#good morning let's choose violence

[vicsdeangelis]

Listen can I say something about må? I don't know if they know when they're supporting artists like Elvis or lana del rey, chances are they aren't aware of the sorta people they are but as a poc one of the reasons I've been so put off from them lately is they just go on and on supporting racist people and thinking to myself 'maybe they don't know' doesn't make it much less upsetting

i don't know much about elvis so i didn't know about his racism, but i can't get past the being in a relationship with a 14 year old as a grown ass fucking man, so yeah, fuck him big time. that's the biggest reason i wasn't excited about them being in the soundtrack

also, are the lana remarks about that post she made complaining about how she can't make the music she wants and name dropped a bunch of black women and then went on to whine about how people were making it about race and she's not racist, or did she say something else? like is2g that woman is so fucking stupid i can't stand her. and yeah, i was like yikes 😬 when i saw that they covered one of her songs and the caption

and i feel the same way whenever damiano brings rosalía up. like, that bitch saying she considers herself latina or something. a fucking spaniard saying that shit???? made my blood fucking boil

they only seem to engage in conversations about racism when it's convenient or when they remember it exists tbh. like when the protests against police brutality were happening in the US and all over the world after the murder of george floyd. and then earlier this year they went to NYC and vic took a pic with a cop. like, babe????? what are you doing????? or when damiano reposted one of miley's insta posts in his stories and it was her surrounded by cops. like PLEASE READ THE ROOM I AM BEGGING THEM TO READ THE FUCKING ROOM

they seem to understand that the concept of allyship is constant work, but only when it comes to queer issues and reproductive rights, and that's probably because they have people close to them who are walking reminders that these things exist and need to be talked about. but racism? it feels like it doesn't even cross their minds sometimes

like, idk, they can listen and support whoever they want, but if they are aware of these issues and aren't put off by them...... doesn't feel great

[femmetay]

and swifties are confused about why she’s screaming at them with so much… borderline malice. i remember being offline all of last summer after my tour date because the entire dashboard was always this. twitter was always this. every taylor-centric place ive ever visited sounded like an echo chamber of this. it broke my heart to watch her be treated like a literal circus animal while her supposed alleged tabloid love life overshadowed all of her work and her tour- her announcement for speak now, her announcement for 1989 as well, were all overshadowed by discussions of the men she was surrounded by. we ask why speak now tv barely made any noise, because none of you would even listen to her speak back then if she had tried. i only have these screenshots because id text them to my best friend who was going to the eras tour with me, and i needed them to know how badly these conversations were affecting my anxiety about going to the show. to be surrounded by animals snarling at her and writing petitions, all while she was silent. silent. now we have songs like But Daddy I Love Him and Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? and I Look in People’s Windows (you’re the deranged weirdos, not her). the popularity of this post above astounded me then and i hate that you all pretend you never sounded this disgustingly horrific and downright intolerably cruel. who are you to talk about a stranger in this way. who do you think you’re talking about? someone who never bites back? you try to take her agency away and she spins wildly out of your control. keep caging her, she’ll keep drifting away from everyone who sounds like you.

[fangisms]

summertime at the burrow

A/N: i want to be an honorary weasley please im literally begging. notice me molly weasley

Pairings: Best Friend!Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fred finally invites his best friend home over summer holiday. Neither of you expected it to go so well. 3.7k words.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, ungodly amount of shenanigans, friendly bullying/teasing, mud wrestling, kissing, (friendly) violence, pet names (trouble, snookums, sugarplum, sweetheart), cursing, borderline frog abuse

"Good morning, trouble."

You hop into the seat next to him that he’d been saving for you. In fact, he’d been saving it for you since the first time you plopped down beside him after the sorting hat declared your house first year. You laughed when he shook your hand. He thought you had the cutest smile. Then you teased him for his devilish charm and he called you catty, and you’ve been teasing each other ever since.

"Are you packed and ready?” He sounds more worried than that time he nearly shattered his collar bone during a vicious Quidditch scrimmage. “We're leaving bright and early tomorrow. Mum says she's preparing a hearty lunch for our guests." Fred scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and turns to look at you to find you're looking back at him in bewilderment.

"Somebody's excited," you tease, ruffling his fiery locks and glancing over at George with a grin.

"If you think this is bad, you should see him before winter holidays," George huffs.

“I have.”

Fred rolls his eyes at you and you jab him in the side.

"Where are the lot of you off to?" Lee perks up from across the table, setting his plate down and wiggling his way between Alicia and Angelina.

"I finally got my honorary invite to the Weasley burrow this summer," you chirp, wrapping your arm over Fred's shoulders and leaning him into your side.

Lee cocks a brow and smirks at a suddenly and uncharacteristically shy Fred. "Well, it's about time! You've only been dating for—"

You shake your head. "No, not dating, Lee. I swear we've been over this—"

"Oh, we've been over it plenty. I just choose to ignore wicked witches when they lie—!"

You practically leap across the table with your teeth gritted to grab for his robes when you're stopped by the laughing twins holding you back from tearing into him. "Lee Jordan, you take that back right now, or so help me your mother will wonder why your hair's gone purple!"

"I'm not going to apologize for being lied to!"

"Let me at him! I'm trying to defend my honor here!"

"Miss—young lady!”—McGonagall appears behind you, sending you into shock and barreling back onto the bench—“Settle down! You're frightening the first years, and we typically prefer they come back in the fall."

"Apologies, professor, I was simply trying to have a friendly discussion with my classmate," you say, gesturing to Lee who smiles begrudgingly.

"Right, well, from now on, let's have our discussions from across the furniture, not on top of it." She wanders away, and you turn to stick your tongue out at Lee who is doubled-over and cackling at your being caught.

“I hope you know, we’re going to receive the same third-degree from my dear mother,” Fred mumbles in your ear. His heart races when you turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. You blink sweetly and rest your hand on his knee when he tucks his arm around your lower back. “But don’t worry, sugarplum, it’s never too late to try.”

He winks. Your eyes go wide, and you shove at his shoulder with a chuckle disguised by a scoff.

“Scabbers not the only rat in the Weasley family, I see.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about, there’s no way you two are just friends—”

A slice of ham sticks to Lee’s cheek with a cold, wet slap as you eye him from across the table.

“Don’t listen to him, snookums, he just doesn’t understand our complicated arrangement,” Fred says, nudging your cheek with his nose and holding back laughter.

“Gross,” George mutters, grinning before he’s met with the same lunchmeat backhand his friend so rudely received. “Suppose I could’ve predicted that one.”

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow, slinging your carry-on over your shoulder before bending down to pick up your trunk. You’re trailing behind most of the rest of the group, just a few steps behind the twins while their younger siblings charge ahead through the field with Harry and Hermione. Fred checks in with you every couple of meters, making sure you don’t need any serious medical attention.

Once the twins breach the front door, you take a seat outside on your trunk, fanning yourself with your hand and throwing your head back. Then you hear:

“Fred, you better get out there and help that poor girl with her things!”

“Sorry, mum!”

You chuckle when he appears in the doorway moments later, winded as ever, hair plastered to his forehead, and still grinning wildly as he jogs over.

“What’s a lovely young lady like yourself doing outside all alone on such an unbearably hot afternoon?”

“Sweating like swine.”

“Ravishing,” he teases, shooing you off the suitcase, “head inside, mum’s absolutely itching to meet you.”

So you do. You can see her welcoming her children and their friends alike, and it fills you with the warmth of fresh gingerbread and the nerves of a teenage boy during school dance season.

“My dear!” she coos, arms outstretched even though a thin year of sweat coats every inch of your body, even though you’ve been wearing these clothes for a day, and even though you’re breathing heavy like a dog. She’s got her arms outstretched like you’re family.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Fred, and, goodness, you’re even prettier than he said you’d be!” —She gasps when he walks through the door, hauling your trunk in tow—“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“It’s been five minutes and you two are already sharing secrets about me. Only seven more days, Freddie,” he mumbles, setting the trunk down with a thud.

“Oh, well! It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, Ginny will show you to your room and lunch will be ready once you’re all settled!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley—”

“Oh, none of that, call me Molly.”

Your brows knit when she smiles at you so gently before making her way back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Molly!”

Fred hops up from where he’d been relaxing on an armchair, clapping you on the arm with a reassuring smile.

“Everything processing alright up there?”

You nod.

“Peachy. Now give me a smile, you’re scaring me.”

You squint at him and pinch his arm, simpering when he hisses and swats your dry-gulching fingers away.

“That’ll do!”

“We’re up this way,” Ginny chirps as she rushes by and tugs you by the hand up the stairs.

Fred watches after you, rubbing his arm with a mean look on his face just before his playful resentment fades and his affections settle into the apples of his cheeks. This is going to be a long seven days.

…

Fred had never invited anyone to stay at the burrow. He preferred the company of his close family and whoever his mother deemed Weasley-enough herself. But he’d been saving this invitation. It stewed in the back of his mind for years before he mustered up the courage to offer it to you.

Ridiculous. That’s how it sounded in his head: ridiculous. If he wanted to ask you, he should have done it at the first chance. That’s what Fred would do. But he could never bring himself to get the words out whenever he swore to himself today would be the day. Because you’d just look at him with those damned doe eyes—you’d test his boundaries and make him all gushy inside—and it was like he was suddenly turned to a tongue-tied and pathetic halfwit.

And now here you are. An unofficial part of his family. But nevertheless a part of it. You’d found the annual Weasley strawberry-picking trip to be wonderful despite Fred pulling cheap pranks on you and the fact that it was basically sweltering outside. When you returned, you all spread out in the family room with bowls of the dewy berries in each of your laps. Everyone claimed a seat while you and Fred were forced to share the hardwood floor. You ended up tossing the small fruits into each other’s mouths with your legs laid across his thighs.

At one point, he lands one of the berries down your blouse. Almost immediately, he starts to laugh, clutching his chest while you gawk at him.

“You better start running, trouble.”

He gulps and scampers to his feet before scurrying out the front door. You take off after him, shouting curses into the wind when he rounds a corner.

You follow his footsteps but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on you—”

He grabs your waist from behind you, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “You can put your hands on me whenever you’d like, sugarplum—”

“Merlin’s Beard, Fred! You scared the shit out of me!”

You jolt away, and he thinks you look genuinely angry this time. But he smiles and your features soften. Then you’re after him again, bounding into the tall grass with an uproar of laughter.

…

You spend the next few days of your vacation trying to beat Ron at chess then deciding it may be better if you and Harry team up to try and beat Ron at chess. You also take Ginny and Hermione shopping while the gaggle of boys trail behind the three of you grumbling and whining about missing their beloved Quidditch game.

You offer to help Molly with every meal, and she only accepts once you convince her your desserts are a crowd favorite back home. She’s proud to say she’s impressed, and she grows even prouder when you admit you adore big families like hers and see at least two kids of your own in your future.

Arthur takes a liking to you after you listen to him rave about the kind of items muggles use day-to-day and how fascinating their modern technology has become in recent years. He’s thrilled to find you actually take interest in his tinkering and collections and whatnot.

But most of all, you spend your time at the burrow with Fred. He steals you away after meals and keeps you up late to teach you his favorite charms. One overcurious evening finds you two perched together on the bathroom floor whispering and giggling while you brush a bold smokey-eye onto his eyelids. Let’s just say dinner that night was nothing short of hilarious: a look that Fred will never live down.

On the fifth morning, you jostle him awake. He whines about the sun not even being up yet while you drag him down the steps and shove your socked feet into an extra pair of rubber boots.

“What’s the bucket for?” he whispers, traipsing down the path along the side of the house when you stop dead in your tracks.

“Shh!” You press your gloved finger to his lips. A chorus of croaks erupts from the marsh beside the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for Fred, in fact that sound had often soothed him to sleep. But there’s a dangerous glint in your eye that tells him you’re on a mission.

“Can’t we do this when the sun is up? It’s cold and I’m tired—”

“The faster we catch ‘em, the faster we can go back to bed,” you whisper as your boot sinks into the edge of the muddy body of water. He sighs and sinks in next to you with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or you’d never get away with anything.”

You purse your lips and wade a little further out, looking out at the cooly rippling water beneath the sliver of sunrise.

“Yes, I would,” you say, quietly but so matter-of-fact he’s inclined to believe you.

Just then you spring into action, shoveling a small frog into your bucket with a victorious grunt. A few minutes later, he shuffled over to you and lowers his cupped palms into your bucket: three more frogs settle down into the center with a wet plop. You beam up at him, and it’s worth the early morning trouble to see you so happy and have you so close.

“So what do you plan on doing with these poor creatures once we’re done?”

You sit on the bank of the waterbed, sighing and setting the bucket beside you. He watches you from the water while you examine the small blob of darkness in the center of your palm. The bottom of the bucket is lined with croaking frogs, and the sun is well above the horizon, dousing the sky in soft pink and warm rose.

“I’m going to let them go.”

He lets out a sharp breath, hands falling to his sides, leaving streaks of mud down his tee shirt.

“You’re joking.”

You look up at him. You’re not joking.

“No,” he huffs. “You did not drag me out of my nice, warm bed to catch a million slimy frogs in the freezing cold dark just to let them go again.”

“Oh, but I did.” You’re crazy, he thinks. You’re crazy and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Doesn’t make you any less crazy, though it might make him much less sane.

You set the frog down in the grass and leave the bucket tipped over. The small creatures immediately flood out from the splotchy tin opening into the newborn daylight and the crisp morning air. You stand and wipe your hands against each other a few times, scrunching your nose and finally meeting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong, trouble? Cat got your tongue?”

You grin.

“You know, one of these days, I’m going to say ‘no’ to you, and it’ll be a rude awakening.”

Fred walks past you like he’s really mad. Like it was an uncrossable line and you treated it like the tape at the end of a marathon. He’s hulking back towards the house when you grab his wrist to get his attention.

“What?”

But you don’t look sad. You don’t look pitiful or hurt. You look like you’re scheming, and it drives him crazy. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to you.

“You think I’m pretty,” you coo, batting your lashes just to get on his nerves. His breath hitches, and he feels warm despite the nipping cold of the morning.

“Unrelated.”

You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest with a pout. He continues leisurely toward the burrow, tossing his gloves to the ground with a huff of hot air.

“Fred?�� you call. And you sound worried, so he’s compelled to whip around. But when he does, he’s met with a rude awakening.

It was a misstep. A silly mistake, the wrong footing. Easily avoidable, and yet he didn’t avoid it. So he’s ass-first into a mud puddle with you shrieking in laughter about a meter away.

“You’re awful,” he grumbles, both hands propping him up and seeping into the thick mud as seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry! Freddie, I’m so sorry,” you cackle, taking a few steps toward him with tears of joy in your eyes. “But you should have seen your face!”

“Help me up,” he says, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his pajama pants before holding it outstretched to you. You grab it and tug enough to leverage him out of the muck. But he doesn’t budge. And in that moment, your eyes are filled with fear. Then, with one jolt, you topple down into the mud right beside him.

“Fred!”

“An eye for an eye, sugarplum.”

You push yourself up onto your hands to find your entire front is caked in mud, the mess narrowly avoiding your chin and above.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh, bring it on,” Fred teases.

You smirk just before a handful of mud is smeared across his chest by your slippery glove.

“Your move, trouble.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, looking down at the abstract art work fondly. But not quite fondly enough to hold himself back. His fingers dig into the puddle determinedly just before patting the top of your head with it like a stray dog. You squint your eyes closed and groan before peeking one eye open and coating his cheek in mud.

You make it to your feet and Fred hurls a ball of mud at your ass but he misses and it lands in the grass in front of you. You bolt around the back of the house, but he hurls a hunk towards your shoulder blade. You yelp and shout at him:

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman!”

“I’ll show you a gentleman, sweetheart,” he hollers it just before he catches up to you. You squeal and nearly slip on a slick patch of grass, but before you can leap out of his reach, he grabs your upper arm and presses you against the tree just behind your back.

“That’s not playing fair, Freddie, I’ve got nowhere to run,” you say, breathlessly grasping at the edge of his shirt with a tired smile. He chuckles and plants one palm against the bark beside your head, bringing the other hand to cup the side of your neck.

“You don’t need to run anywhere,” he mumbles, “just stay here.” The dried mud on the pad of his thumb draws a swipe of dirt down your cheek. Your fingers curl around his wrist and your lips part sweetly when he leans in.

“Time to come inside, you two! Breakfast is ready!”

Your eyes go wide when he leans his forehead against the tree with a grumbled curse.

“I suppose I am quite peckish!” you chirp, dragging him along behind you all the way to the front door. You leave your boots and gloves outside and brush some of the dried dirt from your pajamas.

You sit across from him at breakfast and catch him stealing glances at you every so often. With a mouth full of food, you wink at him with a dirt-smeared face and almost make him spit out his juice when you kick him under the table. George teases the two of you about wrestling in the mud while Molly scolds Fred about tracking it into the house.

…

Before long, you’re facing the final night of your stay. You’d been dreading the end since the beginning, and now that it’s here, you’re heartbroken. It’s been nothing but fun and you’ve never felt so wonderfully vulnerable with so many people around.

But the thing you’ll miss most is Fred. He could sense you pulling away the last couple of days. Trying to shield yourself from the impact of reality. No matter how hard he tried to cheer you up, he knew nothing could stop you thinking about how much packing up and leaving would hurt.

With your things splayed out across the floor of your temporary room, you had started packing hours ago but kept finding ways to distract yourself and avoid the idea of leaving altogether.

“Need any help?” Fred knocks on the doorframe, leaned against it and wearing the blue jumper you once told him he looked best in. You smile up at him from the floor.

“No,” you huff, “but some company would be nice.”

He perks up and shuffles around your belongings to plant himself on the edge of the bed. You had made the bed up nicely, tucked the duvet and set the pillows out nicely. He told you you didn’t have to, but you did it anyways.

After a few minutes of folding and refolding the same shirt, you stand from the floor and join him on the bed. He’s leaned back onto his elbows when he nudges your foot with his. You nudge him back but don’t turn to look at him. So he sits up and bumps you with his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, fussing with the edge of your shorts to distract himself, “Being here, I mean. As a part of our family.”

You smile down at his fiddling fingertips and inch closer, looking at him with this half-sad, half-happy look that has him confused and hopeless and head over heels and confused.

“I had a really, really nice time,” you whisper, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed.

“So…”

You chuckle and smile to yourself, “So…?”

You sit up when the floor rattles a little, a thudding coming from the room below you. Then George shouts.

“Get it over with already!”

You both look at each other and giggle. Fred leans back again and you watch him tilt his head back and let out a sigh. His chest rises and falls beneath that damned blue sweater, and you trace your fingertips over his knuckles. He lifts his head and smiles cheekily at you, like he knows what’s going on inside your head. Like he has any idea. And for once, you think he might be pretty close.

You practically tackle him to the bed, smiling against his mouth when he cradles your face in one hand and rests the other on your waist where your shirt had ridden up from the ruckus.

You pepper soft kisses over his blushing face, leaving faintly glossy lip prints on his cheeks and nose and forehead and a stray one on the column of his neck. He goes slack against the bed, satisfied and content and happy all because of you. But still, he lazily opens his eyes and grins mischievously and says:

“Took you long enough.”

You smack your hand against his chest just hard enough to warn him.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Weasley.”

He cups your hand against his warm chest and his smile ebbs from mischief to something not as easily recognized. Something that makes him shy and pink thanks to the girl who likes the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the summer and his hands even when they’re covered in mud. Love that makes him much less sane for the girl who might just be crazy for loving him back.

And all of it makes him hold your hand and lean up to kiss you one more time.

masterlist

[504py]

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[fortunatelyuniquepeach]

Boyfriend!simon headcanons 𓆩♡𓆪

Pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

cw/tags: fluff, very slight sexual themes, implied violence.

a/n: this isn't as good as I wanted to be but I just missed writing and posting sooo enjoy🫶.

Boyfriend!simon who was too hesitant before confessing his feelings to you, believing something too precious, too sweet like you doesn't belong in his hands.

Boyfriend!simon who even after you two start dating still has that voice in the back of his head telling him you're too good to be with a man like him, so he's constantly trying his best and going out of his way to prove that he can be a good boyfriend, a good man.

Boyfriend!simon who is overprotective of you 24/7, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Always has an arm around you. Always choosing the side of the bed that's closer to the door. Always coming home with bruised knuckles after you tell him some guy has made you uncomfortable.

Boyfriend!simon who absolutely refuses to let you pay for anything, he'd rather die than watch his baby pay for their own things with their own money! You don't even fight him about it anymore knowing it's useless. Doesn't matter how small or big, whether it's a necklace you've looked at for a little too long or a whole house, simon is getting it for you.

Boyfriend!simon who loves nothing more than taking care of you. Making your coffee for you in the morning, tying your shoes for you, carrying you in his arms whenever you're tired, helping you wash your hair in the shower. It's these little things that help him keep going in life.

Boyfriend!simon who adores having his time with you when he's got you under him. Kissing and licking every inch of you. Praising you for being his good baby, always so patient. He'll even tease you a little to hear you beg and whine. It's his favourite sound. But what's his favourite even more is your giggles. He's usually a very serious man, but he'll do anything to hear your sweet laugh, using the dad jokes approved by johnny on you. (Ghoap?)

Boyfriend!simon who isn't sure about many things, but the one thing he is certain about is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Just waiting for the right moment , always carrying around the ring he bought one week after you two started dating.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔨𝔲𝔫𝔢𝔬

Summary: Because of a past refusal, the god who once fostered and protected your village has cursed the land and left it in constant darkness and bloodshed. But years after the island's condemnation he visits the priestess in her dreams, claiming that he is once again willing to take a sacrifice in exchange for the people's salvation.

You are left to grapple with your reality when that sacrifice is announced to be you.

Notes: 26k words, so . . . grab a snack? Also, this has not been proofread yet so sorry for any errors and misspellings. Banner is credited @saradika

Warnings: MDI - 18+ content! AFAB, Sacrifice AU, violence, horror elements, the reader is drugged physically for ritual purposes but it doesn't affect her in the Dreaming? illusions to death, an animal is harmed but does not die, a small teaspoon of stalker Dream (sorta), hints of possessive Dream but he's also soft. Oral (F!receiving), he's a switch, a bit of soft dom Morpheus I suppose, sex outside but there is no voyeurism involved, unprotected sex.

The memories of your mother are vague at best. Like gazing up at someone while being submerged under water. But what you could remember, quite vividly at that is the wild fables and stories of gods and heroes that she would tell you, sending you off to sleep with images of great serpents slicing through the waves of the seas or the behemoth hound snapping at the tormented souls of the underworld with its many heads. And she taught you of the nymphs of the ocean and the wood, and the great gods that cloak the skies with heavy storm clouds and bind the souls of lovers together. 

But perhaps one of the most important to your isolated village, the one who was vital to the people's survival was the deity Morpheus. Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The heavenly benefactor that assured you all prosperity and wealth. He was benevolent and caring, and to commemorate the god, murals were created in his image. Some portrayed him as both beast and man. With the lithe physique of a human, the textured, taloned feet of a bird and great wings pridefully expanding from his back, stretching high in a reaching arch and a head that you could not discern if it was intended to mimic a bird or insect. The protrusion from his face reminded you of the proboscis of a mosquito but it was jointed and colored like ivory like a bleached spine. 

But on occasion the paintings depict the god as a striking statuesque man, clutching a group of blood red blossoms in one hand and fragments of pale sand poured through the fingers of an opposing upturned palm. And he seems to have his wings in this form also. And they are always with feathers the color of the night sky. 

Your mother had told you that he was a kind ruler. But even kindness is not without its conditions. 

The people had spoken of an offering that must be made to the Endless to appease him, an exchange for his watchful eye and shelter. A sacrifice must be given. A human one. The thought had terrified you as a child. But the villagers - even your own parents seemed to accept the requirement without any qualms. No complaints were made from the people. It was taken as a fact of life. The same as how the sun rises in the east or how fire burns when touched. No one fought when the shrine guards came in the morning. When the dawn was but a smudge of lavender in the horizon, knocking on doors and collecting any woman who was of age regardless of it they were already wives with families and duties. 

Not even your father or mother had protested when they came to take her away to the temple. And you had latched yourself onto her hips, refusing to let go even when she assured you that this was a good thing. That it was a great compliment to be even considered for the choosing. And that if she was selected as the offering - to join the Dark God that it would bring honor not just to the village but to your house as well. But you had refused to listen, shaking your head while your tears dampened the fabric that covered her body. The hierodules had to tear you from her hips, and your father had to secure you in his arms as she left with the guards to the join the other women who had been collected from their homes. 

The next passing days for you had been melancholic and distressing to say the least but the village was a kaleidoscope of colors and festivities. And despite the joy that thrummed across the air, the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting the day for the Choosing when the head Priestess would reveal the offered woman that Endless had deemed worthy enough to be his sacrifice. 

The ceremony had been held near dusk and a heavy quiet had fallen over the collective as you all look up to the priestess, desperate to hear which womans name she would utter. The anticipation was stifling as you all awaited who would become his bride, and your fingernails had dug into your father's hand so harshly that it must have stung, but he did not flinch or jerk away once, far too enamored with the event. And when the sister had revealed the Chosen the crowd had cheered and some gasped, but you had cried. Cried with relief and joy. 

But on that day the Priestess decided to deny the dark god of his sacrifice and that decision would mark the fall and despair of your village for years to come. 

And now you stand where your mother once did. But instead of the cover of a gentle twilight, the unforgiving heat of the sun wafts over you, engulfing you in a sweltering heat and pounds down on the crown of your skull. Voices clamor from down below, the frenzied cries of desperate people, and it has the women standing at your sides shivering like startled doe's. You could not blame them in the slightest. You too wanted to quiver and sob to expel your fear, but you could not bear to show any vulnerabilities. Not to the hungry crowd, too terrified in their own right to empathize with your distress.  

The ritual is only in a few days' time and the atmosphere that looms across the village with a heavy sort of anticipation is a conflicted sort of energy. There was an obvious air of excitement, prickling at your skin and nearly leaving you breathless but there was also the underlying thrum of . . . fear. It pained you to look out to the masses and see their jostling bodies, waiting with bated breath to hear the name of the Endless' intended. To hear if he would finally accept a sacrifice again after so many years of anguish and terror. 

They had decorated the thresholds of houses, and the columns of buildings with rich tapestries and fine wreaths just as had been done in the past. The people- your people frolic about in special fabrics- deep reds and blues to herald the Endless. Gorging themselves on the five-day long feast: the meat of boar and quail and an abundance of fruits. The flow of wine and spirits did not stop. It had only progressed if the slurred shouting and rumbunctious laughter that had reached you from behind the thick walls of the commune was any indication. Celebrating their lives. Celebrating your death. 

Despite your circumstances you had been nothing but pampered since your forced participation. Fed only the finest meals and bathed in expensive oils and perfumes.  You have been chosen by an ancient; a harsh voice hissed cruelly from the depths of your mind. The voice of the old sister. The woman who had sealed your awful fate. The one who claimed that the mind walker -the dark god himself had come to her in a dream and had spoken to her she had reiterated animatedly, sharp piercing eyes nearly rolling back in her skull from her mania. Her body had quivered from her passion and the other women that had been selected and forced into a reluctant row had nearly flinched back at the intensity of it. You all clung to each other, hands gripping the other for support. Something to tether yourselves to the ground. All of the eligible women had been wrangled up, torn from the arms of their families. Even women with husbands and children were taken away, no one was spared in the wishes of finally appeasing the god. 

You had scanned the clamoring crowd in the hopes of finding someone who would be willing to help. Someone who would disagree. Perhaps a stranger would show pity or sympathy, but you found no one. They were all hanging on to the demented rambling of the old priestess. Their silence was palatable. The crazed joyous eyes of people with hope. Hope of reprieve from the decade long curse that had tainted the village. And unfortunately, one of the maidens- one of you that stood in that horrid line was the answer to their prayers. And when you found no sympathy, you looked past the commotion and the roofs of houses to the sea in the distance and imagined yourself taking to the dark waves and escaping under the tide and froth. Emerging somewhere new and wonderful. 

Of course, there would be no freedom for you. Not when her horrid eyes strayed from the desperate crowd and pinned you in your place the air had been expelled from your lungs with a harsh gravity. The realization of your fate. 

And then as if to perpetuate her point further, to drive the knife in deeper and twist, she lifted her crooked finger up in the air and pointed. Right at you. And the other girls that were clinging to your body for support and comfort had jerked from you as if you were dirty and blemished, sobbing with cries of relief while they fled in search of their mothers and fathers in the crowd. But some of them had sank to the dust and clasped their hands together as if in prayer, kneeling at your feet like you were sanctified. 

"The Endless has found his Chosen." She crooned and the people had roared in a victorious cry.  

They took you kicking and screaming, ignoring your cries of protest while they carried you off to the Sisters commune to prepare you and the townspeople looked on, watching you feverously with a horrid sort of enthusiasm. Relief you recognized. 

You had been forced into decadent silks and decorated with jewelry that at one time you would have dreamed of wearing, but they might as well as have been hot iron with the way that they felt against your skin. Restricting, disgusting. 

They paraded you around for days, making you the pinnacle of the festival while you watched them all sink into their basest desires, influenced from alcohol and the intoxication of relief. You tried not to blame them. To see past your pain and hurt and summon some forgiveness. After all, they were only afraid. The same as you had been, the same as you are now. Fearful of the Night King and his spirits. The horrible kakodaimon hoard that serve at his command and wreak havoc should their emperor be denied of his sacrifice. Some are little more than mischievous deities, entertaining themselves with otherwise harmless pranks: Stealing shoes and tying the hair of women into knots while they sleep unaware. The stuff of tales and bedtime stories. But he has other creatures. Monstrous, evil things that steal infants from their cribs and drain bodies of their lifeblood and chew bone. 

The same horrid beings that have been tormenting the village for a decade now, arriving in the night to snatch up any poor soul who had been foolish enough to be caught outside during the dark. Many have died during the years since he's unleashed his army of terrors upon the village. The dark creatures snatching them up in their gnarled claws, as lethal as a sharpened daggers and carrying them off with the swift whisper of wings. All because he was refused. 

And now finally you sit underneath the stars again, after being forced behind barricaded doors and huddling underneath the table and hoping that the creatures wouldn't break through the door and tear themselves inside with gnashing teeth to feast upon your flesh. Clinging to the hope that you would survive until daybreak when the blessed sun would rise from the horizon and banish them away. If only for a little while. 

For the first time since you were a child you may embrace the dark and breath in the warm night air, feeling it sooth your lungs like a balm. You're as full of wonder as you are paranoia. Waiting for one of the nightmares to leap out of the shadows and steal you away. But even the weight of the silver and diamonds adorning your body and the deafening laughter of the feast couldn't tear your eyes away from the black expanse that loomed above. Stretching out like a horrible, beautiful black void that threatened to eat you alive. And you nearly felt crushed with how small - insignificant it made you feel. The unforgiving stretch of the cosmos looming above seemed to force your own mortality upon you with a harsh sort of grace. And it angered you that the dark god had stripped this sight from you for so many years. He had taken so much from you all and now they all once again chant his name as though he was a savior and not the reason for their strife and agony. Celebrating his image like he was a humble god that had not punished them and their children with beasts and terrible dreams. All because he was not given a woman who had been promised to him. 

You had never felt so bare in your life, having been forced on the plush velvet cushions of a palanquin to be carried around on the shoulders of the temple guards and displayed around the village. There was no shelter from the prying eyes of the townspeople who had watched you with the same sort of desperate hunger as a pack of starved dogs, shameless and pitiful. They had been pelting you with the vibrant blossoms of violets and dark seeds, and the abundance had begun to collect atop the cushions, and you had been tempted to sweep the offerings off the side of the vehicle but as if sensing your intentions one of the priestesses had swiftly swiveled her head to glare at you from her place beneath you. You had been tempted to defy her regardless, to hold eye contact with her as you did so, but despite your petty desire you held yourself back. 

They did eventually lower you from their shoulders and back down onto the earth, and a few women had emerged from the boisterous crowd -servants perhaps - to hand you food and drink. You had not wanted to accept it, too prideful to take what they had given you and make them believe that they had managed to placate you with a meal and wine, but eventually your stomach had won and you hesitantly abandoned your dignity. It had been too long since you had last had a decent meal, having survived off of measly scraps for too long. You had gorged yourself on the figs and fish and honey cakes, chasing it with the rich wine when you had become parched and soon your head had become light with the influence of the fermented liquid, and it allowed you to ignore the cajoling throng of people and the sisters' that observed you. 

The priestesses surrounded you like a group of statues, pillars of death. Silent and watching. Guarding. They observe when the villagers approach you, eyes glinting hauntingly like they're waiting for one of the people to lash out and attack you.  You hoped someone would and finally put you out of your misery. But instead, they all crouched down low at your feet, whispering their gratitude like you had asked for this purpose and placed bundles of red flowers on the earth to surround the palanquin. Even a child had approached you, thanking you for the salvation you offered. It had nearly broken you and tears had threatened to spill down your face. It almost disgusted you to look at them. Soft, delicate blossoms that were a harsh scarlet. Red like blood. Poppies you had realized. The flower associated with the Endless. It made you nauseous to be surrounded by his symbol. And suddenly they were not so pretty anymore and there were too many. Overflowing at your feet and pilling up so high that it felt like the people were trying to build a wall around you.  

