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novaursa · 11 days

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The Cold Embrace (1/2)

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- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is an only daughter of Rhaenyra and has a striking resemblance to her. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. This series will be on my second list, which has the link on my first one that is pinned to the top. @missisjoker I hope this is what you had in mind. Let me know if I'm on the right track. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 500+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @jellybeanstacey0519 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @strengthandstay @anne-mary-1d @lovelyteenagebeard

- A/N: Yeah, this came way earlier then expected. But you guys liked the idea so much more than I anticipated. So, I've decided to spend last night working on this for you guys. The second part should be out tomorrow. Let me know what you think. I love all of you. ❤️

You stand in the brisk morning air, the cold wind biting at your cheeks as you prepare to mount Silverwing. Her massive form shifts beside you, her silver scales gleaming like molten moonlight against the grey clouds above. You can feel her anticipation under your skin, the bond between you and your dragon humming with unspoken energy. She longs for the sky, to fly north where the winds grow colder and the world harsher.

But you are not ready to take flight—not yet. Not with the anger burning inside you.

"You're being unreasonable," Jacaerys snaps, his voice sharp as he paces before you. He’s dressed for the journey north, his cloak billowing in the wind, but there’s something frantic in his movements, something desperate.

"Unreasonable?" You scoff, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. The sting of betrayal simmers beneath your skin. "You promised me to a man I've never met, Jace! A Northern brute! Without even asking me—"

Jacaerys whirls around, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. "He's not a brute, Y/N. Cregan Stark is an honorable man, more honorable than most in the South. The North would follow him into the very mouth of the abyss if he asked. And he’s given his word to support our mother’s claim. We need his alliance. We need him."

Your lips curl into a sneer, the heat rising in your chest, fueling the fire of your indignation. "If you like him so much, perhaps you should marry him!"

He blinks at you, stunned for a heartbeat, before his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he struggles for control. "Don’t be absurd. This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for our family, for the realm. You’re Rhaenyra’s daughter—your marriage isn’t a matter of love. It’s a duty."

You feel the words like a slap, the weight of expectation heavy and suffocating, like the iron chains they would use to hold down a dragon. You look at him, your older brother, the one who has always been steadfast, always so sure of himself, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him.

"Is that what you think?" Your voice is cold, but beneath it, there’s a tremor of hurt you can’t quite suppress. "That I’m just a pawn? A piece to be traded for an alliance?"

Jacaerys steps closer, lowering his voice, softening, as though he believes that will calm the storm brewing inside you. "You are not a pawn, Y/N. But you are the blood of the dragon. We all have our roles to play in this war."

"You had no right," you hiss, stepping away from him, your boots crunching in the frost-laden grass. "You had no right to promise me to him. To anyone."

"And what would you have me do?" he counters, his patience fraying. "Our enemies surround us. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Hightowers—everyone is closing in. The North is our only hope for a strong ally, someone who can challenge them. Cregan Stark is not some savage; he’s a lord with a sense of duty, of honor. He will treat you with respect."

Your laughter is sharp, bitter, and it echoes off the stones of Dragonstone. "Respect? Is that what you call it? Being shipped off like a prize mare to bear the North's sons?"

Jacaerys' face tightens. "I would never do this if I didn’t believe it was necessary. Cregan is a man of his word. He is strong and kind, not like the men you fear. He lost his wife, Arra, and he’s raising their son alone. He needs a partner, someone who will stand beside him—"

"Then send yourself!" you shout, your voice rising with your fury. "If he’s so wonderful, if he’s the great honorable man you say, then you marry him!"

Jacaerys’ face turns red, his frustration boiling over, but for a moment he says nothing. He looks at you as if he’s trying to find the right words, but you see it—the tension in his shoulders, the anger tightening his mouth. "This isn’t a game, Y/N."

"No, it’s not," you say quietly, your voice suddenly cool. "This is my life. My future. And you’ve sold it without even asking me."

Silence hangs heavy between you, the sound of Silverwing’s wings shifting behind you the only break in the air. The dragon’s molten eyes flick toward Jacaerys, sensing the tension, the mounting storm between siblings.

Jacaerys runs a hand through his hair, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did it to protect us. To protect our family. You may not see it now, but Cregan will be good to you. The North respects strength, and you are stronger than any woman I know."

Your throat tightens. You want to scream, to rail against him, but a part of you knows Jace is sincere. He isn’t cruel, but he is blind—blind to what he’s asking of you.

"Do you even hear yourself, Jace?" Your voice trembles with the effort to hold back tears. "You’re asking me to leave everything I’ve ever known, to live in a land of snow and ice with a man I’ve never met, all because you think it will save our family? Do you really believe that’s what mother would want?"

He flinches at the mention of your mother, the memory of her fierce love for her children, for her legacy. But he doesn’t back down. "Mother would want us to win."

You stare at him, your heart pounding, torn between the duty that’s been drilled into you since birth and the yearning for freedom, for control over your own fate. You think of your mother, Rhaenyra, and how she fought for her own place, how she refused to let men dictate her life. And yet here you stand, your fate in the hands of another.

Silverwing lets out a low rumble, her massive form shifting impatiently. She is ready, but you are not.

You turn from Jace, your chest tight with too many emotions to name. "I’m flying north because I have no choice. But know this—I will not be a tool, not for you, not for anyone."

Jace says nothing, watching as you pull yourself onto Silverwing’s back, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You do not look back as you urge her into the sky, the powerful beats of her wings carrying you away from Dragonstone, toward the North and the unknown future that awaits you.

But as you soar higher, the air growing colder with every passing mile, one thought burns in your mind: you will forge your own path, no matter what it costs.

The chill of winter’s breath clung to the stones of Winterfell, seeping into the bones of man and beast alike. Cregan Stark stood before the gates, his dark cloak billowing in the biting wind. Beside him were his bannermen and retainers, a stoic, silent line of Northern strength, faces weathered by years of enduring harsh winters. They had gathered to greet the prince from the South and the bride he had promised—a woman whose name had begun to spread in whispers as far as the Dreadfort and beyond the Last Hearth.

Cregan’s jaw was set, his grey eyes scanning the sky. He’d heard the tales—stories of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter, a woman as wild as the lands beyond the Wall, as fierce as her dragon. He imagined what she might be like. Some said she was a reflection of her mother, Rhaenyra—beautiful, with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins. Others said she was untamable, a dragon in human form.

A woman of fire, sent to a land of ice.

"She’ll be a challenge," Cregan’s cousin, Lord Roderick, muttered beside him, his breath visible in the frigid air. "If the tales are true, she won’t be easy to tame."

Cregan didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t one for gossip, nor did he concern himself with idle rumors. But something about this arrangement unsettled him. When Prince Jacaerys had promised him a wife in exchange for the North’s support, Cregan had not expected the princess herself, a daughter of Rhaenyra. A dragon for a wolf.

A low rumble echoed across the valley then, drawing the attention of every man present. The horses whinnied in distress, stamping their hooves, eyes wide with fear. The air seemed to vibrate with power, an unseen force growing stronger, louder.

“They’re here,” Cregan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Two figures appeared in the sky, massive and dark against the pale, snow-laden clouds. The dragons soared over the towering pines of the Wolfswood, their leathery wings beating rhythmically as they approached Winterfell. Cregan felt a rush of awe despite himself. It was not often that dragons graced these cold lands.

The first dragon—Vermax—descended gracefully, his wings cutting through the air like a blade. Prince Jacaerys sat tall upon his mount, his dark hair whipping in the wind. He was the picture of regal authority, his presence commanding respect even from a distance.

But it was the second dragon that drew Cregan’s gaze. Silverwing, an ancient beast whose silver scales glinted in the weak northern sunlight, landed with a thunderous crash. The earth trembled under her weight, sending the horses into a frenzy. Men struggled to calm the beasts, their hands gripping reins tightly.

Upon her back sat the princess.

Even from afar, Cregan could feel her presence, as sharp as a blade drawn from its scabbard. Her silver hair, so much like her dragon’s, fluttered around her face, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. There was fire there—burning, unyielding. And behind that fire, anger. Deep, simmering anger.

She didn’t want to be here.

Cregan’s chest tightened as he watched her dismount with the fluid grace of someone born to command dragons. There was nothing meek or timid in her stance. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw the ire that burned within her. She resented this, resented him, and the weight of the bargain struck between Jacaerys and himself.

Jacaerys approached first, a polite smile tugging at his lips as he offered a short bow. "Lord Stark," he greeted, his voice smooth but firm. "I bring greetings from my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. We are honored by your hospitality."

Cregan inclined his head in return, his gaze flicking to the princess before returning to Jacaerys. "Winterfell welcomes you both. The North stands ready, as promised."

Jacaerys’ smile widened, but it was the princess who drew closer, her expression cold and distant. She remained silent, her eyes locking onto Cregan’s, challenging him with her defiance. There was no warmth in her, no courtesy of courtly manners. Her posture was rigid, tense, as though she would sooner mount her dragon and fly away than speak a word to him.

"So," Cregan said after a pause, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, "you are the princess."

She lifted her chin slightly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a sneer. "It seems I am." Her voice was sharp, each word laced with irritation. She glanced at Jacaerys briefly, her eyes narrowing before returning to Cregan. "Though I wasn’t given much choice in the matter."

Cregan’s brow lifted slightly, but he held his ground. He had expected resistance, had prepared himself for the fire she would bring. But seeing it now, face-to-face, was something else entirely.

"You will find that the North values honor," Cregan replied, his tone measured. "And in the North, we do not force our women into anything against their will. If you find yourself unwilling, you may leave at any time."

Her eyes flashed, the fire behind them flaring. "And yet here I stand, promised to a man I’ve never met, in a land I did not choose to come to. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to your words of freedom."

Jacaerys stepped forward then, placing a calming hand on his sister’s arm, his expression tight. "Y/N, we’ve spoken of this. Lord Stark—"

"Spare me the speeches, Jace," she snapped, pulling her arm free. "You may speak of duty and honor, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was sold for an alliance."

The words hung heavy in the cold air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The bannermen exchanged uneasy glances, shifting on their feet. Cregan, however, stood firm, his eyes locked onto hers.

"You are not in chains, Princess," he said quietly. "And I do not need a wife who resents her place here. But I will not force your hand. If you stay, it will be your choice."

For the first time, her expression faltered, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected to be given an option. For a long moment, she stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line as though weighing his words.

"Choice," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. "Do we truly have any?"

Cregan said nothing, meeting her gaze evenly. He could see the war within her, the battle between duty and desire, between the freedom she craved and the chains of obligation. He had known from the start that this arrangement would be no simple matter, and now, standing before her, he understood the full extent of the challenge ahead.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, glancing between them. "Perhaps we should retire inside. The journey was long, and Winterfell’s hearths will offer warmth."

Cregan nodded. "Of course. You are both welcome here."

As they made their way toward the gates, Cregan cast one last glance at the princess. She was fire, fierce and wild. But there was more to her than the fury in her eyes. He could see it, even now—beneath the anger and resentment, there was a strength, a will unbroken. The North would test her, but in time, perhaps she would see that the North was not her enemy.

And neither was he.

The godswood was silent, save for the low rustle of wind through the ancient weirwood branches. The red leaves, stark against the snow-dusted ground, seemed to watch the ceremony unfolding below with a solemn, silent approval. The godswood, ancient and sacred, was a strange contrast to the fiery presence of the dragon lurking at its edge. Silverwing's silver scales shimmered faintly in the dappled light, her massive form curled among the trees like a sleeping predator, but her eyes never left you.

You stood at the heart of the godswood, dressed in a gown of deep silver, embroidered with fine, intricate patterns of the sea and sky—waves crashing into clouds, dragons rising from the ocean. The fabric hugged your frame like a second skin, and the heavy velvet of your cloak, the deep blue of House Velaryon, hung from your shoulders, fastened at your neck by a clasp shaped like a dragon in flight. It was regal, commanding, but it felt like a cage. Every stitch, every seam, was a reminder of the duty that had brought you here, bound by your brother’s word and the fragile alliance it promised.

The northern air was cold, biting against your skin, but you barely felt it. The fire in your chest, the resentment bubbling beneath your surface, kept you warm enough. Jacaerys stood to your right, his dark crimson and black cloak billowing softly in the breeze. He was every inch the prince, with his head held high, his Valyrian features stern, but you knew him better than anyone. His eyes flickered with the same determination that had led him to make this match in the first place, but also with a faint shadow of regret—regret for what he’d asked of you, for what he’d forced upon you.

Cregan Stark stood across from you, tall and unflinching, dressed in the black and grey of his house. His broad shoulders bore the weight of a heavy direwolf-fur cloak, and his expression was as cold and impenetrable as the North itself. Yet, as his steel-grey eyes met yours, there was something there, something you hadn’t expected—a quiet respect, an acknowledgment of the fire that burned in you. He wasn’t the brute you’d imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that you were here against your will.

The ceremony proceeded with the familiar words of the old gods, the vows spoken in quiet, reverent tones. You barely heard them, your mind drifting to Silverwing, to the open sky that called to you. This place—Winterfell—was as far from home as you could be. The walls closed in, the cold seeped deeper, and even the dragons were stilled by the weight of it.

“Do you, Y/N of House Velaryon, take Cregan of House Stark as your lord and husband, to honor and serve, in ice and in fire, in winter and in spring?”

The words felt heavy, the weight of them pressing against your chest. You hesitated, your jaw tightening. This wasn’t what you wanted. The fire inside you rebelled against the thought of being tethered to a man you hardly knew, a man from a world of ice and stone.

But duty called. Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind, and Jacaerys’ quiet plea for understanding lingered.

“I do,” you finally said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Cregan’s eyes remained on yours as he stepped forward, his hands strong but gentle as he draped the Stark cloak over your shoulders. It was heavy, lined with direwolf fur, the symbol of the North. The weight of it settled on you like a mantle of cold responsibility, pulling you further from the warmth of the sea, further from the freedom you longed for.

As the vows concluded, and the few gathered bannermen murmured their approval, the procession back to the castle began. You moved stiffly at Cregan’s side, your thoughts miles away, swirling with memories of home and the life you’d left behind.

Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed beside you. Silverwing, her long neck lowering, her molten eyes narrowing as she regarded Cregan curiously. She moved with the grace of an ancient predator, her silver-scaled head nudging closer, as though she were studying him.

Cregan stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the dragon, but he didn’t step back. His hand tightened at his side, his muscles coiled beneath his cloak. You could see the way his jaw clenched, his stoicism an iron mask. Though his expression remained impassive, you knew the truth—he was wary, perhaps even afraid. A dragon, no matter how docile, was still a dragon.

Silverwing’s nose brushed against his shoulder, nudging him with surprising gentleness. Her hot breath steamed in the cold air as she let out a low rumble, something that almost sounded like approval, or…affection?

You narrowed your eyes, your lips tightening in annoyance. Of all the times for Silverwing to show her favor, she chose now, and with him?

“Shoo, beast,” Cregan muttered under his breath, his voice steady, though his hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, just in case. He raised his arm, pushing gently against Silverwing’s massive head, but the dragon didn’t budge at first, her molten eyes fixated on him as though she were weighing his worth.

For a long, tense moment, you watched as Cregan squared off with your dragon. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. He knew as well as you did that if Silverwing felt the urge, she could reduce him to nothing more than a memory in a matter of moments. Yet, he stood his ground, as unyielding as the land he ruled.

Finally, with a reluctant huff, Silverwing backed off, her tail sweeping through the snow as she turned her gaze toward you. But not before letting out a sound—something disturbingly close to a soft whine.

You blinked, incredulous. Was Silverwing fond of him?

You turned toward your dragon, sharp words slipping from your lips in Valyrian, biting and full of frustration. "Traitor," you whispered fiercely, barely loud enough for anyone but Silverwing to hear.

The dragon's molten eyes flicked toward you, her expression almost indignant as she rumbled softly in response. It was as if she could sense your displeasure, but instead of reacting with the loyalty you expected, Silverwing let out another low, almost affectionate sound, her head turning once more toward Cregan.

Your blood boiled. She had always been loyal to you, reflecting the fire in your heart. Yet here she was, nuzzling up to the man who had become the symbol of everything you resented about this forced marriage. You clenched your fists inside the thick fur cloak Cregan had placed over your shoulders, the weight of it pressing down on you as heavily as the expectations that had led you here.

Cregan, still standing firm though you could tell the encounter unsettled him, raised an eyebrow in your direction. His voice was calm, with a hint of dry humor, as though addressing a curious wolf pup. "She seems to have taken a liking to me, though I doubt that sits well with you."

You glared at him, your lips tightening into a thin line. "Silverwing has poor taste," you snapped, brushing past him, the fabric of your gown sweeping the snow as you walked. "She's never been one for judging character."

Cregan said nothing for a moment, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he fell into step beside you. His silence was maddening, his cool composure only heightening the frustration gnawing at your insides. You had expected him to show more than just wariness toward your dragon, perhaps even fear, but he hadn’t given in to it. And now, with Silverwing showing him something bordering on favor, it made your already bitter resentment burn even hotter.

"I see the truth behind your eyes, Princess," Cregan finally said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You’re angry, and rightfully so. This isn’t what you wanted. But the North respects strength, and whether you believe it or not, I am not your enemy."

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes narrowing as you turned to face him. The cold wind whipped through the godswood, sending the red leaves fluttering around you like bloodstained feathers. "Do you think that because you’ve shown some kindness, or because you’ve made no demands of me yet, that I should suddenly be grateful? This is a prison, Lord Stark. A cold, bleak prison where I’ve been sent because of my brother’s decree."

Cregan’s gaze remained steady, his grey eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "Winterfell is no prison, Princess. You may see it as one now, but I think in time, you’ll find it to be otherwise. You are free to leave if you wish—I've said it before, and I meant it. But should you stay, you’ll be treated with the honor you deserve."

You scoffed, crossing your arms under the weight of the cloak. "Honor. You speak of honor, yet you are content to marry a woman who does not want you, because it benefits you politically."

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm, unwavering. "And you? Would you refuse to marry because you do not want to fulfill your family’s duty? You and I are alike in that way. We both know what it means to be bound by responsibility."

The words struck a chord in you, though you hated to admit it. You had been raised to understand duty, to know that sacrifices were often necessary for the sake of family and the realm. But this was different. This was your life, your future. And yet, there was a part of you that recognized the truth in Cregan’s words. He had not chosen this either, but he had accepted it with grace that you could not muster.

"Perhaps we are alike," you said slowly, your voice dropping. "But that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

Cregan’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I would expect nothing less."

