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owliellder · 8 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

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acheronist · 9 days

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to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

#📜#henry peglar #this is my crazy person post i wanted to make two weeks ago #i really did do my best to follow his hand btw but let's all read this expecting a few mistakes #franklin expedition #peglar papers

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huramuna · 25 days

Text

new valyria - one shot.

aemond x shera stark, modern. 18+, minors do not interact or you will be smited. a banshee's lament au.

new valyria, the hottest club in town, is owned by the Targaryen family. it is themed in the style of Valyria of old with towering pillars of ivory and gold. the dress code is strictly red and black and their signature drink, a fruity and spicy blended brandy, is called 'the Balerion'.

i might do more one shots in this au heehee.

word count: 5.5k

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, shera being a mess, aemond = whore?, aegon has rabies, helaena x shera agenda

ain't it fun - paramore • hard times - paramore

warnings: thigh riding, oral (f receiving), shera has a praise kink, aemond targaryen has a tongue piercing, semi public sex (they're in an alley)

“Sher, please don’t be a buzzkill, it's one night— just one!” Cregan exasperated, hands held out in a pleading fashion. He was pacing back and forth in front of his sister, perplexed.

“It’s seriously not my scene, Cregan. I mean… loud music, flashing lights and intoxicated individuals everywhere? You really think that’s a good place for me to be?” Shera retorted, lazed back in her fluffy couch, glancing at her phone every once in a while.

“It’s really classy, trust me. There are tables to the side where you can sit away from the action.”

“Why am I even going if I’m going to be ‘away from the action’?” she punctuated air quotes in his face.

“When was the last time you left the house except to go to the post office? When was the last time you socialized with anyone who wasn’t me, Moongeist or Helaena?”

Shera went silent, brow knitting together. She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “Low blow, make fun of the girl with an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.”

“I’m… I just want you to experience life! You’re young and spry— you should be out in the world trying everything while you still can! But instead, you insist on staying at home, wearing glasses that make you look like a librarian, and making soap. You already act the part of a grandma.”

“It’s… I just don’t want anyone to see me, I don’t want to be perceived, Cregan. I don’t want people to look at me, to… to,” she gestured fervently to her eye, hands shaking slightly. She had a scar that ran the length of half of her face, bisecting her one eye into a milky-blue blindness. It was from a childhood accident, which was more or less a hazy nightmare to her now. “Y’know.”

“No one will see you, Shera. It’s… dark and low lit, that’s part of the experience.”

“Thirty minutes. I will stay approximately thirty minutes before I call an uber and go home. And… you have to do my laundry for… a month. No, two months!” Shera exclaimed, pointing out two fingers at him. Moongeist whined on the couch, giving a low warbling noise.

–

Two hours later, she was dressed. She opted for a lacy baby-blue lolita style dress at first, but Cregan had protested immediately.

“You look like a scary Victorian doll. Pick something from this era, please. Plus, there is a dress code of black and red.”

Shoving a rude gesture in his face, she begrudgingly changed. She opted for a red satin dress. It had a scoop halter neckline which was certainly not her usual style. Glancing in the mirror, she wholly considered bailing out of the situation entirely. The snug fabric hugged her curves, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. She felt… exposed, all of the little dips and divots of her body on display— she wasn’t sure if it was even flattering.

A small frown tugged at her lips as she fiddled with the plunging front of the dress, trying to get it to stay at a point where her breasts didn’t look like they were about to burst out and start kicking ass and taking names. Isn’t there tape made for this sort of thing? As self conscious as she was about the whole situation, there was something… liberating about getting dressed up with (almost) the sole purpose of being ogled at. While her face was something of a sore point, she would hope that at least one person in the club could find her body desirable. She was a ‘short-stack’ as Helaena called her, who worshiped her curves and soft spots like they were the second coming of a messiah. Shera squeezed her thighs together at the thought– if she didn’t get a hookup tonight, she would need to call Helaena. Some itches could only be scratched on your own for so long.

Pressing double-sided adhesive tape, that she used for her soap orders, to her chest, she somewhat successfully kept the satin in place. Giving another look and not quite on board with what she saw, she hid herself in an oversized puffy faux furred jacket.

Just thirty minutes. It’s just thirty minutes, Shera. You can do this… just… chill out.

Despite her lackluster words of affirmation and the subsequent panic bubbling in her stomach, she grabbed her purse. Her breathing was uneven and she took a hit from her emergency inhaler, hoping to the Gods at play that she wouldn’t have an asthma attack in the middle of the club.

Shera imagined, somehow, dancing with some attractive number and getting hot and heavy (as if!) and then having to pull out her inhaler. Lung health is not cute. Oh, yeah, my airways get blocked sometimes by mucus and I can’t breathe. What do you mean you don’t want to stick your tongue down my throat?

Myriad of issues aside, she pushed out of her room, head held not quite high, but just enough so she could see.

Cregan nodded in approval (as if he was some sort of fashion expert) and they were off. The drive was quiet and Shera realized he never told her the club name. He always referred to it as ‘the club’. She somewhat understood the need for a dress code at an establishment like a lounge, but color coded? How pretentious. Shera and Cregan didn’t even really look good in red— they were more akin to monochromatic and cool toned blues rather than red.

Red and black reminded her of… something. She couldn’t quite place it.

They pulled up to the building, which didn’t have a sign or anything. It was wedged in between two other buildings, but its architecture was vastly different. While the adjoining facilities were modern, the club looked like it was from ancient Greece. It had towering ivory pillars, etched in the simplistic but still somewhat complex design of corinthian filigree, the individual chips of the sculptor’s chisel still apparent— they were handmade, hand carved. The inside of the building emanated a foreboding and very deep red.

Shera suddenly wondered if she was about to enter Mount Olympus— or maybe the underworld, as the sickly maroon color reminded her of the River Styx.

The bouncer, a burly man who could easily bench press Cregan (an impressive feat, considering her brother was a hockey player built like a brick shit house) stood at the door.

“Name.” the makeshift Charon grunted. Shera half expected him to start brandishing a wooden paddle.

“Stark.” Cregan replied, hands in his pockets.

Not-Charon looked at his list, then at the pair of Stark siblings, back and forth for at least thirty seconds.

“S-T-A…” Cregan began to spell out their last name in irritation before the ferryman held up his hand in pause.

“You’re on, go in.”

Entering the club, to which Shera still didn’t know the name of, was certainly like entering the gates of Hell. She felt like Dante, entering the first circle, guided by Virgil. It was dark, the low boom of bass ringing in her ears. They were guided by a path of red floor lights. What is this? An amusement park? It was a weird mix of trepidation of entering the unknown— which to Shera, could either be the actual entrance to Hell, or the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney world. All she was sure of is that she wanted a turkey leg and to go home.

And yet, some part of her brain, as small and withered as it may be, pressed on for adventure and excitement. They approached the end of the path and it gave way to a large room, still painted in that deep saccharine hue. The roof was high-vaulted and curved inward– it was like stepping into the Pantheon, the coffered, domed ceiling seeming to go on forever. The club was set up in a circular manner, as the room curved around. The bar itself was in the middle, hugging a large stage platform. On the stage was a singular grand piano and a DJ station. All surfaces were decorated in ivory, accented by red velvet.

The music playing was a mix of the piano and the DJ, working together to create a surprisingly exuberant melody that made Shera’s skin rise in goosebumps.

“Let’s get drinks, Sher,” Cregan steered her to the wrapping bar quickly, his sights set on something or someone in particular.

Shera didn’t feel much like drinking– she had no taste for alcohol, only trying it a few times in her life and never enough to even get a buzz. She didn’t find the point in choking down liquid that tasted like poison only to feel like living death the next morning. She slipped into one of the velvet bar stools, her feet dangling under her.

“Just cranberry juice, please,” she murmured to the barkeep, who returned her request with an eyebrow raise.

Cregan began whooping and hollering behind her and she turned to see someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Jacaerys Velaryon.

Once upon a time, Shera and Cregan had been extremely close to the Velaryon and Targaryen kids, growing up in the same social circles, they were all an unstoppable and very tight knit little group of hellions.

But that was years ago– she didn’t talk to any of them anymore, except for Helaena, who she had stayed best friends with throughout the years, and may or may not be in a casual on and off situationship with.

She tried not to remember the fact that, at some point, she had been attached at the hip to Helaena’s brother, Aemond. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and cream, like macaroni and cheese, and any other iconic food (or maybe not, she was just hungry) related duo. Thick as thieves, they were. Until… the ever creeping monster of puberty and hormones and all the things related to growing up split them apart. Shera developed her terrible anxiety disorder, while Aemond flourished in academics and moved through the social ranks at school. They hadn’t spoken since they were sixteen, when Shera inevitably withdrew from physical school in favor of at-home, online school.

Shera approached him warily, seeing him laughing and joking with his friends that were just… so out of her atmosphere, she couldn’t even imagine having a conversation with.

They hadn’t been close in a few years but… it wouldn’t feel right just up and disappearing from school without telling him, right?

Some stupid, childish part of her thought he might ask her to stay, ask her what’s wrong, ask her anything, really.

But as she got closer, she felt all of their eyes on her, their lips pulled into sneers. It's irrational, it's irrational, it's irrational, she tried to reason with herself and her bubbling anxiety in her stomach. They aren’t laughing at you, they aren’t, they aren’t.

But it… it feels like they were. Aemond’s blue eyes zeroed in on her, one slightly off-color than the other. They had both been involved in a childhood accident, leaving them both blinded. But, looking at the two of them, one would only be able to notice Shera’s glaring scar.

Aemond’s eye and subsequent scar had been mostly covered up with extensive cosmetic surgery and other procedures, at his mother’s behest, and on his father’s dime, which was seemingly an endless well. His eye, which he lost, was replaced by a near perfect replica. No one who didn’t know him closely would ever notice.

At the time of the incident, Shera’s family was going through a transitional period– namely, her and Cregan’s father passing away while they were both underage, the following legal battle over inheritance with their uncle and just things that no kids should go through. It was the catalyst of Shera’s subsequent anxiety and myriad of following issues.

She didn’t even approach him further that day in the hall. She said nothing to him, merely turning on a heel and leaving.

That was eight years ago.

“Jace, my god,” Shera gaped, eyes wide. He certainly wasn’t a kid anymore and had put on some muscle mass– she assumed from playing hockey with Cregan (even if he was still dwarfed by the absolute unit of her brother). He had those unruly chocolate colored curls, oh-so reminiscent of his rumored father, Harwin Strong. But that was a touchy issue within itself and best left unsaid.

“Shera!” Jace went in for the hug right away, squeezing the poor girl tight. “You look fantastic.” It felt like an obligated lie.

“Thank you… um, what are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh, I’m always around this place most times or another. I DJ on the side when I’m not on the ice. Mom made a spot for me.”

Mom? What did Rhaenyra have to do with this?

She must have looked visibly confused. “You know this… is my family’s place, right? New Valyria?”

It hit her like a train– a freight train that smacked into her and kept on going until there was nothing left of her but Shera-shaped dust. “Oh.”

“Cregan didn’t tell you?”

Her brother scratched a hand behind his head, looking somewhat sheepish. It was a weird look on him. “I… may have not. I wasn’t lying per say–”

Shera opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a cup being slid her way by the bartender. Without looking, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep gulp. It was, in fact, her cranberry juice– but it had been mixed with vodka. Heavily. She suppressed the urge to spit it out and looked back up. “I asked for just juice.”

“It was sent from the gentleman over there,” the bartender pointed to a small alcove adjacent to them where none other than Aegon fucking Targaryen was sitting, legs splayed out like he owned the place (well, he did in some capacity, she supposed) and a lady on each arm. He had the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen, staring right at her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she put a hand on her forehead. “I’m leaving, Cregan. I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore.”

“Shera, we’ve been here for five minutes–”

“Five minutes. It took five minutes for someone to somehow recognize me in this stupid red lighting– and not just someone, no, one of my childhood friends who hasn’t spoken to me in eons and is looking at me like I’m his next meal. Not to mention, my shithead brother didn’t mention that the club he is forcing me to go to is owned by said childhood friend’s family. I should’ve fucking guessed it with the red and black dress code, fucking pretentious. No offense, Jace,” she murmured, taking a breath. “I’m done.” she gathered her purse, slipping off of the seat. That vodka must’ve gone straight to her head, as she’d never been so adamant about something. Fuck it. She threw back the remainder of the glass of vodka cranberry (regretting it immediately) and flipped her brother another rude gesture.

She was so blinded by red– not just the color scheme, but the rage she felt bubbling as she rushed to the exit. The rage and anxiety was a more powerful cocktail than anything they served at the bar as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands, trying to call an uber. She didn’t look up the whole time, somehow managing to almost reach the gate to salvation– before she ran head first into a very hard body. A very hard body with a pointy fucking necklace on that stabbed her in the forehead. The force of her stumble was catastrophic, for her, as she fell to the ground on her ass. The hard body stayed upright, only shaken a little.

A heavily tattooed and, ahem, large calloused hand reached in front of her. She took it, half expecting to pull her own weight up, but was easily lifted to her feet. The hand was warm. Unnaturally warm. The smell of cigarette smoke and… sandalwood blew out her senses. She could feel his breath on her face as she swayed slightly into him– he was looking down at her directly, pupils boring holes into her. The heat of the situation rose into a fever pitch as they were practically pressed together, his hand straying to the small of her back so she wouldn’t fall over again. It felt terribly intimate.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry— I… the… I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to get out some sort of explanation to why she’d accidentally used this person as a springboard, but it just came out in a string of unintelligible ramblings. Her heels clicked on the floor, stumbling back and forth.

“It’s fine,” he replied. The voice sounded familiar, but still somewhat faraway in her mind. “Are you alright? You seem… unsteady.”