"Why must I do this?" You gasp, feeling as though you were being crushed. The sister to your right is the one who speaks but she does not turn to look at you, instead focusing on the roaring pyre that the villagers dance around under the guide of the drums and flute. "Because it is your purpose." The answer is cold and matter of fact, sparing you no sympathy. It is a sentence that you have heard uttered one too many times in the passing days, almost as though they believed you would come to accept your circumstances if you heard it enough. You just could not understand why they would be so easily swayed to accept the god who had turned his backs on them so long ago. Abandoned them and tormented them because of his own hubris. Scorned because the head priestess before had not given him her own daughter. 

He had plagued your village for too long. Ravaging men and women and children with horrid dreams and dying crop. Except for now. Ever since the choosing ceremony, when you had been selected the gardens had blossomed seemingly overnight, overgrown with a prosperous harvest and the hunt had been successful after many moons of coming up with little more than measly rabbits. 

They would always return to his dark embrace after the horrors that you have all been forced to endure. It did not matter if he demanded one maiden or a thousand, they would spare as many women that he demanded. Even if it meant finding shelter under the punishing hand that caused all of their pain. 

But it still does not explain why he had accepted a sacrifice after so many years of silence and refusal. After turning his nose up at every attempt to reconcile and give an offering he makes his presence known now. But what had changed? Why you? Surely the god that presides over dreams and walks amongst the subconscious must know that you are no longer a chaste woman. A tainted old maid is what they would whisper about you. There was no sense to any of this. 

"But why me?" And the fragile strings of jewelry draped around your neck clink against each other, but it is an annoying sound that has your nails digging into the rich tapestried cushions. It is the one to your left that speaks now. Her voice is deceptively soft, bubbling like a gentle stream. "We do not question the Endless. " She responds. And although her voice is much more welcoming than her sister's her words are just as indifferent. " You will be our salvation. Our forgiveness. You will save us. " 

Any bit of protest had died in your throat before you could get them out. You focused on the festivities instead, watching the people chant and sing old songs. And dancers leapt around the fire, dressed in furs and leather and colorful fabrics to mimic figures from folklore and the very monsters that had massacred your village for years. Wearing masks fashioned from old hides and animal pelts, brandishing the horns taken from cattle and deer. They playfully leapt at the crowd that encircled the fire as though they were going to swipe. And some had constructed costumes to imitate the dark plumage of the raven, one of his coveted animals. 

This was twisted. A mockery of suffering and pain. Pissing on the memory of the people who had fallen victim to the dream god and his nightmares. 

How could they all forget so easily? 

You could feel the sting of anger simmering within your chest, prickling at your fingertips. It made it difficult to breath around the weight of it all. You continue to watch them all despite the rage and sorrow that it induces. The horrible way they galivant around and clap and cheer. It's disgusting and awful. Even the children. The poor children participate, lunging at the false monsters with wooden swords and some are dressed as the dark creatures themselves.  

To get some sort of reprieve you looked to the night sky, staring up at the full moon as though its goddess would hear your silent plea and save you from your fate. Whisking you from this starving mob and your doomed fate to her hidden island to frolic with the nymphs free from your crude duty.  But the glowing deity did not appear, and you were left to stare at the lonely dark void of the night while the stars winked and fluttered as though their light might dim and die. It was foolish to believe that the goddess of virtue would appear for a woman like you. 

But then you could feel it. A magnetic pull that tilted your head from its upturned position, and your eyes lower onto something gleaming with a pale light. Two shimmering pieces, shinning much like the moon hanging above.  It is a pair of eyes you come to quickly discern. Reflecting the bright glow of the pyre in a way that is decidedly not human. Those are the eyes of a beast: An owls may do that, or a wolf's or a cat. Not a human. But the face that they belong to is very much a man's. 

It is difficult to make out the features of his face past the way that the heat of the open flames warp the surrounding atmosphere and the smoke twists and coils into the open air like deadly serpents. But you can comprehend the sharp jut of high cheek bones and pale milky skin almost as though he was cut from a fine marble. His expression is not a joyous one or celebratory like the other villagers, instead it is stoic and serious. The intensity of his glare has you pinned in place. It is you; you realize. He's staring at you. 

The world suddenly feels weightless, like you're suspended in a vacuum. You had heard a story from an old hunter once. One who had miraculously survived a lightning strike and he had been shunned by many of the others for his scars. After all he must have done something to warrant the strike. He must have scorned the Lord of the Sky himself. But you had spoken to him regardless and he had told you that he had felt it before it had hit him, even though it was only for but a second. His hair had stood on end and his skin had tingled strangely before his body was flooded with a numbing white-hot heat. And you could feel that sensation prickling over you now, like the whisper of a thousand fingertips brushing you all over. It made you shiver, and you adjusted yourself in your seat in an attempt to banish the feeling, but it never faded. If anything, the steady pulses persisted and seemed to thrum with even more intensity nearly making you gasp aloud. You wanted to look away from the strange man, but you could not seem to will yourself to turn your gaze from him, and some strange part of you did not want to. He was gorgeous in a haunting sort of way, but you could not figure out why. There was an unearthly quality to his countenance, like he was he was not a man but wearing the face of one. 

It was then you noticed the color of his robes. Black. But that was not right. No one else was allowed to sport the Endless' color, no one else apart from the head priestess was allowed to wear his color, as a way to display her connection and loyalty. It was considered an extreme offence for any other person to bear a cloth in his shade. A punishable offence that would often result in public ridicule and the removal of the criminal's dominant hand. Some have even claimed that the accused may be haunted from night terrors for the crime until the passing of their natural human life. So who would be bold enough to flaunt around in public in such dark robes? 

He must be a foolish man. Or at least an arrogant one. And as though he could hear your thoughts the corner of his mouth quirks in just the faintest hint of a smile. So delicate that it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But you could see it in his otherworldly eyes too. It looked as though that it did not suit him, but he also wore the expression beautifully. It was an odd juxtaposition, and you did not know what to make of it. He looks like no one you had never seen before but is also painfully familiar, like an old memory. 

Oddly enough no one else seems to notice his presence at all. A phenomenon that could be blamed on the alcohol and high spirits but what couldn't be wrote away by reason was the way that a drunk seemed to stumble through the strange man, causing him to vanish like a plume of smoke and the pale shimmer of his eyes was the last to fade, piercing some buried part of you before disappearing entirely and with it something clicks into place. 

The sensation that had spilled over you leaves with him, releasing you from its hold and allowing you take a deep breath that you had not known you needed. That awful wonderful stare. . . Could that have truly been the nightmare masquerading as a man? They have been known to do such a thing before. Using the guises of people and loved ones to lure vulnerable victims out for slaughter. Then another thought trickles down to the forefront and it has a cold shiver skipping down the notches of your spine. What if it had been the nightmare king himself? Come to see you, his intended bride? 

Surely you were hallucinating. It has never been mentioned before that the deity has ever made appearances before the ritual. None of the other past offerings have spoken of it. If it has happened, then none have ever cared to mention it. 

It had a troubled sinking feeling plummeting in your gut and it stayed with you throughout the night until the priestesses had collected you from your place and ushered you back to your temporary quarters where the servants prepared you for sleep. Insisting that you bathe, pouring luxuries oils into the steaming water and combing your hair before bed. They fret about like ghost. Silent and always moving so they are often little more than glimpses in your peripheral vision. They hardly speak. Only enough to offer commands that are loosely guised as suggestions or to whisper softly amongst themselves. 

They do not like you; you could easily tell. If the unabashed away that they gossip quietly while in your presence is any indication. But one of the women in particular does nothing to hide her distaste. Watching you with scorn in her eyes and a scowl on her lips. Neither of you had made any efforts to verbally communicate your hatred for the other, instead opting to passive aggressively telegraph the fact with petty gestures. Such as when she had decided to harshly pick through your hair while preparing you for the first feast. Clawing at your scalp with the teeth of the comb harshly enough to sting and throb for the entire night. The apology that she had given you was pathetically fake, contempt framed around a smile and feigned concern. She did not do it again when you had accidentally spilt hot tea across her hip when she was selecting your jewelry. 

But even now you could feel the heat of her glare against the crown of your skull and the grip that she had on your hair was harsher than necessary, but you simply did not have the energy to reprimand the action. Not after being paraded around the feast all night like a prized brood mare, sluggish under the weight of silks and pearls that decorated you. 

You feel her leaning over your shoulder before she speaks, the heat of her body irritates your skin and you find yourself tensing and trying to lean from her presence, but she is gripping your hair in a tight grip that keeps you from shifting. "You do not deserve to be touched by a god." She hisses, venom tainting her words. 

"Clearly you do not either," you snap just as harshly, gripping the sides of the basin so that you do not twist out of her hold and lash out. The other maids do not so much as glance over at the altercation, simply going on about their duties as though the both of you do not exist. "Or else you would be the one bathing in oils and dining on fruits and wine. " The hold on the back of your scalp goes slack somewhat, allowing you enough leeway to peer over your shoulder and meet the heated gray of her eyes. "How does it feel to know that your god has no desire for you?" 

She does not respond even though you can tell that she is actively biting her tongue to hold down her barbed words. It irritated you. The way they all acted as though they truly loved him. It was not affection they felt, but fear. You loathed the lying and the pretending all in the sake of appeasing the horrid god, and yet you could not find the courage to voice your opinions. It was a fruitless endeavor you knew to try and speak to these people. As tortured and hopeless as they were. And as much as you wanted to ridicule them their actions were not unfounded. You had seen firsthand what the Endless was capable of when he was denied of promises. You had watched you own mother be dragged away by venomous claws and terrible simpering fangs. There was no room for argument. At least not a sensical one. 

And so, you had remined silent for the remainder of your bath and until the servants had retired for the night, settling underneath the soft linens, but you were unable to relax. Not when you could still feel that man's eyes searing into your skin. Not from the fear of falling danger to the night terrors and horrible dreams, even though you have been quite fortunate, having not experience a single nightmare in quite some time. But that dark figures presence felt like a bad omen. An awful warning for the things to come. What if he sends his demons to come and haunt you and drag you away in the dark? What if he means to punish you? You wrack your brain to try and remember if you could have ever possibly scorned the dark god but come up empty. Granted you have never particularly harbored pleasant feelings towards the deity but not a single soul in the village has since the day that he chose to curse it, tainting it with beasts and painful dreams. Sometimes tormenting the people with dreams so intense and horrid that some have passed away in their sleep, suffering from weak hearts or fragile lungs. Other have been driven mad from the vividness and the persistence of the nightmares to the point that they have lost all sense of self and reality, some noy just taking their own lives but even the lives of others in the midst their distress and agony.

He was a dreadful god whose love was built with conditions and lies. Boasting the promise of prosperity and protection but the only thing you need protection from is him. 

An airy coo breaks you from your troubling thoughts, drawing your attention to the corner of the room where a familiar black shape trots out of the shadows, almost as though he had materialized from them. 

"What are you doing here you silly thing?" You could not hold in the short disbelieving laugh that escapes you in a huff, affection growing within your chest. You are not even sure how he could have possibly gotten inside the Sisters' commune and found your quarters, especially considering that the trek from your cottage to the village was a decent walk. He must have found an open window or slipped inside when no one was looking. You would not put the feat past him, he always seemed to be skulking about. 

You prop yourself up on your elbow to welcome the cat as he leaps onto your mattress, leaning into your hand with the tilt of his head. And you are thankful for the familiarity and the calm that washes over you at the feel of his long fur against your palm. It is a great comfort to have your companion back with again after being away from home for so long. But when your affection became too much, he slipped out from underneath your hold and retreated to the foot of your bed with a petulant flick of his tail, deciding to watch you with the piercing blue of his eyes instead. 

"Oh, my dearest apologies, " you jest, pulling your blanket up higher around your shoulder and try not to take it personally as he moves from you. "I did not mean to offend you." 

He blinks slowly, a very simple gesture but it always felt like it was done with an air of judgement. But then again, the animal always seemed to carry himself an imperious sort of way, even though he is but a cat, he manages to be rather expressive when he wants to be. 

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" You ask as though you would get an answer. You hate the thought of him being out so late with the possibility of those dreadful creatures roaming the ground and skies, ready to snatch and gouge with deadly claws. You know that he could fend for himself. He is a feral cat at best, coming and going as he pleases. Often vanishing for concerning periods of time before reappearing at your doorstep as though he had never left at all. But not even the beasts - the regular forest dwelling kind or the godly ones are the only threats that roam the dark. People could be just as awful. You honestly do not how he has managed to survive as long as he has with all the dangers lurking about. It was the same thing that you had wondered about on the first day that you saw him wandering around the tall grass that surrounded your home while you were out tending to your stubborn garden. But the second thought and the most startling was the realization that you were even looking at a cat at all. There had not been a single feline spotted on the village since the morning after the failed ritual all those years ago. All of the cats had but vanished from the island without a trace. Gone as though they had not been here at all, like they had all piled onto a boat and paddled to the mainland or a giant hand had descended from the sky and plucked them from their homes and alleyways. But now there was one there, slinking through the tall grass, a whisp of black against the dead golden reeds. 

It had you pausing from your task of searching for an unblemished vegetable that had not been tainted by worm bites or disease (which was proving to be a pointless endeavor) to watch the cat on its little journey. But despite your awe you had noticed the lethargy that seemed to slow its movements considerably. The usual feline grace that the animals typically carry themselves with was replaced by sluggish and jerky movements. The cat was all but stumbling between the tall stalks of grass. And in your worried study of the animal, you noticed a series of angry red slivers peeking through the thickness of his fur along its side. Four angry red wounds that would have been difficult for a human to endure, but for a cat you could not imagine the tole it was taking on its body to remain conscious. Especially through the pain no doubt. 

It had been entirely upon reflex to jerk up from your place on the ground, concern overshadowing your tact and making you forget that it may be a feral and undomesticated creature. And your worry did not prove to be unfounded when the cats head swung over in your direction, freezing in its walk to assess you. The both of you held a long exchange of stares and you had wondered if you should try to approach it, but then it had bolted. Lurching forward on wobbly feet and your heart had jumped in your throat, entirely frightened that he would flee to the cover of the forest and succumb to his wounds. But the cat had only made it a few paces before it was crumbling to the dirt and collapses on its side. 

You had barged through the gate of your garden leaving it to creak on its hinges while you approached the cat's body, hoping that he had not given into the trauma of the lacerations. But a glance over with your eyes confirmed that it was thankfully still breathing. You had whispered your apologies when you had noticed that he was watching you as well with a tired glassy stare, scooping him up as gently as you could and carrying him into your house to provide as much care as you could. 

The cat's body was already making efforts to build scabbing, the thick red having coagulated along the edges of its wounds. But the blood was still flowing too much for your liking, staining the linens that you had folded near the hearth for the animal to rest on. You were going to have to sew. Unfortunately, due to the infertility of the soil and the bad luck with yielding a healthy garden you had little herbs or flowers for medicine. And truthfully you did not know much of cats and which plants and medicines that should be avoided or would help him recover from his ailments, but with no one to confide in you did your best. Making sure to cleanse the slashes with fresh water before you began to stitch. Having no choice but to settle for the needle and thread that you used to make repairs on your clothing. 

"I'm afraid you aren't going to like me much after this, but I don't think we have much of a choice. " You had said, as you knelt down on the floor of your kitchen, settling in front of the animal with your thread in one hand and the needle in the other. It had peered at you from the corners of its eyes, too weak to move its head, but you had seen something flashed in its weary gaze that seemed a lot like irritation. 

You had tried to be as nimble and delicate as possible, doing to your best to focus past your anxiety to steady the mild quiver of your fingers, especially when they had become slick with blood. You tried to softly sooth the cat as gently as you could muster whenever he would jerk from pain. And thankfully you were finished before you realized, and you wrapped a strip of clean cloth around his middle to keep it clean from dirt and possible infection. 

He had laid there for several days, only moving when you had to change his dressings. And in the beginning, he had hardly eaten or drank, and you had feared for the worst. That despite your best-efforts illness had gotten ahold of him and stripped him of his appetite. But on the second day of you trying to persuade him to at least drink it seemed he had grown tired of you tapping your fingertips along the edge of the bowl or the way that you would defeatedly try to spoon-feed him water from the divot of a spoon and had lapped at the water from the edge of his linens before looking up you with a pointed glare. It took even longer to get him to eat, sharing with him pieces of rabbit that you had managed to trap. 

And since his presence in your home the beasts outside had been more active than usual, as though they could smell the blood of his wounds and had taken to clawing at your door. And on some nights, you could hear the muffled thump of footsteps skulking along your roof. They had never been so eager before. So persistent. Typically, the thing that mimics was the only one that stayed so close to your home, often screaming throughout the night like an animal. It even cried like a distressed woman or an anguished child. Sometimes it's true voice slips through the glamour.  The sound of thousands speaking in unison, of men, women and children. Stolen souls forced to speak through the maw that devoured them whole.

As terrible as it sounds a part of you has grown used to its presence. It had become routine almost, hearing the awful imitations pouring from its mouth from behind your front door. And you have spent many a night underneath the latch that you had made in the floor of your house, sleeping in burrow dug underneath the wooden planks with a dagger clutched to your chest. But when you had the cat in your home the activity seemed to increase, and you had spent every night spent underneath your floor with the cat delicately placed in the corner on his own bundle of blankets where he would lay without moving, too weak to shift or turn.

And they had returned the next night too with the number greater than the last, stalking around the perimeter of your house. Hissing and chortling in the night like a pack of demonic rabid wolves. It had been most cruel when a familiar voice had spoken from the other side of the front door, too distorted and inhuman to truly be your loved one, but similar enough to taunt you. A mockery of your father's voice begging you to let him inside. And even within your room underneath the floorboards you could still hear it. It talked for hours and spoke as both your mother and father until tears were prickling at your lash line and threatened to fall, and you had done what you could to distract yourself. Staring at the floor above you, finding shapes and faces in the patterns and shifting shades of the wood. 

It was the first time that the cat had even attempted to seek out any sort of contact. Weakly perking up from his corner and settling on the length of your legs from above your blanket and he had stared up at the floorboards above you with a startling air of intent. The voices crooned out and the rasp of talons scratched along the walls of your house. Then mercifully the voices had stopped. Seemingly all at once a peaceful hush had fallen over the atmosphere and you finally felt as though you could breathe again. The monsters had not returned that night. Or on any other night. It was as though they had vanished entirely which you knew could not be true because you could still find evidence of their existence in the forest while you hunted or washed your linens in the nearby stream. 

His health had steadily risen over the next few days. The wounds on his side had healed up nicely and he had quickly grown more restless. And he had taken to occupying himself by investigating you home and snooping around the rooms until one day he had slipped out from the front door when you were not paying attention and vanished into the tall grass. You did not heal him with the intent to keep him. A part of you assuming that he may have had a family eagerly awaiting his arrival somewhere on the island, but you could not lie to yourself that it had been nice to have company even if it was just a cat. 

You had not seen him for several weeks after that and a part of you had feared that he may have fallen to one of the beasts in the wood. And the more optimistic side of you had hoped and imagined that he had found his family. Life had returned to its monotony without him at your side and you were once again alone while attending your chores. But there had been some promise, such as the abrupt but not unwelcomed revival of your garden, which had now begun to sprout bits of life again. You had been shocked when you had seen a green hue returning to the withered remains of the mint and thyme and beginnings of a humble pods growing along your fig tree, promising the growth of fruit. And then one day he surprised you with his return, trotting from the golden meadow while you were beating a rug of the dust and grime that it had been collecting and you had smiled and greeted him like an old friend. And he would begin accompanying you as you went about your chores, always sticking by you closely and observing, even if you ventured all the way around the other side of the island to hunt for oysters and scallops, though the harvest you returned with was always slim. 

And you tried your best to name the creature, but he would not accept any of them. Not Akakikos or Thales or Arye. They were all promptly ignored when you had even tried to address him as such, and you were met with looks that could only be described as unimpressed. Of course, you could not find it in yourself to blame him. You did agree that none of them seemed to suit him all that much. But you could not call him nothing and so you had aptly christened him as 'Cat' which had been even less enthusiastically received as the others. But he would follow you everywhere despite the displeased looks that he would give you every time you addressed him as so, accompanying you when you washed your laundry in the nearby stream, and when you visit your parents' empty graves (you had never found their bodies) to tell them of your day. But he had especially surprised you whenever he would trot alongside you on your strolls down the shoreline of the ocean. It had shocked you to say the least, when Cat had wadded in the gentle waves after you, unaffected by the way that the water lapped at his paws.

A strange cat indeed. 

It struck you suddenly, the realization that you would never see your home again. As empty and cold as it could be. Forced to live on the outskirts as a pariah, assuming that you would fall to your death underneath the claws of a nightmare. Many had perished living so close to the wood, and they surely had no intention of you surviving the forest on your lonesome.  But you did and you made your vacant house your own, even with the bad blood-stained memories haunting the walls. You accepted your life alone rather early on and have even learned to love it in all of its solitude and freedoms. But they have once again bent you to their wills, selling you off like a lamb for slaughter to appease a selfish god. 

You cannot fight of the stinging lump that has risen and lodged itself in your throat. Not this time. And it burns and pushed up tears that spill down your cheeks and stain the bedding. You could not stop yourself from mourning everything. The loss of your life, the waning humanity of the townspeople, the bloody deaths of your loved ones. You tried to clamp your teeth shut to conceal your sobbing, worried that the guards posted outside of the door may hear you. And even more crippling was the sudden painful awareness that tomorrow was the night of the ritual. You had been ignoring the date, too distressed to acknowledge it. But it was coming. It was coming at there is nothing that you can do to stop it. 

There is the brush of something soft against your face, and it is not until your opening your eyes that you realize that you had even squeezed them shut. You look past the blur of your tears to see register two vivid blue irises watching you. 

Your heart ached at the sight. Torn between a flicker of affection and your unignorable grief. But you smiled regardless of your tears and stroked his chin with your fingertips. It always surprises you when he chooses to crouch down against your chest, snuggling into your body. He was not always one to seek out affection, often preferring to lie somewhere near by while watching you finish up your routine chores and tasks. His favorite spot was the window seal of your kitchen where he would perch and observe you while you would knead dough or slice the vegetables for stews. But whenever your sleep was fitful, and you would wake with a layer of cold sweat dampening your clammy skin and the anguished cries of your parents still echoing in your ears he would scurry into your bedroom if he was not already there and curl up with you as he is now until you were able to fall sleep once again. 

It troubled you to think of how he would fair for himself in your absence. You had been taking care of him for many moons now and you could only hope that in your effort to keep him from starvation that he had not grown to become too dependent of you. You could not bear the thought, that in your attempt to help and offer companionship that you had unwittingly ushered him closer to death. Would he go back to being alone after the Priestesses had sent your soul off to the nightmare god and all, but your lifeless body remained? 

Would he once again wonder aimlessly with no one to care for him? 

You could only hope that he would find someone else. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered into his soft fur and clutched him closer to you and you remained that way until your grip of time had slipped and the only thing that told you that it was still the same night was the darkness that encompassed the room, most of the candles having long since burnt out of their wicks apart from one that was little more than a pinprick of light. Even with the pull of sleep turning your limps into heavy, useless extensions and the weariness burning at your drooping eyes you could not allow yourself to fall unconscious. You were desperate to keep as much time between yourself at the ritual as possible, even though it was a fool's errand of course, as the moon was still drifting along its path in the sky and the sun was still on its way to rise over the horizon. Tomorrow would come regardless of your distress and fate. Time was cruel and it stopped for no one. But still you could not let yourself sleep even with Cat embraced in your arms, and his body thrummed with a rare bout of purring. . . It was loud. Oddly so and you opened your eyes that you were not aware that you had even shut. And when you looked down, Cat was absent from his place against your chest even though he had just been there a second ago. 

Worry broke through the exhaustion that sapped your bones and you were up in an instant, sitting up in the bed with the linens pooling around your waist while your gaze roves around the room and it does not pause until it finds a familiar shape in the darkness, watching you from a shaded corner. His eyes reflect the light from the dimming candle, and they bore into you with that pale shimmer. An unsettling chill trickles down your neck and raises the hair at your nape. The gleam of them disturbs some part of you, but you cannot place why. It is a look you recognize but it feels wrong and alien. 

Its eyes. There is something wrong with its eyes. 

"What are you doing over there?" You ask, and your voice is little more than a whisper, low from sleep and unease. But he does not so much as blink, continuing to stare steadily and the candlelight wobbles on its wick and the cats shadow flickers. It is a strange shadow, much too big for a creature so small.  

Then without any warning he shoots up from his place, trotting across the expanse of the floor and slipping from the door that had been left ajar.

Had it always been open? No

You hardly question it before you are scrambling from the bed to take after him, harshly whispering for him to come back as you pick up what little bit remains of the candle to light your way before hesitantly peek your head between the open gap of the threshold and door, scanning the hallway. But there is not a single guard in sight. The hierodules that had been stationed outside of your quarters were absent. Another peculiarity that is brushed aside when you catch the tip of Cat's tail vanishing amongst the heavy shadows that blot out the hallway and you chase after him regardless, shielding the tiny flame with your hand lest it blow out from the hasty speed of your walking. 

You are being watched you can tell, and your mind distantly supplies that it must be the murals observing you. The painted eyes of the old priestesses and spirits that adorn the walls in robes and vines made from strokes of scarlet and hunter and cerulean. But you could not let yourself look to their judgmental and buoyant faces. 

"Come here!" You hiss lowly through gritted teeth and cast a wary glance across your shoulder to briefly study the black void behind you, hoping that there is nothing lurking within it. 

And you walk for what felt like forever, chasing after the cats wavering tail that turns around twisting halls that do not seem to end, never catching up no matter how quickly you shift your pace. And it is not until you come across another bend in the corridor that the suffocating walls finally seem to open up into a massive room of dust and stones, and the light from the candle casts a glow across the space that was much too abundant considering the modest size of the flame. But he is nowhere to be seen, almost as though he has vanished from thin air. 

The air is damp here, clinging to your skin like the spray of the ocean's waves but much less pleasant. It is much more akin to the sweat that covers you when under the influence of a sickness, you decide. And the aged earthy aroma that permeates the air is even more troubling. Musty and cloying like rancid grapes. It has your nose wrinkling, and you suppress the urge to gag while you investigate the room. It takes a moment for you to make sense of what you are seeing, making out the details of the great room from underneath the oily yellow glow of the candlelight. 

There are large rectangular divots that had been crudely chiseled or dug into the stone near the base of the floor and the many burrows line above each other and descend up along the wall and towards the high tenebrous ceiling. But nestled delicately within each one is some sort of lump, gently wrapped in a rich red clothe. 

That nasty sense of unease washed over you again, prickling at your skin and your heart skips a beat at the sudden burst of fear. But there is curiosity too. It emerges from the recesses of your mind and seems to take a hold of your body, nudging you towards one of the burrows, and with each step you forget why you are even here. The search for your wayward cat completely discarded. Your focus is completely arrested one the form hidden underneath the vibrant silks, and that apprehensive part of you dislike how large the hidden shape seems. 

You mouth has gone dry and your tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of your mouth and a part of you wonders if you would be able scream should you need to. You feel helplessly trapped within your body, like a reluctant passenger, once again forced to be paraded around in a vessel that you did not want to sit upon. And all you could do was watch and feel as your shaky had rose over the red silhouette. You felt the silk underneath your fingertips, too soft and too smooth. Like water. Like blood.  And your mind ceaselessly chants no, no, no even as your body refuses to yield to its commands and your fingers pinch the cloth in a hold and pull it back from the shape. And the blood in your veins seems to freeze despite the way that it races, and the pit of your stomach drops like a stone. 

You want to look away, but your head is locked in place and every muscle has coiled inside of your body tightly. You are paralyzed and pinned where you stand, forced to stare down at the gaunt remains. The sunken eyes and withered, leathered skin pulled taught around its bones like the skeleton is trying to break free from its own body. And brittle hairs still collect around the skull, that once probably shimmered yellow like the rays of the sun but was no lackluster and dry, frayed in its braids. Pinned in place underneath the wring of a ceremonial crown. Vine leaves and olive branches that is embellished with the bright blossoms of poppies. The crown you would be forced to wear tomorrow to symbolize your union with the Endless.  

A shaky exhale rattles out, a dry rasping sound that you would have easily blamed on yourself and the fear squeezing your body in a harsh grip if not for the way that you see the mummified bride's chest quiver unsteadily. She is still alive with her body forced into some sort of permanent sleep. You cannot help but wonder how long she has been held captive here. A hostage in this awful, animated state. And all of these other shapes swaddled in red silks are other sacrifices. And they too are all still awake you realize once you hear the dry whispers of their breath echo across the chamber. 

You want to scream. You can feel it rising and clawing at your throat, but it never escapes, balling up harshly in your chest and just sitting there. But whatever spell had been casted over you finally slips and you stumble back from the burrow and the mummified bride, and your knees shake and give, and you fall onto the chilled floor, dropping the tiny candlestick on your decent. Your knees scrape the rough granite, erupting with streaks of red but you can't be bothered to care, too focused on crawling away from the looming walls, towards the center of the room while your eyes search from the entrance, but it is nowhere to be found. You spin on your knees ignoring the sting, expecting to find the threshold, but all you see are the cold painted walls, adorned with stars and poppy fields and strange beasts with wings and horns and some have the faces of men and the bodies of beasts. But even worse are the open tombs carved into the walls, and they suddenly seem like gapping, hungry mouths and the red silks that adorn the bodies seem more like lashing tongues. 

The candle flickers unsteadily, melted wax pouring around the weak flame, threatening to drown it and douse you in darkness. You make to crawl towards it before it before it can be snuffed out, but your stopped short by a pair of gleaming eyes watching you. The dark fur tells you who it is but your gut lurches at the sight of the cat. And some buried instinct tells you that something is not right. 

The eyes you realize, are tinged with a faint scarlet around the edges, staining the pale silver glow. And it was wrong. That was not the right color. This was not your cat. How did you not notice before?

It was an imposter. The face too narrow, its shadow too big. Too sharp. 

Your heart flutters like a startled bird and your breath seizes in your lungs when the red silks bound around the brides starts to drip and flow down from the stones like liquid. Blood. Their garb has shifted into blood and is pouring and merging into a massive pool around the edge of the wall and it steadily grows. 

The brides labored breathing whistles across the air, raising in volume until it hurts, harshly grating in your ears in a shrill pitch. And the sound mutates into a chorus of screams that you swear you can feel dragging over your skin like claws. You cover your ears with your hands to muffle the impact of the tortured shrieking, but it offers you no solace from the pain. And all the while the cat - the thing - stares at you from its place on the bloody floor, stained by the very red that is closing in on you from all corners, but you cannot find it in yourself to look past the agony to find strength and collect yourself from the cold granite. 

The red pours around the remaining bit of the candle and the small flame at the end of the wick hisses and sputters at the liquids touch. The light emitting from it dims considerably, threatening to enclose the catacomb in a void. And the cats shadow seems to expand underneath the waning fire, stretching in a jagged way that looks like arms trying to tear free from cloth or skin.

And the cat - a mere extension of the true monster - steps forward while its eyes burn brighter. And the blood is upon you, threatening to touch you. Nausea churns in your stomach and all of the muscles in your body draw taught. You are forced to watch as the creature grows closer, and all you can do is try your best to prepare to fight it, as pathetic as your odds no doubt are. And the brides screaming warbles and shifts into a painful mocking laughter as though they could sense your thoughts. And it makes you feel like an animal caught in a cage. A bird pinned between jagged teeth and the jaws are closing in. The walls and shadows move in closer and their joyous howling and giggling rises in a crescendo, celebrating your anticipated death. You brace as best as you can, balling your hands into fists so tightly that your nails break the skin, watching as the monstrous shadow builds up and prepares to lash out with obsidian talons. 

But the killing blow never comes. Instead, a pair of steady arms wrap around your body, encasing you against the comfort of a chest. And a rush of scents washed over you with its presence, and you struggle to place what it reminds you of. The musk of the soil after fresh rain, the salt of the sea, a calm breeze on a summer night; light and floral and earthy, but those descriptions also do no service to the fragrance that engulfs you. And with it something magnetic dances across your skin and it steals your breath away and your body threatens to melt against theirs. 

Your mind can hardly catch up with what you are seeing. The bloody floor of the burial chamber dematerializes from underneath you, but you do not fall but your body tenses in preparation regardless. The walls shake with a tremendous groan, splitting under the seize and giving under spills of sand and the murals bleed with the fractures. And the air is electric with something heavy and alive and angry, and it courses across your skin and siphons the air from your lungs from the gravity of it. Even the beast made from shadows lurches back as if it was struck and hisses underneath the heat of the rage permeating the atmosphere, clawing against the wall that was rapidly disintegrating and losing tangibility. And the beast screams along with the brides as they vanish from existence. One final baleful cry that rattles your bones and shudders over you before it drowns out completely and with it the catacomb all but vanishes and instead of the blood-soaked stones you are looking down at the expanse of the night sky with stars spread out underneath your feet. 

