#and brings life. instead of rusting it away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunfyresrider · 1 year

Text

Love & Ruin

Synopsis: After being hidden away for most of your life your mother decided to stop being protective. However, there is one rule you cannot break, DO NOT associate with your uncle Aegon. Of course, it's the first thing you do, and you both quickly realize you will be each other's inevitable downfalls.

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x You (daughter of Rhaenyra) Warnings: drinking, cursing, smut, dubcon, more smut, manipulation, possible murder, obsessive tendencies, idk if this is dark!aeg or yandere but he's not okay, mentally. Word count: 7k Note: Part one of two:) I really hope yall like this. Reader is Helaena's age. I did not proofread; fuck it we ball. Tags: @lovelykhaleesiii @annikin-im-panicin @its-actually-minicika (Hi girls ily)

‘It wasn’t meant to happen like this’

Aegon paced back and forth inside the throne room waiting for the return of his brother. The storm that had rolled in was heavy, the sounds of hail beating the glass window echoed throughout the room. The sudden crash of thunder and jolt of lighting sent a shiver down his spine. The candles that lined the room were not enough to fully bring light into the dark. It was almost poetic; the storm echoed his inner feelings perfectly.

‘How could you do this?!’

‘Have you gone mad!’

‘Think about your wife! Your children! How will this look?’

‘She won’t show us mercy now, you fool!”

It had been hours since he sent Aemond to Storm’s End. The mission couldn’t have been that hard, go ask for a Baratheon bitches' hand and bring back a person. His mother had taken to chewing at her nail beds until they bled. His grandsire sat with his face in his hands contemplating how to fix this.

Once a crown was placed on his head Aegon found a new sense of confidence, one that could no longer be stolen away by those around him. His family could no longer control him nor tell him what to do. He was king and kings did not ask permission. They took what they wanted. From now on his word was law and this mission was the only reason he didn’t flee to Yiti. It was promised to him then taken away and he fully intended to take it back. And what he wanted was traveling to beg for Lord Borros to side with the pretender…

Five hours, it took five hours for the roar of Vhagar to be heard over the red keep. The storm had subsided to a light rain, yet the sky remained dark. Finally, he rose from his seat, his heart pounding in anticipation. A giddy smile creeping onto his face that his mother couldn’t help but scoff at. It didn’t matter anymore; he had won his first prize in war.

Murmurs from the council filled the once silent room but Aegon could only hear the pounding of his heart. His eyes locked onto the door waiting for them to walk inside. His imagination swirled with possibilities and all of them were better than his current situation. Alicent and Otto stared from a distance, both realizing their potential mistake. They let the dog off the leash and now they were about to suffer the consequences.

Guards rusting outside the doors caught everyone’s attention. The room went eerily silent as the doors began to creak open. Aegon nearly jumped out of his skin as he walked forward to meet who was coming.

Aemond, drenched in water, stalked inside slowly. His face was a mix of regret and… fear? The world stopped and as if on cue a flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder that lit up the room. Aegon’s heart ceased to beat, his smile melted into nothing, and his feet threatened to give out on him. His mother’s eyes widened, and her hands fled to cover her mouth. Aemond struggled to lift the wet, bruised and unconscious body in his arms. He let out a shaky breath,

“There’s been an… incident.”

From a young age Aegon knew he had no love from anyone besides himself. His mother simply tolerated him, his father forgot him, and everyone else loathed him. The first-born son who should inherit everything but instead was given nothing. The son born to be loved but destined to be hated.

It was no surprise he was the way he was. He drank more than he should, fucked more than allowed and was cruel to those who may or may not deserve it. No one was born evil; they were raised to be that way. At least, that’s what he told himself to feel better at night.

And he wasn’t truly evil in the eyes of most anyway, just terribly pathetic. A lonely fourteen-year-old who may never feel loved. A boy who would never fully feel the warmth of someone’s gentle touch, the excitement when they approached, the soft reassurances and sweet nothings they would whisper, the true connection when intimate with someone you loved. It was all out of his reach… Until you started coming around.