She wouldn’t be surprised if she had given herself a concussion from face planting into… she glanced up, eyes trailing the body before her. He was tall with expensive Italian leather shoes and impeccably pressed slacks. His shirt was red and only half buttoned, leaving a small patch of sheer white-blondish chest hair. His hands, which dwarfed hers, were inked in tattoos that seemingly stretched his body, peeking out on his exposed torso.

The offending pointy necklace revealed itself; a golden pendant of a Seven-Pointed star. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized exactly who it was.

Fuckfuckfuck. Meeting his gaze, it was none other than Aemond Targaryen. Her former best friend, companion, partner in crime. She expected his face to twist into a sneer like it had before at school and she wanted to vomit. I have to get out of here.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed to her forehead where she had consecrated herself with his pendant. A bit of blood was trickling from her skin.

That is what he has to say? You’re bleeding? No hello Shera, hi Shera, I recognize you Shera? A frown made home on her face as she realized he might not even remember her.

“Um, it’s… it’s fine,” she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, feeling it being replaced with new droplets. “Sorry for running into you, sir.” Sir? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shera?

“At least let me help you get cleaned up, yeah?” Aemond pressed, tilting up her head to most likely observe her wound– but it also felt like he was sizing her up, checking her out. “Only if you call me sir again.”

She made a garbled noise of surprise at his last comment, her mouth opening to try and spew out some half-assed cheeky reply. “I… I guess,” she murmured. She really just wanted to go home and cry and never leave the house again— but that stupid and childish part of her brain that hadn’t resurfaced itself since leaving school was nagging her. It felt sickly euphoric to her to see him again. She hated to be objectifying, but he had grown up to be, quite frankly, gorgeous. “S-... sir,” she squeaked out lastly, finally thankful for the gaudy lighting– without it, Aemond would’ve seen her face lit up like a tomato.

He nodded with a ‘hm’ noise, leading her down a hallway to the far side of the Pantheon. It was lit up normally with sconces on the wall giving clear white light. It was obviously a staff-only path.

Okay, Shera. Breathe. You can get through this. Let him put a bandaid on your head and hopefully not recognize or remember you and you can be on your way. You always wondered what he grew up to look like and now you know! Here is your little Aemond fix to mend the Aemond sized hole in your heart. Then you can move on and totally not wallow over this for weeks.

The office was nice– it was his, she knew instantly. It had tall bookshelves filled with different philosophers and big named authors, no doubt some of them first or second editions worth thousands. Shera felt like she was intruding, like she didn’t belong. She didn’t, really. Swaying side to side, she awaited further instruction.

“Come,” he said, not so much asking. He seemed to lack some manners these days– Alicent must be aghast.

She shuffled and took a seat in one of the chaise velvet seats in front of the desk. She fluffed into her coat, wanting to just hide, her muddled mind replaying the way he spoke. Come, come, come. Christ, I need to get laid– maybe I should call Helaena. The lights, still a bit low, weren’t a scathing fluorescent color like on the club floor. He could most certainly see the scar running down her face– and the fear she held in her eyes.

Even though it was plain as day, he didn’t say anything. He opened a first aid kit, dabbing her forehead with peroxide soaked gauze, his expression watching her every movement. His gaze was almost snake-like, unblinking as he observed.

She hissed at the sting of it, gritting her teeth slightly. He only gave an answer of a slightly knit brow.

It was silent— save for Shera’s quiet and slightly wheezy, squeaky breathing. Her hands were clenched on her knees, her dress riding up her skin, which she was constantly tugging downward. As he shuffled closer, one knee knocked between her two shaking ones. Was that an accident? The creeping heat only seemed to grow.

The soft beat of the music from the club coupled with the blood rushing in Shera’s ears made her want to scream. Everything seemed in slow motion as Aemond, still apparently a painstakingly asinine perfectionist, took his sweet time to patch her up. This gave her time to watch him in turn, focusing mostly on the way his lips were upturned, cupid’s bow taut. Flicking back up to his eyes, they were looking back and forth from her lips to her own gaze. The air around them seemed to go stagnant. Holy fuck, does he want to kiss me or do I have something on my face?

Her eyes must’ve read confusion, panic, elation and all the things in between that go with wanting to kiss an almost stranger in a club– but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to her. But, she supposed she was to him. His fingers tilted her chin upward and his lips curled into a smug grin, auto completing her thoughts.

He pressed a bandage to her forehead, mouth open to say something, like he was going to do something, but he was caught off guard by the door to his office slamming open. Shera didn’t even look to see who it was— she was more focused on the fact that Aemond goddamn Targaryen had a tongue piercing. She felt like she was going to melt.

“Hey Aem, that fuckin’ slag bit me— do you think I should go get a rabies shot or something?” a slightly slurred voice drawed. “Ohhh, shit.” Aegon stumbled into the room, leaning on the doorframe. He was, in fact, bleeding from his neck, some very prominent bite marks marring his skin, coupled with vicious looking hickies.

“Busy,” Aemond grunted, focusing his gaze back on tending to Shera.

“Like busy or… busy? I don’t see your hand up her skirt or anything, so you can’t be that busy.”

“Fuck off, Aeg,” he continued, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Seriously.”

“Well, Criston wants to talk to you ‘bout throwing that girl out— since it is your management night, eh?”

The smallest breath of annoyance slipped from the younger brother’s lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Aegon still loomed in the doorway after he left, staring at Shera. “You didn’t like my drink?”

“I don’t really drink.”

“And yet… you’re at a bar where they serve alcohol.”

“I’m trying to leave,” she sniffed.

“Not hard enough apparently,” Aegon flicked open a lighter, taking a drag from a suddenly lit cigarette. “You look like a lost pup, Shera.”

“You remembered me.”

“I may have the IQ of a golden retriever but I’m not that stupid. I couldn’t exactly forget your bird’s nest of red hair or himbo of a brother. Seriously, all those body slams from hockey must’ve damaged his brain.”

Shera snorted a little laugh. “Aemond doesn’t even seem to recognize me— or, he hasn’t said anything.”

“He’s got his head too far up his own ass to recognize anything other than cunt. He’s more of a whore than I am these days,” he took a deep drag, puffing smoke out into the hall. “Don’t be surprised if he fingers you before he even asks for your name.”

An unfamiliar feeling churned in Shera’s stomach. “I… I gotta go.” she huffed, grabbing her purse and walking past Aegon. She was biting down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed, the metallic taste savoring like lead on her tongue.

She makes her way through the throngs of people, everything around her a blur. It seemed that Aemond didn’t remember or recognize her– fine, that was fine. She didn’t expect him to– who would, really? Her eye unwillingly caught a glance of his figure again on the outskirts of the club. He was talking to a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress, looking like Jessica fucking Rabbit. His hands eclipsed the woman’s hips as they were leaned close together, clearly in some sort of heated conversation.

Her throat felt slightly constricted as she pushed out of the exit door into the alley. Has she misread his signals? They were totally about to kiss before Aegon came in, right?

He’s a bigger whore than me these days.

Fat tears rolled down her face unwillingly as she leaned on the brick wall of the alley, fumbling for her phone again. Why did it hurt? It was stupid, she was stupid– they hadn’t seen each other in eight years and he didn’t even recognize her– so why did it sting to see… that?

She texts for an uber rather than calling as her emotions are in no place to talk to someone. She drops her phone on the concrete several times by how much she’s shaking– she doesn’t even hear the door of the club close with a creak behind her.

“You left. I wasn’t done patching you up,” Aemond slunk around into her line of sight, head bowed low to try to look at her face.

She swiveled to the side to hide her expression and distress in her phone. “... had to go, sorry,” she whispers, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t crying.

“I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us– my brother’s an idiot,” he was chasing her face. “Let me see.” he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to him again. She let him, forever putty in his hands. If only he knew. If only he really cared.

His thumb wiped away some of the tears. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?” he whispered, getting close to her once more like they were in the office. “I can always kiss it better, hm?”

It felt like an invitation, the opening of a letter of acceptance to some grandiose college she could never afford, never fit into– but for one moment, she decided to bask in it. Let the hurt come later; it always comes later. He had been interested in some capacity. Not in her, not really her, but for some anonymous club fling.

Fine.

“Why don’t you, then?” she returned, eyes half lidded under his heavy gaze.

It was all the consent he needed– their lips melded together, all tongues and teeth. It was borderline obscene, like they were attacking each other. His hand threaded through her hair, tongue tracing the outline of her cupid’s bow before tangling into her mouth. She felt the ball of his tongue piercing meld against her. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes– on anyone else, Shera would find it unpleasant, but she was so intoxicated on the idea that Aemond’s tongue was in her mouth, she didn’t care. She even would say she liked it.

Heat kindled between the two of them, coming to a roaring flame as he slotted his leg between her legs again– before must have just been a prelude, as he didn’t give any indication that his knee pressed against her clothed core was an accident. No, it was pure intention. He lofted some of her weight onto his leg, encouraging her to chase her pleasure, hand riding up her dress to grip her bottom firmly.

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, finding her arousal and ever growing wetness to only increase, whimpering a small moan into his mouth. He, apparently liking that, pulled her back from his face by her hair, staring down at her like he wanted to commit her expression to memory.

“Come on,” he growled, voice husky against the shell of her ear. “Ride my fucking leg.” Aemond’s lips connected with her skin again on her neck.

It felt like a lightning bolt struck her right in her core, making her toes curl and tingle. Her mouth was open as she pleasured herself on him, using him– she was approaching her end almost embarrassingly fast as he angled his leg a bit more upward, pinpointing all the pressure onto her clit, which at this point, was barely even guarded behind her panties. Aemond’s hand on her bottom slinked the elastic of her underwear until he reached the front, two fingers swiping down her soaked folds.

“Soaked for me, are you?” he asked, parting her underwear to the side to rest against her thigh, her bare cunt now in direct contact with his clothed leg. She was surely making a mess on his expensive slacks, she didn’t even have to look. He quirked a brow and laved his tongue over one of the fingers that had just slid through her wetness, testing the taste.

Her brow furrowed and the building heat, the harp’s string right in her core, came undone with that. She wanted to moan his name– she almost said it. “A–,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm on his leg.

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praised, his words of affirmation going straight to her core. She did, unfortunately, have a praise kink. “Can you stand?”

“Mmh– y-... yes,” she replied as he took away his leg– but not before sending her into slight overstimulation with a cheeky bump to her clit.

“Good, stay there, love,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead (which felt strangely familiar out of this supposed random club hookup). “Wanna taste you now. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

Her legs wobbled as he got down on his knees in the back alley on his no doubt designer pants (now painted with a souvenir from her) to eat her out. She could barely speak, just nodding.

“That’s right,” he hummed, squeezing into her thigh as he spread her legs. She was dripping right into his mouth as his warm lips made contact with her– he teased her slightly by blowing on her bare skin, chuckling as she squirmed and whimpered. “You’re too cute.” his tongue flattened and laved over her cunt, not letting a drop of her arousal go to waste as he went to town. He continued his teasing by edging just around her clit, making her chase his mouth slightly as he moved to suckle just outside of that spot.

It was torture. Sweet, sweet torture as he edged her for a good two minutes while she was already on the edge again. The coolness of his tongue piercing sent chills up her spine as he finally, finally began to zero in on her pearl, the ball of the piercing dancing around it, stimulating her to a delicious peak.

“P-Please, please, please,” she whined, fisting his hair.

He had the audacity to look up at her, face first in her thighs, and wink at her. All remnants of teasing were gone as he began to feast, focusing solely on pulling out her second orgasm. It didn’t even register to her, as she was clenching around nothing, tears welling in her eyes from the sheer intensity of her peak, that he hadn’t gotten off yet– she had hardly touched him. He was focusing all on her.

She went boneless for a moment as she came down from her high, almost moaning his name again. He held her until she came back down to earth.

Her hands fiddled to his belt, she desperately wanted to return the favor–

“Your uber’s here, love,” he murmured, helping her out of the alley to the car awaiting. She looked down, realizing her phone had been unlocked on the uber ETA screen.

She was spinning still, reeling from the entire interaction. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in the back of her uber as Aemond stood, door in hand.

“Bye, Shera.” he grinned, closing the door.

He knew the whole time.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond angst #my writing #aemond targaryen x oc #banshees lament #banshees lament au #shera #shera and aemond

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kafus · 3 months

Text

over the weekend at the knoxville regional pokemon championships, i met up with a longtime internet friend in person for the first time, and he traded me a very special pokemon - a unique celebi that takes a bit of context to explain the significance of

from november 2001 to january 2005, the building that is now a nintendo world store in new york city was actually an american pokemon center, which hosted the "Gotta Catch ‘Em All!" station, a large machine that you could pop your gold/silver/crystal cartridge into (or later ruby/sapphire/firered/leafgreen, but that's not relevant here) and get a special distribution pokemon unique to the store. often times these were normal pokemon in eggs with special moves they couldn't usually learn, but other times they ran distributions for shiny legendaries, and of course, the mythical celebi.

there's very few pictures of the machine and all of them are pretty low quality, but you can see an iteration of it here during the gen 3 era:

when PCNY (pokemon center new york) shut down, the machine and its contents were presumed lost forever, but due to the preservation efforts and the good luck of a few individuals, some of the distributions have been preserved, as well as parts of the machine and its software. this is extra incredible because almost all gen 2 save files from the time the machine was actually functional are long since wiped due to the battery inside dying, meaning that very very few of the gen 2 event pokemon distributed from this machine at the time still exist. i won't go super in detail on that in this post but you can read an article about all of that here (julie, the person who runs this historical PCNY fansite is incredibly passionate and if you want to know anything about the PCNY store i absolutely recommend reading her writing!)

so, one day when i was rambling to my friend (his name is Venty!) about my fascination with the PCNY machine, and how i wish i had been born early enough to experience that, as well as wishing that i could have traded with anyone in gens 1-3 as a child but never got to due to isolation, venty told me that he's actually friends with a guy (Professor Rex) who knows the guy who owns the remnants of the PCNY machine (Gridelin), and he would love to reach out and ask if there's any way rex could distribute a celebi to himself and trade it to him sometime so that eventually when me and venty met in person one day, he'd be able to trade the celebi to me.

i pretty much burst into tears and very passionately explained how much that would mean to me - not just because owning a celebi actually distributed from the historical PCNY distribution station is just... insanely cool, but because like i said, i had never traded anyone in the old internet-less generations of pokemon, and having that be my first was just... a monumental thought. i am deeply fascinated with old gen event distributions because of the tactile, interpersonal nature of them, in direct contrast with my isolation and loneliness as a child. it might sound silly to be so worked up over a collection of bytes/pixels, but i really couldn't believe venty would offer me something so kind. and not only did he offer to ask - rex said yes!!

so on may 21st last year (2023) rex traveled out and distributed the celebi to his pokemon silver cartridge. specifically, the celebi is from the "Celebi Present Campaign" which ran from the 22nd of november 2002 to the 28th of november 2002. the display on the monitor is the same video that would have appeared on the screen in the PCNY store, but flipped sideways here haha. (the gen 2 distributions were special and had custom animations for the legendaries and stuff, which you can watch here in full quality on gridelin's channel - there's videos of the other distribution animations on his channel, too!)

and then months later, during the weekend of august 11th 2023, rex and venty met up at the pokemon world championship in japan and rex traded the celebi to venty's gold cartridge...