You brain fails to register that you appear to be hovering over a cluster of distant galaxies and you are left to stare down dumbly at the dark mass of the sky, taking in the stretch of the rich splashes of blues and stellar remnants and stardust gathered like clusters of diamonds and the scale of it nearly makes you forget about the press of someone's body along your back. Their arms around your waist in a tight hold, but there is also a sort of reluctance in their grip made known by the rigidity from the muscles of their arms and the narrow gap left between your bodies. But even between the space you can feel the low heat of them radiating against you. A part of you wanted to look over your shoulder, to discover the face of your savior but some pull in your gut warned you not. That you would not like what you would see. And so, you keep still underneath their embrace, staring off into the quiet breadth of the cosmos where comets drop across the darkness like crystalline tears. Seconds pass without either of you moving, as still as statues. As though if either of you so much as breathed the delicate emanation that cocooned the both of you would shatter. But despite your hesitation there was a prickle of curiosity tugging at you, and you could not deny the pull and you made to slowly turn your head in an attempt to sneak a glance over your shoulder. 

You barely manage to twitch a muscle of movement before they seem to shed their initial diffidence and nestle their face near the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tip of their nose brush against your ear like they mean to hide their identity from you. Their chest expands against the flat of your back, and it takes a moment for your overstimulated brain to realize that they are drawing in a breath, taking your scent into their lungs and holding it there like its oxygen. For some reason it sends of thrum of heat over your body, and combined with the steady, pulsating hum of otherworldly power that courses through the air, it makes you feel as though you may collapse. That you might come apart and burst into flames. There is no chill of fear and disgust does not rise in your stomach like nausea instead their presence feels welcomed. And despite the foreign sensation of their touch, there is also a sense of familiarity to it. Like finally falling into the arms of an old lover. 

They move their head from your by just a few scant inches, and a strange part of you mourns the loss. You wished that the hover of their lips would land on your skin, but they do not. The circle of their arms seems to press you in closer, like they cannot bear even the possibility of you parting.

For a moment the cosmos seems to halt, the intersperse collection of individual galaxies and stars pausing in their rotations and the night holds its breath and so do you. Then a sound purrs out, a heavy baritone that pours across the silence of the universe and fills you with honey and warmth. A deep, smoky cadence that you can feel curling inside the cavern of your chest and running deep across your bones and the nerves and sinew of your entire being. 

"This dream is over." 

You wake with a start. Sucking air into your lungs with a strained gasp while your hands reach around the bedding in a mindless scramble, struggling to orient yourself, but eventually you are able to at least prop your body up on shaky arms. Your eyes rove across your surroundings, no longer taking in the breathless view of stardust and nebulas but the dull clay walls of your vacant quarters and apart from yourself the bed is empty. A quick press of your hand against the stuffed mattress confirms that Cat - you're Cat had been there at some point in the night, the heat still trapped within the fabric from where he sat next to you. And you had shakily removed from yourself from the bed and searched the room for him. You had even approached the door, pressing your head against the wood and contemplated opening it but you could hear one of the guards shuffling behind it, trying to find some reprieve for their aching feet. And so, you returned to the bed with that dark voice still echoing in your ears. You could not sleep. Not even if you wanted. Not with that shadowed creature lurking and that familiar stranger invading your mind. The Nightmare Ruler, your brain supplied without forgiveness, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. 

And you lay there for hours, now awaiting the sunrise despite the threat that it posed, clinging to your own body with shaking arms as you stare into the darkness, waiting to find something looking back. But soon the maids are pouring into your room and scattering around the foot of your bed, and they must have noticed the panic on your face as a hint of curiosity bleeds through their blase expressions, apart from that single one who always seems to be plotting your demise. 

"Is something the matter? You look troubled." And even in your tired haze you know that it is the voice of the one who openly dislikes you. The one with the sable hair and venomous words. Euthymia, you had learned her name to be. She makes no effort to hide the delight in her tone and in turn you do not even try to school the scowl that takes over your features, pinning her with an open glower, but it does nothing to extinguish the joyful gleam in her eyes. The other servants are ushering you out of bed, already cooing and gushing over the prospect of preparing you for the day ahead and you suddenly feel as though you have been tossed into a lake of ice. The five-day long celebration is coming to a close. The ritual is tonight. 

They ignore your distress, urging you to shed your slip and climb into the bath full of steaming water and oils to prepare you for the ritual. And they had patted you dry when you had gotten out of the tub so that they could dap at your skin with lotions and perfumes. Running marjoram in your hair and something faintly sweet but heady and spicy beneath your jaw. Even spreading fragrances across your inner thighs and palm oil around your breasts. It had an embarrassed heat prickling across your face, and you nearly scoffed at their presumptuousness. And then they were guiding you to kneel on the cushions placed before the large, polished bit of bronze propped along the wall, using the reflection so that you may observe the process as they worked. You were in a fog as they combed your hair and set it and pinned it in a way that they deemed worthy, but you cannot stop thinking of that velvet timber and the feeling of being watched by concealed eyes prickles along your body. And you try to ignore the sensation, telling yourself that it is just paranoia. 

But you could not dwell on your troubles for long before you had taken notice of the strip of fabric from the corner of your eye. And a better look had confirmed it was indeed that dreadful gown that had been laid out along the cushions. You stared from your peripheral vision and each time your head moved even the slightest degree out of their disliking one of the maids would jerk it back into place, scolding you underneath their breath, but your eyes did not stray from the pieces of clothing once. It would have been a gorgeous thing if not for the horror that is comes with it. A vibrant scarlet and intricate gold and black stitching and embroidery. But you could not marvel over its beauty, instead you eyed it warily as though it was poisonous. And perhaps it was.

It truly disturbed you. That horrid red thing that signaled the final chapter of your life, and you could hear the anguished cries and manic laughter of the brides from your nightmare echoing out from the depths of your mind. You could not suppress the way you shuddered. Was that meant to be your fate? A captive in her own body, suppressed underneath a spell of eternal slumber while her body wasted away in a forgotten tomb? You had heard rumors of what happened to the nightmare king's brides after the ritual. Presumptions truly, fabricated speculation that had no true foundation as the priestesses are very private about the affairs of the ceremony that do not require the presence of the villagers. And the townspeople are typically guided out of the temple after the connection between the Chosen and the Endless has been successfully tethered.

Most speculations were good natured enough. Painting the role of becoming one of the Dream King's brides in a lavish light. Something to be envious of, with many saying that to be one of his Chosen was to spend eternity of nights in endless pleasure, with the world at your fingertips. 

But there had been other more sinister whispers, idle gossip that the unconscious brides were taken to a subterranean set of tunnels built underneath the temple. Dug to house the women as they slept on, not killed so as not to sever the link between them and the dream god but kept animated and sleeping within the icy tombs of the catacombs. Kept that way so that the deity could torment them in the halls of kingdom for all eternity. Feasting on their souls and flesh. But many refuse to believe the rumor, even your own father had rebutted the very possibility, as he was a firm believer that the Chosen were simply killed off after the ritual and their bodies were burned so that the ashes could be released upon the winds and lifted to the gods along with the plume incents and smoldering herbs. 

But neither option fared well for you. 

"You had seemed quite distressed when we came in. Did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Euthymia asks, voice sickly sweet with false sincerity. "How strange that the Dream King would allow his Chosen to be harassed by his spirits." And she pats the juice of crushed mulberries onto the rise of your cheeks to add color to your skin, but the push of her fingertips was much too harsh. You were tempted to lunge at her but restrained yourself. 

"Not at all. In fact, I had a rather pleasant dream. " You reply cooly, not allowing her to see you shaken and you tilt your head, pretending to admire the way that they had dressed your hair and decorated it with flowers and pieces of jewels. " It was a rather pleasurable one." 

"Pleasurable?" Comes her nonplussed response and her hand pauses, simply hovering. 

"Oh, yes." You speak lowly, like you are sharing a scandalous story, and your tone is all smooth and honeyed. " It was not a nightmare that visited me, but the Dream King himself. " And you cannot help but internally gloat at the way that some part of her seems to waver, visibly deflating underneath your lie. " He had crawled between my thighs you see and ravished me with his tongue in ways that no mortal man ever could." Even the other ladies had halted in their routine, stopping to listen to your hastily spun fib. And you casted your gaze downward to your hands demurely, like you were shy or embarrassed that you had lost your manners. Scandalized, the other maids had bent towards each other and exchange giggling whispers, but Euthymia was less than enthused. And for the remainder of your time together she had been tightlipped and scowling, and you were surprised that a storm cloud had not been following her every move with how bothered she seemed to be. 

But you could not deny that she made a good point. Why had you suffered from a nightmare at all? It had been sometime since you had. You could hardly recall when it had been last. Perhaps you truly had done something to anger the god. But that had been him, had it not? The one who had come to your aid and taken you in his arms and spoke to you with that smoky cadence. It must have been if the way that he had ended your dream so easily was any indication. And that primordial vibration that had surrounded you both; it was the same that you had felt at the pyre when that strange man was watching. 

And perhaps tonight you would get the answers that you seek, but then you might not want them. 

The rest of the day pours in a distorted stream, and you hardly register slipping into you into that disturbing red garb and you barely notice when the priestesses and temple guards arrive to collect you from the maids and guide you to the dinning haul of the commune where you are assisted down to the sunken floor in the center of the room as some sort of center piece, once again forcing you to sit underneath the eyes of hundreds. You feel exposed, as though you were not wearing clothes at all. Stripped for them to criticize and leer at. You were sure that every person in the village was here to enjoy the banquet. Even the servants were allotted freedom from their duties for the final night of the ritual and were free do dine alongside their masters as equals. 

And once again they had provided you with the best meats and fruits and wine available. The finest of the bounty collected over the farms and orchards for you to gorge yourself on like a swine before its slaughter and because of that you could not bring yourself to eat despite the hollow pit in your gut that begged you to do so.  And you could feel the Priestesses dozen eyes boring into from their place from above, no doubt taking your refusal to eat as not just an insult to themselves but to their god as well. Good. 

But the townspeople did not seem to care, laughing freely and enjoying the festivities without pause and you had been forced to sit as time waned and the sun drifted closer and closer towards the edge of the earth, no matter how much you wished and willed for it not to. And once the townspeople had finished indulging on mead and wine and satiated their hunger, the shrine had collected you once more to climb upon the palanquin that awaited outside, surrounded by servants who prepared to march you across the town from the strength of their shoulders to the Temple of Morpheus where death awaited you. You had tried to struggle against the shackles of the hierodules hands that had seized your arms and shoulders like bands of steel. But you could not shake yourself from their grip and they were mercilessly placing you upon the extravagant cushions of the human-powered vehicle to be suspended high in the air. 

And the townspeople congregated around you as you were carried from the walls of the commune and into the streets, lighting the way with burning torches. And many people had once again adorned themselves in the beastly costumes and danced and cavorted around the palanquin and through the crowd. The Sisters' lead the collective. And you had noticed in the head priestesses' hands, she cradled an obsidian bowl covered by a lid decorated by strokes of gold. A harmless item that on its own would have done nothing to inspire fear in you, but you had heard hushed conversation of its contents before. Some sort of vapor that smoldered from the extract of the poppy flower, and it would serve to tether you to the gods. Or in this occasion one god in particular. 

And once again blossoms and seeds were being tossed over the procession in a celebratory display. In the hands of men and women and children alike people carried votive offerings for the Endless, such as figurines of animals and carvings of a humanoid figure.  And in the cavalcade, musicians were present, playing from a kithara and an aulos, and a lyra. But even over the cheering and commotion and music you could hear a soft repetitive ruffle along the low breeze. You had jerked your head up to search the sky, nearly straining a muscle in the process but the pain had faded into the background at the sight of a dark bird coasting along the current. And a faint iridescent sheen had gleamed on its feathers from underneath the dimming sunlight and the Priestesses - and in turn the crowd had all rejoiced at the bird's appearance, as it no doubt heralded good fortune. 

But you did not share their positive reactions. You heard all the stories, that the ravens were the dark god's familiars, serving as his eyes and ears when he himself could not be present. Your anxiety had not time to settle no matter how much you tried to swallow it down and the presence of the circling bird did nothing to quell the bubbling fear in your gut and bones. 

And soon the procession ventured from the village and the pale marble of the temple seemed to rise from the hill behind the security of its protective wall. It was the only building that had been spared in the initial siege from the Oneiroi when the Nightmare King had abandoned the village in his scorn. It is just the same as when you had last saw it as a child. The ghostly white columns that reminded you of the remains of a skeleton, and the sculpted pediment that depicted beastly creatures in various poses; lashing out and snarling while some seemed to be frozen in the motion of dance. But in the center was a more human figure. No doubt the Endless himself. And the scene was painted in blues and black, with hints of red and gold embellishments.  

And the closer you got to the temple the more your anxiety climbed, until you trembled where you sat, staring into the vacant eyes of the god's sculptured image. And even those they were not real they seemed to bore into you and flay you open until all of your emotions and shaky breaths poured out. Even the sheer fabric of your veil did little to lessen the feeling. 

It was not until you felt hands circling the shape of your arms that you came to and were able to discern that you had been lowered to the ground of the courtyard and were being pulled from your knees, and you were wordlessly guided up the temple. But you did not feel the stairs underneath your feet and the music and laughter sounded as though it were coming from miles away, carried in on a foreign wind. And even when you stepped upon the landing and two of the sisters spun you around to face the crowd down below that had not felt real either. It was like looking at a tapestry of faded figures and blurred colors. 

Then the head priestess stepped in front of you in a flash of black, blotting out your vision of the crowd like the moon obstructing the sun in an eclipse, but you were thankful for it. Then her voice broke out in a shrill bellow, the passion expelling from her cracking it around the edges. " Tonight marks the emergence of our return to grace and glory from underneath the compassion of our god! " She cried and the crowd cried along with her, waving their torches animatedly to show their elation. " No longer will we be shunned by His Sovereignty for we have been given a chance to correct a wrong that should never have happened! To bow our heads in humble plea and return to him which was stolen all those years ago!" 

It made you nauseous the way they spoke of you. As though you were some frivolous token to be bartered. How they did not see you or any of the women before you as human beings with lives and wants and futures but as a cow to be slaughtered. A coin to be exchanged for lavish fabrics and abundant crops. And you could feel the stinging heat of anger filling your chest and pushing out heavy breaths from your lungs. But when the Head Priestess had shifted and moved from out of your vision it left you to make eye contact with the cheering masses; her voice had faded into a low, distant drone. And inside their crazed sort of jubilation, you could see every other emotion that you had felt since the Endless had descended his hoard upon the village in incessant torment: Loss, pain, fear, hunger, sorrow, confusion. 

Many lives have been lost since the day that he had seemed you all unworthy of his gratitude and sanctuary. He had turned the land barren and dry and the animals that had once flourished here have all been culled by his nightmares and their numbers have suffered and dwindled greatly. But as much as you sympathized with these people, understood their plight, you did not owe them anything. Certainly not your life. Especially since they had casted you from your home without so much as a backward glance, forcing you live along the forest all because you were not a kept woman. 

And in five years' time there would be another there would be another girl here, standing just as you do now, willing or unwilling to bear the collectives sins, to pacify the Endless for the good fortune. It would be a ceaseless loop. History repeating itself one poor soul at a time. 

A part of you considered fighting free from the sisters' hold. Of running down the steps and out of the temple grounds without looking back. But even if you happened to make it past the massive crowd of desperate villagers and to the sea, there were no ships, no small rowboats left for fishing. All of the seafaring vessels had been all but demolished by his spirits to keep all of the locals who wronged him trapped on the island to endure the full brunt of his punishment. And even those who have managed to hide the construction boats - avoiding the Ruler of Nightmares many scrutinizing eyes and pushed their watercraft into the dark waves while underneath the shine of the sun, when his influence was claimed to be at its weakest had all disappeared into the heavy wall of fog that surrounds the coast. Only the remains of their boats would float back to shore, sometimes with blood staining the waves.

You truly were left to the fate that these people and their god spared you to. 

Then the head priestess was spinning around in a flurry of robes, and you could not evade the fervor of her gaze, could not flee from, still immobilized by her sisters and their rigid hold of their hands. The gleam in her eyes was detached and wild; the darkness of her pupils swelling, eating up the colored rings around their borders until they were nearly gone. It was the expression of someone who could not be reasoned with. Poisoned by power and hope. But you did not waver underneath the weight of her fixed stare. 

Then one of the sisters was gripping you by the nape of your neck, the movement unexpected enough to pull a startled cry from your lips. It did not give you time to register the obsidian bowl being lifted to your face, the lid being removed to release plumes of smoke. Even through the veil you could feel the warmth of the vapors caressing the skin of your cheeks. It is all so abrupt that you inhale a large lungful in the midst of your struggle, and the scent of it overwhelms you. Stuffing your mouth and nostrils full of something sweet and floral, tinged with the musk of the earth. It reminds you of flowers, of incents but also not at all. And your lungs are too busy heaving around the unexpected rush of smoke and your mind too confused and scrambled to feel or focus on the world around you, and the Priestesses voice was the last coherent thing to break through the fog: "Do not fight this, my dear. " Her voice crooned. Too sweet, to gentle for her cruelty. "To you we give thanks for your sacrifice for our prosperity." 

And in your distress, you tried to think of anything to keep yourself grounded and present. Anything to keep you here in your body, terrified of crossing over and falling into the Nightmare King's gnashing teeth. So you think of your list of chores awaiting you at home; tending to the garden now that life was coming back to the soil, setting more traps in the forest, plucking wild strawberries from the small cluster that you had discovered growing in a small grove, seeing Cat again - the little beast refuses to eat unless you prompt him to (there is no one else to take care of him) - and walking along the beach during the sunrise. Feeling the sand and water underneath your toes and watching the sunlight reflect and dapple the surface. But soon the thoughts were drowning out underneath the impression of the fuzz and haze that blanked your mind. You felt as though your soul was rising from the casing of your body and floating up to the sky above the temple, but you could still feel your knees making contact with the cold marble floors, though the feeling was far off and dull. But there was still anger simmering through your veins. Hurt and betrayal. What were you mad about? 

And the world around you is a rush of colors and blurred shapes and muffled sounds. But you do not want to focus on it regardless. You can't when the weightlessness is pulling at your fingertips and threatening to take you away with it (but you can't leave, what about him?) and deposit you among the stars, and the only thing that gives you even a scrap of connection to your own body is the repetitive pulse of your heartbeat coursing in your ears. The floral sugar and salt of the smoke still coats your tongue, and you can feel it in your lungs, heavy and syrupy. And the drag of your relaxed limbs seems to pull you down now instead of up, with the thrum of your heart doing little to center you anymore. But its less of a pulse now and more of pound -an angry crash. That's not right, is it? 

You try to blink. To get some scope of reality, but it's difficult to keep your eyes past the blurred sting. Are you crying? No, that is not right either. It is no longer a steady beat, but a deafening layered rumble, muffled but also painfully loud. You can faintly see past the red sheer of your veil glimpses of black and blue streak across your vision, with peeks of flashes of tiny pale dots.

It is all to distorted and airy. Too muddled for your mind to make something tangible but then your body is being tossed by some unforeseen force. A sharp, unrelenting pull that moves your entire being like it weighs nothing and the air is snatched from your lungs, and you choke on something. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct awakens and your body flails, limbs dragging and reaching through the thick atmosphere in attempt to grab ahold of something. Anything to orient yourself and make sense of what is happening to you, but your hands come up empty. Your lungs twitch, trying to draw in a breath but instead they burn, and the sting is so potent that it licks a trail up your throat and the pungent taste of salt blankets you tongue.

Water, some faint thought breaches the cotton that stuffs your skull. You're in water. 

And your body moves on its own, arms and legs kicking to propel in what you hope is the direction of the surface. In a glance upward you notice the distorted expanse of what must be the waves, and through the commotion above you see that glimpse of those burning pinpricks of light again and with no other alternative, fueled by an animalistic sort of fear you swim towards it. You can only hope that you make it up in time, with your lungs aching and burning like smoldering embers within your chest. You can already feel your limbs growing sluggish from the lack of oxygen and the heavy tow of your ceremonial robes, but you try your best to keep moving, dragging yourself forward with weak arms and legs. But death still hangs heavy in the back of your mind. And for the second time tonight you're terrified that this may be your final moments, with your legs flailing uselessly and the darkness clouding at the base of your senses like a layer of winter ice. It makes it difficult, but it is sheer instinct and panic and hope that burns at your muscles, reviving them of their vigor and pressing you onwards. 

It is your hands that break through the surf first, quickly followed by your head and you could have sobbed with relief if you were not busy trying not to remain afloat and actively choking on the water in your throat. And you push yourself forward, even as the waves toss you in their angry roll against the shore. But blessedly under the current that threatens to drag you under and drown you it also serves to propel you forward towards the beach, jostling your body with their great power and you feel like a child's toy that had been lost over the side of a boat. It is on the pale crest of an angry wave that you meet the shore, being carelessly discarded on the sand and the rush of water pelts across your back, soaking you one final time before retreating back into the ocean behind you. 

You gather as much as strength as you have left to prop yourself up on your hands and knees, carrying yourself across the beach with wobbling limbs while your abdomen and chest shiver and heave in a violent fit. The muscles of your body squeezing you tightly to expel the sea water from your lungs in a shaky grip that has you gasping and wheezing. And even though your lungs sting like a raw wound as you suck in a ragged inhale, the dim feel of oxygen filling your lungs is wonderful, like a healing ointment smoothed over a fresh burn. You allow yourself to collapse onto your stomach once you escape the reach of the sea, but it is difficult to see, to hear and even still hard to breathe with the thin fabric of your veil clinging to the shape of your face from the weight of the water pulling the material down, pressing it against the divots of your nostrils nearly waterboarding you with each breath. 

You blindly yank at the veil, tearing it and your Stefana from your head with an angry huff, carelessly tossing it. You do not see where it falls but you can hear it land with an unattractive wet plap. You blink freely now able to take in your surroundings now that, that cursed thing is no longer tainting your vision. You deduce quickly that you are on a beach. Obviously. But it does not appear to be the one that you often find yourself strolling down on your free time, fantasizing about distant lands or the Isles of the Blessed, or the islands where the sirens live and lure sailors to their deaths. The sand was far too pale. Too soft. And when you moved it seemed to glitter like snow underneath sunlight. But it was a glance upward that confirmed your awful reality. The sky above was not yours. The scattering of stars not sparing enough and the expanse of it was not simply a dark backdrop but splashed with vibrant rich nebulas of azure and silver and pale golds against the black velvet of space. The stardust seemed to shift as though the heavens were a living breathing thing. And the constellations above you are unrecognizable. There is no Orion, lunging forward to strike or brace against the blow of a foe, and the scattered knot of the Pleiades is absent from the sky.  

Your heart sinks to the base of your gut and a heated rock seems to lodge itself in your throat, rising with the threat of tears all from the bruising reality that you are no longer home. Not just the island, or your house, but the entire plain of your existence. Plucked from everything you have ever known by the hands of your people to appease a monster. Heartlessly thrown into the deity's domain. Forgotten and used. 

You remembered the tales told by your mother and the words that had been passed down from priestess to priestess across the centuries that spoke of the Nightmare Ruler's world: The Dreaming, it was called. The place that served as the cradle of the universe's collective unconsciousness, housing the minds a mortal, beast and god alike while they slept. An extension of the Endless himself. The entire realm was a dream in its own right. That means that you must be able to wake from it. Perhaps you could will yourself awake if you concentrated enough. You have been never much of a lucid dreamer. Only able to do small feats of altering landscapes or changing the color of your dress. You had never been aware enough to wake yourself. But maybe here in the Dreaming you would be able to conjuror some sort of exit. 

You centered your attention down to a single thought: Waking up. Of feeling the drag of consciousness slipping back into your physical body and opening your eyes. And you pushed that thought until your body responded with the ferocity of it, your muscles tensing under the strain of it, and you are left gasping, the same as you had when you crawled ashore. You think of your body, still and induced in that horrific stasis, being purified underneath the smoke of incense and wrapped in the red silk and voile fabric by the Priestesses to be carried and stuffed down in the catacombs like a forgotten relic. You thought of waking suddenly. Of tearing yourself from the cloth and fleeing home and dropping to your knees to burry your fingers in the soil there and crying with the relief that would swell within your chest and blossom with the joy of being home. 

And you had found that in your desperation you had actually crumbled to your knees, but you did not feel the gentle earth beneath your hands but sand.

You take to pinching at your arm in a pathetic attempt to try and escape the Dreaming, twisting the flesh between your fingertips until it stung but to no avail. 

And a low, heavy wind rumbled across the beach, howling over the waves and the field of crimson blossoms and golden wheat, punctuating the silence and the loneliness that hung over you like the aftermath of a tempest. Defeat weighed down your shoulders as you watched the thrashing ocean with a sense of detachedness. Then something in the air seemed to shift, pulsing with something alive. That distantly familiar alien thrum and you could feel it against your skin; a magnetic pressure that reminded you of a brief night in the cosmos, held in a tight embrace. You did not have to turn to confirm who the presence was. You did not know if you had the strength to. The fear and gravity of the beings pull nearly seized your lungs, and you clenched your hands into fist to bear the feeling of it. And then that velveteen rasp speaks out, moving down your body like a flow of water and smoke and you can feel the hum of it in your bones.  

"I had no intention of your arrival being so distressful. Had you not struggled your coming would not have been so violent. " His tone is a placid timbre, but you swear you can detect sympathy - perhaps a sort of regret - tinged into the edges of his words. But it does little to placate you. His detached surprise at your anguish only serves to mutate your sorrow and defeat and it gives way into anger, searing at you like a burning fire that needs something to burn, and chars any remaining pieces of your self-preservation and wit, making you forget that you were in front of deity that has seen eons come and go in its lifetime and was currently holding your mind and possibly your soul hostage. But you did not care. Not now, with your entire life in an upheaval. And even then, you still can't bring yourself to look at it - the source of that primordial electric pulse. To confirm all of your fears, that home was truly out of reach, that you were entirely out of depth and in a plain that you did not belong in. There was a safety in your delusions, your self-imposed ignorance. And so you stared at the angry, rolling waves and pretended that they were your own, not daring to turn yet. "What was your intention? " You inquired, not even bothering to hide the scorn in your broken voice. Not caring of the consequences. " That you'd just steal me away from everything I've ever known, and I'd be content with it?" 

"Look at me. " 

It is a simple set of words, but the conviction of it beats across the very fabric that binds and creates the Dreaming, rippling over the sand, shifting stars and stirring the already tumulus waves to threatening heights and the power of it runs through your unconsciousness as well, tingling across your body and it commands you to move. An unwelcome reminder of your mortality and the scope of the deity and his domain. You turn slowly, helpless to ignore the order even while you dread looking upon him. Wondering if he would wear the skin of a monster to punish you for your ire. Perhaps contorted limbs and bloody jagged teeth or stretched flesh and the lifeless abysmal gaze of that otherworldly helm.

There is none of that. No cloak made of nightmares or terror. Just a man. But that is not right either. 

Regardless of the glamour he had casted this was no man. Ignoring the information as told by the naked eye all of the minute tells became glaringly obvious, such as the way his skin was too soft and free from blemish or flaw, like the statues crafted in his commemoration; the messy tresses of his hair that appeared as though they were spun from the night sky itself and the impossible blue of his eyes that mimicked the shade of a crystalline sea, or perhaps they were a reflection of the very nebulas above you now. He is so beautiful that it is almost cruel. You have to wonder why he chose you specifically. That he has been watching over you since the night at the pyre. Long before that even. That, that same voice had spoken to you during your sleep and commanded you to wake, and once again you are unable to ignore it, standing from your place on the sand. 

The brunt of his gaze is too much- scrutinizing. You felt like you were stripped bare. Every nerve, every want or worry or promise that you had ever made was laid out across the shore for him examine. You quailed underneath the breadth of it, the sheer intensity was maddening - that there seemed to be no secret that you could hide from him. The entirety of your mind held within the webbing of his domain for him study and toy with.  

"Why do you fear me?" He asked, and you could laugh or cry at the question but neither would do proper service to express the severity of your emotions. The turmoil and confusion. He sounded so sincere. Just as perplexed as you even though his stance was devoid of any body language. Rigid and exact, with an almost clinical posture. But you could see it in his eyes. A small, fleeting glimpse of his own confusion, a slight furrow of an eyebrow, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, erased and blotted out by that aloof expression. 

You were not even sure how to respond, and for a moment your mouth hangs open silently while you collect yourself and find your voice: " I - just - all of the death. " You finally answer lamely, trying to swallow around the dryness of your throat. " The slaughter and starvation. The disease. The suffering." 

"They broke their promise. " It was said so simply. As though it was enough to justify the atrocities and it made nausea bubble in your gut, and hatred too. 

"All because of a woman." You cannot contain the way you scoff, shifting on your feet like you do not know whether to approach him or step away and create more space, your body prickling underneath weight of his aura and his unwavering observation. "You had hundreds slaughtered because you were not given one woman." 

"That is the price for bargaining with an Endless and taking back your word." He replied easily. A simple matter of fact for him, like it was a natural law, a part of his nature that should be expected and understood without consequence, that all failures to comply could not be faulted on him. It was just another tough reminder that this was no mortal that you stood before and that he could not be expected to obey or sympathize with the jurisdictions of your human morality.  

And there was a shift in his expression, something steely and resolute, and the distance between your bodies seemed to close in even though neither of you had placed a single step until there was only a scant space left between you. " I will do the same for you. " 

There was no past tense used. And perhaps under different circumstances you could have seen it as an intimate declaration of love, but it was uttered with a conviction that you could feel and the threat - the promise was hauntingly clear. That he would lay waste to the remaining people of your village if you refused. And although his body remained unmoved, the pressure of his influence hummed and molded against you and robbed you of your breath. It felt like you were standing within the deluge of a summer storm, caught within spires of stardust and the heat of a nova. 

"Their crime is no longer yours to bear. " He said calmly - soothingly like he was trying to placate you. " You will not be harmed. " 

"Is that really true? " You ask, still full of disbelief and contempt and this time you do venture to take a step back and blessedly he allows you, and you cannot help but be thankful that he does not shift the sands to draw you in closer.  "They tell stories of what you do to your tributes once you have them, I'm sure you've heard. That you mold yourself into the likeness of a beast and hunt them, chasing them down the halls of your palace and tearing them limb from limb for eternity: A cycle of death and pain." 

And that pale animal gleam from the bonfire burns alight in his eyes and it does little to quell your steady stream of anxiety, but his indignation does not seem to be aimed at you specifically. " Is that truly what you believe?" And there is a gentleness to him, the annoyance receding as though he was more perturbed than angry, and a part of you nearly regrets having told him, but you squash that scrap of emotion before anything can come of it. "That I am some heartless monster than means to torture you for my entertainment."  

"Well, what else am I supposed to be led to think?" Surely a being of his scope, of his age and power must realize the severity of his actions. The violence and heartache that has bleed across the island and tainted the soil at his command. The senseless slaughter and starvation, forced to helplessly watch as your loved ones succumbed to it. The horrid, twisted sleepless nights and soiled dreams, and then you can hear it again, that twisted vacant laughter, rushing blood and mutilated shadows. " Especially after you sent your nightmares out to trouble me." 

"I promise that I have done no such thing" He assured, but it did little to soothe your frazzled state. " I gave them all specific instruction not to harm you, but they are not without their own free will, and I have delt with it accordingly." He spoke of his creatures as though they were misbehaving children. Simply spoiled and wayward, and not cruel, sadistic beasts. And perhaps he truly did not mean for one of his Oneiroi to haunt you in the night. After all, he did arrive to banish the spirit from your unconsciousness, to wrap his arms around your body in a secure embrace before ending the dream. But regardless of the fact, you could not forgive him.  

"I don't care. I want to go home." 

"Is that truly what you are clinging to? Those empty cold walls, vacant of family or companionship?  Or is it them? The very people that so freely discarded you. Abandoned and out casted you as though you were a leper." 

He was right of course. You were already well aware of the fact, but it did not make it sting any less to hear, and the old memories that rose up were less than welcome. A painful reminder that even your own father and mother had rejected you, not physically but the emotional disconnect had been there. A rift had torn between your dynamic like a gaping, festering wound that had never truly healed.  They had never looked at you the same, the both of them loathing you for marring the family name and social standing. And the other villagers would all murmur and stare in disdain whenever you had ventured into town to collect fruits or fresh meats at the local market, all because you had slept with a man as an unmarried woman. And your alienation was palpable. But you did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it and caving in. 

"No- they didn't-" 

"But they did, didn't they?" You could not stand his confidence. How he held his head high with that resolute air of certitude and kingly ego, how the air pulsed over you and tingled at your flesh like a balm. "Leaving you all in alone in that quiet little house, hoping that you'd fall prey to one of my nightmares." 

He steps forward crowding into your space with that pale wicked gleam in his eyes and the stars hanging in the sky behind him seem to warp towards his person, as though they were trying to leave their heavenly cradle to follow him. You heart speeds from apprehension surely, but you don't find yourself leaning away from his body or trying to flee. You are stock still, hardly able to spare any pieces of your attention on anything other than him. And then he is lifting a hand to brush against your cheek, featherlight but somehow still reverent in its glide and you can feel the life radiating from it. Ice and heat simultaneously, cosmos and earth. 

"I can give you everything you crave. The life you've always dreamed of having." His voice that dark velvet purr, draping around you temptingly.  "You will want for nothing." But you are hardly hearing his words anymore too preoccupied with the tender trail of his curled fingers; his knuckles tracing a blaze of warmth down your throat, slipping down dangerously close to the bit of your chest exposed by the low hang of the garment. But his hand pauses in its descent, stopping just a few inches from the valley between your breasts, and you cannot hide the way that your body shivers at the contact, a heat stirring within you. "But it is a decision that must be made of your own accord." 