The exchange, though still tense, seemed to cool some of the burning rage in your chest. There was a steadiness to Cregan, a quiet strength that you found infuriatingly difficult to hate. But that did not mean you were ready to forgive your brother, or accept your new life with ease. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

As you resumed walking toward the castle, Silverwing let out a soft, almost mournful sound from the godswood. You glanced back at her, your heart twisting with conflicting emotions. She had been your constant companion, your source of freedom, and yet here she was, nudging the man you were supposed to despise.

"Traitor," you muttered again, shaking your head as you continued forward, Cregan by your side.

The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, dark and imposing, the firelight from within flickering against the cold stone walls. The North may not have been your choice, but now, standing on the threshold of your new life, you realized you would have to navigate this frozen world with all the cunning and strength that the blood of the dragon afforded you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you would find your own way to bend it to your will.

The great hall of Winterfell was warm, its hearths roaring with fire to push back the northern chill. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the bitter tang of strong ale and the rich aroma of spiced wine. The long tables were packed with northern lords and their ladies, all toasting and cheering in celebration of the union between the Princess of House Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark. The sound of their voices blended with the clatter of plates and goblets, rising in a cacophony that should have felt joyous but grated on your nerves.

You sat beside Cregan at the high table, stiff in your seat, the fur-lined Stark cloak still draped around your shoulders. It felt heavy and wrong. Across from you, Cregan’s son, Rickon, was seated, his bright grey eyes wide with awe as he watched the revelry around him. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, with dark hair like his father’s and a mischievous smile that peeked out from behind his solemn expression.

Rickon had been quiet for most of the evening, but now he looked at you with curious eyes, clearly fascinated by the idea of a dragonrider in his home. "My lady," he said, his voice soft and hesitant, "do you really fly on a dragon?"

You turned to him, your irritation melting for a moment at the boy’s innocent curiosity. "I do," you replied, offering a small smile. "Her name is Silverwing. She’s resting in the godswood now."

Rickon’s eyes lit up with wonder, his small hand gripping the edge of the table. "Will I be able to see her? Father says dragons are fearsome, but I’d like to meet one."

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ask nicely, perhaps Silverwing will let you get close. She’s not so fearsome when she likes someone."

The boy grinned, his earlier shyness dissolving, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. But the reprieve was short-lived, as Cregan spoke up beside you, his deep voice cutting through the air.

"Rickon will have plenty of time to meet your dragon," Cregan said, his tone even but his eyes flicking toward you, unreadable. "Though he’ll need to understand that dragons are dangerous creatures, not pets."

You straightened in your chair, bristling at the implication. "Silverwing is no pet, Lord Stark. She’s my companion, and she is only dangerous when she has cause to be."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a faint smirk, but there was something colder behind his gaze. "I’ll take your word for it, Princess. Though I suspect the people of Winterfell would appreciate not being roasted in their own hall."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your fingers tightening around the stem of your goblet. "I doubt your halls are warm enough for that to happen," you snapped back, your voice laced with sarcasm. "Perhaps that’s why you need the fire of dragons to melt all this ice."

The tension between you and Cregan was palpable, even amid the noise and laughter of the feast. He met your challenge without flinching, his expression hardening. "Perhaps," he said evenly, "but here in the North, we don’t rely on fire to keep us alive. We endure the cold as we’ve always done."

You leaned closer, your voice dropping so only he could hear, though there was no warmth in your tone. "I didn’t come here to endure. And I certainly didn’t come here to freeze."

Cregan’s gaze was steady, unyielding, but he said nothing in response. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, making him look more like a wolf in the dim glow. You felt your frustration bubbling up once more, the weight of everything pressing down on you—the forced marriage, the cold, this unfamiliar life.

But then, a voice from the tables interrupted your silent standoff. "The bedding!" one of the bannermen shouted, his voice slurred with drink. Others quickly joined in, their cheers rising in volume as they pounded their fists on the tables. "To the bedding ceremony!"

The call spread through the hall like wildfire, and suddenly all eyes were on you and Cregan. You felt the color drain from your face as the implications of the chant washed over you. The idea of being paraded to bed with Cregan, in front of all these men, made your stomach turn.

Cregan, too, seemed to stiffen at the noise, his face tightening as he glanced around at his bannermen, their enthusiasm for tradition clear. But you saw something else in his expression—something that surprised you. He wasn’t pleased, nor did he seem to relish the idea of the bedding ceremony. If anything, he looked just as displeased as you felt.

"No," Cregan said firmly, standing from his seat, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. The hall fell quiet, the lords and ladies turning to him in confusion. "There will be no bedding ceremony tonight."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but Cregan’s gaze remained fixed, unyielding. "The princess and I will retire when we choose. I will not have her paraded through the halls like some prize for you to gawk at. This is a union of honor, not spectacle."

His words were met with a mixture of disappointment and begrudging respect. The lords who had been calling for the bedding ceremony fell silent, though a few still exchanged glances, their faces flushed with drink and unspoken protests. Cregan turned to you, his expression softer now, though still guarded.

You were surprised, though you tried to hide it. Of all the things you had expected from him, this was not one of them. He had spared you the humiliation, something you hadn’t thought he would do.

"Thank you," you muttered under your breath, barely audible above the crackling fire and the low murmur of conversation. It wasn’t a warm thanks, nor was it filled with any sense of relief—just a begrudging acknowledgment of what he had done.

Cregan nodded once, his eyes flicking briefly to Rickon, who had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. Then, turning back to you, he offered a hand. "Come. We should retire. The hall will quiet soon enough."

You hesitated, staring at his offered hand, before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, but not harsh, and you allowed him to lead you through the throng of lords and ladies. As you walked, you felt the eyes of the room on you, but there was no jeering, no laughter. Only silence and the crackling of the fire.

Rickon followed closely, his small feet shuffling against the stone floor, and though the evening had been tense, you felt a small warmth for the boy. As the three of you left the hall, the sound of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the quiet, muffled howling of the wind outside Winterfell’s walls.

The corridors of Winterfell were dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls as Cregan led you through the cold, winding passageways. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of the evening, but the noise of the great hall had finally faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps. Cregan’s hand was still at your elbow, his touch gentle but firm as he guided you deeper into the castle.

You were tense, your body rigid, every muscle taut with the emotions you had been holding back since the ceremony. The weight of the Stark cloak hung around your shoulders, but it was more than that—the weight of duty, of expectations, of a life you hadn’t chosen, bore down on you with every step.

At last, he stopped in front of a heavy oak door. The thick wood was carved with simple designs, its iron handle cold to the touch. Cregan released your arm, stepping back slightly as if giving you space. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the unspoken understanding between you.

"These are your chambers," he said quietly, his deep voice low in the silence. "I thought it best for you to have your own space. You’ll need time to adjust... to everything." He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze back to the door. "I won’t impose myself upon you, not tonight, nor any night until you wish it."

The relief that swept over you was unexpected, but it was there nonetheless. The tension in your shoulders loosened, though only slightly. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be bound to this man, to this place. But at least, for now, you had this small mercy.

You looked at him, your lips pressed into a thin line, searching for the right words. It took a moment before you could speak. "Thank you," you muttered, the words awkward on your tongue. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but the bitterness in your heart tainted even this gesture of kindness. "For this."

Cregan’s eyes softened, though his expression remained stoic. "I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I hope, in time, you’ll find it less burdensome." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a strange mixture of patience and understanding. "Goodnight, Princess."

With that, he stepped away with his son in tow, leaving you alone in the flickering torchlight. You watched him retreat down the hallway with Rickon, his tall figure and boy's smaller one, both disappearing into the shadows before turning toward the door.

You pushed it open, stepping into your new chambers. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles set on a wooden table near the hearth, and a small fire crackled quietly in the grate. The furnishings were simple but finely made—a large bed with thick furs draped across it, a sturdy chair by the fire, and a small window that looked out over the courtyard below. The cold draft slipped in through the cracks in the stone, but the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep inside you.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place. Alone at last, the tension you had been holding onto all evening began to unravel, bit by bit. The firelight danced across the stone walls, but it did nothing to lift the weight that had settled in your chest.

You moved slowly to the bed, shrugging off the Stark cloak and tossing it onto the chair. It felt too heavy, too suffocating. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared into the flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

And then it came—the overwhelming, crushing wave of emotion you had been fighting back all night.

You had been strong. You had kept your composure, had held your head high even when everything inside you screamed for freedom. But now, in the quiet of your chambers, with no one watching, the dam broke.

Silent tears began to fall, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks. You hadn’t cried in front of your brother, nor in front of Cregan, but now, alone, you allowed yourself to grieve. For what you had lost. For what had been taken from you.

You thought of Dragonstone, of the sea crashing against its black shores, the salty wind that had always carried a sense of freedom with it. You thought of your mother, Rhaenyra, her fierce love and unyielding spirit. She had fought so hard for everything she had—her throne, her children—and yet here you were, far from her, bound to a place you did not belong. Would she have wanted this for you?

And then you thought of your brothers. Jacaerys, with his sense of duty and stubbornness, always trying to do what was right, even when it hurt. You knew he thought he was helping you, securing your future, protecting the family. But it felt like a betrayal. You had followed him into the North, trusting him, only to find yourself trapped in a cage of ice and stone.

Your thoughts drifted to Lucerys and Joffrey, their youthful energy and the laughter that had once filled the halls of Dragonstone. Would you ever see them again? Or would they be mere memories, fading like the warmth of the fire as you sat in this cold, unfamiliar place?

A soft sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you silently mourned the life you had left behind.

In the quiet of the room, with only the crackling of the fire to keep you company, you allowed yourself to feel every ounce of sorrow, every pang of regret. The tears came faster, and for a long time, you sat there, letting the grief pour out of you.

Eventually, when the tears had slowed and your chest ached with the effort of crying, you wiped your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. You were still here. Still trapped in this fate you didn’t want.

But for tonight, at least, you were alone. And for now, that was the only solace you could cling to.

The cold wind bit at your face as you raced across the snowy courtyard, your heart pounding with desperation. The distant silhouette of Vermax, Jacaerys’ dragon, loomed against the grey sky, his wings shifting in anticipation as Jace made his final preparations to depart. You could see him there, standing tall and resolute, his back to you as he adjusted his saddle. Each step you took felt like a battle, your feet sinking into the snow, but you pushed forward, the icy air burning in your lungs.

"Jace!" you called out, your voice cracking as you approached. He didn't turn, and panic surged in your chest. "Jacaerys!"

This time he heard you, his head turning slightly, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He kept his focus on Vermax, brushing off your distress like it was a mild inconvenience.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm, your fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak with a desperation that you couldn't hide. "You can’t just leave me here," you pleaded, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out in a rush. "Jace, please. I’ll die here. The dragons… they die in the North. I can’t stay."

Jacaerys finally looked at you, his brows furrowed in frustration. "Y/N, stop this." His voice was stern, but there was a weariness in his tone, as if he had expected this but hoped it wouldn’t come. "You’re being dramatic. You won’t die here. You’ll adapt, just like you always do. You’re strong, stronger than you think."

You shook your head vehemently, tears already welling up in your eyes. The cold air stung your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of your tears, but you didn’t care. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your grip on his arm tightening as if holding onto him would somehow change everything. "I don’t belong here. I’m not built for this place, for this cold, for these people. And Silverwing—she’ll suffer here. Dragons don’t thrive in the North. They wither. And so will I."

Jacaerys’ face softened, but only slightly. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You’re stronger than this. You’ve always done your duty, Y/N. You’ve faced worse than cold. You’ll survive this, too." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was that simple, as if this place hadn’t already started to crush you.

His words cut through you, and you pulled back slightly, your hands falling to your sides. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t. The North was foreign, hostile in ways that went beyond its cold. It was a land of ice, of silence, where the warmth and fire of home felt like a distant memory.

"Do you even care?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you regretted it as soon as you saw the flash of hurt cross his face.

Jace took a step closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder now, his expression softening as he realized just how much this was breaking you. "Of course I care," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "But this is what’s best for us, for the family. Cregan will protect you, and in time, you’ll find your place here. I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone."

The tears spilled over then, no longer restrained. You hated this, hated that you were crumbling in front of him, hated that you felt so weak. "You’re leaving me here," you choked out, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. "You’re abandoning me."

Jacaerys frowned, pulling you into a hug despite your resistance. You felt his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, you wanted to push him away, to scream at him. But you didn’t. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, your body shaking with silent sobs.

"I’m not abandoning you," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m giving you a chance to do something great, something important. You’re more than just our sister. You’re part of the realm’s future. I’m sorry you feel this way, but this is bigger than either of us."

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes, those familiar brown eyes, were filled with both sadness and resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how much you begged. "What about Mother?" you whispered. "What would she say if she knew you were leaving me like this?"

His expression faltered, the mention of your mother clearly cutting him deep, but he held firm. "She would want you to do your duty, just as she’s always done hers. You’re more like her than you realize."

You shook your head, wiping at your tears, but it was no use. They kept coming. "I don’t feel like her. I feel... lost."

Jace sighed, his hand cupping the side of your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "You’ll find your way. You always do." He kissed your forehead, his touch tender but brief. "I have to go."

You watched in silence as he turned away, walking toward Vermax with a steady, determined stride. The dragon’s massive head lifted, its green eyes gleaming as it sensed its rider’s approach. Jacaerys mounted with practiced ease, settling into the saddle, his gaze fixed ahead as if the weight of leaving you behind was already something he had accepted.

"Jace!" you called out one last time, your voice breaking. But he didn’t look back.

The great wings of Vermax unfurled, casting a long shadow over the snow-covered ground as the dragon prepared to take flight. You stood frozen, your tears falling faster now, watching helplessly as your brother, the last tie to home, prepared to leave you in this strange, unwelcoming place.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Vermax lifted into the sky, the gust of wind from his takeoff sending snow swirling around you. You watched, numb, as the dragon rose higher and higher, carrying Jacaerys back to the place you longed to return to—Dragonstone.

The sound of his wings beating faded into the distance, and soon, they were nothing more than a dark speck against the pale sky. You stood there in the middle of the open field, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your tears freezing on your cheeks as you watched him disappear.

Alone, you fell to your knees in the snow, the icy ground biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. You were alone now, truly alone. And the weight of that realization crushed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Jacaerys was gone.

And you were left behind.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan

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loveindefinitely · 9 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

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atlabeth · 7 months

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all of me | luke castellan

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: sooooooo i know that i said i would work on something else but this hit me and suddenly i could not rest until i wrote something for it so you're getting headcanons since i can't formulate proper thoughts. some of this is dialogue but most of this is pure stream of consciousness. im already kind of obsessed w them ?

wc: 3.7k lollll this got away from me but it was so much fun.

warning(s): parental death, fighting, normal royal stuff. fluff, angst, all that good shit

princess!reader and knight!luke

yeah

and they're childhood friends bc they grew up in the castle together

YEAH

luke is the son of a kingsguard and he wants to be just like his mom

his father is out of the picture (booo) and his mom never really talks about him but she’s raised luke the best she can

shoutout to may castellan, she was the first female kingsguard! and definitely the first to personally guard the king

you are the heir to the throne and the only thing you're sure of is that you want luke to be in your life

you basically spent all your time together because he was kinda the only one your parents would approve you hanging out with

most of the crownsguard don't have children and those that do have them live with their spouse outside of the palace, and your parents didn't want you spending time with the children of servants

and luke's mom is your father's closest friend because she's the king's personal knight and so everything’s basically already vetted and they don’t have to worry about you accidentally getting murdered by him

so you and luke basically spend every moment of your free time together!!

even when you’re not free tbh

sometimes you beg your tutor to hold your lessons outside so that you can sneak glimpses at the knights training and luke training alongside them

whenever he sees you, his face always instantly brightens and he will lose focus in whatever tf he’s doing because he’s only thinking about you now

and instead of either of you doing what you’re supposed to do, you just spend the whole time making faces at each other and trying to grab the other’s attention

after his mother tries (and fails) to get him back on track a million times and your tutor realizes that you’re never going to listen to her historical prattles they allow the two of you to talk for “FIVE MINUTES AND NO LONGER MY BOY” and your tutor is all “i ask that you do not delay our lessons any further, your highness”

and tbf you and luke could notttttt care less. you immediately join up and you start teasing him about his form and how he was holding his sword and he just makes fun of you for having to be a princess

“Your form is horrendous, Luke! How do you expect to beat anyone holding a sword like that?”

“At least I’ll be on the battlefield one day. You can bore our enemies to sleep with your recounts of Aureldan history.”

“Oh, I bet I could beat you right now. I’ve got royal blood in my veins.”

“And I’ve got knight’s blood in mine,” he says. “I’ve at least got a sword. That’s more than you have.”

You huff. “Mother says I have to learn propriety before I even think about picking up a weapon.”

“Do you want to hold mine?” he asks immediately, his eyes lighting up as he offers it over. “It’s just wood because Mom doesn’t want me to hurt myself, but that means it’s safe for you.”

you do. obviously.

You’ve got soft hands, untouched by the world, and the sword feels foreign in their grasp as you realize this is in fact the first time you’ve ever held a weapon. You cut it through the air a few times and Luke is grinning wider than ever

“I think the role of a warrior princess suits you,” he says.

“It is nice,” you muse as you turn it over in your hands, already growing used to the feeling of it.

“And you look great with it,” he says. “Powerful.”

“I’d give myself a splinter before I can do anything with it,” you retort as you hand it back to him. “It’s a nice thought, though.”

His eyes light up. “You should train with us sometime. My mom is the best at teaching— she’d teach you everything you need to know!”

You glance back at your tutor, who is very clearly eavesdropping, and you sigh as you look back at Luke. “Maybe in a few months.”

Luke’s mother calls his name and it’s obvious that your time is over. You hug each other and promise to meet up as soon as your responsibilities for the day are over, then go back to your respective duties.

Your tutor takes you inside because she doesn’t want anymore distractions, and you wave at each other like crazy as you’re walking back into the castle.

so yeah. you’re best friends and you have been since you first met as children, and though it is a battle for your betters to keep you on task if you’re near each other, you just light up when you see each other and it actually helps

You’re learning dining etiquette and if you get told that you’re using the wrong spoon again, you’re going to lose your mind.

luke is hurrying through the halls to catch up with his mother and you both catch a glimpse of each other.

your posture straightens, he stops in his tracks, and you both smile at each other. then luke’s mother calls his name again and he’s on his way again.

spoons aren’t that bad, you think

you’re mulling over history books in the library that make you want to fall asleep.

luke just happens to be walking past on the way to his chores, and when he spots you, he yells out your name and waves at you. you wave back, and you both stifle laughs as your tutor shushes you

suddenly, you’re not feeling so down.

