave you permission to fuck his mom, but that you could have proper conversations about issues and settle them like the adults you were. 

Then again, you both clearly still acted like teenagers, but it was like a wise man once said: There’s a time and place for everything. 

The three of you were sitting around the small dining table in the kitchen, enjoying the dinner Seonghwa had made for you all. Despite saying that it was a “small” table, there was still tons of space left over. You could fit much more food and people at this “small” dining table with how much space there was. 

The food was delicious. Half because Seonghwa was clearly a skilled cook, and half because you hadn’t eaten anything made with love in so long. The fact that it was made with love and care put into it made it taste stellar. 

“So,” Seonghwa started, looking over at you. “Why are you spending your break with us?” 

You expected this question. You’d rehearsed it a million times over. 

“I don’t talk to my parents, and the rest of my family already has plans this year.” It was the truth, but it didn’t give away too much information. Seonghwa gave you a sympathetic look with a slight pout. He must’ve realized you didn’t wanna talk about it more than that, because he didn’t push for you to explain more. 

“Well, I’m happy to have you.” You smiled and said a soft “thank you” before taking another bite of food. “You’re welcome.” 

You expected Wooyoung to be rolling his eyes with every look you gave Seonghwa, and to be annoyed with how permanently flushed your cheeks were. But to your surprise, he was giving you little smirks the entire meal, and giggling silently when your voice wavered as you spoke to Seonghwa. 

It’s like you two never really grew up. Two little kids giggling at each other from across the table, almost reminiscent of teasing your friends about their crush at lunch time. 

The big difference here is that your fucking crush is your best friend’s mom. 

And yet despite how obvious you two must’ve been, Seonghwa never commented on anything you two did. It was as if he hadn’t noticed a thing. 

You survived the rest of dinner, with light talk about how you and Wooyoung met, how school was going, your major, and more about you as a person. 

Seonghwa began to clean up when you all were done eating, but you grabbed your dishes and brought them to the sink. 

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa asked as you began to rinse off your utensils. He looked genuinely stunned, and you couldn’t understand why. 

“Cleaning?” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Seonghwa took the dishes from you. Not forcefully, but gently removing them from your hands. “I know, it’s polite to help, but I don’t mind cleaning. I actually like it.” 

“But you cooked. It’s the least I can do,” you argued. Seonghwa looked at you for a moment, then smiled. You felt your stomach flip over, and smiled back to cover it up. 

“Thank you, dear. That’s sweet of you.” 

The name shouldn’t have made you as flustered as it did. 

You spent the next few hours with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, continuing to talk, having some movies as background noise. As you sat with them, you observed their dynamic, and learned more about both of them in the process. 

Your irrational theories about Wooyoung being averse to Seonghwa couldn’t be more wrong. He was relaxed, comfortable, and he clearly loved his mom. Wooyoung was cuddled up to Seonghwa towards the end of your conversation, his head basically on Seonghwa’s chest and his arms around him. 

After the final movie, all three of you decided it was time to head to sleep. You said your good nights and went to your separate rooms. 

But despite the comfortable bed, the wonderful room, and the hospitality of Seonghwa, you couldn’t sleep. 

You looked at your phone, you shifted around, you tried walking around, but you didn’t feel tired. You were getting frustrated after a couple hours. 

You decided to go get a drink of water. Maybe it would calm you, or walking around would take your mind off trying to sleep. 

You quietly made your way out of your room and down the hallway, using the light from your phone to guide you. As you passed Wooyoung’s room, you heard him softly snoring. 

You got into the kitchen and carefully navigated to the cabinets. Seonghwa and Wooyoung both had shown you where to find cups in case a need like this arose during your visit. You didn’t expect to need it the night of, but here you were. 

You found a glass and got your water. It didn’t make you feel any better, but it did feel nice. 

“Can’t sleep, darling?” 

Your whole body jumped as you whirled around to look for the owner of the sound. You knew it was Seonghwa before you saw him, but you still weren’t prepared to see him in the archway, leaning against the wall, in a long black silk robe with flowers all over it. 

You shouldn’t have been fixated on the fact that his robe was open enough for you to see the line that ran down his chest, and the slight ridge of each side. 

He laughed softly before he spoke. “I’m sorry for startling you.” 

His voice was deeper than it was before. Smoother, almost. Like chocolate sauce. 

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it,” you mumbled, trying to keep your eyes on his face. That ended up not working out as his eyes made you feel small, and you looked to focus on your glass instead of him. 

But what you didn’t know yet was that Seonghwa didn’t like to be ignored. You looked at him when he spoke to you. It was a rule like any other. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and you listen to Seonghwa. 

He walked over to you and grabbed your chin, turning your head to look up at him. Your mind went blank and your stomach churned inside you like a washing machine. A smirk pulled the corners of his mouth up as your cheeks turned red yet again. 

“There we are,” he cooed softly, his voice hardly more than a rumble in his throat. 

“Seonghwa, what are you doing?” You said, your voice wavering on every word. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he moved even closer, his hand moving to the back of your neck. 

“Don’t tell me I was hallucinating the looks you gave me since you showed up. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you checking me out the entire time?” 

Of course not, you knew there was a strong possibility he knew everything. He was at least over double your age, he was no stranger to all of this. 

“I just didn’t think you’d do anything.” You began to stutter more as you struggled to pick the right words. You could see it clearly, in his big dark eyes, that he was enjoying watching you fight to stay composed. 

“And why wouldn’t I? You’re a cute little doll, how could I resist?” 

Your heart gave one massive beat you could feel throughout your whole body. The air in your lungs was sucked out. Your head felt light. You didn’t feel like you remembered how to stand. 

Seonghwa laughed again, and his eyes shifted to something more hungry. More primal. “Come, little doll,” he said, pulling you even closer until you were pressed up against his chest. “Won’t you stay with me for the night?” 

How could you answer with anything besides “yes”?

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

[its-in-the-woods]

'Down the Rabbit Hole' Chapter 1

Chapter two chapter three Chapter four

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating: None for this chapter future ones will be adjusted.

Slow build like novel damn length okay, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

WARNING I do not have this all written out, I do have it plotted out, but it may be a little slower for chapters to come out. Please bear with me. If you know a Beta to edit please send them to me.

Getting the phone call that you're working with Liz again is surprising. You had encountered Liz several times, mostly as a day call trying to get hundreds of extras through a small window of time. She was well-known in the industry as being a giant pain in the ass. Though you had gotten along somewhat well with her, you had never quite felt like the women would have picked you as a second.

Sitting down in the production office you start to fill in paperwork. There is always so much paperwork. Thankfully this would have you working for the next four months. Four months of not having to fill out forms or wonder when your next job would come. Granted you had made a favorable impression with several other heads of department. But if everyone was honest the biz was saturated with less skilled artists who would bend over backward, or forwards, just to get a day in. You flick over the paperwork refilling the same information for the fifth time. 

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second,” It's Liz, done up to the nines as always. Touches of grey hair starting to show against the dirty blonde. She wears all black with a horrid mix of silver and gold jewelry. 

You follow the woman back, completely prepared for her to tell you that you will not be seconded to her. That you'd be moved to 2nd unit or something much more fitting for someone with just “five years of experience”. 

Walking into the little office you place the paperwork on your lap as you sit across from her. The walls have headshots of cast along with information underneath.  You don't pay attention, if you're working a different unit chances are you'd never see them anyway.

“Nice to see you again,” Liz says, you get a feeling that she was putting on a bit of a show. She’s put on a weird smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, not that you could tell she won’t look at you. 

“Likewise, hope you've been doing well,” You reply, you can't stomach being a kiss ass.

Liz makes a humming noise as she flips through the large binder. One of the the few things you both agreed on, is hard copy beat digital work. 

“At the moment you're not going to be seconding with me, you've been requested by the lead.” She gestures over to the wall.

You look over and see Walton Goggins’ face staring back at you. You chew at your lip, you've worked with him twice. Mostly while doing smaller rolls, he had always been easy to work with and hilarious.  

“Ah, I see.” You reply, trying not to act a little flustered. You'd never had an actor request you, it was probably one of the biggest compliments you could get.

“You and Trevor will be working together with Mr. Goggins. I've taken you've read the script?” Liz looked at you through heavy mascara eyelashes. You nodded at the question. “Good. It's pretty straightforward, anything with large amounts of blood will be dealt with by the FX crew. You're basically babysitting and making sure he doesn't wander off covered in gore.”

You can't suppress the laugh at the comment. You could picture the man getting driven away looking like he had murdered a small town. The Teamster would have a fit about cleaning that.

“Sounds good, I am guessing I can increase my pay and kit rental?” You push, requested or not you knew your kit was far better stocked than most. Whether Liz agrees or not would be a moot point.  You could always approach production for a pay raise. Running it through Liz first just kept accounting from jumping down your throat.

Liz stares at you for a moment, her mouth a thin line. For a second you think she may try to argue the wage. Instead, she flicks her eyes back down to her binder.

“Yes, Production has already approved a pay raise for both. As well as sending in a small request for certain products he’d like.” Liz passes you the paper without looking up. On the top is your wage and kit fee, along with product allowance. It's much more than you anticipate, but you keep that to yourself.  

“You can drop your stuff off at the trailer and then go grab what you need. Start things off slow.” 

***

Paperwork done and handed in, you grab timesheets, start packs and, any other office stuff you think the trailer may need. Driving down the narrow alley you park your little Honda Accord beside the make-up trailer. You unload several bins beside the steps before parking. Inside the trailer is pretty sparse. You set out to fill your drawers, stocking the place with all the necessities. Trevor shows up as you're starting to finish up. 

“Heyyyy,” He chirps, coming in with his own kit. The man is tall, slim, with a wicked smile, green eyes, and a riot of brown curly hair. He is a major flirt who loves to chat about anything and everything.

“Hey, Trevor. How have you been?” You give him a hug. The two of you had both started out at the same time and he was as close to a friend as you had in the industry.  

“Oh yah know, just living the dream!” He rolls his eyes, waving his hands in the air.

“Nice we get some space to spread out. Feels homey” You smile as you place paperwork into holders. 

The trailer was a newer model, with four stations, four chairs, mirrors, lights, and shelving. There was also a sink and hair sink. It was nice to have your own space. Often times you were allotted a small tent and much else. But here you had access to everything and it was warm against the never-ending rain. 

“Not to mention getting requested.” Trevor wiggles his eyebrows. “Like I didn't think that would ever happen.”

You both chuckle at the situation. You finish up and make sure all your bits and pieces are laid out. You’d print any notes for tomorrow and get them into binders. Also, need to make sure you are connected with everyone’s clouds. Digital wasn’t your niche but it was necessary. 

“Do you want me to grab anything for you? I am hitting up the usual haunts for goodies.” You ask, grabbing your purse. Downtown would be a nut house but having all the requested products was important. 

Trevor pauses the comb on his chin. “How about I text you the list I need? I think I need like four things?”

“Yep, that sounds good. I will see you tomorrow for camera tests”

***

You do three days of camera testing and running over lighting making sure everyone looks their best. It’s always a flurry, trying to find an easy groove that you all could work with. Liz took the first chair, Katie took the second chair, you were in third, and fourth was slated for fx. It was tight once everyone was in there and warm, but it worked and that’s really all you could ask for. 

Now near the end of the week came the first shoot day. Liz barely makes eye contact with you besides a ‘Good Morning’. You didn’t care, you knew what you needed to do, a detailed email had been sent out last night. Besides Walton, you had three other actors to take care of. Not surprisingly they were all male, Liz’s actual second was Katie. A petite woman with pin-straight blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, and a big personality. She loved doing anything cute and fun. So you got stuck with the rough end of things, but if you were honest that was your wheelhouse. Bruises, cut lips, red-rimmed eyes, bloody noses, looking a bit more disheveled and run down. Yep, all things you could do quickly and efficiently. Hopefully, the AD wouldn’t be too pushy. The first two men are easy enough, you and Trevor fall into a rhythm. Blasting some 80s music as you both drink Red Bulls and dance away. Katie joins in the fun as you all pretend to sing karaoke

The third man doesn’t show, which is annoying as hair in cream blush. You radio the AD who already sounds annoyed. He tells you he will bring Walton over ASAP to you. You let out a sigh and rub your face. You crack open another redbull and take a deep sip. The trailer ran on redbull, which was the preferable alternative. 

“Stepping up!” Yells a familiar voice. Walton comes in with a flurry, coffee in hand, sunglasses pushed up. He wiggles his way through everyone with polite hellos and hugs. He comes over and squeezes you into a tight embrace. You hug back your cheeks going a little pink. The man is striking both in looks and presence, his aura is calm and confident. His hair was jet black with silver sideburns, deep-set hazel eyes, and an infectious smile.

“Oh, it is so good to be back filming. Finally!” He flops himself into your chair crossing his long legs. He is already in costume well fitting jeans and a green button-up. 

“Nice to see you again.” You smile and get to work, “How’s the day treating you so far?”

