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wileys-russo · 1 year

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childhood sweethearts (2) II a.russo x reader

series playlist part one

lil bit of a prequel, more to come! childhood sweethearts (2) II a.russo x reader

august 13th, 2011

"come on!" you had barely stepped foot over the threshold of the front door before your best friend had grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you upstairs to her room.

"you're gonna rip my arm off less!" you whined at the sheer force of her excitement, stumbling up the stairs as she'd set the pace, legs much longer than yours as she took the stairs two at a time, the taller girl dragging you along behind her without a second thought.

"do we have to go kick the ball around? im so tired." you sighed, shrugging off your bookbag and placing it down on her floor, flopping down on alessia's bed, relishing in the soft alluring comfort of the mattress.

"yes! i have a game tomorrow afternoon." the girl answered without sparing you a glance, throwing clothes around like a hurricane as she hunted through each and every drawer of her wardrobe.

"you had training last night and tuesday." you pointed out sitting up slightly, the girl ignoring you as she continued to rummage through her clothes.

"less its a friday can't we do something fun?" you groaned, head thumping into her pillow. "you sleep over every friday, and football is fun!" alessia dismissed your complaining, kicking her bag into the corner and yanking off her tie.

"you're making a mess." you stated with a shake of your head, the twelve year old pausing to shoot you a dirty look over her shoulder for the comment. "you're such a loser." the older girl jeered with a roll of her eyes. "you're such a meathead." you shot back, crossing your arms and huffing.

"hurry up and change." a bundle of material hit you in the face, alessia already stripping off her uniform as it joined the mountain of clothes covering her floor. "i have my own clothes." you frowned in distaste at the jersey and shorts which you knew would be far too big for you and reached for your bag.

"do you want to get them dirty?" your best friend challenged with a raised eyebrow as you paused, sighing and retracting your hand. "thats what i thought." alessia smiled happily, disappearing momentarily into her bathroom as you changed, neatly folding up your uniform and setting it down beside your bag.

with a roll of your eyes you started to grab items of clothing off alessia's floor she'd tossed around, putting them back where they belonged. "leave that! suck up." the brunette shook her head, shooing you away and instead halfheartedly kicking all of the clothes across the room, into another now crumpled up pile.

"your mums going to kill you when she gets home." you spoke knowingly, alessia shrugging without a care. "doesn't matter. you can just tidy it up later after she's done with her yelling." your best friend smiled cheekily as you shoved her, though you were both aware that is exactly what would happen.

if opposites attracted then that's why you and alessia were best friends.

you loved to read, head always stuck in a book and eyes eagerly scanning each and every word with baited breath. the bell would ring for the end of class and you'd not even flinch as the rest of your peers sprinted out the door. you were far too busy being spun away to another world with your mind scattered in the clouds, following along the adventures of whatever fictional characters you were paying a visit that day, completely oblivious to everything else going on around you.

alessia hated books. the girls passion was football, if she wasn't kicking a ball around she was day dreaming of a football pitch, the feeling of the grass beneath her feet as she zoomed down the sideline, the roars of the crowd as her laces smacked the ball and it soared away in the air, swooshing into the back of the net. and if it wasn't football then you could always rely on her to seek out any other possible ways to burn off energy, able to outrun any of the boys who dared challenge her to a race, even making some of them cry when she'd shamelessly beat them in an arm wrestle.

you were soft spoken, always polite, raised to be well mannered and treat everyone with kindness whether deserving of it or not. you had always been sensitive and well in tune with your emotions from a young age, hell you'd be upset if someone squashed a lady bug, tears rolling down your cheeks thinking of the family it had inevitably left behind.

your best friend was outgoing in every and all sense of the word, big mouthed, loud and proud in her opinions no matter what they were, always speaking whatever thoughts flew to her mind without any sort of filter to scan the possible repercussions of her words. her emotional response was always messy, rushed, chaotic, often using her sharp tongue or occasionally her fists to settle disputes, though that was the territory that came with growing up with two older brothers.

despite the obvious differences you were drawn to one another like magnets from the first day you met, the yin to one anothers yang, imperfectly balanced.

whenever you'd get upset over something your best friend was by your side in a flash, rubbing circles into the small of your back as her arm would sling over your shoulders, sitting the two of you down and pulling you into a tight side hug.

when your fish died she wrote a speech and organised an entire funeral before the two of you had flushed it down the toilet, the girl holding you tightly and wiping your tears as you both watched him dissapear.

she'd sent murderous glares to her brothers later that night over the dinner table as they teased it was only a fish, almost giving gio a black eye for making you upset again, she may have been smaller than them but she packed a mean punch.

alessia would grab the book from your hands once the bell had gone for lunch, rolling her eyes as she realised you'd not moved an inch beside her, folding the corner of the page to mark your spot despite your fussing over how much you hated the dog eared pages.

the girl alerting you to the time would yank you up and out of your seat, having already packed up your things for you, your bookbag in her other hand as she bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet, whinging that everyone else had already left as she'd pull you outside.

she'd drag you to where the two of you always sat, handing you back your book and dropping both your bags at your feet. she'd take a seat beside you and rummage around for her lunch, pulling it out and giving you half her sandwich as you did the same with your own. the brunette would quickly swallow both halves in three bites much to your disgust, chattering away to you with a mouthful of food as she did.

it was then you'd open your book again, settling back into where you'd left off as alessia would sprint away with a handful of crisps she'd snuck from your lunchbox. she'd long given up trying to bug you to join in when she'd play football or rough house around at lunch, content to just leave you to your book where she could still see you.

there were rare occasions where she'd stay with you glued to your side, the two of you sat together playing a card game or she'd ask you to read to her. she might not have been very good with speaking about how she felt, but it was on those days that you knew she wasn't her normal self even if she refused to acknowledge it.

it was those days you'd say you were off to the toilet and make a beeline for the canteen, using your pocket money to buy her a chocolate bar and rushing back, wordlessly slipping it into her bookbag for her to find later on.

though most of the time the bell would go and the cycle would repeat itself all over again, your best friend hurrying over and snatching your book, again folding over the page and grabbing both your bags and your hand. pulling you with her back to the classroom, talking your ear off as you hummed every now and then to show you were listening.

you'd both settle back at your desks, your hand tapping at her knee to stop it bouncing as she came down from the adrenaline of running around for the last half hour. you'd make sure to tilt your work pages so she could read them, copying down your answers with an occasional glance to the board feigning that she was paying any sort of attention.

the two of you spent almost every afternoon at one anothers houses, the routine of your weekly adventures like clockwork. you were forever joined at the hip, following one another around like shadows amusing your parents to no end given just how different the two of you were, and how you used those differences as your greatest strengths to lift one another up, you always had.

"you said we would swap!" you huffed in annoyance, hands on your hips as you stared down your best friend as she readied herself to kick again. "no, i said if you stopped one then we could swap." alessia corrected, taking a few steps back and booting the ball, leaving you to yell out and drop to the ground as it narrowly missed smacking you in the head.

"you know this used to be funny to watch, now its just sad." the young striker sighed as she collected the ball and tucked it under her arm, grabbing your top and hauling you to your feet, brushing off the dirt from your knees.

"why do i need to be your target practice? i could be reading while you do this, if im not stopping anything what use am i as a keeper?" you protested, quickly jumping to the side as she fired off another shot which swooshed into the back of the net behind you.

"god you and your books, such a dork." alessia groaned, jogging over to grab the ball again. "i need to practice shooting as if there was a keeper there, its why they use practice dummies at training for the same thing." she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"i bet if they printed a book on a football you might be able to read it for once you idiot." you grumbled in annoyance, your best friend pausing her wind up to narrow her eyes. "what was that?" alessia challenged and you recognized the look she was giving you.

"no come on it was a harmless comment, less!" you yelled as the brunette charged toward you, tackling you easily to the ground as the two of you rolled around on the grass. "get off!" you demanded as she sat on top of you, your hands pinned under her knees.

"say sorry for calling me an idiot!" "no! you are an idiot!" "fine then, you brought this on yourself." "don't you dare-alessia!" you yelled out, thrashing under her as the girl bent down to spit on the ground, mixing it with her fingers to create a saliva based mud from the dirt. "you're so gross, please don't!" "say sorry then." the girl grinned wickedly, collecting some mud on her hand and hovering it over your face teasingly.

"alessia get off of her right now! you are worse than your brothers sometimes." saved by the bell. the bell being carol russo, your angel and saviour. the older woman stood on the back deck waiting expectantly for the two of you, hands on her hips and tapping her foot impatiently.

"its getting dark, time to come inside. get a move on girls!" alessia rolled her eyes at her mums calls and wiped her hand on your top, which was technically hers anyway, rolling off of you. "i hate you!" you shoved at her as you sat up and grimaced in disgust at the large handmark on your top.

"you love me." you gasped as you felt something wet on your cheek, alessia wiping a fingerfull of mud on your face. you let out a strangled war cry and tackled her back to the ground, carol sighing with a shake of her head as the two of you rolled around wrestling like boys, alessia whining as you wiped your cheek on her.

"dinners almost done, come on!" at that you both shot to your feet, racing one another inside, sprinting past the woman who couldn't help but chuckle at your antics. as much as alessia gently bullied you sometimes, she was also your most fierce protector, never afraid to unleash fury on anyone who dared even try to pick on you.

and as much as she adored football, her favourite parts of your friday nights together was staying up late watching movies, huddled together under the blankets giggling and talking in hushed voices until the early hours of the morning, sneaking downstairs for snacks and pretending to be asleep when one of her parents would hear the footsteps and come to check on you.

you'd both lay still under the duvet and hold your breath, playing a dangerous game as you struggled with every fibre of your being not to burst out in laughter, hands tightly squeezed together as you waited till her door clicked close again before collapsing on top of one another giggling, hands quickly covering one anothers mouth as you'd hear her parents sternly warn you both of the time through the closed door.

as infuriating as you both could be as a double act, it had warmed both your parents heart to watch such a special and sincere friendship blossom between you both over the years, which in turn lead to your families being incredibly close as well, your older siblings not too far off alessia's brothers in age.

which is why when you'd both so suddenly stopped seeing one another, stopped mentioning each other, switching the subject when the other was brought up, seemingly erasing yourselves from one anothers lives without a second thought it baffled your families to no end.

they'd of course asked why and inquired about what happened countless amounts of times and you'd both used and abused the excuse that you'd just drifted apart once you left school.

but the truth of the matter was yet another secret only to be shared between the two of you, this one leaving a bitter taste in both your mouths.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part three

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso blurbs #engwnt #woso imagine #alessia russo #woso #woso fanfics

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lambtotheslaughterr · 5 months

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Rise : Chapter Sixteen

A Rafe Cameron Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IMPORTANT NOTE* hey ya’ll! just a reminder that my requests are OPEN. please read this POST before making any requests as i have rules in place. there are two spots left (which you will see at the bottom of the linked post). so get your requests in if you’re wanting to use me;p

You were back where you started.

In the room where you stayed before moving to Rafe’s, you sat against the furthest wall. Two chains were expertly locked around your ankles & drilled into the wall you rested against. You had tried pulling on them for hours but there was no give. Micah had made sure they would be secure, that you couldn’t escape again.

You were still in the clothes you were wearing from the night that Bear escaped. You weren’t allowed to leave the room, even to shower. You felt disgusted with yourself but more so with the people who kept you locked in there.

It wasn’t for another day & a half after Bear’s escape that you saw Rafe. Adrianna brought you food once & you didn’t miss the conflicted look in her eyes, torn somewhere between concern for you & anger for betraying Rafe. You couldn’t care. As long as Bear made it, that’s all that mattered. But they were out looking for him.

At midday, the plate of half-eaten food forgotten beside you, you were struggling to rest comfortably against the brick wall. The rigidness dug into your spine painfully & you groaned annoyingly. The flimsy mattress you once slept on teased you in the corner of your eyes. It was just out of reach. You had tried many times, straining yourself against the chains to try & reach it. Your fingertips brushed against it many times in mockery.

The jacket you wore that night was the only source of mild comfort you could find. You often rolled it up to act as a pillow for when you slept or a cushion for moments like this when you tried to remain sitting up. But the fabric was thin & did little to block out the discomfort.

You were eyeing the rest of the food on your plate, some stale bread & diced potatoes, contemplating eating the rest, when you suddenly heard a door slam in the distance followed by yelling. You knew that yell anywhere, & it was growing closer.

Immediately you went into defensive position, standing up & bracing yourself against the wall. There was little you could do to defend yourself, that much you knew, but you’d be damned if you didn’t put up a fight.

“_____!” Rafe yelled, his voice thick with fury.

A second later the door to your room slammed open, having been kicked in by Rafe. He stormed inside, his eyes set directly on you. He stomped towards you & when he made to grab you by the shoulders, you sunk against the wall, using your feet to kick at his shins. Rafe groaned in pain but still managed to get a fistful of your hair, yanking you upwards.

He then slammed your against the brick wall, his hands around your throat, “Where the fuck is he?!”

You couldn’t help the cat-got-the-milk smile that appeared on your face at his question, despite the fact that he was constricting your air. They hadn’t found him. Bear had gotten away. And it would stay that way if you could help it.

“Where is he, you fucking bitch?!” Rafe yelled against, spats of his spit marking your face. But you only returned it with a smile.

“I’ll never tell you.” You strained, your voice hoarse from his grip.

“Ahh!” He screamed again, shoving you against the wall once. Your body dropped to the follow immediately, air rushing to your lungs. You rubbed at your neck, ebbing the pain away, but it was short-lived as Rafe stepped to the side. It was only then that you noticed Micah standing behind him in the doorway.

“Do it.” Rafe demanded, staring hard eyed at you.

Your eyes flashed from his to Micah as Micah approached you with a proud grin on his face.

Micah kneeled beside you, a drill in his hand as he brought it up to where your chains were hooked into the wall. As he reversed the drill, loosening your chains, your eyes went from Micah back to Rafe. What did they have planned? A second later, Micah yanked on your arm harshly, forcing you to stand up.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, panic settling into your bones. You knew Rafe & Micah were evil in the flesh, but you had yet to see it for yourself. Now, you would be experiencing it firsthand.

Neither of them said a word as they shoved you out of the room. Micah held onto your chains to ensure you wouldn’t run off, but even if you had chosen to, Rafe had a firm grip on the back of your neck as he practically dragged you down the hallway. Your feet tripped over one another as you attempted to keep up with their fast pace, & it didn’t help that Micah would intentionally yank on the chain to trip you up. You flashed him a glare over your shoulder. He returned it with a devilish smirk.

They eventually led you to the mess hall. You were disturbed to find everyone there. Waiting. Kai had his head hung low, like he couldn’t fathom the sight before him, but everyone else looked like hyenas ready for the kill.

“Notice anyone missing?” Micah asked you in a hushed voice.

You didn’t respond but did take a double look. But you knew all the faces present.

Before you could think on what Micah was asking, Rafe forced you against one of the support beams in the center of the room. You were forced to turn your head to prevent your face from getting smashed against the wood as Rafe held you front-facing against it. You tried to see what Micah was doing as he kneeled down yet again. The sound of the drill filled the spacious room & you began to feel the chains around your ankles grow taught again. Then Adrianna stepped forward with another set of chains. She avoided your eyes.

A shocked yelp escaped you when you felt the cold, pinching grip of the chains as they were suddenly around your wrists on the other side of the post. At this point, you were better able to see as Micah tugged on the chains around your wrists until you hissed as he secured the other end of them on a post a few feet away from you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your voice shook with fear.

“You killed people.” Rafe voiced behind you, “The masses are angry. They want punishment.”

He circled around until you could see him, “And I do, too.”

“Killed? I didn’t kill anyone.” You rushed out, your eyes flashing around the faces yet again. But everyone was there! And they couldn’t be referring to Bear…

“Then where’s Matt? Robbie?” Micah sneered as he secured the chains & approached you & Rafe.

What? You glanced around again, only then realizing that those two were indeed missing. But I didn’t…

“When Bear exploded my truck,” Rafe started, his eyes holding yours, “Matt & Robbie were the collateral. Dumbasses were having a couple beers in the cab, too drunk to notice that Bear stuck a rag into the neck of the gas tank & lit it.”

“Boom.” Micah’s face hardened as he made an explosion with his hand.

You shook your head but a light chuckle revealed your true thoughts, “Good.”

Micah growled, taking a step towards you, but Rafe stopped him.

“Get a knife.”

Knife?

You watched with wide eyes as Micah grabbed a knife from the nearby makeshift kitchen & brought it to Rafe.

“You’re gonna tell us where Bear is, _____.” Rafe said from behind you, a pleased lilt in his tone. “Whether you want to or not.”

“Fuck you.” You muttered. The neck of your shirt was suddenly pulled tight against your neck but was quickly released at the sound of fabric tearing. Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the back of your shirt was torn in two then effectively ripped away from your body. You were standing in only your bra & pants.

“We’ll get to that later.” Rafe replied low enough for only you to hear. Your stomach flipped.