And then he is backing away from you, allowing the atmosphere to clear of its electrical charge and for oxygen fill your lungs, but your body mourns the loss of his touch regardless of your returned breath. And it is then that you are able to realize what he had said, and some bit of hope blossoms, and now it is you who makes after him, following his path as he glides through the field of red and gold. 

"Wait? I can go home if choose to?" 

"No." 

"But you just sai-"

He turns to you so quickly that it is surprising, whipping around in a stream of darkness, and in the distant stars held within the fabric of his chlamys adjust with the movement. "You are a part of the Dreaming now. There is no place for you in the mortal realm - not anymore." 

The revelation has the same effect as a pail of ice water being doused over you. Unforgiving, paralyzing. And this time you do not have the ability to respond, far too busy grappling all of the emotions that are clamoring for the forefront.  

"Your home is here now. " He insists, lips pursed in a petulant sort of way. " Regardless of if you decide to take your place alongside me, this is where you must stay. Even if you were to leave this instant, time within the Dreaming does not abide by the same laws of your world. You would return to a point not of your own. Lost in a time entirely unfamiliar." 

And the chasm that has been threatening to break seems to grow deeper, fissures and cracks breaking at the foundations. And you vehemently want to deny him. To call him out for lying. Surely, he must be, how good can the Nightmare Ruler's word truly be? Is he a being that can possibly be trusted? But if he is correct, telling the complete truth and you were able to return to your realm would you be able to survive it? The sight of your home now years, if not decades old crumpled and dilapidated from the unforgiving pressure of time might break you. He must notice that vulnerability wearing down on you, because something in his gaze softens and you wished that he didn't look like he cared because some horrid part of you - the same one that had preened underneath his touch - is comforted by his attention, left wanting for it even and you are finding it difficult to be revolted or angry anymore. You would like to blame it on remnants of that perfumed smoke being still in your system, but truthfully you have not felt its influence since you had been dunked into the ocean. The brackish water and chaotic waves seeming to have strained it from your system. Or perhaps it had been the Dreaming itself that had done so, assisted with the fact that you may not even be tethered to your body at all anymore, the effects of the smoke too distant to reach your spirit that has drifted too far from its body. Maybe you truly do belong to his realm now. And you wait for that coal of anger to burn again, but it never comes, leaving you feeling hollow and broken. Exhausted even while you stand in a world fashioned from dreams. "I'm just tired . . . " You mourn weakly, watching the reeds and blossoms sway in the soft wind. 

"Then let me ease your burden. " His voice is much closer than it had been before, and when you jerk your head up, startled from the proximity of it, the point of your nose nearly brushed against his. You are immediately drawn into the all-consuming center of his gaze, and it feels like you are being held within it, called to the edge of something yawning and consuming, beckoning you to jump and you do not think that you have the strength to pull back from it. And you found that you did not want to. 

He has not made any means to move, leaving it to you to close the distance and you do, the hesitation thawing. He tracts you as you draw near, seeming to hold a breath that he did not need, and he appears tense, rigid like he was physically restraining himself with a practiced sort of patience. And it might have frightened you earlier, but the fervor in them does nothing to dissuade you now if anything it only serves to motivate you. Inside those pale irises you see cyan and indigo and sapphire flaring like nebulas drawing you in like a flower leaning towards the sun, and for a moment you swear you caught a glimpse of something else lurking inside of them, a glimmer of his true self perhaps; something vast and entirely beyond you. It felt ancient and ever-expanding, ignited and twisting and looming. And you felt like you were on the horizon of making sense of it and both entirely too far, slipping through your muddled understanding like sand and smoke, scorching like a harsh ice. 

It is the whisper of his nose brushing against yours that draws you from your fixation, a delicate sensation but it was blessedly enough to bring you back to the present, assisted by the rich rumble of his voice. "Come back to me. " 

"I nearly fell in, " you murmur back. And it was not a lie, you had nearly lost yourself in the paradox and cosmos that created him but it was also said in an attempt to jest. And you succeeded it seemed if the light, barely there rise at the corner of his mouth way any indication. It all feels fragile, unsure but not unwelcome. Like life returning to the earth after a harsh winter, blossoms breaking through sheets of snow, guided by the tender thaw of sunlight. 

"May I touch you?" He asks, tilting his head to just barely skim the fulness of his lips against yours, not kissing you but just enough to leave your skin tingling in their wake. It is a simple question, but it is enough to have that burning ache coming alive again, taking root deep in the base of your abdomen and you find yourself nodding. Frustratingly enough he does not move, ever a pillar of restraint and he leans his head back when you tilt to close the distance between you. And you catch the smug air that surround him, and you would have snapped at him if you had the gall to, if you did not want him to just kiss you already.

"Use your words. " That dark honeyed resonance tramples any semblance of a barb that you had even fleetingly entertained. The Dreaming has long since gone quiet, seeming to betray its creator's appearance of undisturbed control with the febrile energy that tangled around the both of you, fueling your own growing need with its charge. And you were unable to withhold the plead that leaves you, a floaty sigh: "Please touch me." 

You do not compute him nearing, eliminating the remaining space that divided you to press his lips against your own, suddenly they just are. It is soft, explorative but not without longing. And the sheer need behind it has your knees going weak, and if not for the appearance of an arm around your waist you feared that you might have actually fallen. Your body thrums with a sort of unsuppressed elation, a syrupy heat spreading across your limbs and dripping down your spine, settling between the cradle of your hips from the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for your permission. You thread your finger through the silken tresses of his hair and lightly scratch across his scalp. You can only feel the groan rumbling against your lips when you allow him to lick into your mouth and you immediately decide that you need to actually hear it. You are sure that the sound of that husky timbre breathing out in a rapturous moan will haunt you for the rest of eternity, and you could not wait to hear it. 

He cups your face in a single hand, securing your head with the curl of his fingers, allowing him to slant the plush of his mouth against you in an angle that let him to pull you in closer, enfolding you into the warmth of his chest. And the remaining doubt and restraint that had seemed to hold you two back was quickly beginning to melt, giving way to carnal sort of urgency. And already you are left panting, sweeping your hands across any part of him that you can, gripping the watery flow of his robes to center yourself through it all. 

You had not felt yourself tipping but your back is now pressed against the textured terrain of the Dreaming, the crushed stalks of reeds and flowers lightly digging at your skin, though it does little to take precedence over your current focus. And he is pulling away from your mouth to duck his head neath your chin, nipping and sucking at the skin there until its tender and you can tell by the way that he tucks your flesh between his teeth and licks that he is leaving marks in his wake, staking his claim upon your body and the mere idea of it has you lowly keening into the night; your body going lax underneath his. All things considered; he has not done much but your brain is already clouding with want, eyes glazing over. And then the heat of his mouth is sealing over your breast, the silk texture of your robe only adding to the pleasure as his tongue circles around your taut nipple. You can't help the way that you arch into it, seeking out more mindlessly but it is not enough. It is does little more than tease you, even with the way that he has draped himself over you he has himself suspended in a way that keeps you from being able to achieve the friction that you desire, stoking that heat inside you with eat nip and suck from his teeth and mouth. 

You can hear him chuckling from above you, the vibrations of his low smug amusement tingling across your chest, adding to your pleasure. If you were not so preoccupied with thoughtlessly trying to grind against his abdomen like a whore, you might have snapped at him for it, but instead you are removing your hands from the rich earth to sweep through his unruly hair, holding him against you instead, melting underneath the feel of his tongue. 

He does not let you have that for long either, releasing the swell of your breast and ducking from your grip, nuzzling a path down the plain of your abdomen and taking your thighs into the smooth glide of his hands, ignoring your protesting cry as he licks at your stomach from over the barrier of the silk. And once again you find yourself cursing that dreadful fabric, swearing into the night while you squirm in his hands. 

"Easy, sweet thing. " He coos, the image of patience. And if not for the wild, glow twinkling in both of his eyes like a beast you would not even think he was affected in the way that you are. That burning light serves as a reminder that he is not normal man, that you are rabbit ensnared within the jaws of a wolf, a mortal lying with a god. But it does not frighten you anymore. Instead, it douses fuel over an already steady flame. And you find yourself hoping to be consumed, taken between the teeth of this dark, cosmic deity and eaten alive. 

His descent does not stop, the point of his nose dragging down until it stops over your mons pubis and your whole body tenses in anticipation, waiting for him to move just a bit lower, to bundle your skirts in his hands and take you into his mouth. But he does not do any of that. He simply hovers there. His clutch on your thighs tightens, threatening to turn your flesh tender and you swear that you can feel the points of talons pricking at you, but it is too dark from the cover of the moonless night to see if he truly has grown claws in his passion - if they have drawn blood. Not that you would have minded if they had. You wanted it. Wanted his claim visible on your body, open to be seen by anyone who may gaze upon you. A trickle of concern does make it through the honeyed smoke of your want, as fleeting as it is, and it is quickly forgotten. Casted aside at the sound of a soft repetitive panting filling the silence. It does not take you long to realize that it is coming from him. He is breathing in your scent, hovering over the heat of you to take lungful's of your arousal. 

It is completely debased. Dirty. But the sight of a this primordial being kneeling between your legs and drawing in the scent of you in this perverted display that you would expect from man and not a god has you moaning into the air. Your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing while you rock your hips near his mouth. His grip tightens once again, smarting your skin while he tries to pin your body even while he chases the shift of your hips. And for one moment you think that he may finally ease both of your discomfort, feed the hunger ravaging your bodies but then horribly, he is pulling from you, leaving you to pant into the open air in a confused daze. "Why did you stop? "

"Let me taste you. " He said thickly, and his eyes shimmer again like the stars suspended in the heavens behind him. "Let me drink from you- worship you." 

His words have your mouth going dry and that aching heat pooling between your thighs. Never in your life have you ever known a man so desperate to pleasure you. To practically beg for it with a barely concealed avidity. That an Endless would ask for your permission. But he is no man after all. And you are nodding once again, but he does not move until the echo of that old sentence chimes in your head, use your words, you remember, and you manage to utter a rushed, "please" out from a shaky huff.  

He rumbles in a pleased way, the Dreaming trembling lightly with the resonance of his satisfaction. You hardly have time to blink before your ceremonial garb all but vanishes, baring you to the soft breeze and then a soft warmth enveloping your wet cunt, leaving you to jerk in surprise and scramble to grab something, anything to tether you. You claw at the field, the soil, before combing them into his hair while you gasp. All the while he is completely immovable, fixed to you throughout your writhing, lapping at your slit to collect the taste of you on his tongue and drink it down with a content purr, before licking up so that he can suckle your clit into the clutch of his mouth. Prompting that heady warmth to drizzle up on top of itself within the base of your abdomen. 

He alternates between that for a few moments, completely unhurried as he switches between lapping at your slit and sucking at your engorged bundles of nerves. And then his tongue is slipping inside of you, working along the walls of your cunt in a way that has your eyes rolling and your back bowing in a taut seize. But it does not stop. Extending into an inhuman length. It is thick and textured near its base, working so deep inside that you have to cry out. The repetitive drag and pull of it ushering you to roll your hips to match its delicious rhythm, building up a rising tide, dangling you over the precipice of something debilitating. 

"Oh gods - I - " 

But he is jerking away from you leaving your cunt to squeeze around the absence of his tongue, biting into the meat of your thigh like he has to preoccupy himself or else he will bury his face back into your heat like you so desperately want him to. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and the intensity of his gaze would have been intimidating if you were not in your current position. 

"Why did you stop?!" 

"When you come in will be with my name on your lips, " and something possessive layers the rich rumble of his tone. It is heavy and bears no room for argument, but you have no wish to do so. "Say it." 

"My Lor- " But his pointed glare is enough to cut you off, but you find yourself yelping from the reprimanding nip at your sensitive skin. It did not hurt but it took you by surprise regardless. 

"My name." He repeats carefully, and laves his tongue over the dull sting to soothe it, all without breaking eye contact, keeping you within the scope of his watch. And it takes you a moment to sift through his abundance of monikers and titles, trying to think past the sensation of his teeth and lips on you, but you finally manage to settle the same one that the Priestesses would often whisper with reverence. 

"Morpheus. " 

A pleased hum greats you and then blessedly he is spreading you open with his thumbs to subject you to the calculated, blissful lashing of his tongue. And you allow yourself to fall back onto the ground in a boneless heap, easily falling back underneath the sway of that fuzzy Elysian pleasure. Unrestrained moans now freely spilling from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to be the least bit embarrassed by the way you openly keen and whine in bliss. You head tips as you toss in reckless abandon, staring up almost sightlessly at the star cluttered sky. And in your drunken haze your mind oddly remarks that the twinkling stars remind you of peering eyes. But before the thought can take flight a strange sensation is enveloping you, like the brush of water rushing over you. Rolling textured waves, feathered touches and the brush of fingers. 

Hands, a distant thought supplies weakly. It does feel like hands. Thousands of them all scattered about your body. Running over your hips, your stomach, your chest, your throat. And then it feels as though a pair of mouths are taking your breasts into them, and you just barely manage to jerk your head up to confirm that Morpheus is still nestled between your thighs, slurping at your messy cunt even while those phantom hands and mouths stroke over your body, sucking at your nipples in a way that has a gutted moan tearing out of you. 

He is watching you from his place between your legs and the gleam of his eyes are nothing short of smug, taking absolute pride in the way that he is unraveling you at the seams. 

Your body moves as though it is possessed. Writhing like it can't decide which sensation it wants to arch into; the ghostly grasp of a thousand hands or the needy, warmth of his mouth. 

And the squelch of his tongue is sinful, noisily plunging into you. Its passage completely frictionless with the combination of his saliva and the way your cunt drips around the intrusion. He takes the meat of your ass into his physical hands, guiding the jerky rock of your hips into something deeper while he drinks you down, swallowing the obscene slick of your coupling down his throat. And you are babbling now, unable to recognize or understand the scattered way that you beg and cry. Lost to drift in the ceaseless ecstasy, a willing prisoner forced to take it. It feels as though your mind is breaking around the edges, fraying from the sheer scope of your pleasure, leaving you a weightless passenger, no longer held within the restraints of your own body. You soul is alight, burning and drowning in a rapture so sweet that you have no choice but to sob from it all. 

"Morpheus - " You choke around the raged heaving of your chest. And the hands on your body are joined by the phantom lapping of tongues, invisible teeth nipping at your skin and the mouths on your breasts pull and tweak at your nipples. The pleasure is too much, too great for you to fully comprehend and that wave is climbing once again, hurtling you towards that cliff. And now you are begging - pleading that he does not stop and leave you wanting. His name falls freely from you now, and endless mantra pleading for him to guide you into the sweep of fire and bliss. 

You barely feel it approaching. Suddenly your body is tensing, going rigid underneath the curl of his tongue and your thighs clamp around his head while you sob through the convulsions wracking through you. Completely swept up in a tide of heat and electricity. But he has not pulled away from your cunt, still nuzzled between the clutch of your thighs while he drinks your come with a satisfied sigh. The vibrations of it combined with the idle way that he continues to lap at you despite the sensitivity and it has your muscles twitching in response. 

"Morpheus, please. " You gasp underneath him, and he finally pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly before he is crawling over you, leaving gentle pecks across your body as he moves. And you can still feel those phantom touches across you, but they are feather light now, melting into the background as his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. It has you moaning into his mouth, and even with your recent orgasm you can already feel a syrupy heat building up within you coaxing the gentle rock of your hips. You can taste yourself on his lips, earthy and somewhat sweet. The weight of his arousal presses against you from underneath his robes, heavy and hot and the Dreaming thrums with his want, the soil trembling beneath you both. 

You reach a hand down to paw at him through the dark fabric of his chlamys and the smoky, ragged groan that escapes him is a reward all in its own. And you were right. The sound of his breathless, rumbling satisfaction is something that you will never tire of hearing, and you are already desperate to drag more from him. But what truly has your attention is the length of him. You are unable to see it from the cover of his robes, but you can feel it, the thickness of it, the length. And you drag your thumb around its head, the cloth clinging to the shape of his cock from the precum leaking from the tip. He jerks in your hand, breaking your kiss to duck his face into the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin, prompting you to moan breathlessly. 

"I need you inside of me. " You whisper unsteadily. 

"Take what you need. " Comes his response as he mouths along your neck, taking your ear lobe into his mouth and pulling it between his teeth. Just as yours had, his robes vanish from his body, baring himself for you admire. And admire you do. Gazing upon the milky hue of his skin. The lithe muscle that ripple and flex and the added detail of blue vessels spidering underneath his flesh. Your eyes drop lower, settling on his cock, and the tip has flushed red from his arousal, and you briefly entertain the idea of taking him into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue as he had done to you. But the throbbing heat that has settled between your thighs is the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You need finally feel him and so you are gently pushing at his chest, guiding him to remove his head from your neck and to lie on his back. And he allows you to so - a god obeying your wishes. 

His gaze does not stray from you, even as he settles against the ground and allows you to climb astride his lap. Now that you are here atop him you find yourself wavering under the intimidation of your self-imposed task. It is a stupid thing to be fearful of. You have done this before. But those was a man, not an immortal deity that has seen centuries come and go, watched curiously as humanity's ancestors evolved and give way to empires the ultimately rose and fell. You are sure that he has lain with deities beyond your comprehension. Gods and goddesses, nymphs and spirits, pure divine beings from the heavens. How could you compare? How could you possibly please him? Would he want you even as a tainted woman? 

And as though he can sense your discomfort, he sweeps his hands along your hips, the action breaking through your internal struggle, and he is once sitting himself up enough to plant a kiss between the valley of your breasts. And then he is guiding you to look down on him with the gentle brush of his fingers, fixing your attention solely on him. 

"Take what you need. " He reiterates. But it is not said in a scathing or annoyed way, it is gentle, loving you want to believe, and you nearly melt against him. Those ghostly touches are back, no doubt an attempt to draw you out of your head. And it is working to stoke the fire, the fervor returning to your bones, but your mind still struggles to return you, still tangled within the confines of your insecurities. You could not manage to pin them down no matter how hard you tried to. 

"Speak to me, " he murmurs against your skin. "What troubles you?" 

"I - " you choke around the shakiness in your chest. You want to speak but it is difficult to do so around the rock in your throat, the disconnect between your head and your tongue stalling the words before they can even truly form. He begins to circle his thumbs against your hips. It is no longer sexual but completely tender, meant to coax your feelings from you rather than your desire and it does serve to ground you somewhat, offering you some clarity to articulate yourself. " I - you do know that I'm not . . . " You trail off and you attempt to meet his curious gaze, but you find your own quickly darting away, scanning the kaleidoscope fields that surrounds you like it might help you find your courage.  " . . . What if I'm not good enough?" 

His expression becomes stormy.  Something menacing and severe and it is a stark reminder of the darker side of his nature. He had been so gentle and giving with you that it had been easy to forget the depths of his anger, and for a moment you had feared that you somehow managed to offend him personally. His lips have pursed in that cross way, his eyebrows pinched, and you would have anticipated him molding himself into wicked shadows and talons, if not for the flash of something soft showing through the cosmic blue of his eyes. 

"Have I not worshiped you thoroughly enough?" He asks, but he does not necessarily sound affronted out of concern of his own pride but rather disappointed that he did not please you. The mere notion of that could make you scoff; you were certain that he ruined you for anyone else. No man would be able to touch you in the way that he had. And now you were opening your mouth to reassure him, but he is responding before you can utter a single word. " Then allow me to rectify my transgressions." 

And you whole heartedly expect him to once again knock you on your back and take you, but he does not. He keeps you secured on his lap, grip firm but not controlling and fixes you with a stare that seems to hold you open and reach inside, melting at your frayed vulnerabilities. "Now. Take what you need."  His voice has dipped into something deep and orotund, clearly enunciating to make sure that his intent is clearly broadcasted. And the intensity that he projects is enough to pull you back into the moment, his power coursing over the Dreaming and rippling at its seams. But it is more than that too. He has been nothing but gentle with you this entire night. Patient. Without judgement. And it is as though he has been plucking you apart piece by broken piece, stuffing you full of sunlight and helping you mend your shattered edges. Not fixed or magically repaired, but it is the closest you have felt to peace and adoration in a long time. And you feel like you are choking on the affection that he openly displays. The want and the need. 

You become startlingly aware of the way that your cunt drips, come smearing the insides of your thighs while that warm honeyed ache steadily thrums within your abdomen. And it is difficult to ignore it now. The sheer scope of your desire could smother you, threatening to take you under and drown you. Everything else after that is instinctual -needy. You take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his in a bruising kiss trying your best to project your emotions into the exchange of tongue and teeth, stroking the sharp edges of his cheek bones with the same reverence that he had shown you. And you blindly reach down to take the rigid heat of him in your grip, throbbing and wet with a steady flow of precum, and he rewards you with a heady groan when you circle your thumb around the leaking slit of his cock. 

You are quick to line him up with your entrance, and without little fanfare sink down onto him. The relief that comes with the fulness of his girth tears ragged sighs from the both of you.  And you give yourself little time to adjust before your already working yourself down his length, toes curling when the blunt head of his cock brushes against that devastating spot inside of you that has you jerking from him to gasp into the night. And unable to ignore the all-consuming passion that takes you over, the pulsing, electrifying power that permeates around Morpheus you draw yourself up with the strength of your thighs, using the push you can achieve from planting your feet on the ground to bounce on his cock in a hedonistic display. 

It is debased and vulgar, fucking out in an open field, in the soil like animals. Completely lewd, but so right. 

Morpheus lies back against the ground on his own accord, reclining like spoiled royalty and allowing you to plant your hands on his chest to assist you to deepen each thrust, letting you take from him. And already his name is spilling from your lips like a hymn while you watch the Dream King with rapt attention, enthralled by every minute expression that flickers across his schooled features. The way that his eyebrows pinch together, how dim but eager pants puff past his open mouth, the dazed sort of pleasure that shows in his eyes while he gazes upon you like you're a deity that has descended down from Mount Olympus, a nymph fashioned from Aphrodite herself to encapsulate his every wish. 

And those delicious, invisible hands have returned to roam about your body in their sweet exploration, plucking at your body like it is an instrument that they have played for years. The sound of your coupling rings across the Dreaming, the smack skin against skin, your unrestrained moans. It all has that thick, deep-rooted ache spreading further throughout your body, reaching from your core and all the way to your fingertips and toes. But there is something missing, a nudge needed to push you over the edge. "Morpheus, " you cry weakly, thighs already beginning to sting from exertion, but you refuse to stop, continuing to drop yourself on his cock, working tight circles with your hips with each descent. 

You can see something smug bleeding into his features, your neediness nurturing his hubris, and his lips quirk in just the faintest hints of a barely there smile. 

"What is it, my love?" He asks, feigning ignorance and it irritates you how put together he sounds, voice having dropped into a low, rumbling cadence, but apart from that he sounds seemingly unaffected despite the glazed over quality to his gaze. You whimper around a particularly harsh thrust from him that has your back bowing, pushing your breasts into the palms of ghostly hands. Your eyes nearly go cross at the drag of his cock, but you manage to keep your concentration around the sweeping torrents of smoke and ecstasy. 

"Please!" you keen drunkenly. "Please, I need you! " 

A satisfied purr resonates underneath your palms and his pupils flash in that pale tantalizing, dangerous way and you cannot believe that the look of it had frightened you at some point. Now it only serves to pool more liquid heat down the base of your spine. A heaving mewl is all but punched out of you when he takes you by surprise, using his place along the ground to thrust up into you with wicked rolls from his hips. Fucking up into you with a ferocity that has you struggling to meet his pace, and you are hardly more than a passenger at this point. All coherence is stripped from you and your entire body feels like it has been doused in honey and fire, and the timbre of his raspy voice speaking out only serves to nudge you closer to your undoing. 

"You'll stay here with me, won't you?" 

"Yes!" You agreed in a slurred whine. 

"And you'll give yourself to me?"

"Yes!" You are near sobbing now, body jerking and writhing atop him while the phantom touches roll your nipples between soft fingertips, and his cock pumps into you with depraved, filthy squelches of your combined arousal. And that primordial energy is pulsating around the Dreaming. The same power that creates the ground you both lay upon, that fashions the field and the sky above you too, permeating from the deity that is currently fucking every shred of a possible thought from your brain. And the power feels charged now, like it is growing and expanding into something great, seeping into your skin and soaking your bones. Then a transparent grip is taking your jaw between its fingers, directing your gaze to the god underneath you, and another slips down your stomach, reaching down to drag tight circles around your neglected clit. 

"Then come." It is a command that your body cannot ignore, seizing up tight, trapping the strangled wail deep inside your lungs while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, stars exploding against the darkness there and you lose all sense of tangibility.  Your sense of time, place and self slip from perception like water pouring through spread fingers, and now you are just floating. Caught in bursting cosmos, pinned before the scalding light of the sun, caught in a torrent of arresting, unyielding rapture. And your cunt clamps down his cock like it means to milk him for all he is worth, your orgasm ushering him into his own and thankfully your coherence begins to return to you in time for you to admire him while he is subjected to the throes of his pleasure. And you are still gasping and moaning while his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, observing as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth opens for a long husky moan to escape him as the warmth of his release pools inside of you. 

You all but collapse on top of him in a boneless heap and your cunt spasming weakly around his spent length but neither of you make any effort to move. Simply basking in the afterglow of your highs. It is your sense of touch and hearing that serve to orient you. The distant crash of waves rushing over the surf, the whisper of the breeze dancing across the grass and blossoms. And you can feel him underneath you. His chest is moving with a breath that you are certain is simulated for your own comfort, an attempt to appear more human. But he feels too heated and simultaneously too cold to be a person, like he has no idea which temperature to project. But you decide that it is not at all unpleasant, instead it feels good against your feverish skin. 

But you still wait for the sting of disappointment to strike you - for disgust to bleed and taint the satisfaction now that the lust has died, but it never rises to meet you. And so, you rest, satiated upon your god. Pliant like melted wax. But there is the insistent nudge of something burrowing at you. Concern, you quickly identify. And it has your sluggish mind wandering back to the root of the thought, trailing after it until it finds the conclusion which takes that shape of a memory. The memory of perhaps the only companion you have ever known, and it is bitter and sour reminder that they may not even be alive anymore. That centuries may have passed during your brief stay in the Dreaming, and that they may have succumbed to the passage of time. 

"What ails you now?" 

You want to say that it is nothing, sweep it aside and ignore it while it festers and grows. But you know now that he will not accept nothing as an answer, not when he can possibly feel your distress across the threads of the Dreaming. You feel foolish in your answer, but it is the only one that you can manage. " My cat. " 

"Your . . . cat. " He echoes slowly, and you are certain that amusement is lacing his tone. You bristle a bit preparing to defend yourself, your right for being worried, but he is nudging you from his chest so that you may see each other as you speak. 

"I can assure you that your companion is safe. He's quite content." He says. His gentle mirth still very much alive, but you do not return his light-hearted attitude, waiting with bated breath for him to answer the question that hangs heavy in the air. And a part of you fears that he may have somehow managed to converse with Death of the Endless, or that he was still connected to the passage of time that operates outside of the Dreaming and was able to deduce that the feline had long since passed, joining Teleute in the Sunless Lands. But then he is brushing a hand along his side, drawing your attention to his ribs where the skin there ripples like the surface of a disturbed lake, and a set of angry jagged scars emerge from the mirage, appearing across his pale skin, spanning from his armpit down to the notch of his hipbone. It is hauntingly familiar. The placement, the number of claw mark left in stretched healed tissue. One, two, three . . . four, you count. 

You understand what it is that he is implying. And betrayal sinks its enamel into your heart, but the bite is shockingly dull and not the unforgiving split that you were expecting. And you can tell that he is calculating something, surely waiting for you to lash out. To scream at him and demand that he take you home. Perhaps that is what you should do. But you do not. "How? Why did you- a cat?" Is all you manage, more perplexed than irate. 

"I had been injured by an old foe of mine, " he explains, allowing you to curl into his side, curiously running your fingertips over the marred flesh. And you have suppress a shudder, wondering what sort of being could be strong enough to injure an Endless. A god. "As for why I assumed that particular form, I needed to conserve energy. It was small. Familiar. It served to save much needed strength. " 

There has always been something strange about that cat and his watchful stare. Admittedly you had always swallowed down the suspicion that prickled at you whenever he had curled up within your house, but you had been too desperate for some sort of friendship to truly question anything. The barrage of emotions flooding you, making you a muddled unsure mess, but one thing that you do know for certain is that you are completely and undeniably relieved. And truthfully you are still far too tired, simply uncaring to have been tricked by the god. You are happy- actually well and truly happy to embrace the joy and serenity. 

"And then there was you, " he murmurs in your ear, devout and soft. 

The both of you remain there for an insurmountable length of time. Lounging in each other's embrace, delighting in your shared presence. Listening to the peaceful noise of the Dreaming and the warmth of your lover. And for the first time that icy gapping pit of loneliness no longer gnaws and tears at you. You finally feel at home, and the desire to flee and leave eludes you. Perhaps because you have finally found a place to belong.  

Here with him. 

[hollisxwrites]

Hi, can I please make a request? Reader (you can choose the godly parent) gets super protective of Percy after he gets in a physical fight with Clarisse.

fight for you

percy jackson x fem! child of apollo reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cannon typical violence, mention of a concussion, clarisse is kind of a bitch in this one! sorry, i love her, but it had to be done. overall, super fluffy though.

summary: percy gets in a fight with clarisse because he was insulting him, and worst of all, his girlfriend. when the fight gets harsh, his girlfriend steps in, and then takes care of him after the fight.

authors note: y'all, thank you so much for all the love on my most recent posts! i have reached over 1.5k likes and 55 followers! i only started this blog two weeks ago, so thank you! i have been blown away by all the kindness. i am also working through all of my request, so don't worry, i'll get to all of them very soon! xoxo - hollis.

A horrific smack was heard all around the Camp when suddenly, my boyfriend, the brave (and idiotic) Percy Jackson, sent his practice javelin hurling at one of the camp's best fighters, Clarisse La Rue. Percy was already agitated, I could tell. Clarisse had been taunting him all day long, telling him that he would never be as good of a fighter as her, and telling her that his dad would never support him the way Ares supported her. I kept telling Percy to stand down, to not let her words affect him, but they did. Every word was like a knife to his side, making his insecurities run rampage on his mind. So, when the javelin left his hand, I hate to say it, but I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Clarisse got what was coming for her, honestly.  

Clarisse had started to insult me, and that’s when I knew it was over for her. Percy’s demeanor shifted from almost joking to serious in an instant. He always said that it was okay to insult him, but the second it came to me, he wouldn’t go down without a fight, which I guess was sweet, but it also put him at risk almost all the time. 

“Percy! Stand down, please!” I yelled at him from across the training field. “If you get hurt, I’m going to kill you.” 

Percy’s eyes burned with a fiery passion as he turned around to look at me. “I’m defending you, sunshine. I can handle myself.” 

I sighed and rubbed my hands on my temples. This boy would be the death of me. “Please be careful.” I whispered, more to myself than to him. 

I told myself I wouldn’t get involved, I told myself that I wouldn’t let myself fight his battles, but when Clarisse dropped her weapon and started to fight with her fist, I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I ran up and pushed Percy behind me, and right hooked Clarisse right in the jaw.  She stumbled back, gripping her jaw and scoffed. “Percy is so weak that you must fight his battles? That’s hilarious.” 

Percy moved to my side, his nose already bleeding and his left eye going to be black in the morning, but he was not going to let me get myself hurt for him. “No, he’s not, but I can’t let you insult him like that. Percy is brave, strong, and a better person than you but tenfold. He is everything you are not.” 

Her eyes twitched and she threw another punch not at me, but at Percy. I pushed her off him, and using my hand-to-hand combat skills, threw her to the ground. I laid one more good punch on her before Chiron and a couple of my siblings from Apollo came running at us.  

“Stop fighting!” Chiron yelled. “You all have dishes duties for a month! Miss.{reader}, please take Percy to the medics, and Clarisse, come to my office, immediately.”  

I nodded at Chiron, upset about the dishes duty, but happy I got to be the one to take care of Percy. I helped him up from his place on the ground. When Clarisse had hit him the last time, he had fallen to the floor hard on his back, possibly hitting his head. Usually, I did not get this involved in his fights, but I couldn’t stand to see him hurting for my sake. I let him drape his arms around my shoulder, as the last punch sent him on his back, and we slowly made our way to my cabin. There was no way that I was going to let some of my siblings take care of my boy, that was my job. Anger still coursed through my veins as I watched Percy’s eyebrows pinch in pain with each step. His head was probably pounding, and he defiantly had a couple of bruised ribs from the fall he took.  

When we reached my cabin, I helped him lay down on my bed that was oh-so familiar with. “Stay right here, I’m going to grab you some pain killers and an ice pack. Do not move.”  

“Yes ma’am.” He said, his sassiness still peeking through his voice despite him being injured.  

I ran as quickly as I could to the medical building and grabbed what I needed to heal my boy, and then ran back. I was gone for less than five minutes, but when I returned, Percy was already half asleep, head nestled into my pillows. “Hey, Perc, can you sit up a little for me?” I asked him, voice as soft as I could make it.  

