#she pulls the trigger she has the blood on her hands so that he won’t have too!! and there are so many others too—

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

got into a convo with my family this morning that started with politics and philosophy and ended up spiraling into a rant about the nature of goodness and none of that is actually important eXCEPT that it reminded me of the ‘without hope without witness without reward’ quote and this all leads me to what I want to say which is—

I have realized that that line ^ is the standard by which I measure any portrayal of River Song. if there’s a story about her that doesn’t convince me that a) this is a person who could and would write that OR b) this is a person who can become the kind of person who writes that, then it’s not going to work for me.

[nyrandrea]

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now. 

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon. 

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you,  judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul. 

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with. 

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel. 

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!” 

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.” 

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.” 

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!” 

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.” 

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.” 

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades. 

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well. 

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!” 

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.” 

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind. 

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp. 

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!” 

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.” 

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.” 

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence. 

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.” 

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze. 

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.” 

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace. 

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.” 

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in. 

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.” 

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel. 

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.” 

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.  

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’  

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy. 

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite. 

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you. 

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people. 

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel. 

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him. 

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.” 

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.” 

“Why not just buy new clothes?” 

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment. 

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.” 

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.” 

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?” 

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by. 

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.” 

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye. 

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?  

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine. 

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. 

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.” 

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.” 

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine. 

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.” 

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him. 

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone. 

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth. 

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?” 

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?” 

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.” 

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.” 

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.” 

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable. 

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic. 

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur. 

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.” 

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.” 

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?” 

You grimaced. 

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?” 

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.” 

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “ 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” 

“This isn’t a joking matter!” 

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!” 

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.” 

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today. 

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.” 

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament. 

What kind of leader were you? 

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...” 

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.  

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?” 

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?” 

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart. 

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.” 

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you. 

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?” 

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease. 

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m-” 

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.” 

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out. 

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze. 

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?” 

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod. 

“Then come on, scooch over.” 

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother. 

“...I’m sorry." 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?” 

You managed a small chuckle at that. 

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence. 

And exhale. 

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FOUR

04 : BEGINNINGS

CHPT. SUM. : beginning new things is always fun. getting to know your sons, them finally being able to experience having a loving mother, sirius going to school, and you planning for everything that was yet to come so that everyone gets to the happy ending they deserve. 

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; orion being a bad father ; original walburga being a nuisance ; reader being an amazing mother and an amazing cook ; regulus has food preferences ; brotherhood between sirius and regulus ; marauders spotted in the wild ; sirius and regulus being precious babies ; reader disrespecting walburga ; mentions of infertility ; mentions of divorce ; lots of future planning

← PREV. 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) | SERIES M.LIST

9th August 1971 

It, surprisingly, took very little to get past Orion on the topic of changing Sirius and Regulus’ private tutors. However, when you truly looked at his workaholic tendencies, your initial surprise should have been the more startling reaction — of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s too fixated on the happenings with his position on the Wizengamot to be aware of much else, discounting the protective wards he put up around the property. Nevertheless, it was good news for you and your boys. Finally, they would be getting more suitable tutors, who catered to their learning needs in a more digestible way. You had only recently sent out the notice, though, so you don’t expect many replies to be coming in soon. Your only wish was to have fallen into this universe sooner, that way you would have had more time with Sirius before he left to attend Hogwarts as a first year. 

Walburga didn’t have a formal occupation other than monitor her boys so having Sirius leave for his first year would mean less work for her and, subsequently, you. However, it’s not as if she needed the money; she’s the matriarch of an incredibly privileged family, meaning that her financial worries are close to non-existent. Both, the affluent family fortune and her lack of professional ambitions have you stumped, it’s something you’re not used to at all. Perhaps that’s why she’s so obsessed with control and the activity of her two sons; it’s not healthy and you don’t even want to attempt to understand what she was thinking—

“Of course you won’t!” Walburga snarls from the depths of your consciousness, her tone dripping with malice and a hint of something sinister. “I don’t expect someone who failed at becoming a mother to understand the right and true tribulations of bringing up children,” 

“…how did you know that?” you ask aloud, no longer satisfied with simply trying to call for the bitch - Walburga’s - attention in your head. She didn’t seem to want to reply, which only made your blood boil; her prolonged silence, the trigger to releasing your rapidly escalating rage.  How dare she?! How dare she strike you where it hurts the most, only to turn completely unresponsive when you demand answers, “Answer me!”  Thick tensions fill the room when she does not answer, the silence suffocating and poisonous. Taking a slow, deep breath, you engage control over your anxious heart and trembling hands once more. 

Work. You need work. Something to focus on so that you don’t dwell on memories that will only bring you heartache. It worked before so it’ll work for you now. It had worked so well, in fact, that you were able to build an empire out of it, perhaps you could replicate the same results this time. 

“Screw you then, ugly pig, I have more important matters to attend to anyway,” pulling out a drawer, you scatter your notes across the desk and move with fretful fever but, also, enthusiasm above them. No matter the change of environment, you can always trust in your habits to push you forward. Walburga mainly worked on keeping the boys in line as the official matriarch of the Black household but that’s all her world revolved around, she had no hobbies or any close friends other than her relatives whom she communicated with, somewhat, regularly. With a guilty ache in your chest, you kept a gradually growing stack of letters in the bottom-most drawer of the hard oak desk, not yet knowing how to respond to people you barely knew. However, you suppose their relations to a character like Walburaga make it slightly easier to ignore their communications. The affiliation doesn’t warrant your precious time. If you could send a passive-aggressive email, you might be more willing, but the extended process of having to write out the letters and then send them via owl wasn’t worthwhile. 

The priority on your list of important affairs is ensuring your boys’ happy and safe future. Sirius will not have to choose between Regulus and his friends, he will not suffer being blasted off the family tree, he will not have to be ashamed of his family, he will not have to witness his close friend’s death through another’s betrayal, and he will not be forced to go to Azkaban. Similarly, Regulus will not have to suffer Sirius abandoning him, he will not have to face his prejudicial parents alone, he will not be forced into getting the dark mark, he will not have to make the sacrifice he had to make at such a young age, he will not die a miserable and lonely death, and he will not be forgotten! You will make sure of it. 

Coming into the world as a Harry Potter and Marauders fan, you’re well-equipped with all the knowledge required to make the right decisions. The only problem is that the Marauders era has been a largely vague timeline that most of the fandom filled in for themselves so you’ll have to tread carefully. This will require meticulous planning, a steady rise to power and a conglomeration of useful allies to help set your plans into motion. Modern-day knowledge and business etiquette will serve you well here. You’ve survived toxic work environments, won in the race to riches, and dealt with all manner of manipulative, sexist swine you could ever think to encounter. If you play your cards right, you’re sure to win. 

“As if a muggle like you could conquer the wizarding world!” Walburga finally makes her appearance once again. And, of course, it’s for the sake of belittling you whilst making your head throb painfully from her distasteful screeches. 

“Shut up,” you hiss unapologetically, resisting the urge to smirk, “Unlike you, I know the future—” breathing the words aloud brings a blaring, singular thought to the front of your mind. The vision you witnessed at the Owl Emporium replays in your head once more…

How in the world did Walburga know about the biting habit of Sirius’ future owl?… 

Several moments pass achingly slow as you anticipate the aggravating screeching of Walburga to return. When no such wailing occurs or interrupts your train of thought, your mind immediately begins to spiral. 

How could Walburga remember being at the Emporium, shopping for Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts when she had yet to go shopping with him in the first place? They couldn’t have already gone, right? Orion would have said something if they were being inefficient enough to go a second time. That or the boys would have definitely made some comment… 

This felt like an urgent matter that needed your immediate attention but you had to prioritise other things for now. It’s not like the original Walburga was going to give you the answers you needed so it wasn’t any use pressing on the matter. It’s best to turn your focus and efforts elsewhere. Peering back at your scattered notes, you raise your newly acquired wand and utter the crafting spell you had learned recently. 

“Libeligare,” As you wave your wand over the desk, activity springs forth. In a flurry of animated pages and whistling currents in the air, your disordered notes compile themselves appropriately before binding themselves into a fresh notebook. It doesn’t have a hard cover and you debate on transfiguring a decorative letter set piece into one but think against it. This will do nicely for the moment. 

Finally, all your detailed plans are in one place. 

10th August 1971 

With nothing better to do and desperate for a decent meal, you address the home-cooked meals situation. Every dish served at the Black household was so unappetising and bland, that you couldn’t believe that the family was one of the most influential and richest families to exist in the wizarding world. You’re beginning to believe that the Blacks were the type of family to indulge in unpalatable spreads with the reasoning that they refuse to eat the same meals as those lesser than them. How childish. Even in your city-centre penthouse, you ordered take-out frequently and ate ordinary home-cooked meals that were comforting and warm. The memories make you compare all the meals you’ve had in Grimmauld Place and blanch abhorrently. This wouldn’t do, especially for your growing boys. They need to be well-fed so that they grow up healthy and strong. 

“Mistress!” Kreacher shrieks behind you, making you jump and spin around all at once. The hunched-over house elf dashes through the kitchen space clumsily and with much vigour, he pulls painfully at his drooping ears as his eyes bulge out from seeing you, his mistress, the matriarch, in the kitchen cooking! Without magic! 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kreacher,” you chuckle softly and turn back to your food prep, “I’m just trying to cook an easy breakfast for my boys,” if you could truly have it your way then you would cook enough only for you and your two darling sons to eat. Orion would have to sort his own plate. But you’re not divorced yet so you suppose this is a compromise you’ll have to make. 

“I-It is not mistress’ job, let Kreacher do it—!” the house elf, reaches forward to take the kitchen utensils from you but you’re too swift. 

“I want to cook the food Kreacher,” you argue and continue pottering about the kitchen as if it was just another Tuesday morning, all while Kreacher follows you around helplessly. He’s clearly stuck between letting you have your way or forcing you to let him cook instead. Both felt wrong in different ways considering his position as the house elf, and he was brought to a standstill. The poor guy looked ready to throw himself off a cliff from the indecision and panic.  

Having sympathy for the elf, you call to him over your shoulder, “Kreacher can you please pass me the eggs?” this feels like a good even ground to dance on. Soon enough you’ll be teaching Kreacher how to finally relax. Kreacher appeared happy to finally be doing something but as soon as he hesitantly handed over the eggs, he was back to being anxious all over again. Even though you are the matriarch of the household, you supposed you’ll have to share the kitchen with a very distressed house elf for the foreseeable future. 

For the rest of the morning, you’ve asked Kreacher to help you with crisping up the beacon, cleaning the mushrooms, opening up the can of beans, toasting the bread and laying out the table. No more tasteless, boring porridge for breakfast with no toppings, today you’re serving a Full English. Admiring the spread, you thank Kreacher for his assistance before undoing your apron and putting the finishing touches to the dining table just as the rest of the family make it down for breakfast. 

“What is all this?” Orion asks in slight surprise when catching sight of breakfast for the day, “Is today very important?”

“No,” nonchalance keeps your tone controlled just as your precious babies walk through the door and hop into their designated seats at the table, one more enthusiastic than the other, “I’m just tired of plain old porridge every day,”

“Porridge is delicious,” Orion defends.

“Every day?” from the look in his eyes, you don’t know whether or not you’ve bested him so turn a serene smile his way instead, “I can always ask Kreacher to make you porridge if you really want,” 

Orion takes a moment to observe the full, vibrant plate of bacon, toast, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs and beans. If he takes any longer to play indecisive, the food will get cold and your precious babies are waiting on his dainty, princess-ass to make a decision— can you hurry the fuck up?! you want to scream at him. Every meal is started after his first bite (the pretentious, narcissistic douche) so he needs to make up his mind quickly or else you’ll lose yours waiting around! 

“…it’ll be a waste, this will do,” he finally picks up his knife and fork to begin eating and you have to reign yourself in before you roll your eyes too noticeably at his conceited behaviour. Your babies behave better than him. The prick! 

Turning to your boys, you observe Sirius and Regulus digging into their own meals before finally taking a bite out of yours. It felt good to see their eyes light up like that, especially Sirius’ — it makes you want to giggle at how obviously he had been wanting to devour his beans and toast the instant he laid eyes on them. 

Breakfast continues pleasantly as everyone enjoys their meal until you begin to notice some peculiar movement in the corner of your eye. You try to be as subtle as you can, considering the uncommon calm that has fallen over the dining table; it isn’t usually this comfortable around the table so you wanted to preserve the ambience as much as possible. The source of your curious gaze was Sirius and Regulus. 

Covertly, Regulus sneaks spoonfuls of his scrambled eggs onto Sirius’ plate, who proceeds to eat up his younger brother’s share as quickly as possible. Regulus was doing this willingly despite this morning’s breakfast being the first appetising meal he’s had yet. It won’t be the last either. However, from the way Sirius is scarfing down the food whilst trying to remain as silent as possible, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sirius eventually suffers from a stomachache later on. You wonder what could be the matter with the scrambled eggs. Was the seasoning off? Kreacher helped taste test every element of the meal and gave his stellar praise for your unrealised culinary skills so you’re more than a bit confused at the scene. After swallowing all remnants of food in your mouth, you gently raise a question. 

“Regulus?” your youngest freezes up immediately, making your brows furrow but still, you continue in a soft voice, “What’s wrong?” Deep in your chest, you feel your heart clench in worry at the deer-in-headlights expression plastered across Regulus’ cherubic face. 

You are met with only silence, “do you not like your eggs, darling?” you try meeting your youngest’s eyes but he’s terrified to even face your direction. Instead, he’s firmly steered his gaze down to his lap and keeps it there, frozen in place. 

There’s a slam of the table and everyone stiffens. At the head, Orion stares disapprovingly at Regulus, who begins to tremble like a leaf, “How rude!” the patriarch spits with such force and bite that his saliva lands halfway down the lengthy dining table. He’s so scandalised by his son’s behaviour that the cold from his freezing gaze drops the temperature in the room lower than it already is. “How many times have we talked about this Regulus? Finish your plate at once or else it’ll be the last meal you eat today!”

“He’s not being rude!” you counter, flying out of your seat and making your way to Regulus, “And he shouldn’t be forced to eat something he doesn’t like nor punished harshly for disliking something,” Crouching down, you position yourself to block Orion from Regulus’ line of sight despite his frightened doe-eyes remaining transfixed on his lap. His small hands are turned into small, knuckle-white fists, gripping fiercely at the fabric of his trousers. A paralysed statue of fear incarnate, your little boy doesn’t deserve this! If you could ‘Avada Kedavra’ Orion’s pathetic, prissy ass, you would in a heartbeat. 

From your peripheral, you notice how Sirius had placed a comforting hand over one of Regulus’ closed fists and the sight made your heart bloom with pride and joy — seeing how well they take care of each other was so heartwarming. “Tell me what’s wrong, Reg…I promise I won’t get mad,” you make sure to keep your voice in a low whisper so that only your son can hear but also loud enough that Orion’s distant grumbling is disguised. 

“Do you not like eggs?” your prompting remains gentle and patient, hoping for a fraction of understanding. That’s all you really want. 

Sensing no antagonistic feeling in your tone, Regulus finally wills himself to speak, although barely audible from insecurity, “I….I don’t like scrambled eggs…”

“No? What about them don’t you like?”

"They feel weird in my mouth, I don’t like chewing them,” he explains shyly, his confession dripping with shame. His grey eyes look into your own remorsefully and, before he can utter an apology, he is stopped by the shaking of your head.

Smiling warmly, you pat his small hand and voice your reassurance, “That’s a reasonable preference to have. Do you not like the texture?” Regulus nods in confirmation as his small, tense shoulders slowly ease up, “Do you not like eggs at all or do you like them cooked in a particular way?” 

Regulus’ eyes widen with surprise. Never before had his mother been so attentive to his preferences like this. On the contrary, His mother was always the first to make him feel embarrassed for his picky tendencies when it came to food, especially over dishes that make him lose his appetite entirely, oysters and shellfish being the main culprit. He really didn’t like them at all. Many times, they were the appetiser to multiple-course meals hosted by pureblood, elitist wizarding families so Walburga was determined to season her son’s palettes early on in life. It was good etiquette to eat such foods and to know how to eat them properly. If he didn’t display appropriate dinner etiquette at the table then he is lesser, he is unworthy of the Black family name and blood running through his veins, he is unbecoming of his heritage, he is a disgrace— 

“I can cook eggs in many other ways,” you suggest thoughtfully, voice remaining soft and comforting, “I can fry them for you? Or I can boil them? Do you like your yolk runny or firm?” 

Regulus, spurred on by your softly placed questions feels the corners of his lips tug upwards, “fried eggs, please…”

His innocuous answer makes you beam, “with a runny or firm yolk, darling?”

“Runny, please,” Regulus finds your bright expression infectious and begins to smile a little wider too. Over the slope of his little brother’s small shoulders, Sirius is grinning from ear to ear; finally, Regulus isn’t going to be forced to eat something he doesn’t enjoy. The elation makes Sirius’ chest swell as his heart pinches slightly at the memory of his little brother retching up the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Those disastrous, past meals started badly and they ended badly too. Peering at you with smiling eyes, Sirius knows that he won’t need to worry about that any more. 

“Of course, right away," you’re eager to leave and fix up Regulus’ plate but you also worry about leaving him with Orion at the dinner table; your husband wasn’t too pleased with Regulus having preferences — the pretentious prick could choke on his food and die for all you cared, “how about we go to the kitchen together?” you offer smoothly as you begin to stand, “that way, you can watch me cook and make sure I do them just the way you like it,” smiling brightly, Regulus nods and easily offers his hand for you to hold, “Siri, would you like to come?” if one brother was coming with you so was the other.  

“Yes please!” Sirius happily walks to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with Regulus, whose other hand is fully wrapped up in your own. 

From the head of the table, Orion stares with his mouth agape at what he had just been a witness to. What was happening to his wife?! 

11th August 1971 

Sirius and Regulus stand by the fireplace, waving off their newly appointed private tutor as they floo away before eagerly making their way to your home office. Usually, their session catch-ups would make the two freeze up and drag their feet along the plush carpets of their family’s proud home but not now. Ever since your irregular activities leading up to your fainting spell and subsequent switch in demeanour, they’ve felt safer and happier at home. But only around you, their father still frightened them. The patriarch’s grey eyes swirled with a mounting turbulence that they would greatly prefer to avoid so they quickly make themselves scarce around him but not around their mother. Not anymore.

“I can’t wait to show Mother my cursive practice,” Regulus has a skip in his step as he walks beside his older brother, who beams at him proudly. 

“Yeah, you’re getting really good at that Reggie,” Sirius praises, a slightly envious tone edging into his words, but it all remained playful, “say, how do you do your swirls so good?”

“Practise!” 

Sirius rolls his eyes at his younger brother’s cheek, “There has to be a secret to it that I don’t know about,” Regulus only giggles at his older brother’s shortcomings. This had been a rare happiness to experience at 12 Grimmauld Place but, gradually, it was becoming common between the two brothers. Suddenly the walls weren’t so drab, the furniture not as boring and the decorations not as hauntingly placed. The atmosphere was much brighter as sunlight always seemed to pour magnanimously in from the windows.

“Sorry Siri,” from Regulus’ free-flowing, tuneful words, he isn’t sorry at all but Sirius can never will up any hatred for his younger brother. They’ve been through it all together and now that their recent joys were also being shared, of course, they would partake in harmless teasing — teasing that was usually frowned upon by their mother but was no longer a worry. They can’t remember the last time their mother frowned — the two greatly prefer this new version of their mother’s expressions much more.

As they approach your office door, the brothers’ footfalls quicken and they barely catch themselves from bursting through the door without knocking. But not before they catch sight of your figure through the crack of the doorway. Curious about your activity, Sirius hushes his younger brother softly and holds him back so that he can lean forward to observe your figure closely. Inspired by his older brother’s nosiness, Regulus leans forward also and the two peer at you through the doorway crack. 

You’re not at your desk but are, instead, seated on the plush, cushioned seats of the emerald sofa placed in front of your desk. Black robes and other familiar attire are piled up beside you on one side while the other gradually assembles the neatly folded aftermath of your sewing…embroidery? Was there even a difference? Nevertheless, you had a needle and thread in hand without your wand or the use of magic in sight!

“Mother’s sewing your name tags herself,” Regulus concludes in a whisper following a muted gasp of surprise. 

Sirius’ eyes widen ever so slightly, “and she’s not using magic…” he doesn’t know how skilled you are at sewing but Sirius doesn’t care, the gesture alone is enough to make his chest swell. Even his face began to warm up from the heat climbing up his neck as it tried reaching his ears. 

“…do you think she’ll sew my name tags too? When I start my first year, I mean…” Regulus asks shyly, the clear insecurity in his timid voice making Sirius slightly defensive. 

“Of course, she will,” he huffs before grinning widely, “and if we tear up our uniform ‘accidentally’ I’m sure she’ll sew those up herself too!” Regulus doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes his brother’s train of thought but smiles anyway; he’s just happy thinking about his mother paying as much attention and care to his first-year robes too. He can’t wait until he starts attending Hogwarts as well. 

Finally willing themselves to stop eavesdropping and return to their earlier task, Sirius and Regulus straighten their posture before knocking on the heavy wooden door. They don’t have to wait terribly long for an answering call to grant their entrance. 

“Come in,” you set your tools aside and smile when the door reveals your babies stepping into your office, “hello, my darlings,” from your periphery, you spot the time on the clock face and jump into conversation with them, “how was your tutoring session? Did you like your new tutor?” 

“Yeah!” the two answer simultaneously and with the same amount of enthusiasm — it makes you smile with content. Happiness looks good on them; their characters shine brighter and their faces are more child-like. They’re honestly the cutest little boys you’ve ever seen and now they’re your sons to love and protect.  

“That’s wonderful news,” you open your arms for each of them to jump into, “Tell me all about it,” you’re just about to magic away the robes and sewing equipment so that they can sit beside you but not before you spot Sirius inspecting your handiwork, “I’m afraid I’m not the best seamstress,” your confession comes out bashfully, “I should have had Madam Malkins sew the tags on for me—”

“No!—” Sirius interrupts, looking almost offended that you would consider such a thing, “I like your sewing,” you raise a brow and, together with Regulus, inspect your uneven, treasure map trail of stitches before turning to the eldest brother once more. 

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Yeah, only you can do the stitching on my uniform, no one else,” his firm answer makes your embarrassed expression melt into a warm smile.

“Alright then,”

“Thank you, Mother,” he gives you another hug that you happily return. 

“You’re welcome, my dear,”

Looking over your plans, you sigh in restrained frustration. This is going to be a little hard. Yes, you know what to do but it’s all about recruiting the right people, trustworthy people and ones who are right for the role you’re choosing to give them. There’s a lot on your plate too, with your most urgent goal being divorce. You’re convinced that it isn’t going to be easy, considering the controversies that will surround the separation of a prominent wizarding house. The laws surrounding marriage, divorce and custody at this time are also largely unknown to you. Thankfully, you’ve had the privilege of living in a modern ‘muggle’ society where marriage and custody laws were pretty equal and fair. Perhaps there’s a book you can read up on about these things. For now, it’s a safe bet to say that custody will favour Orion as a man in the 1970s — it’s better to over-prepare than be underprepared for any outcome. 

Despite the importance of this particular undertaking, you’ll have to wait until both, Sirius and Regulus, are attending Hogwarts to commence the divorce proceedings. You don’t want your boys to be front-row witnesses nor do you want them to rollercoaster through the typical, rough emotions of children caught up in their parents’ divorce. You’ve been through that already… and you barely made it out on the other side. You’re an adult and they’re just children; if you can protect them from the brunt of it, you will.

A stray thought pushes forward into your consciousness — it would be too optimistic to confidently wager on the boys siding with you. Although under abusive parenting, children are very loyal and you’re benefiting from that loyalty now; even though Walburga was incredibly cruel to her sons, they were still eager to give you a chance as soon as you took over and began treating them kindly. You need to be cautious. The silver lining of it all is that you’ll, at least, have some time to prepare affluently before starting the separation process. That, on its own, however, will require another bout of planning.  

Saving Regulus is another priority on your list. That requires getting rid of the Horcruxes and killing off snake-faced Voldy but you don’t want to be too hands-on with that, especially because you’re not very adept at casting spells yet — there’ll be more experienced and more willing people (Aurors) who would be able to handle this type of mission. All you have to do is pull the right strings and connect with the right people. Eyeing another task on your list, you spot a small connection and smirk to yourself. The nib of your quill dips into a pot of ink and bridges two of your obligations. 

“This could be quite beneficial on both ends,” if you play your cards right…

Making some more careful notes, you gradually begin to piece everything together. But then there’s the issue of Sirius being sent to Azkaban. It’s healthy to have faith in yourself but if someone’s life and wellbeing are in danger, especially if it’s your son’s, you need to have a second, third and fourth plan at the ready. There needs to be a second, third and fourth plan for Regulus as well. Luck and misfortune will always have some influence on the dice you roll, there will never be an exception to that. You’ve learned this enough times in your previous life already, not just in business but everything else too. 

Your quill stops and rests beside your plans as the cogs in your brain turn with more purpose. Sirius still needs to become an animagus and Regulus needs to learn how to be a strong enough swimmer so that he can cast a spell to repel the Inferi. It would be beneficial if they both become well-equipped in duelling. That’ll require your lack of interference (maybe even your support) until Sirius’ fifth year, getting Regulus sorted with swimming lessons and encouraging both on their Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. You make a quick note of both solutions and their reasoning before linking both back to your list of obligations. 