Your bra snapped loose next as Rafe cut through the band. You lowered your arms as much as possible to keep from your breasts being exposed to the others. It was the only moment you were grateful to be pressed against the post to hide your nudity. You felt humiliated, but it was short-lived when Micah appeared in your line of sight with a switch from a tree.

“Micah.” Rafe gestured for him to stand behind you & Micah was happy to follow his orders. They switched placed & it was then Rafe who stood looking you in the eyes. Unlike Micah, he didn’t have a smile on his face. He continued to carry the rage across his features.

“This is for Matt & Robbie.”

Before you could brace yourself, the sound of the switch whipping through the air met your ears just as the thin, offensive object made contact with your back. You cried out, your teeth gritted against one another.

“Again.” Rafe demanded as he stood with his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes never leaving your face.

Thwack!

You cried out loud again, your fingers tugging against the chains around your wrist in an attempt to get away from the assault.

“Again!” Rafe hollered.

Micah whipped you again. Tears blanketed your vision as the pain alongside your back spiked & stung with every hit.

“More!”

“Harder!”

“Again!”

It kept coming, never stopping. Your cries eventually died out as you felt your body go numb. The scent of blood filled your nose & you winced. Micah never let up once, never lessened his strength with the switch. He hit you on the center of your back with pristine placement, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to lie down or lie against anything for days.

Micah whipped you once more when Rafe finally raised his hand for him to stop. At this point, you were practically on your knees, your chest heaving, cheeks wet from the tears you unwillingly cried, your shoulders straining from the angle they were positioned at above your head. You felt dizzy, tired, sick, deathly. But you reminded yourself over & over again… as long as Bear got away.

Rafe kneeled before you then, feigned concern on his face, “Now, where is Bear going?”

Your lips were cracked & dry as you rested there trying to catch your breath. But you licked you lips to soften the word you knew would only provide you more pain, “Never.”

Rafe’s eyes fluttered closed as his anger heightened, “Your choice.”

He then backed away & nodded at Micah who still stood behind you. Micah circled around to the front of you, handing Rafe the switch. You didn’t miss how it was covered in blood, your blood, that dripped onto the floor. A surprised yelp left your already parted lips as you felt Micah yank on your right pointer finger.

“Ahh!” You screamed in ungodly pain as Micah snapped your finger back, breaking it.

“Where is he, _____?!”

“No, please!” You hollered, desperate to escape the torture.

Micah broke your middle finger.

“We’ll go until we break every single fucking bone. Tell me where he’s going!”

“I don’t know!” You lied, spit collecting on your chin as you screamed in pain.

Your ring finger was next.

Tears coated your cheeks again as your hand throbbed in pain, the crisp, stiff pain of your back forgotten with the new assault.

Give them something! You yelled to yourself, Anything! Make it believable! You have to survive, _____. You have to. Desperately, you thought of a way out, a lie convincing enough to get you, & Bear, out of the shit you found yourself in. The map in the office flashed in your mind. Rockingham was south of Asheboro. But another town, one closer, one in the opposite direction, appeared in your memory as you stared at the map in your minds eye.

Micah snatched your pinkie finger, waiting for Rafe to give the nod, but you lowered your head, blubbering out, “Greensboro.”

Rafe held out his hand, halting Micah. He stepped towards you, lowering himself to hear you better, “What was that?”

You swallowed, wincing as your three fingers ached, “He’s going to Greensboro.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes at you, “Why?”

You shook your head, biting your lower lip as you put on the performance of your life, “Please, Rafe, just let him go.”

“Why?” He repeated again, his voice firm.

“There’s others.” Your voice shuddered as you felt bile rise in your throat.

“What are you talking about?”

You finally looked at him, your vision blurry but you could make him out enough as you glared at him, “I heard others on the radio… they’re in Greensboro.”

He just stared at you, a displeased sigh leaving him, “You kept it from me…”

Crying, you nodded, “I’m sorry.”

Rafe smiled but it wasn’t soft, wasn’t kind. He finally looked at Micah, “Take her back to the room.”

“What?” Micah stood up, his rage matching Rafe’s, “That’s it? She could be fucking lying!”

Rafe stood with him, glaring him down, “Take her back to the room. Now.”

It was clear Micah wanted to argue but didn’t. He let go of your pulsating hand, turning his back on Rafe as he stomped through the others who witnessed the torturous assault, “Take her back yourself.”

Rafe sighed heavily, but didn’t stop him. He then looked to Adrianna, “Take her back, Anna. And fix her up.”

Adrianna nodded. She was quick to undo Micah’s mechanics of hooking you up to the post. Your body collapsed against hers as she held you up. You held your hand to your chest, too fearful to look at it, knowing that if you did you’d throw up right then & there. The others dispersed & Rafe followed after Micah.

As Adrianna led you back to your room, you smiled internally to yourself. Let them chase a ghost. As long as Bear got away.

It was late when you heard the door to your room crank & groan open. You wiped the sleep from your eyes with your unharmed hand as you struggled to sit up. Adrianna had been decent enough to remove the chains from your wrists & ankles entirely. You were no threat as broken & beaten down you were. The flimsy mattress was the only source of comfort you had as you lied on it on your front, sure to keep your right hand out of your own way.

Adrianna had snapped your fingers back into place, which was just as painful as when Micah broke them, before making splints for them & wrapping them in a cast. She then cleaned & disinfected your back, informing you that you would only be able to wear loose fitting clothes & no bras until the marks healed. You didn’t thank her. Couldn’t. She was just as bad as the rest of them. Then she left you & you finally fell into a deep sleep.

But you were rudely awoken at the presence of another as they snuck into your room, waking you.

It was dark in the room, & as exhausted as you were, you were unable to make out just who it was that was in there. You worried that it was Micah, having come to finish the job, but your fears were snuffed out as the sound of a lighter flicking cast a dim glow against the face who held a cigarette in between their lips.

Rafe.

You stared up at him from below your lashes, your back too sore to move in a more defensive position.

“What do you want?” You whispered angrily.

Rafe exhaled, the smoke filling the air around him. He slowly approached before kneeling down before you. He took another drag, his eyes never leaving yours before removing the nicotine stick from his lips, holding it out to you. Your eyes fell to the burning cigarette, glaring at it before meeting his eyes again.

“No?” He raised a single brow. When you said nothing in response, he returned the cigarette to his lips before reaching into the pocket of his jeans. The sound of familiar sound of plastic rustling reached your eyes. He then produced a little baggie filled with white powder. You couldn’t help the sharp inhalation you made at the sight of the coke. How did he still have some?

“I’m no doctor but this will help with the pain.” He dangled the baggie before you.

Your regrettable desire for the drug coursed through you.

“What. Do. You. Want?” You repeated, trying to ignore the baggie.

“I wanted to see you. See how you were doing.”

You scoffed at that, shaking your head, “Terribly, no thanks to you.”

“It was all Micah.” Rafe grinned nonchalantly.

“So much for never letting him hurt me, huh?” You bit back.

“You hurt me first.” He countered, his eyes darkening in the already dark room.

Hot, angry tears kissed your eyes as you glared at him through the darkness, “No. You hurt me first. Didn’t you?”

There was no need to further explain. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The only aspect about your pain & discomfort that helped you see clearly was that Rafe was a liar like you assumed him to be. He revealed as such right before Bear’s explosion. You still heard it clear as day. Nothing I haven’t done already. He said it that night, right before he was going to force himself on you.

Rafe chuckled darkly, dropping the baggie of coke onto your mattress before you. He took another drag from the cigarette, narrowing his eyes towards you, “What do you want me to say? That I raped you? Fine. I raped you.”

His admittance, as much needed as it was, only made you feel sicker.

Tears skipped down your cheeks, “Why?”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, licking his lips, “Because I wanted to.”

You shook your head. Your back ached as you moved away from him, scared of him.

“How many times?” You asked, & you weren’t sure why you were asking. You had the answer you wanted. The truth. So why did you keep asking for details that would only hurt you more?

Rafe hummed quietly to himself but his eyes never left yours, “Once.”

“In the woods.” It wasn’t a question, but Rafe shook his head, grinning. Then he laughed lightly, “No, no. That time you were into it.”

“What?” You furrowed your brows, “Quit lying!”

“I’m not.” Rafe responded smoothly, “I’ve no reason to lie anymore. You see me for the monster I am. Why would I lie?”

He was right, but he couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. You blinked your tears away, shaking your head, “No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“But you did.” Rafe made a knowing face, like he was reprimanding a child, reminding them of their faults, “You were high. You were grieving. And I was there for you.”

“And,” He moved closer, his hand gently grazing the top of your unharmed hand, “you were there for me.”

You ripped your hand away from him, snarling out, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Rafe’s face went dead then, his eyes flashing to yours. He dropped the cigarette, stomping it out.

“I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want.”

Before you could respond, or put up a pitiful fight, Rafe backhanded you. You slumped to the side. A shot of pain shooting up your arm as you attempted to catch yourself on both hands. Rafe was then quick to shove you face down onto the mattress.

“No!” You screamed, pathetically reaching back with your unbroken hand in an attempt to stop him as he climbed on top of you.

“I am so sick of your bullshit, _____.” Rafe growled as you felt him reach under your long & loose t-shirt to tear your underwear down your legs.

“Sick of protecting you, consoling you, wanting you.” The roughness of his denim pressed against the backs of your thighs as he shimmied them down his own.

“But I can’t stop.” His breath brushed against your ear as you felt him prodding for your entrance, “I can’t stop doing all of those things because I need you. More than you’ll ever know.”

You cried out when you felt him tear into you, your walls dry & unwelcoming. You didn’t care anymore about your hand, your back, your trauma, your loss, your shit hand of cards you’d been dealt at the end of the world. You just wanted him off you. Away from you forever.

“Rafe, no!” You screamed again, thrashing wildly underneath him.

He was quick to reach around & slap a hand over your mouth as he began to rut into you, his other hand keeping your flailing wrists secured against the center of your lower back.

“Just shut up.” He groaned pleasantly as he forced your thighs more apart so he could fuck you deeper. “Shut up & take it like the fucking whore you are.”

Rafe’s whore. That’s what the others referred to you as. Did they know he did this to you? Would they think that then? It didn’t matter. You felt it. You felt like a used & abused filthy whore. Just like how he wanted you.

“Ah, god.” He moaned, pressing his chest into your stinging back as he rested against you. “I fucking love you.”

You cried into the palm of his hand, spit collecting there as you tried to ignore the pain he was causing in between your legs.

“I love you, _____.” He kissed the shell of your ear as he fucked you mercilessly.

“Stop, please.” But your words were muffled behind his hand.

A growl sounded from the deepest depths of his chest, reverberating against your back as his movement began to grow choppy. The walls of your cunt were throbbing as you felt his cock begin to swell, stretching you more than he already had.

Rafe let out a guttural groan as he came, his hips slamming into you as he filled you with his seed. You had stopped crying at this point & were just lying there as he slowly thrusted into you. Rafe removed his hand from your mouth & you felt your head drop onto the mattress, your eyes staring blankly ahead.

“In time,” he began but his voice sounded far away, “you’ll learn to love me, too.”

In the corner of your eye, you watched as he pulled out of you, using your underwear to wipe himself clean. He pulled his jeans back up his thighs, fastening them as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket. He lit it, took a drag, then brought it to your lips.

“Inhale.”

Numbingly, you closed your dry lips around the filter & inhaled, the smoke filling your lungs. You released it & Rafe smiled, resting his hand on your head like he was proud of you.

“Good girl.”

With that, Rafe tucked your hair behind your ear so he could look you in the eyes, but you only stared right through him.

“Get some rest. We got a long day tomorrow. We’re going to Greensboro. Gonna track down Bear, & you better hope we find him. Or else…”

Rafe cocked his head, “Well, guess you’ll just see.”

He said nothing more as he left your room, the lit cigarette on the ground next to the mattress. You watched mindlessly as the cherry of the cigarette burned the length of the stick until it finally died.

Bear got away. It would stay that way. But you wouldn’t remain here for Rafe & Micah to torture as they pleased. You would get away, too. If it was quite literally the last thing you did, you would get out. You would run & you’d never stop running. And if Rafe caught up to you, you promised yourself then & there, that you would end your own life before it was back in his hands. Because this was a new world. It was eat or be eaten. And you’d rather Rafe starve then devour you himself. You promised it. You swore it.

If Rafe found you again, it would be your corpse.

another heavy chapter but shit is about to get wild. so prepare yourselves.

as always, please share your thoughts/feelings w me via commenting, reblogging w reviews, or dropping an ask. they keep me going & put a smile on my face.

thank you for reading!

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#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!fic #dark!fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #non con fic #dark!outer banks #rise chapter sixteen

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mymainwastoocluttered · 2 years

Text

Batty for you (Lilia)

There's a little guest in Ramshackle, could you spare some fruits?

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

— (⁠✷⁠‿⁠✷⁠)

There is a noise coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

There shouldn't be a noise coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Grim is right by your side, snoring away on his pillow, like the very spoiled cat monster weasel he is. And it is not the ghosts, they're too talkative to in just make a noise, they'd be giggling between words. So why is there a noise coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night?

That's what you're going to figure out, slipping your feet in the fluffy slippers Vil gave you during the SDC and grabbing whatever blanket Grim isn't hogging. As quickly as your sleepy brain allows you, you speedwalk down the hallway, going directly to the kitchen, a fireplace poker firmly in hands. After Floyd almost scares you to death breaking in, your trusty poker has become a mighty weapon.

Oh, please, let it be Ace letting himself in because Riddle kicked him out again. Please.

"Khee!"

"Oh!" You startle, almost tripping on the blanket dragging in the floor.

Sitting on top of a counter is a quite big bat, surrounded by grapes and other fruits, munching happily on a strawberry. Oh, so it was the bat who made the noise by turning the fruit bowl upside down to spill the fruit out of it. Wait...

"... Are you one of Lilia's bats?"

The little one perks up at your voice, or maybe at his... Carer's name. Oh, it is so cute, like a big puppy, chewing on fruit with big eyes whole holding what didn't fit its mouth with its little hands. It swallows the piece before clicking at you a few times, and you're now in love with it.

"You're so cute~" you coo, sitting on a bench so you could prop your face on your hands and watch your visitor. "Did you get lost? Or is Lilia around?"

It clicks again before shoving the rest of the fruit in its mouth. You quickly grab a random grape and hand it to your guest, watching in delight as it takes the grape from you and then nuzzles you hand.

"So cute! Eat more, little one, there's a lot of fruit here."

"He won't be little anymore if you keep feeding him like that."

The shriek that rose from your lungs would've been enough to wake up even Leona, but thanks to Lilia and his fast thinking on covering your mouth, all that came out was a muffled squeal. He only lets go once he's sure you won't scream again.

"To think that's all I needed to do to get you to make a face like that," he winks at you, boyish smile sharp as always.

"Stop– if you do that again, I'm never talking to you ever again!" You threaten, huffing triumphantly when his smile drops a millimeter. "And get down from my counter!"

"Apologies, my dear, I didn't think you'd scare so easily," he is still smirking as he jumps off the counter, but you forgive him because he's so cute, and you have a massive crush on the man.

"... I forgive you. Now take your little friend and get out of my house."

"I thought we were welcomed here?"

"I can deal with a cute bat eating in my kitchen. You, on the other hand, will just cause mischief."

"Aw, I'm hurt you think so lowly of me, dear~" he dramatically places a hand on his forehead in an impressive perfomance. Add a hat and one would think he was Rook. "I am capable of more than just mischief."

"Mayhem."

"You're no fun."

Lilia shakes his finger at you, and you can't help but giggle at his antics. The little bat lets out a soft "khee", that you now notice sounds a lot like Lilia's laugh, taking your attention away from the fae. The little one licks its lips and then its little hands, before stretching his wings. With one swift movement, it goes up in the air, and fliess over to the bat fae.

"I see how it is, you don't eat my food, but a pretty girl's are fair game," Lilia accuses, booping the bat with a finger, and you feel like dying of cuteness.

"Maybe it doesn't like your boyish looks, Lils, maybe it likes my feminine charms~" you joke, winking at him. A yawn goes past your lips, and you remember that it is still the middle of the night.

"Maybe so," he chuckles, allowing the little bat to rest on his head. "That's a big yawn, missy, you should go back to bed."

"As soon as you leave my kitchen, Silver told me to never leave you alone with an oven."

The man pouts, prompting a soft laugh from you, only to smile again and bow. With a low 'later, dear', he disappears in a flash of light, much how Hornton tends to do. You are alone in the kitchen.

"He could at least have teleported me to bed," you joke to yourself, hugging the blanket tighter to your shoulders.