Luke is training on his own out in the yard before dinner and he’s about ready to break his sword over his knee because he can not get this damned move right.

he hears your voice across the way and sees you, all dressed up and with your parents about to get into a carriage. you’re on your way to a ball, he remembers you telling him earlier, and he finds himself smiling.

You had been complaining about it, and Luke had told you to just think of the two of you hanging out whenever you were bored. You said you were already planning on it.

His smile widens. He’d be thinking of you too, wondering what it would be like for him to attend with you. Dressed in the same gaudy outfits as the rest of the court, having to go through the same dull niceties that you’d been raised on, listening to stories from other royals he couldn’t care less about.

Standing beside you as an equal.

Luke’s young, but he already doesn’t care for nobles and their court. But he thinks he would wear any amount of uncomfortable suits and listen to any number of dull proposals for you.

for the rest of the night, he trains better than he thinks he ever has.

and of course, you break the rules together. GOD HELP YOUR CHARGES YOU ALWAYS BREAK THE RULES TOGETHER

your tutor cannot count how many times you’ve slipped out of lessons and she’s found you in the halls talking with luke, him smiling brighter than she’s ever seen as he listens to you go on and on and on

your mother cannot count all the times you’ve talked about what you and luke did that day instead of describing to her any of the history or arithmetic you were supposed to be learning

May always keeps watch over her son, but she’s been known to turn a blind eye when Luke thinks he’s being sneaky to go off and see you.

and of course, sometimes you actually hang out when you’re allowed to hang out lol

you’ve run around every bit of the palace grounds together, you ride horses together (with parental supervision of course), and once you’re a bit older, you’re actually allowed to practice with luke and the rest of the knights!

typically, it’s a shorter session with May teaching the two of you, and typically, it ends with both of you ready to die because you’re just kids and even though Luke is a prodigy, you are sooooo bad at swordfighting. it’s honestly not even funny how bad you are at it the first couple of lessons

But May just pats you on the shoulder and promises to work with you until you’re as good as her.

(luke pouts and says he wants to be better than you. you forget that you’re holding a sword and just start complaining at each other)

(“you CAN’T be better than me luke I’m the princess”) (“YES I CAN MY MOM’S THE GREATEST KNIGHT EVER”) (“SHE PROTECTS MY DAD WHICH MEANS I CAN BE THE BEST EVER”) (“THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE”) (“YES IT DOES”) (“NO IT DOESN’T”) (“I’M YOUR PRINCESS YES IT DOES”)

(the lesson ends when May has to pry you two apart)

but we haven’t gotten to the knight part.

because it’s a bit sad.

what happens to may in pjo canon is awful but

May Castellan dies when you and Luke are sixteen. A month after your birthday, in fact. Four months after Luke’s.

(he’s always held those three months over you, especially as you get older.)

(it doesn’t seem to matter as much now.)

rumor has it throughout the kingdom that she slowly went insane and then fully lost it, ultimately dying in an attack against the king during a ball that turned out to be a set-up.

the only one who knows what really happened that night is your father as he was the only other person there at her death that still lives, but he refuses to talk about it, only saying that “Head of the Kingsguard May Castellan died a hero and shall be remembered as such”.

Luke… does not take it well

besides the king, he obviously spent the most time with his mother and it was obvious to anyone that she loved him with all her heart and wanted him to follow whatever dreams he may have had

she’s given a knight’s funeral and you are beside Luke the entire time, holding his hand or him leaning against you as you listen to eulogies or even just sitting next to each other because your presence is enough for him. it doesn’t matter what—you’re always connected in some way, and no one says a single thing.

he needs you, and you need him. it’s as simple as that. and no one dares to correct the princess when she’s icier than they’ve ever seen her.

You put on that front to protect Luke—you don’t want anyone bothering him, and you don’t want him to have to worry about you at a time like this.

Because you know he would. He always does.

When Luke gives his speech, barely able to hold back tears, he looks at you the entire time. he doesn’t tell you, but you’re the only reason he’s able to get through the day.

Luke becomes a ward of the royal family.

There’s no chance you’re letting him leave, and Luke doesn’t want to go either. The memories of his mother all around are painful, but he takes some small comfort that she’ll live on in Aurelda forever.

Your parents have no objection to it—he grew up in the palace anyways, and he can practically provide for himself. You wouldn’t have let them say no.

You’re thankful beyond words that Luke is still here. Because everything feels like a mess, and things are a little more manageable with him by your side.

Someone tried to kill your father. They killed Luke’s mother instead. Both of you are broken in different ways.

Obviously, this sparks the beginnings of war both in Aurelda and in Luke’s entire being.

but that’s a topic for another day.

May’s death changes your relationship.

She was his mother, obviously, but you were close to her as well. you could never forget every time she ruffled your hair and complimented your sword fighting, or every time she would acknowledge you in the midst of a crowd with a smile and a nod, or every time she would act like a mother and not a knight.

she had the best hugs in the entire kingdom.

But her death changes your relationship because Luke changes.

He’s angrier. His edges have all sharpened, honed by his own spirit. He softens when he’s around you, but to the outside eye he’s impenetrable. He thinks you’re the only one that understands him.

Others pity him, fear him, are jealous of him.

You treat him the way you always have. Like your best friend.

That’s all he needs.

And so Luke throws himself into his training, vowing to become the youngest kingsguard in Aureldan history to honor his mother’s memory. He wasn’t able to save his mother, and he needs to become strong enough to protect the ones he loves from anything.

(You don’t know it, but he thinks of you every time he closes his eyes and sees the night his mother died. He’s in the place of his mother and you’re in your father’s position, and Luke knows that he would sacrifice himself for you every single time.)

So you don’t have as much time for each other anymore. Luke is on his kingsguard mission, and you’re starting to come into your own as the Crown Princess of Aurelda.

You can’t sneak out of lessons anymore to go talk with Luke, because you’re starting to learn about the nuances of politics.

Luke can’t let you interrupt his training, because he’s on a warpath and he won’t be stopped before he reaches his goal.

You can’t neglect your responsibilities because they’re more than just etiquette or history lessons. War is going to come to Aurelda sooner or later, and you’ve got to be ready when it does.

You’re only sixteen, but neither of you are children anymore.

But you’re still best friends. Nothing can change that—it’s just changed the way you show it.

You take your morning walks with your mother past the training grounds, and Luke always smiles at you and salutes no matter what. You bow your head in a very refined, princess-y nod, and you continue on.

Luke makes sure he’s always the one that gets to deliver news to you, even going so far as to make deals with other servants and messengers just to make sure he gets to see you at least once a day.

Most of the time, you end up seeing each other at night. Just happening to end up in the kitchens at the same time for a midnight snack that results in hours of talking with each other. Bringing Luke to your balcony to look at the stars together.

Even some midnight training has occurred together, though you always end up a sweaty mess and having to make a bath for yourself because you can’t alert your servants. Luke says he likes you best when you have that vicious glint in your eye while you’re training with him.

Luke still has horrific dreams, and though he weathered them on his own for a while, one night he finds himself outside your door. When you open it, seeing his haunted eyes and disheveled appearance, you let him in immediately.

It’s not the first time you’ve slept in the same bed after nightmares, and you know it won’t be the last.

(You spent the whole week together after his mother’s death. Not even your parents could complain when they saw the change in both of you.)

And Luke does it. He completes his training, having become one of the fiercest and youngest warriors Aurelda has ever seen. Traditionally, knights are older, but an exception was made for Luke—he’s got the Castellan name and a childhood spent with the greatest knights in the kingdom to back him up.

You’re the first person he tells when he finds out, and your scream of pure joy must have echoed throughout the entire castle. You hug him tighter than he’s ever been hugged before, and for just a moment, in your embrace, he feels like you’re both kids again.

Weeks from his eighteenth birthday, your father knights Luke Castellan in an official ceremony.

Not just as a member of the kingsguard, though—he is sworn in as a knight, and as your personal bodyguard.

Your father didn’t tell you beforehand, and you thank a childhood of courtly influence to keep the shock off your face. One hand tightens ever so slightly into a fist, and you let it out just as quickly.

You can’t see Luke’s expression, kneeling and head turned downward. You would pay all the gold in the kingdom to know what he was thinking.

“Sir Luke Castellan.” Your father’s voice booms through the hall, and a shiver even goes down your spine. “Do you swear to serve Aurelda as her loyal knight, through war and peace, through riches and debt?”

“I do,” Luke says.

“Do you swear to protect the Crown Princess of Aurelda—” your father says your entire title, and for the fifth time you wonder how many middle names a princess needs, “—my daughter—with everything you have in you, until your dying breath?”

Your breathing stills for the slightest moment.

Luke doesn’t flinch. “I do.”

The thought of Luke dying for you is unimaginable. It’s something you’d never ask of him—you don’t think you could live in a world without him anyways. You know it’s what knights are expected to do—for king and country, my life for yours—but that’s for any member of the royal family—any member of the court.

Luke is assigned solely to your protection.

And he doesn’t even falter when he bonds his life to yours.

As soon as the ceremony is over and Aurelda has gained three new knights, you’re on your way to Luke. You don’t care if anyone else wants to talk with the princess, you don’t care if your parents need to tell you something—royal propriety be damned, you need to talk to Luke.

He doesn’t look surprised when you march up to him, but there’s already a different air about him.

Maybe it’s because in these past couple of years he’s absolutely shot up in height, maybe it’s because his insane training regimen has toned every part of him, maybe it’s because he’s done what no one else has done before, or maybe it’s just because he actually accomplished his goal.

But when he smiles at you, that crooked slant to his lips that always meant mischief when you were younger, it’s enough to make that train of thought immediately shut down.

“Princess,” he greets. “I think we’re going to be spending a lot more time together, these days.”

“Yeah,” you say, the warpath you’d intended to be on fading away almost immediately with his words (and that goddamned smile that will certainly be the death of you someday.) “Maybe this is our way to make up on all that lost time.”

“...I’d like that,” Luke says.

“Can I hug you?” you ask wryly. “Or is that unbecoming of a brand new knight?”

“I don’t think anyone will tell the princess she is doing something wrong,” Luke says.

So you do. You hug him, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, and you hate that you had any doubt that he would. You’ve always felt safe in his embrace even since you were children, and now that he’s four times as strong and much taller, you feel it more than ever.

He truly does look the part of a perfect knight. You remember the days of wooden sword fights and afternoons by the lake, wondering what your future awaited, but sure you would be together no matter what.

You feel like you’ve aged a century since then.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you say as you pull away. “You’re incredible. I mean— you always have been, but this… It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. So I’m proud of you.”

Luke brushes his curls out of his face with a gauntleted hand, his smile turning a bit more genuine. “It means the world, princess. You are… one of the main reasons that I even made it up here. So I have you to thank.”

You feel your cheeks heat. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve been you,” he refutes. “You’ve stood by my side through everything, and you’ve always been there when I need you no matter what. You’ve done everything.”

You’re thankful for the sheer sleeves of your gown, because now your entire body feels warm. And maybe that’s why you practically blurt the question out, but it’s been burning in your mind since the moment it happened.

“Did you know?”

He frowns. “Know what?”

“That you would become my personal guard,” you said. “You’ve wanted to be a part of the kingsguard since you were a child, and now…”

“Princess,” Luke says, “I asked your father for the honor.”

That throws you off. “What?”

“Do you think he would entrust your wellbeing to just anyone?” he asks. “It’s part of the reason I’ve been training so hard—I wanted to prove to him that I was worthy of the position.”

“Luke—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“War is coming to Aurelda whether we like it or not,” he says. “All I want is for you to be safe. This way, I can ensure it.”

“You said you would die for me,” you say. “You vowed it.”

“That is generally how knighthood works, yes—”

“Luke,” you interrupt forcefully. “I don’t want you to die for me.”

“The goal is for nobody to die,” he says wryly.

You cross your arms. “You know what I mean.”

“Your safety is my number one concern, princess,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

You win, because Luke sighs and shakes his head. “We don’t have to worry about that at the moment. Right now, you have to get back to change before you sit in on an advisor’s meeting with the king and queen.”

You frown. “How do you know?”

“I’m your guard,” Luke says. “It’s my job to know.”

“You were just sworn in!” you protest.

“And I am always prepared,” he remarks. Luke holds his hand out in a gesture towards the door. “After you, princess.”

You shake your head as you start walking. You hear Luke’s footsteps start soon after, much heavier than yours in full armor as opposed to your ceremonial dress. “You are ridiculous.”

“Which is also my job,” Luke muses.

and so luke becomes a knight, but not just any knight.

your knight.

good luck handling that crush on him you've harbored since childhood now.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan headcanon #luke castellan au #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #knight!luke #sadie writes

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synchodai · 2 months

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When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

#house of the dragon #hotd #a song of ice and fire #long post #hotd spoilers #hotd meta #I'm a sucker for redemption/second chance stories #your life has been reduced to ashes and you are the shell of the man you once were #but goddamn you will try to do something good with all that remains of you #you can still make good #tyland lannister #there's an argument to be made that rhaenyra could have won the war if it weren't for tyland #I wish Tyland was a popular character but that won't happen unless he becomes part of a popular ship #Cregan is also interesting handsome and nuanced but he gets more love because he has multiple ship options #Tyland could possibly have romantic chemistry with Aegon II or Rhaenyra that would be cool

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aspoonofsugar · 8 months

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Hi! Where do you think Alastor's arc is going? Redemption or villainy?

Hi!

Thank you for the ask, I loved watching Hazbin Hotel and I am happy I can write for the series :)

As for now, I think Alastor will spiral and hurt Charlie very badly, but he will eventually redeem himself (probably in a key moment). That is because Alastor is framed as Charlie's Jungian shadow.

What is the Jungian Shadow?

According to Jung, the shadow is what a person represses, both positive and negative. So, it can be one's violent tendencies, but also one's potential and energy. It really depends on the person.

So, why does Alastor fit the Shadow Archetype? Well, first of all:

Alastor's powers make use of shadows. Not only that, but Alastor's own shadow is very expressive and shows the demon's repressed feelings. In other words:

On the one hand Alastor embodies the shadow, in the sense he represents what Charlie refuses to face

On the other hand Alastor himself represses his emotions behind a smiling face:

Alastor: Just because you see a smile, don't think you know what is going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing and ensures tha no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control.

This is a good characterization for a jungian shadow because the shadow grows stronger and more dangerous, when it's ignored. So, the most one refuses to face their feelings, the most these feelings fester and grow powerful and dangerous. This fits Alastor both when it comes to others and to his own character:

He takes advantage of an emotional unstable and vulnerable Charlie to strike an abimguous deal with her. Similarly, he uses Husk's gambling addiction to steal his soul. He uses people's weaknesses an unsolved problems to take over.

He suffocates his feelings, which symbolically manifest in his powerful shadow-tentacles. His design and abilities are representative of his psychological coping mechanism, which is nothing, but repression.

As written above, though, the Jungian Shadow can be both negative and positive depending on what one hides. This duality is shown in Alastor's two roles in Charlie's arc:

He is a demonic archetype (even moreso than Lucifer, the titular devil), as he waits in the shadows for a chance to manipulate Charlie

He is an evil mentor, as he genuinelly likes Charlie, sees her potential and wants to guide her towards greatness:

She's filled with potential that I could guide

This isn't a contradiction, but complexity. Alastor is chaotic and mixes negative traits and intentions with positive ones. Just like what people repress can be both bad and good, usually at the same time.

This is clear when it comes to the Princess of Hell:

Charlie to Alastor: What's that you said about smiles?

Charlie is similar to Alastor in how she represses herself behind her pollyanna persona and her smile. This doesn't mean she is faking her altruism and generosity, but that she is using these traits to hide something else:

Lute: The only reason you're still here is that Daddy gave you and your Hellborn-kind a pardon from an exorcist's blade. How does that feel? To know how little you matter.

Deep down, Charlie invests herself in the Hazbin Hotel project because she wants to matter. She feels powerless and unimportant, as a result of her parents' neglects and of Hell's difficult situation.

So, our protagonist has strong self-issues that she refuses to face:

Husk: Princess is a bleedy heart who wants to solve everybod else's problems, 'cept her own.

That said, this isn't the only thing Charlie represses. The Princess of Hell hides:

Every negative emotions she feels, like her self-hate or her anger at Vaggie for hiding her true identity:

Rosie: How does that make you feel? Charlie: Just... angry? Because we share everything! Because she always supported me, and my ideas, and now I don't know whether or not that was just more of the lies... Oh no, that's a horrible thing to think! Do I think that? Yes! No? Kinda?

Her most violent and aggressive side, which makes so she is unable to make full use of her powers:

Vaggie: Well, I mean... You're the princess of Hell, but you don't really use the power that comes with that. Mybe you can, I don't know? Command a little more... authority. Charlie: But that's so mean.

In short, by repressing her negative feelings, she also represses her potential. It is only by facing herself as a whole, that she can fully grow and bloom into her most powerful and complete self:

This is made clear in Charlie's quest in Cannibal Town. There, our girl is at her lowest, but she is pushing herself forward for the sake of her loved ones. She is trying to imitate Alastor by smiling, even if she is sour inside. However, things do not go well and it is only through her heart to heart chat with Rosie, that Charlie is able to pull herself together and inspire her people. Symbolically, she gets through them not with a 100% optimistic song like "Inside of every demon is a rainbow". Rather she opens her speech, by showing vulnerability and honesty:

It's a feeling like a rumbling in your gut That you could finally be faced with A billion needy faces I guess what I mean to say is For the first time in my life I might have to be ready for this Ready to be the one who's leading from the front Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home And although I kinda feel unsteady Now I need to be ready for this

She affirms who she is and her willingness to grow into herself:

For the first time in my life Maybe I can be ready for this I can be the marshal leading the parade I can come into my own And I think I've always known My destiny could never be postponed When Adam brings the battle here I must appear like I'm ready for this

So, it is only by tapping into her own shadow that Charlie can be successfull. It is through expression and not repression that she can reach her goals.

What about Alastor?

He is the same, but so far he has been refusing to open up to others:

Angel: He's been here a while and he's still a big, creepy mystery.

That said, his time at the Hazbin Hotel has had an impact on him. He is forced to deal with others without killing them:

Vaggie: Pentious's eggs are all over the place. I need you to get rid of them. (...) Humanely!

He is shown cutting ties with a poisonous friend:

He openly admits he likes the people of the hotel:

Alastor: Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed.