The progress you’re making with these intervention plans is making headway. You just hope that you won’t tip the scales too far so that what little control you currently have slips right through your fingers and you’ll be left floundering. 

20th August 1971

You’ve fully taken over the cooking for all meals and your boys are looking much healthier. It warms your heart every time you see them happily eating your cooking, it was hard work keeping up with the pantry inventory, planning meals and catering to their individual tastes but it was good work that filled your heart with so much content, you hardly felt the fatigue creeping into your bones. 

Regulus isn’t a picky eater, he simply has a preference for some foods over others. He doesn’t like his eggs scrambled, only fried and with a runny yolk; he can’t stomach oysters or shellfish; he doesn’t like pulp in his juice and he’d rather eat a raw onion than have any trace of offal trimmings in his food. 

Sirius can practically eat anything and does so healthily, however, he’s more of a savoury person, leaving Regulus to own the sweet tooth palette by himself. Both adore cheese and you often create mini charcuterie boards for them to snack on. It was so adorable. There was plenty of time on your schedule to assign towards aesthetic food presentation so you’ve mastered the creation of salami roses. You’ve also found that Sirius prefers caramelised onion chutney to go with his mature cheeses whilst Regulus goes for a sweeter fig chutney. 

Currently, you were making them their own mini charcuterie boards. Both were displayed on a circular board with their favourite chutney at the very centre, held in a small ceramic container. And, with decorative prowess, you place their selection of meats, cheeses, crackers and grapes around it. 

“Do they look good Kreacher?” the house elf peers over the countertop surface and gives an affirming nod with a barely noticeable smile. 

“The young masters will be very happy, Mistress,” helpfully he suggests bringing the carefully prepared boards and crust-less finger sandwiches up to the boys’ study room for you but you shake your head. 

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I think I’ll bring up the food this time,” you’ve met their new private tutor several times already but she was always so tense around you; you’re determined to improve her impression through some good old exposure therapy. “Please prepare some tea and bring it up as soon as you’re done,” with your wand and a softly uttered ‘locomotor charcuterie boards and sandwiches’, the items lift into the air just slightly and you begin to move them out of the kitchen. 

“What tea should Kreacher be brewin’ this noon, Mistress?” 

“Oolong would be lovely today. Be sure to brew some Earl grey for Orion too but deliver the Oolong to us first please,” Kreacher’s struggles with your utterance of the polite ‘please’ persists but he continues with his set tasks regardless. The hunched-over house elf has noticed you’ve been prioritising the young masters much more than Orion recently; whenever you want to do something thoughtful, you always think of your sons first. Only last minute do you finally remember your workaholic husband and leave the snack preparations for Kreacher to fulfil and deliver alone. It’s a peculiar shift in attention, the wrinkled elf admits, but seeing his young master Regulus so happy, he doesn’t complain. Kreacher also admits that he’s growing a slight, mutual fondness for the elder Black brother, the two share in their love for Regulus and loyalty to you; now they’ve become friendly acquaintances. The house elf is a little happier and much more willing than ever before to stay loyal to his mistress and young masters’ sides. And Master Orion too, of course.   

Making your way up the stairs, the pretentious cow stuck in your head makes her presence known with inconsequential complaints.

“You’re spoiling those boys far too much!” Walburga shrieks and immediately makes your temples pound, “Sirius and Regulus don’t need this much attention, if you continue this they’re going to grow up soft and weak and unable to carry on the Black family name with the proper dignity and class!” For the sake of avoiding the horrid healing potion Kreacher’s having you consume after every fainting spell, you’ve been training yourself to build up as much resistance to her incessantly obnoxious yapping as much as possible — you’re getting there but you still need some practise. Currently, you are traversing the stairs so you’re taking every step with extra caution.

“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” her confounded gasp doesn’t escape you, “so kindly shut the fuck up,” the sarcastic cheerfulness in your tone makes her gasp once more and, like a coward, makes herself scarce. It seems as though you’ve gotten better at shutting the shrew up but she has yet to acclimatise herself to your shameless disrespect towards her.  Hopefully, she never gets used to your comments; it’s always such a pleasure being able to render her utterly speechless. 

With a pleased smile, you give a soft knock on the boys’ study room before entering. The boys gasp happily as soon as they see the levitating charcuterie boards and the plateful of crust-less sandwiches float closer and closer. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I think you all deserve a lunch break,” the boys cheer and happily dig in while you face their tutor with a small smile, “please feel free to have as many sandwiches as you want, we have plenty on offer,” her smile is hesitant and slightly trembles under your hold so she’s quick to look away and fix her focus onto the plate of sandwiches — her own, personal reprieve from having to interact with you.

Peony Knight. She’s an incredibly timid individual who seems to be in her element only when teaching children rather than in the company of said children’s adult parents — she has yet to look you in the eye for an extended period. Her head is an organised plight of feathery, strawberry-blonde hair and her eyes are a pair of opal pendants, so brilliantly blue but incandescent with a kaleidoscope of other jewel colours. Her resume was astounding but her family wasn’t very notable so you could only imagine her surprise when she received your response to her application with a test run of her skills. It was important to you that she comes from an uncommon house and family, you didn’t want to draw too much attention over switching tutors. At her tutoring trial run, she started very shaky but eventually found her confidence when focusing on your two boys rather than your lurking figure from the corner of the study. She was a good runner-up and quickly became the perfect choice when your boys showed favour towards her – the other candidates appeared to have been more affected by your presence in the room and taught the way they thought you wanted them to. 

“She’s nice and patient,” Regulus commented when you went to him after her trial lesson. 

“I like the way she explains things,” Sirius added beside him. 

That was all you needed to hire her as their private tutor. Peony’s timidity of you as an authority figure played in her favour very well.  

Hidden within a thick pile of stacked parchments and a small mountain of miscellaneous scrolls, you found Walburga’s carefully curated curriculum for the boys and handed it over to Peony. Walburga would know better than you what would be useful for her sons to learn. However, you were surprised at the amount of ‘muggle’ topics on her curated list. Admittedly, you were only expecting foundational wizarding lessons maybe on wands or classic pureblood etiquette so your shock was justified. Walburga’s reaction, however, wasn’t.  

“I teach them proper pureblood etiquette myself, you useless girl! And how can I expect my sons to grow up well if they aren’t taught the basics?! They’ll be able to advance as better wizards of the Black family that way. Moreover, muggles stick to and remain in the basics so don’t get smug with me, you filthy mud-blood!” Walburga screeched without restraint and with much offence after your initial revelation, leading to another fainting spell — the disgusting bitch…

In addition to Peony’s private tutoring, you’ve taken to providing your own private lessons to the boys, much to their surprise and slight hesitancy. However, as soon as you began the extended lessons after their usual morning session with Peony one day, they’ve since grown to love it. This didn’t happen every time, however, only on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today was one of those days, a Friday, and you’re so excited to see their reactions to what you have planned. 

Their schedules typically consist of Peony coming over a couple of hours before noon and she teaches them for two or three hours sessions every day except weekends. Mondays were for English language and literature (wizard and muggle), Tuesdays were for Economics, Numeracy and Financial literacy, Wednesdays were for French and Cursive handwriting practice, Thursdays were for muggle sciences (basic biology, physics and chemistry) and Fridays were for history and philosophy (wizard and muggle).

You reserve the fun lessons for your boys with yourself as their teacher. These were composed of lessons that typically challenged their problem-solving, creativity and other fundamental skills to set them up with a good foundation for school and life in general. This included fun puzzle-solving, art (in every medium the boys wanted), some written/scenario problem-solving and role-play scenarios. The first Friday you did this, you had the boys act out from rough, child-friendly scripts you drafted inspired by the Shakespearian play, Macbeth. It seemed like an innocuous lesson but you wanted to gauge their ethical understandings and reasonings. 

Throughout the scenes, you would spontaneously make them freeze frame to ask prompting questions that typically go along the lines of, ‘what would you do in this situation?’, ‘do think that was the right thing to do?’, and ‘why did you think your character did this even though they knew it was wrong?’. Both engaged very well with their own perspectives on the situation. 

At one point they got into a small argument that you needed to break up due to slightly differing standpoints on the scenario. It became slightly more heated than you expected but you were thankful for the opportunity to teach them how to communicate well with each other despite their differences. The lesson ended after that because tensions were still high and they were equally very stubborn about who should apologise first. 

It was going to take more than one lesson to be able to make them understand the rules and the importance of healthy communication, but that was to be expected. This was just the beginning so you’re hoping that if you stay consistent with fostering their ethical reasoning, communication and problem-solving skills, they will be able to remain brotherly despite their opposing Hogwarts houses. In the end, you made them apologise at the same time (to the count of three) and had them hug it out before telling them to say one thing they like about the other person. Evidently, they weren’t used to your new way of doing things and making amends but they (grumpily) did as they were told — and looked absolutely adorable doing it, their pouty faces were too much to bear! 

Approaching the two boys indulging in their individual charcuterie boards and occasionally exchanging bites of their share, you kneel between them and begin pleasant conversations about their current lesson. 

“Are you two having fun so far?” you could practically see Peony stiffen up like cement behind you, just from the telling gasp she lets out in the background. Being so high-strung isn’t going to be good for her health so you hope she gets used to your presence soon enough. You do feel slightly apologetic for her but she needs to know that people can change no matter how drastically. Hopefully, she takes this opportunity to grow some confidence in herself too. Someone so intelligent should walk with broader shoulders and a higher chin. 

“Yeah! Did you know Pythagoras had a cult?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his chair.

“No, he had a school of very intelligent mathematicians and musicians,” Regulus countered after swallowing his bite of cracker, cheese and grapes. 

Sirius rolls his eyes but immediately jumps into another topic, “he discovered the theory of pitch which is surprising coming from a guy who’s scared of beans,” he cracks himself up laughing at the statement.

Again, Regulus interjects in defence of the philosopher, “he wasn’t scared of beans,” the two brothers exchange narrowed stares, “He just believed that beans were the vessels for dead people’s souls and didn’t want to disrespect them by running through a bean field,” a small argument ensues but you don’t act, instead, you watch as a bystander in the hopes that your presence alone can keep them in check. If you ever feel the need to jump in at some point, you will. 

All too well, Sirius and Regulus remain aware of your lingering attendance to their quarrel and make the silent agreement to not escalate things too far. For a moment, they share a knowing look after briefly glancing your way and glaring at each other once again. You watch them huff and inhale a slow, shaky breath. They actively turn their voices down whilst continuing with their argument. It didn’t seem to go anywhere but both concluded it with less heat and more of a calm acknowledgement of each other’s differing sides. 

“Two people can have different opinions and still be friends. They only need to respect that the other person holds a different view and that it doesn’t make them a bad person,” they remembered your sage advice from their first extracurricular lesson with you. It was a massive shift in perspective to their growing minds and the impact it had on both of them was enough to permanently imprint the message into their heads.  

Unprompted, you lean forward and press a kiss to each of their foreheads, Sirius first and then Regulus, “I’m so proud of you two,” you watch as their cherubic cheeks flush an adorable, pink hue. Sirius scratches the back of his head bashfully whilst Regulus fiddles with his pen, both of them equally biting back a small smile from the praise, “you remembered what I taught you,” they look upon your elated smile with shy fulfilment as they nod slightly. “Another person’s opposing opinions might be something we don’t share or appreciate as much as they do but…” they lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to consciously heed your elaboration on the topic, “hearing or witnessing a different view will expand our perspective on the world and help us grow as people. We need to keep an open mind for these sorts of things because they can teach us so much. It might be hard to do sometimes, but I want to ask you two for a small favour,” they nod silently, not questioning or hesitating at your words, fully trusting in your sensible knowledge — their mother was always a brick wall when it came to the opinions of others, they couldn’t penetrate her, especially when it came to opposite views on blood purity so, to see her encouraging such undogmatic behaviour, is peculiar but in a strangely motivating way. They find that they want to do whatever it is that you want to ask them to do no matter what, “I want the two of you to try to understand the other side of any argument or opposite view. The world isn’t as black and white as we think it is. We have to try to be understanding and empathetic people. There may be reasons someone sees the world a certain way and even if we don’t agree or like their opinion, the least we can do is try to understand them. Just try. That’s all… that’s enough,”

It was a lot to take in and it was a lot to ask of such young minds that were still developing. But you weren’t asking for them to be perfect at it. All you want them to do is try.

“Alright, Mother,” Sirius nods with solid determination in his eyes. 

“Whatever you wish, Mother,” Regulus says at the same time, also glowing with resolve. 

Smiling happily, you bring them into a group hug, your arms easily curling around their small shoulders as you press another kiss to their temples, “you don’t have to be perfect, just try,“ you reiterate in a whisper, “I’m so proud of you, my darlings, you make mommy so happy,” you don’t see it but you feel their bright smiles press into your neck from either side as they return your embrace and nuzzle their faces into the junction of your neck and shoulders.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their lesson ended a few minutes ago and, like routine, they wave off Peony at the living room fireplace while you set up the study with all the things you planned on having them do for the afternoon. You asked them if they wanted to take a break before your lesson but they said they were happy to begin right away. They were able to detect the sparkle of excitement in your eyes as you left after their lunch break and were now filled with the same eagerness to begin your lesson.

Setting up their table with tools, aprons and a protective mat warmed your heart. You had planned so many things to do with your future children in your original life, read so many books and attended so many talks, lectures and groups on how to be a good mother that your heart was finally able to heal the scars that resulted from the infertility diagnosis you were slammed with years ago. You felt like a failure, not only as a mother but as a woman to be told that. It wasn’t until you were able to recover from that debilitating news that you finally began to consider adoption. It took years and years and the building of a corporate empire to finally get to that point but then, you were doomed once more. At the centre of a collision in the busy city streets, you lost consciously accepting your fate only to end up here…it was all quite a blessing really. Now you have two beautiful sons to call your own and to love with all of your heart. As an added bonus, they’re also two of your favourite characters from the Harry Potter universe. 

You could barely contain your excitement when you heard a small knock at the door to the study. They were here. 

“Come in, darlings,”

Stepping into the room, Sirius and Regulus gasp in awe and begin jumping on the spot ever so slightly from feverish anticipation. In your outstretched hands were two small, grey aprons, one displaying Sirius’ name and the other Regulus’ along the upper seam of the apron’s breast pocket. Without being asked, they step up to their aprons and reach forward to put the article on themselves. As they do so,  you announce what you will be doing for the afternoon. 

“Clay sculptures?” Sirius almost squeals in excitement as Regulus bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“We’ve never done that before,” Regulus chimes as you kneel behind him to help with tying up his apron, eventually moving on to redo Sirius’ clumsy knot as well.

“It’ll be fun,” you giggle, “fun and messy,” Sirius appreciates the hint of mischief in your voice and rushes to take a seat at the table with Regulus toddling along close behind him. You take a seat too and begin to talk them through the little sculpting tools they have beside them, the small mountain of clay at their disposal and the use for the bowls of water within reach. 

Regulus is listening but he can’t help glimpsing down at his stitched-on name tag every few seconds or so. His chest feels warm and so so tight that he feels like he’s about to burst. You had hand-stitched his name tag onto the apron yourself. He recognised the inexperienced, inconsistent stitches but he thinks it’s the most beautiful display of embroidery he has ever seen. There’s also the revelation that Regulus didn’t need to wait to go to Hogwarts to know that you would be attentive enough to do the same thing for his clothes as you did to Sirius’. He feels special and he loves the affectionate attention you were giving him, all the motherly love he and his older brother had always dreamed of experiencing was finally happening, not only through kind words but in warm hugs, soft kisses and silent acts of service too. He feels a surge of wanting to do well in everything, from studying to writing to eating to sleeping — all of it! He’ll do well in all of it. He only wants to make you proud. 

“Let’s begin with rolling out a piece of our clay,” you start, encouraging them to get messy, keep their clay hydrated and not worry about the state of their tools because you’ll all be washing them at the end together. After that, you had them make little balls using their hands and then roll out one ball into a flat sheet using their small rolling pins. With another ball, you instructed them to attempt making it flat using their hands instead, which helped you explain that moving around the clay with their hands makes the clay easier to mould.  

“Have you two been learning about muggle sciences?” you gently ask as the two go about flattening their spheres a little more so that they can carve patterns into them using their small wooden tools. 

“Yeah, I like the one called physics,” Sirius grins, eyes still focused on his clay.

“Me too!” Regulus chimes and the two brothers grin at each other, which makes you smile. 

“That’s very good,” you nod, spotting an opportunity, “so where do you think the heat comes from when we roll out our clay?” 

“From our hands,” Sirius immediately answers. 

“That’s right, anything else?”

The question is open for the two of them but Regulus is the one who answers next, “From all the moving around,”

“Brilliant, my darlings,” you praise and they grin pridefully. 

“Now, can you name the types of energies those are called? If you’ve learned about them, that is,” The brothers look at each other before beginning to ponder separately. The silence draws on so you decide to give them a little help, “What are all the energies called?” They do just fine with regurgitating the ten different energy types and that seems to be enough to prompt Regulus. 

“The moving around is kinetic energy,”

Sirius jumps to answer as well, “and our hands transfer the thermal energy,”

“Good good!” you give them a small round of applause, which they bashfully smile at, “you two are so clever!… What did I hear about this ‘transferring’ of energy, Siri?” your question comes out in a nonchalant tone. 

“Peony says that energy is stored and transferred,” Sirius answers, “and that they sometimes turn into another type of energy,”

“I see,” you look down at your own clay spheres and sheets, “where is the thermal energy from my hands coming from?” once again, they’re silent, “I think this can link to biology, specifically our biology,” that gets the cogs in their brains turning again and you can’t help but coo at their adorable thinking faces. 

“It’s from…” Regulus begins, immediately catching both yours and Sirius’ undivided attention, your eyes equally encouraging him to continue with his answer, “It’s from the energy in our food,”

Eyes sparkling with delight, you prompt him once more, “And what energy is that called?”

“…Chemical!”

“Good job!” Sirius claps for his brother’s success and reaches up for a high five that Regulus happily hits and once again, they’re grinning at each other. 

“What about for the movement?” This was a trick question but your boys are clever so you have full faith in them. Regulus already answered his share so he silently backs out from the arena by looking up at Sirius who begins to ruminate. “…well the movement has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it?” you thoughtfully point out, beginning to play around with your clay and trying to look innocent about it despite it being a definite clue. 

“It comes from us!” Sirius explains and looks down to play around with his clay too. You stay silent as you let him think and reach the conclusion on his own but you’re already so so proud of their intelligent displays, “…so it’s the same answer, it’s also from chemical energy…” he seems unsure from his tone but the minute he looks up to meet your eyes, the smile on your lips and the applause from you and Regulus has him beaming. 

“My sons are so so clever! I’m very proud of you both!”

That was enough of that — you only remember so much from your younger science education — so you move on to teach them about hatching and being able to stick two pieces of clay together with a little bit of water in order to make a small box with no lid. Thankfully, that was the final thing you intended to teach them before letting them make their own creations. 

“Now, you can make whatever you want with your clay. After this, I’ll bake them so they become solid, and then, we can paint them together. If you run out of clay, just ask and I’ll get you some more,” the two buzzed in their seats from the excitement and you were just as eager to let them loose with their creativity. “You can also make more than one thing but limit yourself to just two or three, please. Also make sure that whatever you make suits a function, it can be anything at all; you can even get some ideas from this muggle book on clay crafting,” you present them with the children’s clay craft book and place it where they can easily reach, “don’t mind getting the edges dirty, as long as the main text and pictures aren’t too muddied up by clay, it’s fine. It’s supposed to get used earnestly anyway,” they smile at your proactive reassurance but only Regulus goes for the clay book while Sirius goes about making his desired creation right away. 

For a while, Sirius cannot decide what to actually make. His speediness into action makes his younger brother peer over at him anxiously quite a few times but his initial unease gradually fades when he realises his older brother keeps changing his mind, flattening a scarcely sculpted creation just as quickly as he begins a new one. You don’t want to interrupt their independent creative flows and get to work on something you’ve already planned to create, a modest gift for your darling boys. 

Some time goes by in silence before you call for Kreacher to play one of the vinyls you managed to buy from a record shop when out on errands to muggle London. You had bought several along with the gramophone at the shop. When you first bought it home, the boys were eager to find out what it was and spent a lot of time happily winding it up so that you could all listen to the records together. It would have been preferable to get the electrical one but it would have been useless in the predominantly magic-operated house.  

“Great choice, Kreacher,” you smile at the house elf who nods timidly by the gramophone and promptly disappears when he feels as though he is no longer needed. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album plays in the background as the soundtrack to your clay sculpting session for several songs-worth of minutes before you finally get up to independently ask the boys about what they had chosen to make. ‘Oh! Darling’ sings in the distant corner as you kneel beside Sirius and quietly ask about his creation and what its function would be. In a whisper, he replies without turning to look at you, far too focused on his creation to divert any significant attention from it.  

“I’m making plant pots,” he begins, his pink tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, “for the cooking herbs you said you wanted to grow in the kitchen, but I’m also making one for Reggie since he says he wants to grow a plant in his room,” after his nonchalant explanation, your heart soars. It would be a fair assessment to say that Regulus has spoken to him about exploring gardening. You didn’t know your youngest wanted to grow a green thumb but it was a pleasant surprise — you’ll see about taking him to a muggle plant shop soon, you don’t quite trust wizarding plants in the household. A succulent or mini cactus would be a good choice. 

Pressing a kiss onto Sirius’ cheek, you whisper a soft thank you and praise his thoughtfulness before moving on to Regulus. For a moment, the elder brother wishes he could grow out his hair so that you are less likely to notice his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. You also kneel by Regulus’ side to whisper the same questions about his creation. 

“I’m making a little jewellery dish for your rings and necklaces and earrings, Mother. And I’m also going to make one for Siri since he’ll be getting the family ring when he’s older. Sirius’ one is going to be star-shaped because he’s named after the brightest star and yours is going to be heart-shaped because…well…” Regulus can’t finish his sentence as his blush floods his entire face with heat. But he doesn’t need to finish his explanation, he’s said all you needed to hear to coo over his thoughtfulness and press a kiss to his cheek also. They’re such sweet boys. That bitch Walburga was blessed to have them and yet she mistreated them so much, they didn’t deserve any of that. Tender love and care is what they truly deserve and that will be your sole mission and life’s purpose for this existence. 

“What are you making, Mother?” Regulus asks unprompted when you finally sit back down by your humble creations again. The youngest’s question makes Sirius perk up and eye you with interest, his grey eyes flicking between you and the carefully shaped clay by your hands. 

“I’m making little star-shaped pendants for my little star boys,” smiling at their flustered expressions, you elaborate further, “I’m going to poke a hole near the top point so I can thread it through a chain and you can wear it as a necklace or a bracelet — you can choose,” you show them one with a carved ’S’ on it, “this one is for Siri,” next you present the one with an ‘R’ on it, “and this one is for Reggie,” they beam in happiness at the getting such a personalised gift from you and continue their clay projects with new-found vigour. 

It was relatively easy to create the small star pendants so, inspired by Regulus’ creations, you proceeded to craft minimalist ring bands, one each of you. Sirius’ you carved the same sort of archaic patterns as that of his wand, for Regulus, you did simple lines with an occasional dot and for yours, evenly placed mini daisies. At first, it was purely for making sure that Regulus didn’t feel left out from Sirius getting the family ring but, looking at your modest creations, your magnate mind begins to manifest an innovative idea you’re itching to begin. Your schedule is going to fill up very quickly and soon — there isn’t a chance that you’ll wait on this. 

1st September 1971

Today couldn’t have crept up on you quickly enough. One minute you were settling into a cosy routine with your darling sons and now you were sending the eldest away for wizarding boarding school. It was happening too fast and your heart was constantly breaking from being torn between freely letting him go and childishly begging him to stay so that you could spend as much time with him as possible. Even the novelty of rushing onto platform 9¾ through the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 couldn’t keep the tears from filling your eyes. However, your unhappiness and woe were quickly wiped away when Sirius expressed muted sadness at the idea that his father was too busy to see him off to Hogwarts. That morning, try as you might you couldn’t convince Orion to be there for his son. The git was lucky Sirius had interrupted your argument to express his acceptance and neutrality over the situation or else you would have clocked the pretentious asshole’s jaw. You would be surprised if the hypothetical punch landed hard enough to dislocate both of his temporomandibular joints. He would be eating through a tube if it weren’t for your little boy’s interruption but you’ll be sure to sink your teeth into your git of a husband as soon as you get home. 

Regulus seems to be whispering something to his older brother as they share a hug of goodbye. There was plenty of time for Sirius to get onto the train - you made sure of that - and you promised to wave him off as the train left the station so none of you were in any rush to leave the other. You kindly smile down at their wholesome interaction, completely drawn in by their innocence and heartfelt brotherly love for each other. Their relationship was worth preserving and building up. You were once saddened by Sirius and Regulus’ torn apart brotherhood but now, you’ll be devastated if your sons ever broke their bond like in the movies and books. So distracted by your loveable sons’ endearing display, you miss the shocked looks you were receiving from fellow parents of other children who were also boarding to attend Hogwarts — they simply couldn’t believe it! 