For the better half of your life your mother, Rhaenyra kept you decently hidden from most of the court. It was not at all because you shared your features with Harwin Strong but because you were simply too precious for the world. You were her only daughter, her first born and you were too beautiful for the men in this city to gawk at and prey upon.

She would protect you from everything her father couldn’t protect her from. So, yes you didn’t get out much and when you did Harwin, and your brothers followed close suit. Rhaenyra did become more lenient as you grew. It was better to let you live as you wanted under watchful eyes than be locked away because of her own fears. At least that’s what Harwin told to calm her.

You were strictly prohibited from a handful of things though. Absolutely no leaving the keep unless it was daytime, and a handful of guards were there to follow. Absolutely no wandering around after dark, anywhere, no matter the circumstance. And finally, absolutely no involvement with your uncle Aegon.

Sadly, you were born with the same rebellion in your heart as she once had. The very first thing that needed to be handled was Aegon. It excited you to no end thinking about why he was banned from speaking to you. You needed to know why it was prohibited and see if it was as exciting as you thought.

Dusk had fallen on the keep and the light from the windows was beginning to fill the corridors orange. It was one of the rare moments you were able to be completely alone. You were supposed to return to your chambers immediately after your septa lesson but had time to stroll. Right now, your brothers would still be in the dragon pit, your mother in a council meeting and Ser Harwin getting ready for his nightly patrol. It was price time to make an escape and seek him out.

You found him in a compromising position. He was curled up in the corner of the library and reeked of wine. There was a subtle shine on his face from tears that were shed earlier. He looked pathetic, not in a bad way, in an abused puppy way that made your heart melt. How could you be banned from talking to him? When asleep he looked like a poor Angel. You crawled next to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. “Uncle?” You whispered into his ears.

“Aegon?” Your soft voice began to rouse him from his slumber. His eyebrows began to furrow slightly. “Aegon, wake up.” He jumped away and snatched your wrist, startling you. “Brother?!” His eyes scanned the room and you before settling with the most confused expression plastered on his face.

“N-no Aemond isn’t here. I-it’s just me.” Aegon paused in his drunken haze. Who was me? You were too pretty to be a maid, your clothes too fancy. His eyes danced up and down your form as his brain slowly started putting it together. “Your niece. It’s __ ”

His hands released you slowly as his mouth slightly hung agape. Why in the seven hells was Rhaenyra hiding a creature as beautiful as you? Yeah, he had seen you in passing maybe once or twice but never really got a good look.

You had the perfect plush lips coated in a shade of pink. Your eyes were large and glistened with his reflection inside your pupils. Your hair fell elegantly, highlighting your pretty face. And from what he could see from your neckline you had a nice chest too, for your age.

He felt two small warm hands cup his cheeks, pulling him from his thoughts. Aegon stared at you confused, his lips puffed out. “Oh Aeg, are you alright? Did someone hurt you?” Oh gods, you were too precious. He was too dumbfounded to say anything, maybe too drunk still to fully grasp the situation.

You weren’t wrong though; someone did hurt him. His mother barged into his room and slapped him clean across the face without warning. Ranting and raving about his behavior and how he was disappointing the family. He nodded slowly, not exactly sure how he was supposed to react. You let out a deep sigh and your lips formed a frown.

You knew exactly what to do. Your mother had done the same every time you or your siblings got hurt. You rubbed the tear stains on his cheeks and kissed his forehead gently. A soft smile appearing on your lips, “don’t cry please or you’ll make me cry. You’re a prince and a good son. You ride the prettiest dragon in the world and so many people think you’re amazing. You have so much to offer and they’re just too blind to see it. So many love you, I love you and-”

You were cut off by the sounds of your mother calling out your name searching for you. You let go of his cheeks and quickly embraced him. “You’re perfect, okay? Don’t cry.” You jumped to your feet and brushed your skirts down. “I gotta go… feel better!” Aegon sat and watched your little feet scurry off into the direction of your mother's voice.