“It’s been lovely, though I do miss the sunshine. Does it ever stop raining here?.” He chatters on. 

You finish skincare and get down to covering minor blemishes and making sure his eyebrows aren’t too wild. Trevor chitters back with the man as he sorts his hair into something a little neater than the fluff it was before. 

“There you are looking fantastic as always,” You croon and step away from the mirror. The man makes a shocked sound and inspects his face.

“Darlin’ you always make me look as pretty as a painting,” Walton giggles in a higher feminine voice, looking himself over in the mirror. 

“Oh hush,” You giggle back, “get your tight butt to set.” You shooed him out the door, he wiggled his butt and gave you a kiss on the cheek before swishing out the door. 

“That man is hilarious, it’s going to be a fun show,” Trevor stated with a chuckle as he prepared his set bag. “Do you think number three will show?”

You let out a sigh,” Probably not at this point, the AD is going to murder us if we don’t get to set now.”

***

Number three was standing on set, you felt anger roll over your shoulder. He was of average height with a face that looked as if he had a permanent scowl. At least you had brought an extra set bag. You grab the man’s arm firmly, hauling him away to stand under a set light. Trevor immediately trailed after you. He huffs and stands mostly still. You can smell weed on him, and judging by his red eyes he was stoned out of his mind. You hand him eyedrops, and the man sneers at you but puts them in. Letting some of the liquid spills on his face, you sigh.

“Look, nerves are normal.” You mutter more to yourself than anyone. “But coming here stoned and avoiding makeup and hair is not going to win you any brownie points.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” The man bites out, walking away as you tuck your brush back into your bag. You grumble and move over to your chair, you make eye contact with one of the AD’s who scoots over to you. 

“I apologize about Arnold not coming to your trailer, I didn’t realize he was here.” The man lets out his own sigh, “It won’t happen again.”

“He doesn’t like us at all. Going to make things a little tricky.” You reply trying not to call him a complete ass about him. 

AD nods his head, “I know. It will be dealt with.”

You walk over to the video village peering at the screens as you say hello to familiar faces. Everyone looked good, even Arnold, at least his eyes weren’t completely bloodshot. You take a particular look at Walton who seems to be letting himself get into character. Something flits in your heart as he looks up at the camera from under his brow. 

***

The day ends and you cycle through secondary actors, Arnold all but running out the door once he is done. You can’t help but glare at the man, the least he could do was say thank you for cleaning his dirty mug. 

You flop down in the chair as the rest of your coworkers clean their things. The buzz of your coworkers is somehow relaxing, you take a sip of cold coffee and clean your brushes. Another knock and you turn to see Walton walking in, he has run his hands through his hair so that it stands straight up.

You let out a chuckle, “Did you stick a fork in a socket.” Getting up to let the leading man sit in the chair. 

“Oh, this?” He says pointing at his head, “I thought it was supposed to look like this.”

The room erupts in laughter as he makes his eyes cross and sticks his tongue out pretending to be electrocuted. Shaking your head you get to work, skincare was just as important as the actual makeup. You were ever grateful the man thoroughly enjoyed being pampered and preened by everyone. Made your job so much easier. 

*I am definitely nervous about posting this. But I hope it's fun and cute. It's going to be a slow build and a lot of back and forth. But I promise it will be fun cute and a little moody. Just a pinch of angst cause why not. *

Chapter two

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Cigarette Burns

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: near-death experience, trauma from abusive mother, DESCRIPTION OF BURNS

—————

When my time comes around. Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down

The cold is an enemy to fear more than infected or regular people in this kind of world. You could be in a remote area with no one for hundreds of miles, but the cold is always there. It doesn’t hide or wait for you to call it out, it attacks harshly and violently with no forgiveness. If you don’t have warm enough clothes, shelter, or fire you’re not surviving the night out with Mother Nature. It feels like thousands of needles stabbing into your skin repeatedly, or a numbing sensation that fills your body with panic when you can’t move your limbs. The cold could feel like you are melting it scorching your skin as it brings you to the sweet release of death. Cold isn’t a friend to any it went for everyone and everything, and only walked away knowing that you weren’t going to get back up.

Kansas winters were easier than Wyoming. Having a building to hide and be sheltered from, though run down with limited heat. You became resourceful, the puddle of blankets pushed right next to the heater waiting for the sputters and rattling as the heat flowed through it to get you through the night. The heater right beside the window allows you to gaze up into the sky connecting the stars to create paintings in the inky darkness. You are surprised how much was coming from the heater. It was never on for this long maybe a minute max but it was flowing steadily through.

“Honey?” The airiness of your mother’s voice threw you in a whirlwind not expecting the softness coming from the usual snarl and venom. “Come to bed with Mommy. Aren’t you so cold?” She stands at the doorway to her room holding her hand out as you push yourself up from the makeshift bed of blankets.

“But you don’t like me in your room.” You whisper out to her. It was one of the many things she ordered you to never touch. But her room was the biggest, she didn’t want you stealing anything as she puts it. She gives a soft smile still holding out her hand.

“Come on…daddy and I are waiting for you.” She says and you freeze. Your dad? But you never knew him, he left long before you were even born. A thing she constantly reminds and blames you for.

Ruining my fucking life….I should never have slept with that bastard…should have gotten rid of you the second I found out I was pregnant….bastard child along with a bastard father.

You always wondered what he’d be like, probably kind and strong, someone who would wipe your tears away when you were sad and make you smile from the jokes he would tell. To protect you from your bullies…to keep you safe from your mother. You wished he stayed so he’d take you away and it would be the two of you. But you never expressed those things. You tried asking about your father when you were very young but it only led to her screaming at you, how you were an ungrateful brat, after everything she’s done you wanted to think about being with your father. The guilt she held over your head like a toy twisting and molding it to have her be the perfect mother and you the horrible daughter.

Maybe you are a bad daughter…

Your father didn’t want you and she could have abandoned you too but didn’t. Was it love? You don’t think you knew what love is, whether platonically or romantically so those thoughts died. The idea of a father seemed like a fading thought, the idea seemed unrealistic like it was impossible to exist. Staring at the bedroom door that held your mother…and father waiting for you. To protect you…to love you.

“Come on kid!” A voice yells and your eyes snap open seeing Joel above you. Your body instantly shakes and you feel so cold and the striking pain in your shoulder and neck. It isn’t just the lack of body temperature that is painful each shiver and quake causes your body to ache and that produces more pain in your shoulder. Everything is fuzzy and dim your head feels like a dead weight as it almost lolls back if the man didn’t grab your neck to keep you stable. “Keep your eyes open. You’re alright,” He says before he yells over his shoulder, “Ellie where are those damn blankets!”

“I got them!” A young voice yells out and you see the girl holding a crap ton of blankets that she could barely see where she is walking. Another large shiver racks through your body an instinctive groan of pain as Joel looks over seeing your outerwear is off, your coat, socks, and boots are soaked in snow. The single layer of the long-sleeve shirt was still bleeding heavily and you weren’t even wearing gloves. Your fingers and parts of your face were bright red but he was glad to not see any signs of frostbite but mild symptoms of frostnip. The thick line across your throat from the cable made the flesh raw and irritated. He felt cemented in place trying to think of the next best step but he could only see his little girl in his arms when he had to carry you inside when you passed out from the pain and cold.

“Joel move, find the suture kit, and then get something warm for her drink. Tommy washcloths and gets some wood to start a fire. Ellie watch him.” Maria moves the older man aside before giving her son to the younger girl as she takes over the survival and motherly instincts coming out taking complete control of the situation. Your body practically vibrates from the cold and Maria moves closer you try to pull away but your shoulder makes you wince.

“You’re alright I need to take off your shirt so we can check your wounds. You have something under this?” Her voice is warm and comforting and she could see fear in your eyes surprising her used to sharp and cold ones. After gaining more sense of consciousness and understanding of the situation you were in you nod and she helps you sit up the blankets covering part of your stomach and your legs. Tommy returns with the washcloths and Joel with the suture kit before they return to their second task. Her hands move to your shirt and you stiffen and she waits noticing the uneven rhythm of your breathing before helping take off your shirt. Left in a slightly bloody tank top the shirt now clutched between your hands as you hear Maria’s sharp inhale. The noise drew the attention of the two adults just finishing their duties and the young girl.

Ellie had entered the kitchen with the baby to keep their view away from that finding the man standing there frozen unsure what to make, you couldn’t have coffee it could mess with your heart, and alcohol was out of the question. Joel had seen your aversion to the amber liquid. He hadn’t noticed the tightness in his chest and the ringing in his ears until Ellie grabbed his arm pulling him out of his state of panic.

“Joel..” The girl pulls him from his thoughts as he looks at his surrogate daughter, “You alright?” He wasn’t sure where this sudden state of panic came from. He had watched you ride out after one of the horses, himself and Tommy following after entering the storm urgency in them knowing you had no idea what was out there and you were defenseless. They had heard the large bang that sent fear through both brothers before the horses appeared without the rider. Joel headed off where they came from while Tommy wrangled the creatures. He had arrived just before it was too late seeing you being choked by a raider quickly shooting the one that was suffocating you seeing the damage you committed to the other raider. You had almost attacked him the fear and adrenaline probably overdosing your veins seeing the cold affecting you and the speckles of blood on your face.

It was that same fear in your eyes that he’d seen before. The years ago when Ellie had been kidnapped he was too late to rescue her from losing her innocence as she killed her captor, but the same fear that night all those years ago as his little girl clutched his arms as the life faded from her. He saw that same fear in your eyes and it sent him into a panic like he was reliving a horrid memory where he just kept failing. The nightmares he couldn’t remember when he woke up though he didn’t have them as often but when you came into his life they seemed to return. You are harsher and ruthless, everything he was during the beginning of the end of the world but you were only a kid. Tainted with the basics of childhood and thrust into the hate and death of the world. There are many things he wanted to know; how did you end up in Wyoming from Kansas, did you lose your parents during your travels, he wanted to know everything that there was about you. This draw and connection he didn’t think he’d feel. You are blunt, crude, aggressive, and an annoyance to him but here he stood panicking over you.

Why?

“I don’t think we have anything…to um..drink.” He says forcing himself to take a shaky inhale to calm his rapid heartbeat. Ellie seems to sense the panic and see the softness in the man’s eyes. Despite it being about a year in Jackson Joel was still a recluse, sure he helped around the community being a contractor in his past but he wasn’t one to make friends. He spoke in short phrases, grunts, and nods when people talked to him. It reminded her of someone she knew. He only really cracked a smile or told those dumb jokes around his brother or Ellie, and sometimes Maria. But you are here and she saw the softness as he held you in his arms bringing you inside or when he spoke to you before he was sent off into the kitchen. Ellie moves through the kitchen opening a cabinet reaching into the far back feeling the bag of treats she has hidden pulling out the bag of chocolatey goodness then to a fridge pulling out some milk. She puts the objects in Joel’s hands as he looks at them confused.

Ellie points at the chocolate and the milk, “Put that in there and heat it up, it’s good. It’s called-” “I know what hot chocolate is.” Joel grunts surprised to see the candy it looks handmade as he gets to work. He remembers a time when he made these during Christmas with small marshmallows and using candy canes to stir, even on rainy days watching a movie, or during sick days knowing they always warmed up Sarah making her feel better from whatever illness was affecting her. It was domestic and normal standing over the stove watching the milk heat up as he stirred the broken pieces of chocolate to melt once warm enough pouring it into a mug. He enters the room with the younger girl and his nephew and hears Maria’s sudden inhale and panic rises in him.

“What is it?” Tommy asks heading towards his wife stopping and his eyes widen taken over by shock. Joel was more panicked and Ellie was curious about what was going on as she and Joel took in what was shocking Maria and Tommy. They all noticed the scars that litter your arms, they expected something from someone who protected themselves out in this fucked up world. But they were crude the scars probably worse than the injury with the suture work you likely performed on yourself, but that wasn’t the scar and injury that had caught Maria’s attention and soon drew all theirs as Ellie tried understanding what a group of scars on your arms were.

“What is that?” Ellie questions the dot-shaped scars and Joel feels a sickness fill his stomach, “Are those burns?” She says that the adults in the room who did live in a normal world at one point recognize the scars that could only be caused by an object that was used by frequently stressed-filled parents with sticks of nicotine.

“Ellie take Liam upstairs. Now.” Joel’s voice is harsh and the teen tries to protest but with the look Joel gives her she doesn’t dare to defy taking the young baby upstairs the door to her room closing. Tommy stands up holding a fist to his mouth trying to hold in his rage.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Tommy spits the anger thick in his voice “Tommy.” Joel gives a warning tone to his younger brother.

“It’s fucking cigarette burns Joel. Christ,” Tommy wipes his hands down his face, “Those have to be years old.” You frown at Tommy's pacing vibrating with frustration and rage. The younger Miller seems to have noticed your look bending down to your level, “I’m not mad at you kid it’s just…you didn’t deserve this whoever did this to you.” You look away from the male using part of the shirt to cover your arms the small burns covered your forearms but the damage was already done they had seen it. Maria starts grabbing the needle and thread but you try stopping her.