Everyone knew the matriarch of the Black family. However, the very picture of her now was not what was to be expected. Rumours of her cold and unsympathetic disposition appeared as slanderous lies when they took in your warm smile and fond stare, looking solely upon your two sons. It was well-known amongst the wizarding community that the famous Black family’s eldest son, Sirius Black, would begin attending Hogwarts this year. They expected to see a conceited and substantially reserved display of the family by the platform but not… not this! This is something for the papers! Had the matriarch of the most ancient and noble house of Black always looked this beautiful and kind? Surely not!… But their eyes weren’t being deceived, they were seeing the truth! Many gasped and openly stared, thankfully hushed down by the nosiness of the platform, whilst others didn’t know how to interpret the display and opted to avert their eyes.

Around his small wrist, Sirius keeps your clay star pendant around his wrist, which had been painted a deep black per his request while the ’S’ is marked with metallic silver paint. He has such good taste for aesthetics despite his young age. Every day there was something new to be proud of him for, no matter how little. You love being a mother!

“Oh darling, I’m going to miss you so so much. You must promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, don’t be scared about making friends,” you look him in the eye as you say so, combing your fingers through his hair and pushing away the curling locks from his forehead, “they’re going to love you just as much as I do,”

“Me too, Siri,” Regulus’ soft interjection brings out a mutual laugh from you and the eldest Black brother. Sirius brings Regulus into another hug that you are also brought into.

“And if they don’t like you then they can suffer having none of those mini pies I baked for you,” the two of you share a smirk and a wink. Sirius had requested some shelf-stable foods to bring such as his favourite chutney, jams and jerky, all homemade by you, especially for him. Of course, you didn’t say no. You even suggested bringing along something yummy for the train ride despite already providing him an allowance to spend on the trolley. 

“Regulus and I will write to you as often as we can so be on the lookout for our letters, okay?” he nods, eyes already sparkling from the anticipation and thought of receiving mail by owl solely for him. A letter addressed only to him, with his name on the envelope, and meant only for him to read — his feverish anticipation was to be expected. He couldn’t wait for his first letter. 

“I’ll write back just as much, promise!” 

“Good because if you don’t,” you scold playfully as Sirius bites back a cheeky giggle, “I’ll go to Hogwarts and demand a written letter back myself, I’ll bring Reggie with me too so that’s twice the heat you’ll be under young man, don’t forget,”

“Never,” Sirius whispers as he throws himself into your embrace once more. There’s never going to be enough hugging to satiate your aching heart, nor squash the sadness of watching your baby grow up too fast but, knowing the mischief and fun he’ll be getting up to, makes you almost giddy with excitement. You want to read all about it in his letters home! 

As much as you’d like to have said your farewells for longer, Sirius still needed to board and needed help with his luggage. Thankfully there were plenty of staff to help him lug it all around, which you smiled gratefully for. They seemed stunned by your courtesy but tipped their caps in acknowledgement and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ in return, regardless. 

Stepping back from the platform with Regulus at your side, the two of you try to follow Sirius along the train compartments as closely as you can until you finally see him settling into a box by himself. You wonder if he’ll be meeting his fellow marauders soon — god! You wish you could see them as adorable 11-year-old babies like your Sirius right now. 

Regulus toddles up to be closer to the window, opposed to the thought of separating from his brother and tries to hold one last conversation with Sirius as everyone waits for the train to depart. To hear him clearer, Sirius reaches up to open the window. Smiling at the pair fondly, you almost miss a heart-stopping sight. From your left peripheral, you spot an untameable mess of dark hair and round hazel eyes sparkling in jubilation, framed with an adorable pair of round glasses — you barely withhold your gasp of surprise. But all too soon, from your right, you glimpse a head of neatly trimmed but slightly grown-out brown hair, belonging to a rather spindly boy swamped under a cosy autumn-brown jumper. On his softly curving jaw is a light, nicking scar and when he turns his head ever so slightly, you see another more prominent scar marked across the pudge of his cheek. You’ve seen a wild, baby-ish James Potter and Remus Lupin. Almost all of the marauders were spotted getting onto the Hogwarts Express but do you even want to see the final member? No! Of course not! It was then that you noticed sandy-blonde hair weaving through the crowds of parents wishing their children farewell – a last-minute attempt at getting onto the train on time. Behind him, he is followed by a similarly blonde woman, his mother. Goodness, both share such startling similarities, both have curved edges to their silhouette, pink cheeks and sea-blue eyes. They looked like an adorable pair and you had to admit that Peter’s portly appearance made him incredibly endearing for his age. They looked like an ordinary, harmless mother-son pair, much like you and your boys…

A whistle pierces through the station and snaps you out of your daze. Finally turning back to your Sirius, your eyes tear up again for the umpteenth time that day. Regulus had rushed back to your side, clinging onto the long, black skirt of your dress with one hand as he used the other to wave goodbye. Silently, you mouth an ‘I love you’. He isn’t as surprised as when you whispered the same affection to him whilst still on the platform so he was able to mouth it back — ‘I love you too, Mother,’ — your heart pinches. Picking Regulus up, you sit him on the curve of your hip and wave Sirius off together. You see the slight shimmer of tears in Sirius’ eyes too just before the train moves too far and takes Sirius away with it. 

You miss him already.

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 05 : ... →

A/N : surprise! goodness, this was a really big chapter hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! i also would like to gently remind everyone that i am no longer doing taglists but to be notified whenever i post something, please follow and turn on notifications for reblog side account: @thekqipond where i will be reblogging every new fic as soon as i post it! the reason i was able to post this chapter a month ahead of my official come-back in October was to test my taglist solution and the order of chapters i want to post by Christmas ;) i hope you enjoy!

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

[twigg96]

Hi! Can you do daryl dixon x y/n where Daryl gets protective over y/n when a creepy guy won’t leave her alone no matter what she says so he punches him across the face, ending in like comforting fluff/ smut or both ❤️

Hello @dustbunniess!! This sounds like a great idea! I'm so so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you love so much has happened since you asked for this I'm just trying to get by.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Era: Post-Prison, Pre-Terminus Era (Claimers Era)

Pronouns: You/Your, She/Her (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: The Claimers, Daryl with the Claimers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Crass behavior and language, Swearing, Physical Violence, Assault, Blood, Panic Attacks, Confusion, Delusion, Daryl becoming a literal savage, Abuse, Death, Beatings, Daryl reliving past traumas, Doing what you have to survive, Things happen off screen,

Summery: After the prison fell you were left alone in a world you felt was unfair and cruel. And who could blame you? Truly after all you'd been through? You changed from the person you were in the prison. But then... so did everyone else... When Daryl your boyfriend is the first to find you out in the world you see just how much things have changed with the new group he's in.

Separate Ways

It was when the prison went up in flames that you knew it was over. There was no going back. No redemption. The governor… in some sick twist of fate. Had won. Although your family had taken his life, and the lives of all his followers. You were all left to suffer, and after such a horrendous outbreak that you all had thought you defeated too… The difference was. This time you were completely on your own. No friendly face to turn to. No guiding hand to help you. Just you and the corpse you stabbed in the skull.

You had followed the screams out. So sure you were following Rick and Carl… but so soon you realized you were completely and utterly wrong. Trudging through the woods towards the highway you knew was your Emergency escape route you cursed your lack of preparation. No water, no food. You knew you had to act fast. Find shelter before the sun completely set for the night, find food before you starved... trudging through the thick forest you quickly found a path to follow. It had paid off to have followed your boyfriend on so many hunting expeditions and to help him on runs.

Coming to a stop you stilled your breath slowly scanning the wooded area around you. Nothing but trees and leaves surrounded you even though you had thought you heard the soft crackle of leaves, the snapping of a twig behind you. It wasn't loud and obnoxious. Something you've come to expect of walkers by now. Nor was it natural and fluid like the wildlife you had so greatly come to miss. It felt human. Large and concise. Hunting. Shivers ran down your spine. Bobbing and weaving through the tree line you darted back out onto the road that you had left in favor of the camouflage of the forest. Pulling your rifle you aimed blindly. Footsteps coming nearer. Louder. Like a bear charging it even growled. Placing your finger on the trigger you stepped back. "Stop!" You yelled.

A boy scrawny and pale came tumbling out of the brush. No older than Carl he looked up to you, his eyes wide and fearful he shivered in fear. Plastered in mud and blood you stared him down panting as the adrenaline left you both. Slowly he raised his hands high, shaking like a leaf he shook his head. "I-I'm so sorry." He whispered. One of the governor's, you realized. "I-It's my sister. She's hurt real bad... please..."

Glaring daggers at the teen you hissed through your teeth, stepping forward your weapon still raised and pointed directly between his eyes. "And why should I help you?" You growled. "She's all I got left." He whispered a tear running down his cheek. Hmm... at one time in life you would have felt pity. You would have run to his aid in a heartbeat. Now... Now however you scoffed at him. "Shoulda thought about that before you got yerself blown ta hell and back." You hiss lowering your gun. With wide eyes the boy watches in disbelief as you sling your pack off your back and rummage through it. "Y-you're just going to let her die?!" He screamed. "Pretty much sounds like you are kid." You growl, pulling out the last of your protein bars before slinging your bag back over your shoulder. "Standing there ain't doin' her no favors so I'd hop to it if I were you." You muttered taking a bite of your bar and walking down the road a stretch. Stomping on the ground like a toddler who didn't get his way the kid whined. "No I'm asking you for help!" He yelled. You wanted to turn and glare. You wanted to yell and scream. Hell you wanted to shoot him. But the growling and the thick rustling of leaves alerted you to the oncoming horde early. In his rage he must not had heard. Until they were right on top of him. You wondered briefly if his sister was among them.

Alone again you let the road take you where it will. across a bridge and through a town that was overrun with walkers. It was there you adopted a few walkers to help you navigate the thick hordes in the streets. Releasing them into the next life once you made it to the next side of town you sighed the tire marks in town leading to a hospital you'd rather not go near. So instead a set of train tracks that you crossed became your path. Instinctively you listened for trains. Your boots worn with wear stuck in the wood and on the nails. It was there you saw the first sign. "Go to Terminus." Your heart swelled. You didn't know where they were. How close they were. But you had to hope. Maybe. Possibly. They were safe.

Resting against a garage for the night you closed your eyes for what felt like a mere second. It most certainly wasn't hours... or so you had thought. Leaves and twigs had become your best friend in this world. The early indicator of something to come. But this time it was more. Loud. Uncaring if it was heard. Jumping awake you reached for your gun by your side but before you could grab it a large boot kicked it away. The large man standing before you sneered at you. "So she's awake." He laughed as you pressed yourself as far into the metal wall as possible. Three more men stepped out of the woods around you both. The laughed and jeered at you kicking at your feet as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "Bet she's good." One said. Another had the sheer audacity to grab a handful of your hair and sniff it. As you went to slap him another grabbed your hand the leader with the grey hair chuckled.

"Claimed."

Two voices chimed out at the exact same time. The leader's sleazy voice and another more familiar voice that made your chest hurt with expectancy. You had waited. Hoped. Dreamed. Hell you even dared to pray for the day to come again where you'd hear your love's sweet voice again. But not here. Not now. Not looking down the barrel of weapons pointed against you.

The leader turned. Glaring at the man who dared to oppose him. Stepping into the light of the moon Daryl looked... different. Changed. His eyes were distant and dark even in the night. "Daryl..." The leader hummed his scowl melting as he turned to the archer. Tutting slightly he shook his head snapping his fingers the other men moved in on you. Two men grabbed your upper arms, hauling you to your feet while the others grabbed your shit. "C'mon now..." He growled. Giving your boyfriend a look. "Ya know better by now than to try and just claim whatever ya want... specially if ya know I'm gonna claim it." He cooed circling Daryl menacingly.

You had expected Daryl to act. The Daryl you knew would have. He would never have stood there and took the shit these creeps were giving either of you... but this Daryl... this one you knew in passing but never truly met before... he bowed his head. He turned away. He simply murmured something low. Soft. Something you couldn't hear.

The leader nodded eyeing you. His expression morphing. From wolfish and greedy to concentrated and scanning. "A'ight..." He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You gonna let us teach him a lesson?!" One of the men currently bruising your arm screamed. The others rallied behind him. Cheering and jeering they whooped and hollered. The men holding you jerked you back and forth making you stumble back and forth between the two. There was silence and for a moment contemplation on the leader's face that made your heart race. "Search her... Daryl and I got business to discuss." He growled turning around he spun your boyfriend with him grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the woods.

They dumped the contents of your bag onto the ground. Screams of "Claimed" ripped through the air and you were certain you'd be overrun by a horde any moment. Ripped apart limb from limb by the dead you had survived for years because of a few fucking morons. When all of your supplies including the bag itself and your rifle and ammo were claimed... the men turned their eyes on you.

"Can't touch 'em til Boss gets back." One chimed in as a particularly greedy one stepped forward. "Yeah... but she got pockets don't she?." The man hummed placing his hands on your waist. The others whistled and hollered once more as you backed away as far as the other two would let you.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" You hissed, baring your teeth to the bastard. Nodding he chuckled following you he grabbed you once more this time burying his hands deep in your pockets, attempting to cop a feel. Rearing your head back you growled and head butted the man landing a blow directly onto his nose. The satisfying crunch it left and the blood that trickled down between your brows onto your cheeks like war paint was proof enough. "I told ya not ta fuckin' touch me!" You screamed.

"Hey!" You heard the leader scream from inside the barrier of the forest. Immerging from the shadows of the trees the leader stormed up to the group with Daryl following behind like a kicked puppy. The one you hit writhed on the ground holding his face he whine and whimpered as the others parted like the sea for the leader who grabbed you by the jaw getting close enough to smell the rancid canned food on his breath. "You really got some fuckin' nerve." He bit out. It took everything in you not to spit in is filthy fucking face.

Standing back up straight the man huffed glaring down at you a glint in his eye you didn't like. "Now boys... as you know Daryl and I both called dibs at the same time..." All eyes on you. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat ready to fight to your last breath. "Now Daryl has made me aware of something very important here... a rule. See he did... in fact... call dibs first. He called dibs Long LONG before he met us. This here... This is his wife."

Wife? You blinked but tried not to look too surprised. Daryl was locking eyes with you. A quiet desperation there only you could see. Keep the act up. Stay strong. You glanced between Daryl and the leader. You felt the man holding your right arm tighten his grip adding another fresh bruise to your bicep. "Bull shit." He growled, his hands slid down your arm to your wrist twisting it back and up painfully so that you yelped out in pain and doubled over. "I don't see a fuckin' ring on her finger!" He yelled.

You heard footsteps. Not one set but two approaching you. "He's right... no ring..." The leader spoke directly above you. His boots shufled to turn towards Daryl's. "But..." He spoke again his boots shifting again as you felt a new calloused hand take your left hand, the promise ring you bore sliding off your ring finger made you feel naked and cold. "You were looking at the wrong hand..." The leader said his voice low and cold. The man holding your right arm released his grip stumbling back. Sitting back up you twisted out of the other man's hands for a second before he took your wrist lightly.

The leader held your promise ring up examining it. Your initials were carved into the inside of the ring. Something Daryl had done himself with his knife back at the prison when he found a set having stolen the idea from Glenn of course. "Teach him a lesson boys." The man grunted out gesturing with his head to the man who shook his head and begged for his life. You stood stock still as the others circled him like sharks to the drops of blood that fell from his face. Even Daryl who's eyes went as dark as the night nodded to the command, picking up something from the ground.

Your vison blurred, all you could see was Daryl's back. Blood splattering. You heard the screaming. Jumping at the hand on your shoulder you looked to the man turning you away from it all. "I haven't properly introduced myself yet." He murmured watching you swipe pink tears from your cheeks. "I'm Joe. I'm the leader of this here group. The Claimers. We don't normally keep women long... They get passed around a bit and then... well we get bored and they end up roaming as one of the other biters." He chuckled eyeing you up. Hyperventalating you shook your head pulling away slightly when you felt his arm wrap around your waist. "Now now," He whispered in your ear. "You're a valued honorary memeber." He cooed but his expression became cold and dark. "That means... you work for what you keep. You start with shit. And half yer shit goes to Daryl. Like in any good marriage." He said menacingly, grabbing your wrist. "Oh and one last thing... I get to taste you one time... just part of the deal Daryl and I worked out to let you live."

Cut between confusion and pain you wondered if all the promises Daryl ever made to keep everyone safe were in vain. Who was he? Was he really the man you met back at the Quarry and fell in love with? No... Probably not... He was different. Changed. Evolved into something different. Looking over your finger as Joe slipped your ring back on your finger you felt sick to your stomach. This Daryl, dripping in another man's blood was animalistic. He was brutal and cold.

That night Joe told everyone to just bunk down in the garage. Safer. He said. You tried to clear your head of the mess of a human corpse outside the metallic walls. Following close behind the others you followed Daryl like a lost puppy. "Claimed" Echoed through the building as all the "good" spots were being taken. But Daryl just stood. He waited out in the open and waited with you by his side. Never once looking at you or acknowledging your existence. "Dar-" You tried to speak but was only ignored as he turned away once everyone went quiet. "Claimed." He yelled out when he found the most secluded spot in the garage behind a tarped tactor.

Pointing to the ground he looked around for a moment, waiting for your to sit on the ground. "Dar-" Shaking his head he knelt pulling a blanket from his bag he tossed it over you. "Here." He muttered. Not looking at you. Never looking at you. He stood and walked back out of the garage.

Even with the wool blanket you felt alone and cold. Even more so than when you were actually traveling alone. You hated it. This feeling of abandonment. Blinking back tears your glared at the ceiling wrapping yourself tight in your blanket you tried to fall asleep.

Hours passed. You hadn't slept. How could you with the men snoring like chainsaws all night. But the door opening and closing quietly didn't go unnoticed. Rolling over you turned to Daryl as he approached you slowly. Kicking his boots by your feet he laid down beside you. Lifting the blanket you welcomed him into the warm environment you created with time. You fully expected him to turn you away. To roll away and huff. But instead he scooted close. pulling the blanket over you both.

His arms were around you in a second. Finding tender blossoming bruises he burried his face in your neck. The wetness of his cheeks stained your dirty shirt. "Thought I lost you." He whispered. "Wasn't gonna let anyone take you... Not..." He went silent pulling you as tight as ever. Happiness and warmth swelled in you. Love and security. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed the top of his head, running your fingers through his wet hair.

Truth be told he still smelled like a wet dog. Musty and damp. But he washed off. Didn't stop you from feeling angry and betrayed. "Daryl... Why did you tell Joe..." You swallowed the doubt that still reigned suprieme and rampaged like a tornado in your mind. "Why did you tell him he could... have me?" There was a moment Daryl was silent. You thought he would lie. He would divert the situation. But instead he pushed himself up on his elbows and cocked a brow. "Never said that." He whispered. "Did that prick say that to ya? Say ya owed him somethin? "He whispered his eyes scanning you worriedly. You nodded slowly watching his reaction. Nodding Daryl hummed. "Ok."

Blinking you tried to read his face in the dark. "O-Ok?" You whispered. Nodding he lowered himself down to your ear. "Can't say out loud what I want to do ta the bastard. Someone could hear." He breathed. "Oh..." You tensed. You eyes instinctively scanning for threats but the dark felt claustrophobic and you wanted to simply run.

You were kicked awake early the next morning. You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep. Another night of closing your eyes and suddenly jerking awake to danger feeling entirely unrested... Nothing new but you could never get used to it either. "Up an 'em, sweetheart." The man with greasy hair murmured. In the morning light you could see the shiner that was swelling half the man's face. A large cut ran down his forehead to his cheek that in the old world would have required stitches to keep it from scaring but now would just prove as a lesson to the man to listen better in Joe's twisted system. "Waistin' daylight..." He growled once more glaring at your boy- No. Your husband.

Daryl seemed to respond in kind. Huffing at the man he stood with a low painful groan. "Let's go." He murmured softly offering a hand to you.

You followed on Daryl's heels throughout the day like a duckling to their mother. Keeping your eyes on the wings on his back, you tried to stay strong and keep from physically acting on the men who treated you more like an object than a human. "Why you carryin' yer own bag when you got a bitch ta do it fer ya?" The rotund one called, chuckling as you moved to Daryl's left away from him. "No on would blame ya if ya went off and unwound on her for a bit... hell I'd even let the boys have a turn when I was done." One of the men with a beanie called out smirking at you from across the crick you had all stopped at to refill your canteens in. Holding your middle you glared at him. Daryl stood handing you your canteen. Reaching out you caressed his arm to sooth him. You were safe if he was here. He couldn't be if he was hurt or dead. He needed to act rashly.

"Shut up." He hissed despite it all. The Dixon temper was never one that could easily be quelled. When pushed down it only became more explosive. More dangerous. "What did you fucking say to us?" The three men rounded you. "We're just tryin' ta be friendly like." The greasy haired man that woke you growled. "Don't need no friends." Daryl growled stepping up to him. "Daryl." You whispered, reaching out to touch him but decided against it when you saw the crazed look in your husband's eye.

"Enough."

Joe's commanding voice ripped the fight apart before it could start. "Len, go fetch some firewood and scout the area. Got a feeling we could get lucky 'round here. Tony, go sharpen that damned blade of yours it couldn't cut butter if we had any for fuck's sake let alone take a biter down if we needed. Dan, fuck off with Len. Set up a perimiter. Daryl. Go hunting for dinner." Joe gave out orders like it was nothing. But your heart pounded in your chest and and nearly leaped into your throat when he met your throat reaching into his bag to grab something. You watched Daryl closely. Every muscle tense and primed to act in case Joe acted pulling something. His hand snaking to the pistol he had hidden at his back.

"Honey, I need ya ta wash our shit. Our clothes, specially our socks and boxers are really starting to get ripe and chafe us. I think you could handle that much... huh?" He purred walking up to you handing a small bundle of used men's socks and boxers. The smell was horrendous and made bile rise to your throat. You had to force yourself to breath the same way you would in a hot summer day around a horde of walkers to get by. "Ok..." You whimpered nodding. Freezing when you felt his hand on your shoulder you stood stock still. "And, sweetheart..." He hummed, his grip becoming incredibly painful his soft expression turning hard. "It's sir to you... Yes, sir. Say it." Whimpering you tried not to give into him. You didn't fall to your knees or bow as he desperately wanted you to. Instead you turned to glare at him your hair swirling around your, a single tear as his only satisfaction. "Sir, yes, sir." You growl stumbling as he pushed you forward into the water.

Hours passed by. Joe gave you meaningless task after meaningless task. Anything to see you in a compromising position. Scrub his boots. Wash his hair. Wash your hair. Sort their bags. Weave a basket. (Something you didn't know how to do and utterly failed in doing.) When he ran out of tasks to give you he made things up. Jump in place in front of him. He tried to make you bathe in the crick but when you threatened to cut his balls off he laughed and said it was a joke.

"Hey..." Len's voice cut through your newest meaningless task. picking up acorns while Joe watched. Looking over your shoulder you cocked a brow at the man that seemed far too excited to have just been told to fuck off for a few hours. "We found something." Dan muttered. Walking out of the woods with a string of rabbits Daryl glared hard at the ground. You'd seen him through the treeline throughout the course of the day. Taking aim at Joe at certain angles when he was certain the older man wasn't looking. But Joe always laughed or shook his head. "I know your watching Daryl. Go back to hunting." Or a promise of "I won't touch if you don't shoot."

"We found a camp!" Len cheered, pulling you from your thoughts. "A camp?" You breathed without thought. "Hell yeah girl." Joe murmured misreading your concern for excitment and curiousity. Or rather ignoring it completely as he slapped you hard on the back making you drop the acorns you gathered. "Come on let's show our newbie how it's done..." Joe said smiling so much like the devil that when you actually met him years later you'd never believe it.

The camp was small. It only housed two people. A man and a woman. The woman gathered baby supplies on a pink baby blanket before her. Brunette hair caught the wind just so that her face was concealed an you never truly saw her face. The man was undoubtedly in love with the woman. From the distance you hid you swore the couple were Glenn and Maggie. Your heart pounded deep in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and you had to stop the scream that threatened to rip through you.

"We flank from all sides." Joe whispered so low you could barely hear him over the ringing of your ears. "Daryl." He whispered, moving closer to the two of you as the others moved into position. "I want to actually see you in there this time. No late arrivals." He hummed nodding as Daryl grunted in response.

"C'mon." No.

"Darlin'... We need ta move." Daryl whispered. No, God please no.

Your entire body shook, your eyes wide as saucer plates. Moving forward in the brush you only stopped when you felt Daryl's hand on yours. Turning to Daryl fear in your eyes you shook your head. Not again.

Pulling you away into the denser brush as Joe began his speech to the couple you could just barely see the others moving in.

Your body jerked when the screams started. Pulling at Daryl's hand you sobbed hard. "Daryl!" You wailed only to be pulled back his hand covering your mouth so your sobs were muffled. "It ain't them." He whispered. Pulling you incredibly tight you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck hot tears rolling down your collar bone mixing with your own. "It can't be them."

That night you all slept under the stars. Fire lit and as warm as you could be in the middle of fall you and Daryl were of the first to retire, finding a spot in the dirt to bed down you laid against a large tree your back pulled against him. Just like when you two started dating out on the road. His wool blanket provided enough warmth to the both of you that the ground didn't bother you. Even with the rocks and roots digging into your side.

Just as you started to nod off you jerked awake to the sound of sets of heavy drunken footsteps. Daryl's arm wrapped tight around your middle. pulling you close. The others had found liquor at the camp and indulged heavily in it. Only Daryl and Joe refused to touch it.