...then, finally, just this past weekend, on sunday (february 4th 2024) venty and i finally met in real life for the first time at the knoxville TN regional pokemon championships, and with link cable in hand the celebi finally made its way to me in my hotel room, after crossing the ocean twice and passing through canada to the US to japan and back to the US...!!

gen 2 pokemon data isn't very complicated, but you can tell that my celebi is unique from the other PCNY celebis dumped online (here and here if you'd like to play with some of these historical pokemon yourself) because it has the trainer ID of 00204 which none of the publicly available celebis have - though of course to me, regardless of what becomes publicly available in the future (and i hope one day the common layperson can simply emulate the PCNY machine, video game preservation >>> unique collections always) this celebi will always be special and unique because of how it got to me, and because it represents my friendship with venty who i care so much about. it was an extremely kind gesture i will never forget and i can't believe how much traveling and how many people were involved with getting this tiny bundle of bytes and pixels to me. i hugged venty after the trade was done haha

oh, and by the way, don't worry, i have the hardware to back up my gen 2 save files so this celebi will never die even after my crystal cartridge battery eventually dies once more!! (also, while i don't think it would be an issue i do want to say please don't bother any of the people mentioned in this post...! gridelin & co are working on making the distribution machine in question available for anyone to use, it'll come out whenever it's out and for now there are dumps of the events that were recovered. i would not want them to receive any annoying requests for pokemon because of me. thank you!)

#pokemon #pokemon crystal #gsc #pokemon gsc #celebi #mystery gift #ayano was here #ayano.txt #long post

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charmedreincarnation · 10 months

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Success story (not the void)

Maya, as I promised you, I'm writing you my success story. It's quite a wild one, so please bear with me.

My journey started during the Angel era, when I was struggling with the void state. I tried everything I could think of to get out of it - every method, every meditation technique, affirming, intention, lucid dreaming, and even coaching from various LoA experts, including those not so well-known. I was desperate for a breakthrough, a key to unlock the life I deserved. I would have done anything, even ate dirt if that was what it took.

At that time, my family was going through a rough patch. My abusive father, a police officer, divorced my mother and left us with nothing. We were homeless, living out of our car, while my dad was living a comfortable life. He had a new girlfriend, a younger woman, and continued to be respected in his job. Meanwhile, my mom, who was a victim of his abuse, was labeled a liar and lost everything. I was filled with rage, towards him, towards the world, towards the jury that declared him innocent. I wasn’t safe in this world especially being homeless, women and children are the most vulnerable to sexual and physical assault. I was scared, unsafe, and had nothing aside my mother and siblings.

I wanted to enter the void, not just for myself, but to give my family a better life and to bring justice to those who had wronged us. I was at a point where I was harming myself, but I couldn't give up because my family needed me. I remember messaging you, Maya, pouring out my story, begging you to help me enter the void. Despite your initial hesitation, you responded with kindness, sharing some personal experiences, and reassuring me that I wasn't alone.

Your words gave me hope. You made me realize that many people who find the law have gone through, or are still going through difficulties. If they could overcome their struggles, so could I.

So, I decided to let go of the void. Not because I didn't believe in it, but because I had elevated it to a status akin to a genie that would magically solve all my problems. When non-dualism and other loa concepts were introduced, everything finally clicked. I realized I didn't have to be angry, or try to be someone manifesting master, or do all these fake methods. I have always known that my family and I were meant to be happy.

For a month, I went through a process of shedding my ego. It was uncomfortable, and there were times I found myself fighting my own thoughts, telling them to shut up. I was separating my ego from myself. You, Maya, had once said that this process was similar to withdrawal symptoms of someone quitting drugs. This thought comforted me. I was becoming someone new, my old thoughts weren't there anymore.

Living in my car, I began to see it as my mansion. My mom's crying turned into laughter, my siblings' whine for food turned into jokes. We pretended that we were living our dream life, and after a while, my siblings joined me in this game. We would come "home" from school and yell at each other, pretending that the house was so big that we needed walkie-talkies to communicate.whenever I needed to steal food it was because we owned the place and can take whatever we want, not because I had to.

One day, we parked at a field, and I started imagining my life. I tried to become the clouds by thinking I am and accepting that my consciousness could be whatever it wanted. I got my siblings to do the same. We became the flowers, then the sun, then the stars at night. Even though physically I was still in the car, mentally and emotionally, I was living my dream life.

When I woke up, I was in a large room. It was decorated to perfection. I heard my siblings running around, throwing toys, and my mother laughing with a man, who's laugh alone sounded like gold. I explored the house, and it was beautiful. There was no yelling, no violence, only laughter and love. My mom introduced me to her boyfriend, and he was holding a newspaper that read that my father had been arrested for domestic crimes and fraud. He was losing everything.

At that moment, I realized that I had done it. My mom was happy, beautiful, and loved. My siblings had plenty of toys and clothes, and our house was filled with love. My family and I were finally living our dream life.

I have been living my life for about a month and now, and it has been blissful to say the least. I go to a well known private school and I am the top student. I am apart of many clubs, and also spend a lot of time volunteering at domestic shelters, and speaking to victims of intrapersonal abuse. I have made friends of people who volunteer with me, so it’s nice to have people who care about the same thing I do.

I am also apart of my writing club, and found comfort in reading and writing and have decided I want to be an author once I graduate. I have always wanted to be a writer but they don’t make enough money often. But now not only do I know I will be successful but my family has enough money to last us multiple generations plus some more. My Bio father had gotten much to what is coming to him and he will be going to jail. I hope he drops the soap but I have let go of my anger with that barbaric fool. So has my mother who has also recently gotten engaged and I get to be her maid of honor. She has a friend group of mothers from school and I have never seen her happier. My now father treats her like a goddess and treats everyone like that. He spoils my mom and us with gifts and luxurious trips. He also spoils the help such as the maids and cooks and never treats them below us. He does not expect anything from my mother except for her to be happy and spend time with us. He is kind selfless loving and respectful. the real definition of a man. I adore him so much and I’m so happy to call him my father.

I find great joy in the little stuff. I love cleaning my room. My bio dad was a hoarder and the house was always a mess because my mom was the sole provider though my “bio dad” made much more. He instead used it on hookers, alcohol, and drugs. Pathetic excuse for a man I know. I love going shopping, as I don’t have to look at the price tag. It feels normal, there was no shift. This is just life constantly changing. I have 5 pets and spend great time with all of them, and they are all so loving and adore me. I love school, and doing my homework, taking tests, assemblies etc. i love talking to my teacher about my ideas and how I can improve. They’re always so encouraging and kind, and I have never experienced that. I also loveeeee having crushes hehe. I never had time nor the “looks” for that prior to these past few months, but I receive a good amount of attention from a lot of sweet man and the “what if” aspect of having crushes is fun. I just love being a teenage girl, something I was not always able to say. I love the world and the people in it, the creations I bring and make, and all I did to make it what it is. I never worry what happened to my old self or life. It died, it doesn’t exist I am here right now with them and the old story is gone. Like an author erasing a part of a story she doesn’t like and never producing it, I did the same. My one true reality and I am so blessed.

Also big thanks to bloggers like @awarenessis @starbursts777 @consciousnessbaddie for introducing this concepts to Tumblr in a simple and kind way. Love to everyone in this devoted app.

Congratulations on your astounding success story 🥹 Your journey is a testament to the power of the human spirit, and it's an honor to hear about your transformation. This is beautiful wild tale, but it's your reality, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Your story is a powerful reminder that we have the power to shape our reality, no matter how dire our circumstances may be. It's a testament to the power of belief, determination, and the human spirit. I'm incredibly proud of you and wish you and your family all the happiness in the world.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #my asks

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bonesandchalamet · 9 months

Text

welcome to the final show - h.styles

masterlist

pairings: harry styles x reader!

warnings: fluff

a/n: in my depressed era now that tour is over ☹️

it’s over. it’s somehow a bittersweet ending that for some reason, you never saw actually coming to an end. he’s exhausted, but his heart has never been so full seeing his fans send the love right back to him night after night, and this one seems to get to him more.

family, friends, team members, band members, and even celebrity guests all approach his sweaty body first. fist bumps, high fives, and hugs are all he knows for the next couple of minutes, until the crowd of loved ones part like the sea to reveal you. a kiss would be nice, he thinks to himself. after all, it’s the second most magical thing he could experience after his final performance.

“you did such a good job, h.” you launch your body into his. the smell of his heightened body odor doesn’t bother you in this moment. you just press yourself further into him before pulling away and giving him what he wants. a kiss.

“you enjoy it?” he asks like it’s a ever question. every moment of each show was more than enjoyable, so when he sees you roll your eyes he knows. he knows you loved every second until it was over.

“go get changed.” you point in the direction of his dressing room, and it hits him. the emptiness in his gut appears once again attempting to swallow him. this was over. the performing would actually stop and he could have a break. you can already see the wheels turning in his head, he’s wondering what he’ll do with his free time. he’s never had this much of it since COVID.

“what if I want to stay in this?” he gestures to the gold fringe suit he’s wearing, the vest showing off his beautiful abs and butterfly tattoo. one of his best outfits, you thought to yourself when you saw him enter the stage.

“I won’t mind that.” you smile, cheeks hurting so badly from the whole night of doing so, but you still press on watching his eyes light up at your approval.

you know why he doesn’t want to take it off. it’ll be like admitting the best thing thats ever really happened to be over. that him hearing his fans scream when the lights drop, sing his lyrics back to him, and dance to his songs will be over. the joy he brought to millions upon millions would finally stop. for the first time, he could fly home and have no where else to be later.

“I bet he’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” Anne wraps her arms around your shoulders, a tight smile on her lips and tear stained cheeks that match yours. she’s proud of her sons accomplishments, but she knows he’s ready to go home. she knows he’s ready to sleep in your arms for hours upon hours.

you nod in agreement watching him trot off to Lloyd, his camera hung around his neck showing the band members his photography of the night.

“I got this picture of you, y/n.” Lloyd’s eyebrows wiggle in a mischievous way, harry taps his shoulder with his index finger begging to show him already.

“calm down!” Lloyd laughs, his thumb clicking through the photos until it stops and settles on, what you believe, is an image of you.

harry takes the camera in his hands, a small smile forms on his lips as he stares long and hard at the picture. it’s like if he blinks the image of your visibly tears streaming down your cheeks, bright smile, and pink boa would all go away.

“I love this picture, can you print it out for me?” harry taps the small screen, and he talks with Lloyd like you’re not there. the camera gets passed around to band members again, and your image fades with the millions of other ones.

“was it a good picture?” you ask him when he’s finally moved on from the group and back over to you.

“darling, the best picture ever. going to have it framed forever.” he presses his lips against your temple, arms wrapping around your body, and once again you’re pulled into his sweaty body.

“going to have this night framed for ever as well. it was one for the books.” you watch him nod, arms wrap tighter around you for a second, “now let’s go home, h.”

“I couldn’t have agreed more, let’s go home.”

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throneofsmut · 30 days

Text

BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 10

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A / N: Sorry this part took forever !! i literally kept rewriting because i didn't feel like the story was flowing 😭 and then every time i rewrote i noticed that i was writing in first pov (ngl sometimes i feel like reader fics makes more sense in first pov but thats just MY OPINION 👀) anywho idk if im satisfied with it being in first pov i might edit it later 🧍🏻‍♀️so PLEASE let me know what you guys think and idk about you guys but im in my house of the dragon era rn 🤭 so there is some valyrian in the fic but i also wrote the translations... but i hope you guys enjoy this part (btw i might post part 11 in a few hours) 😚😚

“Why are you looking at me like that, Eris?” He doesn’t respond, his eyes just keep darting from me to Raihn and from Raihn to me. My own eyes darted from Eris to Raihn and back to Eris.

From the corner of my eye I see Raihn tilt his head at Eris—confused. I think he thinks he’s seeing things. His deep gruff voice was clear in my head.

My brows furrow at Raihn’s admission, shaking my head slightly, Did I grow a second head or something?

Not that I can see.

Looking over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes at him, I didn’t mean literally!

He grumbled something I chose to ignore.

Sighing, I took a step closer to Eris, stopping until I was a step away from him, “Eris what’s wrong?”

“What. The. Fuck.”

“What?” As soon as that one word left my mouth it set Eris off.

“What do you mean, WHAT!?” Eris shouted at me immediately. Angrily. Making me flinch.