“I can do it,” You look ashamed seeing their pity in their faces, “I don’t need your help.” Maria shakes her head.

“Just let me do this for you or we’re getting the doctor.” She places the final offer but you’re trying to pull your shirt back on biting your lip to stop the groan of pain and the once-clotted blood begins free-flowing. Joel curses grabbing one of the washcloths and presses it to your shoulder.

“Stop it! I don’t need your help!” You yell trying to pull away but it only creates more pain for you. “Stop it kid. You can’t see the full extension of it and your previous work isn’t a good show of trust,” Joel says and you glare up at him.

“Please kid, you’ve been bleeding for a while.” Tommy pleads and the rational side that wishes to live wins out but the more pissed off side doesn’t go down easy.

“I don’t want you here.” You say and Tommy sighs but if that was what got you to comply he gets up heading towards the stairs. You look over at Joel who hasn’t moved, “You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.” You hiss and for a second you feel guilty seeing his concern reveal slight hurt before it’s quickly covered by the mean expression constantly on his face. Joel nods stiffly moving out of the living room past his brother the door to his room slamming shut while Tommy makes his way to Ellie’s room to see his son.

The living room is quiet except for the occasional grunt of pain from you when the needle pierces through your skin and a murmur of apologies from Maria. Holding one of the washcloths to wipe away stray blood that spills Maria sits behind you as you sit sideways on the couch. Your gaze is drawn to the falling snow from the window in the living room counting the flakes that made contact with the glass.

“You know you should talk about it.” Maria speaks up and she watches your shoulders stiffen at her words before she continues, “You had us worried when Tommy and Joel watched you rush after that horse.” It’s quiet and she isn’t even sure if you heard what she said.

“We only want what’s best for you and seeing these kinds of injuries on your body. I worry Tommy worries, Ellie worries, even Joel. Especially Joel.” She says and a mixture of a scoff and laugh comes from you.

“What do you know what’s best for me…you’ve kept me here for your safety.” You say, “If you wanted to you could have killed me already so no one would find this place.” It was true if this had been any situation and you had stumbled upon them you would have been six feet under by now, but they met you, they came to the cabin, they decided to bring you back and help you. You could have bled out in that cabin if they had left when you told them to.

“And we didn’t because we are trying to bring back a sense of normalcy here. If we just killed people left and right we would be no better than those raiders after you,” Maria says and you hiss slightly from the needle entering your flesh. “In case you hadn’t noticed everyone in this building cares about you. And no matter how much you curse or say you don’t need our help. Deep down there’s a part of you that wants to let us in to ask for help.”

Maria lets silence fill the two of you as she continues her sewing and you don’t seem to even flinch at the pain. “It’s my fault anyway.” You say and Maria glances over your shoulder seeing you grip the bloody washcloth between your hands.

“I got myself in that mess and I found out what happened….I fucked around and I found out.” Your voice was thick tracing each burn on your arms with your eyes each ranging from light scar tissue from how long it's been others just as old darken from how long the butt of the stick pressed into your flesh. The young screams still echo in your ears as your arm was held to the table when it first happened just to get hit for crying. You learned quickly to not cry when she gave you that punishment.

“And who said it was your fault cause those don’t look like just a one-time occurrence.” Maria presses wanting to hear a name or someone. She prays whoever did this was long dead or suffering a horrible life. You felt a tightness in your throat at the question. You can still smell the nicotine and liquor on her breath the harsh grip of her nails breaking the skin with her warnings.

“Tell anyone and you’re going to wish you were never born.”

She isn’t here she couldn’t do anything. As much as you knew she was long gone Kansas City was running wild with infected from what Ellie described in her journeys.

“My..my mom.” It was so quiet you are certain she didn’t hear you but she did. She pauses the needle held in her hand as she looks at the profile of you. “It wasn’t her fault. She acts out when she’s mad. We were low on ration cards and I had gotten in trouble with Fedra.” It was a ramble of excuses that Maria knew did excuse burning your child. Maria’s silence makes you stop.

“Just…don’t tell them. I can feel your pity eating away.” You say and the older woman frowns she does feel bad for you. No child should have ever been treated like that and she was certain some of these other injuries may have been the cause of your mother.

“And your father,” She finally speaks up as she ties off the last stitch moving to clean the rest of the blood with the cloth, “He didn’t try to stop her?”

“A man that I’ve never met can’t really help ya know.” You say dryly. You wish he was there. Maybe he would have stopped it all, taken you away, and been the dad you’ve only seen in stories and dreams. But he wasn’t. Did that make him worse than her, he left a woman pregnant in a world that was ending around you all. Wrapping your shoulder in the bandage and briefly covering your neck she pulls back beginning to collect the items for the suture kit and bloody washcloths.

“Thank you.” You say and Maria looks back seeing you still not facing her and a small grin grows on her face. It was progress, slow progress but progress. More than a one-sided conversation though not a lighthearted one and a ‘thank you’ not some nod or even forced. Genuine.

“Just be careful with your shoulder.” She says before she heads upstairs to collect her husband and son from the event-filled night. When both Miller brothers, Maria and Ellie return downstairs to head out but also check in on you just catching a glimpse of you retreating to your room. The living room was back in order the suture kit was all packed up the bloody washcloths and your shirt was thrown away. Maria reassured the three of them you were alright and Ellie was a bit upset wanting to see you but retreated back to her room to sleep. Joel looks over at the mug still full resting on the table his gesture of help is forgotten and it makes his chest ache slightly.

“She’s gonna be alright?” Tommy says while fixing his grip on his sleeping son, the three adults had seen the scars and burns, and how you acted to them and towards people explained a lot.

“It was a pretty deep cut and her neck was raw as hell but other than that she’s alright,” Maria explains but Joel could see she was hiding something. There was a look on her face something she knew but she didn’t tell him even Tommy.

“And the burns,” Tommy whispers not wanting to speak up on it around his son even though he was fast asleep and too young to remember. Joel watches Maria as she pauses before fixing her coat.

“She wouldn’t tell me how she got them.” Liar. He could spot the lie as clear as day. But why was she covering for you? Joel nods and with nothing more to say the small family of three left to return to their home as Joel moves to the living room. Your coat hung on the hooks and your shoes and socks were piled neatly in the corner despite him ripping them off you in a panic. It’s as if you were never injured and sewed back together on the couch. Your features for such a young girl held such tiredness and stress even as you bled out. No fear though. Not a moment where you were afraid of dying just wanting this moment of weakness to go. A weight in his gut from the circumstances of today, thousands of scenarios running through his head, what if he and Tommy were too late for the raiders? What if your injuries were too severe for them to help you?

Stop it, Joel.

He shakes his head looking at the couch and your words ring back at him,

“You too. I don’t fucking need you, Joel.”

Pulling back like he was burned he returns to his room pushing away the insecurities and questions. The still-filled mug remains on the table the only thing holding the memories of what occurred tonight.

[agentrouka-blog]

do you think jeyne poole will live? like a long and peaceful(or will try) life or?

Oh yes, absolutely.

GRRM used her character for plot reasons, and to make a big terrible point about hypocrisy and classist disregard in a big number of people. But he won't end it there.

From Jaime Lannister to the collective Northern nobility, no one would bother raising a hand to protect Jeyne Poole for her own sake. It's inconvenient. It would raise a fuss no one can bother to deal with. Only Theon comes to care for her as a person. Only Sansa remembers her friend.

Jeyne is only barely a step above the peasant girls Ramsay hunts for sport. He names his dogs after them, several are called Jeyne.

Even after she escapes with Theon's help, she must remain "Arya".

Jeyne Poole had wept all the way from Winterfell to here, wept until her face was purple as a beetroot and the tears had frozen on her cheeks, and all because he told her that she must be Arya, or else the wolves might send them back. "They trained you in a brothel," he reminded her, whispering in her ear so the others would not hear. "Jeyne is the next thing to a whore, you must go on being Arya." He meant no hurt to her. It was for her own good, and his. She has to remember her name. When the tip of her nose turned black from frostbite, and the one of the riders from the Night's Watch told her she might lose a piece of it, Jeyne had wept over that as well. "No one will care what Arya looks like, so long as she is heir to Winterfell," he assured her. "A hundred men will want to marry her. A thousand." (TWOW, Theon)

But names are important, even if they aren't convenient.

And suddenly there came a wild thumping, as the maester's ravens hopped and flapped inside their cages, their black feathers flying as they beat against the bars with loud and raucous caws. "The tree," one squawked, "the tree, the tree," whilst the second screamed only, "Theon, Theon, Theon." Theon Greyjoy smiled. They know my name, he thought. (TWOW, Theon)

It's only when he embraces his true identity, in the first chapter that carries his name in ADWD, that Theon can rise to save Jeyne. He is filled with joy at remembering himself, even after all he endured. Even while still pushing Jeyne into the pretense of a different name.

GRRM isn't using mirroring language for nothing. Jeyne will return to herself. Even after all she endured, she will know joy and belonging. There is life after trauma.

AFFC and TWOW contain the first mention of Jeyne Poole from Sansa's end since ACOK.

She had not had a friend to gossip with since poor Jeyne Poole. (AFFC, Alayne II)

For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up. (TWOW, Alayne I)

The mentions tie her to friendship and to Sansa's own true identity.

GRRM isn't building that up for nothing, and the theme of identity and friendship, the mirror to Theon suggests a reunion that will validate Jeyne as a person worth of consideration for her own sake.

And that's where the idea of justice will come in. Jeyne is the perfect crown witness against Littlefinger, who is complicit in the plot of false identity to tamper with legitimacy of Northern rulership and the rights to Winterfell. He's a collaborator with not just the Lannister regime but House Bolton. There's barely any proof for his crimes, and none that Sansa can safely divulge, but this is a proper witness account for a trial.

Just like it's extremely likely that the dogs, with their various Jeynes, will be involved in the demise of Ramsay (though not the way the show did it) in order to give justice to the peasant girls he murdered, it's likely that Jeyne Poole will have a hand in creating justice against Littlefinger, one of the architects of her misery. And with the protection and regard of Sansa (and Arya), it will be made clear that even a person of lower rank like Jeyne Poole has a voice and importance.

And then she will go on and live her life.

[bunnysbrainrot]

No Vacancy - Day Two

Characters: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, Dean, Castiel

Content: Majorly plot building. Romantic/sexual tension.

Summary: In day two of your one-on-one case with Sam, you gather intel together. Once things settle down for the second night, Dean reveals some news. Sam realizes he’s made a huge mistake involving a lust spell.

*A/N: This chapter was getting a bit long, and I haven’t posted in a couple days, so this chapter is out early! Honestly I like the pacing of this a bit better so I don’t burn out. Y’all better be ready for the next chapter 👀

————

“Mrs. O’Connor, would you say that your daughter had any enemies? Anyone who would want to cause her harm?” Sam’s tone was filled with compassion as the woman explained the situation.

Her lips wobbled, “I-I don’t know. Casey was a sweet girl, she just got caught up in the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Did you see any changes in her behavior in these past few weeks?” You piped up, matching the softness of Sam’s voice.

Casey’s mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. You reached into the inner pocket of your suit jacket, handing her a pack of tissues. She gives you thanks and takes a moment before she speaks again.

“Not much. She was quieter, sure, but I thought, y’know, maybe she was depressed - she spent almost all of her time in her room. We were so close, and she just… distanced herself.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

Through tears, her voice broke, “Her whole demeanor changed, got… darker. She wouldn’t let me into her room anymore. That was where we had our movie nights…”

You nodded as you listened, glancing to Sam for a sign of a breakthrough, but his expression was muddled. A few moments later you were handing your personal number to Casey’s mother, and wishing her a good day.

Sam asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think we should check her room, but we need to give her mom some time,” you replied, mulling over what could have caused Casey’s murder.

Your phone buzzed against your hand in your pocket. To your relief you saw a text from Casey’s mother: Thank you for your help. I’m glad Casey has people who care like you do.

You showed Sam the message. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“What do I say back?”

“Well, we need to mention looking at Casey’s room,” Sam detailed, “and that we’re happy to help further.”

Your fingers fiddled with your phone as you issued a reply.

Of course. I’m sure the police have done so already, but we were given instruction to inspect Casey’s room. Would you mind letting us look around later today?

The reply was swift: Yes, that's fine. I'll be home later this evening, 7 p.m. would be the best time.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket, you updated Sam.

"She says we can come back at 7 tonight. Until then, we should probably look over the police report and see who might know what happened to her."

Sam nodded, "We'll head back to the motel and look into it."

The motel. The goddamn motel where you and Sam blurred the lines of your friendship. With any luck, he wouldn't mention anything of last night, or this morning.