"Claimed!" One man screamed loud. Belligerent. The smell of booze stained the air and made your empty stomach turn. "Nuh-uh." Another hissed. "I already claimed that spot." Len... Daryl had told you to watch out for him. He had an issue with claiming what wasn't his. he'd claimed what little food Daryl could get out hunting while on patrol.

"Bull shit!" The other man, you assumed to be Ivan screamed back. "It's true!" You tried to tune them out, squeezing your eyes shut breathing slowly, hoping you and Daryl went unnoticed. But as the fight got worse and worse you couldn't help the way you physically jumped when Tony landed on the ground on his back near by the two of you. Covering your mouth Daryl pulled you tight against his body as the two men rolled onto the wool blanket then off again.

You couldn't sleep after that even if sleep found the two that fought just a few moments ago. Turning to Daryl you buried yourself deep in his chest. "What was the wife thing about?" You got the courage to ask when all was quiet and the snores of the men matched the previous night. Shaking his head Daryl laid back staring at the night sky. He was silent for a moment. Whether he was waiting for a break in the snoring or simply listening for any eave's droppers you'd never know. "Probably shoulda done it a long time ago... just..." His words fell off going silent. Sitting up you captured his eyes in yours. "I love you, Daryl." You whispered. "We'll find them... I promise." But he remained cold. His eyes dark, distant. "Get some sleep."

Time seemed to go in a blur after that. Days and nights melded together. Didn't matter which was which truly. You never felt rested. Your stomach never empty. Daryl attempted to feed you his portions. But as the lowest on the poll he got scraps as it was and you hated taking what he had.

You were tired and underfed when you found Rick, Michonne, and Carl. You had believed that they were just visions when you first saw them. Len held you by the arm. "Gotta make sure she gets in on the action with this one!" He yelled, jerking you around. Wide eyed and in disbelief you gapped like a fish. These people looked just like your family.

"Rick?" You managed. Silence. Joe turned to you his eyes questioning before he gripped you hard. Jerking away you tried to free yourself from his grasp. "Hey! Let her go!" Michonne screamed from the grasp of another man. "Don't you fuckin' touch her!" Carl cried. You nearly wailed out and fell to your knees in pure bliss and euphoria. Hearing their voices. Knowing for a fact they were real. But you were on the ground before you could act. Your face to the pavement you groaned as a boot ground against the back of your skull holding you there. "I've got one free ticket to paradise here boys... why not use it while the pickin's good?" Joe hummed.

You screamed as hands grabbed at you before you could even process the cold pavement below or the screams of your family by your side. Swinging with all your might in any direction you could get a good hold on you connected a few good hits. The yelling from your family was nightmarish. You forced yourself to close your eyes Not wanting to witness or watch what could possibly be happening. Daryl had shielded you last time. Alone you felt vulnerable and terrified.

The boot on your head made your head pound and ache. It was crushing your head and it felt as if your brains would spill if they stepped any harder. Your hair was yanked. Your blouse cut down the back. But before anything else could happen. The person on your head. Joe you believed. Stumbled off. A resounding smacking of knuckles to skin echoing through the woods. Sitting up your shirt slid from your shoulders as you stared wide eyed at Daryl. He had gotten one good swing in. Glancing to you was his downfall. He was dogpiled before he had the chance to say otherwise but the others forgot the knife in your boot. They forgot to check Carl or Michonne in their haste.

Blood pooled on the highway. The five of you stood gasping as one family unit once more, covered in blood but victorious above all odds. Gasping and staring down at the ugly hideous creatures below you, tears rolled down your cheeks. Daryl once again refused to look at you. Instead he offered his vest to you to cover you up with. Instead he turned and glanced to Rick a heartbroken boy staring at a man looking for forgiveness.

You were enveloped by Michonne and Carl before you could say other wise. Not that you would ever pull away ever again. Pulling them close you watched the makeshift brothers share a silent conversation. One guarded and afraid.

The other loving and accepting willing to forgive.

Rick held Daryl tight as he cried and the three of you migrated to them. Hugging them tight you rested your head on Daryl's shoulder, closing your eyes. For the first time since the fall... there was a small flicker of hope.

[crimxonwrites]

Blood-painted kisses | Aemond Targaryen x female!OC | Chapter 4 ❝Cruel and Vile❞

☽➛ Summary: Nothing satietes Maehrys Velaryon's hunger as well as revenge. Growing up at the Red Keep as the bastard of Rhaenyra Targaryen did not come trouble-free. Her childhood consisted of bitter words and repulsive looks from nearly everybody in the castle. As she grew older, Maehrys grew meaner. Once the Velaryons return to King's Landing to defend Luke's claim as Lord of Driftmark, Maehrys decides that it is time for the people who hurt her in the past to pay.

☽➛ Warnings: swearing, bullying, mentions of blood, overall 18+!!!!

☽➛ Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x female!OC ( enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers again?? romance is a subplot)

A/N: Surprise!!!!!!! It's been a year and half, but I'm still writing. TRIGGER WARNING!!!! I will continue this series in 1st person, I feel like this is the only way I can continue it xoxoxo. As always, english is not my first language, feel free to correct me!<3

Masterlist

Chapter 5

My grip tightens around the wooden sword, wishing I held a real Valyrian steel blade in my hand. Aemond’s face remains expressionless as I begin circling him on the training ground. We are alone; almost everyone in the Red Keep has left for supper. Ser Criston took his disgusting assertions and left as well, giving me enough reason to act on my anger. Suddenly, I feel no pain in my shoulder and no shame from Criston’s defeat moments earlier. It is just me, Aemond, and my thirst for a good battle, nay, a good victory. The white-haired man raises a brow. In the dark of the night, I think of Daemon and how Aemond resembles him, just a little bit.

I prime my sword, waiting for him to pick his up. “We are late for supper.” Aemond turns around, and my heart starts galloping. He shall not dismiss me, he shall not underestimate me, he shall not turn his back on me. How dare he? He owes me a fair battle, especially after he attacked me in the library, and my shoulder is clearly still wounded. Wounded, like my pride in this moment.

As a loud, guttural growl escapes from my throat, I swing my sword at the silver-haired man. Aemond quickly turns and avoids my blow, taking me by surprise. Not ready to accept defeat, I swing again and again, my vision blurred and my mind fogged with anger. My blows quickly become useless as Aemond avoids me yet again. Why won’t he fight back? I notice his patience wearing thin and take the opportunity, hitting him in the shoulder as hard as I can. “Enough!” he yells, gripping the wooden sword and pulling it from my hands with so much force that I wince in pain, my palms burning from the harsh wood. “I shall not fight a child.” With those last words, Aemond walks away swiftly without looking back.

I am left alone. Child. That word makes my stomach turn. He thought me a child, yet he was the one aimlessly harassing me in the library moments earlier. How could he be such a hypocrite? When I am sure Aemond is truly gone, I allow my exhausted body to rest, falling to my knees and placing my burning palms on my sweaty forehead. If only I had a dragon.

-

The air is so tense in the supper chamber, I cannot stand it. Every breath I take, imaginary fumes come out of my nostrils. I feel restless, as Aemond had defeated me twice, along with Ser Criston Cole, whom I have begun to despise. It is not the same hatred I feel for Aemond. No, I feel repulsed by Ser Criston, disgusted even, and there’s something in my gut telling me I am right to feel that way.

Aemond’s piercing look catches my attention. My whole family, along with the three silver-haired children and Queen Alicent, are waiting for my grandsire, Viserys, to make an appearance. I grow restless as my stomach growls in hunger. The only thing I have in front of me is a chalice full of wine, and I think about downing it twice. I dismiss that thought quickly, as Aegon is already drunk as a dog. He made a fool of himself in front of everyone just moments earlier. I do not want to make a fool of myself.

The doors open with a loud creak as the doormen announce His Majesty’s name. The smell of death and decay thickens the air, and soon enough, I lose my appetite. Viserys takes a seat between Alicent and Rhaenyra and starts to talk. His words are muffled in my ears as I watch Aemond exchange dirty looks with my brothers. Once again, I hold my head in my aching palms, and I cannot help but feel like I am back on the training grounds, left alone and ashamed after losing to him again.

A few drinks later, the King is carried away to his chambers, as his health does not allow him to continue supper. My stomach is still empty, as is my cup. I signal Jace to pour some more wine as servants carry a pig and place it in front of Aemond. Luke chuckles at Aemond, and I feel something I hadn’t felt in a while: sympathy towards my uncle. We both shared a painful childhood. I glance at his eyepatch, and then glance at my scar. The wine must have done a number on me because Aemond slams the table, suddenly getting up and startling everyone except me.

“A final tribute.” He raises his cup, keeping his eye on Luke. “To the health of my nephews and niece.” He moves his cold gaze towards Jace. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey.” And finally, his eye moves swiftly to me and remains there. “And Maehrys.” I try as hard as I can to keep my face expressionless. “Each of them handsome, wise,” he continues, and I know what’s coming next “and strong.” Fucker.

“Aemond—” Alicent’s voice is full of worry and authority.

“Come, let us drain our cups for these four strong people,” Aemond continues.

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace rises from his chair and takes a step towards Aemond. Intoxicated, my first instinct is to get up and follow my brother. I smell a fight.

“Why? It was only a compliment,” Aemond says, and I recognize his tone. He is playing dirty, just as he had in the library and on the training field, every time he faces me or my brothers. “Do you not think of yourself as strong?”

Aemond is interrupted by a weak punch thrown by Jace. I grin, eager to join the fight, but before I can take a step, I feel my mother’s hand on mine. She shakes her head and I sit back down, reminding myself that I must not make a fool of myself.

“Your sister’s punch hurts more than yours.” Aemond shoves Jace and walks away.

“I am still so famished,” I announce, throwing a ripe grape into my mouth.

After supper, Rhaenyra sends word for me to join her in her chambers.

“Have you not had enough food? Should I call for the cook?” Rhaenyra asks, her tone growing worried.

“No, Mother, these grapes are splendid.” I sit on the divan. “Why am I here?” I ask, looking at Rhaenyra’s slightly disheveled appearance.

“You never really knew your grandsire,” Rhaenyra starts. “Yet you share so many of his passions.” Passions? I never knew King Viserys loved combat and hated his uncles. “History, for example. You share his passion for the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.” My cheeks burn in surprise and a bit of embarrassment. It is true, I do love to read about history, but dragon history in particular, and, on some occasions, Old Valyria. I doubt that my grandfather’s passion for reading came from a burning resentment because he did not claim a dragon. After all, he had Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror’s dragon.

“You are my dearest daughter,” Rhaenyra says, moving closer to me. “And I love you immensely.” Rhaenyra signals her handmaiden to grab something. The handmaiden hands me an old book. “Tomorrow is your name day, and your grandfather wished for you to have this.” She hands me the same book about Old Valyria that I already read when I was younger.

-

I do not have the heart to tell my mother that I have already read the book my grandsire gave me, so I thank her and decide to go back to my chambers. We are to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow, and I cannot be happier. As much as the Red Keep fills me with nostalgia, I have grown to hate it in these past few days. Before I can reach my chambers, I see Alicent walking down the hall, accompanied by Aemond.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” I grip the book harder as I bow.

"'Tis late indeed to be wandering these halls unaccompanied, Princess," she says, and I nod.

“I was just about to retire for the night.” I speak, making eye contact with her. “We depart for Dragonstone on the morrow."

“Very well,” she says and begins to leave, but Aemond does not move. “Aemond?”

“May I have a moment alone with my niece?” he asks, and Alicent continues walking, leaving us alone. I hate the way he speaks. My niece, as if I am property, and not a person.

I thank the Gods that the guards to my mother’s chamber are not far, because I am unarmed, exhausted, and slightly drunk.

“How old will you be on the morrow?” he asks, and I take a step back, putting some distance between us.

"I believe the hour is past midnight, so it is now my seventeenth name day." I frown. “Why are you asking?”

Aemond sighs. “And yet, you remain unwed.” He takes a step closer, and my heart begins galloping. His face is slightly lit by the torches, and I cannot read his expression well. The corners of his mouth are downturned, and his eye is dark. He does look a bit flushed, most likely from the wine he drank during supper. By the tone of his voice, he sounds annoyed.

“What is it you are implying?” I ask, dazed and confused. Aemond shakes his head, and I cannot help but notice how perfect he looks. Despite our fight, despite Jace’s punch, despite everything that happened today, he keeps his appearance as clean as a dragon’s fire. In this moment, I think I do not want to hit him.

“When the King dies,” he starts, his voice low and a bit desperate. “If your mother sits on the Iron Throne,” he continues, “my mother will want us to wed.” Aemond whispers the last few words, and my eyes widen.

“First, when my mother sits upon the Iron Throne.” I correct him, whispering. “Second, why would your mother even suggest such a thing?” I continue. “I do not feel anything but hate towards you.”

He sighs, again, and this time I can smell the wine on his hot breath. “It is not about feeling, stupid girl.” He grabs my shoulders, but it does not hurt, and I drop my book on the floor. “It’s about politics, and how we are both unwed.” Aemond speaks to me like I am a child again. “You must find a husband before that happens.” He continues, and I smell desperation in his voice. I gather every bit of strength that I have left for today and slap him so hard that his head turns to the right. For a moment, he appears taken aback, but as the seconds stretch, a grin slowly spreads across his face. “You hit harder than your brother, still.” He wipes the blood from his lower lip and looks down at me.

“My mother would never allow me to be wed to such a…” I stumble on my words, and I curse the wine that has clouded my tongue.

“Handsome man?” he interrupts me, and my heart quickens in pace. How can he jest in this moment?

“Cruel and vile man,” I say, finding my words at last. His gaze remains locked on mine, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"And yet, here we are," he taunts, his voice low and dripping with mockery. "Two souls bound by fate and disdain." Aemond must be drunker than I imagined.

I glare at him, my anger boiling over. "You think your arrogance and cruelty can sway me? You’re nothing but a wretched excuse for a man." Things are escalating swiftly.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "You’re no prize yourself, bastard."

The space between us feels electric, charged with a mix of hatred and something more. My pulse races, not just from the fury but from the undeniable tension in the air. I can almost taste the animosity between us.

Without warning, he grabs my shoulders yet again, pulling me sharply against him. The intensity of his touch catches me off guard. Our faces are mere inches apart, and for a heartbeat, time seems to freeze.

"Perhaps it is the very fire we share that ignites this conflict," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.

My breath hitches, and my heart beats fast as his lips hover dangerously close. “You’re insufferable,” I manage, though my voice is almost a whisper.

"Yet you cannot deny the truth of it," he replies, his gaze locked onto mine with intensity.

In a sudden, reckless moment, I close the distance between us. Our lips crash together, the kiss fierce and consuming. The anger that once defined us melds with an unexpected, scorching passion. The taste of blood and wine lingers as our mouths move in a heated, desperate dance, challenging the very essence of our loathing.

As we finally pull away, breathless and disheveled, the fire in our eyes is matched only by the shared, tumultuous resolve. The hatred remains, but now it burns alongside something darker, something neither of us can ignore.

Also read on: AO3

Taglist: @watermel0nsugarhigh @ondereleutheromania @literishdegree99

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4500 Follower Celebration Bingo - The Vet: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Tagging: @readmetosleep @kierawashere01 @Hangmanscoming @1-fuzzy-squirrels @nerdypinupcrystal

Prequel to upcoming September piece Broken - Travis Wheatley

Thrill of the Chase (NSFW) - Rip has always loved the thrill of the chase.

 If You Want Me, You Can Have Me - They say that Rip Wheeler doesn't have a heart.

Stay Tonight - Rip asks to stay the night.

Use Your Words (NSFW) - Rip teases you.

Clover - Rip comforts you.

Rip’s at the Foreman’s House when he hears the gunshots echo over the pasture in the darkness. He’s just uncorked that bottle of that red you like from the winery in town because it’s been over a year since you stole this old cowboy’s heart and he wants to do something special to mark the occasion.

“I’m on my way.” You had promised him only a few minutes earlier when you’d called him. “I just need to check in Artemis.”

Gina’s horse had injured it’s leg during a barrel racing exercise a week ago and you’d been treating her since. Her cottage is less than a mile down the lane from Rip’s residence so he knows it won’t take long for you to arrive.

The instant he hears the two gunshots, something twists in his chest because they’re close, too fucking close. Both his home and Gina’s are on the Dutton’s land so he knows no one would dare go hunting in these fields. He tucks his own gun into the waistband of his jeans before he snatches up the keys to the truck and hurtles out the door.

Gina’s driveway is unusually busy when he pulls up outside her residence. There’s a black SUV he doesn’t recognise parked alongside the stables and your pickup blocks his path, the engine still running, the driver’s door thrown open.

Already he can hear the sounds of scuffle coming from the stable, shadows flicker against the warm illumination as a man curses and wood creaks.

“Touch that fucking horse and I will fucking kill you.” He hears you spit as he swings into the stables, his own gun drawn.

The scene before him is far from the one he expected.

Teal Beck is sagged against the door of Artemis’s stall, cradling his right arm close to his chest as blood jets from his badly broken nose. Dislocated shoulder, Rip assumes as Artemis paces her stall, tossing her head and grinding her teeth.

You’re standing with a Glock clasped in both your hands, finger on the trigger, weapon trained on Beck. There isn’t a single waver in you, your feet are spread apart, shoulders aligned just like they taught you when you signed up for a career in the Army as a miliary veterinarian. You’d done three tours before you resigned your commission and returned to Montana to take over your daddy’s practice.

“He was coming in here to kill the horse.” You tell Rip with a tone that could freeze the rivers of hell.

Of course, you’d go this crazy over a fucking horse. You leave and breathe for the animals under your care, every charge takes a tiny piece of your heart and you’d protect them with your life.

“You need to check on Gina.” You tell him, inclining your head slightly as you keep your eyes Teal. “Where there’s one Beck brother…”

There’s usually another.

Malcolm Beck’s been making his displeasure about his ex-wife known ever since that rodeo journalist had published the article about her come back. They’d all thought she was down and out after being kicked to the curb by him but now she’s back on the circuit, winning for the Yellowstone. She’s been spotted in the company of the rodeo king himself, Travis Wheatley.

It must have pushed every single one of that SOB’s buttons to see she was succeeding without him.

“Go.” You say again, this time more urgently. “I can take care of Teal, but Gina needs help.”

Rip’s already in motion, rushing from the stable as you keep the gun fixed on younger Beck brother.

“You better fucking hope he hasn’t laid a hand on her.” You say to Teal, your finger tightening on the trigger. “Otherwise you won’t live to see another sunrise.”

Teal smiles at you through bloody teeth.

“If that girl ain’t dead yet, she’s gonna wish she was by the time my brother’s finished with her.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[turtletaubwrites]

Gag Order

Thank you, @princeasimdiya12 for this request, I had such a great time writing it!

*Please read the tags!! This is very DubCon!

Pairings: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3268

Ao3 Link

Summary: You catch your boyfriend flirting with another woman, and you can't stop your worries. Until you decide to use your talents as a hypnotist to make sure you're the only one Sanji flirts with. He told you he only wants to be with you, so what's the harm in helping him keep that promise?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Modern AU, Implied/Referenced Cheating, not confirmed but Sanji flirts and reader gets worried, Alcohol, Hypnotism, Manipulation, Gags, Bondage, Swearing, Smut, Hand Jobs, Established Relationship, Pet Names, Sub Sanji

A/N: The reader uses hypnosis and sex to manipulate Sanji into not flirting with other women, controlling his behavior. Please do not read this one if those themes may be triggering.

Extra A/N: I DO NOT CONDONE THE ACTIONS IN THIS FIC. This is not how hypnosis works, and I would not condone it if it did. Our subconscious minds won’t accept suggestions that go against our interests. (Cults are a different story, but hypnosis sessions could not do this.) Any who, I hope you enjoy it 😊

You remembered the way you’d blushed, shaking your head at his cheesy line. Still, something about the way he’d tilted his head, crinkling his eyes just a little, made his excessive compliments creep in like teasing fingers on your skin.

And he’d gotten you. Sanji was yours, and you were his. That’s what he promised you.

So why were you in the parking lot of your favorite coffee shop watching him tilt his head at the barista, waiting at the counter to keep talking as she prepared his drink? Why was she blushing, looking at him through her lashes?

You started the car before he grabbed his drink from her hand, chewing the inside of your mouth as you drove to a bar instead.

I knew what he was like. He’s just a flirty person. I have no reason to doubt him.

But what if I do? That’s how he got me. What if he just can’t help himself? What if it’s all a lie?

Those thoughts burned more than the scotch you sipped, failing to calm your nerves.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, opening a new email from your business account. 

It should be a run of the mill client, and you fell into the rhythm of scheduling and exchanging details. 

Hypnotizing clients to break bad habits was your bread and butter. Your lips twitched with a hint of pride in your work. 

At least I’m confident in one area of my life. 

That thought brought that sickening, writhing mass back to your gut, and you hated yourself for feeling this way. 

Bad habits…

You held your glass in the air in front of you, forgetting you were about to take a sip as your mind started racing.

No. Fuck. I couldn’t…

Leaving the scotch on the bar with a tip, you followed your worst impulses out the door for an impromptu shopping trip.

~

‘I’ve got a surprise for you. My place tonight?’

He answered that text almost immediately, and you let out a nervous giggle as you set things up. 

Part of your brain was screaming at you, logic and morals getting squashed by your determination.

His knock on the door felt like the point of no return.

“Hello, my love. I can’t wait to see what kind of surprise my darling has in store for me tonight.”

His hands and lips were already on you, just enough to send heat to your cheeks. 

He’s so good at getting me flustered. 

The image of that blushing barista cooled your blood, and you placed your hands on his face, willing yourself to keep steady.

Pressing your lips to his, you grabbed his wandering hands, pulling him to the bedroom. You turned on a dim lamp to reveal the chair you’d set up, displaying your new toys.

The sight of the ropes and gags made Sanji stumble, an audible moan making your own body tighten.

“I take it you’re interested?”

His heavy lidded eyes pulled away from the chair, meeting yours as a small shudder ran over his skin.

“What are we…”

“I thought I’d finally treat you to something you’ve been asking for.”

“Mm, and what’s that, my dear,” he asked, recovering enough to tease, running his thumb along your hip as he drew you closer.

“I’m going to hypnotize you.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, excitement evident in his features, before he tilted his head toward the chair.

“Do you normally tie up and gag your clients, angel? I didn’t know you were in this line of business.”

He breathed his words along the skin of your neck, his voice raspy with heat, and you let out a soft moan.

“No, sweetie, that’s just for you. If you’re open to it, of course.”

Sanji released a low laugh, placing the ropes and gags on the bed. He sat down, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair as he grinned at you. 

“I’m glad you’re so eager,” you teased, standing in front of him. You slipped into a colder, almost professional tone. 

“Do you consent to being bound, gagged, and hypnotized?”

Even in the low light, you could see the imprint of Sanji’s dick, hard and straining against his slacks as he shivered.

“What are you hypnotizing me to do?”

He was practically liquid on the chair, breathing heavily. You leaned in over him, letting an evil smile touch your lips. 

“To be a better boyfriend.”

The small shock, and mock outrage on his face made you grin. 

“If you consent, you can strip now.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he removed his clothes. You enjoyed the show, especially as you watched his face. 

I didn’t lie. He said it’s okay.

Your excuses were pushed away, along with your guilt and doubt as you watched his gorgeous, naked body sit before you, his heavy cock twitching occasionally as his eyes roamed your features.

As you knelt beside him, tying him to the chair, you let your voice sink into that soothing cadence. You explained what was going to happen, the process of induction, of bringing him to the relaxed state of mind needed for hypnosis. 

Trailing your fingers along his body, you asked permission to gag him, and permission to touch him.

I’m doing all of this right. He said he wants to be with only me. He wants to be mine. I’m just helping him.

The sight of Sanji bound before you, helpless to whatever you chose to do next, sent a thrill through you.

“We’re going to begin now. Are you ready?”

“Yes, darling. I’m all yours.”

~

Sanji’s mouth was parted as he stared up at your fingers, your hand above his head so that he was looking as high as he could without tilting his neck. Your other hand lay loose at your side, ready. 

This process was so natural to you now, that it had almost become your own hypnotic state. 

“Sanji. You will be totally relaxed. You will be able to hear me, and feel me, and answer my questions, and your mind and body will stay in a deep level of relaxation.”

“I am going to count from ten down to one, and with each number, and each breath, you will become more and more deeply relaxed, moving gently down.”

As you counted down, repeating the commands for relaxation, you watched his body for signs. His eyes were already fluttering, then you allowed them to close as he continued listening.

He’s going to be so easy to hypnotize.

Smiling at the thought, you started your next test. Bringing your free hand to give a loud snap at your next command, you watched his body jolt slightly before practically melting. 

“Every time you hear the snap of my fingers you sink even deeper, going deeper, drifting deeper. As your mind and body relax completely, you are open to hypnosis, open to my suggestions. As you go deeper,” *snap* “drift deeper,” *snap* “sink deeper,” *snap* “Your body and mind are accepting and welcoming suggestions.”

Normally, you’d test a client’s level of relaxation again with an arm test, but his were tied. However, you knew you didn’t need to. Some people take to hypnosis so naturally, they are the easiest clients. 

And Sanji was so easy. 

You finally brought the long count down to one, confirming and commanding that Sanji was ready to accept suggestions, and to answer questions. 