(Outside Ramshackle, Lilia scolds Henry the fruit bat in a soft voice for trying to play matchmaker so late at night. Henry reasons that he's very much a bat and likes to go out at night best, and maybe he wouldn't have to do this if Lilia stopped wasting time and confessed already.)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge

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hannahssimblr · 2 months

Text

At the house, I am conscious of the mess. Nobody has made an effort to clean up properly for weeks, and now dishes and miscellaneous bits of rubbish litter every available surface. The bins are full. Tangles of chargers and cables pile up on the table, and water damage has well and truly set in on the oak flooring under our feet. The same patch of floor that Evie’s hair is dripping on now, but while it’s too late to save it, she might as well add to it.

“Wow, this is a beautiful house,” she says, and I have to check her face to see if she’s taking the piss out of me. She looks genuinely charmed. I frown.

“I’ll get you a towel downstairs.”

As we descend to the living room, I find myself holding my breath. It seems even dirtier than the kitchen there, and I wonder how and when this happened, how it is even possible. Yet here we are, and it is. I pray there are clean towels, at least let there be clean towels…

Oh, thank God.

I hand her one from the hot press. It is old and scratchy, and likely a victim of my mother, back when she used to dye her hair at home, evidenced by the big, bleached patches all over it, but at least it’s clean. I show her the bathroom.

“Feel free to take a shower if you want to. The water is hot.” As it constantly is, because I turned it on at the beginning of the summer and found the system so complex that I never risked turning it off again. I’ll be hearing about it when my dad gets the bill, but that’s an issue for September.

Evie peeks in. “You don’t want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.”

As soon as I hear the hum of the shower, I pounce into action and tear into my bedroom. I yank all the dirty clothes off the floor and fire them into my already heaving hamper, then kick a pair of shoes under the bed, followed by a mucky football and some art magazine Jen thought I’d like, but I never read.

There are chocolate wrappers on the floor. What kind of creature am I? Was I sitting on the floor at some point, feasting on a family packet of dairy milk bars, or did these just fall out of my pockets? I rush around, picking them all up, then reach the wastepaper basket to find it full. I curse under my breath and yank the bag out, tying it in a hasty knot, then carry it and the two handfuls of coffee mugs strewn about the place up to the kitchen. There is nowhere for them to go, so I shove the mugs into the sink and toss the bag on the floor.

She’s showering for ages. Good.

Next, I tackle the bed, straightening out the duvet and pillows, which are, mercifully, clean. I could tongue-kiss the past version of myself that ran them through the wash two days before. To make extra sure, I give them a good, long sniff. They still smell like detergent. The clean clothes from that same wash go from the armchair to the wardrobe, and books on the bedside table. The tennis racquets… they’ll be fine, leaning against the wall. When I step back and examine my work, I determine that it’s barely passable, but time is surely running out, and she can’t shower forever. The dust on the floor can stay another day.

Lastly, I toss my sweaty clothes onto the pile and peel off my sodden shorts. Once I have changed into something clean, I carry all the laundry out and heave it into the washing machine, right by the door of the bathroom. Evie hums tunelessly in the shower, and for a moment or two, I stand and listen. I wonder whose shower gel she is using, and shiver inexplicably at the idea of her choosing mine.

I arrange myself in a casual position when she comes back into the room, hanging out on the end of the bed. She’s rosy from the hot water, and her hair lies flat against her head, so straight and fine that her ears poke out the sides.

“You don’t have to wear the same wet t-shirt,” I inform her. “I can put your clothes in the dryer.”

She pulls at the hem and looks down at those two, damp, triangular patches. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “They’ll dry on me.”

“You can leave all your wet stuff on the floor. I’ll sort them out after my shower and I’ll just find you something else to wear.”

“But I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“You’ll fit in a t-shirt, won’t you?” I saunter over to my wardrobe and lift a t-shirt from the stack. It’s old, and has a hole in the armpit, hence it’s permanent relegation to the beach house wardrobe, but like everything else in this house in its current state, it will suffice.

“Thanks,” she says. I leave her to change and head for the shower.

“What are you looking at?”

She jumps and turns around. I’ve caught her nosing around and looking at my notice board. She points at it. “Your ticket to a music festival.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether Claire has blabbed to her about what I said or not. “Oh yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should. All of us are heading up to it.” I pull a pair of socks out of a drawer and plonk myself onto the bed to put them on.

She sits with me. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a bit complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she hesitates before deciding to divulge. “Kelly and Claire are in a big fight about it. Claire wants to go, and Kelly doesn’t want to, even though it’s Claire’s eighteenth birthday the same weekend. It’s… it’s all a bit silly if I’m honest.”

I frown. “She doesn’t want to celebrate her friends’ birthday in a fun way?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s that she doesn’t want to hang out with Shane for the whole weekend. She’d be too embarrassed to. She’s weird about that kind of thing.”

I should proceed with caution. I say, “sounds a little selfish to me.”

“Kelly’s a complicated person. I think she means well, she just… isn’t great at expressing herself. She gets angry at people instead of telling them how she feels in a normal way.”

I could talk a lot of shit about Kelly Healy, but I‘ll save it. I know that teenage girls’ friendships are strange and nuanced in ways my brain will never fully comprehend. Things never seem to be simple enough to just end the friendship. It must drag on for eternity until one of them is irreparably damaged in its wake. “So what, she’s forbidden you both from going to the festival?”

“She hasn’t said that we’re forbidden.”

“But you’re not going because you think she’ll be angry with you.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what about Claire? It’s her birthday.”

She groans. “I know. I hate this. I hate when people are fighting, and I feel like I’m in the middle of it. I don’t know what the right decision is.”

Tell me about it. “The thing that you want to do more, that’s the right decision.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something wise.”

I laugh. If only I could take my own advice.

She heaves out a sigh and slumps over her knees. “I can’t talk to either of them about it. Kelly is impossible, and Claire hasn’t been around. I’ve barely seen her at all since they fought. I don’t even know where she’s been.”

I blink. “Oh, she’s been here.”

“What?”

“Yeah! I thought you knew. She’s been coming here every day for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“No, I didn’t ask. I thought it was just to hang out with Shane.”

“With Shane?” She straightens to look into my face and I grin.

“Yeah, they’ve been hanging out.”

“Go ’way.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they hang out a lot, go for walks together and watch TV in the living room. I usually just leave them alone, but…” I tap my nose.

“Oh, I knew it!” She throws herself back on to her elbows and shakes her head. “I wonder what this is going to mean for Kelly.”

“Kelly can grow up. She doesn’t have a say.”

“Ugh. I know. It’s just impossible not to worry about it.”

“Evie, how often do you let that girl live inside your head? Forget about it. Let Shane and Claire deal with her.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s not lost on me, the juxtaposition between this conversation and the one I had with Alison this morning. These two girls are only a year apart in age, and yet somehow their lives oppose so diametrically. Am I the same boy with them both, or have I somehow split in two? How can I be worrying about Alison and all that she’s been through, while hours later coaching Evie through friend drama? I know the turmoil and stress is real for her. I can tell by the things her face is doing, how she nibbles on her lip, the way her brow furrows, but I am comforted by it, by how simple it is. Maybe it would be good for my soul to spend more time with Evie.

Regardless, I move on from this specific theme and bring the conversation back to where it began. “And as for the festival, I think you should come.”

“Hm.”

“Will you?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume she hasn’t heard me. I nudge her. “I want you to come. Will you come?”

“You want me to?” She echoes, like she doesn’t exactly believe it.

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

Perhaps someone else would find it worthwhile to read into the fact that she seems to want to do everything that I do, but I’m not really that bothered. I’m just glad that she agreed for the sake of herself. I suspect it may be a rarity for her.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

#lucky boy 2010 #the festival is in sight bbs #huhuhuhuhe

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ladylooch · 1 year

Text

How Would I? - Nico Hischier

A/N: I am going to be honest and say I am actually nervous to post this. I went back and forth on if I needed to soften this up. Ultimately, I feel it is much better as is. But this is definitely dark, so please read at your own discretion!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Robbery, assault, broken bones, pregnancy talk, violence.

“Hi.” I whisper to my husband via FaceTime. My feet gently rock Lucie and I on the rocking chair in her room. Nico smiles excitedly when he sees my face. He is leaning against the brick wall of the Prudential Center. The team is having a Dine with the Devils charity event at the arena.

“Hi.” Nico murmurs back. “She asleep?”

“Yeah.” I flip the camera so he can see Lucie’s angelic face. She had a big day playing with Lio at an indoor play house, then having pizza for dinner.

“Good. Her and Lio have fun?”

“So much.” I smile, turning the camera back onto me.

“Cause trouble too?”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes. “They conspired by hiding in the upper slides. Only came out when Emma started yelling at them in Swiss German.” Nico chuckles. “The other parents gave her quite the look.” Emma holding her pregnant belly with each heavy inhale added another layer to the picture.

“I’m sure.” He sighs, glancing up and giving a polite nod as a group of fans walks by to the locker room for their tour. “I should be home in an hour or so. Things are wrapping up.”

“Sounds good.” I adjust the screen in my hand. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too, babe. See you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too.” We pucker our lips for smooches, then click off. “Okay, Luc.” I whisper, then stand. My almost five month bump protrudes out as I maneuver Lucie into her bed. She startles a bit, gripping onto her penguin pillow pet. I back away quietly, then shut the door completely behind me.

I hold my belly as I walk back down the stairs. I feel so huge this pregnancy. With Lucie, it seemed like I stayed small until the very end when she began gaining a pound a week. But with this daughter, I’ve been popping since last month. I scratch at the itchy skin around my belly button then head into the kitchen. I finish loading the dishwasher, reaching around for the detergent in the bottom cabinet. I hear the front door open and foot steps on the rug in the entry way. I stand up, closing the dishwasher and pushing the on button.

“Wow, that had to have been record speed.” I say making sure the light turns on for the wash cycle. There is no response. I move to turn around but a hand clasps over my mouth. This is not Nico. Fear jolts through my body and I try to pull away.

“Stop. If you do what I say, you and your daughter won’t be harmed.” It’s a man. A voice I don’t recognize. My heart lurches into my throat. I stiffen. “I am going to release you now. The last thing you want to do is scream. We wouldn’t want your little daughter upstairs to wake up, Mrs. Hischier.”

I can sense he has been watching us. He knows Lucie is asleep. He knows where her room is. He knows who I am. Who Nico is. It’s all panic inducing. The baby kicks against my abdomen as he releases me.

“Go to the table.” He presses something cold to the back of my neck. I have never felt a gun against my skin before, but it sure feels like one. I purse my lips together and slowly move to the dining area. I glance around, looking for a weapon, cursing earlier me that cleaned up the kitchen. The knives are across the kitchen. The vase is too far away to grab. And the very real possibility of a gun being on my neck stops any other thoughts of fighting.

“What do you want?” I ask, surprise at how still my voice is.

“No questions.” He presses the cool metal even deeper into my skin. The more he talks, the younger he sounds. He rips out one of the dinning room chairs and harshly shoves me down onto it. My stomach bottoms out. The baby kicks harder and I push a hand over her. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant. Otherwise you’d be dead.” My mouth crumbles as he touches my hair. I pull harshly away. “I’m going to tie you up. You’re going to be quiet. I’ll grab what I want and leave. You scream, I take your daughter with me.”

“Please. Let me go to her room. We’ll stay there together. You can take whatever you want. Please. Just… don’t hurt her.” I am sobbing now, thinking of this man upstairs alone with my daughter sleeping. I feel helpless, incapable of protecting her from the greatest danger.

“Your daughter’s safety depends on your cooperation and yours only. Keep your mouth shut and Nico won’t see your dead bodies when he gets home.”

The way he talks about Nico drips with disdain. A gloved hand comes around, grabbing my wrist and forcing it behind my back. I try to fight against him for the other one, but he yanks down on my shoulder which causes a sharp pain through my shoulder blade. No other words are shared as he duct tapes my feet together. Tape gets slapped over my mouth too. Tears immediately trace over the grey strip.

His retreating footsteps can be heard going up the stairs. I’m stuck. I can’t move the chair. If I tip over, I’ll fall onto the baby. I dig my finger nails into my palm, more tear tracks falling down my cheeks. I listen intently for Lucie. She will scream if he goes in there. I know she will. But no sounds come from upstairs. Nothing except the muted foot steps that I’ll never forget the sound of.

His boots hit the hardwood again. My whole body tenses as I feel him approach from behind. I grit my teeth, trying not to show any fear outwardly. Wanting to swing at him with everything in me and rip his fucking eyes out for invading our home.

“One last thing.” He sneers into my ear, reaching for the wedding bands on my left ring finger. I make a fist, trying to keep them on. “Release or I’ll cut your finger off.” He forces my fingers apart, tugging the rings harshly off. As he is pulling back, I’m able to get my finger nails on him. I press hard then drag, drawing blood. “Bitch!” He grabs the back of my head and throws me to the ground. I land hard on my side. I cringe, feeling the pain shoot through my collarbone. He steps towards me. I turn, looking him dead in his masked face. He stands over me. “All you rich bitches are the same. Ungrateful sluts.” He leans down, grabbing my face, pressing his fingers in. “Should untie you and teach you a lesson.”

“Dude! Lights are coming down the street! Let’s go!” Someone else yells into the house.

“Guess I’ll have to come back instead. Maybe on your husband’s next road trip.” He releases my face, stepping over me towards the front door. The voices disappear and the house is quiet again after a click of the front door. His final words hang violently in the air.

I close my eyes, heavy tears running down from my eyes. I pant heavily, struggling to stretch my feet to loosen the tape. I don’t want Nico to find me like this. Every movement makes my chest and shoulder shoot with pain. It isn’t long before the pain is unbearable. I fight back the nausea from it. With the duct tape still on my mouth, I’ll choke If I puke.

“Nico.” I sob against the stickiness over my mouth. Panic is bubbling up, tightening my throat. I stop fighting, eventually growing still, trying to minimize the damage to myself and the baby by becoming calm.

I focus on my breathing. I go to the happiest memories I can think of with Nico. I imagine I’m in bed with him in the morning. He is holding me close, placing soft kisses along my face, waking me up from a light sleep. I hear soft baby giggles coming from Lucie as he whispers for her to give me kisses too. It works. The sound of the garage door opening breaks through my safe place. Then the door opens. Nico tosses his keys on the counter. He walks beyond it, shrugging his jacket off.

His gasp rocks my body when he sees me.

“Oh my god, Lex!” He exclaims, his Nike’s slapping the wood floor as he rushes to me. His hands grab my tired hands. I yelp. He stops, then grabs the tape. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! Oh my god, baby what happened?!” His brown eyes are wild, mouth dropped open in shock, breathing rapid. “Are you okay?” He reaches down for the baby, then goes back to my hands.

“Don’t pull my hands. I think my collar bone is broken. He gently works my hands apart. Then goes into the kitchen to grab some scissors. When he has me untied, he works me onto my back.

“Go grab Lucie.” I say.

“Baby, what happened!”

“Go. Grab. Lucie!” I scream back at him. “Make sure she is okay.” Nico backs up, then runs up the stairs, two at a time, barreling into her room.

“It’s daddy, baby. It’s okay. Just daddy. Let’s go help mommy.” He comes back into view, holding her close to him. His eyes meet mine and his face distorts in pain. He brings Lucie to the couch, then comes back to me.

“Call the police. Someone broke in, tied me up, and took who knows what. All I know for sure is they took my wedding rings.” I hold my hand up, Nico looks at the vacant space. A darkness I’ve never seen before crosses over his features. “Can you help me sit up?” I give him my good arm, then sit up with his help. I run my hand over the baby, anxious to feel her move. Nico watches as he pulls his phone out.

“Hi, I need to report a break in… and um, they hurt my wife.” He is stuttering, barely able to form English words.

The police come. EMTs too. They want me to go to the hospital for x-rays and and an ultrasound for the baby. Nico scours through the video systems we have, including the baby monitor. No one entered Lucie’s room after I did, which is a relief. It also makes it difficult to give a description of the suspect because they cut the wires leading to our security system. The police believe with the quickness of the break in and the retelling of my story that they had been casing the house. They waited for me to put Lucie to sleep. For Nico to be gone. For me to be at my most vulnerable.

Nico’s fingers gripped mine so tight when the police officer said that, I had to make him let go.

The x-ray confirm my collarbone is broken. They put me in a sling and schedule me for a follow up appointment next week. I can’t take pain killers; they tell me to monitor my Advil intake because of the baby.

It is hours before we return home. Nico’s car pulls up to the house, but it looks different. Dangerous and dark in the early morning hours.

“We are moving.” Nico says as he walks behind me in the garage with Lucie in his arms. “You are not staying here without me. Every time I am gone, you are leaving too.”

“Nico.” I sigh.

“No Lex. He told you he would be back. I’m not willing to take that chance. Do not argue with me on this.” He shuts the door behind him. “I already sent a text to Steve in hockey ops. He’s grabbing us a place in Hoboken while we search for a new house. We will move into Timo and Emma’s gated community.”

“But this is our home.” I start to cry. He brings Lucie to the couch, then engulfs me into his chest, careful of my sling. He presses kisses along my head, then tilts my face so he can kiss my lips. “This is where we said we would bring all our babies home from the hospital. Where they would take their first steps. And grow up. And be in a safe place. They took that from us tonight!”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Holding me isn’t going to make any of this better, but he tries as hard as he can.