However, he still refuses to openly show vulnerability and ends up like this:

Let's highlight that Charlie and Alastor are foiled in The Show Must Go On song.

Both stand in the ruins of their homes/dreams.

The Hotel:

I took a hotel, and I destroyed it I know I could have done better Better, instead of letting you down

The Radio Station:

This place reeks of death There's a chill in the air And I barely escaped being killed by a hair

And both decide not to give up and to keep pursuing their objectives. However, Charlie is framed positively, while Alastor negatively. Why?

Charlie sings about her feelings openly and is supported by her father and found family:

Alastor sings about his pain privately and even then he barely shows his desperation before going back to his villanious mask:

Symbolically the moment Alastor reunites with the Hotel Crew, he sings:

And we're doing it with a smile!

He is back in control of himself, ready to hide everything behind his neverchanging smile.

So, Alastor is both Charlie's negative foil and Jungian Shadow. As her negative foil, he is bound to spiral. As her Jungian Shadow he is bound to be saved. Why is that so? Two reasons.

The Jungian Shadow can't be killed, but needs to be integrated with.

The main themes of the series are redemption and love, so it is improbable that Charlie won't help the person, who co-founded the hotel with her.

If anything, it seems that our princess is progressively asked to forgive, inspire and see the good in more and more complex cases.

It starts with Angel, who willingly stays at the Hotel. It goes on with Pentious, who infiltrates the Hotel, but makes no real damage. Then Lucifer, whom Charlie loves, but that has been absent from the majority of her life. Finally, Vaggie, who breaks Charlie's trust.

Each conflict Charlie has challenges her in a different way and helps her discover herself and grow. She is bound to meet new struggles when Lilith becomes a broken pedestal and finally when Alastor betrays or hurts her. Still, she is going to forgive and to understand them.

Charlie is going to see the good in Alastor and to better understand herself as a result. As a matter of fact Charlie's journey is one where she is slowly discovering a world, which isn't black and white:

If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again

Just like people aren't black and white. Just like she herself isn't black and white. By saving Alastor, she is gonna save herself too. Together with the whole universe.

And what about Alastor? Well, he needs to work on himself, as well. He too must integrate with his shadow, who is embodied by a certain character:

Husk is a powerful overlord, who lost his soul to a demon. Just like Alastor:

Husk: Big talk for someone, who's also on a leash.

Alastor and Husk are both on a leash. Still, Husk admits it and starts working on his shortcoming:

Husk: You're a loser, just like me

Alastor instead affirms his willingness to be in control and to pull the strings:

Once I figure out how to unclip my wings Guess who will be pulling all the strings?

Alastor is a loser, just like Husk. Just like all the characters in hell. Sinners vs Winners. And yet, he refuses to admit it. This is why he makes no progress. Similarly, he wants freedom, but enslaves others. This isn't going to work out, which is why I am fairly certain he will eventually set Husk free. Probably by doing so, Alastor will make the first real step towards his own freedom. He will start integrating his own shadow.

Thank you for the ask!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel meta #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #charlie morningstar #my meta #asksfullofsugar #anonymous

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allwaswell16 · 26 days

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A One Direction fic rec of fics like the book Red, White & Royal Blue as requested in this ask. The fics all have varying combinations of the main tropes of the book (enemies to friends to lovers, royalty, famous/famous, and/or fake relationship). You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

💙 Queen of Arizella by seducedbycurls

(M, 277k, omegaverse) Harry is King of Arizella, he needs a Queen and who better than an omega on the run from death? Louis will learn to become the perfect Queen -the perfect fake Queen, but only for a few months.

💙 The Greatest Thing by @infinitelymint *

(E, 163k, canon) Harry and Louis haven’t spoken since the band broke up when a dangerous combination of Niall Horan, tequila, and an ordained Elvis impersonator means that the two of them have to embark on their biggest publicity stunt to date - together.

💙 Façade by written_with_no_end / @written-with-no-end

(NR, 133k, famous/famous) An AU where Louis is the lead singer of The Rogues, Harry is the lead singer of White Eskimo and both are sick of being in the closet so kiss one night to fuck with the media.

💙 Lightning Strikes The Heart by @fournipplesau , @justalarryblog

(E, 130k, historical) As expected every year, the Lockhart House hosts the season’s opening ball, and its invitation is the motive of the hustle in town, and every family hopes for the invitation. This year is no different, but this year everyone's attention is focused on the new Duke of Montgomery, His Grace Harry Edward Styles, and whether he will attend it.

💙 Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / @greenfeelings *

(M, 112k, famous/famous) When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

💙 mirrorball by cherryboys

(NR, 102k, famous/famous) When Harry is asked to fake date Louis Tomlinson, an actor he hates because he bad mouthed one of Harry's songs in the beginning of his career, he is opposed to the idea.

💙 white winged dove by duchessy

(M, 100k, arranged marriage) Pressured to marry in order to save his family from financial and social ruin, Louis finds himself caught between wanting to be selfish and doing what he needs to do for the sake of his sisters, if no one else.

💙 king of my heart by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze *

(E, 83k, adaptation) A Red, White, and Royal Blue AU where Hollywood elite, Louis Tomlinson, finds himself falling for the closeted Prince of England.

💙 A Night in Hollywood by Sax246

(NR, 71k, famous/famous) Louis quickly comes to realise Harry is only enjoyable on the screen and not in-person. When the two get caught in a fight by paparazzi at a celebrity party, the media goes crazy, and they are forced into a PR-relationship against their will.

💙 don't want no other shade of blue by padfootyoudog / @louisisworthit

(E, 58k, omegaverse) it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

💙 Need So Much of You by @lululawrence *

(NR, 46k, canon) the would-have-been canon compliant, fake relationship, friends with benefits, friends to lovers fic where Louis wonders if this thing going on with Harry is going to break him or change everything for the better.

💙 walk my days on a wire by sunshiner *

(E, 38k, famous/famous) when actor Louis Tomlinson used to daydream about dating Harry Styles, this is not what he had in mind.

💙 (we will be) as if chosen by @alivingfire *

(E, 35k, secrets) Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

💙 Lies & Liability by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

(M, 34k, historical) Harry Styles wishes that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

💙 Sail into the Sun by orphan_account

(E, 31k, Prince Louis) Louis needed a way out, Harry needed a husband. It was a mutual agreement. Doesn't mean they have to like each other.

💙 Dancing With Masks by @softfonds *

(E, 18k, famous/famous) With awards season coming up and new films on the way for both of them, Harry and Louis' managers decide it's time for them to date for publicity.

💙 rapture in the dark by stylinsonsupporter

(T, 13k, hate to love) Harry does the Winter Girlfriend routine with Louis instead.

- Rare Pairs -

💙 Love Like This by @reminiscingintherain *

(E, 32k, Zayn/Louis/Liam) A Zouiam RWRB AU, featuring Louis as the First Son, Liam as the Prince, and Zayn as Liam's friend and equerry.

💙 Be My King (I'll Be Your Queen) by transteverogers *

(E, 15k, Zayn/Liam) That one where Zayn's a royal bad boy and Liam's his PR agent/Personal Assistant and basically everyone knew they had feelings for each other before they did.

#weekly recs #ficrec #hlcreators #1dsquad #1dficvillage #hljournal #hltracks #trackinghome #trackinghappily

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acapelladitty · 2 months

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Batman: Arkham Session #1

Summary: After an incident at work, Edward Nashton is assigned to Dr. Jonathan Crane for psychological assessment. A decision which places both men in the firing line.

One half of an exchange with the incredible @skxtchyghost who has the absolutely amazing art half of this little encounter here!

Fic Masterlist /// Link to A03

From the moment he laid eyes on him, Jonathan Crane could tell that Edward Nashton would be less than an ideal patient. From the way that he lounged carelessly in his chair to his casual gaze which swept along the many achievements and objects which littered the walls of Jonathan's office.

Every inch of the lanky frame screamed difficult and Jonathan found his mood worsening as he shifted past the meagre introductions which had been shared.

Jonthan flicked his eyes over the notes he had been provided from the incident report as his left hand rose to adjust the bolo tie which hung loosely around his throat.

"You destroyed a workstation in a fit of," Jonathan lifted the top sheet of paper from his clipboard as he quoted the report directly, "obvious rage while using considerably inappropriate language. These are not the actions of a rational man."

Unapologetic, Edward spread his hands in a wide gesture as a defensive smile stretched across his lips.

"I'm the only rational man in this city."

"Oh?"

Really having a limited interest in whatever nonsense Edward was about to spout, Jonathan made a quick note on his clipboard - ready to simply diagnose him with some asinine anxiety disorder and throw some medication at him to quell the worst of his obvious symptoms.

"The others are so willing to ignore the corruption," Edward continued with a growing irritation, "how unbearably stupid and foolish the criminals that rule this city choose to be."

"Harsh allegations."

"Only because the evidence is routinely destroyed. Weeks of work erased in an instance because a particular name would rather not be associated with the actions investigated." His tone snappy, Edward was clearly not at peace with his treatment and Jonathan frowned at the sudden emotional outburst. "Weeks! Good work. No recognition. Only a sharp reminder that our job is to catch real criminals."

"I can imagine the frustration."

Something in Edward's expression shifted and Jonathan tensed as he took in the change in body language, the immediate aggression which crawled into his leaning frame and clenching fists as Edward met his gaze without flinching. It was an open challenge and Jonathan would not back down as he accepted and adjusted his glasses to allow him to keep Edward's attention.

"You bore me. Don't feed me the words I want to hear, Doctor."

"Interesting. Do you see me as your enemy?"

Wary but slightly more interested in his patient, Jonathan asked the question with the smallest of smiles.

"Yes. Your work is as corrupted as mine even if your corruption comes from a more personal insistence."

Jonathan's blood ran cold.

"I do not know you, Mr. Nashton. Neither do you know me."

He couldn't know.

No one knew.

Especially not a jumped up technician from the GCPD.

No.

He was just fishing for information, attempting to claw back the control of the situation by fabricating infor-

"Your purchasing history is interesting, both online and in your role within this asylum." Edward grinned, his body language relaxing into something almost smug. "Meaningless to a layman, but a small touch of research and critical thinking goes to show just how dangerous the various chemicals and research papers you collect could be. Pair that with the increased reports of catatonia which patients under your care have been reduced to and we have something approaching a pattern."

"Mr. Nashton, these delusions do nothing to further yo-"

Rudely, Jonathan found himself cut off by a childish wave.

"Your business is your own and I have no reason to care for any of the degenerates in this building. My work is almost finished and I have my own important business to attend to. Where our paths cross is that I require a clean bill of health to leave my job with the appropriate supports in place."

Smiling widely, his glasses pushed tight against his eyes, Edward perched his fingers on the light-coloured vest which covered his shirt as his cheap shoes tapped a soft rhythm to the carpet. Opposite him, Jonathan felt much more uptight - the shift in dynamic having put his teeth on edge as the urge to regain control of the situation tempted him into dangerous territory.

"You're blackmailing me." Jonathan gritted out.

"If you choose to view it as such then yes. I choose to view it as a mutual exchange of services." Shrugging, Edward caught his hands between his knees. "You clear me, and I erase some of the more unsavoury purchases that you have unsuccessfully distanced from your name."

Seeing each other plainly, Jonathan abandoned any pretence of playing the game and his expression soured into open distaste, regarding Edward with contempt.

"And what guarantees do I have that you are speaking the truth? One word from me and you will be locked away with the worst that Gotham has to offer." Flashing a cruel grin, filled with yellowing teeth, Jonathan tilted his head. "I could have you in a shared cell which houses violence that would easily end a man like yourself."

"All my information is due to release at a specific time if I am not available to prevent it. Risk it all and see."

Reclining once more, Edward presented his hand before himself as he investigated his nails with a forced nonchalance.

"So, Doctor Jonathan Crane, how are we going to move past this?"

#i want them both carnally btw #edward nygma #riddler #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #edward nashton #arkham games #arkham shadow #arkham origins #dc comics #batman

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yeonzzzn · 10 months

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🪞mirrors: lee heeseung

a vampires bleeding series: seven / seven

pairing: heeseung x afab!reader word count: 11.4k

synopsis: as heeseung's secret gets revealed, along with the long history behind the secret, to you and the mates of the pack, they are all steps closer to ending this war with dorian and stopping his evil plans once and for all. with dorian's betrayal still fresh for you, you join the group to help put dorian down.

genre: enemies to lovers, vampire!heeseung, doctor!heeseung, vampire!reader, angst, some spice and fluff.

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, one sex scene but it's spiced not full on smut, cute heeseung ♡

You watched as Heeseung twirled the silver blade with his fingers, his eyes staring you down.

The place where he burned your skin with the blade was throbbing. Your body wasn’t healing it fast enough, and probably wouldn’t. If the blade was made specifically for him, the vampire king, the blade was made to kill and leave scars.

You scoffed, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

Heeseung tilted his head, lifting his leg to rest against the chair he sat in, “Want to share with the class what you think is so funny?”

You glanced into the darkness behind him, not wanting to make eye contact with him, “I was told you’re a doctor. How could the vampire king settle for such a low-class job as that.”

Heeseung was at your side in a second, the blade inches away from your neck, “I am a doctor, which isn't a low-class job. I’ve saved lives, helped people, and healed people…It is not an easy job. When you’re stuck living for eternity you should put yourself to good use.”

You rolled your eyes, “But you’re the king, what need would you have to help others!”

Heeseung scoffed, inching the blade closer, “Because I am not the monster I was created to be.”

You sat still, not knowing how to respond to him.

Heeseung removed the blade and sat back in the chair across from you, “When will you answer my questions?”

You shook your head, “When will you stop asking?”

Heeseung chuckled, “You’re in the presence of the actual vampire king and you still want to defy me?”

“Just because you’re a king, doesn’t mean my loyalties sit with you, plus I can tell this isn’t the way you normally are,” You leaned forward as far as the rope tied around your body would let you, “You’re not some tyrant, or someone to torture anyone. This is all an act.”

Heeseung stood from his seat quickly, his golden eyes burning at you. You struck a nerve.

“I will do what I have to, to protect my pack!” he growled, “Unlike you, whose loyalties sit with a man who won’t be coming for you.”

You sat back in the chair, not wanting to believe the words coming from his mouth. You don’t know how long you’ve been trapped down wherever you were, but you know it’s been days, maybe even a week and Dorian has yet to try and find you. You weren’t in a pack with him, so trying to find ways to get him to know where you were or sensing where he is, was hopeless.

Heeseung knew you knew he was right. He could see it all over your face.

There was a knock on the door, and then it slowly opened, Jungwon stepped in.

“Hyung,” He called out, “We are all here.”

Heeseung nodded, relaxing his body and his glowing golden eyes turned back to the coco brown.

You stared at Jungwon, piercing daggers into him.

He side-eyed you, his fist clenching, “Say something.” He snapped.

You smiled, “You’re the leader of the pack yet you still follow behind this king. Shouldn’t you be the king?”

Jungwon smiled back at you, “The king needs his leader, doesn’t he?”

Your smile faded. You knew their pack was close with their bonds, but you didn’t think it would be that tight. Most packs fight for the leadership role.

Heeseung walked out of the room, and Jungwon followed behind him, leaving you alone once again.

“Got anything?” Jungwon asked.

Heeseung shook his head, “The only thing I’ve gotten out of her is she thinks being a doctor is a low job for a king and that Dorian would come for her.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, “So the same shit.”

Heeseung sighed, “Unfortunately.”

They opened the door that led into the safe room, quickly closing and locking it behind them.

Sunghoon and his witch mate sat at the kitchen table, her jumping up at the sight of Heeseung.

Heeseung narrowed his eyes at her, “I told you to stop that.”

The witch softly smiled, “We do this for our kings and queens in our covens, it’s not a habit I can get rid of overnight.”

Heeseung knew his title coming out to the mates of the pack was big news. Mostly for the witch and the dhampir.

Jake and his mate got into an argument after Heeseung announced his title officially to them.

“I have been in the presence of the vampire king my whole life and never knew?!?! We were all friends for so long!” The dhampir paced back and forth in the living room, “I’ve been so rude towards Heeseung!!”

“My Luna Nova, please calm down, it's okay!”

“No it’s not!” she snapped, “How could you have kept something so important away from me?!?”

The vampire king has been told in legends to be the most powerful vampire, and if the king was in a pack, his power amplified the number of members in the pack.

So to call Heeseung weak is far from the truth.

Jungwon called the others to sit at the table, “We need to make a plan to get Dorian’s followers to spill everything she knows.”

Sunghoon wrapped his arms around his witch, “Why not let the hex girl here use her magical powers to get her to open up?”

Sunoo chimed in, pointing at his elf mate, “My magical girl can help.”

Heeseung disagreed, “Using magic on her isn’t going to work. She’s too strong-headed.”

“I wouldn’t know what kind of magic to use anyways,” the elf added, “Using magic on a vampire is a difficult task, your brains and bodies don’t work the same as others.”

The witch agreed, “You vampires are the undead, you weren’t naturally created creatures to begin with, so to use any kind of magic on you guys would be difficult, like __ said.”

“And I am assuming threatening her is not working?” The dhampir asked.

Heeseung nodded, “Her loyalty is also very strong with Dorian still, nothing will change that.”

The room fell silent. Everyone’s brains are working overtime to figure something out.

“And we have been to Dorian’s compound multiple times over the last week,” Jay pitched in, “Still no traces of him or his followers either.”

Jake covered his mouth with his hands and then his eyes lit up, “Have we thought about checking the farmhouses again? and the town where __ coven was?”

The witch stood up quickly from her chair, “He could have found our underground sanctuary. There’s a library down there along with other magical items.”

Sunghoon stood up beside her, furrowing his brows, “Why are you just now telling us about this hex girl?!”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh shut up bloodsucker!” she snapped at her mate, “It’s heavily guarded and I assumed after Dorian burnt down the town and killed my entire coven that he wouldn’t be able to find it.”

The dhampir quickly pulled her phone from her pocket, “I’m calling Archer.”

Heeseung stood in silence, thinking of how this could go.

Niki shook his leg with impatience, “What if Dorian is there and __ is with him?”

Heeseung patted the maknae’s shoulder, ready to open his mouth but was stopped.

“Archer said he’s felt a force nearby for the last hour!” the dhampir announced.

Niki stood quickly from his seat, “When are we going.”

Jungwon knew from the look on Heeseung’s face what the plan was, “Not everyone is going.”

Niki whipped around, “Hyung!” he begged Heeseung, “If __ is with him!”