“Alright Sanji, now that you are fully relaxed, you are going to answer questions easily and truthfully. Answer me now.” *snap* “Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Sanji. As you answer each question you feel relaxation move through you. Do you want to be a better boyfriend?” *snap*

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. The feeling of wanting to be a good boyfriend grows even stronger now as you,” *snap* “go deeper, drift deeper. That feeling will continue to grow as you relax,” *snap* “deeper.”

You continued snapping and repeating throughout your commands, loving how easily, and quickly he took to them. 

“In a moment now, Sanji, you will feel my fingers on your skin. You will stay relaxed as you follow my suggestions. But first answer this question honestly and truthfully.”

“Do you flirt with other women?”

“Yes.”

“Is that something a good boyfriend would do?”

“No.”

*snap*

“Good, Sanji. You want to be a good boyfriend, and now you know what not to do. It’s just a habit, and habits can be changed.”

Sanji let out a little whimper, a common thing for clients to do when facing uncomfortable information or guilt during session. 

“You are doing so well, your mind and body are relaxed and accepting suggestions.” *snap* “Now Sanji, we are going to help you become a better boyfriend. You will feel my touch now, and every touch will only bring you deeper into relaxation.”

You picked up the ball gag and traced it along his chest and arm before touching his face. You coached and guided him to open his mouth, using your fingers to gently pry open his lips and jaw. Soft noises left his throat as you fastened it behind his head, checking that it was a good fit.

He was so helpless. You didn’t realize how much you’d enjoy the sight of him like this.

“You are doing so well, Sanji. So relaxed, breathing through your nose so well.”

Sanji gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and your mouth dropped open when you noticed his swollen cock, precum leaking down his shaft.

You had to pause for a couple minutes at the sight. Luckily, when clients are in such deep hypnosis, you can often take a short break without them noticing. You normally need to stretch, have water, and a cough drop halfway through a two hour session. 

Right now you needed to catch your breath, trying to focus on your goal instead of Sanji’s gorgeous cock crying out for your attention. 

Fuck.

“Sanji, as you relax, you notice how your body feels. You are relaxed as you pay attention to how your lips, your tongue, and your jaw feel. As you relax now Sanji, you will continue to answer my questions. Do you flirt with other women?”

“yhh.”

The muffled sound strained from the back of his throat. You knew his answer was the same as before. 

“Is that something a good boyfriend would do?”

“ghn.”

“Good, Sanji. Now let your body remember how this gag feels. How it presses your tongue, and stops your words. You are going to use this feeling, your body is going to carry it with you, to help you be a better boyfriend.”

He nodded, small tears forming under his closed eyes. 

“Take yourself back now, going back in time to this afternoon. Picture yourself at the coffee shop. You are there now, you can see what you saw then. The smells, and the sounds wash over you. The power of your subconscious mind is bringing you back to that moment. That woman is there, the barista, speaking to you while she makes your coffee. Are you there now?” *snap* 

“yghh” 

“Were you flirting with that woman?”

A few more tears fell down over Sanji’s stretched cheeks as he grunted his ‘yes.’

“Is that what a good boyfriend would do?”

You paused after his muffled ‘no,’ his admittance of his behavior fueling your desire to see this through. 

I’m just helping him with a bad habit. 

“As you relax deeper,” *snap* “going deeper, you will go back to that moment. You will look at that woman that is not your girlfriend. And when I snap my fingers you will flirt with her just like you did then.”

*snap* 

With his tongue fully pressed beneath the large ball gag, whatever his line was that he’d used on that woman was lost, only grunts and drool spilling from his lips now.

“Your body remembers this feeling. It will carry it through, beyond this session. You want to be a good boyfriend. So now, when you want to flirt with a woman that isn’t your girlfriend, your subconscious mind will bring back this feeling. Flirting is just a habit. Now your body is helping you change that habit. Because you want to be a good boyfriend.”

Each command was accompanied by a snap, and you relished in how deep he was in hypnosis, how pliable. 

This is going to work.

“When I snap my fingers, you will say that you want to be a good boyfriend.”

*snap*

“Mn mwnn gh ghm mm ghmm ghmmrrmn.”

“We’re going to practice this again. Your mind is taking you now to another moment when you flirted with a woman that was not your girlfriend. Your mind is traveling there now.”

Sanji waited so perfectly for you as you removed his ball gag. You grabbed a soft cloth from the bed, wiping the spit that was dripping down his chin, before stuffing the fabric into his mouth. 

“When I snap my fingers, you will flirt with her like you did then.”

This fabric wasn’t as effective as the ball gag, and you tried to makeout what his line had been. 

“Whths ah ghoohthy lch ygh ghnng ng ah ghlsh lch thss?”

Even through the gag you could feel the hint of his purr, and it spurred you on. 

“When I snap my fingers, you will say that you want to be a good boyfriend.”

*snap*

“Eh whnn gh ghh ah ghoogh ghhrrnngh.”

You commanded again that his body would remember this feeling, carry it over. Then you removed the fabric, bringing your final tool in front of his face.

“Now, Sanji, in a moment I will have you open your eyes, just enough to see what I have in my hands.”

You showed it to him, then started trailing it slowly over his thighs, chest, and arms. 

“This is your handkerchief now. It will be your anchor. Everyday, you will put it in your pocket, and it will remind you of your goal to be a better boyfriend.”

You brought it to his hand, rubbing it gently over his fingers. 

“Each day that you touch it, your subconscious mind will remember.” 

You brought it to his lips, covering his mouth and clamping your hand over it. 

Again, you led him to a memory of flirting with another woman, training him to remember how this feels. 

“Your subconscious mind is accepting these suggestions, and they will carry over. Your mind will recall exactly how you have felt tonight. The next time you feel the urge to flirt with another woman, your body will remind you of these feelings.”

You folded the handkerchief, stuffing it into his pants’ pocket, unable to stifle a small smile as your heart raced, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you. 

You knelt in front of him, amazed at how hard he still was after all of that work.

“You’ve been doing so well, Sanji. I know you want to be such a good boyfriend. And good boyfriends get good things. Would you like something good, Sanji?”

“Yes,” he stuttered, finally free from the gags.

“Soon I will count back up from ten to one, and your conscious mind will let go of all that we’ve done, but your subconscious mind will remember. Your conscious mind will only remember the relaxation, and the pleasure, but your subconscious mind, and your body will remember it all. You will carry all of these suggestions with you.”

“And as I count you back to this moment, you will feel so much pleasure. You will be completely present, and happy to be with your girlfriend. You will feel so good knowing that you are a good boyfriend. Are you ready to feel good, Sanji?”

He nodded, making sweet, needy noises for you.

You started to count him out, going slowly as you traced your fingers on his lap. Continuing your commands as you teased his tip, his body started shaking as much as the ropes would allow.

“You’re being so good for me, Sanji. So good. Three.” *snap*

Stroking his cock now, you knew it wouldn’t be long. You spaced out your count, bringing him out so slowly so you could time it right.

“I wanna be a good boyfriend…”

The words came out of him without your command, Sanji’s pathetic whine making you drip with need. 

“You are.” *snap* “You are a good boyfriend, Sanji. Now, when I snap my fingers one more time you will be awake and alert with me here and now. You will open your eyes, and you will feel so good, and your body will remember.”

The feel of his swollen skin in your hand set you on fire, and you waited until you watched him twitching, feeling him pulsing.

*snap* 

Sanji opened his eyes, mouth slack as he met your gaze. Then his eyes rolled back, his come shooting straight up over his lap, making a mess. 

He let out the most gorgeous, unrestrained moans, and you kept going until every drop spilled out of him, dripping down your fingers.

His head was still tilted back, and his breath was heavy for a few long moments.

“Are you okay,” you asked, your voice soft with worry. 

What if he remembers? What if he’s angry?

“Mm, I feel incredible, my love. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relaxed in my life.”

You let out a tiny squeal of happiness, standing up to reach his lips for a kiss.

He’s all mine.

~

You waited in the parking lot the next day, hoping he’d stick to the same schedule. Again, shoving aside all the guilt and worry, you just focused, obsessing over if this worked.

Huddling down in your seat with a gasp, you watched your boyfriend walk in, staring at his profile as he waited in line. 

Sanji got to the front, pulling out his wallet as he pointed to the menu. It was the same woman from the day before, and you cringed at her playful smile. 

Sanji smiled back, and your heart sank. 

Until he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out the handkerchief.

Sanji looked away from her as she took his card, and you watched in sick pleasure as he covered his whole mouth with the fabric, holding it over his lips just as you had. 

The woman tried to talk to him after she returned his card, but he could hardly look at her, still holding the handkerchief to his face as he nodded. 

He walked away, standing against the wall as he waited. 

Guilt and triumph filled you, and your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys. 

You let out a little scream when your phone chirped, dropping your keys, then laughed at your nerves. You started the car, wanting to get out of there before he came outside, but you saw his name on your phone’s screen. 

More fear flooded you, and you saw that he was still waiting against the wall, staring at his phone. 

Holding your breath, you checked the text.

‘Can I cook dinner for my beautiful girlfriend tonight? Already missing your face, my love 💖’

You tossed your phone to the passenger seat, and drove away, body buzzing. You couldn’t believe how giddy you felt, and you kept squealing and biting your lip. 

Amidst the giddiness you still felt guilt, but you kept shaking it away, telling yourself it was for the best. 

Now he’s all mine, and I’m all his. That’s what he promised me anyway. 

Thank you for reading! 💜

a/n: Once again, hypnosis can't do that, and I wouldn't condone this either way. But I had fun with this one, and I hope you did too!

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[imtryingbuck]

Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 1,886

Warnings: angst. swearing. fluff. small mention of abuse of a child. mentions of an affair. mentions of dying during child birth.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

When Bucky got back to the house all he wanted to do was climb into bed with Theo, pull the covers way over their heads and block out the rest of the world surrounding them. Standing in the foyer taking his jacket off he could hear noises coming from the living room and unlike how it was at Michael’s it was laughing.

As drained as he was, a smile formed on his lips at hearing Theo’s laughter.

“Bucky!” Jumping up from her spot on the couch she runs over to him with a huge smile on her face, standing on her tiptoes she presses a kiss to his lips. “I-I hope you don’t mind but Matt came to visit me.”

“Of course I don’t mind pretty girl.” He greets Matt with a nod, his attention mainly on the girl in his arms.

He knew he needed to tell her and Matt about Eliza before they heard it from anyone else but he really didn’t want Theo to be mad at him even though he didn’t pull the trigger. But he knew he needed to do it.

“Pretty girl, I need to tell you something. Matt as well.” Taking Theo’s hand he led her towards the couch she was sitting on before. “Eliza… she’s dead, Michael did it.”

Bucky’s eyes were on her, watching for a reaction - her eyes widened that it was her father that did it. Matt looked surprised but didn’t look all that bothered, he did however lean over and whisper “You’re now free.” In Theo’s ear pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Why did he do it?” Matt asked.

“He found out that she had paid three men to shoot Theo.”

“What? Wait… Dory you were shot? Why didn’t you tell me!”

“It… it didn’t come up, sorry.” She winced rubbing her arm nervously.

Before anyone could say anything Sam started giggling like a little child, a smile pulling at Theo’s lips at hearing his chuckles - as she always did. “I’m sorry, but Dory?”

“Well yeah, Theodora - Dora - Dory…” Matt explained. “It’s not as bad as her name for me.”

“Why what is it?”

“Chew.” Theo beams proudly.

“Why?” Sam couldn’t contain his laugh any longer.

“Because I couldn’t say Matthew when I was young so it was Chew.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie but it wasn’t the whole truth, when she was around five or six she received a beating that left her jaw swollen so therefore she couldn’t talk all that well to Matt - since he was the only one that ever spoke to her nicely. But from that moment he called her Dory and she called him Chew.

Everyone began laughing and soon enough the conversation changed to something else entirely different. Not long after, Sam made everyone take a vote on what food should be ordered - Steve did say Chinese which Theo didn’t mind trying but Sam forced everyone to vote for pizza, threatened them that if they didn’t he would start singing… everyone quickly voted for pizza.

“You know if you blink she won’t disappear, right?”

Bucky nodded, finally dragging his eyes away from Theo as she danced with Wanda both doing the Waltz - terribly mind you but still. “I know.”

“She told me she loves you.”

“And I love her.”

“You know when we were younger, I never understood why they all hated her and I truly believe that my sisters and brother didn’t really know why they had to hate her either.” Matt says as he fiddled with his glass. “What they did, no one deserved to suffer the way she did.” He shakes his head at the memories of watching as Eliza beat Theo, at the memories of finding Theo curled up on a dingy mattress in the basement blood in between her legs.

“I always tried you know, I tried to get them to stop it but that just made it worse. I even took a beating myself once, Theo made it stop by pushing me out of the way.”

“She said that you always tried to protect her.” Bucky tells him, looking him in the eyes he could see it clear as day that Matt still held so much regret.

“I failed her is what I did.” He lets out an un-amused laugh. “I left her there the second I turned seventeen, I moved out and I just left her there.”

“Matt you was a kid yourself alright? You can’t blame yourself or think you failed her.”

“I suppose you’re right but that doesn’t mean I didn’t fail her.” Both men smile when Theo’s laugh hits their ears. “You know it’s been a really long time since I’ve heard that noise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think she was eight the last time I heard her laugh and I think it because we were playing and I was putting on different voices for the toys.” It was a bittersweet memory because they were playing happily together until Brandon came in and for no reason just started beating on her, Matt remembers begging him to stop and even tried to pull him away from his baby sister.

“But anyway, I just want to thank you for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Listen if you ever need a job I’ve got one for you, here’s my number.” Once Matt had his number saved in his phone Bucky pats his brother in law on his shoulder before making his way over to Theo.

“Can I talk to you pretty girl?”

“Of course.”

He takes her hand and leads them into his office, but first he grabs something off the side table in the foyer. Sitting them both down on the couch she gives him a smile which makes her dimple dips in.

“I went to your father’s house and we spoke, he gave me this.” He hands over the photo frame to her, she takes it carefully, turning it over, she looks up at him and his heart aches as her head tilts with confusion. “It-it’s your mom, baby.”

“S-she looks like me.”

“She was beautiful.”

“Did-did he tell you her name? I don’t know it.”

“Jessica.”

“Jessica.” She repeats, her eyes going back to the photo. Her right hand lets go of the frame and moves to her cheek feeling the dimple. “We have the same thing.”

“I know, it was the first thing I noticed when I saw it.”

“Did he say” clearing her throat, she looks back up at him quickly before dropping her eyes back to the photo and shakes her head.

“Did he say what pretty girl?”

“Did she love me?” Her words were whispered.

“Baby, she loved you so much. Hey Theo look at me, your mom loved you so so much and I just know that she still loves you.”

“So why did she leave me?”

“She didn’t have a choice baby.”

She jumps up off the couch, shaking her head. “Yeah right! She died when she was giving birth to me!”

“No she didn’t?”

“How do you know? You wasn’t there!”

“Baby.” He stands up and grabs a hold of her arms to stop her from pacing. “Baby, Eliza killed her because she found out about the affair and you, Michael was given a choice to pick either you or your mom and your mom begged him to pick you. She didn’t leave you because she wanted to.”

“So… so I killed her?”

“No! God no baby, baby she died because she was in love with a married man.”

“B-but it’s my fault.”

“No it isn’t, I swear to you it’s not your fault. It’s Michael’s fault for not being faithful to his wife, its Eliza’s fault for pulling the trigger. Not yours my pretty girl.”

“S-s-so she didn’t leave me because she wanted to?”

“No baby.”

Theo collapses into Bucky’s arms as tears pour from her eyes, her whole body shaking as she cries. The photo frame containing the photo of her mom, the first time she had ever seen her mom, gets squashed in between their bodies. From as young as she could remember she was told by Michael and Eliza that her mom had died giving birth to her, she always carried that guilt of killing her own mom but now hearing the truth she didn’t know what was worse. Dying whilst giving birth or being murdered because she loved the wrong man.

“I’m-I’m sorry Bucky.”

“What for angel?”

“For everything.” Pulling away from him and wiping her cheeks she looks down at the photo. “I never got to meet her.”

Bucky knew that she was three months old at the time of her mom’s death so therefore she had met her but being so young of course she wouldn’t have remembered, he didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth but the words slipped out before he could even process it. “You were three months old when it happened.”

“Oh, but I don’t remember, does that make me a bad person?”

“No! No it doesn’t, and you’re not a bad person Theo.” He takes the photo frame from her trembling hands and opens the back. “Michael said that your birth certificate is here.”

And it was. Theo’s finger rubbed over Jessica’s name before folding it back up. “C-can I show Matt my mom?”

“Baby you don’t have to ask. Come on we’ll show him together.”

Hand in hand they leave the office and go back into the living room where everyone was, she gets Matts attention and shows him. His face lights up at finally seeing the person who gave him his baby sister, his thoughts were they looked so similar. Soon enough everyone was surrounding her all praising the beauty of the woman who birthed their friend, a woman that they would never get to meet.

Bucky told Matt that he could stay the night so he wasn’t driving home at the late hour, Theo told Matt that she would make him breakfast if he said yes and who was he to say no to that offer? When showing him to the room he would be sleeping in for the night Theo showed him her studio, Matt never knew that his little sister had such talent - his eyes were full of pride as he took in the paintings, even telling her that he wanted a few.

When they got into their room Bucky took the photo frame from Theo’s hands and neatly placed it on the side table next to a photo of his mom.

“Come on pretty girl, let’s get you into bed.” He tells her when he sees her trying to stifle the yawn that tries to make an appearance.

Climbing into bed after the most exhausting day he had in the longest time, he’s quick to wrap his arms around her, he feels something tickling his chest and when he looks down he sees that Theo grabbed tabby off the bedside table and pushes the bear in between their bodies. She smiles shyly up at him, he presses a kiss to her lips then to her head and pulls her and tabby closer to him.

“I love you.” He whispers softly as her soft snores hits his ears.

<Previous   Next>

Tags: @sapphirebarnes @bellabarnes1378 @unaxv @skulliecadaver-blog @mrsnikstan @sebastians-love @pattiemac1 @julvrs @undf-stuff @violetwinterwidow01 @cjand10 @angrykitsune01 @drdbnkl2008

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"I don't actually believe you." Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Summary: After returning to base in Las Almas, the team gets a surprise when Graves turns out to be the true enemy. During the confusion you get injured and taken with Alejandro. To bad for shadow company you're more than a teammate to Soap and Ghost, and their coming for their girl.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Warnings: 18 + for language, canon typical violence, blood, guns, reader goes by the callsign Phoenix, poly.

Cross Posted on AO3

“Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, gentleman.” You clear your throat, “and lady.” 

“My men are in there!” Alejandro holds out his arm, his voice impassioned, “let them go.” 

“No can do, amigo,” Graves chuckles, “I like this base. I think I’m gonna keep it. And everyone that comes with it.” 

You turn your head, Ghost already has his eyes on you. “So what’s the plan then Graves?” You turn to look at the shadow leader, “you gonna kill us?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, “absolutely not. No one has to die tonight.” 

“You know what? I don’t actually believe you.” Alejandro takes a step closer getting in the commander's face. 

“I’m not leaving without my men.” 

“We’ll then,” Graves grabs a hold of Alejandro’s vest, pushing him into the van, shadows holding both his arms as Graves knocks him out with the butt of his gun. “Grab the girl!” 

You scream, fighting like hell, Shadows falling down around you before someone grabs your hair and pulls you back a gun under your chin. “Let me go, you piece of shit!” 

“Tsk tsk Darlin’. You kiss your momma with that mouth.” Graves grins looking ahead and you see Ghost and Soap staring you down. Their jaws are locked, pissed off beyond belief. “Or just these two boys?” He laughs, “This little girl is the key to keeping you boys compliant. I control her, I control you.” 

Ghosts finger tightens on the trigger, Soap going for a knife strapped to his side. “Let. Her. Go,” Ghost growls, his chest heaving, “I won’t fucking tell you twice.” 

“Oh so you’re the one she’s been fucking?” Graves tightens his grip and you hate the whimper that slips through your teeth. 

Simon raises his gun, blowing the head off of the Shadow beside you. The soldiers lift their guns, all of them focused on Ghost. “Next one goes in you,” he aims at Graves. 

“I wouldn��t do that,” he digs the gun harder into your throat. “You shoot me and she dies.” 

“I wouldn’t be so worried about her,” you can hear the smirk, “she can take care of herself.” 

“Seems I got the upper hand this time,” he gropes your breast, “and what a nice handful it is.”

“Fuck this,” you slam your elbow into his stomach, whirling and dropping as the bullet flys directly over your head. You lift your leg and kick him in the sternum as the bullets fly. You toss your body, rolling down the hill with a pained cry as a rock hits your shoulder, dislocating it. 

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing your gun and shooting blindly back at the Shadows. 

“Phoenix!” you hear Johnny shout, and you look around blindly when something hits you hard on the back of the head and the world goes dark. 

When you come to, the room is dark but you can see two Shadows in the corner their guns resting lazily against their chest. The floor beneath you is cold and you sit up, biting your lip and muffling the scream when you notice your shoulder. “Fucking asshole didn’t pop my shoulder back,” you mumble, cursing his name. 

 “Graves,” one of the Shadows mumbles into a radio, “she’s awake.” 

“Fucking finally,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “I’ll be right down.” 

The door slams open a moment later and you flinch, your vision swimming. “Seems like you haven’t lost your fire, Phoenix,” Graves strolls in like he owns the place, pulling a chair to sit down before you. “I’m glad your awake, had me worried there for a moment.” 

You ignore him, focusing on a point on the wall behind him and retreating to the recesses of your mind. This isn’t the first time you’ve been tortured but a first for it being someone you know. “Aww, don’t do that, Sweetheart,” he leans forward putting his hand on your neck and squeezing as he brings you to your knees. 

He squeezes tighter and your eyes widen as you struggle to take a breath, digging your nails into his wrist, your right arm hanging loosely at your side. “It’s rude to ignore your hosts.” 

He lets go and you fall to your side, coughing and sputtering as the air reinflates your lungs. “I’m surprised,” Graves stands looming over you, “I thought Ghost would be into a little choking.” 

Ignoring him you think of Simon and Johnny, and you laugh. It starts off as a giggle, then a chuckle before you’re laughing manically on the ground. Graves doesn’t like that very much, standing quickly and putting his boot on your arm, pressing down. You scream, blood curdling as he presses harder, leaning down to your face, “you think this is funny?” he shouts, “tell me, bitch, what’s so fucking funny?!”

He finally lets up kneeling beside you, his gun in your face, and between the tears streaming down your cheeks you see the two shadows stepping closer. “TELL ME!” he screams, and you start laughing again. 

“They’re,” you gasp between each word, “gonna, fucking, kill, you.” The blood stains your teeth when he wacks you across the face with his gun, the metalic tang on your tongue. 

“We’ll see about that,” he stands, staring down at you for a minute before, looking over his shoulder, “put her in the holding cell with Alejandro and lock it down.” 

“Yes, sir,” the men nod, watching him retreat before they lift you, ignoring the way you cry when your obviously broken shoulder jostles. 

They dump you on a stale mattress in the corner of the room, another soldier holding a gun on Alejandro. “What the fuck did you do to her?!” he screams fighting the one holding him back. They slowly retreat out of the room before locking the door to the cell behind them. Alejandro rushes to your side, brushing the hair out of your face, “Jesus.” 

“Looks worse than it is,” you whimper, allowing yourself a moment to cry when he tries his best to clean you up. 

“Graves really fucked you up,” he mumbles, tearing off his shirt, leaving him in a white t-shirt, “this is going to hurt,” he warns before popping your shoulder back down. A scream tears its way out of your throat, and you clutch at his arm, sobbing. “It’s broken,” he whispers, “but that should take some of the tension off.” He makes a sling out of his shirt, and helps you sit up to rest against the wall. 

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing, and the drip of water in the corner. “He-” Alejandro starts, rubbing his hands together, “he didn’t-” 

“No,” you cut him off, understanding, “no he didn’t.” You close your eyes, “doesn’t mean he won’t take the chance the longer we’re here. Or maybe he’ll hand me around to the Shadows. I think this has shown us, Graves is the furthest thing from a man of honor.” 

“They’ll come for us,” he looks up at the ceiling, “they’ll come for you.” You turn your head and give him a small smile, he turns and returns it. You sit in comfortable silence, your head resting on his shoulder, hating how your body tenses when you hear the slightest noise from outside. 

Hours later, the building shakes with a boom, and Alejandro leans over you covering your head as a few small rocks rain down from the ceiling. “The cavalry,” he pulls back smiling down at you, “has arrived.” 

“Johnny,” you whisper, closing your eyes, “they’ll alive.” Soldiers shout outside the room, and Alejandro stands, hiding behind the door ready to pounce. You hold your breath, hearing shots down the hall and screams through the thick metal of the door. 

Another boom rocks the complex and it makes you smile, “that’s my demolitions expert,” you whisper, “come find me, baby.” 

There’s suddenly a scream of terror that is quickly silenced, closer than the others. “Ghost,” you whimper, pushing off the ground with a gasp and taking a shaky step towards the door. 

“Stay back, Phoenix,” Alejandro holds out an arm, “we don’t know for sure it’s them.” 

But you do, the door bursts off the hinges and Alejandro strikes, Johnny pins him to the wall. “It’s us, Amigo,” he shouts. 