He hadn’t raised his voice at me in the hours we were together. Hell when we first met he had a knife pressed against my throat and he didn’t scare me. I didn’t flinch, if anything I leaned into it, as if it was a caress—a lover's soft touch.

But this—him shouting at me angrily had me flinching. Only because it caught me off guard. He caught me off guard. It was so subtle, almost imperceptible, but I know I did. Those gold eyes remained on mine and my body subtly settled into a fighting stance. My hands twitching, wanting to clench into a fist.

Eris took a single step forward, making me tense, falter.

And Raihn saw it.

The white wolf prowled forward, moving around me and advancing towards Eris. Each step powerful. Menacing. Lethal. His lips curled back in snarl, baring his teeth—each as long as my fingers—as he growled so low it shook the cabin. A reminder of what was in front of him. Of what he was.

A true predator.

Eris moved, so fast I would’ve missed it had it not been for my fae senses, now standing in front of me. Shielding me with his body from Raihn, his hand gripping his dagger and the other firmly gripping my hip.

Raihn tracked the hand Eris placed on me—the silent claim he made on me—and growled. Possessively. Snapping his jaws at him before stalking forward again.

Eris widened his stance, bracing for a fight, baring his teeth at the white wolf. Stay close to me, his voice a desperate plea in my head, speaking to me through the mating bond.

Raihn snapped his jaws again as if he heard Eris and when he growled in my head as if in answer, I realized that he did.

Readjusting his hold on his dagger, my mate growled one word at Raihn, “Mine.”

And Raihn growled back, hackles raised before leaning back to lunge at Eris. Raihn, don’t! I said to him mind to mind. Please. He only growled back in response.

Then he lunged.

And it was all Eris could do to push me out of the way as Raihn pinned him to the ground with a massive clawed paw on his chest. I didn’t have a chance to react before I slammed against the wood paneled wall of the bedroom.

My vision was blurry and when I touched the back of my head it was wet. I didn’t have to look at it knowing it would be red with my blood. The bits of broken wood from the cabin wall around me was confirmation enough.

Blinking a couple times until my vision cleared and once it did I saw Eris’s dagger was mere inches from Raihn’s fur before the wolf knocked it out of his hand.

Eris cursed as his arms shook, straining with effort from gripping Raihn’s fur on the sides of his neck, struggling to keep him from shredding him apart with his teeth. I groaned, pushing myself up on unsteady legs and took a breath before running to tackle Raihn off of him.

I held on as we rolled off of Eris and then let go, muscle memory kicking in making me land on my feet. Raihn’s rage was flooding our bond in waves and he was getting ready to lunge again. To get to Eris. “Rybās,” I commanded him. (Listen. Obey.) The massive white wolf still shook with rage but he stilled, awaiting another command.

Being that I was a High Lord's heir, I could command anyone with only my voice if I needed. Wanted. And they would bow to such dominance and power. Except for other High Lords and their heirs—if their wills were strong enough. “Dohaerās, Raihn,” through our bond I willed him to meet my gaze. (Serve, Raihn.)

His blue eyes were still a lit with rage as they bore into mine, snarling softly. “Umbās.” (Wait.) It didn’t matter that he would never hurt me—intentionally—since we were bonded. But, above all else he was still a wolf. Still a predator in his own right. Still wild.

Eris moved behind me and Raihn’s eyes immediately tracked the movement, but before he could do anything, “Dokimarvose! Laehossa ynot, Raihn.” (Focus! Pay attention, Raihn.) I prowled closer to Raihn until I stood right in front of him and he had to lower his head to meet my gaze. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.)

He shook his head as if clearing the rage he felt and then pressed his forehead to mine. My hands instinctively went to pet his head, his face, “Lykirī, Raihn. Lykirī.” (Be calm, Raihn. Be calm.) I physically felt him relax under my touch as the seconds went by. Then he moved his head to rest on my shoulder like he was hugging me.

I don’t know how long we stood there, in comfortable silence, until I heard him. Sunshine? He called softly. Cautiously.

I smiled softly at the nickname even though he couldn’t see me. Yes, Raihn.

I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to lose control.

I sighed. Why did you?

I was worried… You hadn’t checked in nor come back yet and then when I found you I saw you were fine. But, then everything happened and when that male yelled at you, I saw you flinch, barely but you did. I saw you tense. Falter. And the last time I saw you do that was the day I lost you. The day I lost him, the day I lost my mother and my fathers. The day I lost the only family I ever knew. Then I saw him holding you—keeping you from me and I just… I just snapped.

He moved, so we were looking at each other again and his nose twitched. Once, twice, then he nudged my hand for me to lift it. I did. He shuddered when he saw my blood on it. Not even a second later I felt his disgust at himself.

I am so sorry, sunshine. I never meant to hurt you, but I won’t lose you again. Yell at me if you want—

I shook my head.

Sunshine—

I put a hand up stopping him, Raihn, I understand. Trust me. It’s all right, but now I want you to meet someone. Someone very important to me.

I turned around to look at Eris, only to find that he wouldn’t look at me. “Eris?” I called softly, “what’s wrong?” He shook his head. Walking up to him, slowly, giving him the chance to stop me if he wanted. He didn’t. I held his face in my hands, tilting his head up to meet my gaze and he shut his eyes. “Eris?”

He shook his head again, “I’m so sorry, little flame,” he whispered.

“What for?”

“Hurting you.”

This time I shook my head, “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fi—“

“Your head.” He said it so quietly, that if i wasn’t in front of him I wouldn’t have heard it.

My hand immediately went to my head, gently touching the gash that I had felt earlier and nothing. It was already healed. No doubt Raihn’s doing, but my hair was still sticky with blood. “I’m fine. I swear.”

His eyes opened, “I yelled at you, when I shouldn't have and you got scared.” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I scared you and you got hurt. As your mate I'm supposed to protect you and I can’t even save you from myself.” He squeezed his eyes shut and a single tear fell from his left eye. I wiped it away.

“Eris.” His throat bobbed. “Eris, look at me.” He did. Those gold eyes bore into mine, full of unshed tears and a second later I felt all his feelings flood the mating bond. All of his love, but also his regret, his shame, pain and all of his self-loathing for scaring me. Hurting me. I didn’t know what to say—what to do to comfort him except to kiss him. So I did. All while sending him all the love, all the comfort I could through the bond. I didn’t pull away until he did.

“I’m so sorry, little flame,” he breathed.

“It’s all right. I’m all right. We’re all right,” I swore. I took a step back, holding my hand out towards him, “I want you to meet someone.” He glanced behind me and then looked back at me unsure. “Do you trust me?” My hand still outstretched towards him.

His eyes blazed with something I couldn’t name. Something so intense that gave me goosebumps as he swore, “With my life.” Then his hand took mine and we walked back towards Raihn. Together.

Once we were in front of Raihn, I gave them each a smile only reserved for them. “Eris, this is Raihn, my ceangailte (bonded). And Raihn, this is Eris, my mate.”

Both of their eyes widened as they realized what I said about the other.

Eris turned to me, his eyes narrowed and his face flushed a bright shade of red. “Why didn’t you tell me, he was bonded to you?” There was an obvious shift in his demeanor as he crossed his arms defensively. He was offended—upset—that I didn't tell him about Raihn.

And at the same time Raihn asked, Why didn’t you tell me he was your mate?

I narrowed my eyes at them, “You didn’t give me a chance too!” I answered them both.

Eris scoffed. “Don’t you know who he is—what he is?” He said pointing at Raihn.

“No, Eris. I don’t,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Y/n. I’m being serious.”

I huff, “All right, then.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell me who he is. Tell me who I’m bonded to.”

“He’s infamous all throughout Prythian''—he tried suppressing a shudder and failed—“probably in Hybern, the mortal lands and the other Faerie Realms too. He’s known for killing fae—here and in Hybern. He’s ruthless.” His eyes slid to Raihn for a moment before turning back to me. “We call him “Ghost” and everyone knows Amarantha has been hunting him for the past decade. Yet, every time she sends the Hybern soldiers under her command, they don’t come back. Ever”

I didn’t bother hiding my grin as I looked at Raihn, but he’s not looking at me, lost in his own thoughts before his glowing blue eyes landed on me. So that’s why I could hear him, when he spoke to you mind to mind. It was through the mating bond, Raihn said more to himself than to me.

One side of my mouth quirks up in a smirk, Well, you’ve been busy, Raihn or should I say “Ghost.”

His deep chuckle fills my head. I’ve been hunting them all down, one by one. Making them pay for what they did. He didn’t have to explain who “they” were for me to know he was talking about the soldiers that killed my family.

I nod at him once. Good.

Raihn’s eyes settle on Eris, So he’s your mate.

Not a question but I still answer, “Yes. He is.” My own eyes settled on my mate.

Eris looked at me with an arched brow, “Yes, what? What’d he say about me?”

“Well, go on. Tell him.” I jutted my chin at Raihn, grinning, waiting for Eris’s reaction.

The first time Raihn spoke to someone else mind to mind was my mother, she screamed so loud and I laughed until I cried from laughing so hard. It was the first time I used my daemati powers to allow Raihn to speak to others. I annoyed him until he gave in because he had said that bonded wolves have a special telepathic connection with their chosen Illyrian companions. This connection allows them to communicate directly with their bonded, sharing thoughts, emotions, and intentions without the need for spoken words. And since it’s special not everyone has the privilege to hear him speak but he did it for me. And then when he spoke to my fathers—the two Illyrians who helped raise and train me—I nearly died of laughter.

Raihn huffed looking at Eris. I said, That’s why I could hear you, when you spoke to her mind to mind. It was through the mating bond.

Eris flinched, his breath hitching as an unfamiliar deep voice echoed within the caverns of his mind, clear and commanding, yet undeniably non-human.

You can hear me, can't you? Raihn asked him, his voice dripping with wicked amusement.

Eris’s eyes were almost bugging out his head and his jaw was slack. The wolf's presence in his thoughts was as startling as a splash of icy water, leaving ripples of shock. Yes.

I heard my own laugh echo in Eris’s head and then he whirled on me, crossing his arms, “What’s so funny?” My lips were pressed tight but it wasn’t enough to stop my laugh from bursting out. Which quickly turned to tears when I remembered my mother’s face and both of my fathers faces after Raihn spoke to them for the first time.

I tried taking in a deep breath to stop crying but it just made it worse and before I knew it I was sobbing. Then Eris was wiping my tears away, “what’s wrong, little flame?”

“You—Your—Face”. I said in between sobs. My whole body was shaking now and when I looked at him again, he was frowning.

But his eyes held a teasing glint in them, “I’m hurt.” He placed a hand on his chest like I physically wounded him, “I thought you said I was beautiful.”

I know he’s trying to cheer me up and I tried to laugh but it came out sounding like a choked sob. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then, what?” He asked as he wrapped his arms around me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. I sniffled a couple of times before taking in a few deep breaths to calm myself. Letting his scent wash over me, relax me, even though my hands were fisted at his back as I hugged him back.

Taking in one last deep breath. Exhaling sharply, “The face you made when you heard, Raihn, reminded me of the face my mom and dads made when they heard him for the first time.”

“Dads?”

I let out a sad laugh, “Yes, dads.”

“But I thought your father doesn’t know about you?”

“My biological father doesn’t.”

“So, how many dads are we talking about ?”

“Two.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it too.

“What’s their names ?”

“Declan and Callum.”

“Are they— Did they—“

“They died the same day my mom did.”

“Were they”—his voice comes out as a whisper—“mated ?”

“No. But they loved each other so much. . . I don’t think they could have loved each other any more if they had been.” A genuine smile graces my lips as I remember them together.

“And they loved you too?”

“So much,” I answered without hesitation. “Sometimes when I was little I used to cry because I thought they would leave since I wasn’t their real daughter. And they used to promise me saying they wouldn’t, that I was their daughter in every way that counted. That it didn’t matter if we were blood or not, they loved me and they would never leave me. And they kept their promise.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Until they were taken from me.”

Eris just hugs me tighter, “I’ll never leave you and no one is going to take me from you.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t call him out for lying, I know he’s trying to comfort me, but we both know he’s going back Under the Mountain in less than two hours.

Amarantha is taking someone from me yet again.

Eris unwraps his arms from around me and cups my face in his larger hands, “You don’t believe me.” He says and even though it’s not a question, I nod my head anyway. His eyes never leave mine as he speaks. “Raihn, I have to leave at dawn which is in less than two hours. So go for a walk and we’ll let you know when to come back. Be on your guard.” Raihn grumbles something that we both chose to ignore as he goes to leave, and a moment after he walks out of the front door, Eris restores the cabin to how it was with a snap of his fingers. I wouldn’t have known anything happened at all if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.

His eyes drop to my lips and it’s the only warning I get before his mouth slams into mine and I deepen it, earning the sweetest groan from him. Everything about our kiss is desperate. Feral. Then he moves on to kissing neck and it’s the type of kiss that promises more before he’s pulling away.

He smiles at me softly, “Let me show you how no matter what, I’ll always be yours.” He places my hand on his bare chest, over his heart, “This is yours.” Then he grabs my other hand and places it over his clothed cock, his lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “And this is yours too.”

My cheeks heat at his words and I just know he’s smirking right now because he knows how undone he makes me. So I do the only reasonable thing I can think of and grip him harder through his pants and he hisses. “You’re mine,” I breathe.

“I’m yours,” he echoes.

I move the hand that was placed on his chest to his hair and tug on it. Titling his head back before rising on the tips of my toes, licking a broad stripe up his throat, before grabbing his face and crashing my lips into his. We know we’re running out of time which only spurs us on as we ravage each other’s lips.

Only pulling away as we tear each other’s clothes off and get back on the bed.