- - -

Nico watches Lexi and Lucie sleep next to him later that night. Lexi is propped up on pillows, the elbow of her broken collar bone supported by them too. To Nico, she looks fragile, with a sling and a growing belly. He reaches out for her bump, then skims that same hand along Lucie’s head where she sleeps cuddled into her baby sister.

He’s tried to fall asleep numerous times already, but he can’t.

He is fiercely angry.

Angry that someone robbed his house. Irate that some piece of shit hurt his wife. Poisoned by the visual of his pregnant wife tied up and in pain. Terror still fills his veins on what he imagined he would see of their daughter as he ran up the stairs.

All these images and emotions run through his mind. He can’t let it go. The police officers had been gentle yet realistic that they may never find the people who did this.

Fine, then Nico would. If they can’t do their job, he’ll hire someone better. The best money can buy. He’d bring investigators from Switzerland. He didn’t care. He was going to fucking find them.

None of the cameras in the neighborhood caught them. Yet, they were able to pull DNA from under Lexi’s nails of whoever tied her up. That was enough for him. Nico wants five minutes in a room with him to do permanent damage. He understands now how people can be capable of murder.

Him and Lex should have never picked this house. They had other options that provided a security presence, but they thought they were safe. Well, now he knew better. He should have been a better father and husband by forcing the gated community house.

Lexi stirs again her pillows, letting out a soft groan. Nico reaches out for her face, brushing her cheek lightly with his thumb.

“I need something.” She gulps down a tentative sip of water. “Can I take Advil yet?” Nico looks at the time on his watch sitting on the bedside table.

“Yeah, sweets. I’ll be right back.” He gently leaves the bed, careful not to rustle Lexi or Lucie. Their daughter immediately stretches her little feet out to take over his side of the bed. Normally he hates her feet against his back because she kicks him throughout the night. Tonight, it’s everything to him.

Nico comes back to Lexi with two Advil. She sits up to take it with Nico’s help. He rubs her back, anger intensifying at every flicker of pain on her body.

“Baby, I am going to find who did this.” He whispers to his wife. “They’re going to pay for this.”

“Neeks…” Lexi murmurs back, reaching for his face with her good hand. She strokes his skin, eyes wary with worry. Nico looks back at her, gaze hard, until he loses it completely. He drops his gaze to her belly when he feels the tears.

“I almost lost my whole world tonight.” Lexi sniffs because she is crying too. “How would I live without you, baby?” Lexi shakes her head, not sure what to say to her husband.

Gradually, with Lexi’s guidance, Nico lays his head into her lap. His nose presses into their growing baby while Lucie’s hand twitches against his hair. Lexi and Nico join hands on her bump.

The room is silent. The heavy thoughts of their night hanging over them.

Lexi finally gets Nico to sleep by gently stroking his hand, continuously murmuring to him that she’s still here.

#What my world spins around au #Lexi X Nico Hischier #Nico Hischer Fan Fiction #hockey writing #NHL Fan Fiction #hockey fan fiction

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anniebear-92 · 2 years

Text

Had this pop into my head while I tried to fall asleep last night. However as per usual this snarky blonde boy bullied his way into my thoughts and here we are. 😤

Reverse Nightmare comfort: Bakugo has had reoccurring nightmares since his run in with the slime villain and you are just the person to help him through it. Childhood best friends / neighbors.

Pairing: Bakugo x reader.

Warnings: SFW, fluff, nightmare comforts.

I decided there will be two endings so you can read both or the one you prefer. One platonic and one romantic. Reader is referred to have a super strength quirk. Brief mention the reader is female but mostly GN.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oi.”

You grumbled as the deep voice cut into your precious dreams, curling around your pillow tighter.

“Oi!” A finger jabbed into your side, earning your full attention now. Swiveling your head over a shoulder to come face to face with your ash blonde neighbor.

“Kats? What are you doing here at… 2 am?”

He huffed in response while lifting the covers, unceremoniously shoving you from your comfortable position. Many protests and the flailing of limbs, you found yourself on the cold side of the bed with two strong arms locking around your waist. Katsuki buried his face into the back of your neck, the soft puffs of breath tickling your skin.

Inhaling deeply you ran your fingers over the fine hair along his forearm, knowing your best friend needed a moment to gather his thoughts before he would finally tell you what was wrong. When you heard him shuffling behind you, it was a clear sign he was ready.

His words were muffled by your skin but being fluent in Bakugo, you heard him loud and clear.

“Had a fucking nightmare.”

Continuing to run your fingertips over his arms you waited for him to elaborate, or not. Leaving it entirely up to him.

“Stupid slime villain.” These words were lower, almost as if he did not mean for you to hear them. A sad smile crossed your lips as you remembered that day clearly yourself as if it were yesterday.

——— flashback to that day

You were furious. Absolutely, undeniably furious. Your so called best friend had just told one of your closest friends to unalive himself. All over not having a stupid quirk?!

You had left Izuku standing by the small Koi pond outside the school and were currently scouring the alleyways that you know your soon to be ex friend frequented. He was going to get a piece of your mind regardless of wither he wanted it or not.

“Hey Kaachan let’s go to the arcade today!” Your ears perked at the sound of your childhood friend’s nickname, making a line for the alley entrance. “Yeah whatever.”

Hearing that recognizable gravelly voice solidified that he was indeed just around the corner. Rounding said building, you were met with the spikey, haired boy and his two forever shadows.

“Oh hey! It’s L/N again, come to yell at us?” The boy with the creepy fingers waived at you with a snicker. As you passed, your arm shoved him out of your way a bit harshly that he crashed into the trash cans behind him. They stepped further away as you locked eyes with those vermillion that were widening in shock.

“You!” You growled in his face, gripping his collar and lifting him easily off his feet against the brick wall behind him. You began a screaming match with him about your green haired friend and how disgusted with him you were.

Finally dropping his collar and returning him to his feet he bit his tongue to hold back the venomous words he wanted so badly to spit. However you on the other hand had no filter at this point. “I don’t know how we are even friends right now!”

The words bit his heart as his foot shot out and kicked a nearby bottle, your e/c eyes shooting him the nastiest glare he’d ever seen on you. Meeting you back with his own when his lips parted to speak, however the voice that came next was definitely not his own.

“Wow girlie, you’ve got some strength in you! I think you’ll do, maybe even take down All might with this power!”

The bubbling voice sounding of someone drowning chilled your soul as both of your eyes locked on the growing green mass spilling out of the bottle Katsuki had kicked a moment before. The cap had busted off, releasing whatever villain now stood? Slithered? Before you.

His large grin widened as large tendrils wrapped themselves around your arm and wrists, a shriek leaving your throat as it began dragging you towards it. Your strength failed out of terror, having never faced a real villain in your life. Two large hands gripped your waist, yanking you free from the slime, only to be captured in the writhing mass themselves.

“No! I didn’t want you brat!” You turned to find Katsuki being pulled into the dripping slime of the villains body, your words failing you as he squirmed and let off explosions in the means to escape. “Well, you’re powerful too! What are they feeding kids nowadays? No matter, I’ll take you instead!”

(You all know what happens next, Izuku rushes in, all might saves the day. If you don’t.. what you doing here? Go watch the show! :| just kiddin back to the story) this is where the platonic / love endings come in. I started with the love, for the platonic scroll down until you see the ~~ again.

———- Romantic route

That day never left either of your minds, night terrors had plagued your mind for months after the event. You truly thought you were going to lose your best friend. Feeling powerless a hero had carried you away as a green haired streak went rushing in.

Your parents had freaked when you returned covered in green goo, only to send you away for the next ten months for hard training with your ex pro-hero grandfather for the UA exam. Leaving Katsuki to deal with his trauma all by himself.

When you had returned for UA’s entrance exam, you would’ve thought Katsuki saw a ghost upon locking gazes with you. You had grown up during the time away, filled out with age and training. You were even more beautiful to him now than ever before, especially now that you were back.

He had been stuck to your side like glue ever since, hence the fact the boy was laying in your bed, wrapped like an anaconda around your limbs.

“You wanna talk about it?” Your voice a whisper as he turned his head, cheek pressing to your shoulder. “No.”

You squirmed in his arms, turning so you were face to face with him. His beautiful red eyes were currently closed, frown lines and angry eyebrows still visible as you smoothed them out with a thumb. He let out a long sigh, face relaxing as you retracted your hand. Those gorgeous crimson eyes opened, showing the small gold flecks that encircled his dark pupils. They reflected in the sunlight that most people didn’t know existed save you who were privy enough to get close enough to see them.

“Better?” Your voice soft as his eyes followed suit, gazing into your own e/c ones that shown nothing but admiration for the boy.

“Yes.”

A soft smile graced your lips as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your own, the tips of your noses brushing just so softly.

“I thought I was going to lose you that day.”

Your eyes raised to his, soft and sincere. You gave him a soft smile before poking his chest “It’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

He grinned, slapping your hand away.

“You’re an idiot you know.”

His words caused you to frown, eyebrows dropped to question the audacity this boy had at this moment. “How so?”

His own lips spread in a small smile as his hand lifted to trail his fingertips up and down your spine. Shivers ran through your body as he leaned even closer to twitch his nose back and forth against your own, earning a giggle from you.

“Because you continue to put up with me.”

A puff of air left your nose as you pressed your finger against his forehead, pushing him back softly. “You’re my best friend. How couldn’t I put up with you?”

He rolled his eyes, still not a frown line in sight.

“What did you do for the nightmares while I was gone?”

He turned his eyes towards the ceiling, a soft pink tint coating his cheeks. “I slept in your bed.”

A laugh escaped you as his turned darker, the frown lines back though not as deep. “You would crawl out your window, hop across the wall to crawl into mine, then sleep in my bed while I was gone?”

He nodded before turning his attention back to you, fingers trailing a thumb over the apple of your cheek. “It smelled like you.”

You smiled brightly, arms wrapping around his torso to pull him close. Resting your cheek against his warm chest, listening to the pitter pat of his heart beat.

“Y/N. I love you.”

Your breath caught, head pulling back as you looked up to catch his face buried into your hair. The tinge of red coated the tip of his ears, a smile that you couldn’t control broke onto your face.

“I love you too Katsuki.”

You listened as his own breath caught, chest stiffening as if he did not expect your returned feelings. He pulled away, eyes meeting yours with more adoration than you had ever seen in them before.

“You do?” Your nod brought his own wide smile, your favorite one that he only showed when you were around.

His fingers curled around your jaw, thumb pressing softly to angle your face towards his as he leaned in slowly to press his soft lips against yours. You had imagined this moment for a long time and it surely did not do it justice as he kissed you more gently than you ever thought possible for Katsuki Bakugo.

He pulled back after a moment, brushing a soft tear from your cheek. “Now go to bed. I’m tired.” He scolded as if he wasn’t the one who had woken you with his own issues.

You patted his cheek before turning in his arms that constricted, holding you tightly against the heat of his body.

“Good night Kats.”

“Good night Angel.”