“Ghost, Soap, Rudy,” he looks at the three men and smiles, “am I glad to see you!” 

“Where is she?!” Ghost pushes his way past them, looking around before his eyes land on you. “Phoenix,” he whispers, taking a step towards you. 

You step, your knees collapsing but before your knees hit the ground he’s holding you. You gasp, pain shooting up your arm and he quickly lets go, assessing the damage. 

“Lass,” Johnny comes around and leans you against his chest. Ghost pulls off his pack and grabs a syringe from a small bag, “relax,” Johnny presses his lips to your head, "we got you."

"Fucking Graves is a dead man," Ghost growls injecting your arm with the good stuff. Your arm aching but nothing compared to the agony of the last few hours. Ghost leans closer, his eyes rimmed red before he checks you over for any other wounds.

His hands tighten painfully when he sees the fingerprints on your neck, "did Graves do that to you?"

"Yes," you whisper, his finger softly trailing down the purple bruise on your cheek, "and that one too."

"Death is too quick," he mumbles, glancing at Johnny, "fucking bastard is going to suffer."

"Aye, I'm right there with you L.T.," Johnny wraps his arms around your waist, "had us scared to death, love."

"We need to get her out of here, I'll go help Alejandro free the Los Vaqueros, then we get the hell out and kill Graves." Ghost stands walking towards the door but freezing when he hears you.

"Simon," you whimper, reaching an arm out for him, "Johnny, help me up." Johnny helps you to your feet, keeping himself pressed to your back. "I thought you were dead for the last day. I thought Graves was gonna come back and touch me, or give me to his men. I just fucking need you right now."

"I got you, Phoenix," he pushes his body to your front and you're sandwiched between the two men you love most in this world. "We'd have burned this entire fucking world apart to find you, love." He chuckles, "I don't know how well you could hear the explosions from in here, love. But Johnny got a head start."

"I knew you'd come for me." You rise up to kiss him, his left hand quickly lifting up his mask before kissing you with all the passion, worry, and fear since you were taken." Simon turns your head and Johnny is there, waiting for his chance to steal your breath away. Safe for the first time since you were taken.

"I fucking love you, lassy," Johnny kisses your nose. "Let's go home."

"I love you too," you whisper, turning back to Simon, "both of you."

"And I love you," Simon pulls his mask back down, "bloody both of you. Between you getting kidnapped and him blowing everything up it's a wonder I'm not dead yet."

"But you love us anyways," Soap grins, kissing your head and helping you towards the door.

"You're right," Simon nods, aiming his gun, ready to defend, "I bloody fucking do."

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here and this is part eleven.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bart and Wally bonding! Wally met his kid relative's weird friend. Stuff got thrown. Everyone enjoyed the thought of playing around with offbrand floam in the ao3 comments.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s alone when the itch starts.

And. When it starts. It’s just that: an itch. It tingles, and Danny tugs at the loose skin with his claws, and it fades into the choir of background pain in his mind.

It happens a few more times. In his stomach. In his eyes; Danny bats at the sensation with his hands, curled and careful, and it…tamps down. A little.

And then the itch stops going away.

He gets visitors; the humans like to play with his toys, and Danny lets them, because they’re young and he’s nice and they’re not mean to him. Not like— Their names escape him, but all the beings in his head are blue and firey and loud and not nice, and the green inside his blood burns instead of soothes.

Danny presses himself against the mattress of the cot. His towel wraps around his middle, to catch the Grossness. The young humans are nice. They are not a threat. Even when they’re loud, they’re not mean; they’re just young, and just playful.

He doesn’t want to play with them today, though. They ask him to play, and he bats them away with his claws put away inside his skin.

The itch has become a burn. He can’t play with them today.

It hurts.

Danny hurts.

Danny hides under his blankets and then he doesn’t, because the blanket on his cot scratches up against his itchy parts and he can’t sleep away the burn.

He wants to hide in his core. He wants to hide. He doesn’t, because he’s safe here, and if he goes back into his core then his flesh body won’t heal.

But it hurts.

Danny doesn’t even notice he’s curled up and crying until something touches his shoulder. It’s gentle, but Danny is so scared. He bolts upright—

Oh. The touch is from the alien’s friend. The lady.

He knows this lady.

…Danny starts crying again. He doesn’t know why—except everything hurts, and he’s unhappy, but he’s well fed and well watered and clean, so why does his body hurt so bad?!

The lady pulls back his sheet, makes quiet, insistent, worried words, but Danny can’t understand her and everything hurts and he doesn’t know why and he wants his mom. Danny wants Mom, and she’s not here, and she never ever ever will be ever again—

There are gentle hands on his body. They hurt, even when they’re light and gentle.

Danny cries.

The human lady peels back his towel, and—he doesn’t know what she sees, but she says something stern and not as gentle-quiet and Danny hisses, scared, so scared, so hurt, so frightened.

The soft words come back. A soft touch to his shoulder. An apology.

The whole world hurts, and no one can help him.

…And then there’s a hissing sound.

Something very very cold touches him.

It’s not real cold because it doesn’t make him feel better, but his nerves are trying to interpret what he feels and what they come up with are a “????” that blisters across the wildfire of pain burning through him.

The hissing sound comes back. Again. More cold. More—something else touches him. He’s moved. Something else touches him again.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and Danny wants to go home and go to bed. And he can’t. And—

Someone pulls his blanket. Something pulls at him. There are hands, and there is a hissing sound, and there is a sensation of something Cold and Wet touching him across his burning abdomen.

Danny cries.

He cries.

He cries when a pillow appears in his arms and he cries when his spaceship appears there too. He cries when he’s alone and he cries when he knows humans are there. He cries, and he cries, and he doesn’t stop crying until the wildfire pain becomes only a burn, and then only a pain, and then only an itch again.

It itches.

Danny sniffles through brand-new sinus cavities. He itches. Everything is sore and he’s unhappy.

He’s also…on his back. The lady is there in the chair the buzzing-human-adult left there after its own visit. She is slumped over.

Danny doesn’t have the strength to purr for her attention. He’s too tuckered out.

He just. Warbles.

Thankfully the noise is enough. The woman carefully rises in her chair. She doesn’t move for a second.

Danny warbles again. A little quieter. A little more scared.

She leans closer. She says something—the syllables don’t make sense, but she sounds wet, and she sounds tired, and she sounds sad. And she’s still sitting with him anyway. There’s something in her hand, and—

Danny taps the occupied hand. What is it?

She makes a noise. She lifts her hand.

Danny moves the hand instead of the object of interest. It’s objectively easier.

The item is a spray bottle. He sniffs it. Smells kinda weird. Does it taste like anything? He presses his tongue to it.

Well. That tastes bad.

…And then his tongue goes numb.

Oh.

Oh!

And Danny’s still too tired to purr, but he makes a few grateful noises anyway, and the lady pets his hair with her blue-gloved hands.

The itching is gone. Numbing spray doesn’t last forever, but it’ll work for now. He has to rest while he can.

The burning will be back.

But for now...he’ll nap.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

New chapter is up for my Feyd-Rautha/Reader fic. I'll provide the AO3 link here: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 3 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

But if you'd prefer to read it here I can provide it under the cut. As you can imagine, there are trigger warnings for this fic in general as well as this chapter.

TW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced incest, heavy violence, first times, rough sex, blood kinks, and of course Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning.

If you haven't read my fic yet I do recommend reading the prologue and first chapter to get what's going on. It's all on AO3.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN DREADING

“It’s time, Na-Baroness.”

You turn to look at her.  She keeps her head down.  “We need to get you to your bedchambers to prepare,” she adds.

You take a breath.  He and everyone else need you to be living and healthy at least for the time being.  You’ll be able to manage whatever happens tonight, you tell yourself.

You give a small nod, reach for your goblet, and finish the contents in three big swallows before setting it down.

Your mother sees you get up and her eyes widen just a fraction.  You smile at her as you make a detour to wish your family a good night.

“I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” you tell your parents.  Afterwards all off-world guests will be going home, and you’ll have to deal with the fact that this desolate killing field of a planet is your home now.  You try not to think about how you probably won’t be seeing any of your family again until the next wedding or funeral as you give each of them a crushing hug.  When your younger sister hugs you back, you wonder if she’s thinking about her future, if she’s terrified that she’ll have an even worse match.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Father tells you as you pull away from his embrace.  When he looks at you, you can tell he’s thinking, I’d give anything right now for you to have been born a son.

“Thank you, Father,” you tell him, thinking, Come on, now.  You can’t put me up to this marriage in the first place and then act as though I’m going to my execution.  You need for them to have hope that you’ll be okay.  One of you has to believe that I can get through this.

You sense the Baron watching you.  You can feel his distaste at the open sentimentality but he doesn’t say anything, so it seems that he’ll allow it.  How kind of him, you think bitterly.

When you start to move past them your mother tugs at your wrist one last time and you turn to face her.  She doesn’t say anything, so you end up speaking for her.

“It’ll be alright,” you say softly, taking her hands.

She almost smiles, then swallows.  “I should be the one saying that to you,” she says.  You just give her a small smile of your own and kiss her cheek.  You end up letting go of her hands first, but it takes only the first tug for her to relinquish yours.  You resume your trek out of the Great Hall when you reach the head of the table and stop, remembering one last obligation before you go.

You need to pay your respects to the Baron first and it makes you hesitate.  You don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to look at him, don’t want to even think about him.  His nephew strikes fear in you, but there’s a kind of revulsion that the Baron inspires that is tangible even as you can’t quite explain it.  Even if you didn’t know his reputation as a bloodthirsty warmonger that makes your father seem like a pacifist by comparison, even though you’re sure that there’s more you haven’t discovered yet, even with the limited interactions you’ve actually had with him, he makes your skin crawl.  You step forward, eyes downcast, incline your head, and dip into the deepest curtsy you can manage in your gown.

“Thank you, Baron, for your gifts, your kind reception, and your hospitality,” you tell him.

After a pause he seems to think you’ve expressed an adequate amount of gratitude and says, “May you continue to please my lovely nephew,” he responds, voice low enough that your family won’t hear but the people next to him will.  He knows that you know what he means.

Contempt and shame war within you.  You refuse to look up at him.  “Yes, Baron,” you manage, face flushing.  Your hands shake.  You rise and turn away.  Idrisa’s there within arm’s reach to escort you out.

It’s a long stretch of silence to get from the Great Hall to the Harkonnen private chambers, but neither of you know quite what to say that you’d be willing to risk anyone hearing.

She guides you back into your bedchambers.  Once there, you stand in the middle of the room, frozen and useless.  “Will he want me in this?” you ask after a moment.  You picture him tearing the fabric of your underskirts, maybe slicing your bodice with one of his hidden blades.  It’s easy to picture him desecrating a symbol of your union.  It’s also easy to picture him simply pulling down your undergarment, bending you over the nearest flat surface, and debasing you as you’re still fully clothed.

Idrisa shakes her head.  “The Na-Baron had some specific requests.  He’d like you out of this,” she says.  “I’ll help you.”

She’s so gentle with her touch and the meticulous way she undoes your bodice and arranges your skirts that it unnerves you rather than soothes you.  It’s such a contrast to how you’re certain you’ll be touched as soon as you leave these chambers that you tremble at her fingertips.

“It’ll be alright,” she says softly.  “You and the union between the Houses is too important for him to seriously hurt you.”  You don’t miss the disclaimer of ‘seriously’.  You have nothing to say to that, only watching as she sets the gown back on the mannequin it arrived with and turns to you, in just your boots and undergarments.  

You sigh and take care of your boots and the stockings underneath as Idrisa reaches into your drawers for a chemise and robe.

“He wants you to take off your undergarments,” she says over her shoulder.

“Of course he does,” you mutter, working on those next, stripping down bare.  “For ‘ease of access.’”

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Idrisa says mildly, taking your discarded clothes and handing you the chemise to put on.  “We’re almost done.”  She sets down a pair of slippers for you to step into and gives you your robe before taking a step back and taking inventory of you.  She tilts her head and bites her lip.

“Hair down, I think,” she says.  “Your make-up held up well, so we won’t need to reapply anything.”

“We could, you know.”  It’ll buy me some time to collect myself.  Although that isn’t entirely true; you’ll still be just as nervous an hour from now as you will be five minutes from now, and you both know it as Idrisa quietly arranges your hair into a style she thinks your groom will find suitable.

His chambers, as it turns out, are just next door.  “Thank you,” you tell her when you get inside.  It’s a large room, as austere as all the other rooms but the limited furniture within it is of high-quality.  A black armoire against the opposite wall with dressers and a desk and chair to match, and then of course the bed.  

It’s a massive four-poster with a steep headboard.  You can’t help but notice rings and hooks lining each bedpost.  You don’t think you’re ignorant by any means, considering your overall lack of experience, but you’re not sure what they could possibly mean.  In the next room you can faintly hear the sound of running water.

“The Na-Baron is finishing up in his bathroom.  He’ll be ready for you in just a moment,” Idrisa tells you, before reaching for your robe.  You instinctively move away, wanting the barrier between your skin and the suddenly oppressive air of an unfamiliar room.

She holds on, undeterred, to your sleeves.  “The Na-Baron said that he would have his wedding gift already unwrapped and in bed waiting for him,” she says apologetically.  

You think of your father’s words from days ago (“oiled and trussed up before being thrown into his bedroom”) and take a breath before shedding the robe and stepping out of your slippers yourself. You don’t look at Idrisa as you raise the chemise up and over your shoulders before tossing it to the floor and once you’re completely bare try to cover yourself with your arms as you take a few steps back.  It feels dumb; she’s already seen you naked and so will the man on the other side of the bathroom door in just a minute, but you want to hold on some semblance of modesty in this unfamiliar room.

Idrisa looks away as she picks everything up.  “I’ll leave you to your privacy, then,” she says.  

“I’ll be nearby,” she adds, folding your clothes and setting them on the dresser and the slippers on the floor just beside it.  She glances over at you one last time as if to say, Good luck, before turning and leaving.  The door clicks and you’re left in silence.  The water stops.

Better get moving, then, you think as you stare at the bed.  You wonder briefly what such an intimidating piece of furniture has seen over the years, and you’re honestly not sure how to present yourself once you reach it.  Do you lie on your back, like you’ve been told, is the civilized, kind manner in which to take a bride?

You think of the way your groom prowls, the way he kills.  He’s barely civilized and he’s certainly not kind; the animalistic way he moves and looks at you suggests that he’ll fuck you like an animal too, on all fours and without preamble, but the idea of getting into that position, of presenting yourself to him in such a way, makes you wince the moment you imagine it.

So you compromise and settle on your side, facing the bathroom entrance where he’ll soon emerge.

Your heart races as nearly a full minute ticks by before the door opens and Feyd-Rautha emerges, as naked as you are.

You try to stay composed and keep a sense of demure composure about you as you take inventory of him and what is meant to go inside of you tonight.  He is indeed smooth everywhere, and half-hard.  You digest the fact that even without a full erection, he's larger than the limited sample size you've witnessed.  You think that it’s kind of funny that he looks more powerful naked than he does in his armor, or even in his undergarments but to your relief he’s also as unarmed as he can possibly be.  And if this is to happen, it is a comfort knowing that it will be with a man whose body you find beautiful to look at.

His eyes drift over yours, mapping everything as he takes his fill,of the rest of your body.  “Have you ever taken a man inside of you?” he asks.

You shake your head and try not to let your nerves get the better of you as you wonder how much this is going to hurt.  He sees the fear in your eyes, though, as he crosses over and slides into bed alongside you without another word.  Your breath hitches, your heart pounding.  Not for the first time he makes you feel like a rabbit in a field.  It’s hard to reconcile that and the excitement within you; perhaps it’s adrenaline.

He slowly angles you to lay back as he props himself above you.  Your pulse thuds in your ears and you hear your own gasp as if it’s coming from somewhere else.

There’s a moment he’s looming above you, and you’re caught between fear and a growing heat between your legs, your nerves on end, before you surprise the both of you.  Without allowing yourself to think about it you lean up, cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss.  This much you’ve done before, anyway.  You hope that it’ll help ease you into everything else.

It catches him off-guard, which gives you a brief sense of satisfaction, feeling like the playing field has been leveraged, before he kisses back.  He seems to like it, the hint of a challenge, and responds in turn by deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue into your mouth.  After a moment’s hesitation, unsure where to put your hands, you find that trailing them along his arms and back feels right.  

For the first minute it actually feels nice.  Then the first brush of the tip of his cock against your stomach makes you gasp.  You can feel him filling out the rest of the way and try not to look down.  It won’t help settle your nerves at all to see just how large it is when fully engorged.  The soft skin of it bumps against your bare stomach again before he shifts his legs so both are between yours, forcing you to spread your thighs around his hips.  He breaks the kiss and watches your face as he shifts one hand from beside your head to between his legs, taking himself in hand.

You clench your thighs and gasp, heart racing.  Without thinking you give a small cry when he guides his cock along your slit.  You feel stupid for it; he’s not even inside of you yet, but you can feel yourself seize up.

He pauses, as if trying to gauge something. Then he releases himself to slide his fingertips between the apex of your thighs instead.  Your chest heaves as you think about how you’re the only one who’s ever put a hand there, and even then only a few times.  You have enough time to think that you’ve never felt more helpless in your life before he brushes his fingers along your slit, all the more sensitive for the lack of hair, and then brings a thumb to the bud between your legs you only discovered for the first time a few years ago by accident.  He circles his thumb lazily, watching your stomach clench and your lips part in a gasp.  You shut your eyes, the intimacy of it already more than you could’ve anticipated.

“Look at me,” he says sharply, and you force your eyes open.  He tilts his head ever so slightly as his thumb presses down and your hips arch up.  You hold onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you bite your lip, trying to breathe normally.  He blinks as he takes in your reaction, his gaze traveling from your face to your hips before moving his hand, shifting his fingertips to your entrance.

The press of one finger inside of you is a stretch, unfamiliar but not unpleasant once you adjust to the feeling of being penetrated for the first time, and you want to look away, embarrassed at just how exposed you are to this man but as soon as you do, he repeats, irritated that he’d have to say it again, “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back to his.  He curls his finger inside of you and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your stomach clenching, and he tilts his head slightly, pulling his hand back to add a second finger alongside it, and this time the burn of it’s just a little too much.  You try to pull your hips back, face pinched in discomfort, and he gives a frustrated exhale as he tries twisting his fingers, only to get the same reaction.  He pulls his fingers out, and seems to think about what to do next.

He glances down at your chest, at your stiffened nipples, and lowers himself down onto his forearms, his head down to your breasts, teeth and tongue scraping against one, then the other.  As you whine and cradle the back of his neck you wonder if this is like a game for him, trying to see what noises he can pull from you where, and doing what, as he travels from one part of your body to another.  You try to collect your breath as he stops, traveling lower, his body sliding almost serpentine along the length of the bed and you can’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders.

You briefly notice that there are old scars there that you hadn’t been able to see properly in the semi-darkness of the fighting halls.  They look like lash-marks that span from his shoulder blades to the tops of his buttocks.  But that’s the last coherent thought you have before Feyd-Rautha’s face disappears between your spread legs and you cry out, back arching at the first contact between his mouth and your lower lips.

You were expecting and fearing a lot tonight but hadn’t accounted for your groom licking your newly-shaved privates.  It’s shocking enough that it takes you a moment to understand how nice it feels.  You pant and squirm, your moans pulled out of you with each swipe of his tongue along your slit, each flicker of it against your bud.

“Oh!” you manage, incapable of saying anything else as your thighs shake and you wish he had hair that you could bury your fingers in as he laps at you.

When the heat of it really starts to build and your whines start sounding more desperate, the very core of you slick along his lips and tongue is when he stops.  It’s all a means to an end and as far as he’s concerned he’s done more than enough to prepare you. 

He ignores your whimper of protest as he pulls away and props himself up above you again, taking inventory of your flushed face and chest, your parted and kiss-swollen lips.

Good, you’re ready, he seems to think.  He lines himself up, and your breath hitches as you shut your eyes.

“Keep ‘em open,” he says immediately, and you relent, gazing up at a pair of eyes that glint nearly silver, pupils wide.

The blunt head of him is wide, and you realize that the preparation, his fingers and tongue, weren’t enough to ease the passage.  He’ll tear you open.  He watches your face and the growing panic in your eyes and presses forward.

Fear is the mind-killer.  It is the little–

The first press of him knocks the air out of your lungs in a sob.  You lurch up, clutching at his back as your inner thighs clench around his sides as he thrusts in the first couple of inches.  You squirm around him, shifting, hoping to get unstuck like you’re a worm on a hook.  He just pushes in deeper with a grunt, his hand clutching your hip to keep you still so he can bury himself within you the rest of the way.

It hurts, you want to protest, as if he can’t tell already.  As if he doesn’t enjoy how he’s skewering you onto him.

You’ve been in worse pain than this.  Remember when you broke your arm when you were nine?  If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life to the most frightening man you’ve ever met who–you hope–is now fully inside of you, you’d almost laugh.

Virgin sex: not as painful as breaking an arm.

You dig your nails in.  Feyd-Rautha gives a breathless laugh and a sharp thrust that has you crying out and digging your nails in deeper.

“Does my little pet want to get her claws in me?” he says, the first time he’s spoken in several minutes.  You try to relax your hands, just gripping onto his back.  “I didn’t say ‘stop,’” he adds.

He likes pain, the Reverend Mother told you.

Well, alright, then.

You grit your teeth and scratch down the length of his back.  He groans, a rumble deep in his chest before pulling out nearly to the tip of him and pushing all the way back in again.  It helps, in a way, the feeling of reciprocating the pain.  The difference is that you’re barely tolerating it, but he’s enjoying it.  He seems to like the pressure of your kneecaps digging into his sides, the nails down his back.

Curiosity strikes and you reach up and pull him down close enough to bite down on his collarbone and he gasps, hips stuttering for a moment, a moan pulled out of him before he resumes thrusting into you with deeper rolls of his hips.

You’re not sure when the moment happens that you start to adjust, the sting of it fading to a sore stretch.  You still feel impossibly full, but the ache of it feels like a minor tear, not like you’ve just been split in half.  

It’s soon after that he draws the first real moan out of you since before he entered you and it gives you pause; the stroke of his hips had been just right, you’d tilted yours in just a way that actually felt good in a way that tugged at your insides.  After a moment he tries again and you can’t help but make the same noise, holding onto him as the push and pull of his thrusts finally starts to feel right, like an act that’s natural rather than a punishment.

It’s then that he pulls out, and you yelp in shock; you were only starting to get adjusted to having him inside of you and he hasn’t spilled his seed yet.  You barely have time to understand what’s happening as he flips you onto your front and hauls you up, grabbing your hips.

It feels like another invasion, the angle tighter.  You won’t be able to hold onto him or take your pain out on him.  You scramble to get your forearms under you as he well and truly starts fucking you.  You hadn’t realized that he’d been holding back at all.

You do realize, though, that he not only tolerates your hair but likes it, when he wraps your tresses around his hand and sharply tugs like your hair’s a harness.  You can’t help any of the desperate noises that you make, shaking, as you’re repeatedly pulled back onto his cock.  The heat of tears builds in your eyes as you lower your head, only for him to tug it back by your hair. 

You give another cry, which spurs him on.  Pleasure, pain, it seems like it’s all the same to him so long as he can keep pulling desperate sounds out of you.  He speeds up, goes harder, the snap of his hips against your ass loud to the point of obscene within the echoes of his room.

And then you feel it, warm and viscous inside of you as he gives a choked moan, grunting as he thrusts into you one last time and holds still, his hands still on your hips.  You gasp, freezing, before moaning even though you're not entirely sure if you like the sensation of it or not.

You feel him pull away from you and twist onto your back, your legs bent to avoid colliding with him, as he kneels on the edge of the bed and wipes his bloody cock off on the sheets.

You catch your breath as you bring a hand against your forehead, trying to think.

It’s done; you got through it. 

He turns to look at you, at your parted lips, your breasts rising and falling as your breath evens out, your inner thighs where a small smear of blood remains, and wordlessly brings a thumb to the tacky skin there.

You blink, eyes widening as he looks you in the eye and licks off the already-drying blood.  He tilts his head, still looking between your legs, when his fingertips slide against your slit, collecting both a little blood and a dribble of his seed that leaked out of you.  Without a word he settles back over you and brings his fingers to your lips.

You try to think about what he’d want from you at this moment, and all that comes to mind is to mirror him.  You try to shut out the part of you that feels revulsion at the sight and the smell and part your lips.  

You can’t look away from him as he presses the calloused pad of his thumb on your lips and pushes further, onto your tongue.  You want to flinch away at the salt of your blood mixed with the viscous salt of his seed, but with his other hand he cups your jaw.  His movements could be seen as gentle and if he were a different man this act could be seen as intimate, but no, not with him.  He’s trying to humiliate you, you’re sure.  Because he then says, quietly, “Close your mouth,” and you hesitate, face heating up with shame, before you do.

For a moment you want to pull back and spit the mixture back out into his face.  There must be a flicker of that want in your eye because he tilts his head in a silent challenge.

Go on.  Try it, he seems to say.

You want to, but you do the opposite, the new goal to be to catch him off-guard again.  You force yourself to taste the residue from both of your bodies off his fingers.  You lick delicately around the digits and watch his eyes widen just a fraction.  You do it again, slowly, realizing that you’ve surprised him again.

He pulls his fingers out, his full lips parted.

“Don’t swallow,” is all he says before crushing his mouth against yours. 