Heeseung placed both hands on Niki’s shoulders, “If she is with him, I’ll bring her back. The moment you step foot near them she will run.”

Niki wanted to fight, but didn’t, understanding.

Heeseung looked around the room at his pack, “I will go alone.”

“What? Fuck no! That’s stupid!” Jake yelled.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Sunghoon snapped.

“Hyung, what are you even thinking?!” Niki and Jungwon asked.

“Listen, Mr. Vampire King,” the witch scoffed, “This isn’t something to do alone!!”

The elf agreed, “You need someone with you!”

The humans even disagreed, “Bring someone with you!”

Heeseung smiled at his family, happy with how big it had grown. Remembering a time it was just the seven of them.

“I have something special to protect,” Heeseung yelled over the chaos, his family settling down, “I have eleven of you to keep safe.” Heeseung had a plan, it just didn’t involve his family.

“Hyung!” Jungwon projected, “What do you even plan to do? Huh? Just walk in there?”

Heeseung smiled again, “When I meant going alone, I meant without you guys.”

Jungwon furrowed his eyes, “I am not following?”

Heeseung nodded his head towards the door that led to you.

You tried to force your way out of the ropes, twisting and turning in every way possible.

You had to make it out of there and back to Dorian. You needed to tell him Heeseung was the vampire king. It would speed the progress of his ruling so much faster.

As if on cue, Heeseung and Jungwon opened the door, Jungwon slamming it shut behind him.

You smile, “Well well, isn’t it the King and his follower.”

Heeseung grabbed the back of the chair, tilting it backward, your feet lifting from the floor.

His face was inches away from yours, his silver special blade was also inches from your skin.

“I don’t have followers, I have a family.” He growled, his eyes burning.

You glared at him, not letting this tactic scare you anymore.

He smirked, letting a small breath out as he clicked his tongue, “We are going on a little trip, if you behave you’ll get to die with Dorian at your side.”

Before you could say a word, Jungwon covered your mouth with a cloth. Your head spun and your eyes slowly closed. Your world going dark.

—

You woke up to the sun shining down on you. You slowly sat up, your head still spinning.

You took in the area around you. The grass was burnt and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

You quickly covered your mouth the more you looked. Houses were burnt to the ground. Bodies spread throughout the land.

“It’s a sad sight, isn’t it?”

Heeseung’s voice made you jump. He was knelt, a patch of dead grass in his hands.

You could see the pain on his face, “What happened here?”

Heeseung sighed before turning his head to look at you, “This is what Dorian did. He destroyed this whole village and killed an entire coven, just to get the secret to the powers he wields now.”

You shook your head, not wanting to leave it, “He didn’t do this! He said he threatened them and took what he wanted!”

Heeseung softly chuckled, “This whole area is proof of what he’s done. The only one who survived this incident is the witch in my pack, she lost everything because of Dorian.”

You wanted to argue back, that you knew Dorian better than anyone else. He’s the one who turned you into a vampire after all. Found you after you were almost murdered in the street by some criminals, he saved you and took you in. It’s clear to you that the soft side of Dorian was a fake. That this was his true nature.

“Stand up,” Heeseung Demanded, pulling you up by your arm, “Your lord and savior Dorian is in the secret underground library fixing to steal more magic from this lost coven, and you’re going to help me stop him.”

Heeseung pulled you forward, his hand tightly wrapped around your arm.

You listened to every demand, all the fight left in you was gone.

The entrance to the hidden library was no longer hidden, proof in itself that Dorian was inside.

Heeseung pushed you along, making you go down the steps first into the darkness.

Small candles sat on the walls to light the path, sending you both down until the path became flat, a brighter light shone down the pathway that led to the opened door of the library.

Heeseung’s grip on your arm got tighter. Dorian was down the hall and you were terrified of what to expect.

“How nice of you to join us,” Dorian said as you both walked into the small library, his face planted in the book in his hands, “I was starting to worry when we’d meet again.”

“You knew we were coming?” Heeseung scoffed, slowly pulling his blade from his pocket, “That means you have my youngest mate with you, ya?”

Dorian closed the book, his shit-eating grin plastered on his face, “My dear __, please say hello to our guest.”

The young vampire walked around the bookshelf, a couple of books held close to her chest.

Heeseung grinned his teeth. He could feel the pain she was feeling being away from Niki, her swollen eyes said it clear enough. She hasn’t slept since being pulled away from him. It was eating her alive.

“__,” Heeseung called to her, “You don’t have to side with him!”

She looked away from him and down at the ground. Heeseung could see the battle she was facing. To drop everything and run towards him to return to Niki’s side, or to keep her loyalty to Dorian.

“Please, Niki needs you.”

Her body shook at the sound of her mate's name, and she took a step forward towards Heeseung, only for Dorian’s hand to lift, making her stop.

“She belongs to me,” Dorian chuckled, “You can’t just take what’s mine.”

“She doesn’t belong to you!” Heeseung snapped, his fangs starting to come to a point, but not fully, “She isn’t bound to you!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Dorian, you felt the betrayal of getting yourself captured, but also the betrayal that he’d destroy a whole village and coven, just for his gain.

You then had the idea to expose Heeseung as the king, hoping that maybe Dorian would take you back.

“How about a trade then?” You said, finally looking up at Dorian, begging him with your eyes, “Take the good-for-nothing girl who mated with the enemy and give her to Heeseung to trade for me.”

Heeseung could smell your bullshit, his blade quickly pressing to the side of your jaw, the same side he already burned.

You bit your tongue to keep from crying out, trying to keep your composer, showing proof you were still useful to Dorian.

Dorian threw his head back in laughter, “Oh this is great! Y/N, do you think I would trade you for __? She’s mates with their youngest, she can help sense where they are if they come near me. What good are you for?”

The pain from Heeseung’s blade no longer affects you after Dorian’s words.

Your knees gave out, dropping your weight to the floor. Heeseung let you fall.

Heeseung was more pissed off now, “Give my pack member.”

Dorian shook his head, “She’s useful to me.”

Heeseung tightened his grip on his blade, looking back at the young vampire, “__, choose the side that’ll take care of you,” he softly spoke, “You’d have Niki again. You’d have a support system, a family.”

Heeseung could see the gears turning in her head. The way her heart rate picked up and the grip she had on the books in her hands, her knuckles were white.

Dorian could see it too. The betrayal that was about to happen.

She used all her strength to tear the books in half and throw them to the floor. Heeseung knew she was choosing him.

But Heeseung could also sense what was about to happen.

Dorian reached out, his hand gripping her neck and lifting her off the ground.

“You idiot! After all I have done for you!”

Heeseung acted fast. Using all the strength he had into a full sprint. The blade made contact with Dorian’s wrist, slicing his hand clear from his arm.

Heeseung quickly grabbed __, tossing her off to the side and out of the way.

Dorian screamed in agony, his hand gripping the nub of his arm, the sizzling sound of his skin burning echoed with his screams.

“What kind of weapon do you have there hmm?” Dorian said through gritted teeth, “For it to be so strong to cut through my limb and burn it so quickly that not even a drop of blood fell.”

Heeseung held the blade up, ready to use it once again, preparing for Dorian’s next move, “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you improvise on weapons to be created to help protect yourself and your family.”

Dorian evilly laughed, “You and this family bullshit!”

Heeseung heard enough and swung his blade back at Dorian.

Only for the next turn of events to surprise Heeseung.

Dorian jumped backward, transforming into a bat.

“Well that’s not something you see every day,” Heeseung hissed.

A chuckle came from the bat before he speedily flew out of the library.

You saw this as your opportunity to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

Dorian made it clear he didn’t want you or even need you.

The young girl knelt to your side, softly touching the burn on your jaw, “Heeseung!” She called out, “She’s not healing!”

Heeseung knelt in front of you, taking your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to the side, “It will with time. But the scars will remain. My blade wasn’t made to heal.”

Heeseung dropped his hand, staring at you and your lost face.

You refused to look at him.

Heeseung scoffed softly, and stood up, walking away from you and towards the door.

“__,” he called out, “It’s time to go. We have things to discuss and I need to return you to Niki’s side so the bond doesn’t do any more damage to either of you.”

She stayed by your side, her hand settling on top of yours, “We can’t leave Y/N here.”

Heeseung raised a brow, “Why the hell not?”

The girl’s eyes pleaded with him. Heeseung wanted to say no. It wasn’t in his playing cards to return home with the follower of Dorian.

“Please, Heeseung,” she begged, “Y/N helped take care of me and treated me as if I were her sister, just like you do with Niki as a brother!”

Heeseung clenched his fist. The thought of bringing you back made his skin crawl. But he also knew leaving you here wasn’t something Heeseung would normally do. He can’t leave someone who needs help behind.

He relaxed, looking away from the girls.

The young vampire knew Heeseung agreed to bring you along.

“Y/N, let’s go.”

You wanted to protest, to demand to be left alone. There was nothing left for you.

You pushed __ away.

To your Surprise, Heeseung was back at your side, pulling you up to your feet.

You stared up at him, eyes locking together with him.

A shock was sent down your spine, and by the look on Heeseung’s face, you knew he felt it too.

He let go of your arm, stepping a few steps back, running a hand through his hair, “Let’s go. We need to get back.”

—

You fell asleep in the backseat. Your left side leaned against the car door as you slept.

Heeseung stared at you through the rearview mirror, watching as your chest raised and fell with every breath. The burns on your jaw are still a bright red.

His heart raced looking at you. His hands softly loosen their grip on the steering wheel.

“Your heart rate better be picking up pace because you feel like shit for hurting her!” the young one hissed.

Heeseung glared down at the youngest pack member, “Why would I feel bad? She tried to hurt my family. My only goal today was getting you back and killing Dorian.”

She rolled her eyes, “You were going to kill her too! I could feel your kill lust, Mr. Vampire King.”

Heeseung quickly looked at her, “How did you know that?”

She glanced out the car window, “The moment Niki and I bonded together, I could feel just how powerful your, well our, pack is. It wasn’t hard to put together.”

Heeseung looked back at the road, “Dorian doesn’t know?”

“No. He still believes the old king is still in power,” she looked at Heeseung, “How long has the old king been dead?”

Heeseung dodged the question, “Why didn’t you tell Dorian if you knew?”

She looked back out the window, dropping her head into her hands, “I couldn’t betray my pack like that. Even if I wasn’t officially in the pack at the time, I couldn’t hand over that information so easily to Dorian.”

Heeseung knew she did it to protect Niki, and left it at all.

You all pulled up at the safe house, Niki being the first one out of the house and at the passenger side door before the vehicle even came to a stop.

“Oh my god,” Niki breathed out, pulling __ from the car and into his arms.

Heeseung watched the maknaes embrace each other. Their bond is fully completed. The warmth of their love soothed everyone.

You stayed in the car, watching as the young ones held each other tight. The other ones with mates follow suit, embracing their mates close to their bodies. Holding onto them tightly.

Heeseung looked over at you, watching as you watched his family.

His heart pulled to you, and he knew there wasn’t any stopping this, even if he tried.

Heeseung reached over and tapped your knee, your attention being put on him.

“If you want to run tail back to Dorian, be my guest, I am not going to force you here.”

You looked deeply into his eyes, scared of what this feeling was that was pulling you to him. You sat in silence, not knowing how to even respond to him.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, removing his hand from your knee, ready to turn back around and get out of the car.

You reached for his hand before he could, causing him to turn fully back towards you, “I can’t go back to Dorian,” you whispered, “He would just kill me the minute I got too close.”

You rubbed your thumb over the top of his hand. Half of Heeseung wanted to rip his hand away from you, the other half wanted to close his hand tightly around yours.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” You finally asked, “You’ve had plenty of time to do so.”

Heeseung tucked his lips between his teeth, debating on even continuing this conversation.

“Because you were right,” he sighed, “When you first said this wasn’t who I am, some tyrant who tortures people…that’s not me.”

You could see the hurt behind his eyes as he said this.

Heeseung is a powerful king who has a pack of twelve under his thumb, being the most powerful vampire mixed pack in the world. Every other king that has ruled, did so with thousands of vampires at his side and was a solo hunter. Heeseung has single-handedly outdone every king before him.

Yet his undead heart was still so pure and full of life. He became a doctor to help others…no wonder no one knows that the old king is dead and that he was the new one. Heeseung never once gave any hints he was a king.

You held his hand tightly, looking down at the rings that wrapped around his fingers, “I will follow you.”

Heeseung furrowed his brow, “What?”

“Did I stutter?” You said, making eye contact back with him, “My loyalty is with you now.”

Heeseung looked away from you, shaking his head, “You’re only saying that.”

You squeezed his hand, “No I’m not. I’ve seen what you can do, and I know what you can accomplish. Plus you need me if you want to kill Dorian.”

Heeseung glanced at you, “I am listening.”

“I know what his plans are, and where he will be hiding next.”

Heeseung’s heart was telling him to let you in. To bring you close and never let you go and end Dorian once and for all, after all the harm he has done. But his brain was telling him differently. To let you in long enough to set the goals to kill Dorian and let you back out into the wild.

“What reason do you have to kill Dorian and join forces with us?”

You slowly blinked at him, “The things __ and myself have had to endure while living in that compound…being brainwashed into thinking he cared for us…” You shook your head, trying to push out the terrible memories that you’ve suppressed, “I want him dead just as badly as you.”

Heeseung nodded, closing his hand around yours, “We have a lot to discuss then.”

—

“WOAH NO WAY!?” the witch slapped her hands onto the table, her long black braid hair flipping behind her as she stood up from the seat, “You’re telling me you vampires can’t turn into bats on your own?!”

“Oh shut the actual fuck up!” Sunghoon hissed, grabbing his mate's arm and pulling her back into the chair.

You confusingly glared at the witch, “He got the spell to turn into a bat from your library…?”

Sunghoon sighed, “Just ignore the hex girl, she’s being stupid. Said the same shit when she saw my reflection.”

The witch quickly whipped her head to her lover, her black nailed fingertips gripping his chin, pulling towards her, “Watch your tongue bloodsucker, I might hex you.”

Sunghoon smiled warmly at her, quickly planting a small kiss on her lips.

You looked away from them, only to see every couple in the room either in each other's arms or hands tangled together.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Heeseung cleared his throat, “We need a solid plan before chasing after Dorian. He has more tricks up his sleeve than we thought.”

You softly scoffed, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Something funny, public enemy number one?” Sunghoon raised a brow, “I don’t think you have any reason to be laughing.”

“Sunghoon!” Niki’s mate snapped, causing glares from Sunghoon.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “You both worked under Dorian’s thumb and are the reasons for all the bullshit we have gone through.”

“Baby,” the witch said, wrapping her small hands around his bicep, “They were brainwashed, mostly __. If she could have run away from Dorian I am sure she would have. Mostly after meeting Niki. She was protecting him. Just like you would have gone to hell and back to protect me.”

Sunghoon slumped down into his chair, letting his mate win.

Sunoo on the other hand, didn’t let the conversation end.

“No, but, I still want to hear what Y/N thinks is so funny?” Sunoo clasps his hands together, leaning forward against the table, “What could be so funny?”

You glared between Sunghoon and Sunoo, both their eyes glued to you.

“You are all the strongest pack in the world, following under the fucking vampire king!” you snapped, pointing a finger at Heeseung, “What other plan do you guys need to kill Dorian?!”

Heeseung slid his hands into his jeans pockets, tilting his head up, looking down at you, “Because I am not going to use my title as an act of power. I have a family to protect and cannot just go head first into a war.”

Jungwon continued, “We don’t know what tricks Dorian has up his sleeve like Hyung said. We could walk into a trap and get us all killed,” Jungwon pulled his mate close to him, “Unlike you, Y/N, we have something bigger to protect besides just ourselves.”

You were defeated. You couldn’t feel the bond that they all share, you would have no way of understanding. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself.

Heeseung knew this conversation was going nowhere but in circles. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hands hitting midnight.

“Let’s call it a night,” He yawned, “Most of us have jobs and school tomorrow.”

Niki and __ both groaned.

“Jesus Christ there’s two of them now.” Jay sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Is sending them two to school the best course of action?” Jake chimed in, “Wouldn’t Dorian know where to look for them?”

The elf jumped up, “Nope! I amplified my scent-covering spell with the help of our witchy friend, all our scents have completely been covered. Hee, Jay and I can return to the hospital, Niki and __ can return to school, and the others…can do whatever it is you guys do.”

Jungwon clapped his hands, “We will split into search teams while those with jobs work and the teens are at school,” he glanced over at you, “You’re going to be stuck with me and Jake tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” you whispered.

Heeseung stood up, and by reaction, you did also, causing the rest to look at you weirdly.

“He’s the king…do you guys not…react?”

Jake chuckled, “We’ve known this man since way before he became king, we don’t use formals with him.”

Heeseung raised his brows, “Wow okay I am going to bed.”

Heeseung made his way out of the kitchen, before popping back up quickly, “Make sure the teenagers sleep in separate rooms.”

“Hyung!” Niki snapped, his face flushing.

“Your mate and Y/N can share a room.” Jay added in, “We have enough spares for them to share a room.”

You agreed, not wanting to sleep alone anyway.

Jay’s mate shows you and __ to the room. Two twin beds sat on opposite sides of the room.

“Thank you,” you said, giving her a small smile, but your smile faded once you saw the bite mark scars on her neck, “Dorian did that, didn’t he?”

She quickly covered her neck with her hand, “Yeah…he did. If it wasn’t for Jay and the others nearby, I would have died.”

You wanted to apologize but knew apologizing wouldn’t be good enough. No amount of sorry will fix the mess Dorian created.

So you settled for a nod and walked into the room. The young vampire follows behind you.

—

You pulled your jacket around your body, as you knelt to the ground.

Watching as Jungwon and Jake drank from their blood bags.

Jake caught you staring. You quickly looked off into the distance.

“Have something to say?” Jake asked between sips, “If you want a bag just ask.”

Jungwon reached into the cooler bag pulling a blood bag out and tossing it to you, “You need to drink, looking kinda pale.”

You held the bag in your hands, watching as the dark liquid fell to one side.

“Problem?” Jake asked, bringing you back to reality.

“No,” you shook your head, “Thank you for the blood.”

Jungwon and Jake watched carefully as you ripped the bag, drinking the blood down.

“You’ve never drank from bags, huh?” Jungwon laughed, clearly teasing you.

You nodded, “Dorian made us hunt for our meals, I am honestly surprised __ was able to take to the bags so easily. She was the only one out of us who drank from bags.”