He shuffled to sit up and smiled a sideways, semi-loopy smile at me. “What do you think is wrong, doc?” He said, voice a little horse. I was scared he might have had a concussion because of the way he was acting. 

“Let me ask you a couple of questions, then I’ll know. Is your mind foggy? Are you dizzy or nauseous?” I asked him. 

“Dizzy? Yes. Foggy mind? No. Nauseous...” He paused. “I don’t want to think about it.”  

I took that as yes for nauseous, thus confirming my thought that he had a concussion. “Okay, so I think you had a mild concussion, because you never blacked out, but you were awfully close. So, I’ll put an ice pack on your head, give you some pain killers, and you and I can just rest for the rest of the day, okay?” 

He tried his best to nod. “Okay, as long as you stay with me?”  

“Of course I’ll stay. There is no way I would leave you like this, especially because it was my fault that you are in this state.” I sighed and looked into his beautiful eyes. One of them was bruised a little bit, and so I placed a kiss to it, which is one of my healing gifts my father gave me. I can quite literally kiss it better. My lips lingered on his eye, and then I went to the other one, this his forehead, then his neck, his jaw, and finally, his ribs through his battered orange Camp shirt. His eyes closed and he hummed in appreciation.  

“I love you; you know that right? That’s why I fought for you.” He said, tone muddled with exhaustion.    

“I love you too, that’s why I fought for you.” I paused and my hands, finding his hair. “I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak or not good enough, I did it because I love you, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you, ever.”    

His eyes met mine, and they were filled with genuine love and adoration. “You’re perfect. I’m telling you. How did I deserve you?” 

I continued to clean him off, pulling his dirty shirt off him and wiping down any cuts or bruises with something my siblings and I developed. “How did I deserve you, the perfect, most handsome boy in the entire world?”  

He laughed and shook his head. “I love you.” 

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.” I said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

He beckoned me to lay in bed with him after I finished cleaning him up. He pulled me with his dwindling strength, and then shifted so he was laying on my lap. I continued to play with his hair, and he soon drifted off to sleep. My boy may be one of the bravest campers, but he will always be nothing but sweet to me.        

[miniwheat77]

Smash pt 2. (dbf!Price X Reader.)

!hefty age gap, daddy kink, mentions of violence, smut, THIS IS FILTHY AGE GAP SMUT YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

John rubs his eyes as he wakes up. His phone is ringing and he wants to answer it before it wakes you.

He sits up and grasps the phone, silencing it and walking out of the room before answering it. He regrets not taking a look at who’s calling this early. “Hello?” John asks into the phone.

“John.”

John sighs as soon as he hears his voice come over the phone. “We need to talk about this John. I just got a call from a buddy of mine saying that he saw you with Y/N buying groceries. How long is this going to last?”

John shakes his head. “That’s none of your business.”

“My daughter is my business.”

“Hardly, you treat her like rubbish.” He scoffs. He’s trying to talk low so that he doesn’t wake you. He can hear your dad sigh on the other end of the phone. “Listen. If you part ways with her right now, never speak with her again. I can let this go. We can continue to be good friends John. I can forgive you.” John shakes his head. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Your daughter needs someone to guide her. Someone who won’t treat her like she’s nothing. She needs support. She needs a fucking father. Who chooses her over his wife. Who puts her first. Who gives a shit.”

“And what, you want that to be you?”

“Course not, I love Y/N. The more she talks about you and everything you’ve done to her, the more I hate you. I mean really. You’ve always put Y/N last and truly, it disgusts me. You’ve messed up with this one but I’m going to pick up the pieces and help her heal. Until you’re ready to apologize to Y/N for all you’ve done and want to be a better father to her, don’t call again.”

A ‘beep’ is all your dad hears on the other end of the line.

John sighs.

He needs to wake up. He makes his way into the kitchen for coffee.

Once you smell it, you start to stir in your sleep. Feeling the bed empty makes you sigh. You didn’t like waking up alone. Maybe choosing a military man who wakes up so early didn’t help with that. But because of who he was and what he meant to you. You’d deal with it.

You sit up, wincing as your feet hit the cold hard wood floor. Standing up. You make your way out of the room and down the hallway to the kitchen. “Morning darling.” John smiles. “Morning.” You smile. Picking up the coffee pot and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You make your way over to him, sitting across the table from him. “Something wrong?” You ask. “Uh.. well.” He sighs. “Your dad called me this morning.” He mumbles. “Oh boy. What did he have to say?” You ask, sitting up more. “Just.. a bunch of bullshit. How if I get away from you right now he’ll forgive me. Bunch of rubbish.” He rolls his eyes. He sees you smile. “Got quite a way with words, does he?” You giggle. He shakes his head. “God no.”

“Best thing about that man is his daughter.” He winks at you. Seeing your cheeks warm up. “I know right. I’m pretty great.” You sip your coffee. It’s still too hot to drink. “Was thinking we could go to the mall today.” He says. You tilt your head. “Hm? Why?”

“Get you something nice.” He shrugs. You laugh. “No John. Quit trying to spend all your money on me.” You roll your eyes. He stands up, making his way round the table. Sliding your chair out slightly. “Ah cmon darling. Maybe we can find you something pretty to wear tonight. Something we’ll both like ah?” He bites at his lip. “That’s the real reason you wanna go hm?” You laugh. “Well. You already call me daddy. Might as well give you the sugar part too, right?” You roll your eyes. “You’re not my sugar daddy John. You’re my boyfriend.” You scoff. He tilts his head, gliding his tongue over his teeth. “Boyfriend huh? I like that. Makes me feel not so old.” He laughs. “Cmon though. I can look for some stuff, you can look for some stuff. We can look for some stuff together. It’ll be a date.” He smiles. “Alright alright. Let me get dressed.” You laugh.

———

Your eyes scan the whole wall of fragrances.

“Oh dear.” John mumbles. You can’t help but laugh at his apprehension.

“You got 4. It’s buy 3, get 3 free. So I can find 2.” You smile. “Right. Right. But if you want more than that, I’ll buy you 3 more.” He laughs. “No. 2 is good. I can get a spray and a lotion.

You spray one on a fragrance tester card. “What about this one?” You ask. He leans into it, taking a sniff. His nose crinkles up. “Bloody hell. What is that?” He pulls away like his nose has just been assaulted. You roll your eyes. “So dramatic John.” You laugh.

After looking across a few more, you find one you really like. “What about this one?” You decide to spray it on your wrist and let it soak into your skin for a second before letting him smell it.

He nods his head. “Like that one.” He smiles. “Perfect. Now let’s go, this store is giving me a headache.” You murmur. Going up to the front.

“Did you guys find everything you were looking for today?”

You nod your head. “Yeah we did.” You smile. After finishing checking out, you make your way around the mall. Coming across a Victoria's Secret. "Isn't this what you came here for John?" You smirk. Seeing his cheeks turn pink. He rolls his eyes. "You think I'm scared?" He laughs. "Course not. Cmon."

You're shopping around a bit, you've only found a couple of things to buy. You don't expect to run into your friend. The one who was supposed to go to the barbecue with you. You wanted to call her up and thank her for not showing up. Than, you might not have gone home with John. She approaches you when she sees you. "Hey Y/N." She smiles. "Hey. What are you doing?" You ask. "Just shopping around. I haven't heard from you in a couple weeks. been worried about you." She looks concerned. "Oh... It's a long story." You blush. She looks confused. "Sorry darling, I had to take that phone call." John appears from behind you and once her eyes see him, they widen slightly. "Oh. I see. Is this uh..." She asks. Seeing you nod your head. "Oh shit." She laughs. "I missed a few chapters I see." She smiles. "John, this is my friend I told you about, the one who was supposed to come to the barbecue." He reaches a hand out and firmly shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you. Y/N has told me a lot about you." He nods. His accent is thick just like you said it was.

She laughs. "Trust me, Y/N has told me A LOT about you too." She winks. Seeing crimson rush up your cheeks. "Well I got class in a few hours and I still have more shopping to do. I'll see you around Y/N. Nice meeting you John." She smiles. After some more goodbye's, you're parting ways. After checking out and going through a couple more stores with John, you're making your way out to the parking lot. "Eventful day ah?" He laughs. "Very."

He opens up your door for you and just as you're about to get in, you hear someone calling his name from across the parking lot. "Hey John." You see a man jogging up to him. He's familiar. You seen him around your dad a few times, knowing who he is. He's a friend of both John and your dad. "Is... Is that Y/N?" He asks. Seeing you sitting in the passenger seat. "Yeah." John smiles. "Oh.. so what he said is true." He looks awkward. "What did he say?" John crosses his arms. "That you were messing around with his daughter." He laughs, turning to look at you. "You okay honey?" He asks. You narrow your eyes. "Oh, I'm great. Better than ever." You stand up, pushing the door open further. Wrapping an arm around John. "I guess you could say that. I don't know why he acts like he even cares about her. You know he let his wife send Y/N off drunk from that last get together they had? If it weren't for me she would've had to walk home." John shakes his head. "You're kidding, he always made himself out to sound like a great dad." He shakes his head. "No, his wife had my car towed the next morning and he didn't even care." You grumble. "Wow. I'm sorry to hear that Y/N. Well... as weird as it is to see the both of you together, I hope you're doing well. See you around." He tilts his head. John waves and you get back into his truck.

"Jesus. Let's get home before we run into my dad next." You laugh. "No kidding." John laughs.

———

John is finishing up the dishes. You said you needed to shower and get ready for school the next day, so you're upstairs.

You feel a little bad for leaving him hanging but you know the surprise you have for him will make up for it.

You finish putting on the set of black lingerie he had his eye on. Waiting for him to come upstairs. You can hear his footsteps coming upstairs. Waiting in the doorway of his bathroom for him. When he steps inside, you step into his line of sight. Seeing a smirk grow at his lips. "Jesus..." He breathes. He steps closer to you, hands gliding over your hips to pull you closer to him. "Where you been all my life huh?" He laughs. Pressing his lips to yours.

Before that night at your dads house, if someone had told John this is where he'd be a couple months later, he'd tell them they're crazy. His hands glide down your ass, he hears you gasp because of how cold they are. "Jesus." You laugh. Taking a breath. "You're perfect you know that?" He breathes. He pulls you back into him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you standing between his legs. He toys with the black lace of the lingerie set. You take in a deep breath, eyes feeling heavy as his hands climb higher up your stomach, hands cupping your breasts.

You didn't know how long this would last. Maybe John would have a come to jesus moment and feel bad for messing around with you because you were so young. Maybe he'd tell you to stay away from him someday, restore that friendship with your dad. Leave you with nothing. Maybe he didn't really believe that you were in love with him.

But you knew, all you could do was savor it. Relish in every last burn his fingers left on your skin. You tilt your head back as his hand moves higher, brushing over your throat. John is like some sick drug. The effects he has on you are everlasting. He presses his hand over your throat, pushing you back so that he could spin you around. He pushes you back onto the bed and you barely realize where you are. "Am I losing you darling? You this crazy about me huh?" He laughs. You look up at him, gliding your tongue over your lips. You don't know what to say, so you choose to say nothing at all.

He grasps the hem of his shirt. Pulling it over his head. "S'alright. You can keep daydreaming. I'll take you somewhere nice baby." He leans down, kissing you again. He's got himself propped up with one hand to unbutton his jeans. Once he's freed himself, he pushes your legs apart. Grasping the panties you had on and pulling them down. He moves himself up. Looking down at you. It's dim in the room. You swallow hard. He lowers his head, lips right near your ear. "Just relax for daddy, yeah?" He smiles. His warm breath causes chills to rise on your skin. "Fuck." You breathe. He lines himself up with your entrance, sinking into you. A hiss leaves his lips. He doesn't feel he'll ever get used to the way you wrap so tightly around him.

"Fuck." He breathes. He slides out, pushing himself back inside. The warmth he feels from you is always so much. He doesn't know how he holds back from cumming so fast that it's pathetic.

The way he grips the sheets is like a maniac. Holding on for dear life as he loses himself in you.

"Look at me baby." He breathes. Lifting your chin to look at him. You look up at him, eyes full of tears of pleasure. They always are when the both of you are intimate with each other. Your thighs shiver and he's barely touched you. "Give yourself to me." He breathes. "Want you to look at me okay?" He breathes. "Keep looking at me baby." He breathes. He raises his hips just slightly, rutting deeper into you. Your eyes close instinctively. You hear him chuckle. "Keep them open darling. Keep looking at me." He breathes. He keeps a steady pace, watching the walls behind your eyes start to crumble. He's so good at making you fall apart. Picking apart every last nerve ending in your body. He uses his thumb to rub your sensitive nub, sparks shooting into your lower stomach. Your lips part and cries start to leave your lips. Your eyes get heavy but you obey him. Keeping them open.

You push him off of you, taking him off guard.

You push him back, climbing on top of him. He gasps as you slide down onto his length again. It's easy with how wet he's made you. You grasp his wrists and pin them above his head. He entertains it and lets you. Wondering what exactly you had in store for him. "It's your turn. Your turn to look at me." You start to rut your hips into his, seeing his face turn up like he's in pain. You know he's not. He's feeling good. He groans out as you raise your hips off of him, sliding back down on him. You keep eye contact with him. Getting exactly what you wanted. His eyes are fixated on yours and his lower stomach clenches up. "Fuck, you feel so good baby." He hisses. He lowers his gaze for a second to watch his length disappear into you. The perfect show.

You're soaking him, the wetness of your pussy gathers at the base of his cock. He can feel it running down him. "Fuck- John." You pant. He grips your hair. Tugging your head back. "No, that's not what you call me baby." He growls. Your body shakes over him. "Daddy." You mewl. "So close.. so so close." You sob. He starts to rut his hips up into you. watching you fall apart above him. "Look at me." He sits up, holding you into him. He keeps thrusting up into you. "Cum with me. Look at me baby." He pants. Your hips jump slightly. Body going stiff as you cum, but you keep eye contact with him as he finishes you off. He holds you tight against him, thrusting up into you, emptying himself of his filth. Pumping you full of it.

When he finally stills inside of you, you take a deep breath. Laying your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, he finally laughs. "Feel better sweetheart?"

"Much." You laugh.

"I'll always take care of you, you know." He brushes your hair out of your face. You rest your head on his chest. "You don't have to go through any more bullshit, not while I'm here."

Your dad gave John a choice.

But he thinks he's got his mind made up already.

[spngi]

My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Prologue | part 1 | part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 |part 5| part 6

Part 7

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings:Grammar mistakes, mentions of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating, sexual content, angst.

I watch the man lying on my bed, Carlos is in the same position as the night before, breathing high and I can smell the alcohol of perspiration infesting the room. I open the curtains and windows and let the sun enter along with the breeze to clean the smell of the room.

The man doesn’t move, still too drunk to wake up and I know that an infernal hangover awaits him.

“Wake up” I pinch the skin of his shoulder and he just murmurs leaving me with no patience. “The phone doesn’t stop ringing and if I have to solve any other problem with ports and tax I’ll throw the phone at you, carlos”

He just grunts, opens his eyes slowly and regrets it immediately.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, hoarse voice.

“Good morning” I approach him and extend the cup of coffee with the medicines for him.

“What’s going on?” I watch him scratch his eyes and face me, his eyes stopping when he sees the green nightgown I’m wearing.

It was good to provoke Carlos, even more after everything he told me yesterday, it was good to leave him desperate the same way he left me. The green piece was just a good detail to add to Carlos’ punishment.

“That idiot from the Port of Brussels does not stop calling, I have already solved the situation but it seems that he is too incompetent or just can’t stand to receive orders from a woman” I murmur to Carlos “me and Charles are solving this, but your accountant is also calling to talk about taxes, and we have to leave in a few hours for your cousin’s wedding preparations.”

“I can just...” he breathes, closes his eyes. It’s a lot of information for his head exploding and I could even laugh if I was in the mood. “Lay down for a while? Lie down with me, let’s forget all these calls”

This time I can’t help laughing, Carlos’ words funny enough for my state of mind. As if nothing had happened, as if that was his way of fixing things.

“Get up, Carlos! We still have to pack our bags” I murmur to him, leaving towards the closet.

“You look beautiful in green” his voice resonates groggy around the room.

“I know”

...

It’s strange to share the joy of creating a bond from a new family when mine was falling around. Although I still didn’t know exactly what to do, and the presence of carlos behind me wherever I went like a shadow left me stunned, the word divorce kept returning to my mind.

Maybe it was time for me to give up after all.

The excitement of being with the sainz family, the effort I had in buying the best wedding gift that this couple could receive, the joy in the eyes of the bride for knowing that she would soon carry the surname sainz as well. None of this was able to cheer me up, and I felt like an intruder taking off the luck of the couple.

I had once read in a Lima Barreto book the following phrase “we did not understand each other, their joys were not mine, my pains were not even perceived” and I never felt so represented.

Carlos seems to want to surround me, fill me with his attention, with his affection but that only makes me more uncomfortable, because I know that morning he didn’t choose me when he received that phone call, didn’t even think of me twice or doubted that I had done that. I think I could only really get over it by hearing him apologize, real apologies as an adult man and not that drunk show he gave the other night.

The shared hotel room becomes small enough for me, suffocating with the presence of Carlos. And the game of teasing each other ends up becoming a fierce trap.

I regret having started this game the moment I realized that I couldn’t get away from Carlos here, miles away from our house sharing a normal size hotel room. So every time I showed up before getting dressed or just in a towel after the shower I needed to hear him begging so that he could have me or just touch me, and for most of the nights I need to sleep frustrated with all the words and promises that I don’t let Carlos fulfill.

It is on the night of the rehearsal dinner, the day before the morning of the wedding that I let myself be defeated, maybe if I just let things flow I would feel better, I would remember what it was like to have a happy marriage and Carlos has always provided infinite amounts of pleasure.

I wait for Carlos to get out of the shower, sitting on the end of the bed, watching the TV passing an old movie, waiting and hoping that Carlos will continue begging tonight and don’t leave me a desperate mess today.

When he finally appears in only sweatshirt pajama pants and watches me, sitting, wearing only the old Real Madrid t-shirt of Carlos that became my pajamas a long time ago.

“You’re beautiful, I don’t get tired of saying that” he speaks, hoarse voice and body leaning on the door stop. “Please, cariño! Please let me show you how much I appreciate you, that I love you”

His voice comes out desperate and when he calls me cariño I can’t avoid the chill crossing my body. He realizes and takes the opportunity to get closer to me.

“Please” he whispers, kneels in front of me, brown eyes never breaking the contact, his hand is content to hold my ankle and kiss the area there. “Let me just be with you again, prove you, please I’m begging”

“Why did you do this to us?” I ask him, the same foot he holds I use to move his body away from mine.

“Because I couldn’t see you grow up and be like me,” he admits, “And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I know that words will never fix this but I want you to know that I will do everything for us”

I loosen the strength of my leg against him and let him get closer.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

“Don’t make me regret it” I murmur to him who doesn’t waste time, the big hands pull me by the waist and the mouth joins in mine. He is desperate and anxious after so much time away and provocation.

Carlos’ hands explore the sensitive skin under the t-shirt, the light touch of his fingers making me more anxious for him, pulling the black curls of his soft hair in the form of retribution. He takes the T-shirt off my body in a single movement when he separates the kiss, his hot mouth going down kisses around my neck, lap and letting himself play with my nipples, his teeth rubbing on the sensitive skin, he is still kneeling between my body, his hands holding my waist keeping me still with his grip, delivered to him.

“Carlos” I call his name, lust flowing from my voice.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of you” he murmurs, his mouth slipping through my body, one of his fingers caressing the already wet fabric of my panties and I hear him moan along with me when he realize that I’m already like this at his slightest touch.

I kiss him again, my hands firm on Carlos’ back probably leaving nail marks, he bites my lip and I moan, my panties going to the ground in a quick gesture coming from him, his right hand playing with the proximity of where I want him the most.

He separates the kiss, arrogant smile on his face before bending down to where I need him the most, leaving small kisses on the sensitive skin of my thigh and getting even closer, and when he arrives in my pussy I let myself lay my body on the bed, my breathing already heavy with the slightest touch. Carlos’ mouth explores my intimacy, my feet resting on his shoulders, one of his hands squeezing my chest while the other focused on provoking my entrance with his fingers, his tongue leaving me a mess crying out for him and after all this time I didn’t know if I was still prepared for all the pleasure that carlos could provide.

He devours me like a hungry man, making me squirm in the hotel bed, my hand trying to cover my mouth to stifle the unnecessary amount of moans coming out of it. Although Carlos had a provocative nature, today he had no patience for this, he wanted to catch up on lost time, leaving my high getting bigger and bigger, and the closer I get the more I move.

“I need you to stand still, mi reina” he murmurs, his head tilted up slightly, his mouth swollen, his thumb making slow and torturous circles on my clitoris. And all this vision makes me moan even more his name, he laughs and uses both hands to hold me against the bed, the strong squeeze in my ass. He continues his exploited, knowing that I wouldn’t last much longer that way, the way I pull more and more of his curls leaving him alert of how close I am.

He continues with slower movements even after realizing that I finally came, my head is in an eternal wheezing due to the pleasure I felt and when I open my eyes I slowly observe Carlos, now standing on the end of the bed watching the work he did, he licks his lip and then his fingers and only this action makes me squirm in bed.

“God how I missed you” he murmurs still standing.

“It was you who put yourself in this position” admirably I still have the strength to answer.

“I know, and I regret it every day” he puts one of his knees on the bed and leans over to my body, his hand caresses my disheveled hair “I will never be able to be grateful enough that you insisted on me”

I know that his words are true, I see in the back of his eyes the emotion this time, it is exciting at least to know that he is opening up to me again, to know that I can read his eyes as before and not the icy astonishment he stared at me in recent months. But, again, the memory of knowing that I didn’t put myself in this situation, that I wasn’t my husband’s first choice makes me nauseous. Then I pull him again for a kiss, more delicate this time, without all urgency and hurry, just showing each other’s devotion.

Not even after the four hallucinating orgasms and the most intense fuck I’ve ever had in one night, and after sleeping like a little angel, full of endorphins and in Carlos’ warm arms I wouldn’t be prepared for what would come next. Even after the morning sex, intimate and slow, full of caresses and whispers, declarations of love spread everywhere. I still wasn’t prepared for the weeding day.

I didn’t know I wasn’t prepared for the wedding ceremony, I didn’t know I would feel terrible at every step.

When I joined the bride for the preparations, and I looked at her, wondering if maybe the future that awaited her would be like mine, I wonder if I forgot some tradition during the wedding for it to have lasted so little, Carlos had never seen the wedding dress I wore, I wore a veil, I had a wreath on my head, I had my new piece, an old one borrowed and I had the blue too, I did all the right things and I still envy the innocence of the future Mrs. Saiz in front of me.

I laugh when they comment on how lucky I am, and how the men of the sainz family have the motto of being gentlemen and romantic and I imagine that mine certainly came with a factory problem.

The worst part is the ceremony, and my tears that I can no longer hold mix with those of the other guests who cry with emotion. I watch Carlos on the other side of the altar, next to the other godparents of the wedding, he smiles at me. He doesn’t understand the real reason I’m crying, his eyes seem nostalgic and maybe he’s remembering the day we got married, how he cried when he saw me at the altar, how my dress made me absolutely angelic as he repeated so many times on that special day, how we couldn’t help but smile with the realization that we were finally married.

My heart breaks with every word prophesied by the priest, with every vow I hear the bride and groom speak, with every good memory I had and was destroyed.

“I carlos oñoro sainz, receive you, Maria, as my legitimate wife. I promise to be faithful, love you and respect you. In joy and sadness, in health and disease, in wealth and poverty, for all the days of our lives. So receives this alliance as a sign of my love and my fidelity” the groom recites the vows, the most sacred laws of a marriage and I can only think of how they were all broken.

In how there was no fidelity, support and unity, in how Carlos and I managed to ruin everything, to break something so sacred.

I feel suffocated in the pink dress that matches that of the other bridesmaids, I clean the controlled tears that run down my face before I become a mess.

And it didn’t matter the way Carlos held my hand during the reception, or how he danced romantic songs with me and made slow and passionate love to me at the end of the night, I was already decided when I left that church.

I just didn’t imagine that it would be at a wedding that I would decide to end mine.

We are coming to an end 😭

I don’t know you were waiting for this or what your bets for how things will end but let me know, I love receiving your opinions and I can’t post nos because it may contain spoiler lol 😂

Thank you all ❤️❤️❤️

[ronance4everbrainrot]

Some moooore little incorrect quotes from Descendants! This is gonna be a long one, sorry not sorry.

(with ships)

Audrey: *kisses Uma*

Uma: !

Audrey: ...Did you steal my chapstick?

Uma: Did- did I what?

Audrey: My chapstick, Uma. Did you steal it?

Ben: Audrey, for the love of God, not this again.

Uma: I- No, I didn't steal your chapstick. We use the same chapstick.

Audrey: No, there is absolutely no way we use the same chapstick, because it was only sold on one Etsy shop two years ago and they discontinued it, and I loved it so much that I bought the last of their stock, and I keep it in my freezer so it doesn't go bad. It's been discontinued for three years. No one uses the same chapstick for three years. So unless you've been eating a whole fuck ton of something that's flavored like chocolate and popcorn, you absolutely stole my fucking chapstick.

Uma: Chocolate and popcorn?

Ben: Why do you think it got discontinued?

(WHY IS THERE NO YELLOW! I DON'T WANT TO MAKE BEN BLUE! I ALREADY HAVE SO MANY BLUE ONES! Also slay and wtf? What a great start)

---

Ben: Do you think I'm plastic?

Audrey: No.

Ben: Phew. Oka-

Audrey: Plastic, at least, has some use in life. You're not plastic.

(Damn. What did he do to yo-..oh.. right.. yeah. I've also decided to make him Orange because it's close to yellow)

---

Ben: War is heck!

(facts)

---

Chad, to Ben: If my dad doesn't say "I'm King of the world" within an hour on that boat, I will give you my next pay check.

Charming, within 5 minutes of getting on the boat: I'M KING OF THE WORLD!!!

(Absolutely. Canon)

---

Audrey: God, if only someone loved me…

Uma: *standing behind them with roses*

Ben: *holding box of chocolates*

Chad: *has balloons and a card*

Mal: *facepalms* This is sad.

(Me: *holding a big Teddy Bear* lol I had a crush on her only in the Third movie. Loved her Queen of Mean Era)

---

Chloe: So, what is Red to you?

Maddox: The reason I wake up every morning.

Chloe: ...That’s adorable.

Red earlier that morning, barging into Maddox's room, smacking pans together: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!!

(They've got this sibling bond)

---

Chloe: Are pigeons drones?

Chad: What? No, I'm trying to sleep.

Chloe: Think about it. How come you've never seen a baby pigeon? And why do you never actually see a pigeon nest? Because they're DRONES!

Chad: *Crying* Please let me sleep...

(Sibling sleepover. Also Chloe, your Mary Anne is showing)

---

Red: I intend to stay pissed at you forever.

Red: Even if I seem helpful.

Maddox: Then you're in luck.

Maddox: Because you don't.

(Canon)

---

Uma: Hello all, it is I, your favorite person.

Carlos: Actually, Jane is my favourite.

Uma: Okay then, it is I, that bitch.

(Yup and I love you. Carlos and Jane✨🫠)

---

Evie: I love making parties more interesting by telling strangers “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here.”

(Sweet and dangerous. Perfect.)

---

Uma: Evie said its my turn with the brain cell.

Mal: Square up.

(lol. Canon.)

---

Uma: What starts with F and ends with Uck?

Chad: No it doesn't.

Jane: Firetruck!

Mal: FUCK!

(Mal speaks my mind. Jane is smart and Chad got the spirit. He's not wrong tho.)

---

Jay: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer.

Carlos:

Jay:

Carlos: ...Please, go back to bed.

(Jay loves to annoy everyone. Mostly Mal.)

---

Carlos: I can do anything I put my mind to. I once figured out Jane's phone number just by choosing random numbers.

(..why didn't you just ask? But also impressive)

---

Chad: What's the scariest horror movie you've ever watched?

Chloe: IT.

Dizzy: Annabelle.

Maddox: Paranormal Activity.

Red: High School Musical. All throughout high school I was scared that everyone was gonna randomly get up and start singing and dancing, and I would be the only one who doesn't know the words.

(Honestly just did this because Kylie was in the HSMTMTS. Honestly. They do that in Auradon too. So watch out)

---

Red: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?!

Chloe: ...

Red: Oh, right. The lying.

(Has she ever lied to Chloe? I don't think so. But I find the quote funny)

---

Evie: A mouse!

Mal, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you.

Jay, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal!

Carlos, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy.

Gil, gasping: It's Ratatouille!

Harry: His name is Remi, dummy.

Evie: ...I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

(um.. yeah.. you know what-)

Chloe: A mouse!

Dizzy, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you.

Celia, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal!

Maddox, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy.

Chad, gasping: It's Ratatouille!

Red: His name is Remi, dummy.

Chloe: ...I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

(just some family time)

---

Chad: Sometimes I like to call people by the wrong name to show them I don’t care about them.

Red: That’s brilliant.

Chad: Thank you, Maddox.

(yeah)

---

Jay: Everyone has a toxic trait. Except Carlos, they’re perfect.

Carlos: Wrong! My toxic trait is how badly I want to domesticate a raccoon.

(Facts. He is perfect)

---

Red: Hold the fuck up.

Chloe: Excuse me?

Red: I said hold the fuck up.

Chloe:

Red: I’m the fuck up, hold me.

(Aww...canon.. I mean she's not a fuck up. Maybe in her mother's eyes. But aww)

---

Jay: You know, there’s something weird going on with your face?

Mal: What?

Jay: You’re smiling! I didn’t know you could do that?

(Because she and Evie finally got together. UwU)

---

Evie: How do you tell someone their breath stinks?

Jay: Hey, I'm bored, let's drink mouthwash.

(He definitely did that with his teammates)

---

Jay: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

Evie: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

(Oof. Do I want to know?)

---

(Little surprise from the past)

Charming: Care to give a free sample to a pretty person?

Ella, manning a bake sale and tired of their shit: Sure! You know one?

Charming:

Charming: Care to give a free sample to an ugly person?

(he's trying)

---

Brigdet: I have a question.

Ella: Shoot.

Bridget: Is the S or C in scent silent?

Hook: Fuck you, I’m going to be thinking about this all day.

Ella: Okay well, cent is pronounced the same way as scent so I’m gonna say the S is silent.

Bridget: Okay, but sent is also spelled the same way.

Hook: Google says that the C was added in the late seventeenth century, so I guess the S is silent.

Morgie: Plot twist, both the S and the C are silent and the E actually makes the sss sound.

Hook: Morgie is not allowed to talk anymore.

(Just them having a double date)

---

Bridget: Made you all playlists!

Bridget: Hades and Maleficent, yours have only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.

Bridget: Ella and Uliana, yours have sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.

Bridget: Charming, Morgie and Hook have the ABBA Gold album.

(she knows them well)

---

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker*

Ella: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Bridget: ...I did. I broke it.

Ella: No. No you didn't. Uliana?

Uliana: Don't look at me. Look at Morgie.

Morgie: What?! I didn't break it.

Uliana: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Morgie: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Uliana: Suspicious.

Morgie: No, it's not!

Hook: If it matters, probably not, but Maleficent was the last one to use it.

Maleficent: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Hook: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Maleficent: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, James!

Bridget: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Ella.

Ella: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

Hook: Ella... Hades has been awfully quiet.

Hades: rEALLY?!

*Everyone starts arguing*

Ella, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.

Ella: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

Ella:

Ella: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

(Damn Ella)

---

Bridget: It’s just that lollipop sticks last longer than the head, even if they’re less flavorful. I’m thinking of paper sticks, because you can peel off the layers with your teeth or leave it there until they fall off naturally, but plastic sticks can be chewed on too or left sticking out like a cigarette. Paper straws can be eaten layer by layer over time though, so they have the edge.

Morgie, bored: Can’t we just leave while they’re distracted?

Ella, genuinely interested: But what about wooden sticks?

Morgie: I hate you.

(No. It doesn't taste good and it's flaky? I don't like the paper ones. I like the plastic ones. Love to chew on them, tastes neutral ig idk. Wooden sticks tho. Taste great. And you can chew on them. But they break easily and you could get a splinter I think? But still Wooden wins for me. Plastic second and then paper)

---

Hope you liked it!

This was a bit longer.

Sorry not sorry.

Byeee.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [16] - First Step

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some meetings cause rumors.

Word Count: 2200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You didn’t say this enough, but your best friend was a goddamn genius.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful princess in the entire world?” you asked, carrying Alpine in your arms while she purred. “Hm? I think you are!”

Bucky was busy with the coffee maker as you walked into the open kitchen but he had heard you talk to Alpine so he grabbed a coffee cup.

“Coffee?”

“Yes please,” you said, extending your arms to hold Alpine up. Bucky poured coffee into a cup and turned around, but jerked his head back as soon as he came face to face with Alpine.

“Jesus Christ—”

 “Say good morning to my daughter.”

“I thought she was our daughter.”

“I’m a single mom who works two jobs.”

“Not one word of that is true.”

“No, it’s from—” You shook your head slightly. “Whatever. Say good morning!”

Alpine meowed at him as if demanding him to say good morning and Bucky chuckled, then scratched at her head.

“Good morning, little hellspawn.”