You didn’t think you were ignorant, but you don’t fully understand what this is, what it’s called, why he’s enjoying it so much.  It’s a tool you think you might have but don’t have any frame of reference for and aren’t sure how to use as he groans as the liquids merge between you in a desperate open-mouthed kiss.  You just know that you’re learning enough to keep him interested.  He lays fully against you, and you have enough time to think that his chest feels nice pressed up against yours before he reaches in between your legs to feel the puffy, bruised apex where he’d buried himself.

Is he already getting aroused again?  

You get your answer when he flips you onto your stomach for the second time and pulls your hips up just enough for him to settle behind you.  For a moment you lurch forward, away from his grip but of course he pulls you back.  Alarm sets in.  I need time.  I’m still recovering from the first time you split me open.  You hear yourself whine as he slides his rapidly-stiffening cock in between your tender folds as if to plead for his mercy.  He doesn’t grant it, moaning at the desperate sound.  You realize that he’s working himself the rest of the way in his own hand before pressing it back up against you and pushing inside of you in one sharp thrust.

In some ways it’s easier; you’re sufficiently stretched out at this point to take him inside of you, and the combination of blood and semen’s added second and third coats of lubrication.

But then he’s rougher; there’s no preamble, no brief moments of letting you adjust to the intrusion.  He goes hard and fast on your torn and bruised insides, and this time he doesn’t say a word.  All you hear are beast-like grunts as he pulls you onto him.

Just finish.  Please just finish and get it over with, you think as your cries become hoarse, and then nothing more than pathetic whimpers.  That in itself seems to spur him on, how much he’s wearing you out and taking you to the very limits of what you can handle. 

You collapse the rest of the way onto your front, panting and sweaty, and you shut your eyes when you can sense he’s almost done, shuddering as his thrusts become more erratic and he finally–thankfully–comes, filling you up a second time and you could cry with the relief of it.

He holds on for a moment, as if trying to make sure as much of him as possible stays inside of you as he settles down, his front against your back, his breath against the nape of your neck.  And then he pulls out and you wonder if this is how it feels when a person who’s just been stabbed feels the knife leave their body right before you sense him turn and fall onto his back against the sheets.

You remain on your front,  the side of your face resting on your forearm as you just don’t have it in you to move again.  You just hope that Feyd-Rautha’s finally done for the night.  You turn your head to the other side to look at him and confirm.

His penis looks a lot less intimidating when it’s soft and resting against his thigh.  You watch his chest rise and fall and briefly think about running a hand over it, and long the ridges of his abdomen even as you can’t say you’re proud of yourself for the instinct.  He just seems almost docile now, reclining on his back, after he’s rutted inside of you twice. It's almost like wanting to pet a sedated dog that had been trying to bite you.  You watch him raise one leg slightly, enough to bend his knee, and you notice more scars along his inner thigh that are even paler than the rest of him.  They don’t look recent, but not as old as the ones on his back.

He turns his head and looks at you, and reaches out, bringing a hand to your backside, lazily caressing a cheek before bringing his palm down in a hard smack.  He smirks at how the soft flesh jiggles and at your responding yelp.

“It was right there,” he says by way of explanation.  You’re tired enough that you can’t help but snicker as you keep your head pillowed on your forearms and try to focus on the softness of the sheets under you rather than the unrelenting ache between your legs.  You look at each other, him likely surveying the damage as you catalog him in what is probably the closest he ever gets to a relaxed state.

“Can you stand?” Feyd-Rautha asks after a moment.

You’re not entirely sure you can move your legs.  “In a moment, maybe,” you admit.

“Then take a moment,” he says.  “Then you can call your girl to take you back to your quarters.”

You get up on your forearms to get a better look at him.  “You’re sending me away?” you ask.  You don’t mean the hurt tone in your voice.  Not that you even want to stay the night, but his dismissal feels insulting.  You’re the one whose insides are sore and bleeding, after all.  Is he not even going to give you more time to recover and just relax here?  Maybe kiss you one last time?  

“It’s more practical if I do,” he says.  “I’ll be up a few hours before you tomorrow.”  His tone is so matter-of-fact that any trace of intimacy over the past couple of minutes dissipates into thin air and you remember who you’re with.

“Right.”  You look over at your clothes on the dresser.  You wince at the effort, but turn to your side and sit up facing away from him.  You can feel his stare burning into your back.

You wince as you sit forward and try to get your limbs to coordinate with you as you shift your legs.

You look down at the sheets and wonder if Feyd-Rautha’s going to have someone come in to clean them immediately after you leave.

No, you realize.  He’ll have someone come in to put down new ones, certainly, but he’ll be holding on to the bloodied sheets.  They’ll serve as a trophy, proof that he deflowered the heiress to the House of Y/H.

You don’t look back at your new husband as you get up, shakily at first, needing to hold onto the bed to stabilize you.

You need to walk gingerly, and the feel of Feyd-Rautha watching your discomfort makes it worse.  You feel tears build again, this time from anger.  You think to yourself that you might’ve been able to handle everything else tonight better if he were a little kinder to you afterwards, and gave you something to temper the roughness as he’d prepared you beforehand.  And here he is smugly watching the pain you’re in because of him, congratulating himself on how he wrecked your virgin cunt.

This is fucking undignified.  I’m part of a Major House, too, you think as you pull on your chemise and step into your slippers.  Finally you’ve decided that you’re not going to let this insult pass and turn to him.  He’s sitting up, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped loosely around them as he watches you and that somehow makes it even worse.  “Is this amusing for you?” you demand, thinking, Of course it is, you stupid girl.  He and his kind get off on this sort of thing.

He looks neither embarrassed nor smug, but leans forward a little as he considers you.  “You did well tonight,” he says. 

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you say coldly as you reach for your robe.  

“I like it when you call me husband,” he adds, and you glance back at him.  “That’s what you should call me when we’re alone together.”

You look at him a moment longer.  You realize that this is just about the closest he can get to being kind to you, at least tonight.  Whatever tenderness he’d shown when he first touched you was to serve his own purpose.  Now that he’s taken what he wants there’s nothing else to give you.  It’s not even intentional cruelty on his part, you don’t think.  It’s just the absence of everything else.

With a resigned sigh you pull on your robe and give him a curt nod.  “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, husband,” you tell him, pad over to the door, and open it just far enough to see Idrisa standing post just outside.  You head into the hallway and shut the door behind you without another word or glance backwards.

“How much of that were you able to hear?” you ask her.  

She tries to spare you.  “The walls are thick, Na-Baroness,” she says, and you’re even more grateful for the short distance to your chambers than you’d been before.

At your bedside you notice that there’s a jug of water and a glass, then beside them a dish.  You head for it to inspect closer and it turns out there are two small white tablets.  You turn to look at her.

Idrisa shrugs one shoulder.  “Part of the benefits of being promoted to your attendant,” she says.  “I felt it would be safer to take precautions and assume you’d need pain relief after…” she trails off, realizing there is no polite way to say getting fucked hard for the first time by a man who delights in your pain and just repeats, “after.  I spoke with a Healer who agreed that it would be safer to plan for that.”

As you reach for a tablet she adds quickly, “I wouldn’t take more than half if I were you.”

You pause, the tablet to your mouth.  “Why?” you ask.

She hesitates.  “I wasn’t sure how severe your pain would be afterwards,” she says.  “I really didn’t know how to predict so I requested two tablets.  Looking at you now, half a tablet should suffice.”

You look down at the dish and then back at her.  Just how badly did you think tonight would go for me? you want to ask, but then realize that there are some questions you don’t actually want answers to.  

You smile at her in gratitude, snap the tablet in half, and wash it down with the offered water.  “Will it help me sleep?” you ask.

She inclines her head in the affirmative.  “Now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed,” she says.  

“It’s alright.  I can handle the rest myself,” you tell her.

Her brow furrows and she frowns.  “It’s my duty to look after you,” she says.  

“I understand, but right now I need to be alone,” you tell her.

She looks nervous, as if her dismissal is some kind of failure on her part and something for which she’ll be punished later.

“You’ve done a great job,” you tell her.  “But the best way to take care of me tonight is to let me do this myself.”

“Whatever you wish, Na-Baroness,” she says finally.  “Good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

……………..

You pad over to the bathroom and a minute later find yourself sitting on the edge of your bathtub with a warm, wet towel in one hand as you inch up the hem of your chemise with the other.  

You wince at the first press of the towel against your tender skin.  You don’t want to look directly at the damage, wishing you still had hair down there to obscure some of it.  You shut your eyes as you wipe around your inner thighs.  You wipe directly between your legs and the sharp bite of the pain makes you briefly double over.  After a moment you look down at the used towel; there’s not as much blood as you thought, as it feels like it was spilled out of you, but you’re going to have to wring it out and start over if you want to feel clean.  Maybe you won’t feel clean again.

The reality of it all hits you, sharply, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed and a part of you realizes that the worst is yet to come.

For the first time since finding out you would be linked to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you break down and cry.

[myuntoldstory]

i'll marry you after this

Written for @jilymicrofics Mystery Microfic May Event. Everyone's guessed me right!

A special thanks to @eastwindmlk for the wonderful banner as well.

Prompt 9: Whisper

“I’ll f-fucking marry y-you after this,” James breathes. “You’ve already proposed to me,” she jokes, voice low and devoid of humour. It takes all her effort not to let her focus slip. “N-no, fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I m-mean marry you after t-this. I don’t want to wait. W-we can v-very well die soon and I d-don’t want to d-die without b-becoming your h-husband.”

During a mission, Lily and James find themselves in a noise-activated trap. With James injured and time running out as the Death Eaters close in on them, Lily has to work fast to save her fiancé and get out.

read on ao3 or under the cut

warnings: blood, pain, mild violence, references to dying

“James!”

A whistle, a gasp. Lily stares at the arrow with wide eyes. The head is embedded into the stone where she used to stand. She moves, foot slipping across the small puddle of blood. A loud thump echoes in the room as she falls. Panels open on the walls. She dodges the arrows flying straight at her. Something clicks as the last arrow whistles past her ear. She looks around the room where she and James have jumped in to escape the Death Eaters.

James.

He’s on the floor, teeth gritted, breathing heavily. He seems to be close to screaming. Lily shakes at the sight of him. Panic bubbles from the bottom of her stomach, and she tamps it down. Carefully, quietly, she crawls towards her fiancé, eyes darting at the walls, terrified of anything that’ll trigger it. But thank god, thank god. She reaches for him, pulls him towards her lap.

Blood. So much of it. So much of his life leaking out of him and onto stone. Her breaths come out in strained bursts. Trembling fingertips reach towards the arrow sticking out of his abdomen. She presses her hand around the wound, a futile effort to keep what’s left of him inside—her mind blanks; the four walls around them close in, trapping her, draining all hope.

“Lily—”

“Shh—shh…” she whispers, pressing crimson fingers against his mouth. “Noise… activates…”

James’ eyes flutter and dart around. “O-okay…”

“D-don’t move—”

“Fuck!”

“Sorry—I’m sorry.” She looks closely at how bad he is, how hard she has to fight the fates this time to keep him alive. She bites back a cry. “Oh my god—no, no, it’s f-fine—you’ll be f-fine.”

“C-comforting after that l-little f-freak out...” He musters a pained smile.

“S-shut up.” That’s him trying, but she can’t smile for him. Not this time. “Shut up. It’s deep and poisoned—Christ, James.” She sniffles, pushing back the tears, the panic. “I-I have a fix, but I have to—I’m sorry—I have to pull it out.”

“... I h-have to be q-quiet?”

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry—”

“F-fuck it. I-I’m ready.”

“Okay.” She braces herself. It’s like the poison inside him is transferring to her, spreading dread and an unshakeable feeling that they will not survive. Not this time. “Just… deep breath, okay, and keep quiet.”

Lily barely moves, but James hisses. She tenses, but all remains quiet. She pets James’ hair, kisses him. He barely kisses back, lips trembling, all of him shaking—whether from pain or because he’s dying. She doesn’t know—she doesn’t want to. He’ll live. She’ll make sure he fucking does. They’re not dying here. Dying here kills everything they ever fought, sacrificed, and died for, all to keep a man hellbent on destroying everything they loved at bay.

She hears the thundering footsteps of the Death Eaters in the distance. It won’t be long before they find them. If she doesn’t move now, if she keeps hesitating, then they will die here. It won’t matter what she wants. She steels herself, looks down at James, curls her hand into a tight fist and pushes her arm along his lips.

“W-what are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Bite on me.”

“What—”

“Do it, Potter; I’m pulling it out in one go.”

She shoves her arm into his mouth as he protests, at the same time pulling the arrow out in one movement. She grits her teeth, a whimper hissing out as James’ teeth sink past her skin. A quiet, muted grunt escapes him—not loud enough for the trap. They stay still for a few seconds, laboured breaths stuttering out.

Then, she gets to work.

She’s best at non-verbal healing spells, but it takes immense concentration. She stitches the wound, stops the poison from running its course, but she can’t expel it. That’s for the healers at St Mungo’s to deal with. For that to happen, they must get out. Now.

The footsteps thunder closer.

“I’ll f-fucking marry y-you after this,” James breathes.

“You’ve already proposed to me,” she jokes, voice low and devoid of humour. It takes all her effort not to let her focus slip.

“N-no, fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I m-mean marry you after t-this. I don’t want to wait. W-we can v-very well die soon and I d-don’t want to d-die without b-becoming your h-husband.”

“Okay. Marry me.” Tears sting her eyes. “Marry me. Let’s have kids.”

“R-really?”

“You want a son, right?” she grins at him, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’ll give you one.”

“I l-love you so m-much.”

“Don’t,” she grits, not mistaking the tone he let slip. “Don’t you dare.”

James nods, falling silent. They need to escape. She props James against her, looking around. Despite the trap being noise-activated, she can still do magic. An idea occurs to her—risky, but it’s their best chance. And it has to be non-verbal. Doubt makes her pause, but one look at James, and she knows it’s a risk she must take.

Holding him against her, she closes her eyes and concentrates. Two spells—both have to be perfect. She steadies her breath. In a split second, explosions thunder overhead. The panels open, and arrows rain towards its direction. At the same time, she grips James and apparates them out of the trap, leaving a loud crack in its wake.

They land on wet grass—the rendezvous point. Lily on her back, an unconscious James in her arms. There’s noise—horror, joy, alarm, familiar, safe, but it’s all fuzzy. She loses sense of everything. It all converges and crashes on her like a wave, dragging her in the rip, weighing down her lids. Her left arm throbs from James’ bite, pinpoints of pain on her shoulders, extreme heat…

But it’s okay.

They’re now safe with the Order, their friends.

So, she lets darkness overtake her.

[braineater444]

To Be a Princess

Chapter 1

Start/Next

fem!reader x kokonoi

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Abuse, Death, Blood, Strained Mother/Daughter relationships (other trigger warnings to be added)

Synopsis: What is a good relationship without its ups and downs? You and Hajime have never had a serious down until now. You can run away, but it's never that easy.

“My mother texted me,” Exasperation coats your vocal cords. A smirk paints your face when you see Koko roll his eyes, still looking down at his paperwork. You should be in bed, but the multiple sharp dings of your mother's messages forced you awake. Now, you can’t go back to sleep.

His eyes settle on you, a fond smile brightening his features. “Well, good morning to you, too.” His attention is on you as you make your way further into his office and sit on his desk to peek over at the papers he’s going through. You could count every crystal in the chandelier above you through its reflection in his eyes as he gazes up at you.

“Good morning.” You giggle when you lean down to kiss him. His chin rests in your palm as you guide him towards you. The moment your lips meet, you feel all the tenseness leave his body.

“What did she say?” He rests his head in his hand.

“Something about reconnecting and wanting to see me. I don’t know, I didn’t really read it.”

His brows furrow, and he leans back in his chair. You take him in. He smells of Bibliothèque by Byredo he bought a while ago, a recent favorite of his. The fruitiness and woodiness add an air of maturity to his already put-together demeanor. It makes sense for someone so beautiful. He shakes his head. “But if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

You smooth over your silk nightgown and shrug. You consider his face for a moment. His red eyeliner isn’t on. His skin and eyes look dull. His hair is pulled back into a half bun, half ponytail fusion. He yawns.

“How long have you been up?” You remember going to bed with him last night. When you woke at three to get water and crawled back into bed, he was there and pulled you back into his chest to cuddle. You know he’s slept, but for how long?

“I don’t know...” He taps his phone to check the time. “Maybe since five or six? My boss called and asked me if I could rush some stuff.”

His workaholic tendencies make your head hurt sometimes. You’ve told him before that you think he’ll die at that desk. “And when he called, you just got up and started working?” He rolls his eyes. “Koko, did you even eat?”

“No.”

“You’re going to have a heart attack in this office.”

“But I’ll leave you so much.” He smiles playfully, but none of this is funny.

“It’s not funny! Let’s go out for breakfast.” You hop off of his desk and head towards the door. You look back and see that his head is in his papers again. “Now!” With that, he’s moving.

✮✮✮

“Mom?” You try to sound composed over the phone as tears stream down your cheeks. You’re unsuccessful, and she starts to scramble and beg you to tell her what’s happened. You can’t. Your throat hurts and you still can’t process what’s going on. “I’m- I’m at a ho-hotel right now,” You sniffle and cough and wipe away snot. “I’m going to take a trai-n and be there tomorrow.”

You grow nauseous as your mom pleads with you to tell her what’s wrong. You hang up and collapse into a ball on the floor. Sobbing doesn’t help, but it’s the only thing you can do right now. It’s the first time since you left that you’ve had time to break down.

You fall asleep like that.

The next morning, you wake up in pain. Your eyes burn, your mouth is dry, and your bones ache. This is the lowest your life has been since meeting Hajime and possibly the worst it could be. Rock bottom. And as much as you miss the feel of your bed and his kisses on your cheeks telling you it will be alright; you know better than to return.

“It’s not his fault.” That’s what you’d thought when you came into his office last night to see the guest, you’d let in slumped over in a chair with a bullet through his head.

There had been no commotion until the sound of the gunshot. You had run to check on Hajime only to find out he was the assailant. You hadn’t even known he had a gun. Why would he have a gun? And why would he kill a random client of his? They came over all the time and nothing like this had happened before. It couldn’t have been him. Why would he do this?

You hadn’t even reacted when you saw it. You only felt your heart drop and your body tremble. Brain matter, blood, and little bone fragments covered the room. The man’s eyes were glossed over with no life inside of them. Your heart was on track to beat out of your chest and maybe you were going to pass out, but you had said little to Hajime in the moment. You stood in shock for a second before he opened his mouth to say something you didn’t quite hear, too busy processing the scene.

“Do you need help to clean?” Were all the words your mouth could form. Neither of you had expected that to be the first thing to find its way off of your tongue. Mouth agape, he nodded slowly and confused.

You left to go rummaging through the cabinets with unstable hands. You’d grabbed as much as you could hold. Never had you been prepared to clean up so much blood. There was no thought as shaky hands grabbed at glass cleaner and air freshener. When you’d come back, Hajime was staring at the body in disbelief.

“Is this the first time?” You’d asked.

He’d come clean about everything. Words spilled like water from a broken dam. He was an executive in a high-profile gang. Bonten. You’d heard of it, but only on the news. They’d been less of a gang and more of a terrorist organization. Selling drugs, dealing weapons, killing people and so much more. Hajime didn’t seem like the type, but he said it wasn’t his first time killing. He clarified that it’s not a hobby of his like it is for other people he knew. Tears filled his eyes as he told you, but they didn’t fall in that moment. He was pulling himself together as best he could. He’d never intended for you to find out. Hajime just wanted to keep you safe and take care of you. He promised.

You listened silently while scrubbing the walls as he said something about not wanting you to leave. How he couldn’t stand to lose someone else to a life like this. He’s sorry, but this is all he’s known since he was a kid. He doesn’t know how to get by in any other way. You have to believe him. He loves you. He can’t stand the idea of you leaving him.

His propositioning became a blur when he began to break down. You stopped hearing him when the tears started to fall and the look in his eyes changed from sorrow and guilt to something unhinged. His hands came up to pull at the roots of his hair and you’re sure he was screaming apologies and begging you not to leave. His mouth moved like he was begging you to say something, but all you could was scrub the wall and look at him. You don’t remember the time cleaning after that.

For the first time, you feared him and felt alone all over again. He’d become another stranger. Your heart was sitting in your lap and you were watching it beat as you figured out what to do.

While he showered, you packed a bag for when you’d make a run for it in the dark hours of the morning. You took some jewelry to pawn, comfortable clothes to make the trip in, and some of the fancy hygiene products he bought you. Then you hid the bag in one of the spare rooms, before climbing into bed to wait for him. With the state he was in, surely, he’d hurt you if he knew you were going to leave.

His kisses felt like sandpaper against your cheeks. Every time his lips touched your skin was a silent question of whether you still loved him. You did, but you couldn’t stay. Not like this. When he fell asleep, you took some cash and ran as far as you could. It wasn’t very far at all. An okay hotel near the train station about an hour away.

Twice now you’ve thought about calling the police and having him locked away forever. Once last night and now as you step out of the shower and see an accomplice in the hotel mirror. You can’t bring yourself to do it. Your head aches at the thought of him behind bars, in a small room, taking communal showers. You don’t want that for him. What you want is the normalcy back. You want him holding you. You want him telling you that you had a nightmare. You want this nasty breakup over with.

Your eyes become faucets of emotion again as you mourn. You cry and heave naked over the sink. For the first time in a long time, you’re alone in this life. Hajime cannot come to comfort you when you cry. You are at your lowest.

It comes up faster than you expect. Your stomach. Milky vomit splatters into the sink. You run the water over it as your body tremors. The sound calms you.

Your hand dips into the stream and comes up to your mouth. You gargle and spit twice. Then you splash water over your face. You’re fine.

There’s no time for this. You need to leave.

Pulling on your clothes has you thinking about other things or at least trying to distract yourself.

“What’s worse, living with a murderer or my mom?” You halfheartedly laugh to yourself. It’s too much to think about right now.

You haven’t worn a sweatsuit in quite some time. Koko hated what he called “lazy clothes” and insisted you are too beautiful to wear them. Of course, you still had some, but you could never do more than look at them. Not until now. You’re sure your mother would be just as disapproving for similar reasons.

You laugh again at the thought of neither of them liking this outfit. A soft yellow sweat suit and white sneakers. It’d break both of their hearts.

A soft knock at your door interrupts your thoughts, and you stiffen.

“Room service.” Says a gruff, masculine voice on the other side.

Just room service. You unclench.

“No, thank you!” You shout as you grab your bag and ready yourself to leave.

“It’s important.” The voice sings back. “You left something at the front desk. I need to return it to you.”

Oh?

You crack the door open just enough for your foot to fit through. The man is tall and angular. Dress shirt. Tie. Black slacks. Loafers. Expensive Prada Loafers. He reeks of cigarette smell. Acrid and off-putting. Nothing in his hands but the rings that adorn his scarred fingers. Your eyes travel up to his face.

Slicked back black hair. Prominent streaks of grey in thick stripes. Massive scar across his eye. He doesn’t work here. Your heart jumps to a start.

You scramble to close the door, but he’s strong enough to just push his way in and have you falling on your ass in the process. The door swings shut, the lock clicks, and a gun is pointed at you. His finger comes to his lips to hush you before you can think of screaming.

“It’s early. I’m tired. And I don’t want to be here.” He reaches his free hand out to help you up off the floor. You stare frozen in fear, labored breathing, unable to think until you notice his gesture and offer a hand so he can pull you up. “Can you just come with me so I can drop you off to Koko and go about my day?”

Your saliva becomes glue holding your mouth shut. You can do nothing but stare into his eyes.

“Hello?” He waves his gun in your face and you flinch away.

You offer a slow, cautious shake of your head. Your feet carry you a couple of steps back. He follows.

“You have to.” He asserts, shoving the gun’s muzzle under your chin.

For some reason, you're embarrassed by your trembling. You try to stop it, but can’t. Your eyes are blown wide and your hands shake as you grab the man’s wrist to pull the gun from under your chin.

“I can’t.” You barely manage. Tears fill your eyes as you back away again. The man doesn’t move with you. He looks more confused and irritated than anything. He’s nothing but furrowed brows and hard eyes.

“Listen…” He groans as he watches you wipe away tears as they fall. “I don’t know what the hell this is about, nor do I care, but my boss told me to get you and bring you to Koko,” He steps closer and shoves the gun into his waistband. “I’m not a fan of brutalizing attractive young women, but I will if I have to. Then I’ll carry you out of here and take you to him.”

You understand you’re leaving with him either way.

✮✮✮

He’s enough of a gentleman to have grabbed all of your stuff for you and thrown it into his backseat, but not enough of a gentleman to not kidnap you. Enough of a gentleman to open the door to his SUV for you, but not enough of a gentleman to not point a gun at you.

When his car starts, the feeling of dread sinks in. This is happening. This is not a dream. Your ex is a man powerful enough to have you kidnapped. 

You try to suck it up and stop your tears, but you keep sniffling. Hajime is a sick bastard to send a man with a gun after you. How could he?

“What’s your name?” The man's voice interrupts your thoughts. You say nothing. “Fair.” He brushes you off. “I understand it. I’m human too.” 

Hard to believe.

“My name is Takeomi.” He looks away from the road to shoot a halfhearted grin. “I’ll have to learn your name later, right?”