His eyes were wide, and he was frozen in the same spot. Seven hells, seriously where the fuck have you been his entire life? There was a pool of emotions swirling inside him he couldn’t fully grasp. Your little hands and soft voice saying the sweetest things to a complete stranger. The way your lips softly pressed against his forehead radiating warmth throughout his body. You were so innocent, so blindly loving… You were his.

It was an odd thing for him to think. He never really desired someone for just himself, Aegon didn’t really care until this point. But right now all he could think about was stealing you away and keeping you tucked away in his room forever. Corrupting you slowly but only for him, no one else could see it or experience it. He needed more, desperately and as soon as possible.

He forced himself into wobbly legs and sucked in a deep breath. It was time to talk to his parents.

The plan failed so horrifically he could swear the gods were pissing on him. He went and asked for your hand, said he was ready to be a good son, bring the families together finally. Aegon was shot down so fucking fast he got whiplash. His mother was okay with it, seeing potential benefits. But his father was adamantly against it as was his bitch sister.

“You think I’ll let him drag my daughter into his depravity? Not until I am cold in my grave.”

That could definitely be arranged. It made complete sense; he was the eldest son, and you were the eldest daughter. You were heir and he was the second son of the king. There was absolutely no reason for rejection besides their own selfish, impossible to understand reasons.

It didn’t really fucking matter. When he wanted something, he got it one way or another. Thus, he came up with a plan to steal you away and woo his way into your heart permanently.

Aegon had stayed painstakingly sober the entire day and avoided any of the whores he usually wasted his time with. He waited til long after the sun had set to sneak through Maegor’s hidden tunnels to try and find your chambers. It was a hassle, he stumbled into Jacaerys’s room once and immediately backed out. Then he walked past what he assumed was a hidden entrance to your mother’s room only to hear lewd noises coming from inside.

He didn’t realize it at the time but that was when Joffrey was made.

The deeper he walked the more aggravated he became. Why was it so fucking hard to find you? It took him several failed attempts until he finally lightly pushed open the door to a room seeping with light. He peered in and saw you sleeping soundly on the bed, clutching a stuffed bear tightly to your chest. How cute, you were scared of the dark and slept with a bear, he thought to himself.

Aegon wasted no time welcoming himself inside and waltzing over to the side of the bed where you slept. He brushed a loc of your hair out of your face and admired how beautiful you looked, even while asleep. If he was totally honest, he could stay here and watch you sleep all night, but he had things he needed to do.

“Hey princess,” he spoke softly as he nudged your shoulder. Unlike him, you were an extremely light sleeper. You opened your eyes and they immediately shot wide open. You attempted to let out a scream at the intruder, but he swiftly shoved his hand onto your mouth. “Shhh! Shhh, it’s just me. It’s Aegon.”

Your face relaxed and you blinked your eyes a few times trying to decipher if this was a dream or reality. “Aegon,” you murmured into the palm of his hand. “I’ll let go if you swear to be quiet. Promise?” You nodded your head and he slowly pulled back; a wide grin plastered over his face showcasing his perfectly even teeth. “Good morning, princess.”

You rubbed your eyes and peered over to the window. “It’s still nighttime…” you drawled into a yawn. “I know, it’s the only time you’re alone.” You sat up on your bed, “I’m sorry it’s just-” your words were stuck in your throat as he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face again. His eyes were completely memorizing, and he touched you with the gentleness only your mother did. “No need to be sorry, princess. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah.” Aegon stood up off the floor and handed you a cloak he had balled up in his lap. You raised an eyebrow at him and pulled it towards. “You don’t ever get to leave right? Well, I leave all the time so I thought I could take you into the city for some fun.”

Your face lit up, you could finally leave and see what’s outside these dull walls. But there was an aching sensation at the back of your head. The sound of your mother's voice telling you what not to do. The fear of disappointing her was strong and the fear of potential punishment even stronger. “I- I can’t. My mother would be furious.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Besides, you wouldn’t want to make me cry, would you? I- I just thought you would want to spend time with me.” His blue eyes peered up at you with the same heart wrenching expression as the other day. It was manipulative, he knew but it worked every time. “I won’t tell anyone, " you said in a nervous whisper.