“How dare you, she’s an angel!” you said and put Alpine down so that she could go to her food bowl and Bucky handed you your coffee.

“Thanks,” you said and jumped to sit on the kitchen island, crossing your legs and Bucky leaned back to the counter, sipping his coffee.

“So,” he said. “Ready for today?”

You heaved a sigh and nodded your head. “Mm hm.”

“Nervous?”

“I’m never nervous,” you replied way too fast and Bucky shot you a look.

“Charm.”

“It’s just for other people to see,” you said. “It’s not like it’s a real meeting anyway. I’ll see Steve, have a coffee, learn what’s been happening on his territory the last couple of days and come back.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And you know Steve.”

“And I know Steve,” you repeated. “Uh huh.”

“I can go if you don’t feel ready—”

“No, I’m going,” you said. “I’m ready. It’s about time.”

Bucky took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat.

“Do you think your father will shoot me?”

You huffed out a laugh.

“That’s what’s on your mind?”

“Well I didn’t get much sleep last night thanks to you insisting that our little demon—”

“She’s the most precious princess in the world.”

“Yeah, her,” Bucky nodded in the direction of Alpine who was still happily eating her food. “Sleeping in the bed with us, so I’ve had some time to think.”

You waved a hand in the air. “Both of us have been shot at before, don’t act like it’d be something new for you.”

“That is not comforting at all, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He won’t shoot you,” you said. “It would fuck up the truce.”

“Not because I’m his son-in-law?”

“That too,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “But you know, he cares more about the business than he cares about me, so.”

Bucky let out a laugh, but raised his brows when he saw the look on your face.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” he asked and you scoffed.

“Come on,” you said. “He doesn’t trust me with his beloved business, it’s very obvious he likes Ian more than me—”

“Choosing someone as heir is very different than liking them,” Bucky said with a bitter smile. “Trust me, I would know.”

You tilted your head. “George loves you.”

“Oh, he really doesn’t,” he pointed out. “I assure you, he doesn’t. I had a boss growing up, not a father.”

You blinked a couple of times, your stomach doing an unpleasant flip.

“Bucky…”

“He adores Becca though,” Bucky said as if you two were just talking about the weather. “He would die for her, same as Arthur with you.”

“That’s not—have you been to therapy?”

He gave you a confused look. “Why would I go to therapy?”

“Maybe because you didn’t have the best childhood?” you asked and he waved a hand in the air.

“Nah, I don’t need therapy,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“See, I don’t think—”

“But my point is,” he cut you off. “your father has worked for that truce for years, deep down he knows Ian is not the right heir, but he is ready to let him take over and start a war if it means you’ll be away from the business.”

“It’s just to honor my mom,” you replied after a beat. “Has nothing to do with me. If anything, he likes her memory more than he likes me.”

“Either way, it doesn’t sound like he cares more about the truce, does he?” he asked. “I’d say he made his choice between you and the truce years ago. It honestly might be the only thing me and Arthur have in common.”

Your eyes snapped up to his. “How so?”

“Well,” he said, giving you a small smile. “I’d happily sit back and let the whole city catch fire if it meant you would be safe. Fuck the truce.”

You stared at him in silence and he winked at you, then put his cup on the counter.

“Good luck for today!” he called out as he made his way to the bedroom and you let out a breath, then turned your head to look at Alpine who jumped on the counter.

“We’re not falling for that,” you told her. “No we’re not.”

                                                         *

Even you had to admit that Bucky was pretty smart; an official meeting with Steve as the first step of you getting involved in the business made perfect sense. Not only would it show that you had allies, but also it would be a very relaxed, casual meeting for you and him both.

Knowing it was different than feeling it though, because nervousness was pounding through your system as you stepped out of the elevator, and followed his assistant to the waiting area just outside Steve’s office but as soon as you stepped in there, Ian’s head shot up.

“What the…” he said and you smiled at Ryan who was at the corner of the room, and took your seat across from Ian.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you said airily and Ian’s frown deepened.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have an appointment.”

“About what?” he asked like a demand and you arched a brow.

“Careful with your fucking tone,” you growled and he scoffed.

“What on earth do you have that would require a meeting with Rogers?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” you stated. “You don’t see me ask you the same question, do you?”

He gritted his teeth, glaring at you but before he could retort, Steve’s door opened and you both turned your heads.

“Hey, sorry for the mix up,” Steve said, leaning against the door frame. “Y/N, come in.”

“Excuse me?” Ian asked as you stood up. “Rogers, I’ve been waiting here for almost half an hour now.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “You know how hierarchy works, Ian.”

“Yeah and I’m here representing my uncle.”

“You don’t have a title yet,” Steve deadpanned, making you purse your lips to hold back your grin while Ryan raised his brows, looking between Steve and Ian. “She is a boss’s wife. Arthur will tell you the same thing, that’s just how the rules are. My hands are tied here. Y/N?”

“It was nice to see you, tell my father I said hi,” you told Ian and walked into Steve’s office before he closed the door. You turned to him with a smile, then took your seat across from his desk.

“So,” you said. “Was there really a mix up, or did you do it on purpose? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll buy you coffee if you did it on purpose.”

He let out a chuckle and took his seat behind his desk.

“As much as I love to piss him off, it really wasn’t on purpose,” he said. “I’ve been on this call with Chicago for over an hour now.”

Your head shot up. “Hm?”

“Yeah which is no use as Bucky and Sam keep telling me,” Steve said. “Chicago doesn’t do business with anyone. Especially this new guy Rhett, he recently took over, basically rules the whole city and—oh, you went to college in Chicago, right? Do you know him?”

You tried to control the smile threatening to pull at your lips, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Just slightly,” you lied through your teeth and Steve nodded his head.

“So yeah he’s definitely not interested,” he said. “I guess some things stay the same even when the king changes. I hoped he would be more open to it than his father, but…”

Well well…

Wasn’t this an interesting piece of information?

“Anyway,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “This is a briefing then?”

“Eh, more like catching up.”

“Will your father shoot me?”

“I swear, sometimes you and Bucky share one braincell,” you pointed out, making him laugh.

“Listen, it’s a valid concern,” he said. “I should know if I should double up the security around here.”

“He won’t, it’d fuck up the truce,” you said. “I mean don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely not going to be happy but…”

Steve hummed. “But it’s better than Ian being the heir.”

“I mean, Ian believes that he is the heir already,” you said. “And he’s not alone in that, many people believe that as well.”

That made him think for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders.

“You know how it goes in the business,” he said. “Half of the people who support him do that because they think there’s no alternative.”

“But there is."

“Exactly.”

You nibbled on your lip, then took a deep breath and leaned back in your seat to shoot him a smile.

“So,” you said. “Shall we?”

                                            *

Your meeting with Steve went very well, and by the time you left there, you were in a wonderful mood. Not even the sight of Ian when you left Steve’s office, so you decided to meet up with Becca and Leila as planned. Apparently Leila would be a bit late, so you and Becca went to your favorite brunch place while you waited for her and ordered drinks.

“So then things are good between you two?” you asked her as the waitress brought your mimosas and she nodded her head fervently.

“It’s amazing between us,” she said. “I mean I was worried she wouldn’t come to the wedding but once she did and we talked…”

“And the car chase?” you asked and she heaved a sigh.

“I mean, it did scare the hell out of her,” she said. “But it has nothing to do with me or our relationship, she says.”

“She’s a keeper.”

“She really is,” Becca said. “How about you and Buck? Did you two get used to being parents yet?”

You let out a laugh.

“We’re getting there,” you said. “Alpine is my little princess, I love her so much already.”

“See? I was right, as always,” Becca said with her nose up in the air while you sipped your drink.

“Yeah yeah…”

“Speaking of parents,” she said. “How pissed off will your dad be?”

“I mean I’m guessing Ian ran off to tell him all about today,” you said, checking your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. “I expect a phone call at the very least but I doubt it’ll just end there, he will want to talk to me face to face.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m meeting Ethan tomorrow, so probably no,” you said, making her raise her brows.

“Oh, has he stopped being so bitter about your marriage?”

You gave her a small smile.

“He was just surprised,” you said. “I get it.”

“You do realize you owe him nothing though?” she asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I know,” you said. “It’s just—things were kind of weird between us and I don’t like it.”

“Right,” she said, doubt laced in her tone. “So we’re both going to pretend he doesn’t have feelings for you then?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Even if he had feelings for me,” you said. “Nothing could happen between us. I don’t have time to waste on romance, I’m trying to take over a goddamn empire here.”

Becca clicked her tongue before sipping her drink and you licked your lips.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you said. “Before George announced he would retire and Bucky took over, while he was still the heir…What was it like?”

A shadow crossed Becca’s eyes and she huffed out a bitter laugh.

“He wasn’t exactly nice,” she said slowly, making you frown.

“Your dad?”

Becca gave you a sad smile.

“We used to joke about that,” she muttered. “I had a dad. My brother on the other hand had a boss most of the time.”

You blinked a couple of times but before you could ask anything else, Becca’s eyes found someone over your shoulder and a smile lit up her face, making you follow her line of sight.

“Hi there!” Leila said and gave her a kiss, then hugged you as you got up from your seat. “Sorry for being late!”

“No problem at all, we just sat down,” Becca assured her as you all took your seats and Leila turned to you.

“So how’s the honeymoon going?”

You smiled at her, trying to pull yourself together.

“Oh, you know,” you said, clearing your throat and motioning at the waiter. “Madly in love, that sort of thing. Drinks?”

Chapter 17

[hardlyinteresting]

Personal

Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room. 

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing. 

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault. 

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks. 

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response. 

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up. 

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five,  was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”. 

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate. 

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call. 

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile. 

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included. 

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more. 

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that. 

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more. 

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself. 

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”. 

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”. 

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see. 

 Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”.  Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”. 

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims. 

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators. 

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it. 

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her. 

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out. 

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat. 

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault. 

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks. 

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself. 

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright. 

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling. 

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”. 

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”. 

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?” 

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him.  “Anytime,” he swears. He means it. 

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints. 

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office. 

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders. 

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner. 

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask. 

“Yes,” he tells her simply. 

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

[barefoothighlander]

the vow - i

summary: you’re betrothed to the future king of Guilder and a fearsome knight is assigned to protect you. medieval au

knight!simon ‘ghost’ riley x princess!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), age gap, violence, arranged marriage, infidelity

next part masterlist

a/n: @/dinalgo on tiktok posted some hc art of knight!ghost and i’m obsessed, so here’s my interpretation of that except I refuse to write in old English, also points if you catch the references I threw in

The sun shines brightly through the large window, the breeze blowing the trees outside your room, for a small moment, the world is quiet, just the songs of morning birds chirping on the balcony fill your ears, there’s no noise, no worries. 

The moment is quickly ruined by the sound of your maids bustling into the room, arms full of clothing and various tools, you turn your gaze to them slowly,

“Princess, good morning”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, please use my name”

“The Prince requests that we refer to you by your title m’lady”

“Well we wouldn’t want to upset him would we” Your tone is sarcastic as you make your way over to the women, one of them fixes your bed while the other prepares a bath, setting out your clothes. You step into the warm water, soothing a rag over your muscles to clean yourself before one of the ladies takes over, dumping water over your head to wash your hair. You sit for a few minutes in the water, allowing them to work around you, 

“You’re quiet this morning”

“Mm not much on my mind I’m afraid”

“You’re not excited for the festivities?”

“The feast should be nice, I don’t care much for the rest”

“Don’t talk like that” The older woman scolds, Clarice had known you since birth tending to you as a young girl, always by your side while you grew up in court, more a mother to you than your actual mother. “The Prince is handsome, a worthy adversary”

“Yes handsome, but also rude, stubborn, cold, everything I despise”

“With time you will grow to love him”

“I surely doubt that” You scoff

She furrows her eyebrows at you, “There, now let's get you dressed”

She helps you out of the bath over to the other maid, Beatrice, you had known her for less time, her position assigned to you when you came to the court after your engagement was announced. Your Father was the king of Florin, and you as his only child had the unfortunate position of being in an arranged marriage to the Prince of Guilder, the Monarchs of the country being old and weary, their son was to be crowned before the year ended and he needed a wife. Your countries had been at war for years, the violence only ceasing when your engagement had been announced, you had been in Guilder for a week now, hold up in the castle away from the public eye, today was the day that your engagement would be formally announced, a festival for your sake being held on the castle ground, thousands of people crammed inside the grounds all trying to get a look at you and the Prince, the idea made your stomach turn.

Your early years had been spent wandering the grounds of your families castle, the tall stone walls becoming a home after the years you spent in them, you felt sick for your old life, your freedom, you could run around the gardens, ride the horses whenever you wanted back home, but here, every action of yours was watched, criticized, you were told how to look, where to be and when, every part of your life was in the control of the Prince and your Father, you hated it.

You had gotten dressed, your breaths feeling tight due to the corset you wore, another freedom you yearned for was being able to wear clothing of your choosing, now everything was blue and green, the colours of Guilder, always tight on your chest to emphasize your figure, your hair was done up in a knot, a few loose strands falling to tickle your neck and cheeks.

“Beautiful” Clarice says, a soft smile on her face

“I look like a peacock”

“You do not, you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman, my little princess” Her hand is soft on your cheek, you smile at the tender action, always finding comfort in her. “Now, we must go, you’re needed downstairs”

You struggle to take a deep breath, silently cursing the fabric binding your chest as you make your way through the wide halls, they were lined with various adornments, some tapestries, a few swords hung beside scattered candles, it felt cold here, no comfort in the walls, everything was jagged and silver.

“Now, the Prince will introduce you, then the jousting will begin”

“Is anyone from Florin going to be in the duels?”

“I’m not sure my dear, there’s plenty of men from across the countries”

You nod, looping your arms through hers as you walk side by side, you stand at the large opening that leads out to the balcony above the castle grounds, everything is decorated in the countries colours, it’s so formal, you feel like a stranger in your new home, everything so similar yet so different, you had no family here, no friends aside from Clarice, you give her a soft smile before unhooking your arm, waiting for the Prince to announce you before walking out.

You step out onto the balcony, the warm sun hitting your skin, there’s a symphony of clapping and whistling, you look down at hundreds of people, all staring back at you, you wave to them,

“Sit down” The Prince speaks, you turn to him, his face is stoic, there’s no softness in his features, you abide, sitting down in the tall chair next to him. They begin the jousts, two by two the men file out, setting up on their horses, the Prince turns to you with every new competitor, explaining who they were and where they were from, including his personal opinion on the men.

You see a tall man enter the field, his armour pure black, his horse the same, he’s larger than the rest of the competitors, his helmet shaped like a skull, his chest plate donning an emblem you didn’t recognize.

“Who’s that one”

The Prince leans over the balcony to get a better look, eyes squinting in an effort to make out the symbol,

“I’m not sure, must be some farmboy playing make belief”

You respond with a small oh, the knight approaches the balcony, his hand reaching to remove his helmet, the light hits his face, streaking colours through his blonde hair, you can make out a few scars on his face, even from your distance you can see the deep colour of his eyes, his face is firm staring up at you, you’re frozen in your spot, staring back at him, he raises his lance toward you, without thinking you reach behind you, grabbing a ring of flowers held together by a ribbon, and throwing it onto his lance, it falls to the base, the flowers close enough that he could smell their aroma, he says nothing, not even a nod, he simply puts his helmet back on and moves to mount his horse.

You step back, your eyes stuck on him as you return to your seat,

“What was that?”

“Sorry?”

“You gave him your favour”

“Thought the farmboy could use some luck against Ser Michael”

“Ah, yes” The Prince goes on to ramble about the accomplishments of the opponent, his success in battle, how much he admired his bravery, but you aren’t listening, your focus completely taken by the shadowy knight galloping toward the centre of the pit, his lance raised as he thrusts it into his opponent, throwing him off his horse. The crowd erupts in cheers, you swallow thickly as you watch him get off his horse, moving toward you, he kneels in front of you,

“Simon Riley your highness”

“Where do you hail from Ser?” The Prince stands, your eyes are focused on him as he bows his head

“The North, but I am no Ser”

“You’re not a knight? You wear the armour of a knight”

“The armour belonged to my father”

“And where is he, your father?”

“Dead 10 years ago your highness”

“And tell me, why have you come”

“I come to prove my honour, to serve you”

“Very well, you may go”

You watch a few more rounds of jousting, growing bored with the same thing happening, they announce the final duel before urging the groups to attend the feast, you make your way down from the balcony, towards the high tables in the gardens, your eyes roaming over the groups of people, struggling to find a familiar face in the crowd.

“So what did you think?” The Prince asks

“About what?”

“The jousting” He scoffs

“They were all quite good”

“What about that Simon Riley”

You whip your head towards him, “I thought little of him, why?”

“Well he was rather large don’t you think, I might add him to my guard”

“Add him to mine” You speak before thinking

“Why would I add him to yours”

“I have no guard, no one to protect me”

“Well, I’ll arrange for you to choose a guard tomorrow then, perhaps then you’ll finally feel at ease here”

You nod your head, turning quickly from him, you greet the King and Queen, making small conversation about the state of the castle, the blooming bouquets of blue poppies that adorned the various pillars, your eyes are drawn to Simon, his dark appearance a stark contrast to the brightly dressed patrons that mingle around the grounds, you watch him disappear around a corner, it’s not until the Queen calls your name that you realize you had been staring at him the whole time.

“Sorry your majesty, my brain has been a fuzz all week, what did you ask?”

“That’s alright dear, with all the excitement I can hardly focus myself, I was just wondering if you had decided on a dress for the wedding”

“Oh, not yet, you’ve brought so many beautiful options I haven’t been able to decide”

“I understand, we have the best dressmakers here, but do make time to choose, we wouldn't want to delay such an important decision”

“Of course”

She smiles at you, looping her arm through her husbands as they walk on, you stand there, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of everything happening around you, you had only a week until you were to be wed and you had every decision already made for you, your fiancee and his mother picking out every detail of the wedding down to what bouquet you’d be carrying, they had decided that you would hold a large grouping of the blue poppies you see everywhere, the royal flower of Guilder, no part of the wedding made notice of your heritage, all traces of Florin erased from the ceremony, you were to be wed according to Guilder law rather than the customs of your home.

They had arranged for your father to attend but no one else, claiming that there simply wasn’t space for extra people to join, they had cut you off from your old life completely, forcing you to conform to their way of life, moulding you into the perfect Queen, obedient and meek, you despised it, you longed for your freedom from the confines of the castle.

When the feast ended and you had spoken to all the nobility you needed to, you were escorted back to your quarters, the silence of the large stone walls consuming you once again, no birds singing, no rushing of maids, just you and the night sky. It was late, the dark consuming the outer land in a blanket of shadows as you stood on your balcony looking over the moonlit gardens, that was the only good thing about your new home, a perfect view of the perfect gardens, every shrub perfectly manicured, bending and winding in a maze that led to a small fountain in the centre, each flower a shade of green and blue. Truth be told you didn’t think much of the colours before moving but now, you despised them, every shade a sharp reminder of how you didn’t belong, the colours mocked you as they invaded your eyesight, you huffed a breath to yourself, eyeing the grounds below for any sign of guards. 

There was one roaming the grounds, you thought you could easily avoid detection if you were quick, you grab your robe wrapping yourself in it, a small attempt to keep yourself warm from the cool air of the night as you creep towards your door. They were heavy, large slabs of wood, you open in slowly to avoid any creaks, slipping through the opening and rushing down the hallway, there was a small door meant for staff that you entered, making your way down the thin stairs and peering through the door outside, the guard has his back turned, you inch the door open and slide through, quickly moving towards the gardens. You walk under a large arch of shrubs, the smell of the flowers invading your senses, bushes of wolfsbane, oleander and wisteria fill the gardens, all beautiful but deadly, a worthy metaphor for your new home, you roam the isles of the garden, lost in the hidden openings and similar corners.

After a few minutes, you find yourself in the middle, a tall fountain in front of you, it’s stunning, the intricate details of the stone swirling as the water crashes into the pool, you sit in the grass, listening to the sound, letting it relax you, finally a break from the quiet that wasn’t the screaming of citizens, or the demeaning words of your future mother-in-law. You close your eyes, the grass tickles your skin as you relax, breathing in the fresh air, you hear a small rustle in the grass, breaking you from your state, you turn your ear to the noise, calling out quietly to see if anyone was there. There was no reason for anyone to be in the gardens at this hour, in fact, the Prince practically forbade it, you stand slowly, following the rustling noise, peeking around a corner you see a quick movement turning the corner, moving faster you approach it, your heartbeat heavy as you near, you turn to find the culprit and let out a small gasp, a small white rabbit was sat, chewing on some shrubs, you kneel down extending your hand towards it.

“Come here little guy, these gardens aren’t safe for you” It hops toward you, nearly touching your hand before it turns on its heel and sprints away, you furrow your brows in confusion,

“They aren’t safe for you either Princess”

Your breath stops, you feel the looming figure behind you as you slowly stand, you heartbeat now thrumming in your ears, you turn to face him, he almost melts into the darkness of the garden, his armour pitch black,

“You should get back inside”

Goosebumps cover your skin, your breaths shallow as you stare at him, you back up slowly, turning around to move through the gardens, you turn around the corners, trying to find your way out, your feet carry you through the grass, you follow the lights inside the windows, trying to get out. You rush towards the exit, eyes focused on the light as you collide with the guard, stumbling into him,

“I’m sorry”

“Princess? What are you doing outside?”

“I just needed some air” Your breathes are shaky as he scans your face,

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, completely, just need to go back inside I think the air was a little too cold”

“Well hurry in then” He nods, stepping aside to let you pass, you move past him hastily, opening the doors inside you make your way back up the stairs, you enter your room and release a breath, rushing towards your balcony to try and catch a glimpse of him. Your eyes scan the gardens, the night doing its job of concealing anything within the green walls, you see nothing, no movement anywhere, it's like he wasn’t even there, you think you imagined him, his deep voice ringing in your ears as you lay in your bed.

The next morning was calm, you woke early to the sound of your maids making their way inside, Clarice helping you dress and doing your hair while Beatrice makes your bed, tidying the room.

“Exciting day today” Clarice says

“What do you mean?”

“The Prince has arranged for you to pick a guard, I suppose he fears a possible war and wants you safe”

You nod at her, “I don’t believe the Prince fears for my safety as much as you do” you whisper, she shushes you, her eyes darting to Beatrice to make sure she didn’t hear, “Bite your tongue child”. You let out a small giggle, amused by how concerned she is, allowing her to finish your hair before you make your way to the throne room, you enter through the massive doors to a room of scattered men, all donning their house armour, you look around and see no sight of the dark knight. You stand atop the small set of stairs, looking down at the men as they announce themselves one by one, giving you their names and listing all their accomplishments, victories in battle, how they were undefeated in jousting in their home. You’re bored after an hour of their bragging, your mind oblivious to the fact that you have to choose one of them to be around you for hours at a time, an older man stands to speak but is interrupted by the sound of the doors opening, everyone turns their heads at the sound, their eyes widening at the sight of the tall man clad in black, he keeps his helmet on as he enters, only removing it to kneel before you.

“Simon Riley m’lady”

“Not Ser?”

“I beg your pardon”

“Everyone else here is a knight, why are you not?”

“I’m the last remaining member of my house m’lady, we’re a forgotten house”

“I expect my guard to be knighted”

“I may not hold a title Princess, but I assure you I would lay my life down for you” He turns his head to look at you as he speaks, and you release a strained breath,

“You may all leave” You address the room, Simon stands, “You stay” You look to him and he nods, the room is consumed in silence as the other men exit, leaving you alone with him, “Why were you in the gardens last night?”

“I needed to clear my head”

“It’s forbidden to be on castle grounds after dark”

“And yet you were there” He looks up to you, you swallow a thick gulp.

“You’ll be assigned to me, keep me safe”

“Thank you, Princess” He bows his head, 

“And don’t wear your helmet inside, it’s unnerving”

He fights the smile that creeps up on his lips as you turn away from him, exiting through the back of the room, you make your way to the Prince's quarters, his guards stand outside the door.

“Princess” They greet you

“Hello, I need to speak to the Prince”

They look to each other and back to you, “He’s busy I’m afraid”

“It’s a matter of staff” You try to push past them but they stop you, you furrow your brow at them, one takes a moment, knocking on the door.

“My Prince, the Princess wishes to speak with you” He shouts through the door, you hear shuffling through the door, the Prince mumbling something before he steps to the door, opening it, he’s half-dressed, his hair a mess, you watch him peer backwards, mouthing something and it all clicks in your head, you feel your chest tighten.

“What did you need my love” The name feels like a stab to your chest,

“I’ve chosen my guard, Simon”

“Simon?”

“The black knight from the feast” You watch the gears spin in his mind

“Yes very well” He turns away,

“He needs to be knighted”

He sighs, “He holds no title?”

“Not yet no”

“Fine, inform him that he should be in the throne room by nightfall, I shall do it then”

Before you can respond he closes the door, the shuffling and giggles behind the door resuming, you spare a polite smile to the guards, turning away and making your way to your quarters.

You sit at the small table in your room, your eyes watching through the window as people wander the grounds, you call for Clarice who meets your side in an instant,

“Please inform my guard he is to be in the throne room after dinner”

“Very well Princess” She smiles at you before leaving, you sit quietly in your room, daydreaming about being outside in the fields, exploring the ponds around the castle grounds, being anywhere but here. The time passes quickly, a servant knocks on your door to inform you that dinner was prepared, you make your way down to the dining hall, the air of the room feeling colder as you sit down, dinners were the same, just you, the Prince and the Queen, the King being in poor health was kept in his room, only brought out for special occasions. You sit and eat, picking at the meal in front of you as the two of them discuss wedding preparations like you aren’t there, they don’t ask for your input, deciding on things alone, after a few minutes you stand to excuse yourself,

“You’re done eating?”

You stop in your tracks, “Not particularly hungry this evening”

“Well, I should see you in a few moments in the throne room then,” He says, turning back to his conversation, disregarding you.

You make your way to the large room, the walls high, large windows separating the spaces in them, you stare at the ceiling, it’s ridiculously tall, with large chandeliers hanging from the crossing beams, there are pictures hanging on the wall, you stride past them not bothering to spare them a glance as you hear the doors open, The Prince walks in beside his own guard, Simon trailing behind them, your gaze softens as you look at him, he kneels in front of the Prince, removing his helmet, you’re close enough now that you can properly make out his features, the sharp line of his jaw, the scar that crosses through his eyebrow, and his eyes, dark and rich, his hair falling slightly across his forehead as he bows his head. The Prince declares a few words, taking a sword from his guard and tapping it onto Simon's shoulders, the knight stands to his height, he towers over the Prince, having to look down to meet his eyes, he swears a few words, giving his oath to the Prince before everything is settled. The Prince nods, stepping away and leaving the room, Simon turns to you,

“Ser Simon” You nod

“Princess”

You stand there looking at him, words unable to make their way from your lips, you simply turn and leave, his eyes following you as you exit making your way up to your room, he trails behind you, his helmet under his arm as you reach your door, he stands with his back to the wall, his eyes focusing around the halls as you enter your room. You step in and close the door, your back falling against the hard wood as you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bracing yourself against the door, you take a few seconds to gather your thoughts before moving further into the room, stripping yourself of your dress to put on more comfortable clothes, feeling like you could properly inhale without the burden of a corset.

You spend an hour alone in your room, pacing around trying to occupy your mind, the pale walls doing little to aid your efforts, you think to yourself for a minute, your legs carry you across the rooms towards your door where you stand for a moment, collecting yourself before opening it,

“Princess, is there a problem?” He asks

You shake your head, you’re entranced by his gaze, “Where is your family Ser?”

“My family?”

“You come here holding no title, no accomplishments, who are you?”

“I’m no one”

“Nobody is no one”

He smiles slightly, his eyes crinkling, “I come from England Princess, my family owned a farm before the war, and now I am here”

“And your family, what of them”

“Dead m’lady”

Your face drops, your heart thumps with empathy, “I apologize for my words, I had no idea”

“How could you have”

“Yes well, how did you come to be in the country?”

“I’m not sure, I left home one day and just kept going until I arrived in the countryside”

“And you chose to stay here?”

“It’s beautiful here”

“It seems that way”

“Seems?”

You stumble over your own words, careful to not give yourself away, “I simply mean it’s not my home”

“You’re not from here”

“No, I come from Florin”

“I have never been”

“Well I hope you get to see it one day, it’s beautiful, tall cliffs with waterfalls, every part of it breathtaking”

He watches you speak with deep interest, hanging on to every word that falls from your lips, “You miss it?”

“More and more every day” You admit

“And you can’t go home”

“Not if I am to be Queen” Your smile fades

He nods, you turn your gaze to him, oblivious to the fact that he’s been staring at you the entire time, his eyes memorizing every feature of your face, every smile line and ridge, you turn from him quickly, nervous under his stare.

“It’s late Princess, you should be in bed”

You turn back to him, a polite smile on your face as you walk back into your room, your hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment, wishing you could keep talking to him. You lay in your bed wide awake, the words exchanged with Simon the first conversation you’d had that didn’t concern the details of your marriage, he was the first person to ask about your feelings, your home, you figured he must’ve just been being polite, too nervous about getting sent away to say anything different to you.

Simon stands guard over your room while you sleep, turning away any guard who tried to take his position, intent on ensuring your safety within the confines of your room.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field II

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows. also someone dies (but its not too graphic), mentions of blood and violence you guys get the vibes.

masterlists // nav // requests

join my taglist here

a/n: embarrassed to say this is grabbing me by the cuff of my shirt and yanking me out of writer's block sorry to everyone who followed for drew's characters lmao. anyway idek if any of this is any good but as long as i'm writing something i'm pleased.

next part

Coriolanus clenched his jaw as he watched you eat from the plate of fruit your maid brought up after you called for tea, hoping that somehow you would just miss the sound of his stomach growling. He had said no, but you insisted because you were hungry. You don't even know what hungry feels like- he's already regretting letting you help him.

"So," You start, covering your mouth as you finish chewing so you could get down to strategy. If you were going to help, you had to go at this wisely. "What is your plan? Lay it out for me. I'll give you my thoughts."

"I talked to Tigris, she agreed that I need to get Lucy Gray to trust me." He tells you. "She said she would want someone here to care about her. That will have to be me."

"Okay." You nod, reaching for another slice of apple on the plate, trying to ignore the way his eyes track the fruit all the way from your plate to your lips. "So, I'm doing a more behind-the-scenes thing. I think that's better, for us and her. I don't want her to be overwhelmed."

"Yeah." Coryo agrees, staring at you. At this point, it's driving you crazy.

"Coryo." You state, pushing the dish across the coffee table in his direction. "Eat. Please."

"No, I couldn't." He tries to politely decline and you raise an eyebrow at him.

"I insist. It was made for two, I can't possibly stomach it all. It would be a shame for it to go to waste." You had laid your cards out just minutes earlier, making it clear you both knew more about each other's home lives than you cared to discuss, but that didn't mean you would torture him with it.

He hesitates before grabbing a slice and taking a few bites, looking past you and out the window. He wouldn't want it to go to waste like you said, after all.

"I won't tell anyone, you know." You say, your tone walking a line between joking and being serious. He'll interpret that in whatever way he chooses, and you're okay with that.

"I should be going, actually." He says, dropping the other half of the apple slice back onto the dish and standing up, smoothing the creases in his slacks.

You stand up as well, making your way to the door and ringing the bell that summons your maid. "I'll walk you out, just give me a second." You explain to him, and by the time you're done your sentence, she is there looking at you expectantly. "Take these leftovers and pack them up for my friend." You tell her, pointing to the mostly full plate. "And pack some of those pastries you made for his family as well, if you don't mind. Oh! And that bread, it will go bad soon if someone doesn't eat it." She just nods silently as you speak, walking past you to take the plate before leaving.

"Thank you." Coriolanus mutters through gritted teeth once your maid is out of earshot.

"Like I said," You smile. "I don't want it to go to waste."

The morning the tributes arrived, Coriolanus was late to class. He had never been late to class, not once, and you would know- because you hadn't either. Not that you were worried, but it was almost the only thing you could think about. It was odd, but he must have gone to greet Lucy Gray. That would be the only thing that made sense.

"Your little excursion is in violation of about five Academy rules, Mister Snow." Dean Highbottom says as the blonde boy walks in, uniform disheveled as he finds his seat across the room from you.

You make eye contact only briefly with him as the Dean goes on about how endangering the life of a student is against the rules, and your friend would be accumulating a demerit over the whole thing.

From what you can gather, he did go see Lucy Gray, which went farther than he intended when he ended up escorting her all the way into the monkey cage at the zoo. To you, that was comically appropriate. To Sejanus, it was a crime. Of course it was, his heart never left District Two. As much as you had your differences, Sejanus was a kind boy. You did like him, only after you got it through your mind that if you were to leave the Capitol, you would always be Capitol at heart. You're pulling on a loose string on the hem of your uniform sleeve, more, more, until you've almost undone the whole length of your wrist. When the thread breaks you want to hit something, for little to no reason, and you bite into your bottom lip.

You don't even know why you're so mad. You have a short fuse and you know that, maybe it's about Coryo. Maybe it's about your sleeve that's now slightly longer on one side.