It was the way it felt so normal to wake up with him, to be enveloped in his arms, his scent, his soft breathing before he woke. It was a one-time thing that wouldn't, and couldn't, happen again. It was a vow - a guarantee to yourself that you wouldn't slip up like before. You reminded yourself on loop until you reached the motel again.

—

Twenty minutes later, and you were still staring at your computer screen. The thoughts couldn't flow like they normally did with your research. Vague searches covered the screen, but nothing constructive.

'Casey O'Connor family' 'Casey O'Connor facebook' 'Casey O'Connor instagram' 'Casey O'Connor death’

The tension you held in the pit of your stomach turned over itself when Sam cleared his throat.

"Find anything yet?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. Maybe Sam hadn't given things much thought after all. His tone was his usual curious self, but those bright hazel eyes swallowed you whole.

"Uh- no, not yet," you stammered, "I was, um, gonna take a pause and go to the lobby. About the... room situation."

Sam's lips thinned into a terse smile. For him, he didn't care one bit if there was another room available. He watched you leave the room, cursing himself all the while you were gone. You returned with a nervous smile, sparking a hidden hope in Sam's chest.

"Still no other rooms. And no cots, either."

It was Sam's turn to remind himself that last night crossed a boundary. All he'd thought about today was you, regardless of how hard he tried to reroute his thoughts. The way you'd buried your head into his chest, how you murmured in your sleep, how delicate your body felt in his hands...

He snapped himself out of it again, muttering to himself.

"What'd you say?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm just mumbling to myself."

You let out a soft laugh, taking a seat on the bed. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of the consequences of sitting hunched over on the floor.

"The least they could've done was give us a desk or something."

"That's what you get in a small town, remember?" Sam quipped, that goofy grin back in action. You rolled your eyes at him and settled into your side of the bed, laptop open across your lap again.

Sam leaned over to you, staring at your screen. Well, you weren't lying when you said things on your end weren't interesting. You turned your head, watching him scour the Google search you haphazardly thought up.

"I... didn't really know what to look up," you admitted flatly.

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing sidelong at you. Those damn eyes. Part of you dared to close the inches between you, to brush your lips against his as if it were nothing. One wrong move, and you could risk everything you'd made with him. You surveyed his parted lips, suddenly pulled back up to his gaze when he cleared his throat. You shook yourself out of your trance and gave him a muttered apology before he took your laptop.

Within seconds he found something substantial - report cards from school, Facebook posts, tagged photos on Instagram.

"How'd you do that?" You asked.

Sam pushed himself beside you to give you a better angle at the screen, "First thing you gotta do is have the full name. Otherwise, you're flooding your search with 'Casey O'Connor's' from all over the country."

His arm brushed against yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead he rested fully against you as his fingers flew over the keys, opening page after page of information. You chose to let go and ease into him, head dropped to his shoulder as you watched. Sam's fingers stalled more than usual with you now relaxed against him. It was his turn for his thoughts to escape him.

"So, um," you piped up, "what are we looking for?"

He cleared his throat, "Changes in behavior, maybe in stuff that she posted, grades dropping, anything that seems like a red flag."

Casey's most recent posts to Instagram caught your eye. After explaining your gut feeling to Sam, the both of you kept mental note that perhaps Casey did get involved with something sinister.

—

The two of you had gotten lunch, lazed about town, and stoped by Casey’s school by the time 7 pm rolled around. At the O’Connor house, you kept downstairs to talk with the family, while Sam searched Casey’s bedroom. It took about 30 minutes, and you two were on your way.

“What’d you find?”

Sam handed you his phone, the photos organized into a neat folder. You inspected each image, taking stock in each sign - herbs scattered around, countless candles, and bottles of dark liquid.

“Is that..?”

“Blood, yeah. Almost didn’t see them; one rolled out of the closet. And if you see here,” he trailed on, scrolling to another photo, “seems like a pretty intricate altar in there.”

“Figures why she wouldn’t want her mom in the room,” you added.

You handed the phone back to Sam, fighting back a shiver when his hand grazed yours.

Perhaps he noticed, too, judging by the way his cheeks blushed. In the evening sun, it was barely noticeable but you were almost certain of it. You packed yourselves into the car and drove back to the motel. You rummaged through your duffel bag the moment you stepped in the door, picking out a new outfit for bed. Sam kicked off his dress shoes and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Bedtime already, huh?” Sam teased. You turned to him and smiled.

“Just wanna get cozy. Makes doing research much easier.”

Sam shrugged, “Not a bad idea, I’ll probably do the same when you’re done. Need to get out of this damn suit.”

—

The time on your computer screen read 11:43 p.m., meaning you and Sam had been continuing your research for at least two hours. It had taken a toll of you both, with eyes dry and shoulders aching. You rested your tired eyes and felt the pull of exhaustion start to take over.

Until Sam’s phone rang - it was Dean. Sam immediately placed his brother on speakerphone.

“How’s the lovely couple?” Dean asked. He wasn’t in the room, but you could tell he was smiling - a shit eating grin that irritated you as much as his brother.

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam replied smoothly, a twitch in his eyebrow showed his annoyance. “How are things going on your end?”

Castiel muttered in the background of the phone call. Dean stuttered over his words as he told Cas to stop interfering.

“Okay, so we did a little searching on Casey. I mean, well, Cas did most of it. Turns out, our lovely Miss O’Connor had gotten involved with magic.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours, then to his laptop where he had stored photos of Casey’s bedroom. As you two listened to Dean the dots connected to make a full picture.

It was Castiel’s voice that piped up next, “We have reason to believe that Casey was involved with something dark. It doesn’t look like your average witchcraft. We’re talking about more forceful magic - breaking and creating soulmate contracts.”

He continued, “Those kind of bonds, soulmates, are meant to take time. It seems that Casey’s spells were focused on peoples driving emotions. Feelings like fear, insecurity, lust, and mania. Anything that could make people act out, it’s been happening in her social circle.”

“So, basically she’s playing Cupid?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed, interrupting Cas, “we broke some of the spells, but it seems like Casey did all of her little projects at home. Hell, she sent the spells to her friends in the mail. Who knew you could Amazon Prime some witchcraft.”

You chuckled at the joke, rolling your eyes. Sam smiled at you with relief that this whole situation had blown over.

“So, what’s next?” you prodded.

“If you two didn’t see any weird hoodoo at Casey’s house, then everything should be all settled.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “But Casey was murdered, how did she die, then?”

Dean replied, “That’s the karma of it. Casey planted a sachet on her boyfriend - love spell gone haywire. He eventually went a little too love-crazy, and ended up killing her. Jealousy was the source of it.” His tone has grown sullen with the final piece of news.

Now with the extra details, you didn’t know how to feel. What happened to Casey had been horrible, and it had worked itself out in the end. It was the part of hunting that never settled well with you. Sometimes, you simply couldn’t save everyone.

“Got it. So we’ll head back out tomorrow to meet you at the bunker, yeah?” Sam confirmed.

Dean’s tone changed to playfulness again, “Actually, I need y’all to check out a case the next town over. Mind camping out a couple more nights?”

It seemed Dean’s request was a final verdict based on the way Sam pursed his lips.

“Yeah, no problem, talk to you later,” Sam ended the call. He threw his phone onto the bed and closed his laptop.

“You alright?” You asked him. Sam let out a soft sigh and looked toward his suit jacket by the door.

“I think I might’ve screwed up.”

You did a double take, “What do you mean? Dean and Cas figured it out.”

He raced over to the jacket, fishing through the pockets until he plucked a small bundle. Your expression dropped completely at the sachet in his palm. Sam returned to your side and let you examine it - a small brown sack you assumed held herbs, oils, and then some. The sigils across the fabric stumped you; they were nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“What is this, Sam?”

“One of her spells,” he said, defeated, “I wanted to examine it, to see if someone planted something on her. That was before we knew that Casey was the witch.”

“Okay, so, what kind of spell is it?” you asked further.

Sam reopened his laptop, silent as he furiously typed away. Image after image splayed onto the screen - the realization came over the two of you at once.

“Lust.��

He coughed at the word, unable to choose his next move. Sam leaned back and let his head thump against the wall.

“Can’t we just…. burn it? Toss it out?”

With bated breath you waited for Sam to say something, anything. Instead he just shook his head.

“By now I’ve had it on me for hours. We’re kind of past the point of burning it.”

“Okay, but the spells only work on feelings that are already there, right? It wouldn’t work unless you’re with someone you wanted to, um… you know.”

Sam’s breathing quickened with each passing second. His words came out with an overwhelming shakiness.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Hi again! Thanks so much for supporting my work, the next chapter will be out in the next couple of days!

- Bunny

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 4

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: In which Simon fixes his neighbor's leaky faucet and thinks about fixing something else... Word Count: 1.4k

When Riley Thomas had walked into the building’s unreliable elevator that night, barely beating its closing rickety doors, she hadn’t expected to see Simon already inside, sulking. His black hoodie and faded jeans were just as soaked as her woolen jumper and bell-bottoms, her hair in significantly worse disarray as she wiped the rain drops from her forehead, cheeks rosy from the cold.

The young woman hadn’t seen him for almost two whole weeks, the scarce discreet noises stemming from the thin walls hardly giving away his routine – she left too early in the morning to notice signs of movement and usually returned well into the evening, precluding the chance to ever see him return from any possible outings. When she did hear something – anything at all – it was usually late at night, as his tossing and turning in bed caused the mattress’ springs to creak noisily. She knew at least that their rooms fell on adjacent parts of their respective homes (not that she cared), and that he most likely shared her terrible insomnia. If she hadn’t met Simon, she’d think she had no neighbor at all, a vacant apartment next door inhabited solely by a ghost. Mostly silent, eerily quiet.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Her cheeks reddened and she hoped she didn’t look as breathless as she sounded, the quick run from the grocery store to the building tiring her out.

He nodded once in acknowledgement, barely eyeing her, a Chinese food container secured in his large hands. Riley’s smile faltered slowly as she realized he wasn’t planning on indulging her chit-chat. As her hand moved to the elevator buttons, fingers purplish and swollen from the cold, Simon grunted:

“Already pressed’em.” She blushed once again, feeling anxious sweat form in every pore as the elevator doors shut.

“Right…Sorry.” A nervous giggle made its way out her mouth, and she took a deep breath before attempting a new social interaction.

She looked up, observing his side profile as discreetly as possible, eyes fixed on his black facemask.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon sighed before replying.

“No.”

“Why do you always wear a mask? Got covid or something?” She deliberately ignored his moody reply.

“Would you stay away from me if I did?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, and the man forced a sickly cough so dramatic she couldn’t help but laugh.

As they reached their floor, Simon patiently waited for the young woman to exit the lift first, trailing behind her smaller frame like a massive shadow.

“I love that place” She pointed at his food from the Chinese restaurant across the street, the delicious smell from its contents having filled the elevator, and now wafting down the hall. “Funny…Never took you for a spring rolls guy.”

Simon rolled his eyes “I usually go for chicken fried rice.”

“That’s my favorite!” Riley smiled excitedly.

“Great.�� He replied dismissively as he fished for his keys.

“How’s your leg?” she asked, and Simon halted at her soft look of genuine concern, his keys dangling between his thick fingers.

“Quite decent.” He conceded, eyeing his own thigh. He didn’t limp nearly as much, and he had been as cautious as possible with the sutures she had skillfully provided.

“Great, and I’m sorry if it’s been too noisy lately, I’ve been cleaning up the place and I’m still finding permanent homes for most of my rescues.” Riley grimaced slightly, aware of how inconvenient her presence was as a neighbor.

He shrugged, remaining silent as she kept talking.

“Do you happen to know anyone interested in the German shepherd pup?” She asked with pleading eyes “I love Rex, but he’s no dog for a crammed apartment with other pets.”

She observed him as he seemed momentarily lost in thought, his pensive gaze zoning out before returning to hers.

“I do, actually.” Simon shifted his weight “I’ll let you know.”

“Perfect...I’ll be waiting.” Riley smiled brightly at the prospect as she unlocked her door.

She was just about to bid him a good night when he blurted out:

“I didn’t thank you.” He mumbled awkwardly. They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. “For the stitches. An’ the groceries.”

A slow, mischievous grin crept up her cheeks, two characteristic dimples dotting them as she replied.

“Day off tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to come fix my faucet.”

“But-”

“And I love your new rug, by the way!” She taunted as she quickly scurried inside, leaving him baffled on his doorstep.

He huffed as he looked down at the pink rug she had gotten him – the one he had reluctantly placed outside his flat, those three annoying words right under his muddy boots.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”

***

“Hold the light still.” A moody grunt.

“I’m trying!” A whimper of despair.

Simon Riley found himself lying on his aching back under his neighbors’ kitchen sink, firm hands holding a rusty wrench that stained his calloused fingers.

He could easily bear the straining of his muscles on the awkward position, as well as Riley’s aptitude to point her phone’s flash to anything but where he actually needed it, if it wasn’t for the dog constantly biting on his boot, and a large, old cat trying to sleep on top of him.