His frown quickly grew into a wide smile, flashing wolf life teeth. Aegon’s eyes had a mischievous glint behind him when he spoke, “good girl, put this on.” The nickname sent a shiver down your spine. A very subtle, almost unnoticeable feeling of butterflies filled your stomach. You blushed and nodded your head in agreement.

It didn’t take long for Aegon to grab your hand and whisk you far away from where you were meant to be. You clung to his arm as you both scurried through the dark corridors. The farther you went the smell of dust and cow dung intensified as did the conversation of city folk outside the walls.

The streets of King’s Landing were dirty but so much more alive than you ever thought they could be. It was the hour of the bat and yet the streets were bright with fires lit at every corner. The streets were crammed with people from all walks of life, travelers, merchants, witches, performers, whores, musicians, and knights. It was quite the spectacle for a young girl who had been confined to a castle.

Aegon was reveling in your excitement and awe, still blissfully unaware of the depravity that shrouded these streets. Your voice carried the joy only of someone as innocent to the world as you could possess. It was fucking magical how you gazed up at him like he was your savior.

To his surprise, you babbled about more than any girl he’d ever met. It should be annoying, but he was drowning in the presence of your voice and the way your fingers would squeeze his own when the topic turned to something that moved you. You had completely captured him with your accidental charm.

But as the night went on his original scheme drifted into the back of his like a distant memory. Aegon couldn’t take you where he wanted, you were too good for it. The prying eyes of others would probably send him into a blind rage anyway. It was already beginning to build as random passersby simply looked at you.

To avoid a possible murder or maiming he whisked you away to a final destination. Aegon told you people here eat, drink and play music here until the dawn rises. There were musicians and poets singing while people danced around them. Men and women were laughing and drowning themselves in what you presumed could only be wine. There were several dragon shaped lanterns that occasionally spewed fire lighting the corner of the world you reside in.

It was pretty spectacular in the eyes of a girl. But it was also the place where your inevitable downfall began. It started with a glass of ale, not wine, that Aegon offered you. It burned your throat as you swallowed it, whatever you had made him chuckle and use that nickname again. It inspired you to drink more and keep receiving soft praises from your uncle.

You could feel it flow through your body slowly warming your insides and sending a slight tingly sensation in your limbs. That’s when the music started to sound good enough to dance. You bounced around Aegon in possibly the worst showing of dance moves he’d ever seen. It was cute though, to him at least.

That’s when you decided to drink more and fully let go of whatever expectations of a princess rested in the back of your mind. One, two, three, you lost count after the first. Aeggy refused to dance but he occasionally twirled you around and let you hang onto his shoulders.

As time passed on so did any semblance of sobriety you had left. Your words were slurring together, and your movements became sloppy, the ability to stand was nearly completely lost. That’s when Aegon declared it was time to bring you home. At first, you tried to reject the idea and fight back, but your muscles were just as weak as your mind.

He lifted you and wrapped your legs around his waist so he could carry your little self-home. It was okay, at first being carried by Aegon. But then you began to feel his breath on your neck sending goosebumps through your body. The low whisper of his voice telling you sweet things echoing in the walls of your mind. Then came a new feeling between your legs when his lips brushed against your ears ever so slightly. Every sensation was heightened to a point it had never reached before.

It was a warm ache between your legs that kept getting worse the longer you were wrapped around him. You were worried, what if the wetness between your legs was your moonblood. How insanely embarrassing would that be if you bled on your uncle? You tried to untangle yourself, but he put two firm hands onto your waist and pulled you back in.

The sudden friction between your legs caused you to yelp, a quiet yelp that did not go unnoticed. He paused his steps, glancing at you avoiding his eyes then back at the street to the keep. His lips slowly curled into a smirk only he could wear so well. Aegon didn’t say anything the entire way back home, though a million things were racing through his mind.

The walk home was agonizing, every once in a while, he would move in a way that sent electricity from your core to the depths of your stomach. You didn’t even notice the tiny few whimpers that came from your throat, but he did. Oh, Aegon was noticing it all, every sound, every movement, every look, the warm feeling between your legs that was growing damp across his waist, and it was driving him mad.