You're drawn from your thoughts as Clemensia stands up from her seat next to Coryo, addressing Dr. Gaul who, as far as you know, had only been in the room for a minute or so. "Coriolanus and I do all our assignments together, I think it would be fitting for us to write up the proposal together too. I have some good ideas for things to be incorporated into the games along with betting." Your eyes roll so hard at this that it makes your head ache.

"I brought her a rose from Grandma'am's garden and she ate it. She needs food." Coryo tells you, walking alongside you down the hall.

"I'll get something together for her. Would you like to come with me to pick it up and then we can go to the zoo?" You ask, adjusting your shoulder bag as he holds the front door open for you.

"Okay. Are you sure you should come?"

"If you would like me to." You shrug, leading him in the direction of your parent's town car.

He thinks on it for a moment. Does he want you to meet Lucy Gray? You were technically also her mentor, even if you were taking a backseat. It struck him again, harder somehow, when he met her in person how similar she was to you. Besides the distinct accent, every word that came out of her mouth sounded as though it could have been written in a script by you. If you were district, that is. It was hard to wrap his mind around.

"I would." He finally answers, more so on impulse than resulting from his thought process.

You smile, linking your arm around his as you approach the vehicle.

"Then we can drop you at Clem's. if you'd like." You offer bitterly and he just gives a curt nod in response.

After getting your maid to pack some food for Lucy Gray with some extra for the two of you, assuming you would be gone for the evening, you got a ride to the zoo. The atmosphere was exciting, with people and children crowding the bars- this time including a few of your classmates. Sejanus, which you had expected, and Arachne- no doubt there to get attention.

"Lucy Gray!" Coryo called out, summoning the girl toward the two of you as you approached the bars marking the edge of the enclosure.

"Well hello, Coriolanus. You brought a friend, care to introduce us?" She smiles, looking between the two of you. Admittedly, you admire her poise, given the situation. Politeness in front of the cameras was a must- she's doing an exemplary job in humanizing herself.

"Lucy Gray, this is my friend Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, meet Lucy Gray." He nods between the two of you and you reach through the bars to shake her hand.

"Hello. Pleasure to meet you." You smile at her, which she returns.

"You as well." She nods, clearly impressed as she looks between you and Coryo. You had decided back at your home to not introduce yourself as another mentor, just as a friend, after gushing the reaction to the other tributes thinking Lucy Gray was getting special treatment this morning when her mentor was the only one to show up. "Coriolanus, is Miss Y/L/N here your sweetheart?"

His face flushes red as he shakes his head, refusing to look at you. You laugh, not noticing his change in undertone as you answer for him. "No, no. Just a friend." You explain, digging in your bag for her food, wanting to quickly change the subject. "We brought you this." You hold out the napkin for her, containing a sandwich, a couple of desserts, and some plums.

"Oh wow, thank you!" Lucy Gray smiles, accepting it gratefully. "Hey, Jessup! Come eat." She calls out to the other tribute from her district, who you remember was assigned to Lysistrata Vickers.

He comes over, but doesn't acknowledge either of you as Lucy Gray holds out one of the dessert bars to him. "I'm not hungry."

"It won't do you any good to starve now. You need your energy." Lucy Gray insists, practically shoving it into his hand.

"I hope you like blueberry." You cut in. "It's a blueberry biscuit with pistachio filling. Made fresh this morning- I promise it's good."

He doesn't say anything, taking it and retreating to the rock he was previously sitting on to eat.

"Will you be sharing everything with him?" Coryo asks her quietly as he walks away.

"Why? So I can keep my energy up enough to strangle him? I don't think that will matter much in a few days."

"You can't trust anyone once the games start, so why trust them now?" You reply quietly, scanning over the other tributes, eyes landing on Arachne taunting her tribute. Of course she would- her arrogance never fails to impress you.

"Your friend over there seems just lovely." Lucy Gray says sarcastically, eyes following yours as you watch your classmate.

"Not our friend." You and Coryo respond at the same time.

"She's poison with perfect teeth." He continues and you nod.

"One thing I learned in twelve is that hunger is a weapon." Lucy Gray says. You're not sure what she means, but you nod anyway.

"Here, let's sit." You suggest, changing the subject as you crouch down to lay out a cloth on the ground to place the food on.

As you're laying it out carefully between the bars for Lucy Gray, you can feel Coryo's eyes burning into the backs of your hands. Lucy Gray notices this too, handing him a cookie from the pile.

"No, I couldn't." His default response. "You need it more than me."

"You were staring. Here, we'll share." She insists and he takes it gratefully, breaking off a piece and placing it in his mouth.

"Here..." You mumble, digging through your bag again and pulling out the glass container designated for his dinner. You place it in his lap, not giving him the chance to turn it down. "Packed it just for you."

He takes it off his lap, tensely getting up. "I'll be back in a moment." He tells you both, red uniform disappearing behind the small crowd.

"You can see it too?" Lucy Gray asks you, nibbling on half of a sandwich.

You nod slightly, eyes still trying to track him to see where he went, then landing on him talking to Sejanus who's desperately trying to get his tribute, Marcus, to eat some of the food he brought.

"He's quite sensitive about it." You explain. "I appreciate you being kind to him. No one else knows... I think. Regardless, you are very important to him."

She nods a little bit, watching you watch your friend. "Are you just buttering me up?" She jokes and you shake your head, returning your attention to the girl across from you.

"No, I mean it. It's more than the prize for us." You state. "Him." You quickly correct yourself. "I just want to help however I can, if you need anything else just ask, but I'll bring food every day. Or I'll send it with Coryo."

"Coryo, huh?"

"Well, yes. We've been friends for years."

"I see." Lucy Gray nods, both of you watching him make his way back over. You lift up his container of food and hand it to him before he even has the chance to sit down.

"What about you, Lucy Gray? Any friends back home? Family?" You ask, looking away from him as he sits. You want him to eat, but you know he would loathe you for watching, so you direct all your attention to her.

"I'm an orphan, just like Coryo here." She nods to him and his brows furrow at the nickname coming from someone new. "It's just me and the Covey."

"Covey?" You ask.

"Yeah, they're my family and we perform together. It's how we make our change."

"Well, you are a very talented singer. Jaws were on the floor in the Capitol during your performance." You smile. 

"I'm not one to go quietly, that's all."

"I'm not either." You agree. "I think we'll be fine friends."

Just at that moment, the three of you hear a scream that has you turning your heads as fast as lightning over to the source, catching the end of Arachne getting her throat slit by her tribute. You and Coriolanus are on your feet in seconds, running over to try and help her just as gunfire rings out, taking down her tribute for the crime of her murder.

You pull off your blazer, both you and Coryo using it to try and stop the bleeding, but you could tell it was no use. By the time you look up, the crowd of spectators was completely gone having rushed for the exits during the attack.

Just as you both realize it's no use, and that she's already dead, you're being pulled away by peacekeepers.

"Hey! Let me go right this second!" You shout, trying to pull away.

"You kids have to get out of here." One of them answers blankly.

"I have to get my stuff!" You complain, trying to wiggle out of their strong grip. "You want me to leave my knife over within reach too? Are you stupid?"

They stop, sighing as they let you go. "Thank you." You huff, readjusting your shirt before walking back over to where you were just sitting with Lucy Gray, quickly gathering your things but leaving food for her.

"Lucy Gray, are you alright?" You ask, seeing her lying on the ground a few feet away from the bars now, just getting up.

She just nods, the fear in her eyes starting to cease. 

"You're not shot?" You follow up with, looking over her at the same time she does.

"No, I'm fine. You go." She replies, standing up again and dusting off her dress.

"Thank god. Those idiots are awful shots!" You bite, looking back at the peacekeepers over your shoulder, Coriolanus now nowhere to be seen.

You stand up and pull your bag across your body, walking past them toward the exit as they attempt to guide you in the right direction. "Don't touch me!" You hiss, smacking their hands away.

"Coryo!" You call out, running to catch up with him in the academy hall the next morning. He slows down, glancing over his shoulder and stopping to wait for you.

"Y/N." He states, looking at you expectantly. 

"Shall we go see Lucy Gray today?" You ask, reaching up to tighten your ponytail that had come loose in your jog.

"No." He shakes his head, continuing to walk and you follow after him. 

"What? Why not? She needs us to bring her food, and we have to-"

"I'll discuss the games with her at the planned meeting this afternoon. You won't be going back to the zoo."

"Excuse me?" You ask, grabbing his arm to stop him in his tracks. "I know I'm like, your assistant, or whatever, but you will not tell me what I can and cannot do."

"It's too dangerous. They are dangerous." Coriolanus argues. "I won't have you ending up like Arachne."

He had been up all night writing his proposal for Dr. Gaul. It was the only thing that could get his mind off the death of his classmate, and off of you. What if it had been you? He should have known it was dangerous, it was his fault. It was his idea that the mentors get closer to the tributes and someone was killed. Arachne's blood was on his hands, and he was just relieved that it wasn't yours staining his uniform instead.

"No. No, she died because she was stupid." You whisper, looking around. "She taunted her tribute and handed her a knife, at that point it's natural selection. I am not her. I am smarter."

He stares down at you, scanning over your features as you beg him to let you continue to help. "You need me, Coriolanus. Admit that much to yourself."

"I don't need you," He spits back. "But I like you much better alive. You are the one person in this school I can stand, I won't lose you over something so reckless." He pulls his arm from your grasp and walks off.

You look around, seeing your classmates staring and you roll your eyes. "Take a picture or something." You say to no one in particular, prompting people to avert their eyes.

taglist: @keziahcore, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @babyspice3, @babyspice6, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore

if your name has a strike-through, that means i was unable to tag you so please double check your user is correct!

fill out my form linked here to join my taglist!

[dilf-lover99]

6:52 | B.L. / S.M.

Pairings: Billy Loomis x Female Reader, Stu Macher x Female Reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of an FBI profiler and childhood best friends with Billy and Stu. When a killer starts terrorizing her friends she has to choose between following her head or her heart.

Warnings: death, blood, stabbing, violence, swearing, manipulation, kissing, major character death (deviation from cannon), mommy issues, reader is smart but a little naive, ending is open to interpretation

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: happy halloween !! i know it's been a while but hopefully this long ass story makes up for it. please don't cancel me for this, i'm not immune to the charm of a 25 year old slasher film. let me know what you think !

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds.

According to some remarkably arbitrary article you skimmed through in a mediocre issue of Teen Beat, it takes the average person six minutes and fifty-two seconds to determine which movie they’re going to watch.

In six minutes and fifty-two seconds you can brew half a pot of particularly unpalatable coffee in your kitchen. You can listen to your favourite Jeff Buckley song with eight seconds to spare, or drain a teeming glass of water.

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds is also the precise duration of time in which you’ve managed to evade the knife-wielding psychopath who’s killing your friends for sport.

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds.

Now here you stand in Stu Macher’s kitchen, explicitly parallel to the masked executioner, dread trickling deliberately throughout your body, dancing delicately up the incurvation of your spine.

Panic and confusion mingle together earnestly inside as you notice the killer stop before you, scarcely within arm’s reach. He tilts his disguised head at you slowly, almost as though he’s confounded that an armed maniac has been chasing you around the Macher house for the last few minutes.

“Hey...” He murmurs with a strangely familiar resonance, “I’m not gonna hurt ‘ya, Doll.”

Your expeditious breathing slows to a halt. Your face, previously adorned in confusion, is now painted with discouragement as you place who the voice belongs to.

No, you didn’t want to be right. Not this time.

A second unmasked figure appears behind him, holding a horrified and misty-eyed Sydney Prescott in his gangly arms.

“Well,” he draws out with a blinding smile, voice dripping with lunacy, “How do ya like our big reveal, Sunshine?”

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds, you think to yourself indignantly, what a fucking joke.

You were decidedly not a morning person.

This is your first thought, a routinely reoccurring thought at that, as you move to swiftly silence the shrill reverberations of your alarm clock. There’s a distinct lack of routine to your mornings, though you consider it a win in itself being awake before school starts.

You gradually make your way downstairs, adorning an oversized Fresh Prince of Bel-Air t-shirt and the first clean pair of jeans you see, offhandedly reminding yourself to do your laundry.

The house is forebodingly silent, you should’ve long since become accustomed to that. Still you can’t help the acrimonious look you aim toward the note sitting on your kitchen counter, rereading it for the umpteenth time before grabbing yourself some breakfast.

Had to leave town for a case, left you some money for food. Call you when I can - Love Dad

At least he left a note this time you think to yourself despondently. 

You don’t blame him for not sticking around, god knows your mom couldn’t either. But at least when she left it was for good. She didn’t resurface every few weeks and pretend to know what was going on in your life, vowing to be more present if given the chance, only to leave the next time a murder happened in some backwater town five thousand miles away from the daughter she swore to stick around for. No, that was all your dad.

You used to admire him, ironically enough. Solving murders and catching the bad guys, he used to be your hero. You and your mom used to allocate hours each day waiting zealously by the phone to hear of his adventures. In the course of time your mom got tired of waiting for your dad to call, eventually she just got tired of him in general. She got tired of you in general.

You never faulted your dad for her desertion, how could you? She left him too. Though you did follow her lead in straying from your perch aside the phone. These days it never rang anyhow.

The sharp honking of a car horn redirects your attention from your melancholic reverie, you grab your bag and set the home alarm before locking the door behind you, grateful for the excuse to be anywhere but your empty house.

“Well don’t you look like a ray of sunshine this morning?” Stu’s voice sounds from the passenger seat of Billy’s car as you smoothly slide into the back.

“What’s ‘a matter? You’re not all freaked about the killer are you?” He questions, turning his lanky body around in the seat so that he’s facing you, his wide dopey grin now on full display.

Right, the killer.

It’s the only story currently circulating on the Woodsboro news, plastered on the cover of every tabloid, not to mention it’s virtually the only thing your friends seem to talk about since it happened.

Casey Becker and her boyfriend Steve Orth were brutally murdered, their remains remorselessly strung up like Christmas ornaments. It should have made you sick to your stomach. But after all the gory photos you’d seen hanging on the cork board in your dad’s office, you couldn’t help the twisted tinge of curiosity that swirled about in your brain. Who did this? Your FBI profiler dad, who specializes in capturing people that commit violent crimes, sure picked a great time to be out of state for work.

“No, but I’m super glad that you always find a way to bring it up. Very well adjusted of you.” You retort with a gentle smile, as you buckle your seatbelt, instantly feeling better at the mere sight of your two best friends.

“Ah, come on. You know we’d never let anything happen t’you. Right, Billy?” He nudges his elbow at Billy, awaiting his agreeance.

“Course not.” Billy states, his voice is gentle but his tone is stern, and you don’t miss the indicative look he flashes Stu. What’s all that about?

“O..kay then.” You make it a point to remember that look. It’s peculiarly akin to the look he gave Stu at the fountain the other morning.

“I didn’t kill anybody” Stu abruptly defended.

“No one’s saying you did.” Billy shot Stu an ominous look of warning. 

What the hell are those two idiots hiding? 

“My knights in shining armour, truly. However could I repay you?” You deadpan sarcastically, coming to the conclusion that there is definitely something going on. You’re always right about these things. Whatever it is, you’re going to figure it out eventually.

You’ve known Billy and Stu since elementary school, they can’t hide things from you. At least Stu can’t. His facade will shatter like glass if you look up at him with big eyes and an amiable smile. Billy on the other hand, had spent copious amounts of time with you sifting through your father’s research when you were kids, which gave him the invaluable knowledge of how to get away with lying. That and his prodigious poker face.

“Well- And I’m so glad you asked, there’s actually a super easy way to do that. Wouldn’t take too long either-” You don’t even need to look at Stu to know this is another one of his empty-headed innuendos for sex.

“Wouldn’t take too long is right. At least that’s what Tate told me. You might wanna work on that.” You tease, gently squeezing his arm in mock sympathy.

Billy lets out a modest chuckle of approval at your childish rebuttal, sending you a wink in the rear-view mirror when he catches your smile growing at the sound.

You try to ignore the hastening uptick of your pulse at the simple action. He has a girlfriend, you remind yourself remorsefully, he’s your best friend and that’s all.

“Oh really? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that, won’t we?” Stu’s resplendent crystal eyes hold an edge of irritation, but before you can discern the connotation of it, they’re overtaken by the playful mischief you’re certain is a permanent fixture in them.

“Speaking of this whole killer business,” You swiftly steer the subject back, aware of your best friends’ infatuation with the topic, “How’s Sid holding up?”

Of all your friends, the killings had the strongest emotional impact on Sidney. When taken into account that the same thing happened to her mom almost exactly a year ago, it’s something of a wonder that she’s showing up to school at all.

Though Cotton Weary was tried and convicted for the murder of Sidney’s mother, you and your dad always shared a covert belief that somebody else was to blame. When you combed through the evidence, albeit evidence you weren’t legally allowed to see, something felt off about it all. Your dad agreed, stating as much to the local police who were less than receptive of his findings. In essence, they told him to fuck off, that they’d closed the case without the help of the FBI.

You never wavered on your belief that the true perpetrator escaped undetected, and now with the same m.o. being used to kill Casey and Steve, you’re adamant that these cases are connected. Of course you’ve kept this ideology to yourself, not wishing to dredge up any more pain for Sid, the poor girl’s already been through more than her fair share of it.

“More frigid than usual I bet. If that’s even possible.” Stu jokes incautiously.

Billy swats Stu firmly in the chest, glancing at you in the mirror again as Stu lets out a minor yelp, “She’s not so good. I tried to make her feel better, but you know how I am with that sort of stuff” he says unhurriedly.

Unfortunately I do, you think to yourself. Of all the things you love about Billy, patience and understanding are not exactly the top contenders. You imagine his version of consoling Sid ended with her feeling worse.

“At least you tried. That counts for something.” You add optimistically, already preparing to check in with Sid the first chance you get.

“I’m not sure it does,” His eyes are surveying your every feature through the rearview mirror and you’re becoming acutely aware that he’s barely spared a glance at the road since he started driving, you being the sole focus of his attention, “Not with her anyway,” He mumbles out the last part but you manage to piece it together inquisitively.

If you were thinking with your emotions instead of your intellect, you’d have picked up on the nuance of his words and the uncharacteristic benevolence of his gaze. You’d have pieced together sooner that you actually had a chance with Billy Loomis.

The trajectory of your life, the lives of your friends, could have been exponentially juxtaposed if you had only continued to prioritize your mind above your heart.

“Fuck!” Oh god, oh god, oh fuck! Not the most eloquent thoughts in the world, but they’re about all you’ve got since you caught sight of the menacing masked figure jumping onto Sidney, armed with a particularly sharp-edged blade.

You’re vehemently regretting tagging along to what was initially intended to be a girls night with Tatum and Sid. 

“Safety in numbers,” Tatum smiled impishly, tugging on your arm in that way she does when she wants something bad enough, “Besides, your dad’s gone too! You and Sid would be much safer at my place.” She brought up a valid point. Although you weren’t as unnerved as your friends at the prospect of being murdered, your strong distaste for spending another night alone in your house was enough for you to give in to your friend’s wishes.

“Alright. I’ll come. But no cheesy rom-coms, we’re watching Seven.” You conceded sooner than Tatum expected. She had a whole speech about the sanctity of friendship planned, but she intended to save it for another time.

“You’ll have to convince Sid. You know how she feels about horror movies.”

“I also know how she feels about Brad Pitt,” You teased with a grin, earning an emphatic giggle from Tatum, “Besides, it’s a thriller not a horror. Randy would die just to roll over in his grave if he heard you right now.”

The plan was to go back to your houses separately and grab your things, Tatum would pick you each up on her way home from practice. The plan changed after you observed Sidney throughout the day. You could tell she was jittery and nervous, despite her fruitless attempts at covering it up, so you went straight to her house together after school. 

The two of you briskly passed out on opposite ends of the couch, only awoken by the piercing ring of Sid’s telephone. “Tate’s gonna be a while, she got held up at practice.” Sid relayed the message to you, gingerly rubbing the evidence of sleep from her eyes.

You nodded in understanding, moving from your previous position on the couch and deftly stretching the tender muscles in your back.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water. You want anything?” You asked Sid as the phone resumed ringing, she shook her head no with a comfortable smile and answered the call as you walked toward the kitchen and out of ear shot.

You moved around the kitchen with an air of familiarity, taking your time filling the glass. Your walk back to Sidney turned into a swift jog, confusion and mild alarm made their presence known on your face as you heard her yell “Fuck you, cretin!” into the phone with conviction.

“Sid- Hey, what’s going on?” You moved to comfort her frenzied form, taking over for her shaking hands you swiftly locked the chain on her front door.

“The killer- He… Oh my god!” Her frenetic speech died a merciless death on her lips as she heard the door of her hall closet swing open. Before either of you could register what was happening, the killer was on top of her.

“Fuck!” Sid yelps, flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to escape from the masked lunatic’s grip.

You froze for a moment back there, you aren’t proud of it. All the self-defence lessons and step-by-step protocols for how to survive in a dangerous situation seemed to have vanished from your mind. But now you can hear his voice in your head, stern but compassionately reassuring like it always was, “C’mon (y/n), this is life or death. As much as I wish I could, I can’t always be here with a gun and a vest to protect you. So come on, how are you gonna fight back?” You used to hate it when he did that. Why should a girl your age worry about those things?

Thanks Dad, you silently praise, guess you make the time we spend together count.

You snap out of it instantaneously, bringing down your half-empty glass of water over the killer’s head with considerable force, shattering it to pieces and stunning him long enough for you to send a brutal kick to his side, temporarily removing his looming figure from atop Sidney. You suppress a wince as you notice one particularly long shard of glass has embedded itself deeply into your palm, blood trickling evenly from the gash as you gingerly remove it.

You waste no time grabbing Sidney from the floor, pulling her along with haste as you reach the staircase and begin your ascent. “Wait- The front door is-” She starts before you cut her off, “It’s locked Sid. We don’t have time, he’s right behind us.” She turns to gage the distance and her eyes widen substantially as she sees just how correct you are. He’s right there.

In a matter of nanoseconds the killer grabs ahold of Sidney’s foot, giving it a solid tug. Her hand slips from yours as he drags her down the steps.

“Anything can be used as a weapon, especially when you combine it with the element of surprise.” Your dad’s voice rings through your ears once more as you stormily grab hold of a bulky framed painting from the wall and smash it down onto the killer’s head. He groans and trips back a half-step, just enough distance for you to pull Sidney back up, taking care to hold on extra tightly as you resume your course to her bedroom.

Hightailing it to her room, the two of you close the door behind you, Sidney rushing to alert the police as you make a half-assed attempt to barricade the door shut, working at warp-speed.

The door jolts violently behind you as the killer manages to squeeze his arm through, prompting Sid to bellow out a short scream of terror. You push back on the door with all your body weight, a triumphant smile fighting its way to the surface as you hear the vociferous groan of pain emitting from your pursuer. He pulls his arm back with haste, allowing the door to shut fully behind you.

It’s agonizingly silent. What’s he going to do now? He’s much stronger than you or Sidney, surely he could break down the door. Or stab it with his knife, stab you with his knife. You’re eagerly awaiting his next move. Sid, on the other hand, needs this to be the end of it. She manages to contact the police through her computer, and you can’t deny the pride you feel for her, carrying on despite the clearcut terror she’s just experienced.

You both turn toward the window on high alert, a noise informing you that you’re not alone. You grab the first thing within your reach, Sidney’s hairbrush, and hurl it with impressive force at the figure entering her bedroom. 

“Ow! Jesus (y/n)! What the hell’s goin’ on? I heard Sid screaming. The door was locked. Are you guys okay?” Billy questions, pulling himself through the window once he recovers from the hairbrush hit to his temple.

I heard Sid screaming.

How did he know it was Sid who screamed? And what exactly was he doing here anyway? 

No, you cut yourself off, there’s no way! It’s Billy, he wouldn’t…

Would he?

When you and your dad made the profile for Maureen’s killer, you determined that it had to be a young adult male between the ages of 16 to 24. You also theorized that he had to know Maureen, the level of rage present in her killing was too personal for a stranger to carry out. Your dad threw around the idea that maybe there were two killers, one with a hunger to be in control, the other just along for the thrill of the hunt. 

You remember the day you brought the profile up to Billy and Stu.

The three of you were watching some cheesy 80s slasher in Stu’s spacious living room, Stu’s arm around your waist as your head gently laid on Billy’s shoulder.

“My dad agrees with me you know?” You start, voice overtaking the synthetic screams of whichever big-breasted actress was getting slaughtered on screen, “That it wasn’t Cotton Weary. He actually thinks there were two of ‘em.” Billy and Stu both tense up, causing you to observe them from the corner of your eye.

There was a brief look of alarm on Stu’s face causing your eyebrows to furrow together in confusion. Perhaps you should have kept your reaction subdued, as Billy picked up on it instantaneously. He delicately grabbed ahold of your chin, the pads of his fingertips setting your skin ablaze beneath them, turning your face to his he muttered coldly, “Since when do you care what that asshole thinks?” 

Your gaze dropped from his, a frown taking over your lips. He’s right, in a way, but he doesn’t have to say it like that.

“Hey, come on Sunshine, turn that frown upside down, huh?” Stu was his usual sanguine self again in the blink of an eye, that beautiful broad grin already back in its rightful place on his lips, “Who needs him anyway? You got us.”

“Yeah,” You smiled back despite yourself, “Guess that makes me pretty lucky.”

For someone who loves talking about murder so much, he always manages to brazenly shut it down whenever you bring up the profile. The profile that he fits.

How did you never see it before?

“Sid,” You start slowly, taking a gentle step toward the girl who’s wrapped in her boyfriend’s embrace. You’re attempting this with the utmost care so as not to alarm Billy, in case he’s hiding the familiar blade on his person, “This cut on my hand is pretty deep,” It’s true, though you couldn’t care less about it, “Can you come help me with it, please.”

Shit.

Your voice broke on the last syllable and you’re definitive that he noticed.

Billy turns to you with a look of confusion, it’s almost as though he can read your mind. “Your hand?” He questions, not releasing Sid from his grip, “What happened to your hand?” He seems genuinely concerned and you’re beginning to doubt your own instincts. Until Sid pulls away from his grip, a soft thump resounding as something falls from Billy’s pocket.

A mobile phone. 

The kind of mobile phone a killer would have if he had just made a menacing, life-threatening phone call to his girlfriend.

Why did you have to be right?

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds. You don’t time it, but that’s how long it takes for you to change into your pyjamas, or in this case one of Dewey’s old t-shirts that less than flatteringly falls below your knees in an Ebenezer Scrooge sort of way, and get situated beside Tatum in one of her twin beds.

Despite the cataclysmic series of events you’ve just been through, you manage a loose smile as you watch Sidney ice her hand after landing a particularly impressive punch on Gale Weathers’ face. 

“The pain’s gonna fade in the morning but the pride’ll last. At least mine will, you’re kinda badass, Prescott.” You jest, attempting to quell the foreboding thoughts you’re sure are threatening to chew her up and swallow her whole.

“Ditto,” She motions to your injured hand, all bandaged up thanks to Dewey’s gentle insistence, “I’m sorry it happened, you shouldn’t have gotten hurt saving me.” She concludes, ever the saint.

“Sid, no. Okay? None of that should have happened in the first place.” And I should have seen it coming. You keep that one to yourself.

“Do you really think Billy did it?” Tatum questions from beside you.

“He was there, Tatum.” Sidney replies solemnly.

You zone out of the conversation, even after Sidney leaves the room. You can’t stop thinking about the look Billy gave you as they pushed him into the back of the police car. He was desperate, that much was obvious, but there was something else there too, it was almost like he was heartbroken.

Why would he look at you like that?

Maybe he was upset that you figured him out before he had the chance to gut you like a fish. Maybe it was because he knew Sid would never speak to him again.

Or maybe it was because he couldn’t fathom you believing this about him, you ponder remorsefully, maybe he was innocent.

You’re on edge, anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can see that. But it’s not for the reasons they’d think. You’re not scared of some masked psycho reaching out and slicing your throat. You’re perturbed at all of the eyes that are drawn to you like moths to a flame. 

You’d had enough of it before the first period bell even rang.

“How does it feel to be almost murdered?” An immensely insensitive reporter shouted, hovering the microphone unreasonably close to Sid’s face, onlookers gathered around you, awaiting her response with bated breath, “Keep holding that thing in her face and I’ll be happy to ask you the same question.” You threatened half-heartedly, gently maneuvering Sid and yourself through the crowd.

“Hey pretty lady,” Stu’s congenial voice sounds from behind you, firmly knocking this morning’s unpleasant memory from your cranium. He wraps his gangly arms around your middle and bends down a farcical distance to rest his chin upon your shoulder, “Star in any good horror movies lately?” He questions, letting out a chortle at his own words.

“You’re a really emotionally intelligent guy Stu. Anybody ever tell you that?” Your acerbic undertone isn’t lost on him for once as he registers your discomfort.

“Hey- That was- You know I’m just joking, I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re joking, you’re just not very funny.” 

Removing his hands from your body, too soon for your liking, you think, he throws himself dramatically against a row of lockers, hands on his heart as he groans in mock agony, “Take it back! Please, take it back!” 

He’s an idiot.

An idiot with perfectly carved dimples and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. And you want so desperately not to give in to his theatrics, but you can’t help it, not when those eyes are shining at you like the cascading glimmer of the moonlight. You’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

“Ahhh, there it is,” Stu’s voice still holds that ever-present joking tone, but his eyes are sincere, like he’s desperate for you to pick up on the emotion hiding beneath it all, “Can’t live without that smile. ‘M never gonna let you go.”

Your heartbeat rapidly increases in pace and you all but force yourself to look anywhere but his imprudently handsome face. Stop that, you internalize, best friends, nothing more.

“(y/n), hey. Can I talk to you for a sec?” You don’t need to redirect your gaze to pinpoint the source of the voice.

It’s Billy.

“See ya later, Sunshine.” Stu bids you farewell, placing a gentle lingering kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“I have to get to class.” You turn to walk from Billy, not in the mood to hear whatever tales of deception he’s concocted in the confines of his imagination.

“Just-” He reaches out for your arm, stopping dead in his tracks when you flinch away from his touch, “Give me ten minutes okay? If you hate me after that, then I’ll leave you alone for good.” The sorrow in his voice is enough to keep your feet firmly planted.

“You’ve got,” You spare a quick glimpse at the clock on the wall, mentally calculating how long it’ll be before you’re late to AP Chemistry, “Six minutes and fifty-two seconds. Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.” He attempts a smile but it falls faster than it formed.

“I’m not an idiot Billy. Or- Or maybe I am, because I didn’t see it sooner, but-”

“Don’t do that,” His voice resembles a whisper, his eyes are pleading but there’s also an edge in them that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, “Don’t- You know me, right? We’ve been friends since we were kids. Look at me,” His fingers reach out for you, a near imperceptible smile twitching at the sides of his mouth when you don’t immediately recoil, “You know me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” 

You know in your mind that there’s no reasonable explanation for how it all adds up. He fits the profile. But in your heart, you know he’s telling you the truth. The look in his eyes confirms his words, he wouldn’t hurt you.

Against your better judgement you lean into his touch, his hand finds its way to your cheek, drawing indistinguishable circles above your zygomatic bone with his thumb.

“What about Sid? Have you talked to her?” You feel his body tense up, though he does a good job of keeping his emotions unreadable.

“Yeah. We talked.”

“And?”

“And,” He breathes agitatedly, “We broke up.”

“You what? Well- Are you okay? Is she okay? Oh god, I should go find her.” You softly attempt to maneuver from his grip but his hold tightens slightly.

“She’s the one who dumped me, so I’m sure she’s fine.” 

“Does she still think-?”

“No. No, she knows I didn’t do it. But I guess it just wasn’t working out.” If he’s lying, he should make a career out of it. You’re studying every inch of his captivatingly handsome face, and you can’t find a hint of misrepresentation.

“It’s for the best really,” His honeyed gaze settles on your own eyes, your breath hitching noticeably as you take in their mahogany-toned opulence, “Otherwise I couldn’t do this.” His lips are on your own without a moments hesitation.

You know the only intelligent response is to pull away and race to AP Chem, pretending like it never happened. But today you’re letting your heart think for you. And it feels precariously marvellous. You kiss him back with more passion than you knew you were capable of mustering, the years of feelings you’ve hidden away, even from yourself, come spilling out from your lips and land delectably onto his.

Billy moves his unoccupied hand into your hair, giving it a gentle tug, expertly sliding his tongue into your mouth the moment your lips part to release a gentle moan. If this is what it feels like to prioritize your heart above your mind, you’re not entirely confident you’ll ever use your brain again.

The vociferous ringing of the warning bell unwillingly splits the two of you apart, though his forehead still rests contentedly against your own.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, Doll.” His eyes are looking at you with a plethora of unknown emotions and your heart is beating far too fast for you to decipher them.

“Worth the wait?” You question softly.

“Absolutely. Glad the wait’s almost over though.”

The wait’s almost over.

Maybe it was the warning bell, or your AP Chem teacher’s disdain for tardiness, or your ever-hastening heartbeat and affections for a certain brown-eyed boy, but you missed it.

The one and only slip-up he made all day and you were too lovestruck to notice.

Those six minutes and fifty-two seconds would cost you big time.

“Ahh, there’s my Sunshine. Perfect timing!” Stu swings a lanky arm over your shoulders as you catch up to him in the school parking lot. “I just finished spreading the good news,” He states with a cheeky grin, as if you should have any idea what he’s referring to.