Needless to say, Katsuki got the best of sleep in a long time, no nightmares to return that night. Instead of falling asleep holding a pillow that still held your scent, he got to hold you.

~~~~~~Platonic route

That day never left either of your minds, night terrors had plagued your mind for months after the event. Your parents had freaked when you returned covered in green goo, only to send you away for the next ten months for hard training with your ex pro-hero grandfather.

Leaving Katsuki to deal with his trauma all by himself. Upon returning for the start of UA he had stuck to you like glue, his best friend returned to him finally.

Katsuki shifted to pull away from you, his hands loosely holding you still as you continued to rub his arm.

“Feeling better?”

He nodded softly as you smirked “I can’t hear your brain rattling. Use your words.”

He snorted, a hand raising to slap the back of your head. “Hey! This is what I get for comforting you after a nightmare?” His lips curled into a smirk as he shifted you closer once more.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” You huffed in response, crossing your arms and grumbling obscenities at his expense.

“Oi.”

You paused, turning just your head to give him the stink eye. His own were closed, not a frown line to be found.

“I love you.”

You smiled, tapping your finger against his nose before turning back away, knowing full well your friend didn’t mean in a romantic kind of way. Though he voiced his feelings rarely, when he did… You could feel it.

“I love you too dummy.”

Katsuki snuggled back into your neck, getting the best sleep in awhile with his best friend as a snuggle buddy.

—————

Sorry if this is terrible it kept me up for awhile until I wrote it down. 😅

#bakugo imagine #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugo drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugou x y/n #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugo #childhood friends #childhood friends to lovers #izuku midoriya #platonic #nightmare comfort

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xxfaggatronxx · 5 months

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Sorry for the angst babe haha

Something soft tho for the fluff lovers (I swear hall are stone-faced I can read smut in public but give me a hint of fluff and I kick my feet and twirl my hair-)

These are MY headcannons I use for this story, to see my headcannons looked at my profile, it will be the pinned post.

Ghost hummed as Soap lazily leaned on them, the Scot sighing as he encroached on his Lieutenant’s space like he owned it himself. The Brit scoffed before thier lip curled in amusement, but the mask hid it. It gripped Soap’s shirt by the back of his collar, shoving him away. “Right, Johnny; how about you find a different cuddle-buddy,”

Soap just protested with a weak grumble, making Ghost smirk. “I cannae… yer jus’ the most perfect pillow..,” The Scot always came to them when the exhaustion became too much, and a quick Power Nap was needed. Of course, it grumbled at the coil of possessiveness that curled and wound around their guts, squeezed it’s heart painfully.

They let go of the Scot’s shirt, opting to instead massage the back of Soap’s neck, kneading the skin there as the smaller melted, leaning almost on top of him like a sun-drunk cat. Ghost smirked at that, their Sergeant came to him, knew only they were safe touch him, their Johnny knew that it would watch his six.

#simon ghost riley #non binary simon riley #soapghost #ghoap #soap cod #cod ghost #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #modern warefare ii #modern warfare

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lamamasjamas · 1 year

Text

A Very Belated Birthday

Part two to Birthday Surprise! (a cult classic it seems; read this first!)

A/n: This goes out to my thick bootylicious big mama latinas. I was listening to I Don't Know You by The Marias while writing the angst bits. (Also there’s barely any gifs of this man and I’m too damn lazy to make my own.)

Warnings: Smut, Miguel likes dat ass and eats pussy from the back, angst, moms, thick reader (not a warning, a threat 😈), the day after the birthday fracaso, fluff, read first part plessss

The door rings loudly, the knocks make the walls of the apartment shake. You wake with a start and your arm flops beside you, hand roaming and searching for a body next to your own

For a moment your heart drops, then you remember the night before and you fight the urge to groan. With a wipe of your face by the back of your hand you know your eyes were swollen and red. They stung.

You sigh, your mom. You forgot your mom was going to come over for your birthday. Miguel is at attention quickly, having spent the night in the living room with only a spare blanket and a pillow you threw at him before stomping away to bed.

He tosses the folded blankets over the couch after the doorbell rings. He feels rushed as he quickly pulls on a shirt hidden in the corner of the room. He sniffs it and curses under his breath. It was the one he wore a week ago when you just couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom to have his dick stuffed in you.

He opens the door, pushing back his hair and forcing his hands to stop shaking. He realizes now, getting a whiff of your mom’s perfume that he should have gone to the bedroom and told you she was here, carrying Tupperware and bringing a paper bag with a cursive and almost childish in color, Happy Birthday written on the front and back.

“Miguelito.” (lil Miguel)

She hugs him and her lips purse at his presentation, the still there sweat and strong hint of feminine perfume. The very same perfume you managed to stick on him from when you practically smothered him in sloppy and passionate kisses on the couch.

Her voice alerts you of her presence and you rush to change and hide the evidence of what happened the night before. But the door opens and you shove the mess under your sheets still heavily disheveled, your shirt lopsided and your sleep shorts twisted over your waist.

You were going to kill Miguel for telling her to leave her stuff on the counter and go over to the room.

“¡Ay, mi chiquilla!” (Oh, my little girl!)

Miguel stares at you from the door to the bedroom, clad in a loose shirt and sweatpants. You avoid his gaze and he looks down like a kicked puppy, crossing his arms and letting your mother pass through.

She notices.

“¿Que paso?” (What happened?)

You ignore your mother’s question, instead walking over from the bed and wrapping your arms around her.

“Hola, mami.”

She whispers against your ear as she pulls your head down to her shoulder, congratulating you on another year of life as she sways on her feet.

You smile for the first time in hours and give her thanks. She suddenly pushes you at arms length and frowns.

“Te ves más flaca. ¿te da de comer este cabezón?,” she whispers. (You look skinnier. Does this meathead give you anything to eat?)

You chuckle lightly. You were busy, things have been stressful with work and your relationship, life in general.

“Ama, estoy bien, estresada trabajando. Ya sabes…” (I’m fine, just stressed at work. You already know…)

She huffs, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disappointment. Always disappointed when you couldn’t keep up the image of being put together and happy.

“Ponte las pilas…” you could see Miguel’s lips start to quirk up at the phrase, but when your eyes flashed to his form leaned over the doorway his gaze fell to the floor and he coughed into his fist quietly.

Your mother turns to him, her face softens some, polite, gentle, and slightly fake.

“¿Y tú cómo andas? ¿Siempre trabajando, verdad?” (And how are you? Always working, right?)

His eyes flicker to you again. You’ve told her about how he works all night and most of the day. How he’s such a hard worker and wants to succeed and excel in his career. Your mother liked that, you liked that.

But now your eyes cut into his soul and his chest feels as if it’s about to compress into itself. He nods slowly, shifting on his feet as he faces the much smaller and older woman. She has your eyes, almost the same shade that bore into his head to search for his thoughts and sins.

She turns to you momentarily and he catches his breath, wiping the drops of sweat forming above his brow.

“¡Deberías ser más como el, íralo, tiene la forma de atleta y trabaja todo el tiempo!” (You should be more like him, look at him, he has the form of an athlete and he works all the time!)

You hated being compared to others. He knows it gets you heated. Your already sour mood gets even more tangy. Especially now that you knew her words were in fact bullshit, even if she didn’t know it.

His, hopefully if you let him explain, future suegra’s head turns to him again, your arms cross and you roll your eyes. He knew you were on the verge of erupting in either tears or shouts by the way your lip curled downwards.

“Has de tener mucho tiempo para hacer ejercicio.” (You must have so much time to exercise.)

He nods again, albeit slowly. He refused to look in your direction knowing you must have been glaring into his skull.

Technically, he does get a hell of a workout almost every night. Your scowl deepens, you both find the irony in your mother’s words.

He watches as your face becomes blank. So blank that when you passed by him at the door and out of your bedroom, guiding your mother outside, you didn’t even look at him.

All sat at the dining table, your mom gifted you some earrings, ones she wanted to pass onto you. She also brought food, carnitas from the day before. She helped you flip tortillas and Miguel prepared some bolillo.

He starts to sweat as she looks between you both, watching as you both eat in uncomfortable silence.

“¿Que hicieron ayer?” (What did you both do yesterday?)

He purses his lips and you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

Miguel slept on the couch last night, after you had discovered his secret. You had sat up in shock, his mask lifting from his face slowly as he revealed himself to you with pleading eyes.

He said your name softly, lifting himself from the bed as you shifted away quickly. You were mortified, embarrassed and angry.

Your eyes roamed over his body, you realized you should have known it was him. Same shoulders, same waist, same hands, same chest...

“Is this why you ditched me?” you ask shakily.

He will admit, he thought he sounded cool and noble when he said yes. He thought you would forgive him easily if you knew he was a no show because he was technically working to protect the city of Nueva York.

He gets a light and reactive slap for saying yes so confidently. He thought it was deserved by the way he saw you cry directly afterwards, your hand shaking and your mouth wide open from the gasp you let out the second you realized what you’d done.

Of course you would react that way. You just figured out that all of those times he wasn’t there for you, he was there for other people, that whenever you called he must’ve been out beating up criminals instead of answering you.

Also because he just fucked you silly as Spider-Man, acting as if he were a totally different person.

He tried getting closer to you, to hold you as you cried but there was too much that had just been uncovered. You were pinpointing all of the lies he’s told in the relationship, speculating on what else he could have been lying about as well.

After a while you had just stared blankly at him, sitting up in bed as he stood with his head down, constantly combing his hair back and fiddling with the mask in his hand.

His knee sinks into the mattress, his hand lifting to cup your face.

“I don’t want you in my bed, Spider-Man.”

You spit out his name as if it disgusted you. He was Miggy, he was Migue, and at the very least Miguel to you. He didn’t want to be Spider-Man around you.

It seemed as if he failed in that though, because in a moment of anger, after you had felt him lean closer, still in the black and red skin tight suit, you pushed him out of your bedroom, refusing to say a word, refusing to shiver at the feel of his rippling muscles that would usually make you swoon and keen over in a heartbeat.

The last time he saw you that night was when you had come out and stood over him, now out of his suit and in his underwear on the couch.

He was freezing, he always held you for warmth at night, his body suddenly being less capable of trapping heat ever since the incident.

Lyla was scolding him the second he got her back online, like a tiny fairy she bounced from side to side as she came up with ideas to win you back. Idiota, and moron escaping in between her sentences even as her holographic hand tapped his shoulder in consolation.

She faded the second the door to the bedroom opened and she saw your face full of scornful determination. His heart filled with dread at the face she made, her eyes wide and lips pursed as she looked once more in his direction and left.

She may be completely loyal to him but she knew you knew your way around her programming and Miguel’s files.

He sat up and you caught sight of his dick straining in his boxers even if he was soft. You watched the heaves of his chest and the flex of his bicep as he reached out for you desperately, attempting to beg for forgiveness.

“Cerezita, please, just let me explain.”

You swallow thickly and close your eyes, it was dark, dark enough for a normal person to barely catch the way tears were falling from your eyes.

But he wasn’t normal and he saw the trails of liquid on your cheeks so clearly he shot up from his seat and held you close.

For a moment, you lost it. Your arms wrap around him, your face buries itself on his shoulder and you take shaky breaths.

You’ve never had this. Someone you loved so much, someone who’s barely there for you. Someone kind and yet mean, so smart and confident and yet so reserved.

Even if you were crying about him, you still wanted his comfort.

You pushed away slowly, still crying, your lips wobbling as you contained another round of thick hot tears.

You threw the blanket at his chest and left, your socked feet thumping against the hardwood floors of your apartment as you made your way to your bedroom and slammed the door.

…

“We went out to eat,” you lie.

Your mother’s eyes widened, as if she had just remembered. You’ve talked about it with her, how he made plans months before, how you were excited.

She rubs your forearm, her thumb smoothing over your skin in a comforting caress. She smiles at you both and you smile back.

“Bien coda, ni te atreverías si no te invitan.” (You’re so cheap, you wouldn’t dare if you weren’t invited.)

You force yourself to chuckle, because yes, you wouldn’t have, and yes you were cheap. But for a good reason. You didn’t exactly grow up with the privilege to waste money or time for pleasure.

You weren’t used to it.

Her other hand crosses the table and she cups your wrist.

“Te lo mereces,” she smiles. (You deserve it.)

Miguel wanted to bury himself in his own grave. As deep as he could. You did deserve it. You deserved to be treated to a nice dinner with your serious boyfriend. You’ve worked too hard, you’ve been through so much.

And yet he couldn’t make it to a dinner reservation he made himself.

“Thank you, mami,” you say quietly, finishing up your food and standing from your seat.

Your hand trailed over Miguel’s shoulders and squeezed as you passed, making your way to the kitchen sink. He tensed at the sudden soft and affectionate touch.

You started to feel bad for him, you suddenly felt so selfish.

You had a tendency to react harshly at things that made you upset, only for hours or days later to think that you had overreacted.

He was a superhero, he was saving lives. And yet, you were upset at him not making it to eat dinner somewhere only the privileged could eat.

You numbly start washing the dishes, nodding when your mother comes up beside you and kisses your cheek goodbye. The water was running loudly amongst the silence she left you both in as the front door closed.

You almost wanted to pretend you couldn’t hear him lift himself from his seat, call your name and stand next to you. You almost succeeded before he reached into the garbage bin and pulled out the picture you had thrown in anger the night before.

He had fun that day, it was your third date. When he smoothed over the crease of the folded photograph directly over your face he remembered how nervous you had made him.

He remembered how he kissed you for the very first time because you both fell to the icy floor the second you got into the ice rink. Sure, the air was cold, both your cheeks and ears were basically numb and tingling from the chilly wind. But your lips…

They were so warm at that moment. Your hand had cupped his face so sweetly, feeling like slabs of ice on his jaw and cheek but making him shiver pleasantly at the contrast of your mouth and literally everything else.

And now you didn’t even want the memory of it, it was crumpled and distorted, destroyed by new bad memories like yesterday. When he stood you up on your birthday and showed up as someone else afterwards.

He didn’t even notice you had finished washing the dishes and stood with your hip leaning against the sink. Your hands crossed over your chest as if you were protecting yourself.

He places the photograph on the counter, his hand resting there as he stared back at you, his eyes soft and pleading, his shoulders weighed down with guilt. You open your mouth and he wants to close his eyes because this was it, you finally had enough and you were going to end things-

“I’m sorry.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing and confusing you. You imagined his disbelief at your words to be irritation. You look down to his shoulder and focus on where his shirt ended on his neck, a hint of your lipstick still stained on the corner.

“I…” you sigh, your hand coming to rest on his hand hesitantly, as if you were expecting him to swipe it away, “I overreacted-”

He spooked you, his hand twisted up to interlace with your fingers, his other hand coming up to rest at your neck firmly.

“No.”

Your brow furrowed, his thumb tipped your head up with a firm push at your jaw. He looks deeply into your eyes and you hesitate, his eyes looked to be burning a deep red.

They were piercing as he narrowed his eyes, the red somehow darkening in his gaze. He could see your confusion.

“Contacts. When my eyes are dry I just wear shades...”

You lean up for a closer look, the hand at your neck slowly moving down your body until it rests at your hip and squeezed.

The stunned expression on your face placates and you step back again, or at least attempted to. His hand at your hip kept you close. Your brows furrowed, you were getting irritated again.

The fact that he could hide the way his eyes weren’t really brown astounded you, it almost broke your heart. This whole time you thought they were a deep chocolate brown.

You pushed down the feeling of resentment for discovering that the shade was a lot closer to burgundy.

You haven’t known the true color of his eyes for two years.

“What you do is important,” you start to apologize again and he rolls his eyes. He grits his teeth and scowls and suddenly his canines were pressing against his bottom lip, the twin points visible now even without his mouth open.

His arm had to wrap around your waist to keep you close, he saw the flash of fear in your eyes.

“Holy sho-“

“They’re venomous, can tear through skin easily.”

Your face twisted in anger and his heart started beating again, he pulled you closer against his chest, making you lose your balance. Your hands fisted his shirt so tightly he swore he could hear thread ripping.

“You kept this from me?” you grit out. He swallows thickly, appreciating the way your chest heaved and your cleavage exposed itself under your shirt.

“Yes.”

Steam would shoot out of your ears if it could. He smiles cheekily, his canines shining in the morning light.

His hand goes up your shirt, you hear the tears before you see them.

Most know about Spider-Man’s powers, the ones that were obvious. His “claws” and talons, super strength and reflexes. Up close the sharpness made you pause.

His fingers tore five holes into your sleep shirt, they were poking through prominently. You shiver as you look down, feeling the back of his hand flex against your breasts.

“Miguel-”

“I’m sorry.”

Your mouth shuts in shock. His hand drags down and tears your shirt into ribbons, you winced when the tips of his fingers crawled over to your back. Luckily for you the claws were retracted by then.

He slumps down against you, his shoulders hunching, his arms wrapping and resting over your hips as his head buries itself in your neck.

He breathes in deeply, his nose pressing against the side of your throat. Your hand slid up his sides, it was as if his knees were buckling underneath him.

His weight made your legs stiffen.

“You know I can’t have a day without breathing you in.”

“What are you-“ You were cut off by his almost whimpered words.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes were sealed shut, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head and pull you in closer, he sniffed and nuzzled, his mouth pressing but not pursing, only wanting to feel your skin.

“I’m sorry.”

He was yearning to feel your anger, to smell the heat of it. Somehow seeing you so defeated had him struggling to breathe. Your sadness tastes acidic, but when he pressed his lips to yours at that moment all he felt was the scalding warmth of them, somehow sweet enough to make him salivate for more.

“You lied to me,” you mumble against his lips.

“I know.” He presses his lips against you again, the tips of his fangs graze over your skin and make it tingle.

Your hands come up to cradle the back of his head as his nose skims over your own. His nostrils flared as they passed over your cheeks, he could smell the incoming tears.

“Do I even know you?”