“I’m sorry about Milo.” She frowned as she tried to push her feline companion away. “He’s old and tired.”

“Me and you both, mate” She tried to suppress a giggle at his comment.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon grunted “Does it matter if I say no?”

“No. I’ll still ask, but your consent would be greatly appreciated.”

“Go on then.”

“What’s your rank?” He couldn’t see her face from where she kneeled beside him, but he rolled his eyes as he pictured her curious expression.

“Non’ of your business, kid.” He huffed as he tightened the pipe.

“Oh, c’mon…Why are you so grumpy today? Grumpier than usual, I mean.” Simon held her wrist firmly from under the sink, startling her. He felt her body stiffen under his touch, tense silence filling the room.

Slowly, softly, he pulled her wrist to the right position, so she finally held the light properly, and if his thumb had merely grazed her soft skin as it parted his, then it was purely accidental. Surely.

Simon felt awkward as he recalled the way her eyes had momentarily lingered on a glimpse of his abdomen when he had first laid on the floor, his shirt riding up as he lifted his arms to work, rolled up sleeves revealing numerous tattoos. A part of him – a part he longed to bury and dissociate from - tortuously replayed the glint in her innocent, curious eyes, the way her lips had slightly parted, and her cheeks and neck heated involuntarily.

As he finished the task, sliding from under the sink and sitting up against the cupboard, Simon avoided her gaze as he readjusted his black facemask.

“Lieutenant.” He conceded, killing the silence between the two.

She tried not to look too pleased about having her way, pocketing her phone and petting Rex distractedly as she considered the implications.

“Regular army?”

“SAS.”

“Wow…A seasoned soldier then.”

“A bit.” Simon groaned as he stood up, his joints cracking painfully.

“That’s the sound of victory right there.” She taunted and he shot her a glare.

“Jus’ turn the bloody thing on.”

He rolled his eyes as she stood upright, saluting him.

“Sir, yes sir!”

 “I’m never tellin’ you anythin’ ever again.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant.” Riley giggled as she turned on the faucet. “Success!” She yelled excitedly as there were no more leaks.

Simon nodded in approval, satisfied with his work.

“I guess you’re good at laying pipe.” The young woman joked, winking playfully.

“Shut up, kid.” He turned around, heading slowly for her door so she wouldn’t notice his flushed ears. “Bugger off with your yank expressions.”

Despite being more cluttered, her tiny flat seemed much cozier than his, and he made sure to avoid stepping on her clean carpet as Milo tried to waddle between his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” She seemed disappointed by his quick retreat, but he didn’t dare face her soft gaze again.

Simon stopped by the doorway and stared at Riley’s baby picture on the thrifted entrance table. She was chunky and missing half her teeth, but the same dimpled smile brightened up the dull background. Right beside it stood a picture of her father, his medals humbly kept in a small glass display.

“I can’t stay.”

“Not even for a cup of tea?” He could almost feel how hard she struggled to blurt out the invitation, her tone laced with shyness.

“Maybe next time, love.”

A/N: I'm back! I'm so sorry I took forever to post another part, holidays were crazy! I hope you guys are enjoying it and feel free to drop any feedback or ask to be added to the tag list :) Thank you guys for reading <3

TAG LIST

@xaestheticalien @lillysfrogsandbogs

[robinsfilm]

Peccatores

Masterlist. Navigation.

Summary: In which two confused individuals try to pick up the pieces of themselves slowly, but together.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Warnings: Gore, blood, description of harm and injury, panic attacks, manipulative behaviour, angst, fighting, explosions, don't worry theres fluff, reader has a life outside of jason, paramedic!reader, imposter syndrome, complicated family dynamics (not only the bat fam).

Notes: Jason finally shows up! This chapter can be counted as a small fill in to set up the plot. In the next chapter you'll finally get a meet-cute, soft jason, daily gotham shenanigans and jason pretty much adopting a child (wdym im nothing like my father, he says, with a horde of children behind him).

Word Count: 1k.

2 WEEKS AGO

Jason couldn't hear much.

Gripping the concrete ledge, he hoists himself up, his wounds burning even more into his skin. The number of explosions don't matter anymore. One after another. Fire spreads and spreads, covering the buildings around him. It spreads like the feeling in his chest. Something heavy. Something oh so familiar. Snaking itself up to wrap around his neck, suffocating him.

All he could manage is a bloodied cough.

He could blame himself. Really, it would be right. This was destruction spreading with this signature all over it. Spreading like a wildfire. Gasoline spilled and he just dropped the match. I wasn’t fast enough. I gave myself away, he tells himself over and over again.

He keeps running.

It slowly catches up with him—the exhaustion. Blood rings in his ears. The blood—his blood—spills on the concrete below him. The cold Gotham air hits his face. He takes a breath. Another one. Leaning onto one of the dilapidated buildings, he grips his abdomen.

Way too close. Way too fucking close.

This wasn’t the first time. A lead shows itself, seemingly out of nowhere. He follows it. Like a dog being thrown a bone. He latches on, bites, and doesn’t let it go. It’s a habit, maybe. This feeling, the way his hands grip and don’t let go.

The smoke from the fire burns. It chars and burns until nothing is left. Until every speck of evidence and life in those buildings is gone, wiped. Ripped out of the ground and dragged away. The sparks from it rise slowly. They’re so easy to see from here. So visible in the dark blue night sky. They look so small. How ironic what they’re hiding.

It’s almost distracting from the smell of burning flesh. Jason couldn’t hear it, but he could smell it. The gasoline, the flames, the skin, the flesh—blood.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Not anymore. It’s all gone. No evidence, no witnesses, no paper-trail, no chip, no computer. Jason can feel the blood burning in his veins. He can feel the wounds screaming at him, gaping open, bleeding him dry. The adrenaline is finally wearing off.

It did him good in the initial situation. There is no place for hesitation during times like this. He sinks down the wall, hitting the ground. It’s too hot in the damn mask, the gloves feel like spikes on his skin, his shirt is sticking too close to his skin. It’s too fucking hot.

Get up, he tells himself. Slowly, he pulls himself up. This isn’t over. Not yet. It’s long from over.

PRESENT DAY

The safehouse creaks. The whole building shakes in the wind. Jason can feel himself grow impatient because of the silence. Silence. All he has heard for the last few months. Lead after lead, leading to a dead-end. Every piece of proof burned. Burned. Why fire? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot about this. He should.

He drags his fingers over his jagged skin, not a spot left unmarred. The wound from two weeks ago still aches. The bandages are poorly wrapped around his torso, trying to keep him from falling apart. He bites the inside of his cheek. Eyes scattering over the screen, every bit of text, the posts, the newspapers, the murders, the fires. The never-ending shit-show that is Gotham City—in all her dark glory.

He looks through the papers again for the god knows how many times. He probably has them memorized by now. Here’s how it always goes: Some poor bastard gets involved in something nasty, they stray from their path. Maybe they snitch, they talk, steal. Jason doesn’t know. He does know the fact that they don’t live for long after that. The adults meet their end with the flames. The witnesses are seemingly non-existent. On top of that, children have gone missing.

Jason can’t connect these clues yet. He knows he will. Though not now.

Gotham News

Headline: Mysterious Fires Plague the Narrows and Crime Alley

The Narrows and Crime Alley have been engulfed in a series of mysterious fires over the past week. Residents report a pattern of fires breaking out at odd hours, with no clear cause. Emergency services are stretched thin as they battle the blazes that have left several buildings in ruins.

Gotham Gazette

Headline: Unprecedented Fire Hits Diamond District

In an unexpected turn, a massive fire has erupted in the Diamond District, one of Gotham's more populated and ostensibly safer areas. The blaze has raised concerns about security and safety in neighborhoods once considered secure. Authorities are investigating the cause and trying to determine if there’s any connection to the recent fires in the Narrows and Crime Alley.

The media only started showcasing and paying attention after the mess in the Diamond District. Of course they did. Using the Narrows and Crime Alley were good choices if you wanted to stay out of the public eye. Though whoever they were, they shouldn't have chosen Crime Alley for a whole different reason.

Jason's reflection stares back at him. Tired. That’s what he looks like. Dark circles under his eyes mock him. Laugh at him. Torturing him. The past months have been filled with nothing but disappointing and useless results. It feels as if the universe is playing tricks on him.

That changed this week. A body was found. Downtown, nails ripped, broken fingers and ribs. Fits the bill. Authorities found it before the fire got to it. Not that they would know about the fires. Or maybe they do and they just ignore it. Doesn’t matter. Jason has a new goal now.

Nothing ever disappears without some kind of trail. You can burn it, but it leaves ashes. Hard to find, but it’s there. And there isn’t anything Jason won’t do to find out who’s behind this and what their goal is. It doesn’t end well for people who get in his way.

He moves closer to the computer screen, the shine from it hurting his eyes. The location of the body. He needs to get to it before that place burns to the ground too.

Jason looks at the time. 02:38 AM. His own body fights him for rest. Just an hour. To close his eyes. A blink of sleep and he’ll be out there.

He’ll be out there. He has a job to do, after all. No one else is going to do it.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[bluegalaxygirl]

Amnesia (KidKiller X Reader) P18

Plot: After an explosion reader wakes up in a hospital with no memory of the past few years, her parents want to take her home so she can recover and get back to a normal life while the Kid pirates want her back on the ship where she belongs.

Warning: Bad language, Family issues, abuse, needles, surgery, Violence, Blood and references to the last chapter (NSFW).

Reader is Female, Poly Relationship, established relationship, Kid X Reader X Killer, Reader is a member of the Kid pirates and is in charge of the money, Budgeting and negotiating the best price.

< Previous part …. Next Part >

The darkness is heavy around you threatening to crush you under its weight, you try to move your arm to wipe your eyes hoping to open them but something attached to your wrist and elbow stopping you from moving too much, it made of cloth and maybe metal and as you pull on it you can tell it's attached to what ever your laying on. You want to open your eyes but something is keeping them shut although you can't tell what it is, a groan leaves your lips as you try and move your legs, they feel so much heavier than the rest of your body and the same thing thats holding your wrists down is holding your ankles knee's and hips in place. Panting in panic you try to sit up only for something to be pushed down on your neck making you chock a little "It's ok, I'm here to help" A male voice you haven't heard before speaks to you, the pressure on your neck loosening as the sound of something like a strap is loosened, its clear now what's going on, your strapped to some kind of table but why? You were just in your hospital bed right? Or is this a dream? Maybe a memory? Before you can think too much about it a hand covered by what feels like a latex glove pulls your head to the side "It's ok, just take calming breaths" A female voice you've also never heard before speaks too you in such a sweet tone but you can't calm down, you can't see what's going on and every time you try to talk or yell for help nothing comes out. "Alright lets get started, now your going to feel a slight pinch and some pressure but it'll be over before you know it" the male voice gets too close for comfort making your body shake a little arms and legs trying to fight against the straps holding you down.

The doctor lets out a sigh seeming to pull away from you "Its wearing off, give her some more" His voice sounds annoyed as if your nothing but an inconvenience to him, the sound of a gas tank being turned on fills the room as something rubbery and round covers your mouth and nose forcing you to breath in the strange tasting air, the heaviness in your body gets worse making it feel like someone is laying on top of you, it hurts your legs and injured shoulder while also making your mind fuzzy. The mask gets taken away soon followed by the sound of the gas being turned off, you try to move but can't, your mouth now refuses to open all together, panic and fear consumes you forcing tears to well up into your eyes and breath quicken "Alright, lets start" The male voice sounding much happier as he gets closer once again this time followed by a small cold metal needle pushing against the skin behind your ear. You beg your body to move or for something anything to wake you up, your mouth slightly opens letting out a small squeak even though you wanted to yell, to scream for help, pain shoots through your ear and head as the needle is pushed in, you want to scream and fight them off as pressure starts to build behind your ear leading up into your head. The pain behind your eye intensifies making you feel like something is pressing against it, ringing starts to sound in your ears making the voices of the lady and the man talking fade in and out before stopping all together.

With a gasp your eyes shoot open no longer forced to stay closed as the morning sun hits your eyes, reaching a hand up to touch behind your ear you stop realizing your not tied down anymore, that dream felt so real or was it a memory? Either way you try to relax as your eyes scan the room seeing your in your hospital bed but not alone like you thought you would be. Sitting in a chair next to you is the doctor shuffling through paperwork on the moving table that was once at the end of your bed, so lost in his work the man doesn't notice your awake which makes you feel a little better since your still unsure of him, he's too eager to please your parents to the point you don't know if he's telling the truth or just saying what your parents want to hear. Reaching your hand behind your ear you try to find any indication that your dream was real, the skin is tender and a little puffy but you can't feel any kind of puncture mark, pulling your hand away you look it over seeing if there's any blood on your fingers but again there's nothing, with a groan of frustration you try to sit up only to see that heaviness from your dream overcome you again. The groan you let out makes the doctor hum in confusion as he clicks his pen and turns to look you over, his eyes scan you for a second before a smile forms on his face "Oh! your awake, you had us sacred for a second" The doctor shuffles his papers around getting them into a neat pile before standing, he goes to place a hand on your head but you swot it away not wanting him to touch you "You had another seizure, this one was a lot worse than the last, you re-injured your legs so i suggest not getting out of bed without help for a while" The doctor pulls his hand away to gesture over your legs.