“Please let me go.” You demand through sniffles. You try to toughen your act as the tears dry up. Still, you feel pathetic.

He ignores you.

“I thought he was gay.” He doesn’t turn to look at you this time. “You know, I thought I’d be picking up a man.”

Oh?

“…but you’re incredibly beautiful so, I understand if he suddenly changed his mind.”

What?

He doesn’t say much after that, and just drives. You stare out of the window and hold back tears.

By the time you arrive, you’ve calmed down. You linger in the car as Takeomi grabs your things and calls Hajime, but the moment he opens the door it’s a march of death. 

Takeomi waits with you at the elevator. He can’t stand this, you can tell. Even without moving, his stance is impatient. You can hear the hum of the elevator moving. The closer it sounds the more your heart races.

DING!

No. No.

You take a step back as the elevator doors open. You look at Takeomi who looks back at you and shrugs.

No.

You’re half ready to run when a hand guides you into the elevator. You keep your head down. Hajime mutters out a thank you and you see them exchanging your luggage. They don’t say goodbye.

The penthouse is the same. Same sweet smell. Same shiny wooden floors. Same warmth. But it’s not your home anymore. It’s your new gilded cage. 

Hajime drops your bag and suddenly you’re surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent. He’s everything you can sense. His floral conditioner. His musky cologne. His well-trimmed nails against your scalp.

“Hajime…”

He pulls away. There’s a darkness in his eyes when you finally look at him. His hair is a mess. He hasn’t brushed it like he usually would. His makeup isn’t done. He is still in his pajamas. It’s been less than a day and already he’s in disarray.

“Why did you abandon me when all I do is take care of you?” He stresses. “I do everything to keep you safe and beautiful and you run after one mistake?”

“Mistake?” Your voice shakes. “Killing someone is a mistake?”

“I was doing my job.”

“Fuck you.” An immediate slap to your cheek blurs your vision. 

First, it’s shock, then it’s anger, then it’s tears. Koko doesn’t seem remorseful though. With furrowed brows, he says, “I love you and you abandoned me. I took care of you when that bitch of a mother threw you out and you crawled into Tokyo from the shithole you came from. But fuck me?”

Crazy. He’s actually crazy.

You slap him back and the look on his face changes from seething anger to hurt. Before he can react, you dart from the doorway all the way to the bedroom unsure of if he’s chasing you. Immediately you lock it. Finally, you can breathe, but the air is full of him.

[tikosblogg]

Free Fall// pt 1.

Summary: Roxanne lived her life in foster care, after her parent’s lives were ripped away. Leaving her alone. She’s lost all hope, her will to live…until she meets him.

Warnings: talks of suicide. Depression, anxiety. Please do not read if that triggers you. Smut (eventually) angst.

A/N : AHHHHH IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS STORY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. This story is a bit on the heavier side. A lot of the subjects in this book, are things that I do or have struggled with. I hope you guys enjoy it.❤️ here is pt 1. I’m going on vacation soon, so updates will probably be slow for a bit, but when I get back, I will be planning to update atleast twice a week! Please let me know what you guys think! ❤️ also it’s 2AM so this isn’t proof read. I apologize.

“GET UP!” My eyes shot open, as my blanket was ripped from my body. I quickly sat up, frantically looking around my room for the sudden harsh voice that pulled me from my sleep. “I said get the hell up!” My sleep filled haze finally cleared up, has my eyes landed on the culprit. Jamie. Our house “mother.”

I stood from the gross dingy mattress on the floor that I called my “bed.” Standing in front of her. She stared at me, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She flipped her flat blonde hair over her shoulder, before propping it on her hip. “Do you know what time it is?” I looked around, and outside the window above my bed, the sun barely above the horizon.

“Early?” Her hand quickly shot out, across my face. Sending my body flying onto the floor. “I won’t tolerate a smart ass little girl in my house!” I wiped my mouth, blood smearing on my hand. “If you’re not downstairs starting chores in 2 minutes you will be punished.” She gave me one last dirty look before walking out of my room, slamming the door behind her.

I rolled over onto my back, releasing a heavy sigh. This is my life. 16 years old, still stuck in a foster home where my life does not matter. I’ve been here since I was 12 years old. My parents and I were in an awful car crash that took their lives. Having no other family to take me in, forced me to go into foster care. Every night I wondered why I couldn’t have just died with him. Instead I’m stuck here. I stopped asking why no families ever wanted me two years ago.

2 years ago..

I looked up from writing in my journal to a knock on my door. “Come in.” Jamie walked in with the biggest fake smile, and a young couple following behind her. “Roxanne, this is Gina and Lawrence, they wanted to meet you.” I looked at the nice couple, sending a shy wave their way. The woman Gina, walked closer to me, with a big smile. “Hi Roxanne, it’s nice to meet you.”

I nodded, staring at her outstretched hand. “Hi Gina.” She awkwardly pulled her hand away, her smile faltering a bit. She looked so soft, and gentle. I wanted to tell her it had nothing to do with her. I just don’t like being touched. She turned towards her husband, beckoning him closer. “She’s so beautiful isn’t she?” I felt my face flush. I haven’t been called beautiful since I was with my parents.

It was strange being complimented, and looked at, as if I mattered. I learned real quick when I got thrown into this place, that I don’t matter. That I’m nothing but a waste of a life. That I’m not and never will be loved. Lawrence gave his wife a small smile, giving her a slight nod. I could see the hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t like me. Jamie walked over, placing her hand on Gina’s shoulder.

“I have one more girl to introduce you to. I just know you will love her.” Gina nodded her head, giving me one more smile before standing up and grabbing her husband's hand. They followed Jamie out of my room, down the hall to Zoey’s room. Zoey was my best friend. My only friend, and the only one who talks to me. We don’t talk a lot, but it’s more than anyone else. Most of the time, we just sit together, and read in each other's rooms.

A week later, Gina and Lawrence come back. Me and Zoey sat on the couch in the living room reading our books. I see Gina and Lawrence walking our way. I could feel my heart pound, with anxiety and a small bit of hope that they are coming for me. When they got to us, Gina smiled at me. “Hi Roxanne.” I smiled, nodding my head at her.

This is it. I’m finally leaving this hell hole. I’m finally gonna have a family again. A family that loves, and cares for me. Lawrence glanced my way, sending a curt nod towards me. “Are you ready to go home?” My heart stopped. I could feel it ripping a part in my chest. I watched with teary eyes, as he held his hand out to Zoey. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Gina sent me a hurt look, before I turned my gaze away from them. Zoey turned her head towards me, tears already rolling down her soft cheeks. “I’ll miss you rox.” I finally let my tears fall, as she pulled me into a tight hug. “I’ll never forget you.” I pulled away, nodding my head. “I’ll miss you too.” She finally took Lawrence’s hand, giving me one last look, before walking away.

My only friend is now gone. I’m officially alone. A few minutes later, Jamie walked in. She stood in front of me, crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t really think they would choose you did you?” I held in my sobs, as I looked up at her. “You are nothing Roxanne. I think you forget that.” She gave me one last look, before leaving. I quickly got up, sprinting to my room. Finally letting out all the pain and heartbreak.

Present day

I finally got up, grabbing my clothes and heading to the bathroom to shower. I turned the shower on, all the way on hot. I looked in the mirror, taking in my appearance. I looked awful. My hair was flat, dull and greasy. I have dark circles under my eyes. My now throbbing cheek was red, and my bottom lip was already swelling. As soon as steam started coming from the shower, I hopped in. The scalding water burned my skin.

I’m so numb, I just wanted to feel something. After a few minutes of just standing under the water, I washed my hair, and scrubbed my body. I stepped out, getting dressed. I pulled on my underwear, my distressed jeans, and my black hoodie. I gave myself one more look in the mirror. We weren’t allowed to wear makeup, or have any hair products but god knows I need it.

I walked out of the bathroom heading downstairs with the rest of the girls. There’s me, and 5 others. After Zoey went home with her new parents, I made it my mission to not be friends with any of the other girls. They would all end up leaving me anyway. I walked into the kitchen, grabbing the mop and getting started on my chores along with everyone else.

After dinner, I made my way back to my room. Throwing myself onto my mattress. I’m so tired. I’m so numb. Is this life even worth living at this point? I’m 16 years old, I have no family. Jamie might be a fucking cunt, but she’s right. I’m nothing. I could die right now, and nobody would even bat an eye. Nobody would even miss me. So that’s what I decided to do. Maybe dying is my only way out. I can’t last two more years in this prison.

I’ll be free. No more sadness, anxiety, abuse…it would all be gone. I sat up, slipping my feet into my worn out shoes. I walked over to the door, creaking it open listening for anyone moving about. After a few seconds of silence, I deemed it safe. I walked over to my mattress grabbing my mini flashlight that I use for when I write in my journal at night, and stepped up onto my bed. I quietly slid my window open, and pulled myself up. Swinging my legs over, and onto the fire escape I pulled my hood over my head, and started my way down.

I went as quickly and quietly as I could. When my feet finally hit the ground, I ran. I don’t know where I was going, but I wanted to get as far away from here as I could. When I got far enough, I stopped. I looked around, taking in my surroundings. It was so dark, the only light being from the tall street lights, scattered down the sidewalk. I spotted what looked like an abandoned brick building. It was so tall, I had to crane my neck, just to see what used to be the sign with the name of the hospital across it.

Some of the letters had fallen off, leaving an imprint of what used to be there. “Miracle hospital” good enough. I walked up to the doors, attempting to pull them open. With no luck, I huffed making my way back down the stairs. I walked around the building, seeing a side door cracked open. I made my way over, taking a closer look. There was a chain hanging from the door handle, clearly used to keep the door locked. Hmm… without a second thought, I opened the door, and creeped my way inside.

It smelled stale, and damp. I shined my flashlight around, looking for a way up to the roof. After a few minutes of wandering around, I saw a heavy medal door, with a small plaque that was labeled “stairs.” Swinging it open I made my way up. After many flights of stairs, I got to the very top. I stopped in front of another metal door, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. My legs burned from exhaustion.

After finally catching my breath, I slowly pushed the door open. As I walked out onto the roof, the cool wind swirled around me. I pushed my hood down, taking in the view. It was beautiful. I could see all the pretty lights from the other side of town. It sparkled with so much life. A silent tear fell down my cheek as I imagined what I would be doing with my parents right now if they were still alive.

Would we be living over there? In a nice house? A place that I could call home? Where I’m actually loved, and wanted? Instead of here, in the rundown part of town. Where everything is dark, cold.. empty? I took a few steps closer, looking over the edge. Suddenly realizing how far up I am. Sudden movement to my right, made me jump back. I pointed my flashlight at a figure sitting on the edge across from me.

All I could see was their back. They wore a black hoodie similar to mine. “Hello?” I walked closer, until I stood just behind them, only a couple feet of space between us. The person was silent for a minute, before finally speaking. “You gonna jump too?” I stood there in shock, their smooth deep voice, echoing through my head. Did I really just interrupt someone trying to off themself? I took another timid step closer. “That was the plan.” His shoulders shook with a tired chuckle.

I turned off my flashlight, deciding to take a seat beside him. He finally looked over at me, making me freeze. He was a good looking guy. He had on a black toboggan under his hood, and long brown hair sticking out of the bottom of it, reaching just below his shoulders. He looked about my age. He smirked, pulling down his hood. What little light we had from the moon, I could see his hand was covered in tattoos.

He sat quietly as I looked him over unashamedly. My eyes shot back to his. I wasn’t sure what color they were, but they were so dark they almost looked black. “What’s your name?” I finally pulled my eyes away, looking down at our legs as they dangled off the side of the building. “Roxanne. What’s yours?” He was silent, until I looked back over at him. His eyes staring deep into mine. “Noah…hell of a way to meet huh?”

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

chapter 7 - the hard decisions

series masterlist

Warnings: Murder, guns, violence, mentions of blood. Readers badass asf

chapter summary: it’s either you kill or be killed. You, big john, john b and Sarah are stuck in the cave with Singh, and you have to make a decision.

You pulled Big john behind a rock, both of you hiding behind it.

“Mr Routledge!” Singh shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the dark cave, shining his flashlight around to find you both. “John!”

You held your hand over big John’s mouth to quiet his loud breathing, looking around for any sort of escape.

Singh bent over, seeing more blood. He gathered it in his fingers, and chuckled, knowing he was still around somewhere. “Where are you, John? I know you’re here somewhere!”

The grip on your gun got harder, knuckles turning white at this point. You swallowed, looking down at your trembling hands.

“There’s only one way out of here, John. You can’t hide from me much longer, you know.”

It was then that John B came out of the water, holding his flare. Singh pointed his gun towards the boy.

You stood up from behind the rock, holding and cocking your own gun to his head. He glanced at you.

He chuckled. “It’ll be a mistake to shoot me, Ms. Maybank.” He told you, you breathing heavily and shaking your head.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t.” You shouted, feeling anger course your body.

“If you shoot me, I shoot the Routledge boy.”

“Well, if you’re dead before you get the chance… you won’t.” You tilted your head to the side.

“And If you kill me, my men are gonna hunt after you. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”

You swallowed, shaking your head. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” You aimed the gun to his head, making sure to steady your hands.

“Y/n. Don’t.” Sarah shook her head, you turning to look at her. She looked at you pleadingly, you shook your head, turning back to Singh.

“Any last words?” You tilted your head, he just had that stupid smug smile on his face that made you see red. Your fingers on the trigger, you fell back slightly when you took the shot.

The gunshot rang throughout the cave, his body falling limp, and just like you said, he didn’t even get the chance to shoot John B. His blood splattered onto your face and clothes.

“Y/n…” John B murmured in horror, looking at the body laying in front of you.

“C’mon, we gotta go.” You motioned for them to move. “Come on!” You exclaimed, seeing them not move an inch.

“You… you shot him.” Sarah mumbled, still in shock when you all were out the cave. You turned to her, huffing.

“Someone has to make the hard decisions sometimes, right?” You shrugged. “I’m… I just saved your lives, so, don’t give me that… that bullshit right now, okay? Anyone could have heard that gunshot, so let’s fucking pick it up unless you wanna lose the damn gold.”

Big john nodded, all of you walking away from the cave, you in front of them all.

“I think I need to sit. I need to sit. I need to sit for a sec.” Big john spoke, you sighing and turning around again, stopping so he had a moment.

Sarah threw the bag over her shoulder onto the floor with a groan, the gold clanking.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Oh yeah.” John B smiled.

“Big John, it’s beautiful.” She reached through the bag, pulling out a nugget of gold. Your yes widening.

“We found it. Just like you said.” John B mumbled to him.

“It was like nothing you could ever imagine. That you could ever…”

Big John turned to his son, who nodded. “You were right.”

Sarah laughed, “It’s all like, gold… everywhere.” She sighed.

“Sarah figured out the riddle. The- the walking in the darks.”

“That a girl. Thank you, Sarah.” Big john smiled at her, she smiled back and chuckled. You heard rustling in the trees, causing you to turn around and point your gun to the figure in the trees.

“Oh, what the fuck, you again?!” You explained.

“So sweet, you know?” Ward spoke, holding his gun out to Big John. “One big happy family, huh?”

“Dad, what are you doing?” Sarah asked shakily, walking towards him.

“I’m too tired to hold my hands up, Ward. So if you’re not good with that, you can just shoot me now.”

“Well, watch what you wish for, my old friend.”

You still held your gun up to him, swallowing the lump in your throat. Ward looked towards you.

“Now, now, honey, Rafe wouldn’t be too happy if you shot me, would he?”

He had you there. Rafe would never forgive you. And you both were finally on good terms. Not to mention Sarah right behind you. You hesitated before lowering your arm and gun.

He smiled, turning his attention back to Big John.

“Put the gun down.” Sarah gritted through her teeth.

“Shut up, Sarah.” Ward spoke, beginning to walk towards you all. “You have it all, don’t you, John? Now you get everything, huh?” He walked towards Sarah, his eyes on the gold nugget in her hand.

Despite your hands and gun being at your sides, you found yourself gripping it tighter when she handed him the gold.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You get to go home, back to Kildare. Live happily ever after. With your son… that loves you.” His eyes went to John B before they flickered back to Sarah. “And my daughter… who hates me.” He exhaled through his nose, looking down, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, John. I don’t think I can allow that.”

“Killing him is just gonna make her hate you more, you know that, right?” You chimed in, rolling your eyes when he turned to you. He turned back to Sarah, ignoring your comment.

You saw some people peaking out from behind him. Your eyes widening. You lifted your arms and gun back up, tilting your head and motioning for them to hurry.

“I already killed one old geezer today, I won’t mind making it a second.” You said with a shrug. “You shoot him, I blow your brains out right now, and you don’t get to go home.” You sneered, just trying to buy the pogues some time.

“Shut up!” He exclaimed.

“Is this ride or die?” Jj asked them.

“P4L.” Cleo spoke, pulling out her sword.

“P4L.”

“P4L.”

“Fricking P4L.” Jj exhaled.

“You’re supposed to be dead. I think I liked you better that way.” Ward told big john, cocking his gun.

“And I liked you better when you shut the fuck up.” You chuckled, hearing all the pogues screaming. Ward turned.

“Ward, Ward stop right now!”

“Put it down!”

“Stay!”

They all had him cornered with large knives, you still holding your gun to his body.

“Stand back, stand back!” Ward shouted, pointing his gun to everyone.

“Come on, you’re outnumbered, Ward!” You spoke. “Give up, dude. Nice to see you guys by the way. You know, you could’ve been faster but..” you shrugged, talking to the pogues, smiling at your brother.

“Missed you, too y/n.” JJ tilted his head up, smiling back.

Taglist:

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm @ethanthequeefqueen @theoraekenslover @just-levyy a

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Let’s accept I have a problem shall we?

1-Bones Imagine Dragons

“Is this fucking entertaining?!” Izuku can’t help the shout as he stares at Bakugou on stage, the muzzle on his face. He won’t lie, a part of him is spitefully amused seeing his former bully looking like that. The rest of him is angry. Bitter. Disgusted.

“I think it’s pretty funny,” Tomura snort, grinning at the display on the screen.

“Isn’t this what we want to change?” Izuku demands. Tomura rolls his eyes, shrugging carelessly. Izuku grits his teeth, nails biting into his skin as he makes fists.

He’d made a horrible mistake, hadn’t he?

2-Senorita Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello

She shouldn’t be doing this. She should be running away right now, should be grabbing her phone to call the police.

Instead she’s got her arms wrapped around the broad shoulders of a villain who is busy kissing her like there’s nothing else he could ever want to do.

Izumi gasps, pulling back as she pants, wincing at the taste of blood in her mouth. He’d nicked her tongue.

“Sorry,” Todoroki Shouto, the villain known as Frostbiter said. He grinned, his tongue flicking out to show it’s piercing. “Changed it out,” he went back to kissing her and Izumi lost herself. “Oh sweetheart,” Shouto whispered in her ear, hands grabbing her hips. “You’re so good for me.”

Izumi shouldn’t be doing this.

But she couldn’t stop.

3-Toxic Britney Spears

“-and another murder has been discovered today-”

“-this is the third prohero in the last two weeks to die-”

“Look, all I’m saying is we should be looking into people with analyst quirks-”

The news blasted from all directions as Izumi walked down the street, clutching her bag in her arms. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to look up at anyone. Her shoulders lifted as more news came from a random persons phone, saying the recent death was part of class B from UA, a pro-hero named Battlefist.

Izumi scurried away, heading to her apartment. Opening the door, she froze.

“Hello Izumi,” Tomura said, looking up from his video game. Izumi stared at him, before she dropped her bag on the ground, kicking her shoes off. She threw herself at Tomura, who snorted, but caught her, enjoying the firm kiss she pressed to his mouth.

“Was it bloody?” she begged.

“Only the bloodiest,” he said. “All according to your plans,” he lifted the notebook she’d given him that day, with her sparkling eyes, eager to know what he would do.

4- Hayloft II Mother Mother

BANG.

Tenya barely has a second to realize what’s going on before Stain dives away from a bullet. Standing at the end of the alley is the green haired figure of Green Knight, the TA for his class. Tenya stared at the other teen in surprise before he shoots another bullet. Stain dodges again, cursing.

“You, Green Knight- you FAKE-” the villain says but Green Knight doesn't stop. Stain’s fast enough to dodge bullets, and Tenya has to know how he learned that, but Green Knight gives no rest, moving forward slowly and surely. Stain lunges while dodging, aiming to cut the hero, but it seems that was his plan all along, as the Green Knight lifted his gun to press it right against the villain’s head.

BANG.

Tenya stared in horror at the body as Native coughed from where he was. Green Knight turned his head towards them, eyes calculating.

“Well Iida, it seems you may be getting special lessons soon.”

(I have to include this: imagine Stain running right at Izuki who steps aside at the last second. The camera slows as Izuku lifts the gun, Stain looking at Izuku in shock before he pulls the trigger. That was what was going through my mind)

5- Mine, Bazzi

“What?” Izuku asked, looking up from where he’d been writing in his notebook, babbling a mile a way as Rody watched.

“You’re beautiful,” Rody told him. Izuku flushed, glancing away before looking up with a smile.

“So are you,” Izuku told him. Rody shrugged, grabbing his coffee to sip it.

“Not as much as you.”

“Rody, stop distracting me!” Izuku laughed. “I need to get this ready for my students.”

“Ah you just reminded me of my teacher-”

“RODY!” Izuku shouted, but he was smiling, so Rody won.

6- Shivers Ed Sheeran

Izuku’s Quirk isn’t something he likes thinking about. Or well he does. It’s a useful Quirk! Izuku likes his Quirk!

He just also doesn’t like using it because of the connentations. A kissing Quirk is all good, but when the kiss has to be on the mouth?

It gets side eyes. Izuku remembers discovering it, kissing his aunt on the cheek but she was turning her head when their lips connected. Suddenly being able to tell what your Quirk was, what it did, and what you could use it for.

He loved it. At first.

It kind of stopped being something cool when he was told he just wanted to kiss people. When he got called pervert. Even actual proof of his Quirk did nothing to quiet the rumours. So when people forcefully kissed him to make him write it down, no one would believe him. Even his own mother didn’t- not really.

Izuku didn’t like thinking about his Quirk. It wasn’t a bad one.

If only he didn’t need lip contact.

“Wait, we have to kiss for it to work?” Shinsou Hitoshi flushed, touching his lips. Izuku felt his face flush. The handsome purple haired teen didn’t seem upset…

Maybe it wasn’t that bad of a thing then… sometimes.

(He still wished it didn’t though.)

7- Feeling Good Micheal Buble

No one understood it. Not really.

Oh sure, she was the doll of Tomura. A little pet he kept around. The Quirkless girl with the big boobs who was always with him. Izumi knew exactly what they thought of her. She didn’t mind it. But no one understood it.

Even Dabi barely gave her a glance, though that was the mommy issues he had mixed with the sexism his father tipped down his throat. He didn’t understand the power she had.

Toga didn’t, but then Toga was to in love with blood to care.

Twice just didn’t notice.

Mr. Compress was oblivious, Spinner had a one track mind…

No one understood it.

Izumi smiled, looking at her notebook as she wrote down a list of targets. Tomura had been ‘accidentally’ reading over her shoulder the first time he used her list. A list of people who hurt her. A therapy tactic to write it down and burn it she learned after the death of her mother.

It made her feel better knowing they were dead.

8- The Other Side, The Greatest Showman

“Don’t you want him dead?” the villain asked. Tenya took a step back, eyes locked on the other teen. Midoriya Izuku, or Mastermind, smiled with all his teeth.

“I don’t know what-” Tenya began, but Midoriya cut him off.

“Stain. Don’t you want him dead?” the question made Tenya pause. “I can make it happen if you want.”

“No,” Tenya shook his head. He… no, after being denied internships after the murder of classmates they made him go to therapy. He would not-

“I liked your brother,” Midoriya said. “He was a good hero. What Stain did, was horrific. I don’t hold with that way of thinking. Stain is scum, and he should be put down like the animal he is.” He offered his hand. “Don’t you agree?”

Tenya looked at the hand, and back up, his heart pounding in his ears.

9- Believer, Imagine Dragons.

Izuku smirked, looking at the crowd of people who had all gathered around to hear him. He ran a hand through his short hair.

“So, to finish my sad story, Bakugou here told me to kill myself.” Izuku gestured at the blonde tied to the chair, who’d been to busy staring in horror at the green haired teenager to speak. “And then, All Might, said I should be more realistic about my goal,” Izuku motioned to the other blonde tied to a chair, though a nicer one.

“Young Midoriya-” All Might, in his skinny form, tried.

“And my mom,” Izuku laughed darkly. “She’s been deadnaming me since I came out, only at home though. Has to give forth the image of a perfect mother right? So when she texts me that my husband has been chosen and he’s eager to meet his wife… what choices do I have?” Izuku laughed, harsh and loud.

“And wasn’t Bakugou right? I got a Quirk in the next life.”

10- Sway with Me, Saweetie, GALAXARA

Izumi had a concert to do, one that all of 1A went to. Partly because PR, having Iuzmi’s class support her, partly because they wanted to do it. None of them were ready though for it.

A ballet designed to tell the story of the final battle between Materhorn and Lady Nebula was not what they expected, but watching the story of a battle between here and villain was entrancing.

Shouto could barley look away, watching her dance. She played Lady Nebula, the villain bent on world domination. She was beautiful, dancing around the stage, her moves powerful.

He couldn’t look away.