“Well when you’re stuck as a teenager forever and have no choice but to attend school, you can’t kill your classmates.” Jake shrugged.

You sighed, “She still drank from humans, just not her classmates.”

The conversation turned awkward.

“Well, I have to piss soooo…” Jake stood up and ran off in the distance.

You finished your blood bag, handing the empty plastic back to Jungwon, “Thank you.”

Jungwon nodded, “We need you at your highest strength if you plan to stick around long enough to kill Dorian and be on your way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. How could you tell the leader of this pack that you want to stick around even afterward? That you want to serve under Heeseung.

But you knew they didn’t work that way. There wasn’t anyone from the outside that was with them besides __ twin brother, but that’s different.

Jungwon’s giggles pulled you out of your thoughts. He held his phone in his hands as his thumbs went from zero to a hundred typing a message.

“What’s funny?” you decide to ask, to clear the silence.

“__ sent me a cute photo of herself saying she misses me.” He smiled brightly, “I want to return to her as quickly as possible.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, “It must be nice to feel love like you guys do.”

Jungwon slid his phone back into his pocket, his smile growing even wider, “It is. I knew from the moment I met her that she was someone I needed in my life.”

Your heart cried out for them, “I am so so sorry, Jungwon.”

He looks at you, confusion written on his face, “For what?”

“For what Dorian has caused,” You tried to hold back your tears, “I was hunting with him that night, and he randomly disappeared, just to come back later talking so much nonsense about a girl he wanted. How she was important to his plan, I encouraged him to find her. I have no idea she was a part of your pack at the time, or else I wouldn’t have said anything.”

Jungwon looked away from you, his lips between his teeth. He released a sigh before returning his eyes to you, “Don’t apologize for something you have no control over. It’s my fault this mess happened.”

You narrowed your eyes, fixing to protest when he held a hand up to stop you.

“I brought __ to the clearing that night,” he took a deep breath, “I could have taken her anywhere else, and I chose that place. Her blood is just…” Jungwon rolled his eyes as if he were in a daze, “The smell of it drove me crazy. The sound of her heart beating. It was all like a drug to me. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

You could tell how badly Jungwon was beating himself up over what happened.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, the leader side-eyeing you, “But you still have her,” you consulted him, “She’s alive and breathing because you met her, who knows what would have happened if Dorian got to her first before you did.”

Jungwon nodded, “I know, and Dorian will pay for even attempting to touch her.”

Jake suddenly appeared again, “I think we should call it a day,” he placed his hand over his heart, “I need to return to my dhampir.”

Jungwon checked his watch, “Yeah it’s getting late. The teens should be back from school. Heeseung, Jay, and __ should be returning from the hospital too.”

—

Another night worth of discussing plans to stop Dorian and find his other hidden locations was an endless circle.

You and the young vampire told the group about multiple different buildings and compounds that he owned and could be at.

“Since he knows we are coming for him now,” the maknae girl said, “He’s more than likely going to be moving around between them all.”

“So it’s a game of catching him at the right place.” Jay groaned into his hands, “Why can’t this ever be easy.”

Jay’s mate stood behind him, her arms wrapped around him tightly, “We will find him, just keep pushing.” Jay nodded, taking her hands in his.

The dhampir bit her nails, her brain’s gears moving quickly, “Archer has also been searching the areas and hasn't caught his scent or presence either.”

You couldn’t help the lack of Heeseung at the table or even in the house. The chair he normally sat in was empty.

“Where is your king?” You finally spoke.

Jay glanced over at the empty seat, “He got caught up at the hospital. An emergency surgery got scheduled and he just happened to be the doctor that was there when the patient was rushed in.”

You nodded, still in awe that these vampires were even remotely okay with being in a hospital.

Jungwon rubbed his temples, “I say let’s call it a night,” he stood from his seat, “Sunghoon, the dhampir, and Sunoo are on search duty tomorrow.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and made their way to their rooms.

You woke up in the middle of the night, seeing __ slowly tip-toeing her way across the room.

You quickly sat up and turned the lamp on, her freezing in place.

“Sneaking off?” You crossed your arms.

She slowly turned towards you, “Oh no, absolutely not.”

You raised a brow, “You’re literally a seventeen-year-old, what else would you be sneaking out of the room to do?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Late night snack?”

“Get back in bed, __. If you get caught in Niki’s room...”

“Then guard it for me!” She quickly said, “Stand in the hallway and if you hear any signs that someone is awake, tap the door once and I’ll rush out. Easy!”

You disagreed, “That sounds like a terrible idea!”

Yet you found yourself sitting on the floor beside Niki’s room.

His room was only down the hall from yours, so it wasn’t like across the house that you and __ would have to escape to.

You listened to the giggles coming from the teens. Their whispers talked about their school day and how well soccer was going for Niki.

You couldn’t help but smile, being very happy that __ was able to find happiness outside that damn compound.

You were so distracted by the teens, you didn’t notice that a bedroom door was opened, and someone was standing in the hallway.

Not just anyone. Heeseung.

He didn’t notice you at first. His bare feet tapped against the floor. His shoulder hangs loosely around his hips. The only thing he had on was a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His perfectly toned body is on full display.

You tried to control your breathing but then remembered everyone in this house was some kind of mythical creature with good ass hearing.

Heeseung turned and looked at you, his brow raising, “What the hell are you doing on the floor?” he whispered.

You tried to find the right words to say without giving away what was happening.

But Heeseung’s eyes darted between you, and the door beside you.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, carefully making his way towards you.

You quickly and quietly stood up, placing your hands against his chest, “Shhh!!” you whispered, “Nothing is going on I promise.”

Heeseung stared down at your hands against his bare chest, then slowly made eye contact with you.

You realized what was happening, and quickly removed your hands from him, “Sorry,” you said, hushed.

“What are they doing in there?!” he aggressively whispered.

“Being two kids in love,” you whispered back, “They aren’t doing anything they shouldn’t.”

Heeseung went to take a step around you, only for you to follow.

Heeseung smoothly wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing you against the wall without making a sound.

His free arm lay above your head, the other slowly squeezing your hip. His face inches from yours.

“Why are you trying to protect them?” he whispered, his eyes scanning your face.

You laid your head against the wall, “Their lives were taken from them way too soon. Trapped at the same age while the world grows and changes around them. Let them be kids.”

Heeseung pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitting your lips, “What is the safe word you two agreed on?”

You rolled your eyes, “You're seriously not going to let them be?”

“The code, please,” he growled.

You submitted, “Tap the door once.”

Heeseung released his grip from your waist, lifting away from you, his left arm still above your head, keeping you trapped.

He barely tapped on the door, it opened a second after.

“Oh…Heeseung…” The young one whispered, the embarrassment on her face.

Niki groaned in the background, “He’s going to kill me.”

She looked between Heeseung and you, confusion on her face.

“Both of you go back to bed,” Heeseung barely said above a whisper.

She nodded, carefully closing Niki’s door and walking down the hallway.

Heeseung fully moved away from you, shifting his head in the direction of your room.

You nodded, slowly walking away.

“Y/N,” he whispered to you. You turned and faced him, “All our lives have been taken from us way too soon,” he gripped the towel around his neck, “None of us will get to fully experience life the way we should have.”

You didn’t know what to say, all you knew was he was right.

“We just have to make the best of it,” was all you could say.

Heeseung nodded, “I am not mad about tonight. They will find ways to be together. I’m just a protective big brother I assume.”

You understood where he came from. __ was like a younger sister to you. And after the way she betrayed Niki, you knew Heeseung only was doing the best he could for the younger one.

“Go to bed your highness,” you teased him, slowly walking down the hallway and into your room.

Your heart racing at the full realization of the state Heeseung was in. How you touched his bare skin.

Chills went down your body.

Heeseung smirked at hearing how fast your heart rate went up. He made his way into the bathroom for a nice shower after his long shift.

—

You followed behind the elf as she led you to Heeseung’s office.

She yawned into her hand, saying how busy of a day it’s been already.

You could only nod. You couldn’t help but feel inferior to the other women in the pack. Mostly because Dorian is the reason why most of them were even put in this spot, to begin with, and since you followed behind him…you were part of the problem.

Another doctor came up to her, asking for help on a patient, and she immediately accepted.

“Y/N,” she turned and gave you a big smile, “Doctor Lee’s office is that way,” she pointed down the hall, “It’ll be Doctor Park’s office first and then a few more doors down will be Lee’s.”

You nodded, watching as she walked back in the opposite direction.

With a sigh, you continued down the hall.

You stopped and peeked inside Jay’s office through his door window. His mate sat on his desk with both hands on either side of her.

She was smiling so wide with him as he pressed his forehead against hers, their nose slightly brushing together.

You softly smiled, then continued a few doors down to Heeseung’s office.

Heeseung was typing away at his computer, looking back and forth between some X-ray scans and the computer screen.

You knocked on the door before opening it, Heeseung slightly glanced up at you and then back at the scans.

“What brings you here?” He asks, rolling his chair over to his counter, and placing the scans on the backlit wall, the bones from the X-rays becoming more apparent.

You closed the door behind you, taking a small glance around his office, “Jungwon sent me to get more blood bags.”

Heeseung groaned, “Shit, I forgot.” He typed something quickly on his computer and stood up, “I will go grab the box. Be right back.”

With Heeseung gone, you took the time to look more around his office.

His doctor's license and certificate from graduating sat in one massive frame.

A few drawings that you assumed were given to him from children he had helped.

Multiple different pictures hung on the wall. A bunch were of him and the pack. Only one looks recent. Recent as in before the events with Dorian.

The seven of them looked happy with pure smiles on their faces. It warmed your heart knowing that they were able to smile like that.

One picture caught your attention. It was a painting. Hung in a really old frame. The painting itself you could easily tell was very old. Yellowish tint from its age shown with some paint in areas peeling.

Heeseung was in the painting with what looked like his parents and an older sibling.

The four of them had smiles, but for some reason, it broke your heart.

You wanted to reach out and touch it but quickly pulled your hand back when the office door opened.

“Okay,” Heeseung trailed in with a massive box in his hands, “I was only able to fill up one box. I’ll have to bring the other home later.” Heeseung used his foot to kick the door closed.

He set the box down on the counter, dusting his hands on his black slacks.

“Sorry it took so long, another doctor walked in—,” Heeseung turned and looked at you, his face growing concerned, “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You tilt your head to the side, “Hmm?”

Heeseung walked over to you, “You’re crying.”

You quickly touched your fingertips to your face, feeling how wet your face was.

You quickly wiped the tears away, but they kept continuing to fall.

“Hey hey hey,” he said, his hands removing yours from your face and replacing them with his. His soft palms cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears, “Y/N, what happened?”

You couldn’t answer, or couldn’t give him an answer. You still didn’t understand why you were crying in the first place.

Maybe it was the pressure of everything. The events that would unfold once Dorian was found. The fact that none of you could survive after this or everyone would live happily ever after with Dorian gone.

Maybe it was the painting on the wall and the fact that Heeseung was taken from his family. That the man standing in front of you, you were slowly falling for and the thought of him giving up his life for the rest of his pack scared you. Because you knew he would.

“Y/N,” he called for you again, the tears still falling, “Baby, speak to me what’s wrong?”

Heeseung lifted your face to look at him, his faded purple hair falling in his face.

You took a deep breath, “The painting.” You decided to tell some truth. You couldn’t tell him the full reason.

Heeseung glanced at his family's painting, then back at you, a soft giggle left his lips as he smiled, “Baby, you’re crying over a painting that’s older than time?”

You rolled your eyes as he continued laughing, “It’s not funny!”

He wiped the last bit of your tears, “What makes it not funny?”

You just looked at him, trying to get him to read your answer off your face.

“Y/N,” Heeseung sighed, “I am okay,” he cupped your face firmly, “My family is my pack now. I am not alone. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Heeseung could tell you weren’t telling him the full truth. But what place did he have to force you to tell him? To open up to him? And not open up just because he’s the king, but because you want to.

But all you did was nod at him. Trying to push the rest of the feelings away.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Wait did you call me baby…twice?”

Heeseung giggled, giving a small smirk, “Yeah I guess I did.”

Without a second of hesitation, Heeseung’s lips were attached to yours.

It was just one passionate kiss, and he parted from you.

Heeseung dropped his hands and took a few steps back, “I uhhh…”

You were more in shock than Heeseung was.

As if on cue, the intercom speakers paged for Heeseung to go to the nurses' station.

“Saved by the bell…” He awkwardly chuckled, slowly walking backward and out of his office.

Heeseung quickly closed the door behind him, leaning against it as he stared straight ahead.

What did he just do? Nothing has ever choked Heeseung up like what he just did. He’s a fucking king for crying out loud.

Heeseung patted his face a couple of times, before walking to the nurses station.

—

The house was silent. Heeseung could hear the tectonic plates of the earth moving from how quiet the house was.

He tossed and turned in his bed, the only thing on his mind was you and the way your lips felt against his.

He wanted to go to you. To bring you close to him and hold you tenderly in his arms.

God, he hated the string of fate. He hated to be put in this situation, to begin with. He knew this pull towards you was his fate, but it was a question of when the string would just knot if it even would.

Heeseung couldn’t take it anymore, his mind was driving him insane.

He sat up in bed, ready to bolt out of his room when you opened the door.

Heeseung sat frozen, watching as you slowly closed the door behind you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked.

Heeseung shook his head, sitting up more.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, or the way he held your face and kissed you. It’s been driving your brain wild.

You wanted to know what it would feel like to be completely held by him. To have his lips connect to yours and not stop. To feel his hands on you…

And the look on Heeseung’s face, you knew he was thinking the same thing. He could read you just as easily as you were able to read him right now.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, quickly jumping off his bed.

He was on you within seconds, his body completely pressed to you as your back hit the door.

Heeseung couldn’t put his lips on you fast enough.

Your hands pulled through his hair as his hands roamed your body.

His lips parted from yours only long enough to pull you on top of him on his bed.

You stripped each other of your clothes one by one until it was bare skin against skin.

You gripped his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist as you moved against him.

His sweet moans filled your ears, “Fuck…fuck…Y/N, oh fuck me.”

Sex with Heeseung was pure bliss. Even once you both collapsed beside each other after you’ve both finished, it still felt like you were on cloud nine.

You rolled over onto your stomach, propping your head into your hands.

Heeseung followed your movements, lifting himself on his elbows.

He pulled a lock of your hair behind your ear, then slowly traced his thumb over the scar he gave you from his blade.

“I am so sorry for this…” he whispered. Heeseung couldn’t even begin to describe how terrible he felt marking you like this.

You noticed an old mirror on the wall across from his bed, you tilted your head to the side, getting a better look at the scars.

“Don’t worry about it.” You said shrugging it off.

“No, I can’t just not worry about it!” He snapped, “I’ll have our magic girls fix it in the morning.”

“Heeseung,” you said, taking his hands in yours, “It’s fine. You did this out of desperation to protect your family.” You looked deeply into his eyes, seeing the worry in them, “You have a family to protect. You have your title as king to protect. I do not blame you at all for doing what you had to.”

Heeseung looked away from you, tangling his fingers around yours, “It doesn’t excuse the fact that I did it.”

“Stop beating yourself up, okay?”

Heeseung just nodded. It was all he COULD do. He knew you weren’t going to let the girls heal the scar.

Heeseung grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your bodies, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You scoffed and softly giggled, “I never thought I’d hear those words, you went from hating me to hating me a lot less.”

Heeseung smiled, “We can call it hating you less.”

You stared at him, your eyes moving over every inch of his face. You would have never thought this sweet, caring man in front of you was the vampire king.

“Will you tell me how you became king?”

Heeseung’s smile faded, “It’s…a long story.”

“We have time. We are undead after all, stuck in eternity.”

Heeseung sighed, “Well, long story short,” he started, “It was just Jay and myself at the time. Before we officially became a pack, we ran with the previous king.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“He was a very…terrible person.” Heeseung’s whole body shook at the memories, “He treated us all like shit. He’s the one who nearly killed Jay and me. Deciding at the last second he wanted more warriors in his rank.” he took a deep breath, steadying his heart race, “It wasn’t until we traveled to Australia and found Jake, that it was the final straw for me.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles around his collarbone with your thumb.

“He didn’t just turn Jake, there was an abundance of people he nearly killed just to add to his army. And all the women he turned he…”

Heeseung didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was getting at.

“Anyways, there was a woman I was close with and the king…” Heeseung took another deep breath, “He killed her for disobeying him. I was filled with so much rage, I prepared for weeks on how I would kill him and then I did.”

Heeseung stared at himself in the mirror, remembering the blood that covered his body. The power he inherited once the king’s undead heart stopped beating and was burned by fire.

He remembers seeing his golden eyes for the first time, and how sharper his fangs were.

“After that, I took the king's oath. Had some weapons forged in my honor, and then Jay, Jake, and I fled. We haven’t returned and that was the moment I decided to become a doctor. I wanted to put some good back into the world and show that not all vampires are monsters.”

You met his eyes in the mirror, “That’s why you all drink from bags.”

Heeseung nodded, staring back into your eyes from his mirror.

The way you two were both lying, the way your heartbeats synced and matched.

“It’s like you’re my mirror,” Heeseung finally spoke again.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“It’s like you’re my mirror,” he repeated, “I look at you and I see my reflection…I see us.”

The both of you could feel the string of fate tying tighter around you, but still not knotting.

Heeseung knew something was stopping the knot from completing. But he would wait for eternity if that’s what it took for you to become his mate…his queen.

“I feel it too, you know.” you whispered, “This pull…”

Heeseung shushed you, touching his forehead to yours, “We will figure it out, okay?”

You nodded, trusting your king.

He went to press a kiss to your lips, but his bedroom door flew open.

“Hyung we, OH MY GOD!”

Heeseung quickly covered you completely with the blanket, hiding you underneath.

“Sunghoon!” the king frowned, “Don’t you know what fucking knocking is!”

Sunghoon held his hands up over his face and stared off into a corner on the other side of the room, “Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t know she was still in here.”

“Still??” you questioned.

“The whole house fucking heard you two!” Sunghoon retorted, “Anyways, Archer just called __, we found where Dorian is.”

—

Heeseung slid two silver daggers to his belt loop attachments and pulled his black trench coat over his body.

Jay laid out a map on the table, circling the area where Archer found him.

“Archer said he saw him entering from that side of the woods,” The dhampir pointed, “Archer said he also had roughly ten other vampires with him.”

Jungwon stared down at the map, eyes wide.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Niki asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s the place he attacked __ and me that night,” Jungwon’s fist balled tightly, “He’s going back to where it all started.”