Using your good arm to sit up the heaviness and pain in your legs intensifies but determined to sit up you force your body to move and slide back until your back is pressed up against the headboard all while tuning out the doctor trying to tell you to rest and to not force anything. Panting in pain you lean back against the headboard trying to get your breath back, your legs sting and the bandages around them feel itchy and tight "Miss Winslow, i suggest-" Shooting the man a tired glare you let a small growl out hating being called that, it made you think back to all the times you had to go on stage and show yourself off like a piece of meat "Don't call me that, just call me Y/n or Miss Y/n if you have too" To tired to stay angry you let out a sigh while rubbing your shoulder lightly, it doesn't hurt surprisingly but it does feel stiff, rolling it a little you suddenly stop realizing you went to bed with your sling on but its not on you and its no where in sight. "Miss Y/n, Your seizure caused a few issues, so we'll be upping your does again, it may make you tired but until we have them under control it is necessary. The nurse will give regular checkups and i will be coming in to see you at least once a day, i have been informed that the pirate's doctor was hoping to see you but i would heavily advise against it" The doctor moves his chair to face you before sitting down and grabbing your chart running his finger over it to take in information and tell you anything else you need to know. A small smile forms on your face at the mention of House, you forgot she was gonna come and see you, maybe she can help you figure out a few things and tell you what is really going on.

Its strange how you trust a pirate doctor you hardly remember instead of a doctor who has been taking care of you this whole time "You can advise against it but i still want to talk to her" You state hoping to not start a fight with the doctor over this and luckily he doesn't instead just raising his hand in surrender and nodding his head "There are other things i would like to discuss with you, one of which is your head, you may not have noticed but the bandage has been removed, there are still a few stitches visible, but they will be taken out in a few days, your head scan has shown your skull is healing well, even your broken cheekbone is fully healed" With a raised eyebrow you turn to the doctor not remembering getting any kind of tests done "When did you do them?" A pit forms in your stomach not sure if you want to know the answer but you get it anyway along with a reassuring smile "Last night, after we got your seizure under control and you were past out we thought we'd do all the tests then instead of waiting until another day, we thought it would be less stress on your body and mind to do it all in one go" Something about the way he talked just seemed wrong, you can't tell if he's lying or telling the truth, maybe it's half-and-half but what part is he lying about, he also mentioned a 'We' which he hasn't done before, it can't be the nurse since she takes the nights off and if he ever mentions Melody he always says 'me and the nurse' not we. "We?" You finally ask letting curiosity get the better of you.

The doctor gulps but keeps the smile on his face, its clear he didn't mean to say that word "Just me and the lab who run the tests, no need to worry, I have already informed your nurse, and she will be round soon to redo your bandages on your legs and give you your meds. I will see you later today" The doctor quickly stands grabbing his papers hoping to leave as soon as possible, you've caught him off guard and now he's panicking, it should thrill you knowing your on to something but instead it just makes that pit in your stomach deeper making your mind spiral into all sorts of dark places mainly about that dream, it wasn't a dream, was it? Did they do that last night? What was it? Why did it hurt so much and why was he not mentioning it? "Before you go, i think i remembered something last ni-" Before you can finish the doctor rushes to the door with everything he needs in his arms trying balance them as to not come back, his panting grows heavy as he stops in the doorway hearing you talk and wanting to stop your train of though "Those are just dreams, your brain is trying to piece things together that it doesn't understand causing strange stories and images to form, they are not memories, just dreams" His voice is bitter as he spits the last words out though his clenched teeth before storming off quickly leaving your view, with a sigh you lean back into the headboard knowing that can't be true, you should talk to Melody about it when she gets here, maybe she can find out something, you can also talk to House when ever she shows up.

----- Victoria Punk ----

Tying his boots up Killer sits on the edge of the bed getting ready to head out to the hospital early hoping to talk to you and tell you about yesterday before your parents show up, thats if they show up, according to Heat who was on watch last night work men have been going in and out of the ship, your farther barking orders with a bandages nose and your mother no where to be seen along with her set of maids. Kid groans still laying naked in bed the covers pulled over him as he sulks slightly looking at his partners back "I'm not a fucking Child Kill" The captain complains hating the fact that his first mate has decided to bench him until further notice saying it would be best for him to sort things out and clear up a few things before Kid talks to you again. "I know, just get some sleep" Killer chuckles turning around and leaning over to move of messy red hair out of his partners face, the captains hand grabs his wrist bringing it to his lips and placing a kiss on it "How your neck? Does it hurt?" The worry is clear in his voice, last night got rough to say the lest leaving a bite mark on the back of Killer's neck, luckily the white plaster patch and his long blonde hair covers it up. "I told you, I'm fine, if i wasn't I'd tell you… I loved last night" The blonde reassures leaning over and placing a kiss on the red heads lips, Kid's hand leaves the first mates wrist in order to cup his jawline bringing his partner in closer allowing his tongue to push its way pass freshly pained purple lips, Killer's hums in response meeting the invading tongue with his own earning a groan from his captain.

Pulling away for air their eyes meet both silently expressing their feelings before the first mate gets up letting a laugh leave his lips "What's so funny asshole?" Kid asks getting comfy in bed again a smug smirk on his face, Killer shakes his head placing his mask on and fixing his hair "You suit purple" The captain raises an eyebrow bringing his fingers to his lips and wiping off the smeared purple lipstick, his smug smirk growls as his eyes lock onto the blondes though the dark holes of the mask sticking his tongue out and slowly licking it off his fingers. "Your nasty" Killer simply comments trying to sound annoyed at the action but is in fact quite amused, Kid lets out a big laughs throwing his head back onto the pillow cheering up slightly from his earlier grumpy mood "See you later Captain" Killer smirks under his mask heading to the door "Hay Kill" The captain calls out causing his first mate to stop with his hand on the door nob and turn to look at the red head "Tell out girls I'm sorry, will yea" The mood ships from one of playfulness to seriousness, with a firm nod the blondes opens the door and heads out making his way to the deck where House is already waiting for him, her dress and hair blowing in the wind as she bounces on the tips of her feet "Hay, ready to go?" Killer asks shocking the crazy haired girl out of her far way thoughts with a squeak, calming down and adjusting her glasses House holds the notebook in her hands closer giving a nod and a big smile "Yes, I have everything i need, lets go"

----- Hospital -----

It didn't take long for Melody to come in her smile in the morning light already brightening your mood "Good morning, I would ask how your feeling but i think i already know the answer" Pulling the covers off you the nurse giggles hoping to make you laugh as well her eyes focus on the bruise you know is forming on your cheek even though she tries her best to pull her eyes away from it, a short huff of a laugh leaves your lips as you give her a tired nod, looking over your bandages legs your small smile drops seeing spots of dried blood staining the bandages, it hurts with the bandages on so it's going to hurt more when she has to take it off and clean it, plus later House will most likely want to have a look, with a sigh you place a hand on the nurses arm getting her attention "Your gonna hate me for this but… i was hoping we could leave all the medical stuff until House comes" You ask hoping you don't have to fight her on this, the nurse sighs looking down at your legs then back to you her face contorting into one of frustration and annoyance yet there's a hint of understanding there "Under a few conditions.. 1, you must take your pills, 2, you will get a wash and changed and 3, you'll tell me what you've decided so far" A smile forms on her face at the last one causing your own to form "Of course, thank you" Despite still seeming frustrated at not being able to take care of your wounds Melody hands you your pills before heading into the bathroom to grab a bowel of water, soap, cloth and towel. Looking into the white paper cup the blue pills seem to overtake the others, there's seven now if you've counted right, it feels wrong to have so many even though there's a lingering feeling of uncertainty and fear you shit your eyes tight and down the pills with a glass of water.

The nurse walks back in with all the stuff starting to help you wash places that aren't covered in bandages "So what do you think so far?" Melody asks sitting on the bed while you wash your arm "We'll i know i'm remembering stuff despite what the doctor says and i hope to remember more, as for who i'm going to say with i'm still unsure, I'm leaning more towards the pirates but there's something can't explain, its like its eating away at me, all i can think of is what was what made me leave. It has to have something to do with my 18th, their both lying about it and i feel like if i find out what happened then" With a sigh you shake your head wondering if it really will solve everything, there's also the nagging question of why your farther wants your help again. " As for the pirates i know i can trust them, its sounds strange saying it out loud but i have such strong feeling towards them, i'm going to apologies when they come, i shouldn't have said those things. I hope they forgive me, i hate to admit it but i actually missed them yesterday" You giggle moving to wash your other arm not missing the large smile that forms on Melody's face although at the mention of yesterday her smile drops her eyes once again focusing on the bruise, taking the washcloth once your finished she wets it and dabs it over the spot taking great care not to hurt you more. "I'm glad… about yesterday, dose that happen often?" Your stomach drops at her question knowing you'll also have to address this with the pirates and your parents, hopefully you can make up a lie they will take since you don't want them hurting your family despite what they have done.

Taking the nurses hand you take the wash cloth off her and place it down giving her hand a reassuring squeeze "No it doesn't, i only remember it happening two other times, It's my fault anyway, i laughed in his face, called him a lie even though he is and.." Before you can continue Melody quickly cups your face leaning in closer "Don't you dare say that. He has no right to lay his hands on you, no one has the right to hurt the people they love" Your taken aback by her words and piercing eyes but shake your head with a smile placing your hands over hers "Melody, it's ok really, it was just a slap" You try to reassure only for it to backfire horribly, a look of shock and anger makes your breath hitch in your throat, you've never seen her so angry, she scarier than Kid and thats saying something "Just. A. Slap… Just a slap? Y/n it doesn't matter how he hurt you, he hurt you in more ways than just leaving a bruise. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me… it's not your fault" Her angry voice soon turns calm tears welling up in her eyes as she places a kiss on your forehead, tears start to form in your eyes not used to this kind of affection, it almost feels… Sisterly, is this what its meant to feel like? To have a sibling? "I'm sorry" You whisper unsure of what else to say, meeting your eyes again Melody gives you a kind smile letting her thumbs stroke your cheeks "You have nothing to apologies for, he's in the wrong here. Please don't blame yourself" With a nod you surprise yourself your body seeming to move on its own launching yourself forward you wrap your arms around her burring your head into her shoulder seeking more of her tender kindness.

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter twenty eight

close to home | chapter twenty eight

plot: the reader and her group start their journey north

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,699 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! How is everyone liking the build up with reader and Daryl? I know it's slow.... but it'll be worth it! Let me know what you all think!! Love you all for reading 😘

It was getting close to nightfall when the apartment building was cleared. You all played it safe, taking one apartment at a time, clearing it, scavenging it, and then repeating it. Your body was aching and sweating, and your new shirt was riddled with walker blood. But it was worth it. 

You’d scavenged enough food and water to last most of the trip. It could take days, and with so many people needing to eat, it was better to be safe than sorry. 

The Acadia was chosen to put the supplies in, and Rick offered to drive it back for you since you were exhausted and it was a bigger car. Michonne went with him while Carol drove the car you all drove up here in, and you can Daryl took the one Rick found. 

The sun was nearly set as Daryl drove, the car’s AC blasting and a random CD playing in the background. Yours and Daryl’s weapons were all lying at your feet, and your legs were up on the dash. 

“I should’ve grabbed another snack before Rick got there. I’m so hungry,” You said, touching your growling stomach. 

Daryl didn’t say anything, but he did glance at you.

“At least we found some canned food,” You said, yawning and turning so you were facing Daryl. “I’m just glad I had the sense to grab another shirt. I hate having blood stains.”

“More than just blood stains,” Daryl said quietly. 

“Don’t remind me. This world is disgusting.” You said. You glanced at him, watching how the setting sun lit up his face. He was squinting as he drove. “Do you miss your bike?”

He nodded. 

“You should teach me to ride one day,” You said. “I always thought it was too dangerous, but living nowadays is too dangerous, so I wanna learn.”

Daryl glanced at you. “Why?”

“Because you do,” You said honestly, then you smirked. “Can’t be that hard, can it?”

Daryl shook his head, “Shut the hell up,”

***

While your group had success, Maggie’s group didn’t. They found a few things--formula for Judith, thankfully, and a lake where they filled up containers of water--but that was it. So when everyone saw what your group had brought back, they were all happy. Especially the clothes. 

You, Michonne, and Rosita organized the cars and got them ready while Rick reviewed the plan with everyone else. They’d be taking the van, the Acadia, and a car and leaving in the morning. 

You ensured that each car had water and a full tank of gas. Under Rick’s advisement, all food rations would be kept in the back of the Acadia. You and Rosita rationed enough for each car and its riders, but the remainder would stay in reserve for the next day. He didn’t want anyone touching anything during this trip. You thought he was going crazy with it, but you didn’t question him. He was right more often than not. 