“Oh, well are congratulations in order then? How far along are you?” You press a teasing hand to his stomach, grin growing as he sticks his tongue out at you, moving his hands to your sides and giving you a short tickle.

“Oh, ha-ha. She’s a real comedian today, huh?” He narrows his eyes in jest, “I’m talkin’ about the crazy killer get outta school free bash I’m throwin’ tonight. You’re coming of course,” He tells you rather than asks you, though you’ve never had much luck saying no to Stu.

“Another one of your million dollar ideas I presume? ‘Cause there’s nothing totally birdbrained about throwing a curfew-breaking rager with a masked psycho killer on the loose.” You’re not keen on the idea of showing up to some party with everything that’s been happening, not to mention what Sid must think of it all.

Not that you have a right to act all sanctimonious when it comes to Sidney’s feelings, her relationship with Billy was barely over before you had your tongue down his throat.

“Come on, Sunshine, it’ll all mean nothing without you there.” 

It’ll all mean nothing.

“What’ll mean nothing?” You question gently, careful to hide the inquisitive edge to your query.

Stu’s eyes widen sizeably as he clears his throat, “Just- Nothing. You’re- You’re coming right?”

After that? You’re definitely going. Tonight you’re figuring out once and for all what this boy’s been hiding from you.

You tried to stay away from Billy, honestly. But the second his eyes met yours in Stu’s living room, you knew it was a futile attempt.

The two of you expeditiously wandered upstairs into one of the many vacant bedrooms available in the Macher house, barely closing the door behind you before your lips were melding together.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this all day,” Billy hums against your lips, placing another searing kiss there before moving his way down to your neck. 

Engaging in a moment of passion at a party while an unidentified serial killer roams on the loose may not have been your finest moment but, unintelligently, that was the furthest thing from your mind. Billy’s hands were now sliding delectably slowly underneath the hem of your shirt as his lips continued their pursuit on your neck, that was the sole occupant of your thoughts.

At least it was, until you saw him.

Before you could verbalize the killer’s sudden materialization to Billy, it was too late.

The masked figure hastily removed Billy from your grip, his cold steely blade acrimoniously slashing Billy with ease, ostensibly the knife was even sharper than it looked. Billy’s blood splattered onto your face and you made the split second decision that, this time, a glass of water and a painting weren’t going to protect you.

“(y/n), I need you to remember this part, okay? No matter how scared or tired or hopeless you feel, if you can run, you run! Alright?” You’d heard your dad’s voice more in your head these past few days than you had out loud in months, but at that moment you were simply grateful you’d ever heard it at all.

You didn’t chance a single look behind you, expertly weaving your way through Stu’s house and out the back door. You didn’t glance back even after you’d escaped the house and almost crossed the property line.

Where did all the cars go?

If there were any other choice, you wouldn’t have ran back into the house. But your friends were nowhere to be found and, peculiarly, neither was the killer.

If he was out there looking for you, surely he’d never expect you to go back inside. All you had to do was reach the phone in the kitchen and call 911. The last sight you were prepared to see was the killer’s masked face parallel to your own.

“Well... How do ya like our big reveal, Sunshine?” Stu grins wickedly from behind Sidney.

The deep crimson remnants of the scene you thought you’d witnessed are still making their way down your face, trickling along your tepid skin like raindrops on a car window. You wipe them away fervently, the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you becoming more than you can bear.

It’s not even real blood.

“What is this?” You utter nauseously, gesturing to the foreign substance coating your face.

It’s probably the least important question you could be asking right now but you’ll admit the two of them have put on quite the performance. You’re sickened, but you’re curious.

Billy removes his mask, stepping closer to you and wiping a drop of the mystery liquid from your cheek, ignoring the way you flinch at his touch and placing the finger onto his tongue he lets out a low hum of approval, “’S’Corn syrup, Doll. Same stuff they used for pig’s blood in Carrie.”

Jesus.

Sid freed herself from Stu’s grip, him and Billy now distractedly gazing at you with distinguishable looks of pride. You gesture your head near-imperceptibly toward the entryway, a silent request for her to run while she has the chance. She hesitates, clearly apprehensive about leaving you to fend for yourself with two armed maniacs, but you need her to go. You can attempt your own escape when you know she’s safe.

“You had me fooled,” You start in a desperate effort to maintain their attention, “I mean, I had my doubts- But that whole fake death scene upstairs? You guys really sold it.” Sid discreetly makes her way to the entryway, stopping to look at you with a final questioning look on her weary face. 

Nodding your head near invisibly, you make the devastating mistake of sweeping your eyes over her frame to survey her injuries. It was quick, a nanosecond at most before your gaze was back in front of you, but it wasn’t quick enough to go unnoticed by Billy, who grabs ahold of his knife and has it pointed against Sid’s throat in a matter of seconds. 

Billy and Stu launch into a certifiably demented rant, their words exploding on Sidney in a particularly violent manner.

Why would they have it out for Sid specifically?

Oh.

Billy turns toward you and ends his dialogue without warning when he recognizes the look of understanding on your features.

“You killed her,” You breathe a near sigh of relief, finally understanding the bigger picture, “You killed Maureen and you’ve spent the last- Who fucking knows how long you’ve spent, just planning this- All to torture Sid.” It’s all making so much fucking sense and you can’t believe the amount of time it’s taken you to piece it all together, “You killed Casey Becker too, ‘cause she sits next to Sid in English. You knew she’d see that empty seat every day and be reminded of her mom. Psychological warfare…” 

Billy looks uncharacteristically proud watching you piece it all together, “Got it in one, (y/n).” 

“You’re- You’re sick! Why? Why the fuck would you do that?” Sidney struggles in Billy’s hold as he explains his motive behind her mother’s murder.

Mommy issues. Figures you’d have that in common.

Stu looks outwardly surprised at Billy’s reveal, indirectly confirming your dad’s two person theory. One killer with a personal connection to the victim and the other just in it for the thrill of the hunt. Dad’s gonna be so pissed he missed this, you regard inwardly.

“How are you gonna do it then?” You question the two unjustly handsome lunatics.

“Do what, Sweetheart?” Billy asks benevolently from beside Sid, still holding the tip of his blade to her neck.

“How are you gonna kill me?” You probe.

The question is a test. You’ve got a theory that they didn’t plan far enough ahead to remember that your dad will hunt them down to the ends of the earth after you die, especially since they haven’t seemed particularly keen on covering their trail. If you figured them out this quickly, your dad would have them behind bars in no time.

“What?” Billy asks, all previous traces of jubilance promptly removed from his face.

“How are you going to kill me?” You repeat tauntingly, if your best friends since elementary school were going to kill you like it was nothing, you were going to enjoy the thought of them spending the rest of their lives in florescent orange jumpsuits, “Spare me the gory details but, you do know what FBI stands for, right? Good luck getting away with it this time.” Thankfully, your voice manages to come out far more confident than you’re feeling inside.

Stu moves from beside you to in front of you, gently placing his sizeable hands on either side of your face. Has he always been this tall? Craning your neck to look up at him, the smug smile you managed to plaster on slides off and morphs into confusion as you notice the doleful look on his face. Why is he looking at you like you just kicked his puppy?

“You can’t really believe that,” His voice is so gentle, you could almost forget the sheer lunacy that was dripping from it moments ago, “What did I tell you, Sunshine? I’m never gonna let you go.” He’s looking at your lips like he wants to kiss them, and if you were under any other circumstance, there’d be nothing to keep you from it. He leans in and you almost move to do the same before you hear Sidney’s panicked voice calling out.

“Leave her alone! Please. If you want to kill me then fucking do it already, just let (y/n) go!”

Right, this is an active hostage situation.

Stu let his guard down to console you. Both of his hands on your head means he’s no longer holding the gun, but there’s no easy way to go about gaining control of it. You could kick him in the shins and hope he stays distracted long enough, but your dad’s voice runs through your mind once again, “You can’t reason with a psychopath (y/n), but sometimes you can play along with their fantasy to gain their trust.” You know this isn’t what he had in mind, but you’re running out of options.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean up on your toes and kiss Stu with fervour. It’s a good kiss, one of the best you’ve ever had, in fact. There’s a moment, just a split second while you’re reaching for the gun behind his back, that you wish it was for real. He pulls you in deeper and you try to convince yourself that you’re only kissing back to make it believable.

Finally you feel the cool metallic handle of the gun, gripping onto it firmly you muster up the strength to pull back from Stu’s embrace. Aiming the barrel between him and Billy, you can almost feel your heart crack at the look of betrayal painted upon Stu’s face.

No, you remind yourself sternly, they kill people. For fun. They’re not your best friends anymore, they’re murderers.

“Let her go.” You ignore the internal war waging between your heart and your mind.

“(y/n)…” Billy’s not as shocked as Stu. As a matter of fact, Billy’s not shocked at all. He knows you, almost better than you know yourself, “Put the gun down. You’re not gonna shoot us.” His voice is stern, his words a cross between a warning and a command.

He’s right, as usual. The one thing your dad could never get you to do was shoot a gun. You fucking hate those things.

“You’re right, I’m not gonna shoot you,” Your voice is even, but you know he picks up on the slight shake of your hands as you aim the gun toward his chest, “As long as you let her go.”

“That’s not gonna happen, Doll.” He shakes his head, frustration rapidly becoming anger “I’m not asking you again (y/n). Put it down. Now.”

“Or what?” You bluff in a last ditch attempt to maintain a facade of bravery.

Billy’s anger finally reaches its boiling point and he answers your question wordlessly.

It’s different than it looks in the movies. The blood doesn’t trickle out slowly and melodramatically. It spews out like a faucet and it never stops.

You drop the gun after that, rushing to sit at Sid’s side on the floor in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a single deep slash, clean across her throat. The quiet gurgling sounds of blood filling her lungs finally subside after her last breath sounds, and your crimson stained hands remove themselves from her neck.

“Now, are you gonna start listening to me? Or do I have to do somethin’ like that again?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You know what’s wrong with him, with both of them. They’re psychopaths. But you can’t prevent the question from slipping past your lips, you’re desperate for some understanding as to what exactly is it is they intend to gain from their whole plan.

“What’s wrong with me? I told you to put the fuckin’ thing down!” Billy’s still angry, what’s new?  “Shit! That’s not how it was supposed to go.” His agitation fading slightly into discontent. Clearly he wanted to take his time killing Sid. At least you spared her some suffering.

“We gotta get out of here Billy. It’s only a matter of time before the cops show up.” Stu’s voice sounds, entirely indifferent to the scene he just witnessed.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Billy runs his left hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration, his right hand latched firmly on the gun you dropped after he slit Sidney’s throat, “Shit! Alright, let’s go.” He gestures his head to the door, his eyes haven’t left you since your little standoff, making it clear that he’s talking to you.

“What?” Your voice is laced with perplexion. He can’t seriously expect you to walk out of there with them.

Right?

“C’mon, Sunshine. You already got him in a mood, don’t make it any worse.” Stu’s voice holds that ever present hint of amusement, as if this is just like old times, when you and Stu would make one too many jokes at Billy’s expense and he’d spend the rest of the day sulking.

“I’m not- You can’t actually think I’m going anywhere with you,” You chuckle in disbelief, “You just killed my best friends!” You don’t have explicit confirmation that Randy and Tatum are dead too, but considering the current state of affairs, it’s reasonably obvious.

“We’re your best friends, (y/n). We’re more than that, actually.” Billy kneels down in front of you on the kitchen floor. His anger has finally subsided, he’s speaking in a normal tone, the sticky crimson remnants on your hands serve as the only reminder of his previous outburst.

“That was before-”

“Oh come on, Doll,” He cuts you off, calloused fingers wiping the excess corn syrup from your face, “You ever wonder why the daughter of an FBI profiler couldn’t figure out there was something off with us?” His grin is wicked but his touch is gentle, almost comforting, “It’s ‘cause you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want anything to get between us, because you feel the same way about us that we do about you.”

You want to tell him to fuck off. That he’s crazy and you have no idea what he’s talking about. But you can’t. Because he’s right, he’s right and he knows it.

Taking your silence as confirmation he continues, delicately tracing your cheek with his nimble fingers, “You love us,” Stu makes his way to your side, smiling with dimples on full display as Billy speaks, “And you can try and deny it, if you want to. But we all know the truth.”

“So what if I did?” You finally find your voice, it’s shakier than you’d like but it’s there, “If you know me as well as you think you do, then you know there’s no way in hell I’d go anywhere with you after this.”

“You wanna know how well I know you?” Billy’s voice is sharp, bitter, you’re getting under his skin again, “I know you, (y/n). I know you’re not afraid of masked killers, or watching your friend die,” He releases you from his grip, standing back to his full height as his words permeate your brain, “I know your worst fear.” He gestures for Stu to follow as he takes small leisurely steps toward the doorway, ignoring the look of confusion and panic on Stu’s face at the prospect of leaving there without you.

Stu reluctantly follows Billy toward the exit, not removing his eyes from your enervated form. When they finally reach the doorway Billy resumes his speech, a contemptuous tone lacing his voice, “Being left here all alone.” He says simply.

This is your own fault, really. Allowing someone to get so close to you, learn everything about you, use everything they’ve learned against you.

You could argue that he’s wrong, but he’s not.

You could go out fighting, but you don’t.

You could stay sitting on the floor until the police inevitably discover you, but you won’t.

Billy walks back over to you, offering you a hand with a mischievous glint present in his eyes, “So,” He starts devilishly, “What’s it gonna be, Doll?”

[ripdragonbeans]

Zeno's Paradox // modern!Aemond x reader (2/2)

•Aemond x Reader, Aemond x Floris, Jace x reader•

Summary: You and Aemond instantly clicked when you met at university. So why did he choose Floris instead of you?

TW (overall): afab reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), swearing, talk of violence, talk of losing a body part

Part 1

You and Jace had a plan for every day. Every morning you'd meet up with him at the cafeteria. He'd sit close enough to you that your knees would be touching. Any time you talked your heads would be bent down and close, giving the illusion of wanting to be only with each other and no one else. 

It took a few days but finally Aemond and Floris showed up one morning for breakfast. Seeing them hurt your heart. You looked at Jace and nodded.

“Let's go then,” Jace smiled. “I'm gonna say a joke and you're gonna laugh like it's the funniest shit you've ever heard.” He cleared his throat. “What's red and bad for your teeth?”

Oh gods.

“A brick!”

You looked Jace dead in the eye with absolutely no amusement. “Seriously?”

“Just laugh,” he whispered.

As you saw Aemond and Floris get closer you let out the biggest laugh you could muster, without it sounding fake, of course.

“Hahahahahaha!” There was pain in your eyes but you did your best to smile like it was the best joke you’ve ever heard. “Gods, I love your jokes.”

Placing your hand on top of his, you interlaced your fingers just as Aemond and Floris came up to your table.

Aemond looked at your hands then flitted between you and Jace.

“Is he bothering you again?” Aemond asked.

“No, why would you ask that?” You cocked your head to the side and moved closer to Jace.

“Last time we talked to him you were pissed beyond reason.”

“Well, things change. People change, Aemond. And I found myself wanting to get closer. He’s much nicer when you’re not around. He’s been a big help in my Eyes of the Seven class. Right, Jace?”

Jace smiled at you. “Yeah, and you’ve been helping me, too. Studying with you is one of the best moments in my life. And now I can call you mine.” 

He leaned in and kissed your cheek. You were watching Aemond closely. His face was neutral but you knew him and his eyes were angry. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Well…congrats I guess. I'll see you around,” he ground out. 

Aemond tried to leave quickly but you held him right where he was. You weren't going to let him go that easily.

“You're not going to eat breakfast with us? It's a nice morning!” You offered. “Floris? What do you think?”

“Oh, let's eat breakfast with them, Aemy,” Floris pleaded.

Fucking “Aemy?”

Aemond was hesitant. “Fine.”

As the pair went off to get their food you and Jace talked quickly.

“First off,” you started, “that joke was stupid. Second, good call on the kiss. Aemond hated that,” you grinned.

“Hey, that joke was funny!” Jace defended himself. “I saw the way he was looking at you. It's been a long time since I've seen him that pissed. I don't know if Floris could even tell.”

“That just goes to show how much she doesn't know him. She shouldn't be with him, they don't compliment each other.” A beat. “I swear, Aemond hasn't been himself since they started dating.”

“I'll agree that he hasn't, at least the few times I've seen him. He's stuck to Floris’ side.”

“Love that,” you dead panned.

“We're back!” Floris sang.

“Great,” you said through gritted teeth.

“So, tell us how you two started dating!” 

Aemond sat down. “Yeah, how did you start dating?”

You looked at Jace and put a loving smile on your face. “He comforted me one night. I was having a really bad day, heard some terrible news, and he found me,” you moved your focus to Aemond. “He was there when no one else was and I'm so thankful for that.”

“We started hanging out more and the rest is history,” Jace pulled you in close and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

There was a tense silence. Aemond stared at you intensely trying to get a read on you. You put up your walls and gave him a shy smile. You nuzzled in closer to Jace.

“Aw, that's so sweet!” Floris broke the silence. “I know Aemy told you how we got together so I won't bore you with our story.”

Our story.

It hurt. It hurt so much. You felt like you were in a fucking Taylor Swift music video.

Jace looked at you and saw your face devoid of color. “You okay, babe?”

You coughed. “Yeah, yeah. Um, I think I just need to get to class. It's getting late, you know?”

“It's only seven forty-five and you haven’t eaten,” Floris tried to get you to stay.

“Yeah, and my class is at eight and I finished eating before you guys got here,” you tried to get away but she stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh, you and Aemond have that class together, right?”

Fuck.

“Yeah, we do, but I was gonna go ahead. He can stay here with you. He doesn't have to come with me.”

“Nonsense! I know you two haven't been able to hang out much since we started dating. He just always wants to be by my side,” Floris laughed and turned to Aemond. “Go on, Aemy.”

Standing there awkwardly you waited for Aemond to get up and join you on the walk to Psychology.

“Hey,” Jace tugged on your hand. “I'll see you after classes, yeah?” he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

Despite Jace being an asshole to Aemond in their childhood you couldn’t help but find a friend in him, especially now. The dating might be fake but the two of you have grown to care about the other.

“Yeah,” you offered him a small smile.

You turned and left the cafeteria with Aemond but as soon as you were outside you picked up the pace, hoping to lose him. If he really wanted to talk to you he'd catch up. When you thought he wasn't going to even try, you slowed down; believing yourself to be far enough away from him. But you heard his footsteps as you neared the classroom door. He grabbed your arm and turned you to face him.

“Can we talk about this?” he whispered.

You refused to look him in the eye. “What's there to talk about? You're with Floris and I'm with Jace, end of story.”

“Exactly! You're with Jace! Why would you even think of him?”

“Because, like I said, Aemond, he was there for me when no one else was.”

“What about me? Why didn't you come to me.”

“You were busy.”

“How could you know that? I haven't received any text or message from you since Floris and I started dating.”

“I didn't need to text you to know you were busy. I saw you. You and Floris aren't exactly discreet,” you spat out.

Realization hit him. “Are you jealous of Floris?”

“I never said anything about being jealous, I just said I saw you were busy. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take my seat in the classroom.”

“Wait.” He grabbed your arm once more. “There’s nothing serious between me and Floris. We’re just dating.”

“It seemed pretty serious when you were eating her face.”

“You know that doesn’t mean -”

“Are you trying to explain why you haven’t been around me? Because if you are, you’re failing badly.” The anger you’ve been repressing began to bubble up. “Ever since you started dating her you’ve left me. All we do is sit next to each other in class. We don’t talk. You don’t say anything in class anymore, either. You got with Floris and left me, Aemond. You fucking left me.”

You pushed yourself away from him and headed to a different seat, already occupied in front, behind, and next to you. Being next to Aemond would give him more opportunities to talk to you. As much as you wanted to talk to him, you didn't want to hear about how great him and Floris have been.

While you weren’t sitting next to him, you felt his gaze on you the entire time. Even when the professor was talking about Zeno’s Paradox, one of his favorites, he was still focused on you. It was cruel, how Zeno’s Paradox was the main lecture for today. Two points will never be together, there’s too many halfway points to make it. There’s always halfway to go.

You refused to look Aemond’s way. He sat in his usual seat, the one next to him vacant. You hoped it hurt him a bit, not sitting next to you. The entire time he’s been dating Floris you’ve been discarded. It wasn’t even until today, after prompting from Floris, that he talked to you. Maybe he felt guilty for leaving you and didn’t want to see what happened to you as a result. If that were the case, he was being weak.

Class dragged on and on. While there’s infinite halfway points, according to Zeno, it appeared the same for this lecture. You groaned loud enough for the professor to call on you.

“I’m sorry my lecture is boring you. Shall we wake up and play a trivia game?” the professor asked the class.

That woke up the class. Everyone was always willing to play a game rather than listen to a professor drone on and on, despite this professor being a very animated one. Class finished up with everyone playing the game. You tried the same strategy for leaving the room as when you tried to leave the cafeteria earlier. Quickly.

You made it out the door and down the hallway, heading for your dorm instead of your next class. Skipping one class wouldn’t hurt your grade too much. Besides, you really needed to get away from Aemond.

“Hey,” a voice called out.

You picked up the pace.

“Hey!”

You closed your eyes and sped up again. You didn’t want to see him, you didn’t want to talk to him. Once you opened the door to leave the building you sped off into a sprint. Tears were coming and you couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t let Aemond see them, as well. So, you went where you could only think of. Jace’s dorm.

“Wait up! Please! I want to talk!”

You shook your head. So close. You could see Jace leaving his dorm.

“Jace!” you yelled.

Jace looked up to see you running at him full force. He looked confused but when he saw Aemond speed walking behind you, he instantly understood. Opening his arms, you barreled straight into him.

“He’s following me. He wants to talk, Jace, and I don’t know if I can do it.” Tears were streaming down your face now.

“Do you want me to make him go away?”

Do I really want him to go away?

You nodded your head yes. Just for once, you didn’t want to be near Aemond Targaryen.

Jace cupped your face with his hands. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay.”

He leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle kiss. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t awkward. It was simply nice. When the two of you broke away, you leaned your forehead on his.

“He’s just standing there,” he told you.

You pulled your head away from Jace and looked behind you. Aemond was there, watching you. You were close enough to see his shoulders fall but you could almost see something break inside him.

It was almost the end of the semester and nothing had changed. You and Jace were still “dating” and Aemond and Floris were still together. Floris would try to say hi to you and join you and Jace at meals but Aemond always pulled her away. It was clear he didn’t want anything to do with you.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Both of you were hurting, even though you didn’t know why he was. He should be happy. He was rid of you and had Floris.

“Hey, Jace,” you began. “I don’t think we need to fake date anymore.”

“You sure?” Jace looked at you with concern written all over his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m just… I’m tired, you know?” Everything was tiring nowadays. “We leave for winter break next week. There’s no reason to keep it up,” you said mainly to yourself.

“...Okay. If you say so. Should we make a big deal out of breaking up?”

“Nah, I’m not eager for anyone to really care.”

“You mean you’re not eager for Aemond to care.”

You pinned him with a sharp look. “Shut up.”

“Look, as much as I’ve enjoyed pissing him off, it’s obviously doing something more to both of you. I know you and I didn’t get off on the best foot but I do care about you, as a friend, you know.” Jace took a breath. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“It hurts. It hurts too much.”

Jace gave you a small smile. “You can do it. If anything, you can wait until after winter break; start new, you know?”

“Yeah, I like that idea.” You returned his smile with one of your own. “Thank you, Jace, really.”

You ended the semester without saying so much as goodbye to Aemond. You left quickly and quietly. Winter break wasn’t anything to be excited about. It was nice to be with family but that was it. Some old friends visited and they were able to help take your mind off of Aemond but he was always there. No matter what you did, all you could think about was Aemond. You wondered what Aemond was doing on his break. Was he with Floris? Was he with family? 

You still cried frequently. You’ve been crying on and off since Aemond chased you and you ran to Jace. The tears should’ve stopped by now but they haven’t. It’s gotten to the point where you expected yourself to cry almost every night. It was normal now. At least the second semester would be a new start.

Spring semester began and you hoped to turn over a new leaf. You found Jace after you moved in.

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted him.

“You look a lot better than when I last saw you.” He pulled you into a hug.

“I feel a lot better. New semester, new me, right?”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, yeah.”

The two of you continued talking, catching up on the month and a half you were away from each other. Jace spent his break with his family, his whole family, including his adoptive dad. Apparently his family was a little confusing as well. His mom had an affair with a coworker and she got pregnant with Jace, but it was all okay. The guy she had Jace, and her two other children, with died in a tragic fire but her husband was quick to adopt and love them all the same.

You and Jace decided to eat dinner at the cafeteria, as sad as the food could be. Joking around and laughing, you were having a great time. Until he showed up. Jace was in the middle of telling a story about Luke and Joffrey when he stopped mid sentence.

“Jace? What’s wrong?” You were confused.

Someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned around and froze. It was him. Aemond Targaryen.

“Hey, can we talk?” Aemond looked directly at you.

You glanced at Jace and he gave you a reassuring nod. “Yeah, sure.”

You stood, urging Aemond to follow you to a spot against the wall.

“So..” you started.

“I broke up with her,” the words flew out of his mouth.

“You - what?”

“I broke up with Floris. You were right, I was pulling away from you because of her and I didn’t like that. She never tried to get me away from you, she wanted me to still be friends with you, but I found myself being scared of that for some reason. Instead, I plastered myself next to her. I found, I don’t know, some kind of structure when I was with her? Order? It was nice but it wasn’t as nice when I was hanging out with you.”

“And how did… Floris,” you still hated to say her name, “take it?”

“She said it was okay, surprisingly.”

“And now?”

“And now I want to be with you. I fucked up. I fucked up so badly. I left you when I shouldn't have. Being scared of being close to you is no excuse for how I treated you,” he sighed. “And I want you, I really want you. All of you.”

“How do I know you're not going to leave me? I don't know if I could take you leaving me again.”

“You'll just have to trust me.”

“Trust you? Trust you with my heart?”

“Yes. And I will cherish it and take of you and I will always be by your side. Please.”

“...I'll think about it.” You had already made up your mind but he didn't need to know that right now.

“Well, what about you and Jace?”

“Me and Jace? We’re fine. We broke up, too. No bad feelings between us, just figured we’d be better as friends,” you shrugged. You weren’t going to tell him it was all fake.

Yet.

There was a comfortable silence.

“Have you thought about it?”

“Maybe you should ask me properly so you can get the full answer” you teased.

“Let me start over then,” he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did but sure, go ahead.”

There was a twinkle in his eye. “Will you go out with me?”

You put a hand up. “You just told me you broke up with someone, found out I broke up with someone and you immediately want to fall into a new relationship?”

“Would it be new though? There was something between us when we first met.”

“Yeah, and then you went off to date someone else.” You rolled your eyes.

“I messed up, I know that now.” He took your hand. “Give me a chance, please?”

“Wow, I don’t know. I kind of like it when you beg. Do it again and maybe I’ll say yes.”

Aemond smirked and got down on his knees. “Please, go out with me?”

“I like the sight of you on your knees.” You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Maybe I’ll ask you to do it again when we’re in my dorm.”

He looked up at you with hope on his face. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes, Aemond, I will go out with you.”

A smile broke out when he stood up and gathered you in his arms.

“May I kiss you?” he pulled away slightly to see your face.

“I’d be a little upset if you didn’t.”

You met him halfway, leaning up to capture his mouth with yours. It was soft but there was so much emotion poured into it. It was just like what you thought it would be. His mouth moved seamlessly against yours; it was pure bliss. Aemond’s hand went around your waist to pull you closer but was stopped by someone whistling and clapping.

You broke away from the kiss, leaning forward to rub the tip of your nose with his. You looked around for the source of the whistle.

There he was, Jace standing up and clapping. “Whew! You did it! Now get a room!”

You laughed and pulled Aemond away, taking him to your dorm building. As soon as you arrived at your door, you pulled him in for another kiss, this one a little harder than the first. Somehow you got your key into the lock and let yourself fall into your room. Aemond kicked the door closed without breaking away from you.

“I have to tell you something,” you said between kisses.

“Whatever it is, it can wait. I want these clothes off you so I can get back down on my knees.”

“Fucking hell, Aemond, when you put it like - fuck.”

Aemond ran a hand up your body and cupped your breast. You arched into his touch.

“There we go,” he praised you. “It’s just you and me.”

You whimpered when he snuck both his hands under your shirt to take it off.

“No bra? What a bad girl,” he smirked as he leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Aemond. That feels good.”

“Mhm,” he hummed against you.

You backed your way to your bed and he gladly followed, briefly letting go to take his shirt off as well. Leaning back on the bed you admired his body. Aemond was toned and had a happy trail that certainly made you happy. You rose up on your knees and brought him back down in a searing kiss.

“I want all of you,” he murmured against your lips.

A hand traveled down to your core over your shorts where he gently pressed it against you. Once again, you found yourself arching into his touch.

“So responsive,” he chuckled. “I bet you’re fucking wet. Is that right?” He drew circles over your shorts before diving under them.

“Aemond,” you moaned.

“Hm?”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Baby, I am touching you. I even sucked on your nipples. You want more?”

“Yes, please.”

He brought his mouth back to your tits, sucking on one nipple while his other hand ripped your shorts.

“No panties, either? Tsk, tsk, tsk, you’re really a bad girl.” He dipped his fingers into your core. “I was right, you’re fucking soaked.”

Aemond pumped you full with his fingers. You couldn’t help but moan and find a rhythm with him. When he took his fingers out you frowned. He brought them to your mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded.

You did as he said, tasting yourself on him. You released his fingers with an obscene pop.

“Now it’s time for me to eat that pussy of yours. Spread your legs wide, baby.”

You immediately did what you were told. The air was cold against your core but Aemond was quick to remedy that. He kissed his way up your thighs, never really going where you wanted him.

“Aemond, please,” you begged.

You felt his smile against your thigh.

“Don’t be such a tease - oh!”

His tongue flicked your clit and pleasure surged through your body. He ate you like a man starved. When he stuck one finger in you, you moaned; when he added a second and third, you arched into him; when he found that special spot inside you, you screamed.

Aemond was quick to cover your mouth with his hand and lifted his head up briefly. “Quiet, baby, we don’t want to get caught, do we? Or maybe the thought of that excites you.”

He went back to your drenched pussy, licking and sucking everything he could.

“Fucking hell, Aemond. Please, I need you inside me!”

“As you wish,” he said against your thigh.

He gave you one last kiss before slipping off his pants and underwear.

Fuck, he’s big.

Your eyes widened at his size and your mouth watered. You wanted, no, needed him inside you.

“I have an IUD, so don’t worry if you come inside me,” you told him.

“Oh, now I’m excited.” He gave you a wicked grin.

Aemond lined himself up with you and rubbed his cock against your slit. Fuck, it felt so good. He slowly pushed himself into you. It was pure bliss. He was so big but you took him in.

“There we go. What a good girl,” he praised. “You feel so fucking good.”

All you could do was nod. You didn’t trust yourself to form coherent words.

He started pumping into you, picking up the pace when you matched a rhythm with him. Aemond leaned forward, holding himself just above you, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, this feels so right. You were made for me.”

After a few more thrusts he pulled out of you and you whined.

“On your hands and knees, baby. I want that ass in the air.”

You turned over on your stomach and shook your ass for him. When he slapped it a moan slipped out.

“You like it when I spank you? I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He rubbed the spot he smacked you and then kissed it.

“You have such a beautiful ass. Fuck, and your pussy. All for me.”

As he sank his cock deep into you, you almost screamed. This angle was so much better, you could feel all of him. You rocked back to meet him with each thrust. Aemond’s breathing was becoming ragged and you could feel yourself near your peak. He brought a hand around to play with a nipple.

“Touch your clit for me,” he ordered.

You were quick to do as he said. It brought you closer to your orgasm and it felt so damn good.

“Aemond, you’re gonna make me come!”

“Hold onto it baby, I want you to come with me.”

He started rutting against you hard, each thrust becoming more and more erratic. You never let up on rubbing your clit. You were squeezing him hard. You knew you were close. You knew he was close.

“Fuck, fuck, baby. Come with me,” he almost begged.

“FUCK!” you came hard squeezing his cock as he spilled himself inside you.

Aemond collapsed on top of you, breathing hard. For a few minutes the two of you just lay there together in pure bliss. He kissed your cheek before sliding himself out of you and rolling over to the side.

“So, how do you like dating me so far?” he asked.

“Oh, shut up, asshole.” You playfully swatted him.

“Come on,” he got off the bed and held out a hand for you. “Let’s shower so we can sleep.”

“Together? Already?” You gasped dramatically.

“Yes.” He pinched you when you stood up and took his hand.

As you started up the shower, Aemond came up and hugged you from behind. “You said earlier you needed to tell me something?”

“Oh, yeah, that. Please don’t get mad at me,” you laughed.

He gave you a skeptical look.

“Jace and I were never dating. It was all fake. I did it to piss you off.”

Aemond buried his head in your neck. “You can be such a snake,” he chuckled. “But I’m glad it was fake. I hated the thought of you being with him.”

“And now I’m yours.” You kissed his cheek.

“And now you’re mine.” He stepped away and pulled you into the shower.

“Promise me you won’t leave me again?” you asked after a few moments under the water.

“Never again, I promise.”