Sunoo looks at Jungwon confused, “What need would he have to go back there?!”

“It’s because of the clearing,” you said, everyone’s eyes now on you, “The moonlight hits it directly, and on a full moon which is right now…”

“Our powers are amplified.” Jake sighed.

“Exactly,” you continued, “And since he has spells and other magic items to amplify it even more…”

“He’d be unstoppable.” Sunghoon groaned, “That’s fucking perfect.”

“It’s also a trap,” the dhampir chimed in, “We are the strongest pack in the world, mostly because of the fact we have the fucking vampire king, but we have multiple different races of creatures with different abilities.”

“Dorian knew we would narrow it down,” Heeseung said through his teeth, “He’s going to lure us there and use every bit of magic and item he has in his deck of cards to kill us all and inherit our power.”

“He still doesn’t know you’re the king, right?” Jay asked.

Heeseung shook his head, “No. We never told a soul after I killed the previous king. I took the oath and the ones who stand under the oath can’t say a word.”

You started to get worried because if things went south, Dorian would be hitting two birds with one stone. This pack and the king.

Jungwon gritted his teeth, “Who gives a shit what he has up his sleeves, we have what he doesn’t: a family. Finish preparing everything and we leave ASAP.”

Heeseung agreed, “The humans are staying here, are we all in agreement?”

Jungwon and Jay’s mates disagreed, but the men agreed.

Jay held his mate against him, his hands cupping her face, “I can’t lose you, you’re staying here.”

Jungwon held his mate tight against him, “I’ll return to you, I promise.”

Everyone finished the preparations and started to head out.

Heeseung took your hand in his, “Ready to kill that son of a bitch?”

You squeezed his hand, “More than ready.”

—

Dorian’s laughter filled the clearing as he sensed the pack coming closer.

Jungwon made his presence known first.

“Dorian.”

“Ah! Won! We meet here again.”

Jungwon walked off towards the side of the clearing, “Yeah shit crazy. A full circle.”

“Where is your pack? Hmm?” Dorian looked around the woods, “I know they are here.”

Jungwon chuckled, “They are doing the same thing your goof nuts are doing, scouting.”

Dorian raised a brow, “Goof nuts? Really Won?”

Jungwon shrugged, “We aren’t stupid like you thought we would be. Flying into here blind.”

Dorian laughed once again, “Except you did come in blind.”

Jungwon furrowed his brows, watching as Dorian snapped his fingers.

A rush of vampires came down from the trees. Jungwon counted more than twenty.

“Damnit!” growled, “He had more than Archer thought.”

Jungwon steadied himself, trusting the process.

Before the vampires could even touch Jungwon, the other members circled him, their weapons drawn.

Dorian’s vampires jumped back, hissing at the pack.

You jumped in front of Jungwon, staring directly at Dorian, your blades held up.

“Now my vamps,” Dorian softly spoke, “You got startled by eight full-blooded vampires, a dhampir, witch, and elf? That’s…”

Dorian’s eyes wandered between you all.

You smirked, “What’s wrong, Dorian?”

He stared back with the most pissed-off look, “Where is the oldest?”

“Right here.”

Dorian quickly turned around right in time for Heeseung swinging his blade, Dorian backed up and Heeseung barely cut him across his chest.

Dorian’s hands flew to his chest as smoke raised from his chest, “God damn your blades.” He hissed.

Heeseung twirled the blades between his fingers, “Let’s end this game of yours, shall we? It’s been going on way too long.”

“Oh it has, and it’ll end with your bodies burning!”

“GO NOW!” Jungwon screamed, initiating the pack to fight.

One by one, the pack took down Dorian’s vampires.

The witch and elf set their hands in a blaze to burn their bodies.

But the fight with Dorian wasn’t over.

Heeseung hasn’t fought like this since he killed the previous king.

Dorian was also on another level than the king. Dorian had spells that he was throwing at Heeseung. Items that were helping boost the spells.

He also was moving too quickly, making it harder for Heeseung to get any major damage done.

Sunghoon and Jake jumped the last of Dorian’s vampires, tearing their bodies to pieces.

“Hex girl!” Sunghoon called his mate.

She responded with flames to burn the body.

You looked over at Heeseung and Dorian, seeing the struggle.

“Guys!” You called to the pack, “Get Dorian!”

Everyone rushed him.

Every single one of them had some sort of revenge to get towards him.

Dorian has threatened the lives of their mates and their family. They weren’t going to let him get away.

Each member took turns attacking, Heeseung following up every single time.

You saw an opening behind Dorian and jumped on his back.

“You fucking traitor!” Dorian yelled, desperately clawing at your arms and dodging the members.

You fought against his arms to angle your blades at him, “Me? The traitor?! You left me for dead! I worshiped the ground you walked on and stood by your side for hundreds of years!”

Dorian wore a shit-eating grin, “I’m going to fucking kill you all.

Heeseung’s eyes widened, “EVERYONE GET BACK!”

Dorian released a burst of energy from his body, catching everyone in the blast in some way.

Heeseung’s arms burned from the blast. He gritted his teeth, only for his face to fall.

Dorian held you by your neck, one of your blades shoved into your stomach as your skin also burned from the impact of the blast.

Heeseung’s breathing became uneven, rage filling him.

Dorian glances over, “Oh my,” he chuckled, “You’re in love with this traitor here?”

Heeseung gripped his blades.

“Hyung!” Jungwon called for him.

But Heeseung toned him out. The only thing he could see was you.

You slowly clawed at Dorian’s hands, getting lightheaded from the blood you were losing

Heeseung started to build up his power, causing his brothers to yell at him even more.

“Heeseung!!” Jay screamed, “Don’t do it!”

“Heeseung!!” Jake joined.

One by one each of his pack members yelled for him.

Heeseung drew in the power he inherited from killing the previous king.

Heeseung’s fangs came to a point, and his eyes shifted.

Dorian’s eyes widened as he dropped you to the ground.

“Oh, this is fantastic!” Dorian wore an evil smile, “This whole time I was hunting for where the king could be hiding, just for him to have been in front of me all along!”

“__, __,” Heeseung called to the witch and elf, “Get Y/N.”

Dorian paid no attention to the girls picking you up from the ground and dragging you back to the others.

Jay kneeled beside you, slightly pulling at the blade stuck in your stomach.

You let out a small groan of pain, you started kicking and swinging your arms, and Jay stopped moving the blade. Niki and __ holding your arms and legs down.

“Fuck!” He cursed, his focus going back to Heeseung.

“Jay!” The witch snapped her fingers at him, “Hey! Focus on Y/N.”

Jay narrowed his eyes between the witch and you, “You want me to choose between my brother and someone who ain’t even in my pack?!”

Jake touched Jay’s shoulder, “They are bonded, I can feel it. The string just isn’t knotted.”

“I can feel it too,” Niki said, “It’s faint but it’s there.”

“Don’t you fucking let her die!” Heeseung cried out, slowly standing back up to his feet, his knuckles white from gripping his blades.

“Jay, __ and myself will provide the numbing magic so you can pull the blade out,” The witch said.

He nodded, the girls hovering over you as Jay slowly attempted to remove the blade.

You turned your head to Heeseung, your vision blurring.

“Why don’t you just die already, ya?” Dorian asked, “Give me the power that I deserve.”

Heeseung held his blades at eye level, “Only thing you deserve is to rot in fucking hell.”

Dorian cracked his knuckles and ran full force at Heeseung.

Heeseung pushed forward, pushing his speed past its normal limits.

He swung the blade, cutting Dorian’s right hand off.

“Damnit!” Dorian screamed and pushed forward again.

Heeseung dodged him, sliding across the grass and slicing his Achilles heels.

Dorian went down to one knee. His fangs made an appearance as he held his only hand over where the other would be missing.

Sunoo and Jake appeared on both sides of Dorian, grabbing his arms as the dhampir pulled his head back by his hair.

Jungwon and Sunghoon stood beside Heeseung.

All their eyes glowed bright crimson and golden.

Dorian laughed, “You think killing me will be the end? That the rest of my followers won’t come after you now that you’ve shown who you truly are?”

You regained your consciousness, feeling the pain from the blade that was now missing.

Jay held pressure to your stomach, as the witch and elf used their healing magic.

“It’s working,” the elf said, “She’s awake again.”

Jay slowly lifted his hands, seeing your wound closing up.

Jay relaxed, looking back over at his brothers.

You rolled your head over to Heeseung, seeing how they surrounded Dorian.

“I don’t give a shit who knows who I am.” Heeseung hisses, placing both blades against Dorian’s neck, “I am the fucking vampire king in the strongest pack in the world, no one will dare cross me.”

Dorian regained his shit-eating grin, “I’ll see you in hell, vampire king.”

Sunoo and Jake wasted no more time, tearing his arms from his body.

Jungwon and Sunghoon went for his legs, breaking them apart.

The dhampir held her grip tightly on Dorian’s hair as he screamed in agony.

Heeseung, with all his force, pushed his blades through Dorian’s neck, cutting it clean off his body. His blood splattered all over Heeseung’s face and clothes.

“Babe!” Sunghoon called for his witch, her rushing to his side, her hands bursting into flames and setting Dorian’s body on fire.

The sun finally rose, and the clearing became quiet except for the sounds of the fire.

You were able to fully sit up, with the help of Jay and the elf.

Heeseung hung his head low, slowly placing his blades back into his belt.

It was over. It was finally over.

“Heeseung!” You called out to him.

He loved the way you’d say his name.

He quickly rushed to your side, helping you stand up.

“Are you okay? Baby?” Heeseung cupped your face, searching for any more wounds.

“Hee, I am fine.” You said placing your hands over his, “It’s all over.”

Tears filled your eyes, and the same did with Heeseung’s. He killed the man who had hunted and hurt his family.

Heeseung pulled you into a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

The string of fate finally completed its knot.

“It’s because of Dorian,” the young vampire girl said, “He had this hold on them, it was complicating the bond.”

The witch agreed, “Heeseung and Y/N, probably couldn’t fully let themselves have someone until their duties were done.”

Sunghoon raised his brows, “Do you feel that?”

The members at that moment felt it.

Heeseung released his lips from yours, turning to look at his pack.

You also turned to look and the site surprised you.

They all were kneeling, heads hung low but in an honoring way. Even the witch and the elf copied the men.

“What’s going on?” You asked, looking back up at Heeseung.

He took your chin between his fingers, “You’re my mate now, but it’s not just that. You’re now a queen.”

You looked back out at your new family, feeling the bonds everyone shared. The respect they now held for you, and it wasn’t just because of Heeseung or that you’re bonded to them now.

“Okay you idiots, stand up. Jeez, nothing has changed.” Heeseung teased, running over to his brothers, all seven of them huddling together.

The happiness Heeseung was feeling was indescribable.

He could finally truly be who he wanted, not just as himself, but as a doctor and even a king.

Heeseung had a family. He had you.

And that’s all that mattered in the end.

“Let’s go home now.” Heeseung said, “We no longer have to live in complete hiding.”

Heeseung wrapped his arms around you as you all walked together home.

the end ♡

a/n: thank you so much to every single one of you who has inspired me to continue writing this series and who have stuck around since the beginning of this series. I am forever grateful to everyone who has read, liked and reblogged. I hope everyone looks forward to the imagines I have planned for the future. This series is dedicated to you all! <3

#heeseunggie #lee heeseung #heeseung #reader x heeseung #heeseung x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #strangers to lovers #enemies to lovers #vampiresbleeding #yeonzzzn writing

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mygnolia · 5 months

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[TEASER! ] it's cupid, stupid! | lhs

synopsis -› To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?

pair -› golden boy!heeseung x fem-pres!reader

release date -› IT'S HERE!!!

genre -› fluff, mutual pining, hurt/angst, slow burn i fear, bakery au, summer au, post highschool au

trope -› (slightly one sided) enemies to lovers

wc -› currently 6.7k! probably will be 10-15k

cw -› food mentions, a self indulgent characterization of my grandmother but she’s also everyone else’s in this fic, cursing, oh the miscommunication trope...sorry not sorry.

a/n -› even though i tried keeping food descriptions vague, i used the experience i had with my own grandma and her cooking to influence the way y/n grandmother cooks and the way it’s described so it might not be accurate for everyone! i understand not all cultures include baked goods with starches (since I mention a lot of flouring surfaces) so pls be kind to me :( ALSO!! i haven't written in MONTHS don't hate the writing pls we are all just in this fanfic hell tgt

Lee Heeseung might only have eleven characters to his name, but they spelt trouble in forty different ways.

It starts with the same old Lee Heeseung spilling his applesauce on you in the first grade, with his cup of mushy lukewarm grossness splattered across your new pants with glittery stars on them. You shriek when it happens, frantically wiping off the mess and yelling at his Lightning McQueen lunchbox with all of the bottled up rage a seven year old can have. His eyes are wide, but all his friends laugh and say girls are so angry all the time, so he stops himself from apologizing. Which, you think his friends were being a little rude to all girls alike, but what mattered was that Lee Heeseung never ended up saying sorry.

But that’s just one way of saying it. He hit you in the face with a ball, ran into you when your knee was scraped and you almost were bursting into tears, and tripped you in the lunch line.

Did the universe hate you, or did he?

You figured it was the latter.

Heeseung’s been stuck to you your entire life with some extra strong adhesive that you can’t seem to get off. You wish you could get some of the same glue that stuck you two to the hip and attach his tongue to the nearest streetlight, but things almost never worked in your favor. If you could catch him, just once, like one of the dumb boys who lick frozen poles in winter, you’d be satisfied.

The blackmail would trump any sort of Heeseung related adversity your elementary grade self had to deal with.

Unfortunately, the years have rendered you no protection against him, and in the small victories you find yourself in, you also see Heeseung right next to you. The exam you aced was topped by Heeseung with a 98%, just a bit higher than your 96%, and it couldn’t even feel good to talk about it because you knew all your friends talked about was how he did better.

There was no accomplishment anymore when Heeseung was around.

Heeseung was perfect in everyone’s eyes, a golden boy in their praises and a role model for their parents. If people didn’t want to be with Lee Heeseung, people wanted to be Lee Heeseung. That? That was something you hated. How could people want to be someone who you couldn’t stand?

“Have you seen the scissors?” Heeseung asks out of nowhere, startling you from the doorway.

Reaching for the ones you used to cut the parchment paper with, you hand the pair to him and with a mumbled ‘thank you’ he leaves.

In an odd way, you’re stunned by the silence that follows. A “you suck, _____!” would be more in character for villainous Lee Heeseung than whatever just happened. But you’re way too occupied with the bakery, and go back to cutting squares in the matcha cake.

It’s the same for the next hour until the rush ends and you get a bit more time to yourselves between orders. Heeseung agrees to wash the dishes and you clean the tables to the sound of your playlist from the speakers.

“You have good music taste.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he emerges. He wipes his hand on a white towel and you stare at him, utterly puzzled. Where’s the malice? Where’s his snarky comments?

“I’m waiting for you to tell me it’s not as good as yours, or something along those lines.” You deadpan.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “I’m not that mean, I can give a compliment or two when I feel like it.”

“Oh, poor Lee Heeseung only has so much room in his heart to compliment people. How thankful should I be that you spend your daily supply of niceness on me?” You quip, cleaning off the tables. Your chest feels light and you don’t feel as angry as you did this morning.

Blame it on the lack of sleep.

“I think you should be bowing down to me and only talking when I tell you to.” He jokes, and when you glance up, there’s a semblance of a smile on his face. “Anyways, when are you leaving?”

“Whenever you leave.” You tell him, shrugging.

“Well, I stopped my your grandma’s house earlier.” Ah, so that’s where he went. “She said she didn’t want you to stay too late but she also wanted me to take you home, and I think she’d throw a fit if you didn’t.”

“I’d die before getting into a car with you, Lee Heeseung.”

“If I had to get into a car with you, that’s how I’d personally die.” He responds lightly. You furrow your eyebrows and rack your brain for some sort of retort that hurts Heeseung’s pride, but nothing comes up.

“My driving skills are very good, I’ll have you know.”

He jabs, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

—

there is no taglist i'm lazy and i might not write for a while if u likey pls reblog or save into ur mental archive hehe ty- ren

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llamagoddessofficial · 3 months

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You don't have to read this, but I've been thinking about ways to escape that situation. I would consider this a test run because we don't know their hunting strategies. Instead of focusing on running away, I would focus on understanding their patterns, as we know they are Mafia workers who search for people, and we don't know what kind of roles they have in their search. I'm considering whether or not to tell Dust about something, but I'm worried that he or my home might be bugged. If I do decide to tell him, I'll write a note explaining my reasons and wait for Horror to watch over us. While I wait, I'll inspect the garden for any weak points in the walls and observe the usual guard shift times. I might also pretend to have trouble sleeping and ask for some sleeping medication. I know Nightmare would attempt to help me, but he can't be available 24/7, and he won't be there every night, and I would ask for some sleep medication. And when it's Horror's turn I will dump the appropriate amount in his food or drink to mask the drugs when adding drugs to food or drink, I would use sugar to mask the taste and spices to cover up the smell. He is the main person hunting us down, and it's frustrating for Killer and Dust because they primarily used him to track us from the beginning. I will use the tough fabric of our curtains to tie knots and cut them to make a makeshift rope. Then, I will hail the nearest taxi, pay in cash, and instruct the driver to take us to the docks. I would take a boat tour to travel to the other side of the lake assuming that we live near one. They usually don't ask for ID, but I would choose a cheaper one just in case. I would be willing to pay extra if they do ask for it. Once I reach the other side, I would go to one of the destinations and start my new life without them.

An admirable attempt, to be sure. And there's a genuine chance you could get some distance away before they find you, which is no small feat. But there are some pitfalls you might have overlooked.

Guard shifts overlap. Nightmare has been in the game long enough to know the common breaks in armour. He's not just keeping you in; he's keeping his enemies out.

The boys might be dumb, but they're not stupid. They're incredibly observant. They would be able to tell that you're watching the guards.

Nightmare will be able to smell mounting anxiety about an escape attempt.

Where would you get the cash for the taxi? Additionally, you are really throwing the dice by getting a cab from outside Nightmare's home. Good luck finding a driver that isn't on Nightmare's payroll. In fact, good luck finding anywhere in the city where there isn't anyone loyal to Nightmare. There's a reason Dust was so agitated by Nightmare liking you... there's a reason he told you you can't leave.

You're gonna need a lot of fucking sleep meds to knock Horror out for any significant amount of time.

Horror is the fastest at finding you, sure. But if he's out of action, Nightmare will happily take his place on the hunt. And that isn't a good thing for you.