Maggie used the oats and water to make everyone dinner, and you were looking for Daryl to eat with when you realized he was gone. You started growing worried when Rick saw you and told you he’d gone out to hunt. You didn’t like that he was hunting at night, but if he could bring something back, it would be worth it. 

Still, he was gone for a long while. And your heartache started to set in as the camp settled for the night. You ended up eating with Tyreese, who was more than enough company. He was one of the only other people you felt safe with. You have to, after what you went through together. 

Tyreese talked, and you listened. His voice was soothing and comforting. And while when you looked at him, sometimes being reminded of what happened, you were glad to have someone understand what you went through. You were happy about it, even. You felt close to Tyreese, and you respected him. You weren’t as close with him as with Daryl, Michonne, and Maggie, but it was something. And he liked to talk while you liked to listen. 

Eventually, though, you settled down to sleep. Rick still didn’t want you on watch just yet, not until you were one hundred percent. You didn’t mind so much. It was nice to be able to sleep through most of the night. Especially being in a group this large, it made things easier. 

You knew you couldn’t sleep until Daryl was back, so you counted the few stars you could see through the trees and waited. Tora bounced between you and Carl before she settled on your stomach, and you were petting her softly. You weren’t sure how long it was, the fire was dimming, and the second watch rotation started when Daryl was finally back. 

He paused when he saw you; the past few nights, you’ve slept next to him on the outskirts of the camp. But tonight, you were sleeping beside Tyreese and Sasha, with Maggie and Glenn close by. He met your eyes through the firelight and felt disappointment. 

But you smiled and nodded him over. You could tell he hesitated for a moment, really hesitated before he came over. 

“Catch anything?” You asked. 

He shook his head as he laid down next to you. He felt uneasy about sleeping so close to everybody. He preferred there to be a bit of distance. Not because he felt unsafe or didn’t like the group he was with but because he liked space while he slept. But he didn't want to give up the idea of not sleeping next to you because it was so new. 

You were glad he came over, you didn’t really want to move, and you didn’t want anyone to see you follow him to wherever he slept. Besides, the fire was warm against the air, and despite the hard ground, you were somewhat comfortable. 

“I would’ve gone with you,” You yawned.

“Nah, ‘s okay,” He responded. 

You nodded, “Next time, remind me to look for a pillow. I miss mine,”

He laughed under his breath and nodded but didn’t say anything. Not that it mattered, you’d fallen asleep in seconds. 

***

The group moved at sunrise. Another meal of oats was quickly devoured, the campsite was packed up, and everyone was eager to hit the road. Rick took the car with Michonne, Carl, and Judith, and made Gabriel ride with them as well. It was the easiest place to put the car seat. Abraham took the van with Rosita, Eugene, Sasha, Tyreese, and Tara, while you, Daryl, Maggie and Glenn, Carol, and Noah took the Acadia with Tora as well. 

You sat in the back seat. Tora was riding in the trunk with a bunch of bundled-up clothes that had yet to be picked through. You checked on her, already sleeping, while the car loaded up. 

You watched as Daryl looked around for you, and when he spotted you in the back, he gave you a look before climbing in and sitting on the other side of the backseat. 

“Why ya sat in the back?”

“No one said you had to sit with me, you know,” You replied. “And the seat reclines. Not much with all the supplies, but it’ll be nice a few hours in, and I wanna take a nap.”

Daryl snorted and shook his head. He put his crossbow on the ground, where your machete and gun were. “Where the bow and arrow?”

You nodded towards the trunk. “Not enough room in here.”

The SUV filled up quickly, Carol and Noah taking the middle-row seats, with Glenn and Maggie at the front. Soon everyone was ready to go, and you finally hit the road. If everything went well, you’d be there in about eight hours. You could only hope. 

Glenn played whatever CD was in the player and opened the windows, so a dull breeze filled the stuffy car. You glanced at Carol, who was already falling asleep in her seat. She has an early morning watch, and with all the prep last night, she probably didn’t sleep well. Noah was snoring. 

You glanced at Daryl, who looked too big and too uncomfortable in the backseat. You smiled and shook your head at the idea of him cramming himself back here to sit with you. Surely it would’ve made more sense for Noah or Carol since they were smaller. But it made you smile and nearly blush at his actions, with a weird flutter in your stomach that felt inappropriate for your situation. Still, you couldn’t help it. 

The sudden urge to scooch into the middle seat and curl up beside him made you look away. You could vaguely remember the feeling of sitting so close to him in the truck when your loss and grief were so overpowering. You felt so safe. You felt warm and protected. You hadn’t felt it in a long time, not since your fiance. But you missed it. And you wanted it again. 

Luckily you could focus on other things, like your growling stomach. You sighed and pressed your hand against it. 

“You okay?” Daryl asked you, his voice below the music. 

You nodded, “Hungry. Same as everyone.”

“That reminds me, here,” Daryl said. You watched as he dug something out of his vest pocket. “Got crumbled.”

He handed you a pop-tart, and you laughed quietly, glancing at the rest of your group in the car. Maggie and Glenn were engrossed in their own conversation up front, and both Carol and Noah were already asleep. 

You smiled at Daryl as you took it, opening it as quietly as possible and giving him the second one. “You shouldn’t have done that. But thank you,” You whispered to him and reached over to squeeze his arm. You had to touch him; you couldn’t stop yourself. 

Daryl nodded and looked at the food in his hand. “Don’ gotta thank me,”

You smiled at him again and took a bite. "So," You said through a full mouth, "Wanna play I-Spy or something?"

[rowniebow]

and they were roommates | peter parker x male!reader | 5/7

summary: friends. just friends. only friends. best friends.

pairings: tasm!peter parker x male!reader

cw: mentions of 18+ content, but nothing detailed is described. cursing, uh oh! [internalized] homophobia? alcohol mention

word count: 3k+

an: hi i decided on being an annoying author and not taking chances to expand on important character and plot points in this chapter, and instead went with focusing on character development. stay safe in this weather, and happy holidays

previous ⭒ masterlist ⭒ next

⭒

peter parker had a friend.

after years of keeping coworkers at arms length and avoiding their personal questions.

after years of acting oblivious to pretty girls on the street (who he really didn't feel anything towards anyways).

after years of only talking to may about anything, which she was getting tired of, too ("peter, go to a bar or something! i want grand-babies, too, you know?" to which he would just lie and say he had plenty of friends).

peter parker finally had a friend. he opened up. he let someone in.

and he was glad.

he certainly wasn't at first. after going to sleep the morning you and him had talked, peter slept to the sound of a nightmare. a nightmare of you falling and coming to a similar fate of her.

when he woke, he sat in his room for hours, pretending to be asleep to you. he debated and went over in his head many different ways to play this whole thing off. i mean, that would be best for you, right?

he came to the conclusion that he should move out. he prepared a whole speech for you about how he didn't want to live here anymore, and especially not with you.

so leaving his room at two in the afternoon with tears in his eyes, he kept his brown soaking pools trained on the ground. he was about to ruin a good thing, but it was best for you (is what he struggled to keep telling himself).

peter's door slowly creaked open and he stepped his way out into the living room, head hanging low with disappointment. disappointment of the situation, or himself, or his decision? a little bit of all of it.

"hey, y/n," he began, rubbing his neck with disdain. "can i talk to you about something?"

his voice rang out and bounced against the walls. the sounds of his syllables came bouncing back and hit him in the head with full force.

regret washed over him the second the words came back to him. and finally, the pain of losing something good being too much to bare, he looked up. his chest felt as if it were going to swell bigger and bigger until it burst and the pressure was unimaginable pain.

his eyes scanned the clean, nearly spotless, apartment. the couch sat empty, and so did the island seats.

and the building pressure in his chest fell to his stomach instead

you weren't even here.

frustration suddenly rose in him. how did you have the nerve to leave? how did you have the nerve to leave while he was pretending to be asleep in his room so you probably didn't want to wake him up and it's not like you were aware he had a big thing he wanted to tell you - but you should have been!

peter fell in to the couch, the dizzy feeling of relief filling his head.

honestly? thank god.

⭒⭒

peter was very glad he had a friend, but he very much was not at first.

while you were out doing whatever it was you were doing, peter sat on the couch, rocking back and forth, anxious for the conversation he had planned in his head.

so when the door burst open, and you tumbled in with your hands full of groceries - far too many for you to carry on your own, the bag handles reaching up past your elbows on your arms so that you could get them all by yourself - peter jumped to his feet and the anxiety smacking his head around faded away.

"shit-!" you silently cursed. you quietly shushed the door as it banged against wall.

when you finally looked up and saw peter standing in the living room, watching you, you dropped all the bags, uncaring at the noise you were making.

"hi! good morning. i thought you'd still be asleep."

"did you go shopping?"

"did i-? yeah, i got food and stuff."

"and stuff?"

"yeah!"

"is 'stuff' cookies and chocolate?"

"yes, and i got enough to share for once,"

"oh, good."

peter rushed over to help as you began to haphazardly throw the things you bought into the fridge and cabinets without rule. normally, peter would have commented on it, nitpicking at your lack of care regarding where things went in the kitchen (even though he didn't really care, either, it was just an excuse to talk to you). today, though, he hardly noticed it, and reflected your behaviors as you talked.

"why were you up so early?"

"i couldn't sleep,"

"how come?"

"i've been having sleeping issues the last couple nights, i don't know why."

"you don't know why?"

"i guess it's hot."

"you're hot at night?"

"yeah, but it's okay. it's winter anyway, and i know you like it warm."

"no, no, we can turn it down."

"i can really just open a window-,"

"no, then you'll get a cold. we can turn it down."

"are you sure?"

peter shrugged and sent a tired smile towards you. "the heating bill will be cheaper, anyway."

"okay," you smiled over your shoulder back at him, but quickly looked back to continue emptying the grocery bag you were working through. "thank you."

peter forgot all about his idea of moving out.

peter forgot all about his attempted effort to remove you from his life.

instead, peter hoped you'd stay in his life for a very, very long time.

⭒⭒⭒

peter parker had a friend.

suddenly, he had someone he could come home to and talk about his life with. the entirety of it. not just the normal parts of it with may. and not just the normal parts of it with you.

he could suddenly talk about everything.

and he did. he told you about every little detail of his life, both as spider-man and peter parker.

he went through the motions of his high-profile evil scientist and ex-best friend trope and the death of her, and you listened even though you knew a lot about it from the news when it happened all those years ago.

what you mostly listened to was how peter described himself and his thought process throughout all of his endeavors, tragic and all. you found yourself becoming absolutely obsessed with his brain and the way he thought about the world.

how he still worked hard every day to try and find goodness in the world despite all the bad he dealt with all day.

and as you told peter your own tragic backstory, he thought the same about you. how, even despite all the cruelness you've experienced from people, people who were supposed to be loving towards you like your own mother, you still went in to every interaction assuming the best intentions.

"how am i going to be happy if i convince myself that everyone i talk to is just going to be cruel, or that every experience will leave me upset? i think that leaves a lot of life out of reach. i'll miss out on all the good if i'm trying to miss the bad."

peter went to bed thinking about that. with her on his mind, and now with you loudly occupying his mind (compared to the way you quietly did, before) he considered your words greatly.

he had to three major revolutions while he tossed and turned that night, listening to you nod your head to the music in your headphones while you struggled to sleep yourself in the other room.

one. no, he really shouldn't make decisions for you.

he really should not just decide to distance himself because he's spider-man and he doesn't think it's safe. he's seen first hand how frustrated that can make people.

two. it really would be best for you to not know him like this.

yes, it's really, really nice to have someone to talk to about his nightly endeavors. yes, he's happy it is you and no one else. yes, it's thanks to his stupid carelessness about hiding it on one night that you two became so close over the last three months (inseparable to an unhealthy degree).

but, are you going to get hurt in the end? no. he wouldn't let that happen again.

and three. how much life is going to be out of reach to him if he only worries about avoiding the bad?

more specifically, how much of life with you was he going to miss out on? he already let eight months go by. eight months of pettiness and disdain. all because he did like you from the very start and he was frustrated that he knew he wasn't going to be able to enjoy you and being close with you fully because he was so obsessed with hiding a huge part of himself.

he lost, what could have been, eight months of pure bliss with you because of his efforts to 'miss the bad'. he truly didn't want to lose any more of the joys he was experiencing with you now.

and he most certainly would not let you come to the same fate as her.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

over the five months that you and peter had become friends, many new habits were built.

you didn't hide your waiting up for him anymore. peter made sure never to tell you that he knew you did before, though.

instead, you spent your time waiting for him on the couch in the living room, watching a movie. or in your favorite chair, reading a book.

"hey, how was it tonight?"