He shakes his head lightly, not at your question but at the thought of all of the times he’s debated telling you the truth. He thinks it would have been a burden to your already worried mind. He hated the thought of you waiting by the television, wondering if he was going to survive the latest supervillain wanting to take his life.

Each and every time he’s come home late, couldn’t make it to a date or didn’t answer your messages and calls he was making sure he could come back to you, at least as intact as he could be.

“You do know me. I’m Miguel.”

And Miguel was an idiot. He briefly questions how Peter deals with this. How he manages the life of a loving partner while also going out every night as a superhero. It seems impossible.

The tears fell and he knew what he said wasn’t enough. He cupped your face desperately and your eyes were closed tightly, refusing to look him in the eye and refusing to show how weak he made you feel.

You thought he wasn’t showing his true self. He thought that by showing his alter ego he would only reveal how much of a fraud he felt he was.

“You deserve better.”

Somehow that made you angrier, you opened your eyes and looked up at him incredulously.

“I know,” you say sternly.

His eye twitched, that stung.

“But I’m stupid.”

He leaned closer to you, his hands cupping your face and going to coo at you like a child. He had a whole speech at the tip of his tongue, ready to scold you for speaking down on yourself.

Your brows pinched together and your lips twisted into a light scowl.

“You’re stupid too, menso.”

His face falls and he titters in offense before looking down. He deserved it. You sigh.

“Show me…”

The air between you both got hotter the more you stared into each other’s eyes. His eyes brightened a darker red, his sharp teeth exposed themselves, two points pressing against the tips of your fingers as you swiped at his lips and two smaller fangs making his bottom lip plumper.

“Are we… serious? Two years and you haven’t- have you thought about it?”

He mumbled, not fully able to speak clearly.

“Yes…”

He has thought of telling you, but he just knew you would only try to help, you’d be part of unnecessary danger. He had hoped he could keep the life he had no choice but to take on separate from the one with you.

Besides, he had a tendency to lose control, to become ruthless. What if by accident, during one of his failures when he was upset and full of adrenaline you were there? What if you took the brunt of his anger and he lashes out?

“I’m dangerous.”

You shook your head, your hands pulled him close, he had no time to react properly as your lips met his. His fangs weren’t retracted, he wasn’t prepared to be gentle with you, he stood frozen.

You pull away, your face twisted with desperation, your eyes roaming over his face, hand already lifting his shirt up and his sweatpants down.

“Show me- please-“

He kisses you again, hands at your hips lifting you, his legs automatically moving towards the bedroom.

He was finally going to show you.

…

His mouth was devilish, he always has been a fiend for you, but this? This takes the cake. His face was buried in your globes, your waist was being held up by one hand and the other on your cheeks, now being pulled and squeezed apart so that your perfect puffy cunt could be revealed.

Your seam gleamed when he spread you, you held back a moan when the tip of his finger collected some of your slick. He could already taste it on his tongue, even if the tip of his finger was a couple of inches away from his lips.

His palm smacked against your cheek, he watched it jiggle, the fatty mass being squeezed in his hands as he held it tightly afterwards. Your head was buried in your pillow, the soft pillow case now smothered in your drool and tears.

Sometimes he can’t help himself, your body was so pliant this way. His thigh was between your legs, your bare cunt rubbing against his flexing quads as he groped and slapped. You were pulsing against him, his thigh now covered in your sweet slick.

It stung, he could feel the imprint of his hand slightly raise and swell as he caressed and fondled, your slight hiss of pain and the whimper of pleasure getting louder each time he kissed or licked a welt.

He hears the pleasured groan fall between your lips the second he spread you and his nose pressed up against your folds. His eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of the warmth on both sides of his face.

“Mmmf… mmm…”

Miguel’s tongue did that thing you liked, flicking in rapid repetition in and out of your tight warm hole, occasionally licking too far up and playing with the tight rim above your slit.

You could hear the bed frame creak, his massive form now on his knees, body hunched over to savor as much of your cunt as physically possible.

He wasn’t much of a talker during sex, grunts and groans would flutter in sync with his actions. He considered being buried in your cunt to be a numbing pleasure, his mind blanks and his thoughts suddenly get primal.

Miguel’s hands were rougher than usual, they gripped into your hips bruisingly as your hips ground back into his mouth and tongue.

He had so much drool running down his lips that it accumulated down to your pulsing clit, his bottom lip slightly catching on it as he bobbed his head from side to side and up and down in a trance.

He straightens his back, his mouth leaving you, when you turn slightly his eyes glow, the back of his hand wiping his mouth and chin as his body creates a shadow over you.

He grins.

He liked you like this, ass raised, back slightly arched, your softness so easily squeezable with your tits pressed up against the sheets so that each thrust of his makes your nipples graze below and tighten.

You’ve always been so open. Open about your feelings, your thoughts. You let things slide but you always made sure he knew how you really thought.

Right now, your cunt was being opened up to its limit, his thumb pressing against the tight rim of your asshole as he rutted against your ass.

Your breasts squished and rubbed against the mattress, your forehead pressing harshly against the pillows as his thumb slowly pressed in, his cock was working to ensure you took every hard, veiny inch.

No words were exchanged, you could barely make out his name in a breathy moan, but his stomach clenched at your whines and whimpers, the way your head turned side to side when he stopped your attempt to grind back made his cock pulse.

His hand at your hip stopped you quickly, slowly dragging across your back and pressing down against your spine to make you arch even further.

You loved the stretch.

Your body was cramping, the denial of an orgasm making you curse under your heaving breaths. Who knows how long you’ve been going at it, last time you checked the clock read twelve thirty, you swore through your half lidded eyes you now saw a single two.

You haven’t orgasmed, not even once in the span of all that time.

Your clit was throbbing, his balls were against them, kissing and teasing, plopping into you as he flexes his pelvis forward.

His thumb was gentle, pushing in and out, just barely stretching your tight little hole as he pounded into you.

Each time your cunt squeezed him, he felt your asshole clench with it. The intervals in between were getting closer and closer, Your whines and moans becoming pornographic.

Your words echo in his head, ‘Show me’. He usually let up his strength when he fucked you, making you believe you had the chance to gain the upper hand.

You can’t. Not really, but he thought it was cute letting you think you could. All the times you’ve ridden him, your hand at his chest and “pushing” him down as you straddled his waist were just an illusion of domination.

He could have just as easily pushed you away, held you down as he made his way with you, helped you ease onto his aching cock that he knew you struggled to take each time you were on top of him.

It was jarring to feel with absolute certainty that you were powerless, even after thinking you weren’t. He didn’t let you move, he had you pressed against the bed with your back sliding up and down the sheets, his whole weight on top of you, his forearms barely needing to flex to hold you down as his lips teased over your throat and collarbone.

“So sweet, cerezita.”

He was teasing you, his fangs were grazing over your skin, so sharp they left a slightly uncomfortable line of fire on your skin. It numbed quickly after, but you felt the low pulse and ache of it, throbbing in time with the pulses of your heart.

You were both so close, his skin sweat soaked and yours shimmering in the lowlight of the bedroom. He had closed the blinds, the ones he bought and installed into your bedroom that blocked out all sunlight and lights from the outside once they were fully shut.

Miguel offhandedly explained how his eyes were starting to burn, right before he lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist and feel the growing bulge of his erection.

The overhead lights glowed a faint and deep orange, down to its lowest setting. His hair falls into pieces and damp clumps over his forehead and cheeks, his body so close to yours his ear was right up against your cheek and his chest was pressed against yours.

His movements were more sensual, his thrusts slowing and trying to stave off for as long as possible. His pelvis ground against your mound, and his arms at your sides suddenly press under your back, as if he couldn’t be close enough.

He flipped you, his back now against the headboard and your legs spread to accommodate his waist as you sat on top of him.

His hands roamed over your thighs, coming up to cup your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh. Your body tensed, Miguel himself was surprised at what he did next.

His fangs were embedded into you, his face buried into your neck as his lips pressed flush onto your skin. The initial prick hurt, making your body react accordingly. Miguel wasn’t sure that your pussy squeezing the life out of him counted as an appropriate reaction though, but he groaned in satisfaction nonetheless.

Then your body slumped slightly, arms coming around his shoulder loosely as you leaned up onto his mouth.

Miguel knew how to control his venom, and he was a scientist, he wanted to test some of his hypotheses on you. It was a small amount, a drop of it and yet you could barely grind your hips anymore.

He licked your wound, now so numb you could barely feel the twin pricks at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You wanted me to show you, didn’t you?”

His thumb flicked over your swollen clit, now throbbing so much that it peaked between your folds. His hand cups your cheeks, squeezing and pulling towards him so that your cunt was stuffed full.

The only thing you could do was look up at him through a haze, mouth open in a perpetual ‘o’ as you let out faint ahs and ohs, moaning helpless against his shoulder.

Your face burned as you orgasmed, heartbeat rising so much it made your head pound in time. You wanted to scream as it ripped right out of you, but your tongue was numb and your jaw slack so it sounded more like a gurgled and desperate high pitched whine.

His head thumped against the headboard harshly, his thighs tensed and his body tightened, you felt lightheaded, a slight ring to your ears that you hated. You could feel him finish inside you, curling your thighs up his sides so that he could take a peek at the clumps of white seep between your folds and gush on his pelvis.

His hand went between your legs.

His thumb swirled over your nub, swollen and hidden between the hood he carefully prodded at to hit the tender center nerve. Your breath hitches, you gasp and he curses under his breath.

“Shocking-mmm.“ He closes his eyes, his throat threatening to close and he almost chokes on his own spit. You were so tight, your cunt still convulsing from your orgasm and his still wandering hand.

“…Puta madre…” he huffed, his body finally relaxing, his softening and yet still filling cock twitching for more as he cockwarmed you. Your head rises from his shoulder, heavy and on the verge of just falling back onto him again.

“La tuya, tonto.”

Your eyes flutter closed, he watches as your head sways back and forth attempting to stay conscious, or at the very least to have control of your body. Your forehead slams against his mouth and he bites his lip because of it, causing him to yell out in pain as you mumbled a quiet and slurred apology against the skin of his neck.

…

In what felt like hours later, your head was lying comfortably on his chest, your fingers pressing under his fingertips and making his claws extend.

“Freaky.”

Your hands graze up his wrist, the spinnerets he had just explained were slightly bulging on his forearm, you press on it and his body tenses, his face flushing and his chest brightening in a deep red. Your fingers quickly find the holes atop his wrist, your fingertips circling over the small contracting rim.

“Cute.”

He took it in stride, pursing his lips as you analyzed his hands and arms, the talons capturing your attention the most. He grazes his hand over it quickly, making it retract as you reach out for it, wanting to feel the extremely sharp structure sticking out of his forearms.

“No.”

You pout, he gives you a sarcastic smile.

“Please-“ “No.”

He frowns, remembering how he shred someone’s arms to spaghetti noodles the second he turned into this new person. Just the thought of him doing the same to you made his heart ache and his stomach turn.

He feels your lips graze against where his talons would protract, he tenses and stares at you wide eyed. You grab his hand and move it to cup your cheek.

“So tense, lighten up, Miggy.”

You sit up, hands on either side of his torso as his hands trails down to hold your hips and he clears his throat.

“I’m…” He swallows thickly, looking into your eyes. You almost get lost in them, the red fitting him perfectly. “…sorry” Your face was suddenly serious and he inhaled sharply.

“For what?” Your eyes narrow, your stare now, unwavering. His throat bobs as he gulps.

“For not telling you about my nightly activities.” He watches you nod, tilting your head for him to continue.

“For… using my Spider-Man charm and seducing you to accept me into your bed.”

You slap his chest and point a menacing finger in his direction. “Volado, cabrón.”

“You liked it-“ “Sht.”

Miguel’s face gets serious again, he starts to frown, feeling the guilt in his stomach swirling.

“I’m sorry, for taking advantage of the situation like that.”

You hum. “And?”

“And… for standing you up on your birthday. You didn’t deserve that. Fue pendejada y lo cage-”

His eyes widened before closing in bliss at your interrupting kiss, soft and sweet.

“Thank you for apologizing… for once.”

He raises a brow, his face lighting up, a smile lifting his lips at the thought that you had finally forg-

“La cagaste, Miggy. De la peor manera posible.” (You fucked up, Miggy. In the worst way possible.)

His face falls. You cup his face lovingly.

“You’re doing the dishes, washing the laundry, cleaning the bathroom and all of the living spaces, as well as making dinner for two months.”

He groans, his head slumping against the pillows as he squeezes your hips. He was no machista, there was a schedule, equal amount of chores for the both of them.

It was a life of order in the home, just how he liked it. He groans exaggeratedly, his hand moving across his face and pulling down as he frowned.

“Uuuugh, Ok…”

You smile softly and rest your head against him again.

He holds you tightly, both of you staring into nothing, your head on his shoulder and his fingers making slow circles over your spine, the only thing covering you both being the covers.

“Your mom asked if I proposed… while you were doing the dishes.”

He turns slightly to see your reaction. Your eyes widened and you continued to stare up at the ceiling. You were slightly mortified.

“Oh.” “Yeah, oh.”

He chuckles at your pursed lips, the way you attempt to hide your face in embarrassment.

“Told her I haven’t given you the ring yet...”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, your fingers numbing in excitement. The sudden urge to squeal was strong. You take a deep breath in.

“You’re implying several things right now, you know.”

He smirks.

“I am, aren’t I?”

He pinches your arm to make you look up at him. There’s a slight glimmer in your eyes and he smiles at you softly.

“Would you? After everything, with everything?”

The silence was heavy, it was making it so that he couldn’t breathe properly, his face tingled, he has the slight urge to puke. You stare at him with wide eyes, slowly softening at how he got so nervous in the span of a few seconds.

“I would.”

Bright yellow confetti shoots out in the air around you both, Lyla standing over you both holding a noise maker and blowing into it loudly. Miguel covers your body quickly, thinking there was an intruder that he somehow couldn’t sense come into the apartment.

Hermoso Cariño starts playing and Lyla starts singing passionately.

“Lyla!”

She stops, rolling her eyes and looking at him exasperatedly.

“What? I’m following your plan, boss.”

You look up at Miguel, his arms like pillars at your sides and his chest still shielding you protectively. “Plan?” you snort. He winces and cringes, his face contorting in both annoyance and embarrassment.

He looks down at her, his face inches closer to hers.

“You love oldies…”

Your arms curl over his neck, your noses skim as you smile giddily.

“I do.”

“Thought I’d make it special…” He looks to the side and glares at Lyla, still standing over the side of the bed and smiling, she stands proudly dressed in full charro uniform and holds her sombrero in hand. “…after I proposed,” he growls.

She tips her head to the side, catching the frustration of his tone.

“You did propose and she said yes.”

“Lyla-“

“You implied you would and she implied an approval.”

Miguel sighs, faintly hearing your chuckles beneath him. “No, that’s not how engagements work-“

“Sliiiideshow time!”

Miguel shuts up the second he sees you interested on the screen Lyla puts up in front of you, overly cheesy and generic music playing over snapshots Lyla took of you both when you weren’t paying attention.

He just watches you the whole time, smiling along to the memories and watching your smile widen through each slow panned picture and video.

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

A/n: Again, if you saw this somewhere else... nuh uh, no ya didn't

@mxtokko :)

#Miguel O'Hara x reader #Miguel O'Hara fanfic #Spiderman 2099 x reader

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climbthemountain2020 · 6 months

Text

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 7

Part 8/25| Ao3

Tilly

Tilly’s eyes cracked open when the sun hadn’t quite yet risen. The hazy morning light was filtering into the room through the window, but she felt so warm and comfortable she struggled to keep her eyes open at all. It took her only seconds to realize that she was warm because she was pressed against something warm. Something warm, and hard, and breathing.

Oh gods. Oh Cauldron.

She held her breath as she took stock of her position. She’d twisted towards him in the night, and her top leg was now twined between both of his. Her one arm was resting gently on his waist so that she was touching only warm flesh. Her other hand was up against his chest, pressed firmly against him. He had one heavy arm slung over her as well, the other folded beneath her head. She was so close to his body she could feel her breath rebounding off of him. Once she got ahold of herself, she risked a glance up at his face and her breath caught in her throat.

Sleeping and peaceful in the morning light, he was absolutely beautiful. Ephemeral. His scarlet curls were tousled every which way, scattered across his forehead and the pillow case. His brows were as relaxed as she’d ever seen them, and it made him look decades younger. The freckles she liked so much dotted across his face and kissed his dark lashes as they lay on his cheek. His lips were slightly parted, the gentle whoosh of air between them proving him deep in the dregs of sleep.

Tilly’s heart clenched almost painfully at the sight of him. She ached to run the tips of her fingers across his jaw, the bridge of his nose. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to be hers, and the thought terrified her. As much as she wanted to stay wrapped here in his unsuspecting arms, she knew it was for the best for her to extract herself before he woke. So, carefully, methodically, she slowly pulled each limb away from him, but she felt the absence of him so startlingly that it chilled her to the bone.

She crept to the bathroom on silent feet, grabbing a simple dress for the day on her way and running the bath hot to warm herself back up. As she leaned against the heated copper tub, she tipped her head back and tried to loosen up. She knew this was dangerous territory she was in, but she couldn’t seem to step back. Eris had the strangest draw to him, and she was caught up in it before she’d even known what had happened. Worse yet, she knew somehow, deep down, that this was not typical–knew that others did not feel this way about Eris. She was getting an entirely individualized experience with him, and that made it even more impossible to push these feelings away. And last night–that nightmare–he’d been so, so scared, and she hadn’t thought twice about comforting him, putting her hands on him.

No matter how long she stayed in the bath, she couldn’t unwind her thoughts. She heard Eris stirring on the other side of the door, and with a deep breath, she drained the tub and got out to dry herself and dress for the day. She would tread lightly–she had to.

When she emerged from their bedroom, Eris wordlessly handed her a plate of sausage and pastries and gestured to the steaming teapot on the side table. He was reading some missives at the desk, but the dogs were swarming the both of them with the smell of breakfast food. She giggled and sat, breaking a few pieces to toss to them.