Also... perhaps the biggest issue.

You know food is sacred to Horror right? Incredibly sacred. To him, it's synonymous with love, with care, with connection. Food sharing in the Underground was how you told someone you valued their life. And accepting food was how you expressed the ultimate vulnerability. Horror doesn't accept food from just anyone.

Not only did you tamper with his food, you offered it to him under false pretences. You took advantage of the fact that he cared for you enough to eat/drink whatever you offer. I hope you realise you've absolutely shattered his trust.

He will never believe you, or let his guard down around you, ever again.

You monster.

#llamagines #bad sanses #mafia bad sanses

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sugar-grigri · 8 months

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Nayuta must become the big sister

I think what's especially interesting to note in chapter 154 is Nayuta's failure to use the right tactics.

Denji raised Nayuta correctly, emphasizing going to school, trying to control her possessive outbursts while being extremely present for her. In short, he nurtured her, giving her the protection he hadn't enjoyed as a child himself.

Although Nayuta knows her own nature and instincts, and is not naturally altruistic, she still looks at herself in a certain way: from society's point of view, and from her own, she is a child.

What I'm trying to say is that it's not insignificant to have Makima reincarnated; we could very well have had Nayuta, already an adult, because she's a devil who doesn't grow up. Nayuta already seems to grow up much faster than humans, so Fujimoto could very well have decided that a demon, especially a knight of the apocalypse, should already be born as an adult.

She grew up more quickly, and by the time Denji had finished devouring Makima, she already had the appearance of a 4/5-year-old child.

Fujimoto made Nayuta a child, because it's this state of being that makes her a control demon so paradoxical. Indeed, if Makima was so powerful, it wasn't just because she was older; the fact that Denji had killed Makima didn't change anything in terms of the fear one can feel of control.

What affects Nayuta's power, capable of controlling only 3 people at a time, is the way she conceives herself.

Makima was so powerful because she occupied a fairly high hierarchical position among public hunters, just as she had unquestionable authority over her agents. What's more, the government assigned her an objective of a universal nature: to protect all mankind from evil things. This role of universal protector, albeit a protective one, naturally places Makima, the control demon, in the role of guardian, humanity being as harmless as obedient puppies. The only thing Makima couldn't feel superior to was Chainsaw Man, for he is the entity that provides the means to pursue her universal goal of protection.

The key to Nayuta's fate is the fact that she has been loved and pampered by Denji. She makes it clear: it's natural for a demon to kill humans. Which, on the other hand, indicates that it's completely unnatural and almost unnatural for a demon to love and be loved by a human.

To have been loved, to have been happy, enabled the control demon to understand other ways of relating than pure domination, whereas Makima didn't understand human relationships, to the point of being moved by a hug, so unattainable for her.

Nayuta understands the nuances of relationships, just as she claims not to be the leader of powerful public officials but a mere child, which always places her in an inferior position to her enemies. That's why she's less powerful: to be in control, she needs to feel superior, which she can't easily do when she sees all these adults surrounding her so vehemently.

She focuses more on her social role as a child to be protected than as a demon attacking head-on. She still adheres to her role as a child, she's not obsessed with CSM because she can't reach him, he's now in her inner circle, she doesn't have a universal goal such as protecting the humanity like Fami suggested, she just wants to go to school.

In short, the control demon no longer wants to control, no longer needs to, or when she does, it's out of sheer necessity. The fact that she's weaker was Kishibe's objective when he gave custody of the demon to CSM, to make the control demon more human, more childlike, to avoid this exponential need for control. In short, the fact that the Control Demon's supreme objective is to be loved has contained its power, because its objectives have been achieved.

We can see how love is an unnatural thing, because it limits a demon who should be supreme through his solitude. For Nayuta's sake, to get out of her situation in chapter 154 would be to have a crisis of ego, and I think that symbolically it's not out of the question that if Nayuta abandons her role as a child, she'll grow up brutally. For a demon, appearance and age are simply a question of positioning in society. Makima had chosen to take on the appearance of a femme fatale to enable her to manipulate more effectively.

A soft voice, an attractive appearance to encourage us to lower our guard, the better to control coldly.

This is also why Barem is so dangerous to her: he's big-boned, aggressive and very tall, so he can be naturally frightening to a child. If Nayuta wants to control him and regain the upper hand, she mustn't see herself as a child with a gun pointed at her head. That even when assaulted, even when held at gunpoint, she's still in full control, that despite the chaos, she's still superior.

It's no coincidence that it's a gun that's pointed at her. Guns are fatal for humans, but for demons, especially the most powerful ones, they don't mean much. Nayuta doesn't need to be afraid of a gun, she needs to embrace her demon nature.

And she's on that track because protecting CSM, rather than being protected by him, means she can now play the role of a big sister.

What's more, she needs to get to know her own need for violence and cruelty. Chaos isn't what she likes, this chain of violence and combat isn't what she desires, because what she wants is cold, absolute control, where all she gets is unfailing obedience, people falling into line, not men with spears fighting each other in a primal manner.

She has been brought up by Denji, adopting his mannerisms and his way of speaking, but she also needs to distance herself from this fraternal figure in order to be herself.

All this leads me to say that the Knights of the Apocalypse, by moving away from what they are, are THE ONES who bring about the apocalypse, which is totally obvious, hence their name.

By loving something abnormal for the demon of control, by falling in love with his worst enemy for the demon of war, by wanting to save humanity to better eat what it produces for the demon of famine... show how they are all affected by humanity, to the point of putting aside their demonic nature.

Think of it as a kind of broken balance, which leads the eldest, the demon of death, to intervene. Why? For death represents absolute equilibrium; no one can escape it, it is an absolute rule from which it cannot be dislodged, it is an inevitable and firm end. Common to all species.

So she intervenes, to pull the ears of her little sisters Nostradamus' prophecy doesn't predict the apocalypse - in fact, it predicts that it will be triggered by the Knights of the Apocalypse, who have set out to protect mankind from the apocalypse. It may sound complicated when you put it like that, but the idea is to reinforce the idea of inevitability: protecting mankind from the apocalypse isn't a rebellion, something that can work; on the contrary, Fami's plan triggers it because she denies her nature. It's a losing game.

When I say that Nayuta needs to be a little more Makima again, it's not just for her own good, it's also for the good of humanity, and I find that ultra interesting: it's necessary for the antagonist we got rid of in part 1 to return, at least partially, in part 2.

But she mustn't go back to being that obsessive protector, she must simply resume its role as predator. Mankind needs predators: with the evolution of technology, it thought it could challenge its food chain, but paradoxically it needs to be bruised by demons to survive, since the balance of the world is at stake.

It's all the more symbolic that Barem and Fami use the wrong strategy: like Prometheus, they give fire to men via contracts with the fire demon, reinforcing the idea of evolution to escape its nature. It's even more symbolic that many weapons serve this project, such as Miri, the demon of the whip and the spear, hybrids linked to this civilisation.

It's absurd for the demon of control to argue that she's just a child. If she wants CSM to escape, she must also allow him to free himself from his role as big brother and protector. And the answer to this question was given by Fumiko, who didn't realise that dogs and Meowy weren't just animals. What she should despise is certainly not her own family.

Humanity is nothing more than pets, and this realisation is the key for Nayuta to become herself again.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 154 #denji #denji hayakawa #nayuta hayakawa #nayuta #makima #barem bridge #fami #yoru #kishibe #death devil #fire devil #my thoughts #I wrote this in class oooops

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rainybubbles · 4 months

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What 141 would do if you're experiencing self-doubt ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

SIMON :

-"I am not enough; I will never be, and you know it. You know it because, in a crowd, your gaze wanders elsewhere. Your fingers barely brush against me, and you only utter kind words without ever mentioning my beauty. I will never be like the others; I can never fill your heart. I am just a silhouette in your life, while I constantly dream of being the leading role in our film. But it’s just a film, an illusion, and I can’t be content with that."

-Out of breath, they stood before him, tears in their eyes. Their exhausted eyes let every tear fall, their breathing was labored.

-He stood motionless, rigid, unable to move, to utter a word.

-This silence was like a knife, silently cutting the bond between them, answering the unspoken with more silence.

-"I see," they murmured as they turned to leave.

-But their momentum was interrupted by his hand firmly gripping their wrist. He stood there.

-"Do you honestly think you can compare yourself to the others?" he murmured.

-"Don’t hit where it hurts, I—"

-"Do you honestly think you can compare yourself when your smile makes me forget the blood I shed? The souls screaming in my ears. When each of your breaths is a wave of desire I struggle to restrain, while for ten years, I struggled to feel even lust? When your voice, your ambitions are the only things I think about. You haunt me. I’ve tried day and night to flee from you, to distance myself, to keep you as an acquaintance, but no matter my efforts, I found myself at your feet begging for a crumb of your smile. Do you honestly think I see you like the others?"

-Stunned, they didn’t know how to respond.

-"Simon."

"I can’t, I didn’t want to. Not yet. I can’t afford to have people to lose, but you’re here, and I find myself unable to let another take your heart."

"Then take it."

Hesitant, the soldier could see his mother, Beth, his brother, his nephew. Having someone meant being able to lose them. Having only his life meant a gentle, painless death.

-But between putting them in danger or losing them, Simon’s heart had made its choice.

-He wouldn’t risk finding them one day dead in his living room, killed by an enemy. He couldn’t. Yet the idea of having them in their living room, their house, seemed so sweet.

"It’s not that simple."

"Simon, please. Be clear, you can’t—"

His hands were on their face, wiping away each tear he had caused.

"Look at us, Simon," they murmured.

Their breaths close, the heat rising, their gazes shifted from one to the other, settling on their lips. And everything happened quickly. A moment, a second changing everything. A kiss.

"You are enough," he murmured after the first kiss.

But it wasn’t enough; starving, his heart burning, Simon kissed them again and again.

Feeling their body under his hands, their much-desired lips on his. Their breath, their scent, their sounds, their hair, everything was them, and he could only get intoxicated again and again.

They were an addiction.

"I can’t get enough of you."

"Neither can I. Don’t leave me again, Simon."

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

They were enough, more than that, they were too good for him. But Simon was a selfish man, and if they allowed him, he would stay in their affections as long as they let him.

PRICE :

(Tall reader implied in this one.)

"Am I... pathetic, John? Not enough?"

On a summer evening at the base, which was deserted due to the nice weather and the open bar, two colleagues smoked outside.

-The conversation had shifted from light banter to work, and now, as dawn approached, alcohol was loosening their tongues, steering them towards deeper topics.

"Pathetic?" John repeated.

"Yes."

They stubbed out their cigarette abruptly.

"Sorry, it sounds childish. I'm complaining about my life when we were talking about something else. I should go to bed, I—"

They were interrupted by his gaze.

"No, I'm listening."

They sat back down, almost timidly.

"Have you been with people, John?"

"I've had my share of lovers, yes."

"Everyone has, at our age, right?"

"I guess."

"Not me."

John observed their in silence, sensing their hesitation.

"My parents say it's pathetic, being only good at writing reports, not even able to seduce soldiers in a barracks. That my ugliness, my height, are horrible traits they can hardly stand to see at each meeting. And I know they're wrong, but when I hear stories of kisses, love letters, children, marriages... I can't help but wonder: what's wrong with me? Why... why have I never felt that desire, why has no one ever had it for me? Am I... pathetic?"

John removed his cigar from his lips, his eyebrows furrowed. He stood up without a word.

They guessed he was bored by their words, their problems, and regretted having said too much.

But John knelt in front of them.

"You'd have to be very cruel to think a person like you is pathetic. If you are, then I'm just a pathetic man who desires a pathetic person."

"John..."

"Not feeling desire, not having loved, kissed, or slept with someone at our age shouldn't be a shame. Love isn't a race, and if you start in your thirties, forties, or fifties, so be it. You should never feel any pressure or degradation about it. Because a man, a lover, a good one at least, will never define you. You are a wonderful person who may choose to have someone in their life, or not. It’s optional."

"It’s hard."

"I know."

On his knees, he reached out to cover their hand with his.

"You are not pathetic. Your laughter at Simon's awful jokes, that little tic after writing a report when you click your tongue, your height towering over even Johnny... I live for that. Every morning on this base, I wish to give you a report I spent too many hours falsifying just so we can correct the errors together, so I can sit next to you and feel your leg brush against mine, your scent filling my clothes, or leave my silly hat on your head in winter. I want you to see me, as I see you. Because if you did, you'd never dare, never even think to use the word 'pathetic' to describe yourself."

"John..."

"I'm not asking for anything. I know your desire now, and I guess I don't meet your expectations, but please, don't let this define you."

Slowly, he stood up, his hand leaving theirs.

"Why?" they asked, interrupting his walk.

"Why what?"

"Why tell me this when you... you know I could never have that physical desire for you?"

"Because my desire isn't just sexual, I want all of you. A life without sex doesn't bother me, not if I can see your smile every morning, not if I can fix a stupid sink we bought together, not if I can admire those lines on your face every day."

"You're an idiot."

"So it seems."

Wiping their tears, they blew their nose. With a determined step, they joined him.

"Where are we going?"

"Where?" he asked

"Well, a date should be somewhere nice, right?"

A smile appeared on his face.

"I know a place," he murmured.

"Let's go."

Hand in hand, the dawn rose on a new relationship at the base.

SOAP :

— Wait, talk to me, we can fix this, he said, running after you into the bathroom.

— It’s not a problem, Johnny. It’s not a disagreement, you said, sitting on the floor.

— What is it then?

— ME! I’m... I’m completely useless. Seriously, all through this party, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even drink. I was paralyzed by a panic attack, standing there like a statue while my friends wanted to celebrate. I ruined their moment, I... I’m not worth it. Every time they want to hang out, they look for uncrowded places because of me. They delay our meetings to make sure I don’t faint on public transport. They try to guess if today’s a good day for me before even suggesting anything. I’m a burden to them. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I can’t talk to people without overthinking, I hate that I faint in crowds, I can’t go outside when I want to, I can’t call people, I can’t even tell stories. Because I don’t have any; I’m stuck in a boring life with anxiety slowly eating me away.

— Is that what you think? he whispered. That you’re not worth it?

— Yes, you sobbed softly. Because it’s the truth.

— Do you think your friends see you as a burden? That they hang out with you because they have to?

— Yes.

— No. They hang out with you, they take your anxiety into account, they plan around your feelings because they want to. They wish they could see you every day because you’re a wonderful person, you’re a delight to be around. They know they can’t always see you, so they take care of you. I... take care of you. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wished to see you every day, to go out with you every day. But I love you too much to impose my desires on your anxiety. We love you, we do all this because we care about you. Tonight was a mistake.

— A mistake?

— We were supposed to be five, but Thomas’s friend invited more people, and it turned into a big party. We couldn’t warn you in time.

— So...

— We wanted you there, we wanted to celebrate with you, with our friends. Not with random drunk people.

— You love talking to drunk people.

— I love talking to people, period.

— I feel stupid.

— Then I’ll be stupid with you, scoot over.

— John, there’s no room to sit, we’ll be stuck in the bathtub.

— So?

He settled in. The two of you tangled up in an empty bathtub, a laugh escaped your lips.

— You’re ridiculous.

— I’m whatever you want me to be.

— Even bald?

— I admit, I won’t touch my hair.

— ...Do you... do you really want to see me more often?

— Yes. But I know how you... how you need your space after socializing.

— You sound like a personal development book.

— Maybe it’s from "Introvert’s Guide", I admit.

A sigh escaped, a smile forming.

— Thank you, John.

— No problem.

— You... you could come to my place, maybe.

— You-

— So we can see each other... more. More than just outside.

— Okay.

Slipping a key into his pocket, John could only take your hand and gently caress it.

— You deserve it, this happiness , believe me.

— I’ll try, you whispered.

KYLE :

The silence lingered at the end of the line.

"You're supposed to answer after a “how are yo”, you know?" Kyle said.

Usually they would have said “yes I’m fine.”

But that wasn't the case. It never had been. But they had always managed to lie, to downplay their problems. Yet their trembling lips betrayed them, letting slip the truth.

"That's not the case."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, I was catching up."

Idiot. Kyle Garrick was nothing if not a stubborn and obstinate man.

"You think I'm going to buy that?"

"Kyle, I'm not sure that..."

"You just admitted what I've been waiting for months to hear. I'm not letting go."

"You were waiting?"

"Do you really think I believed you? You... you talked about your neighbor for hours to avoid my questions, please, just answer me."

"Have you ever wondered why I always seemed to mess everything up?"

"You..."

"I wonder every day. My parents barely talk to me, I did an art degree to avoid finishing my bachelor's and being in debt, I started a history degree only to end up cleaning after my graduation, unable to find a teaching position. I lost my apartment, my dog, my first love, and my second. And my college friends. And today, my job, and they all say the same thing, it's my fault. So Kyle, tell me, did I ruin your life too?"

The sound of the line crackled.

"No."

"You can't lie, I..."

"Your parents are disappointed that their prodigy of a child didn't do what THEY wanted for you. Your art school was filled with artists copying from the internet. Teaching positions come and go every year. You're just young, and as for your friends, they were nothing but hypocrites, taking advantage of your notes and then leaving. Your exes had their flaws and projected them onto you. They're all idiots if they think you're the bane of their existence, because now, they must realize how much you helped them. You mattered. You matter."

"Kyle."

"I wouldn't know who to call, who to tell the stupid things I see here to forget if you weren't there. I know you ask me to describe the scenery in each of my calls so I don't remember my missions, that you don't talk about my work to give me a bubble. And it matters to me, you matter to me enormously."

"I'm just trying to... help you."

"Then let me help you in return. Why don't you... why don't you come to my apartment?"

"Kyle, what?"

"You don't have a job anymore, do you? Rent is expensive and you have nothing holding you back. Come to England. My parents know a university, you could work there as a teaching assistant or find something else."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve better. I don't want to play the savior, I... it's selfish, but knowing that when I come back, I'll find you in my apartment is a selfish wish. I can't just settle for calls anymore, I want to hear your voice every morning."

"As friends?"

"No."

"I see."

"But if that's how you see us, then I'll respect your choice and my offer will always stand."

"I can't ask you to let me move in with you if I know that."

"I'll do anything for you."

"You're stubborn."

"Yes."

"I... I'll think about it."

"You haven't given me an answer."

"Do I really need to?"

"No. I... damn it, I wish I could kiss you."

"You'll have to wait until you come back."

"I can't wait."

If you want more : masterlist.

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john mctavish x reader #john price x reader

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