He should have been a good little prince and placed you on your bed and left but he had never been a good prince. Aegon wanted to know how far he could take it before you melted beneath him. Obviously, like a good uncle he helped you undress into your night clothes since you were too drunk to do anything.

“Come on, princess. Time to lay down.” You begrudgingly threw yourself onto the bed and rolled onto your back. You couldn’t sleep, your undergarments were uncomfortably wet, and the ache continued to get worse. You obviously couldn’t tell him any of this, so you laid there, suffering.

Unexpectedly Aegon climbed into bed he was on top of you, his knee moved to press in between your legs and your eyes widened from their half-lidded state. “Are you okay, niece? You look… frustrated.” His face was plastered in fake concern, though you couldn’t tell. You clenched your legs together trying to prevent him from moving. “I-I’m fine,” Aegon moved his knee to rub against your core just once, your legs unconsciously tightened around him. “U-uncle,” you stuttered out in a near whimper.

“If there’s something wrong, I can help you…” He moved his knee into your core, and you bit down onto your lip trying to stifle the sound threatening to come out. Aegon, though a good actor could not hide the glint behind his eyes. He leaned into you, pulling your lip out from your teeth with thumb. “I can show you what helps me feel better.”

He whispered lowly, you didn’t have time to think, or reply before his lips were connecting to yours. The taste of sweet mead filling your mouth. You attempted to push him back, tell him no, this was wrong, and you could get in so much trouble. But the feeling of his legs between yours was easing whatever plagued you.

He slipped his tongue down your throat and entangled it with your own. The feeling of need was becoming too much so you moved your hips, finally. A soft moan forced itself out of your throat as you desperately tried to move against, aching for something you didn’t understand. A few tears slipped from your eye wetting his cheek.

Aegon chuckled into your mouth before pulling back, you whined at the loss of both his lips and his knee. The throbbing feeling between your legs became increasingly worse every second he wasn’t there. “It aches, doesn’t it?” Your face flushed red as your eyes bore into him, the true image of innocence laid out beneath him.

His hand traveled from your cheek to the hem of your dress bunched up at the ends of your thighs. Aegon slipped his hand underneath the fabric and hovered over your cunt. You grabbed his hand and stopped his movements, “N-no we can’t.” He cocked an eyebrow, “why not? You hurt and I’m the only one who can fix it.” Your grip on his hand slowly relented, “but i-it’s inappropriate.”

Aegon forced his hand forward so he could cup your cunt. It was completely soaked and so needy for release, how could he stop? “No, it’s not. I’m your uncle and it’s my job to take care of my sweet niece.” You bit your lip in contemplation, the feeling of his palm on your clit made you want to cry. It was too much, the feeling in your core was too much. “Please, Aeg.”

He crushed his lips into yours forcing all the breath out of your lungs. His fingers slid up and down your slit collecting your wetness on his finger. His other hand moved to palm your dress and pinch your nipples beneath your gown. Your moans threatened to echo throughout the keep but he swallowed each one with his lips.

Aegon forced one finger inside your cunt and immediately you clenched around him. Gods, you were so fucking tight he would have to force in the second. Your back arched as he moved his fingers to hit the spongy spot inside. The feeling of your core tightening was overwhelming, tears began to stream from your face and your nails dug into his shoulder.

Your hips moved unconsciously into his hand, pleading for release. His thumb moved to rubbed circles around your clit and all thoughts you had were dumbed down. “A-aeg!” You whimpered into his mouth; the coil tightening was overwhelming all of your senses. The sounds of his fingers pulling in and out of your dripping cunt were filling the room.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, princess.” His movements were faster, harsher and more desperate than before. “P-p-please,” you stuttered out in a loud moan as your legs began to clench around his hand. He growled, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. “Cum on my fingers, baby. That’s right, be a good fucking girl for your uncle.” His fingers curled up and pressed deep into the spongy spot inside you. You felt your cunt clench around him, your core tightening harder than before until the coil broke. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your body began to shake and the feeling of ecstasy washed over you.