Eris pulls me to lay on top of him so I’m straddling him. Then his lips find mine again. Desperately. His hands are roaming all over my body as if he’s committing it to memory. Finally settling on the swell of my ass and gripping it. His tongue sweeping into my mouth as my lips part in a moan. Our tongues fight for dominance until I give in to the only person I will ever give in to—my mate.

He groans as he pulls away and flips me so I’m laying on the bed. I bite his bottom lip before letting go to let him stand upright.

Leaning back on my elbows, panting, as his eyes devour me.

And my mouth waters as I see just how hard he is. My tongue darts out wetting my lips as I see the bead of precum on his tip. I let out a groan as he fists his cock and pumps it a couple times.

He chuckles darkly, “Like what yours?”

I bit my lip as I hummed a yes. Not capable of words right now.

He lets go of his cock and grabs my ankles, pulling me towards the edge of the bed so that my ass is almost hanging off the bed. Then kneels on the hardwood floor in front of me and spreads my legs apart.

He nudges my thighs apart wider to accommodate his broad shoulders as he settles himself between them. My breath hitches as he alternates between licking where my inner thighs meet my cunt and sucking. Earning a few whines from me as I try and fail to move under his hold to get his tongue where I want. Which only makes him huff out a laugh.

His warm breath fanned over my wet cunt—glistening with arousal—making me squirm under him, “Eris, please!” I beg.

“Please, what?” He taunts.

“Please touch me—“ the words die in throat as he licks a single broad stripe from my entrance up to my clit. Just like I did to his throat.

He pulls back only for a second to sit up and brace his forearms on the backs of my thighs. Baring me to him while also keeping me in place. Then he’s diving right back in and lapping and sucking at my clit like a man starved. “Oh, f-f-fuck, Eris!” I cry out as my hands desperately fist the sheets that will surely be ruined later.

Another scream rips free from my throat as he continues his assault on my clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bundle of nerves, back arching off the bed while my thighs shake as I writhe under his tongue but he keeps me in place.

Then he’s licking broad stripes from my entrance up to my clit and every time he gets to my clit he flicks his tongue against it with precision. Heat begins to build in my tummy and we both know I’m not going to last much longer. He licks another broad stripe but he leaves my clit alone this time in favor of fucking me with his tongue.

My cunt clenches around his warm tongue as he continues to fuck me with it. He relents only to lap at me again with a flat tongue. Then he goes back to my clit, swirling and flicking his tongue on it as I continue to moan and cry out for him. “Eris! Eris! Eris!”

He moans low in his throat every time I say his name, the vibrations of it going straight to my clit, making the heat spread under my skin as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. “Mhmm, Eris,” my chest rising and falling as he continues pulling moans and whimpers from my lips.

His tongue doesn’t give my clit any reprieve as he buries one long, thick, finger inside me. Then two. Fucking me with them, curling them so they hit that sweet spot he knows will send me over the edge.

“Eris! Eri—“ His name a shattered cry on my lips as I fall apart under his touch. My body trembling, hips bucking as he continues to swirl his tongue around my clit and fuck me with his fingers, working me through my orgasm.

Panting as I came down from my high, Eris stands up and looks down at me with a feral grin on his lips. His lips and chin covered in his spit and my release. Even his chest is covered in my release.

He follows my gaze and looks down at his chest then looks back up at me again. “Good girl.” He praises before sucking the two fingers that he’d fucked me with into his mouth. Cleaning them off.

With that same hand he pumps his painfully hard cock, once and then twice, placing his other hand on the back of my thigh, keeping me spread before he slaps my cunt with his cock. Whimpering as my hips jerk in response to the overstimulation.

“Aww, is it too much? It is too much, little flame ?” Eris teases.

I shake my head no.

His heavy cock presses against my cunt as he leans down inches from my face, “Is it too much. Tell me.” A command not a question.

“No,” I breathe.

His pupils flare, then his lips crash into mine and without breaking the kiss in one quick thrust he buries himself all the way into the hilt. My lips parting in a scream as he splits me open which he swallows greedily as he stays still letting me adjust to his size. His tongue explores my mouth, allowing me to taste myself as our tongues fight for dominance.

I win before he pulls away and moves onto kissing my jaw and my neck. “Eris, I-I need—“ My words get cut off by a moan as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. Fingers burying themselves in his red hair as he swirls his tongue over the hardened peak.

He smirks as he moves onto my other breast, giving it the same attention, What does my little mate need ? He asks mind to mind—through the mating bond. His deep voice is full of mirth.

You… I need you to fuck me. Even my voice sounds out of breath and full of lust in my head.

His chuckle is my only warning as pushes me farther up the bed so he can kneel on it. He places one of my legs on each of his shoulders, his hands wrapping around my wrist—holding them down on the bed. Pulling almost all the way out to the tip before pushing right back in.

Fucking me mercilessly without abandon.

The head of his cock hits my sweet spot, my walls flutter around him as my pleasure builds. “Gods… Oh gods!” I cry out above the sound of his hips slapping against my skin.

“That’s it, take it, take all me.” His eyes flicker between watching his cock disappearing into my body and tits bouncing wildly. The sight of me making him let out a lewd groan, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I whine in response.

“P-please, Eris,” I beg. “Let me touch you.”

“So needy.” He teases.

“Please!”

He kisses my swollen lips, then I feel his lips brush against my ear, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, letting my hands go.

And they immediately find him.

I drag my hands down his powerful, muscled back, over scars from battles and terrors long since past.

And as his thrusts turn deeper, I dig my fingers in, dragging my nails across his back, claiming him, marking him. His hips slamming home at the blood I draw. “Such a good little slut,” he praises. “Marking me. Claiming me. I’m yours, little flame.”

“Mine,” I echo, “and I'm yours.”

Eris growled his approval, “Mine.”

That one word was my undoing, my release blasting through me like wildfire. I couldn’t even remember my own name, I remembered Eris’s as I cried it while he kept moving, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from me.

Eris’s own release barreled through him at the sight of it, and he groaned my name so that I remembered it at last, the mating bond set ablaze with our pleasure.

I held him through it, on and on, as he spilled himself in me.

The mating bond continued to glow, silent and lovely, even after he stilled. The sounds of the world came pouring back in, his breathing was ragged as mine was while he brushed lazy kisses to my temple, my nose, my mouth.

I was trembling—and so was Eris as he remained in me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder, his uneven breath warming her skin. “I don’t... ,” he tried, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to go back...”

I ran my fingers down his scarred back, over and over. “I know,” I breathed. “I know, me either.” Already, I wanted more, already I was calculating how long I’d have to wait.

He pulled back, a sad smile gracing his kiss-swollen lips, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“It’s safer if we don’t tell anyone about us being mates, but I still want to claim you.”

“Eris, we don’t have enough time—for the mating ceremony or frenzy.”

“I know,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I know. Gods, I wish we had more time. But I can still claim you another way.”

“You want to mark me.” My lips curve up into a knowing smirk, “You want to bite me.” Not a question but an answer to an unspoken question.

He nodded his head. “Only if you let me.”

“Can I claim you?” He began to harden again inside me as the question lingered.

Eris rasped, “Do you want to bite me?”

I eyed his throat, his glorious body, and I wondered if it were possible to love someone enough to die from it. If it were possible to love someone enough that time and distance and death were of no concern. “Am I limited to your neck?”

Eris’s eyes flared, and his answering thrust was answer enough. We moved together, in an almost hypnotic rhythm like the flames in our veins, and when I reached my peak again, he bit me—where my neck and shoulder met.

Then when Eris roared my name as his release barreled through him and I bit him—where his neck and shoulder met, I hoped the Amarantha herself heard it and knew her days were now numbered.

We fucked three times—twice in the bed, then a third out in the bathtub. We’d gone in to wash off, but I had wrapped my legs around his waist, kissed his neck, then licked his ear the way he liked, and he was buried in me again. I knew why he needed the contact, why he’d needed to taste me on his tongue, and then with the rest of his body. I’d needed the same.

I still needed it. I’d never had anything like him.

And when I had bit him during that second time in the bed ... His magic—his fire had set the entire bedroom, the entire cabin, on fire as he came hard enough that he thought his body would shatter.

But once we were finished, he pulled back the flames and still panting he explained how the cabin and everything was warded not to burn. And it was true nothing was burnt, charred or ash.

Then he’d gone into the small kitchen and mixed some salt and water in a cup before pouring where I’d bitten and scratched him, to make sure the marks—the claim would remain.

And then he’d poured the salt-water mix on me—where he’d claimed me, ensuring the mark would remain.

Eris Pov:

I marked her deep and true, and there was no undoing it, no washing it away. She’d claimed me, and I claimed her, and I know she’s well aware of what this claiming meant—just as I knew ... I knew it had been a choice on her part. A final decision regarding the matter of if she actually wanted to be mated to me.

And she did.

I would try to live up to that honor—try to find some way to get back to her.

To prove that I deserved it. Deserved her. My Y/n. My mate. That she hadn’t bet on the wrong horse. Somehow. I’d earn it. Even with so little to offer beyond my own magic and heart. For now.

She is the reason I made a deal with Rhysand. A deal to kill Beron; my father and High Lord of Autumn. So she’d be safe and happy.

And after I’d be High Lord and she’d be High Lady.

****

The sun is rising, it’s not safe out here in the open with some many fae around, Raihn warned in both of our minds.

Eris flinched, “Gods, I don’t think I'm ever going to get used to that.”

Raihn only huffed, his eyes scanning the forest surrounding us.

I chuckled against Eris’s chest, “You’re gonna have to. There’s no me without him.”

“Anything for you.” Is his only response before tightening his arms that were wrapped around me and kissing the top of my head.

Without taking his eyes away from the forest, Raihn backed up towards us, lying down next to me. Sunshine, we have to go now. The sun rises in 5 minutes and it’s going to take me 10 to get you back to the manor.

All right.

It took everything in me to pull myself out of Eris’s arms, but before I even took a step back toward Raihn, he grabbed one of my hands, “Wait, I want you to have something.” He turned my hand and placed a gold signet ring set with an emerald cut ruby, with a gold chain threaded through it.

I stare at it for a couple seconds longer before closing my fist around it and holding it to my chest and see that one of his fingers is now bare. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, little flame. Remember, what’s mine is yours.” Then he opened his mouth again to speak but closed it. His cheeks now tinged pink.

My brows furrowed, one side of my mouth quirking up in a smile, “What?”

He cleared his throat, “I-uh, warded the ring and necklace so that only you, Raihn or… I could touch it. If someone else does, it’ll burn them.”

“Good.” I said, giving him a smile that’s only reserved for him and Raihn.

Yes, yes, very nice but we need to go. Now. Raihn grumbled as his tail swatted my legs.

“All right, all right, we’re going,” I mumbled. Rolling my eyes as I swung my leg over his body and as soon as I did he stood up. “Raihn!” I chided.

What? He snapped.

“I almost fell,” I muttered as I fisted his fur to keep myself from falling from his back.

Then don’t fall.

Eris walked, standing in front of Raihn, getting his attention, “Get her back safe. Protect her.”

Raihn dipped his head, With my life.

Then Eris walked to his side and titled his head up, and I leaned down, meeting him halfway for our last kiss, for now.

We both pulled away at the same time, pressing our foreheads together, “Be safe,” he breathed.

“Be safe.”

And then he winnowed.

And I closed off my side of mating bond. Telling myself it’s better this way.

****

I awoke hours later, around noon, judging by how bright the sun was.

The servants were sleeping in after their night of celebrating. My body was pleasantly sore from the long night Eris and I had, so I made myself a bath and took a good, long soak. Washing up but also leaving just a bit of his scent on me, just enough so that others would really have to look for it to detect it.

After bathing, I dressed and sat at the vanity to braid my hair. Once I was finished, I opened the collar of my tunic, pulling the chain out with the ring he’d given me, letting it rest on my chest.

Raihn and I strode downstairs and went our separate ways. He went out to hunt for his food while following my nose to the dining room, where I knew lunch was usually served for Tamlin and Lucien.

When I flung open the doors, I found them both in their usual spots. Except Feyre was sitting directly across from Lucien and Feyre and Tamlin were currently arguing. Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. Clearly amused but as soon as his eyes locked on me—he glared at me.

And I frowned, “What?”

Even Feyre and Tamlin stopped arguing their attention now on us.

“Where were you?” Lucien spat.

“In my room.” I took a step forward and his nostril flared, his eyes narrowed into slits.

He snarled, “Liar.”

Fuck it. I titled my head to the side, smirking, “I mean I was in my room this morning but last night… well you know where I was last night.”

Lucien growled as he winnowed right in front of me, before pinning me to the ground, “You fucked him?!”

“Lucien!” Tamlin’s shout rattled the glasses on the table.

“Did I?”

“His scent is all over you”—his eyes fell to my chest, to the ring around my neck—“you have his fucking ring around your neck !” He grabbed it. No doubt trying to rip it off me but hissed as soon as it made contact with his skin. It burned him.

I only grinned at him. Turning my head to look at Feyre and Tamlin who were both gaping at us, “Want to know what I learned last night ?” I asked both of them. They didn’t say anything and just kept staring so I took that as my cue to continue. “Autumn court males have fire in their blood… and they fuck like it too.”

“Y/n!” Feyre gasped.

Tamlin’s jaw was practically on the floor, then he was shaking his head, sputtering, “Wait-wait, you and Lucien?”

Lucien answered for both of us, “Eris.” As soon as his brother’s name left his mouth he punched me.

I laughed and when he reared his hand back again, I took my opening, fisting the collar of his tunic with my free hand and head-butting his nose. Rewarding me with a loud crunch.

His hand flew up to his nose and I took the chance to flip us over so I was on top and with my left hand I pried his hands away from his face. The second his face was open I punched him in his mouth like he punched me.

“Enough!” Tamlin bellowed.

Lucien tried punching me again but I was too fast and moved out the way, then I landed another blow.