“Centuries of training, and they’ll commit treason for a bit of pastry.” Eris feigned displeasure, but she didn’t fail to hear the amusement in his voice. “Excited for your present?” Tilly nodded enthusiastically as she swallowed.

“Are we going soon?” He turned to her, a slow smile crawling over his face at her exhilaration.

“Yes, impatient one, right after we eat.” She kicked her feet excitedly and shoved the rest of the pastry into her mouth and speared a sausage onto her fork. “Who taught you how to wield a knife?”

“My father,” she answered without hesitation.

Gods, I shouldn’t be telling him this.

But the words spilled out. “He taught me how to fight and use a knife and a bow and arrow. He wanted me to be able to protect myself.” She felt the familiar stab of grief wind its way through her. “Sometimes I wonder if he knew how things would be without him one day. Like it was a gift for me before he even knew I would need it.” Eris’ eyes turned somber. Tilly knew she had kept her secrets close all this time for a reason; she knew it wasn’t smart to trust anyone with her secrets, but what reason had she to not trust Eris? He’d done nothing but keep his word, be kind to her, and treat her with respect and affection. Perhaps she could trust him with this. The urge was certainly there.

“I am sorry you lost him, Tilly. I heard he died valiantly in the war. He made quite a name for himself, but I know that doesn’t make it any easier.” She nodded, her eyes lined with tears.

“He was a good male. A responsible and loyal one. He was proud of his court, and of me.” Eris nodded, setting his empty dish of crumbs on the floor for the dogs as Tilly followed suit.

“He raised a good daughter.” He lifted an arm to her. “Are you ready?” She nodded, a bit of her fervor from earlier evaporated, but still excited nonetheless. As they walked out through the halls of the Forest House, she could tell it was getting colder out, and she was thankful she’d brought a wool vest. Once they’d passed the wards, Eris turned to her with a look of mischief in his eyes.

“Hold on.” He grinned, and they were winnowing, passing through that space of nothing then whipping back to the ground together, her feet making impact and, luckily, sticking. He grasped her by the shoulders, turned her around, and put his hands over her eyes, walking her forward through the woods. She could hear the crunching of crisp leaves beneath their feet, smell the autumn foliage and earth.

“Are you going to kill me now, husband?” She asked, grinning wryly. She could hear him chuckling right beside her ear.

“Now, why would I take you all the way out here for that?” A few more steps forward, and Eris lifted his hands from her eyes, hands going back to her shoulders and whispering in her ear.

“Open your eyes.” Tilly couldn’t stop the gasp that left her lips at the sight before her. They were in a clearing of great trees, targets painted in all shapes and sizes on them. She whirled to face him only to find him reaching through thin air and somehow retrieving a beautiful bow and quiver of arrows from nothing. He noted her shock and simply said, “Pocket between worlds. Very convenient for holding on to things for me.”

They were beautiful, handcrafted, and just as nice as the ones she’d been devastated to part with before coming here. She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes and the emotion closing her throat. She fought to swallow.

“Eris…”

“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what your preference was, so I went with elm, but we can always get you something different if it doesn’t suit.”

“The last person who bought me a bow was my father.” She looked up at him, eyes full of tears, face open with joy. “I cannot possibly thank you enough for this. Cannot possibly tell you what this means to me.” He smiled the brightest she’d seen yet, his grin illuminating his whole face.

“I guess we’ll need to get you some knives, too.” She laughed and shoved at his shoulder as he leaned back against one of the trees. “Alright, Tilly. Show me what you can do.”

Eris

It wasn’t often that Eris was left without words, but he’d found that it happened more frequently with Tilly. He’d expected, upon buying her the bow, that she would be good–gifted, even. What Eris had not expected, however, was that she’d have the ability to easily outshoot his best royal archers. He’d watched her toss the bow lightly, examining the weight of it in her hands, a peaceful smile on her face. She ran her hand down the arrows, treating them individually as though they each had qualities of their own and weren’t the exact same material as the ones before and after. She’d closed her eyes, her face serene, and taken a deep breath–then it was like true magic.

She moved so quickly that he could barely track her, and before he’d realized she’d even pulled an arrow, she’d shot four, all finding their marks on the distant trees. In the time it took his brows to shoot into his hairline, she’d already nocked an additional arrow, shot it into the sky, readied two more, and shot them straight into the targets on the other side of the clearing. She whirled faster than a shot of lightning, grabbed the now-falling arrow as it rapidly descended towards the ground, pulling it up with wild grace, and aimed it directly at him.

The breath whooshed out of him as he opened his eyes, the arrow pressed to the side of his head and lodged firmly in the tree behind him. He choked out a strangled noise–couldn’t compose himself–just shook his head in shock and she grinned, looking for all like a part of these wild and ancient woods. Her hair flew around her face in an untamed halo, her chest heaving, and the most joy he’d ever beheld gracing her beautiful face.

He tried his hardest to compose himself, but his voice still came out in a croak. “Some might call that treason.” She threw her head back and cackled, rounding to the arrows and pulling each out of the targets in turn while Eris tried to catch his breath. He’d buy her seventy bows if this was the reward he’d reap. She came to him, pulling the arrow from behind him, gently brushing along his arched ear. At this proximity, he could feel her breath on his neck, his face. He grabbed her wrist gently from the air, thumb on her pulse point, and heard her sharp intake of breath as their eyes met.

“Can you winnow?” She answered with a nod and then grimaced, as if regretting it.

“Don’t worry–our secret.” He smiled wickedly. “I only ask to say you’re welcome here anytime. You’ll be able to winnow in, even without me, as long as you're outside the wards of the Forest House. This clearing is warded to all but you and I. It just appears as trees to anyone else who happens to pass through. Just make sure no one sees you winnowing away from the house.”

Her eyes were swimming with something unfamiliar to him, something that he almost dared to say look like devotion. His thumb still traced over the veins of her wrist, and he slowly lowered it and let go, feeling, as always, the coldness of parting with her touch.

“I also wanted to let you know that I spoke to Beron. I told him I wanted to begin bringing you to more of the places I am required to travel under the guise of–” he cringed. “Under the guise of letting them see that I have my wife under my control.” He’d hated using the reasoning, and hated even more now repeating it to her. It felt like a crime.

“So, you mean I can travel with you?”

“Yes, that is the goal. It will still, unfortunately, be less freedom than I would like for you. But it means you can get out of the Forest House and see some different places still. If that’s something you might be–” The crushing thud of her body against his stopped his words, his thoughts, his heart. She’d thrown her arms around his neck and was crushing him to her.

“Thank you, Eris. Thank you so much. You have no idea….I’ve…” She let the words drift, and she tucked her face into his neck. After trying to push a single lucid thought back into his head, he put his hands around her, letting the warmth of her back seep into his hands.

When was the last time I held anyone this way? He couldn’t remember.

“I only wish I could do more, Tilly. I know that this is a restrictive place and role. But I promised you I would try, and try I will.” She smelled so good, the woods around her mingling with her scent was driving him mad. This closely, he could smell hints of his soap on her, and the claiming part of his rustled in his chest. He almost keened when she finally let go, but the smile on her face made the parting worth it. She had come alive today, though now he saw the blush creep up her chest and neck, reaching high on her beautiful cheekbones. He ached to run his thumb over it, feel the heat pooling there and raise it even higher.

“I…I wasn’t sure what to expect when Donal told me who I was to marry. Your reputation precedes you, I'm sure you know.” Her lips quirked up.

“I do know. That’s intentional.” He kicked a foot back to press against the tree and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Imagine the paperwork I’d have if people thought me kind.” He smirked as she scoffed.

“The mask. It is what Rhysand does too, is it not?” The words brought him up short. It was a thought he’d had more times than he could count. What differences were there truly between him and Rhysand, other than him getting the love and support from family that Eris would never have?

“Rhysand has had the luxury of friends and family–those who care for him, despite the show he puts on.” He hated the bitterness that painted his words, painted his heart, and made him truly resent the High Lord of Night. He was startled from his thoughts with her hand on his arm–the words looked right on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t say them.

I am here for you. I care for you. He could see them in her eyes, could practically hear them in his own head.

“Tilly…I have seen centuries of my mother locked in, miserable, and none of us can do anything about it. He flaunts control of her in public, but he flaunts abuse of her at home. He has beaten each of us to near death for intervening. I would never treat you that way. I would never take away the things you love–no matter what I am expected to be to you.” It wasn’t even a heartbeat before her response.

“I believe you.”

“Growing up this way–it’s not something I would wish on anyone.” Again, he hated how small his voice sounded. This vulnerability was uncomfortable and foreign to him. He could feel himself deflating beneath her gaze.

“It has not turned you cruel the way it has your brothers.” He huffed a breath.

“Then we have done our job. There is more than meets the eye there.”

“What do you mean?”

“My brothers and I have….an agreement. When we were young and Beron began to pit us against one another in earnest, we decided then that we would not give him that power. One by one, we came together to find a way to survive, to keep ourselves and our mother safe.” Tilly’s eyes widened as they sprang to his. She, like everyone else, had wholly fallen for their ploy. “We act as though all we care about is the throne. We’ll outwardly throw each other to the wolves, but it’s all an act. He wants us at each other’s throats, so that is what we show him and everyone else. We take turns moving the attention away from our mother when she attracts his ire, and we tend to each other when we’re injured. It’s kept us alive for centuries.”

“Eris…” Tilly was speechless at the admission. He’d never spoken the words to anyone.

“They are good males, Tilly. Callum loves to fish and read and ride horses. Bray is so gentle that it breaks his heart every time he must watch one of us be punished. Killian, well, Killian has his own stories to tell. But they’re good, and kind, and I am always proud to be their brother.”

“What about the other two? They were terrible, from what I remember. One of them put a rat in my dress trunk.” Eris laughed, despite Tilly’s glare. “I’ll never forget–I was trying so hard to act the part of a lady so people wouldn’t judge my sweet father on his inability to raise a proper female on his own. But I almost broke every rule of propriety when I found that nasty thing in my trunk and them cackling in the halls. If I’d had just a bit less sense, I’d have swung on them.” Eris was howling with laughter.

“I think I remember hearing about this, actually. Not to mention, I might have also heard about a lingering presence of toads and lilypads in Tanwen and Gareth’s beds after the guests had all departed.” He shot her a look, to which her eyes glittered with mischief in response.

“I am not one to be outdone,” she said primly, but a smirk graced her lips.

“Tanwen and Gareth were less savory.” Eris sighed. “Gareth was not a bad male. He was Killian’s twin, but he let Tanwen influence him. Tanwen was truly evil–Beron through and through. I was not sad to see Lucien put a sword through him. Gareth made some poor choices that day, and he ended up paying the price for them.” Eris let the grief grip his heart–not as sharp as it had once been, but never quite healing. “I remember holding Gareth as a babe. He had the most hair of all of them when he was born–bright and soft. I would help my mother with him while she tended to Killian.” The memories were so vivid in his mind even now.

“She was so young. I cannot imagine the life she’s led.”

“She was only twenty when she had me. We practically grew up together. Beron deserves to die for the things he’s taken from her.” The grief turned to rage in his veins, as it so often did, but Tilly’s soft hand was at his arm again, and she had turned her beautiful eyes onto his.

“Beron cannot live forever.” She said, resolutely, sliding her hand into his as she joined him leaning against the tree.

Taglist: @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris acotar #vanserra brothers #flame of autumn #arranged marriage #allies to lovers #eris vanserra x oc

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howlinchickhowl · 1 year

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Did ya miss me? I wrote a little something for time travel day. Thanks @gallavichthings for hosting! warning: a version of Mickey has died in this universe, but because of time travel he is also very much alive in the story. if that is not for you then see ya next time :) Whole fic under the cut for this reason.

like the corners of my mind twenty-eight - time travel

He doesn’t know, exactly, why this is the moment he chose today. Of all their moments together, this one was not exactly notable. Almost non-existent really. It’s probably not at all what Mickey had had in mind when he’d shoved the gold chain into Ian’s hand and told him with his dying breath that he could see Mickey any time he wanted, after he was gone.

It’s not like he hasn’t done any of what Mickey intended for him to do. He’s gone back to so many days that were significant for them; watched from across the street as they emerged, flushed and thrilled from the Cash & Grab the first time Mickey booty-called him, hid round a corner and listened for their thundering footsteps running away from the cops the day that Mickey kicked the shit out of Ned in boystown. He’s visited some days that were less significant too; afternoons watching from a park bench while his younger self laid in the grass with his husband and read his book aloud for Mickey to make fun of, evenings spent daringly following them around the grocery store in a hoody with his head down trying not to be seen.

This is different though. This is. He doesn’t know what this is. He’d just woken up this morning with his hand reaching, as it always does, for the empty pillow beside him, and felt the sudden urge to be here.

And now he is, stood at the edge of the field, partially hidden by the end of the bleachers in case someone clocks him, not that he thinks anyone would, even if he does look exactly like himself, even as he is on this day, a scrawny nine year old with floppy bangs and a face that is mostly freckle, if anyone noticed they’d probably just assume he was a relative. He’s safer today than on days where he visits more grown up versions of himself, but the urge to stay hidden is stronger than logic, so he skulks in the shadows and watches as his future husband pitches a fucking fit at being caught out and starts a yelling match with the ref before whipping his tiny dick out and pissing all over first base.

Nine year old Ian, manning second, ducks his face into his shoulder and fails to look like he’s not laughing. Fully grown Ian doesn’t try to pretend. His future husband is a little shit and he loves him even now, filthy, belligerent, violent as he is, that’s his favorite guy right there getting himself kicked out of little league.

He gets too lost in thoughts of teenage Mickey, recounting this story to Ian like he hadn’t been stood ten feet away, thoughts of how he wasn’t even on Mickey’s radar then, even though they played four weeks in the same league. He gets too lost and he doesn’t notice ten year-old Mickey walking right toward him on his way out of the field, yelling and cussing out the ref as he barrels right at Ian.

It’s too late to hide, and it would look weird now if he did, so Ian stands his ground, raising his eyebrow humorously at one of the more choice insults Mickey throws back over his shoulder.

“Oh yeah you like that perv?” Tiny Mickey asks, talking directly to Ian as he walks up to him. Ian is so taken aback that he can’t answer, can’t even form a single word.

“Yeah I saw you, watching me over there. You got a thing for little boys you fucking freak?”

Ian just about finds it in him to shake his head. He’s never come into direct contact with either of them before, doesn’t even know if he’s allowed.

“Sure you don’t Firecrotch, you just really like little league huh?”

He’s only ten years old, but he’s already so full of swagger and fire, he’s Mickey, through and through, just, very small. Ian remembers finding him so scary at one point, but looking at him now it seems so implausible. Even with his eyebrows raised all the way to the sky and his eyes blown wide to seem more intimidating, Ian knows how scared he is, how lonely, he knows his heart, he could never seem scary ever again.

“I’m just watching over my cousin.” Ian manages to say, finally, nodding his head over at his younger self. Mickey turns to look, clocks younger Ian’s hair and shrugs, turning back to glance over Ian’s own head and assumably figuring it’s a legit connection.

“Cousin huh?”

Ian nods. Mickey runs his eyes all over him, head to toe to chest to face and back up to his head again, worrying his lower lip between his teeth in a way that Ian was so accustomed to seeing that his heart stutters with it. Their eyes meet again and whatever thoughts Mickey is having he shrugs them off and fixes Ian with a jabbing pointed finger.

“Just fucking watch yourself alright?” He says with an air of finality and starts to lope off toward the street. Ian can hear him muttering ‘fucking alien-looking mother-fucker’ as he goes and he sends up a silent prayer, hoping that he didn’t just do anything to fuck up the course of events that would lead to the future he comes from.

#fic #my fic #my writing #howl does a.u.gust #gallavich fic #ian x mickey

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salads-and-bolts · 4 months

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His Past Her Present

- Chapter 6 Preview -

The firmly smushed heels of Sarada’s sports sneakers dug into her feet as she fled from Boruto’s house. She didn’t stop to fix them until everything from the gate to the roof was out of sight… And then she jogged the rest of the way home.

“Ah, Sarada. Welcome back. Did you have karate practice tod—“

“Hi mom I’m home I’m going to my room to lie down bye.”

It all flew out of her mouth in one rapid sentence. Sarada kicked off her shoes, raced up the stairs, and shoved her face straight into her pillow.

What. Was. That?!?!

When she could no longer breathe, she heaved herself onto her back, heart still racing, arms flopping out at her sides. She smacked herself in the head and wiped her mouth over and over and over again, but the moment she stopped, all she could think about was the very feeling she was trying to rid herself of and how good it felt.

She hated baby drool and slobber, and the thought of eating or drinking after someone else made her gag. But the subtle slimyness of kissing someone didn’t feel disgusting… That moment of pulling back slowly, her eyes rising open like the curtain in a stage play, breathing through her mouth as she hovered over top of him, his hand in her short black hair, her heart pounding over his…

Heat was already pulsing through her insides just thinking about it, tension pooling in her stomach.

She shoved the pillow over her face and make absolutely sure she couldn’t breathe. She needed to suffocate until she died. The worst part of all of this was… Boruto didn’t kiss her.

She kissed him.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid!! Why did I do that?!

Sarada knew the answer, but it wasn’t one she liked, and from now on, it wasn’t one that she was certain she could avoid.

To make matters worse, Boruto didn’t like her. He must’ve liked whoever she was in her own dumb stupid ninja dream. Which wasn’t even possible!

Calm down. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Let’s just sort this out… think about this logically. Asses the situation and figure out the best course of action. Think. Think. Think…

- Read the rest on Ao3!

#Boruto #ボルト #boruto two blue vortex #borusara #fanfic #boruto x sarada #boruto manga #sarada uchiha #ボルサラ #サラダ

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levithestripper · 10 months

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You’ll Always Be My Prince: Chapter Five—The Stars

go to the previous chapter || go to the next chapter || back to the series masterlist

chapter summary: aemond realizes he didn’t see rhaella during sparring practice and rushes to find out why.

chapter warnings: aemond targaryen’s pov, fluff.