"you know, you would think in the city that never sleeps there'd be more crime than this on monday nights, but there hardly ever is."

often, if he came in just quiet enough not to wake you and you were asleep on the couch, the man would plop down near your feet and get comfortable on his own.

you would wake the next morning and see him slumped over on the other end with one of the throw blankets bunched up over himself. you, the early riser of the duo, would take the blanket you were using and cover him up, then run out to buy coffee for the two of you so that he'd have something warm when he woke.

you also picked up skills that a nurse would have to know. or an emt. or a fire fighter. or all the above.

"god, pete, you can't be taunting people with guns." you said as you removed a bullet from his shoulder. his healing abilities that you still didn't really understand (but you didn't want to ask for a fifth time so you kept your ignorance hidden) already pushing the bullet out on their own.

"and you shouldn't be taunting the man with spider powers but you still do it every damn day!"

"as long as you don't run at me-,"

peter moved close to you suddenly, "boo!"

you fell back with a yell as he chuckled at your protests.

peter officially wouldn't let you do the laundry at night anymore. not alone at least.

"do you really need to be in the suit for this?"

"what if someone tries to rob you again?"

"i think you and i can scare him off without the web guy just fine."

"hey, the suit adds an intimidation factor, okay?"

however, your favorite habit was when one of you two came home from anything (work, spider-man-ing, outings with coworkers), the other would peak their head around the corner, say hi, and you two would just talk.

you decided that nothing was better than talking to peter parker. your newly best friend.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

"do you remember jared?"

"leto?"

"who? no, jared from my work."

"is he the guy that donated a lot to the music program?"

"yeah!"

"yeah, okay. what did he teach again?"

"science,"

"right, right,"

"yeah, he asked me out tomorrow night."

"o-on a date?"

"yeah, i think i'm going to go."

peter felt his eyebrows furrow together. "you don't even like science."

"that doesn't mean he isn't nice, right? science lovers can be nice."

"high school science teachers are not nice."

"you love science, you're nice."

peter stuttered at your comment, "he probably only donated to get your attention."

you paused, debating peter's words. "is that so bad?"

"uh, yeah?"

"i think he likes music, and he cares about students."

"no, this-this isn't a good idea, y/n."

"why not? it's just one date, pete."

"where's he taking you?"

"i think just a bar,"

"no! that's so unsafe,"

"how-? peter, why are you being like this, i can take care of myself!"

"you shouldn't go to a bar on a date alone!"

"what the fuck else am i supposed to do, bring a friend?"

peter only looked at you in silence, proving his expectation.

"jesus christ, parker, i am not bringing a friend with me."

"i don't get why you want to go out on a date with jared!' peter spat his name with venom in every letter

"you don't even know jared, don't say his name like you do!"

"it doesn't matter if i know him or not, he likes science and you hate science."

"you literally went to midtown science high-,"

"that- stop bringing me into this!"

"peter, come on, it's just one date. i'm practically just doing it to be nice."

"do you think he's cute?"

"what?"

"you heard me! do you think he is cute?"

"he-he's attractive,"

"jesus christ."

"why does that upset you? you should be happy and supportive of me finding someone i'm interested in!"

"i will be happy and supportive when you find someone who's worth your time."

"oh my god, you're impossible. i'm going out with him."

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

when you got home after your date the next night, you didn't want to talk to peter. you knew it was inevitable, especially since you two had given each other the silent treatment in suspense of this very moment.

so when you saw his little head of hair peak around the corner, you felt the tears that you had been fighting the entire walk home punch at your waterline.

"how was jared?" peter spat the name again, a glare on his face and his arms crossed. if you were in a better mood you might have commented on how he was wearing a hoodie of yours and that he had to pay for the next laundry because of that.

instead, you turned your head away from peter, not wanting him to see your pained expression. he heard the little sniff and watched your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip, though.

his expression immediately fell. he'd never once seen you cry before.

"what, what, what? what happened?" peter rushed to your side, threw a hand around your back to lead you to the couch. you continued to cover your face with your hand, bite your lip, and keep your face away from peter best you could.

"does spider-man need to go find him?" peter asked after sitting you down on the couch. the sobs that were pushing against your throat escaped in a laugh instead at peter's question.

"no, of course not," you shook your head at his silliness. despite peter having been very serious about the question, the sight of your pained smile still managed to pull one from deep inside of him.

"what happened, hon?"

"he- it's really not that big of a deal. you were right, you should take the win."

"no, it's not a win if your upset. talk to me, what happened?" peter sat crouched before you. an extremely small but extremely comforting smile played at his lips, and the kindness in his eyes practically pulled the information from out of you.

"he just-he just wanted to hook up. i told him i don't do hook-ups and he got really upset and-and started calling me names, and threw his drink at me. everyone was looking, i'm just- so embarrassed! he has a wife, too! how did i not know about his wife, peter?"

your cheeks and ears burned from embarrassment. you didn't know how you managed get caught up in such a situation. peter finally noticed after your story how badly you reeked of alcohol and how your soaked shirt was the culprit.

"you were right! i'm-i'm sorry i argued with you, you were right."

peter only looked at you with worried eyes. he examined your lack of eye contact and the way you curled into yourself under his gaze. the grimace that covered your features and the tears that poked at your eyes. he didn't want to take the 'i told you so' moment this time.

after a moment, he grabbed your hands, standing up. "come on," his soft words tugged you up, leading you to the bathroom. he turned on the shower and pulled at the ends of your shirt. you obliged and removed your shirt, but the embarrassment never left your face.

he took it from you, balling it up in his hands. he watched your arms rub themselves in an attempt to hide yourself from his sorry eyes.

he's also never seen you with your shirt off before, he's realizing.

"i'm sorry i argued with you, too. i- um, i-i don't know why i got so upset," (he very well does know why) "i'll make some hot chocolate, okay? you'll feel better after a shower."

neither of you wanted to look at the other: you from embarrassment, him from nerves.

he turned away, planning to lay out some clothes on your bed for you while you were showering.

"thank you, peter,"

peter lingered at the doorway, not completely sure how to respond.

"spider-man will be seeing him, i hope you know that."

and peter left the room and closed the door to the sound of your breathy laughs and protests. a small smile graced his lips at the sound of your small joys.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

peter was well aware of why he was so upset.

that man could not stand the idea of you dating someone.

anyone other than him.

that night, peter went to bed with a new found fear.

the fear of messing everything up with his new best friend of five months, and roommate of over a year.

the fear of messing everything up with his stupid fucking feelings.

the fear of losing you, not just as spider-man, but as peter parker, too.

⭒ next ⭒

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, big fan of your content!

I was wondering if you had any tips on how to fill in time between chapters.

Like how do I make scenes that aren’t really relevant but keep the reader interested. Im struggling on getting to make scenes that don’t revolve around the main conflict and are like little scenes that have little meaning.

Thanks!

Scenes Need to Be Relevant

how do I make scenes that aren’t really relevant but keep the reader interested.

You don't.

Every scene in your story needs to be there for a reason. Filler scenes don't belong in good fiction and are the fastest way to make sure no one enjoys reading your story.

Have a look at these posts:

Avoid Filler at All Cost Guide: Filling in the Story Between Known Events How to Move a Story Forward

Ultimately, what you're looking go do is find moments between the major plot points where you can advance the story in some way... where characters can react to the previous plot point and be moved into place for the next one. In these moments, you can certainly have a low key "life moment," such as chatting around the campfire or walking home from school, where you can do some character development, setting/world building, backstory or information delivery, exploration of theme, or examination of character thought and feeling. These scenes can often feel like they're not tied to the main conflict, but they are, because without that character development, setting/world building, delivery of backstory or other information, examination of character thought and feeling, or exploration of theme, you couldn't move the story forward to the next plot point. So, these scenes matter.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[sincerely-sofie]

Hi! This may come across as a dumb question, but I wanted to write my own PMD:EoS fic, but I’m kind of lost on how I want to organize my thoughts and the plot. Additionally, I get new ideas and then I end up struggling with what I want to do. How did you organize things for your story?

This isn't a dumb question at all! It's something I've struggled with for a long time as a writer, and I'd be happy to share what I've come up with to solve my fight with story organization! I’ll try to speak coherently, but this is something I’m really passionate about, so I might ramble a bit, haha. Keep in mind that this is what works for me, and what will work for you may be very different. Take from this post what serves you well and ditch the rest :> 

Organizational Tools

You can use pretty much anything to organize your story— I’ve used everything from loose printer paper in storage clipboards to expansive Google Docs that are hundreds of pages long in the past. But what I’ve found that really works for me is an app called Notion. You may have heard of it— it’s really popular with productivity enthusiasts and small business owners, but it works like a dream for organizing creative projects! There’s a bit of a learning curve, but you can find a lot of templates out there for free that work really well if you don’t want to set things up yourself.

This is how my Notion page for TPiaG was set up:

The “Cheat Sheets” dropdown list was full of character sheets, links to Bulbapedia articles I’d refer to while outlining or writing, and also my completed outline. “Fun Stuff” was full of memes and jokes about the characters, an empty page that I’d start filling once I received kind comments on my fic, as well as ideas for additional stories relating to the AU— stuff like oneshots and possible sequels or diverging AUs. Fun fact: this is where I first wrote down my idea for The Present is a Gift: Paradox Edition AU!

“Chapters to Write” and “Chapters I’ve Written” were dropdown lists where I divided my outline into little sub-dropdown lists in “Chapters to Write”, and everytime I wrote a chapter, I would move it over to “Chapters I’ve Written”. Nothing is as reassuring when you’re stuck in the middle of writing a nearly 60k word fanfic as seeing the chapters slowly migrate to the right.

Organizing the Story

Outlining is a big part of my organization process, so I’ll be talking a fair bit about it. The first part of any story is your premise / core idea (it sounds like you’ve already got some of your own, so I won’t discuss coming up with those). The next step is brainstorming what you want to revolve around that premise. I already knew the characters fairly well, so what I did for TPiaG is write out a bunch of ideas for scenes on scraps of notebook paper and start arranging them on a table in different ways. I eventually settled on an order of events (many of which ended up cut for clarity in the actual fic), and then I started structuring them into chapters. 

How I structure chapters is inspired by the Kishotenketsu structure that is used fairly often in Asian storytelling. I divide each chapter into 5 parts: an Introduction that provides a starting point for the chapter, Development that builds on and adds context or tension to the introduction, a Twist that causes a new perspective on either the situation, characters, or something else in the story, a Resolution that helps wrap things up in a satisfying way, and then a Hook that leads the reader to want to read the next chapter. This is a structuring method that works way better for me than the Three Acts or the Hero’s Journey— I prefer the stronger focus on character vs. plot— and so I try to use it as often as possible. Here’s an example from my outline (if you’ve read TPiaG, you may notice some differences between it and the actual published chapters of the fic! It’s chapter 4 instead of chapter 3, for one thing!)

Organizing Characters

I’ll be honest— I didn’t fill out character sheets like I should have for this project. I kind of just went with the flow as I wrote them. Twig and Grovyle are the only characters who got sheets at all, and Grovyle still only got a half of one. However, I do have a blank copy of a character sheet I can share as reference!

I think most of this is pretty self-explanatory— but if anyone wants clarification on anything or what goes into the individual note sections, let me know! This is what the topmost part of Twig’s character sheet bio looks like: 

The Torment of the Human Mind, or: How to Deal with Idea Overload

This is an ongoing struggle for me. I’ve mentioned having ADHD in the past, but it really turns idea generation and shiny object syndrome into a purgatory of unspeakable proportions. Before TPiaG, I had never finished a creative project because I would constantly ping-pong back and forth between newer and funner ideas, inevitably abandoning WIPs, come back to them for a few weeks at a time, and then dart off to the next thing. This feels awful because you never finish anything when you’re stuck in this cycle, and having all those ideas as open tabs in your brain is exhausting. 

My greatest advice for figuring out what you want to do and then doing it? Figure out a fun idea— maybe not the funnest idea, but an idea you enjoy and can create with your current skills and a good helping of hard work— and then commit to it with a story priority hierarchy. Every time you want to work on another idea, you have to work on the idea you committed to first for 30 minutes (or a different block of time, whatever works for you!). After that allotted time is up, you’re free to work on whatever other projects you like— but you have to start at the top of the priority hierarchy. That way, you still get work done on your #1 project, but you’re not restricted to it. 

Alternatively: Write until that priority project is done. You can make notes on ideas, you can make Pinterest boards for them, and you can make playlists— but you can only write for your priority project. I’d recommend doing this with a deadline in mind. Something like Camp NaNoWriMo or a similar month-long challenge. Novelty is an important part of my workflow! I get it. But for some people, bouncing back and forth between ideas is detrimental to their ability to focus / write, and committing to a single project at a time is extremely beneficial. I thought that I was someone who needed total freedom to work on any of my projects, but it turns out that being handcuffed to a project and a word count goal for a month was exactly what I needed to finish my first ever complete manuscript.

Yikes, this was a lot. I hope I answered your question well enough. If not, ask again and give me another shot! I love talking about creativity, and I would be overjoyed to help you create however I can.