I was gonna punch him again, my fist inches from his face when I heard Feyre, “Y/n, stop!” she yelled.

So I did, I got off of Lucien and stood to the side of him. My chest was still heaving as I offered him a hand, “We good?”

He eyed my hand before sighing, “We’re good.” His hand closed around mine before I pulled him up.

Feyre cleared the space between us in a couple steps—“Y/n what’s wrong with you ?”— she cradled my face in her hands, looking me over.

I pulled away, “I think it’d be easier to tell you what isn’t wrong with me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Trust me, I know.” I walked around all of them back to the table and sat down and began filling a glass with wine and piling my plate with food. I didn’t turn back to look at them as I said, “So… are you all not gonna eat.”

They all sighed before muttering their agreement as they found their seats and began eating.

No one said anything for a while, until Lucien cleared his throat, his eyes on me, “Why?”

Such a simple question with a complicated answer.

I took a sip of wine before answering, “Can’t say. But, I can say that Raihn is gonna kill you when he comes back.” I said sweetly.

Lucien, Tamlin and Feyre all blanched making me howl with laughter.

It was Feyre who spoke first, “You shouldn’t trust that-that wolf as much as you do. He’s still wild—still a beast.”

I stared at her, for so long that she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and Lucien and Tamlin stiffened. They way only fae could go still. I titled my head to the side—a predator looking at prey. “He’s not a beast to me… No matter what he looks like or how terrifying he is to everyone.” I got up to leave and Feyre grabbed my arm and I ripped it free from her grasp, “Don’t,” I warned.

She grabbed me again and I whirled. Tamlin and Lucien lunged for me, knocking back their chairs hard enough to flip it over, but Feyre threw out a hand. The High Lord and Emissary stood down.

That easily, she leashed them.

I laughed, the sound brittle and cold, and smiled at all of them in a way that usually made others throw the first punch.

But they just set their chairs upright, sat down, and leaned back, as if they already knew where they'd strike my death blow.

Feyre was their salvation and they wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

But she’s my sister—the closest thing I ever had to one. I would never hurt her.

Feyre pointed at the door. "Get the hell out. I don't know what’s going on with you but I don’t want to see you again for a good while."

The feeling was mutual.

****

Without even realizing it I’d walked back to my family’s cottage. My real family’s cottage.

It looks the same as it did the last time I saw it. No doubt because of the wards my mother had placed on it.

I don’t know how long I stood there on the porch, just staring at the door, until Raihn nudged my shoulder with his snout.

Why aren’t you at the manor?

I shrugged not answering his question. “Did you stay here while I was on the other side of the wall?”

Most of the time. Unless I was hunting them. Them; Amarantha’s soldiers. Do you want to go inside?

“No.” I shook my head, sniffling, “I’m not ready yet.”

All right… I was waiting to bring you here—to show you something.

Finally turning to look at him, “To show me, what ?”

It’s better if I show you first.

Sucking in a deep breath, I willed myself to move, “All right, show me.” I followed him as he walked towards the back of the cottage. We walked for about five minutes before I realized where we were going. “No, Raihn. No. I-I can’t.” I pleaded.

Please…

“No. I’m not strong enough to go to her grave.” I had told myself I would come see her but every time I tried I found an excuse not to. It hurt too much.

Please, Sunshine. I shut my eyes at the nickname. The nickname my mother and fathers called me. I need to show you something.

I was trembling now as hot tears streaked my cheeks, “I’m not strong enough,” I admitted.

Raihn nuzzled his head against mine, You don’t always have to be strong. I'm here now. Let me be strong for the both of us, please.

I didn’t trust myself to speak so I simply nodded my head and we began walking again. Raihn a constant and steady presence beside me.

My legs felt like they were going to give out from under me as I saw what he wanted to show me.

Not one but three graves.

It was then that I fell to my knees, sobbing, they were finally together again. My mom and dads.

I couldn’t stop crying long enough to ask how but I didn’t need to, Raihn’s always knows what I need.

I found their bodies in “The Middle” a few yards away from The Sacred Mountain. They were barely alive when I brought them back. Amarantha had the wings cut off.

I let out a scream, as I pressed my forehead to the grass beneath me, sobs racking my entire body. Their wings. She took their wings. Their wings.

After I killed the soldiers who hurt me, I tried feeling where you were through the bond but I couldn’t feel you. I was so weak from what they did to me and still I tried tracking all of you. But their scents were the strongest yet it was only because I was in The Middle too. When I found them I thought they were dead. There was so much blood. So much.

Raihn let out a pained, sorrowful whine, he loved just as much as I do.

But I focused my hearing and I could still hear their hearts beating—barely but they were. So I got them onto my back and came back home but I tracked your scent here. It was so faint, practically nonexistent but it was here. And then I saw her grave. Your mother’s grave. I remember she told you that she always wanted to be buried beneath a yew tree and how your father’s always said they didn’t care as long as they were all together. It was as if the mother was playing a cruel joke because you buried her beneath one that had two more yew trees that were flanking it. So I buried them here. At her sides, flanking her, as they did in life.

I don’t know how long I had been crying but I finally stopped. “Thank you,” I whispered so low I wasn't sure he’d heard me.

But then he laid his massive head on my lap, I love them too.

“I know. I know you do.” Without thinking, I started petting his head. We both need the comfort.

I miss them.

“Me too.” I lifted my head up to the sky and closed my eyes as I imagined the three of them together, happy and flying. A small smile still graced my lips as I opened my eyes again. Finally taking in the area.

The grass was trimmed, flowers placed on each grave and three simple but beautiful headstones. “Raihn, how’d you get the headstones?”

Do you remember, Adair ?

I nodded my head even though he couldn’t see, “Yeah, their friend from summer, right ?”

Yes. Well he heard about what happened and found me on the porch of the cottage covered in dirt and blood. So he cleaned me up, got me food and water, because I was still weak. And after I got some strength back and walked him here and pawed at the graves where a headstone belonged and he understood.

They were simple headstones—all three—but still beautiful. I couldn’t stop rereading them.

From left to right they read:

Declan Hawthorne

Beloved Husband and Father

Rhaenyra Blackfyre

Beloved Wife and Mother

Callum Rivers

Beloved Husband and Father

There’s something else I need to tell you, Raihn said.

“What?”

Wesley—one of Amarantha’s lieutenants is in Summer. Him and a few Hybern soldiers under his command, they’ve been going court to court.

My brows pinched together, “For what?”

Not, what. Who.

“Me,” I sighed.

Yes. They’re looking for the “Sun of the Night Court.” After they ensnared one of the Suriel and they told them the prophecy. That the “Sun of the Night Court” is the heir of the Spring Court. The heir that is promised to free Prythian—to kill her. So she killed the Suriel, sent out her lieutenants, making them go court to court searching for a boy that doesn’t exist.

“Because, it’s me. I’m Tamlin’s heir.” I finally said the words that have been haunting me for more than 10 years out loud. “I’m the “Sun of the Night Court.”

Yes.

“And when Amarantha assumed that the Suriel said son instead of sun, they didn’t bother correcting her, if it wasn’t a direct question.”

Yes.

“Because no High Lord has ever had a female heir. Until me.”

Yes.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 11

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#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris smut #eris x reader #bound in flames

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ageofbajabule · 6 months

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Beautiful Boy | Josh Kiszka

Josh Kiszka x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, 18+ Allusions to Sex, Groping (Let me know if I miss any)

Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Note: Honestly nothing crazy. This is just a little blurb I threw together after hearing that JOSH WAS WEARING EYELINER FOR THE HAMBURG SHOW! If he wears eyeliner for the next US leg, catch me dying in the pit for Pitt and Grand Rapids…

The next leg of the mighty Starcatcher World Tour has begun. Another month of endless traveling, soundchecks, interviews and shows. You loved the lifestyle you had adjusted too after agreeing to be Josh’s girlfriend 3 years ago. You knew what you were signing up for, and you never looked back. As long as you were beside him that’s all that mattered.

Josh showed you what it was like to love and be loved. He was the embodiment of love within itself. When you first met him you had only been newly single for a few months after a bad breakup. But when the two of you met one night at a small venue show, you hit it off immediately. Hangouts turned into dates, dates turned into nights tangled in each other's sheets. Then not too long after Josh was asking you to move in with him.

Josh had been thrilled when you agreed to move in, and said he was lonely in the mountains. And to say it wasn’t a dream to live in the mountains with the person you love most. You constantly thought your life was a dream and you constantly would pinch yourself for your own reassurance.

But when Josh had asked you to quit your day job and come on tour with him, you were absolutely hesitant. You had never left home, let alone left the country! But he was adamant that you came along as he would miss you too much, and how there was so much to see out in the world. And he wasn’t wrong.

In the span of 6 months you had seen more of the world than you had in the span of your own lifetime.

When you were on tour you had started to help out with the guys to get ready for their shows. Adjusting their outfits, fixing up Josh’s and Danny’s rhinestones. Even helping Jake adjust the sleeves to his suit jacket. Dreams In Gold was chaotic and thrilling. But when the guys were ready to announce Starcatcher, Josh had started to get more creative with his rhinestones and makeup for the shows.

When Starcatcher had finally been given to the world, the very first show Josh had you there applying his makeup and rhinestones. He was so nervous to be up on stage, as he always did get nervous before shows. But because a new era had begun and he was unsure if the fans would react well to it.

Jake had started to experience more with eyeliner for his stage presence. Whereas Josh, Danny and Sam wore eyeshadow and rhinestones for their presence.

Josh had been contemplating wearing eyeliner, but wasn’t sure he would look right with it. But Josh looked good no matter what, you were positive that if he came out covered in grease and dirt he’d still be the most attractive man you ever laid your eyes on.

“Do you think the eyeliner will look okay…” He paced around the dressing room.

“Josh, baby… You look absolutely stunning with the eyeshadow and rhinestones. Why would you think the eyeliner won’t look good?” You pulled out the waterline eyeliner out of the makeup bag.

“Will it be too much?” He kept pacing around. You stood up from where you were sitting, walking over to Josh you stopped him in his tracks kissing his lips softly.

He relaxed in your touch, kissing you back softly. Pulling away slowly, you cupped his face in your hands staring into his eyes.

“You worry too much… and besides if I remember correctly. Didn’t you say ‘Fuck fear’?” You giggled softly, pulling him over to sit back in the chair across form the one you sat in not too long ago.

“I did, didn’t I…”

You nodded, grabbing the eyeliner pencil and removing the cap. You grabbed his face gently, careful to not ruin the work you had finished a couple minutes ago.

“Now, just relax Joshy. It will take two minutes and then you can look in the mirror and see for yourself how good you look.” You kissed the tip of his nose, earning a grin and rosy tinted cheeks from him.

You held his face gently, using the eyeliner pencil to apply the black makeup to his waterline gently. He handled it like a pro, but he had let you experience a ton of makeup looks on him. He was such a good model for you.

After the two minutes of applying it to both eyes, you pulled away smiling contently at the final look. You grabbed the mirror and handed it to him.

“All done…”

He grabbed the mirror turning it to face him, he looked in amazement. The pop that the eyeliner did for his beautiful brown honey eyes and the way the liner complimented the silver eyeshadow. He was in shock.

“Wow… mama. You are god sent.” He chuckled softly, checking himself out in the mirror before setting it down. He pulled you into his lap.

“You are my beautiful boy…” You giggled softly cupping his face into your hands kissing him softly. He hummed against your lips, pulling your hips down and grinding into you.

You gasped slightly as you could feel him hardening beneath you.

“Joshua, we don’t have enough time…” You giggled softly as he peppered kisses along your neck.

“Mama… we have plenty of time.” He started to grab your ass, rubbing it softly before giving it a swift crack that made you yelp, but soothing it afterwards.

“No we don’t! The last time we got tangled up in the dressing room you were late to the stage for the curtain drop!” You smacked his shoulder softly.

“Yeah… Daniel will never let me live that down.” He chuckled softly.

“However… if you’re a good boy tonight. Perhaps afterwards you get rewarded.” You said in a sultry tone against the shell of his ear, licking and nibbling softly. Eliciting a moan from his lips to fall.

“You are going to be the death of me woman…” He chuckled softly.

You giggled standing up from his lap, as he started to readjust his new jumpsuit. A velvet silver jumpsuit that adorned his body well. And the jacket sitting on the hanger he pulled off that had been very similar to Jake’s.

“You look absolutely beautiful…” You blushed, helping him adjust his suit.

“Well with your help of course.” He kissed your cheek softly, before grabbing your ass again.

He started to whisper in your ear, “Just don’t forget who is in charge here though…” He said in a low register tone voice, which sent heat to your core. You were sure your panties were ruined by the arousal that pooled there.

“Good luck baby…” You tapped his ass softly, as you ushered him out to get mic'd up.

“I will see you back in the hotel room tonight, mama…” He smirked softly before getting mic’d up and hitting the stage.

Taglist -

@lyndszee @fkfearandliveyourlegend @starcatcherry @hi-hi-hello11 @gvfmuse @meetingthestardust @myleftsock @thunderstomp-and-tequila @sinsofstardust @vanillabear27 @dharma-divine33 @holybananafuck @thecoldwind @ieatedsammy @gretasfallingsky @char289 @blacksoul-27

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka fluff #josh gvf fluff #joshua kiszka fic #joshua kiszka #gvf smut #greta van smut #gvf fluff #josh kiszka greta van fleet #greta van fleet fluff #josh greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fluff #josh kiszka smut #josh gvf smut

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princearchive · 16 days

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#prince #prince rogers nelson #the gold experience era

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elliesmainhoe · 1 year

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Ellie Williams Headcanons: Vampire!Ellie

She's a biter- It's her love language ❤️

She doesn't do it in a nasty way and it's never unconsensual , it's a mutual bonding experience between the two of you.