length: 3.8k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: this chapter takes place at the same time as chapter four, just from aemond's perspective; the opening scene is the same training scene we saw in the last chapter! i wanted to make that clear upfront to prevent any possible confusion. anyway, i hope you enjoy the chapter! as always, please let me know what you think!

In the years since losing his eye, Aemond had thrown himself further into his training, requesting private lessons from Ser Criston Cole nearly every afternoon. He has surpassed his brother Aegon, who is two years his senior. Much to Ser Criston’s disdain, Aegon showed little interest in swordplay or fight training in general. If it wasn’t for Queen Alicent requiring her sons to attend, Criston is confident Prince Aegon wouldn’t participate.

Aemond hears his heartbeat in his ears as he spins around his brother, sword in hand, grinning as the older boy stumbles to keep up. He hits him twice in quick succession. Aegon attempts to retaliate, but he swings and misses by a mile. Aemond feels the eyes of the dozens of onlookers scattered about the sidelines. He doesn’t spare them a glance, too focused on getting his brother to yield to him. He hits the back of Aegon’s knees, causing his legs to buckle underneath his weight, and he falls to his knees. Seeing the perfect opportunity, Aemond kicks his brother in the back, shoving him face-first into the mud. Aemond stands beside him, sparring sword pointed at Aegon’s head. “Do you yield?”

Aegon responds with an undignified groan, a noise that Ser Criston accepts as a surrender.

The knight signals Aemond to stand down as he approaches, stopping to help Aegon onto his feet. Ser Criston hands the prince a rag to wipe his face with, a gesture Aegon appreciates. As Aegon cleans up, Criston wastes no time addressing what the boys did well and what they need to improve upon. Aemond listens dutifully, absorbing his words like a dry sponge. Criston dismisses them soon after, sending them to wash up properly.

After returning his sword to the weapons rack, Aemond runs to his chambers, leaving dirty bootprints in his wake. Nearly slamming the door behind him, he tosses his sweaty, muddied clothing to the corners of his room. He pulls off his eyepatch, tossing it somewhere to find later. Rummaging through his dresser, Aemond steps into a pair of loose pants and flops onto his bed, melting into the coolness of the sheets with a sigh. It feels good against his clammy chest, sticky with half-dried perspiration. His hair pooled above his head like a silver-colored halo. Aemond feels tempted to fall asleep despite it barely being mid-afternoon. He falls asleep before he can contemplate getting up.

—

When Aemond wakes, the sun has already begun to set, painting the sky beautiful shades of crimson and purplish blues. A breeze flows through the window, filling his room with the peaceful summer night air. He had rolled over in his sleep, waking up with his face buried in a drool-crusted pillow. Running a hand through his tangled hair, Aemond stretches with a yell. Tumbling out of bed and into his vanity chair, Aemond does his best to brush the knots out of his hair, wishing Rhaella were there to help him.

Wait, where is Rhaella? Aemond wonders, just realizing he didn’t see her during practice.

Forgoing the rest of his hair, he pulls on a shirt and rushes out of his chambers, acting on autopilot to get to Rhaella’s room. His muscles ache as he walks, but he ignores it. Aemond doesn’t bother knocking as he’s never had a reason to. Upon entering, he sees Rhaella curled up in the middle of the bed. She seems smaller to him, somehow. Almost as if something significant had happened, but he wasn’t privy to what it was. He moves to take off his shoes but realizes he’d forgotten them in his haste to get here, having run through the castle halls in just socks. He also hadn’t put on his eyepatch, which usually would be a big deal, but he doesn’t worry about hiding his scar around Rhae anymore.

He sits at her bedside, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps. Aemond curls up behind her, arm draping over her waist like always. It had felt like forever since they’d had a proper sleepover. With him being busy with training and Rhaella escorted away from him when nighttime falls, they barely get alone time together, let alone time together come nightfall. Rhaella’s presence, even her sleeping one, brought Aemond comfort. He nestles his face into her hair. She hadn’t bothered to unweave her braids before bed; he noticed they’d started to come loose. It made him giggle a bit, but he didn’t know why. Gently, Aemond pulls her close to himself, stomach meeting her spine. Before he can stop himself, Aemond presses his lips to her hair, kissing her head gently. He begins to whisper but stops when he sees Rhaella’s eyes flutter open.

She rolls over in his grasp and laces her fingers with his. “Hey,” she hums quietly, smiling at him. “How long have you been here?”

Aemond could feel his face bloom as red as dragonfire. “Not—Not long. A couple of minutes, maybe,” he hesitates before continuing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He squeezes her hand. His eyes flutter down to her lips, but they quickly return to her eyes.

“It’s alright, Ae.” Rhaella squeezes his hand back. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.” She snuggles further into him, yawning.

He touches her forehead with his. “I’ve missed it too.”

“I’m sorry I missed watching you train today,” she whispers.

“That’s alright; training doesn’t matter. I just got worried about you, is all. What happened?”

Rhaella breaks her gaze, almost as if she’s embarrassed to tell him why.

“Something wrong?” he asks. Using his first two fingers, Aemond gently turns her head to look at him.

Rhaella shrugs but doesn’t look away this time. “My…My moonblood. It came.” Her voice registers just barely over a whisper. The way she said it made it sound like she felt ashamed. Aemond holds her impossibly closer, rubbing her back comfortingly. “I feel…awful, Ae,” Rhae looks like she’s about to cry. “It feels all wrong.” She hugs him tightly, face buried in his chest.

Aemond tucks her head underneath his chin, soothing her the best he can. “It’ll only be a few days if that. I remember Mother teaching Helaena about it when she got hers.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice warbly.

He nods as best he can without digging his chin into Rhaella’s head. “Mhmm; I’m sure. And besides, everything’s better when I’m here,” he teases, attempting to ward her tears away with humor.

It works. Rhaella’s giggles are muffled slightly by Aemond’s shirt. “Oh, shut up!” she pokes him in the ribs, making him squeal. Aemond squeezes her in retaliation but does so carefully, not wanting to hurt her. It makes her laugh, a sound that’s music to his ears. “You’ve gotten strong, Ae!”

Aemond feels the redness returning to his cheeks at Rhae’s compliment. “Thank you. Training has really paid off, I guess,” he says shyly.

She smiles sweetly, and her eyes reflect that. Rhaella runs her hand up his bicep. “Very muscley. Before you know it, you’ll be stronger than Ser Criston.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Rhae,” he playfully rolls his eyes, trying not to focus too much on her hand on his arm. “He can still knock me flat on my ass if I’m not focused enough.”

“Of course, he can, dummy,” she pokes him. “He’s part of the Kingsguard; he should be able to knock a twelve-year-old on their butt.”

He sighs, tilting his head back. “I know, I know. He says I’m doing exceptional for my circumstances, though.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all.” Rhaella untangles herself from Aemond’s grasp, gingerly shuffling off the other end of the bed. “I’ll be right back; the washroom’s calling.”

Aemond nods, stretching. He rubs his fist into his eye, rubbing the remaining sleep from it. A shooting pain runs up the left side of his face, his sealed eye socket twitching with discomfort. He clutches his face in an attempt to curb the pain, but he knows it won’t work. It never did in the past, after all. In the years since his accident, Aemond’s scar had healed nicely. It was less pink than before, now a handful of shades darker than his natural skin color. He had grown used to seeing only half the world at a time, but it wasn’t easy. The first few months were the hardest. They’d have been even worse if Rhaella hadn’t been there to help him through it every step of the way. When they walk together, Aemond insists she walks on his right so he can always see her.

Rhaella emerges from the washroom, shutting the door behind her. She opens her mouth to speak, but her stomach rumbles and cuts her off.

“Hungry?” he asks, leaning up on one elbow.

She nods. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Aemond gives her an exasperated—but caring—look. “Hey, you can’t be mad this time! I have an excuse.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Rhae sticks her tongue out at him. “Shush. Can you help me undo my braids?”

“As you command, Your Grace,” he teases, acting out an exaggerated bow once he gets off the bed. He peeks at her through his eyelashes, snickering gleefully.

She plays along, looking down her nose at him. “Rise, good ser,” she commands, clapping her hands. Curtly turning about face, Rhae sits at her vanity, waiting for Aemond. He wastes no time undoing the messy multicolored braids, detangling them as he goes. Luckily for him, she hadn’t put many in that morning.

“Do you want me to braid new ones?”

“I’m good. No sense in it when I’d just be undoing it again in a few hours,” Rhaella hums, watching him work in the mirror.

“Makes sense.” Ae caught her staring at him, making her blush a little bit. “You should leave it loose more often; it’s so pretty.” He combs through it with his fingers, sending tingles up Rhae’s neck.

“Maybe I will,” she smiles at him. “Thank you for helping me.”

Aemond waves it off. “Don’t mention it; you know I love doing it.” He returns to the edge of the bed. “I’ll turn around so you can get dressed.” He doesn’t wait for Rhae’s answer, covering his face with his hands and turning his back to her.

Digging through her dresser for something comfortable, Rhae steps into a skirt and a loose-fitting tunic. Typically, she’d preferred trousers, but she didn’t think they’d be very comfy right now. “It’s okay to look now.” Aemond obeys, uncovering his face. She slips on a pair of old boots. “Do you wanna stop at your room so you can grab your boots?” she asks, giggling at Ae’s socked feet.

“Yes, please.” Ae holds out his right hand for her, which she takes without question. The walk to Aemond’s chambers is quick, and so is he with putting on his shoes. “Do you have a taste for anything specific? I can get the cooks to make us whatever we want.”

Rhaella hums as she thinks. “I dunno. You?”

Ae shrugs. “I’m up for anything, really.”

“I’m in the mood for something sweet, I think.”

“I’m sure the cooks have some cake or maybe pie left over from dinner. They usually do, anyway,” he squeezes her hand, which she returns. “I think I’ll ask for some kind of meat stew or maybe a meat-filled pie; I feel like something warm.”

They take their time walking the winding hallways of the Red Keep. Besides the occasional servant, they had the castle all to themselves. By now, the sun had set below the horizon, leaving the sky a dark navy littered with stars. Gas lanterns illuminate the halls, accompanied by the moonlight that filters through the tall windows. Occasionally, the moonlight hit Aemond’s hair perfectly, making it shimmer like silver silk.

Entering the kitchen, they found only a few people still working, whether preparing food for tomorrow or cleaning up previous messes; everyone was busy with something. Once they notice Aemond, the servants stop to greet him properly. “How can I serve you, Your Grace?” asked one. The boy looks no older than eight and ten years, with shaggy brown hair and freckles that covered every inch of his face.

“Do you have food left over from dinner?” Aemond asks politely. “Rhae and I didn’t eat tonight.”

The boy nods. “Of course, Your Grace. We have mutton, venison pie, honeyed peaches, roast chicken, and a lovely assortment of fruit pies. If none of those please you, Your Grace, we’d be honored to cook you something fresh.”

Aemond glances at Rhae, giving her time to speak if she desires. She doesn’t, happy to let Ae do it. “What kinds of fruit pies?”

The boy smiles at the inquiry, almost as if he was hoping the prince would ask about them. “We baked those fresh this afternoon, Your Grace. Apple, blueberry, and strawberry.”

“Do any of those sound good, Rhae?” he asks.

She nods. “I can’t decide between apple or strawberry.”

“Who says you can’t get both?” he offers.

“You’re right!” Rhae looks at the servant boy now. “I’d like a slice of strawberry and apple pie, please.”

The boy bows his head, “Yes, m’lady. And you, my Prince?”

“Venison pie. No need to slice it; I’m hungry enough to eat the whole thing,” Aemond said in a humorous tone. “What’s your name?”

The servant looks surprised at his question. “Steffon, Your Grace.”

Aemond smiles at him. “Thank you, Steffon.”

“Of course, Your Grace; you’ve no need to thank me; I’m here to serve you,” he stutters. Steffon bows at the waist before turning away from them to fulfill their requests, shuffling further into the kitchen. Steffon doesn’t dawdle, quickly and cleanly cutting Rhaella’s pie and reheating Aemond’s food over the cookfire. Gathering the food on a silver platter, Steffon returns to them. “Where do you wish me to bring this, Your Grace?”

“You okay with eating in one of the small dining rooms?” He asks, receiving a nod from Rhae. “Whatever small dining room is the closest, please.”

Steffon nods and leads them down a hallway near the kitchens. The room is decorated modestly with velvety maroon curtains and gold trim. Unlit candles sit in a candelabra on the windowsill. Steffon set the tray down in the middle of the round table, unloading the food at two of the place settings. He fished a thin wooden stick from his pocket and stuck one end into the fireplace. Once it’s lit, Steffon lights the candles on the dinner table with it. “Do you require any wine, Your Grace? M’lady?” he asks, tossing the used lighter into the fire.

Both children shake their heads no. “I would like some honeyed milk, however,” says Rhaella. Aemond seconds the request. Bowing, Steffon left to the kitchens once more, quickly returning with two goblets of warm honeyed milk and a pitcher for refills. “Thank you, Steffon.”

“Of course,” he replies, placing their drinks in front of them. “Is that all?”

Aemond nods, dismissing him kindly. Steffon bows to each of them before exiting. The smell wafts throughout the room delightfully, making both their stomachs growl. “Gods, I’m starving,” he mumbles, wasting no time digging into his dinner. Rhaella does the same, alternating between pies with each forkful she takes. “How’s yours, Rhae?”

“Delicious!” she says with a mouthful of food, earning her a giggle from Ae. She swallows before continuing. “I didn’t realize how hungry I actually was.”

“Me neither.” He rests his elbows on the table, throwing royal table etiquette out the window. He eats like he hasn’t seen food in months, practically inhaling half the pie in the first ten minutes of their meal. “Do you want to try some of mine? It might benefit from some protein.”

She hesitates but nods. “Yes, please.” Aemond stabs a plentiful helping with his fork and hands it to her handle first. “Do you want some of mine?” Rhae offers, handing him the utensil back after it was empty. Ae nods. She gives him a piece of the blueberry pie.

“It’s good. Sweet.”

Rhaella giggles, “Perfect, you mean.” Aemond just rolls his eyes with a smile. “Are you excited for your sister’s wedding?”

He raises an eyebrow at the question but answers regardless. “I guess so. I would be more excited if Helaena were marrying someone who appreciates her like she deserves. Why’d you ask?”

“I was helping her choose wedding dresses. She wants to get me one.” Rhaella makes a face at the thought. “I know she means well, but the thought makes my skin crawl.”

Taking a sip from his goblet, Aemond wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to. I’m sure you could get away with what you’re wearing now, albeit fancier.”

Rhaella leaves nothing but the crust of the blueberry pie behind, moving on to finish the strawberry one. “I hope so. Skirts aren’t as bad. Why should I dress like everyone else, anyway?”

“Exactly. You’re unique; the whole Seven Kingdoms deserves to see it.” Aemond’s compliment makes Rhae’s face redden. “So don’t worry about it, okay? The wedding is still a long way away.”

She looks down at her food, glancing at him through her eyelashes. A lock of her hair fell from its place behind her ear. The white and brown streaks seem almost otherworldly in the candlelight. It made Aemond’s heart flutter. “You’re right.”

Aemond pushes the feeling into a corner. He’d rather ignore it for now, not ready to see what it means. “Like usual, I’m always right, Rhae.”

“Be careful, Ae. You might wind up with a faceful of pie,” she teases, taking another bite of her food.

He smirks as he finishes his food. “Yeah, yeah. You’re enjoying it too much to throw it at me. We both know it.”

“Don’t be so confident, Ae. You know I don’t care for the crust,” Rhaella returns his smirk with one of her own. “Could always throw that at ‘ya.”

“Jokes on you, I’ll just eat it instead.”

Rhae makes a playful face of disgust. “Gross!” She kicks his shin, and he yelps, kicking her back in retaliation.

“And yet, you’re still here,” Aemond chuckles, gesturing with his half-filled goblet before taking a sip. “Mustn’t find it that gross, huh?” he asks as he refills his cup. He offers the pitcher to Rhaella, and she hands him her cup.

She kicks him again, but not as hard this time. “I still have pie crust, you know.”

“So I’ve heard. You plan on giving it to me, or will you just keep dangling it in front of me, teasing me with it?”

Rolling her eyes, Rhaella pushes her plates of pie crust towards him. “All yours, my Lord of Impatientness.”

Aemond moves the crusts to his plate. “Thats Prince Impatient to you.”

Rhaella speaks in a funny, posh voice, “Oh, my greatest apologies, Prince Impatient! How can I ever make it up to you?”

It takes every ounce of Aemond’s self-control to maintain a straight face. “You must save all your pie crusts for me from now ‘till the end of all time!”

Rhaella stands and does an exaggerated bow, barely completing it before they both break into laughter. “Your word is my command, ‘O Impatient One! You shall have all the pie crust you desire!”

“Why, thank you, good ser! I should have you named Lord of the Pies!” Aemond says through his laughter. Rhae laughs with him, and the sight makes his heart flutter like it had before.

“You honor me beyond my station, Prince!” she bows again, sticking her arms out for equal parts balance and extravagance.

Neither of them can continue, both too caught up in their laughter. Rhaella sits back down, giggling into her cup. Aemond’s heart skips a beat. If that continues, I’ll have to see a Maester. Ae finishes his dessert and drink, looking out the window. The stars were clearly visible now against the black night sky. “It’s getting late, you know.”

“Does Prince Impatient have a bedtime?” Rhaella teases, drinking.

“No,” he stuck his tongue out at her. “I just thought I’d point it out, is all.”

“Tired?” She asks as she pours the last of the honeyed milk from the pitcher.

He shrugs. “I took a nap earlier.” Aemond cranes his neck to look at the ceiling. “I’ve never been in this room before, I don’t think.”

Rhaella hums in acknowledgment, rising from her seat again to stand beside the window. “Me neither. It’s nice, secluded from the rest of the castle.” Setting her goblet down on the windowsill, she throws open the curtains.

“It’s like a little hideaway, almost.” Ae stands behind her. He has half a mind to hug her like this, but his arms turn to lead when he tries, so they stay by his sides. “A place where no one can find us.” He watches a smile spread across her features.

“Do you ever wonder what they are? The stars?” she asks, looking up to the sky with a sigh. “I heard that some people believe that dragons come from the sky. They believe each star is a giant dragon egg, waiting for the day it can birth thousands of dragon hatchlings into the world.” Rhae turns to face him, leaning against the ledge. She laces her fingers with his.

Thinking Rhae had changed the topic, Aemond feels disappointment creeping up on him. “I don’t think that’s true. Dragons come from Valyria.”

“Exactly!”

Aemond looks at her, confused. “What’re you getting at, Rhae?”

“What I’m trying to say is maybe the people who believe that simply have it backward!”

“Backward?” he raises an eyebrow. “I still don’t get it.”

She sighs dramatically, making it obvious she isn’t upset with him. “What if the stars aren’t dragon eggs, but dragons themselves!? Maybe the stars are their dragonfire! Thousands of dragons flew far away and created their own hideaways. And all we see of their creations is the fire they used to forge it.”

Aemond grins at the idea. The disappointment he felt moments before dissipated when he realized she hadn’t changed the topic at all. “Maybe they’re where the dragons fled to after the Doom. Safe from anything that wished to harm them.”

“I’d like to visit the stars,” she hums.

“Maybe Vhagar will take us there sometime.”

Rhaella pulls him in for a hug, resting her head on his chest. “Or maybe we’ll find a star of our own.”

His arms rid themselves of the lead that had weighed them down earlier, eagerly returning Rhae’s embrace. Aemond lays his head atop hers, holding her close. They stand there for what feels like both an eternity and thirty seconds at the same time. Aemond whispers into Rhae’s hair, and he’s so quiet he isn’t sure if she heard him. “I’ll find you a star.”

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