Just nibbling at your neck, sucking just a little bit of blood out <3

This woman is 300 years old- she's loaded

Spoils you senseless.

Gets you new jewelry weekly, you want a pretty dress? She gets it for you. You're out shopping together and your eyes linger on a handbag for a little too long? You find it in your closet the next day.

Owns lots of land and many businesses as a source of income.

So many cute pet names. "Little mouse, darling and my love" are her favorites.

100% has a massive gothic victorian era house, so she can reminisce on her youth.

Vampire!Ellie doesn't need sleep. But, she will lay next to you, slow her breathing and hug you just so she can keep you warm and listens to your soft snores ❤️

It was early in the morning when Ellie finally got back from hunting, trying to sate her daily (or nightly) blood lust. The sun had not yet risen, and the moon was still in the sky when she entered your shared bedroom in the large manor.

The sight was serene. Your frame laid still under the thick covers on the four-poster canopy bed, your chest rising and falling slowly and soft snores left your agape mouth (along with a little bit of drool, but don't worry, Ellie thinks it's adorable.)

She creeped closer to you, slipping off her shoes and stripping down to her underwear not wanting to get the metallic smell of blood on your new satin pyjamas she'd bought for you. Her arms wrapped around your torso, and she cuddled her face into your neck.

"sweet dreams, little mouse..."

You teaching Vampire!Ellie to cook.

You just laughing at Ellie wrinkling her nose in disgust at all the odd new flavours and spices that weren't around in her day.

Plays so many instruments!!!!!! Loves sitting next to you on her grande piano and serenading you! (Will play your favorite songs)

Loves kissing you all over. Pecking all your moles and freckles around your body.

OMG! Her buying you a ball gown and teaching you how to waltz.

A beautiful orchestral composition came out of the golden gramophone that sat on the far end of the ballroom. It was an expansive space- gold details and deep red soft furniture filled through out the room. It was breath taking.

One of Ellie's hand grabbed your waist softly and the other one entwining with your hand. Her body guides you, her feet moving rhythmically unlike yours that were stepping on the toes of her leather shoes.

"Just follow the song, my love.." she hummed at you, a faint smile on her soft pink lips. "Do you hear the beat? 1, 2, 3, 4- 1, 2, 3, 4" your feet followed their given instructions and your bodies began to synchronize with eachother's.

"That's my good girl."

----------

Part 2

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farfromstrange · 1 month

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‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: The day you lost Matt, you lost everything. There is no moving on from what Spider-Man put you through, and you plan to execute your revenge.

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character Death, blood, suicidal thoughts, mutant!Reader, evil Peter Parker, 18+ because of darker themes, multiverse (No Way Home Era), slight AU

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: FINALLY! This took me way too long to edit. Today, we’re setting the scene for future installments, but you’re not getting all the details, even if the first 3000 words of this are somewhat a flashback. So, if you think that there is too little dialogue for a Prologue, that’s probably why. This chapter is integral to the future installments.

Read Me On AO3!

The world was silent when he died—an endless pit of nothingness, and above a sky full of stars.

You don’t remember if it was raining. The moon was hiding behind a thick cloud, and the stars were burning, but you can’t remember if you were drowning in a river of tears or if it was the sky that broke that night. Everything else about that night, you remember quite vividly.

Hell’s Kitchen had become a battleground. The city lay at your feet in shambles; Wilson Fisk had become mayor after you tried hard to stop him, and the world fell apart. But it was his second in command, Peter Parker, who gave new meaning to the word ‘notorious’. Spider-Man infested your home like a parasite, slipping through your finger like dry sand. He knew what he was doing. He and Fisk held the city in the palms of their dirty hands, slowly crushing it like mealy little ants.

When you met Matt Murdock, it was years back when things were still better, yet they were never perfect. He found you broken at the side of the road—or that was what it felt like, anyway.

From the start, you have always been different. In a world where everyone wanted to be someone, your uniqueness painted a target on your back. Your nature was misunderstood by most; they either wanted to be you, or they were vying for your inevitable downfall.

You stood out of every crowd. The target on your back remained no matter how hard you tried to turn yourself into a shrouded mystery. Eventually, you had to start running. You operated out of the dark like a criminal—a vigilante, and a mind-reader who could set the world on fire if she only tried hard enough.

For most of your life, you were hunted. Scientists wanted to run experiments on you, tie you to a gurney, and study your brain until they understood how your abilities worked. Freaks wanted to sell you for millions to equally disturbed individuals.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were merely a scared child who grew into a terrified teenager who didn’t know any better: dead parents, dead everything, and a mind built to read those of others.

Back then, your only instinct was blatant survival, so you ran. You ran fast and you ran far, an orphan so many would have rather seen dead than operating in the dark, but oh, you had to become something to feel like you were worth something.

When you landed in New York, beaten and alone with a bone-crushing fear of the future, the Devil found you, taking you home with him. He saved you. He picked up your pieces, glued you back together, and wrapped you in a protective glaze. All the heartbreak you’d endured, and the trauma you’d suffered getting there seemed worth it whenever he held you in his arms.

You were Matt Murdock’s world, and he was yours. He showed you heaven and hell; he saved you from the purgatory you pushed yourself into and got you settled with a one-way ticket to paradise. After all these years, you finally found your salvation in a person.

He was your broken Catholic boy with a heart made out of gold. The universe didn’t deserve him, and yet he gave the world everything he had. He sacrificed his soul to God and his city. He prayed, he begged, and he fought hard for what he believed right at the time.

Matt saw himself as the Devil; embodied him, too. Though in your eyes, he was an angel with an invisible halo only you could feel in every fiber of your being. His thoughts, his heart, and his soul; he gave it all to you.

You cherished him with all you could give him. It wasn’t much, but he loved you more than anyone had ever before. You were more than a mutant, more than a broken girl at the side of the road, and more than a potential test subject. With him, you finally learned what living was like—what it was supposed to feel like to be human.

The world tried to clip your wings. They took away your voice and your ability to breathe. Matt brought you back to life. He was not the love of your life; Matt Murdock was your soulmate. You lived for him. You existed for him. He was your heart, your soul, and the reason for your survival.

It wasn’t healthy, how dependent you were on him. He made you see colors you couldn’t see with anyone else. You loved him fiercely. You loved him in a way that was pure agony. And you loved him in a way that you knew would screw you up forever.

It didn’t cross your mind that you could ever lose him. To you, Matt Murdock was immortal. He was the man you could see yourself growing old with.

You got married in a small ceremony at the courthouse—it wasn’t just for love, it was also convenient, but he forever tied himself to you as you tied yourself to him with a golden wedding band—and you talked about maybe having children one day. A mini-you and a mini-him in your little farmhouse in the suburbs. For that, he would have left Hell’s Kitchen once it was safe enough to do so.

It was a foolish dream now that you think about it; you were foolish to think that happiness would ever be in the cards for you, but then he kissed you again, good morning and good night and in between, and all you could see was a sea of roses.

He walked through fire (sometimes literally) for you and came back on the other side, hardly always unscathed but always alive, and always with a smile on his chapped lips. He crawled home to you even when he was broken. He crawled home to you when he was full of adrenaline. And he crawled home to you when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t anymore, both mentally and physically. He knew he could always come home to you, his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and soon enough, his wife.

You stitched his wounds and kissed his scars to breathe new life into him. You brought him back from the edge. You gave him something to live for. He told you that you saved him, and hearing that after getting on your knees every night, thanking him for the same thing, did something to you. It healed you from the inside out.

You kept him alive the same way he did you. You stood strong together against your enemies every night, fighting as a team. He taught you how to fight, and you taught him how to connect. Matt didn’t know what it was like not to push someone he loved away, but you made sure he understood. He connected to himself; he connected to his past, present, and future with you, and that made him a better man.

You lost and you won, but at least you had each other to fall back on. You did it together. You did everything together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife. Lady Red and Daredevil.

The fragile little yet oh-so-big thing you had was raw, vulnerable, yet the most tragically beautiful love affair you could have possibly had the pleasure of calling yours. And pleasure, you had plenty. Love, you had plenty. You had everything until everything was ripped from your bare hands—until the very thing sustaining you shattered on a white cloth, spilling crimson blood everywhere, and what you swore could only be pried from your cold, dead hands slipped away in a moment in time.

You both died, in a way, but it was Matt’s body you held as he took his last breaths in the dead of a hot summer’s night. You can’t remember if it rained, but he was certainly drowning in your tears.

“He’s going to kill you,” you warned him. “Parker and Fisk are out to destroy you. If Spider-Man sees you with your guard down, he won’t hesitate.”

Matt slid his skilled fingers into his pair of leather gloves. They were worn down, but they smelled like him. You could feel the unease sizzling in the pit of your stomach—a parasite.

“I have to do this,” he told you, his voice laden. “The bastard is ruining innocent lives in my city. I can’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

You weren’t fighting, but the statement still hung deafeningly loud in the room, hanging itself from the ceiling with a noose that was threatening to take you down with it.

“He challenged you because he knows you’d do anything—”

He cut you off, “He’s underestimating me.”

You stared into his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. The dark cloud was heading straight for you, but he couldn’t sense it. “You almost died the last time you came face-to-face with him,” you tried again.

“So did you,” he said. “Fisk is nothing without Spider-Man behind him, and those two have done enough damage already.”

“Matt, please—”

“I have to, sweetheart. This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The city is about to fall. If I let them win, there is no coming back from this. You know that.”

“At least let me come with you then,” you said. You begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t see how worried you were. “We’ve been through hell together. We can fight this war together, too.”

“No,” Matt insisted. “He will see an easy target. You mean too much to me. Spider-Man is gonna use you to get through to me. I can do this. You just have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I’m gonna talk to him, and if I have to fight him again for the whole fucking world to see, so be it.”

The words slipped you before you could stop them, cutting through the air like a sharp-edged sword. “What if you die trying?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want to lose you!” you cried.

You had not cried in front of him often before that night, but your walls cracked, and you broke.

Matt cradled your face as he whispered, begging you to listen, “You won’t. I promise. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The invisible string pulled you tighter together. Fear, anger, and desperation; he felt so many things—so many things running deeper than the ocean—but you swallowed them.

“I’m not okay with this,” you murmured.

“I know. Here–” he guided your hands to his face, “Feel me,” he said.

You remember gasping when the floodgates opened. “I always feel you.”

You stroked his delicate cheeks. He was here, home with you; why couldn’t he stay like that forever? Why did you have to let him go? Past, present, and future began to blur.

I love you. He tuned out all other thoughts so you could hear him.

He was praying. He was hoping. Only a handful of times had he felt this way. You were so tightly interlaced that you could feel all of him without even trying, but that night, you tried. That night, he tuned out all of his self-deprecating thoughts. He allowed the silence of your connection to engulf him—for the city to disappear, and he allowed you in.

I love you so much. Do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I love you.

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart.

“Remember, three knocks,” he said aloud. “Don’t open for anyone else.”

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement.

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

You read his mind, swallowing the words, but a big part of you wanted to spit them back out. You didn’t want to hear it. The universe was sending you a warning sign.

Matt exhaled. He cupped your hands in his. The connection deepened, the string pulled tighter, and you became one. That night was the first night you saw glimpses of the future, and you didn’t want to accept it. You were such a fool to think everything could ever be fucking alright, both for you and for this magnificent force of a man you chose to call home—because home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and often enough, it’s a person.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. He kissed you. Softly, gently, passionately. You kissed him like you knew it would be the last time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

The red flags waved, but you looked away. “I don’t want to say it back because you have to come back to me,” you confessed, “and this feels too much like a goodbye.”

He forced you to look at him instead. “Say it back, baby.”

“I love you,” you caved.

You shouldn’t have. You should have put up more of a fight.

I will always come back to you. Cross my heart. He crossed his heart, but he hoped too much to die. Perhaps in not saying it out loud, he thought the truth would hurt less.

You refused to believe it until time had run out. You refused to cave until it happened. And when it happened, the city, for the first time since you’d arrived there, went completely quiet.

You followed him. Of course, you did. After a few hours of pacing the floor, you followed him. He was still in your head. You heard him from across the city, his thoughts loud and clear, and you could feel his pain like an inferno lighting up the night sky.

When you arrived on that godforsaken rooftop though, you could only watch in horror as Spider-Man lifted the love of your life toward the sky. He wouldn’t accept your bargain. You offered yourself instead of him, but no; Peter Parker was not in the mood for bargaining.

He lifted Matt toward the sky, and he drilled the dagger right through his chest.

“No!” you screamed again.

Silence.

His blood ran through your fingers like quicksand, and sitting there, cradling Matt’s chest to yours as his heartbeat slowly faded into oblivion, you knew the end was near. The world could be so fucking unfair. You both died, but it was only his heart that stopped. You lost him that night, and your entire world stopped in an instant.

You liked it better when he was angry with you. When he was loud, when he was laughing, even when he was just being sarcastic. You liked him better when he was alive. He turned into a ghost in your arms, forever and all eternity, and you fell face-first into the abyss.

Maybe it was raining that night. Maybe you were being buried under the weight of your guilt and the never-ending flow of your tears.

“I can’t…” you sobbed, tracing his cold cheek as the rain fell around you. “I can’t feel you.”

His heart stopped beating, and the invisible string pulverized. You watched it as it went with the wind. Without him. Without you.

You screamed until your lungs gave out. Then, silence settled in.

The night was quiet when he died; nothing but a sky full of stars and the endless black pit of death above and below you.

The blood and his missing pulse weren’t the worst part, by far; the worst part was that you could no longer feel him, and that thought won’t ever not haunt you.

You were certain that night. When you lost him, and you screamed your heart out, praying to a God you’ve never believed in, you swore to yourself that you would avenge him.

You were going to kill Peter Parker, and nothing in this world could ever stop you from watching this miserable motherfucker bleed to death.

The bed shakes violently as you awaken. Dreams, so many dreams. Your nights are far from peaceful. They haven’t been for weeks. Months. What day is it? You don’t remember.

Nightmares follow you like hunters after a fox. Your pajamas stick to your skin, and you’re sweating even though it is spring, and spring doesn’t have hot enough temperatures for you to be sweating quite like this. When you pull the comforter away in a sudden panic, the wetness seeping into your skin, there is nothing but white. No blood, no tears, just gaping emptiness in the farmhouse.

You pant heavily, dragging your nails across your skin. Your fingernails are tinted a charcoal black. In your heart, there had once been a bright red glow—like a ruby crystal sustaining your soul. You used it to channel other people’s thoughts. You could read them, you could hear them, and you could feel them. That Ruby has gone out now though; it has turned into a black smoke threatening to overtake anything it comes in contact with.

The sun isn’t strong enough to break through the gray clouds. As you step out into the garden that stretches around your home, a gentle wind brushes through the bare branches of the dead trees. The wood is starting to splinter, turning hollow as sickness after sickness runs rampant through nature.

You trace a finger over the poison ivy that has grown over the tombstone. The green fades, turning into a rotten brown. It dries out, and it dies right before your eyes, as do the roses you have been keeping in a vase ever since you laid a finger on the last bouquet.

He liked the smell of roses, but you hated the look of it until Matt died, and suddenly, everything looked and smelled like a field of roses, reminding you of him. He was your daisy, your sunflower, setting fire to your freezing soul. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. He liked to claim differently, but you wouldn’t let him. You may have been his sunshine, but out of the both of you, he shone the brightest.

The poison ivy dies, and if you even manage to kill a plant with the word ‘poison’ in its name, what does that say about you? What has become of you; plotting a stranger’s death and killing the nature around you as you dive into books about mind-reading and dark magic to understand who you truly are? Dark magic sounds like a story out of a piece of fiction, but it’s far from that.

You’ve known of your ability to manipulate the human mind ever since you discovered the creature hidden within you, the one who could touch another human being and see their thoughts so clearly. The one time you tried to manipulate someone, you caused them indescribably agony. You ruined their life. You broke them. You made them complicit and took all they were away from them, turning their fragile mind into ashes. That day, your fingers turned charcoal for the first time.

If you try hard enough, you can kill him—Peter Parker. He took your husband and your city, now sitting in his ivory tower, overlooking the damage he’s done. He killed everyone and everything, even Wilson Fisk. He has taken the people of Hell’s Kitchen hostage, but no one has dared to make a move just yet, not since their beloved Daredevil disappeared off the face of the earth. With him, his Lady Red went as fast as she had come.

You don’t want to fix what Spider-Man destroyed; you can’t get back what he took, nor do you want to, and the city doesn’t mean anything without Matt in it.

You have to be the monster to kill another monster, only then you can join your husband in his tomb. Didn’t you vow to stay together, even in death?

The city can burn, for all you care, but first, Peter Parker has to die.

You scratch at the dirt in the engraving of his name. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1982 — 2023. Beloved husband and hero.

You hate this. You hate that his grave is in your backyard, but this was the only place you knew his corpse would be safest. No one can touch him here, and you can talk to him, pretending you can still feel him. If you focus hard enough, you can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to move on.

How could you though? How could you abandon all you’ve been through? You can fight, you can win or lose, but nothing will ever be the same again. And it is far from worth it to stay alive when he isn’t. You’ve made your decision; whether or not you’ve come to peace with it, that’s another story entirely.

“Tonight is the night,” you murmur to the gravestone. Of course, you don’t receive an answer.

Lately, you have been swearing to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, that there are no more tears left to shed, but every day, you end up crying anyway. It’s an endless cycle of despair.

You wipe your cheeks, untangling the chain that holds your golden wedding band close to your chest from around your neck. Gently, you guide it to your lips and press a kiss against the ring.

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life.

You dig a small hole into the dry dirt where, six feet under, Matt is resting now. He always told you he would end up in hell when he died. You were never particularly religious before you met him, and when he struggled with his faith while you were together, you believed even less in an all-merciful God. Now though, with Matt gone and the world on the verge of falling apart and crushing you under its weight as you approach the biggest challenge of your life, the thought of ending up in an eternal life of nothingness after death—the thought of there being nothing but mindless darkness, no body, soul—scares you too much. Imagining the pits of hell or paradise with the love of your life, and reuniting with him, is a prospect you would rather see when you close your eyes than a world on fire.

The necklace lands in the hole, and you cover it up. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of your ring before, but you won’t risk carrying it when you do what you are about to do.

Tonight, Peter Parker is going to show himself to all of New York City as the new mayor in all of his Spider-Man glory. He begged for you to come out, and he told the city he would be merciful in prosecuting you for the crimes you committed in the past alongside Daredevil. When you come out tonight though, you won’t surrender yourself. You will use the platform he is giving you and you will fight as you reveal him to Hell’s Kitchen and show the world who he is. You will tell Matt’s story, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You have been burning for him for the longest time, and the flame is about to go out with a bang.

That night, you put on the red suit Melvin made for you years ago before he lost his mind for what might be the last time. It has holes from where the moths dug their teeth into. The piece around the waist is starting to fade in color, and the leather is worn out, but it reminds you of simpler times. Better times. The black of your fingertips matches the lining of your outfit, and that’s all you need to feel the power sizzle deep within you.

You don’t have to remember the weather report because you can feel the rain soaking your skin through the fabric. The air smells salty, and it tastes the same on your cracked lips. Tonight, you will be Lady Red for the last time. Until the bitter end, you have sworn yourself. Matt did the same thing. You have to do him proud.

You make your way from that little farmhouse—your broken red castle—to the familiar streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Destruction surrounds you. The news didn’t do justice to what Peter has done to the city you once loved. But no one loved it more than Matt Murdock.

Your fists clench at your sides. Oh, you want to tear this man limb by limb and feed him to the dogs.

It starts with a low rumbling beneath your boots. You don’t pay much mind to it at first. You hide out on a rooftop across the courthouse. The spotlights are on, and he’s standing there at the podium, looking as though he is so proud of himself for ruining so many lives. You don’t usually experience joy when hurting people, but you will savor watching the life drain from Peter’s lifeless eyes.

Your hands clench around Matt’s batons. The metal is heavy but flexible. You click your nails against them. Every move needs to be meticulously calculated, but tonight, the barons will remain in the holsters on your thighs. You won’t need them. You won’t need anything but your bare hands.

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

The ground moves slightly, only a few inches. You could have missed it if you weren’t crouching to get a better look at the world below you. You catch yourself on the ledge, a frown finding its way on your face.

“What the f–” you shake your head. Since when does thunder shake the ground?

You seem to be the only one who notices, or Peter Parker is better at brainwashing his decibels than you expected. He was born to be a dictator. His presence turned your fairytale into a dystopian tragedy.

“Tonight,” he says into his microphone, “is the last chance for Lady Red to reveal herself for a lesser sentence. A new era is on the horizon. I am your mayor, and I am Spider-Man. Without me, you would be nothing. Daredevil couldn’t save you. Wilson Fisk couldn’t save you. But I can, and after tonight, we will start anew. For this is the era of real heroes as we rebuild this city from the ground up, and we turn the City of New York, including Hell’s Kitchen, into its own world. Starting with the arrest of the criminal who is Daredevil’s accomplice Lady Red. I hope for her sake she will show herself tonight. If not, we will find her, and she will suffer the full extent of the consequences of her actions. That includes the Death Penalty.”

You land gracefully, catching yourself with your hand on the asphalt. The crowd parts with a gasp, and you finally stare into his eyes.

After he drilled that dagger through Matt’s heart, he told you, “You will always be a monster, never a God.”

You deserve nothing, he thought. It has stuck with you since that night. Growing up, it was the only thing you heard. You were nothing but trash. A disgrace. A monster. What will they say when they see that you have finally become what they feared so much?

You will burn down whatever is left of the world, including him. God knows you want to.

Magic pulsates in the atmosphere like a growing spell in a small shoe box. The air vibrates, and the ground shakes again. This isn’t your doing, but the sudden charge that fills your veins as adrenaline sustains you. Your eyes glow red. This is who you were born to be.

“I heard you were looking for me,” you declare.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. “Ah, just like clockwork,” he murmurs. “Are you going to make this hard on all of us or are you here to finally surrender yourself?”

You purse your lips, playing with the energy between your fingers. “I came to destroy you.” Each step toward him on the big marble steps feels like a mile, and the crowd starts to move further back, dispersing in an attempt to save themselves. Most of them are eager to watch though. What has he done to them?

“Destroy me?” Peter laughs, addressing the crowd again, “You see who you’ve been calling a hero all this time? This mutant? Look at her!”

All eyes are on you. They’re whispering. They’re speculating. Their thoughts overlap in disarray, and you’re drowning in a sea of judgment. They are trying to tear you down like sharks. You’re leaking blood, and God, they are angry. But it’s not you they’re angry at.

“You call me a mutant,” you say, “but wasn’t it you who was bit by a radioactive spider?”

His smile fades.

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

“You are a wannabe hero with unregulated powers,” he snaps. His voice roars through the speakers, and the mood in the crowd starts to shift.

The ground vibrates again, stronger this time. You can’t be the only one feeling the quakes, but everyone else seems unmoved. They’re too focused on both of you to notice anything else, and you should do the same. However, the energy doubles and you are closer to bursting than ever. Something is happening, and you have no control over it.

Peter sneers. “You’re a failure,” he calls your name, “just like your husband!”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes darken. “If you want to enforce the death penalty on me, Parker,” you growl, “why don’t you do it yourself?”

Peter taps his chest, and his suit transforms into shades of black and spider webs. At that moment, panic erupts. People start running, but you tune them out.

The air begins to smell sour. Burnt. It is so high the pain consumes you whole. He doesn’t have to touch you to bring you to your knees, but looking up, you realize that it wasn’t Spider-Man who infused your ears with such a high frequency.

Someone is uttering a powerful spell, you can hear his voice in your head as he thinks of several names all over the place. Time passes by in a flash. Hours, days, weeks, and months. The universe falls out of control. The beeping picks up and you sink deeper into the ground.

You swear then and there that the sky starts to rip in two. The sky resembles a nasty cut on your forehead, a pair of hands ripping the cut further apart, causing the blood to pour out in rivers.

One of the cuts swallows you. With a scream, you fall through several rollercoasters passing by violet stars.

The cut is a portal; one moment, you are flying through the sky at the highest possible speed, and the next, you hit the ground hard.

It’s not raining anymore. The sun shines down on you, and the heat creeps up your skin like tiny ants. The pain finally releases, but your head is still spinning. So many feelings, so many voices, and so many thoughts threaten to overwhelm you.

Not even an LSD trip hits that bad. You lazily open your heavy eyes to find not the courthouse but the New York skyline right before you.

You look down at your shaky hands. The charcoal is gone. The power in your veins feels different, all-consuming, but in no way bad. You take a deep breath. Even the oxygen tastes different.

The world stops spinning, and you finally take a look around. A car honks, an SUV heading straight for your wobbly frame.

You’re in the middle of a road. What is it? A freeway.

Oh, shit!

You jump aside, hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud.

“Watch out, bitch!” the driver shouts out of his window.

Where once used to be the courthouse, you are met with a street in the middle of downtown Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Stores line the side of the street. Tourists, foreigners, and those who are native to the city pass by you, and their gasps and whispers sound so different from the automatic voices Peter Parker raised them to be.

“Oh, no,” you breathe out. “Oh, no, no, no!” The air is getting thinner.

“What are you thinking about, hm?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

His heartbeat aligned with yours. His calloused fingertips traced your bare skin. You were in heaven. Beautiful, sinful heaven.

His jawline appeared even sharper in the colorful lights from the billboard outside. His skin glowed white—paler than usual, even. You could stare into his eyes forever, such a beautiful hazel with hints of forest green. Perfect eyebrows, perfect lips. They bowed at the top, so kissable.

He pressed them to your bare shoulder blade, down your spine. The butterflies danced crazy in your tummy.

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

You chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the beautiful man in bed with you.

“Can’t help it when I’m with you,” you remember saying.

Matt offered you his signature smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

“And when I do this?” He trailed another finger down your sensitive spine.

You shuddered. “That, too.”

He did it again. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

“A book I read.” You paused to turn on your back. “About the multiverse.”

It was a surprising change in subject, and he raised his eyebrows in a rather amused way. “The multiverse?”

You nodded. “We know way too little about it. There could be more of me and more of you out there, and we don’t even know it,” you told him. “The multiverse… there is a chance it could be real. And that alone is terrifying because if it opens and we’re not prepared, chaos might ensue.”

He propped himself up on his elbow next to you, listening to the calming sound of your voice. It was always his favorite thing to do.

Matt used your voice as his podcast; it was his favorite, too.

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

You shrugged. You didn’t know, at least not at the time. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m not a scientist, let alone good at physics, so… let’s just go back to kissing. I’m much better at that.”

He laughed, but he did not object. At least with kissing, you both knew what you were doing. So, he brought his lips to yours, and the multiverse disappeared in a Bermuda Triangle of pleasure in your mind. Lost but not forgotten.

Maybe.

But as you sit there, sliding back against the brick wall in the closest alley, you realize that you downplayed the probability.

You were going to kill a man, but instead of blood on your hands, you are now cursed with the knowledge that the ‘maybe’ of your once-thought-silly pillow talk has always been very fucking real, and you have nowhere to run in this strange world you have fallen into that is New York City, Earth-616.

Where do you run when you can go anywhere, just not home?

Tagging: @nk1023 @sarahskywalker-amidala @ignore-mp3 @imonabitchparade @familyvideowithsteve @eyelessdemon

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #angst no happy ending #daredevil #daredevil x reader #mutant reader #i love you in every universe #charlie cox

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