You crashed, your legs twitching as he continued to move circles around your sensitive clit. Aegon pulled his fingers out and your body mourned the loss of him. He wiped his hand on his clothes and bent his head down to place kisses all over your face. “You did so good, princess.” He spoke in between the pecks he placed on your face.

“Aeg… I’m tired.” Your body was limp, and your eyes began to close on their own. “Shh, go to sleep, princess. I’ll clean you up.” And he did exactly what he said, surprisingly. He took the time out of his night to carefully clean up the mess he made on your body and clothes. It was pathetic to admit but at some point, he came in his trousers, and it was leaking out onto your clothes.

So, he had to change you. Aegon didn’t mind, watching you sleep so peacefully and taking care of his little angel was nice. Especially after what you had given him. He stayed the night, watching you sleep peacefully until the sun rose over the horizon and he scurried into his own room.

It became a horrible routine between the two of you. Aegon convinced you only he could make you feel that way, so you had to come to him if you wanted it. He would always visit at night, though most times you simply stayed inside. He touched you in places that were meant to be forbidden and you came undone beneath him… repeatedly.

You enjoyed him for more than that though. Unlike your brothers or other family, he was always there. Always teaching and showing you exciting new things, making you laugh constantly, showering you with affection you received from no one else. He worshiped you in his own way.

Aegon was completely addicted, and it was going to kill him eventually. If you weren’t awake when he came, he would just sit and watch you sleep, occasionally taking his place besides you. If you were awake, he craved your attention and your body… and he always got it. You were so kind and loving towards him, completely unaware of how others viewed him. You told him you loved him, were proud of him and he was a good man.

No one had ever said those words to him before. It’s why the addiction started and why it had no chance of ending soon. When he was upset you kissed him and whispered words of encouragement. You went out of your way to make him feel happy and deserving of the life he had. And it’s why, for a short time, his behavior started to improve drastically.

It shocked essentially everyone around him, especially his mother. For a moment she was almost proud, maybe her speeches finally got to him, and he was taking being a king seriously. That was before Aegon told her he was only behaving this way so he could prove to Rhaenyra, he deserved you. The situation caused a whole different type of stress for Alicent.

Things were looking up anyway. Especially since your mother had officially started letting you out on your own. You were now a teenager and had to learn some type of independence. The dragon pit was your favorite place even though your mount was a lazy bum.

Plus, you got to spend lots of time in the pit with your uncle and you got to watch him train with the other boys. Of course, a few people noticed the way you watched him and how he watched you. It was kept quiet, as far as anyone knew you had no relationship.

Aegon, thankfully, found enough self-control to not fuck you. To do enough to keep you attached to him but not enough to ruin your innocence completely. It was hard to explain how exactly he felt. It was like he needed you to breathe or eat or do anything. It was bordering on a very unhealthy obsession combined with genuine fondness.

It was new and it was perfect. He was no longer lost in this world with nothing to live for.

Until the day you abandoned him for Dragonstone. He cried, a pathetic and desperate display to his mother asking for her to keep you here. He pleaded for them to just allow you to be wed, he begged to let you stay as her ward. He made promises he probably couldn’t keep but tried, nonetheless.

All he got was sympathy, it was out of her hands completely. The king and his whore sister made the decision to forbid a marriage. They made the decision to let you be sent away to that desolate, rain filled, and droll island. To make it worse the gods decided to spite him and have him betrothed to his own sister.

He almost immediately got worse the second you boarded the ship. Aegon fell right back into his old habits of whoring, drinking and being a massive cunt. The shift was bound to happen so no one was surprised but it was becoming increasingly impossible to keep him under control. Everyone else fell back into their old habits of beating and berating him any chance they got…

Aegon only ever really felt happy again when he drifted off in his sleep. He could feel, touch, hear and smell you again in his dreams. For a few hours every night he was back in your room making stupid jests only you would laugh at. It was like heaven every time he closed his eyes… Then he woke up.

To ease his suffering, he fisted his cock while smelling the clothes you had left behind pretending it was you. If not that he would get drunk and imagine all the ways he could kill your mother and his so, he could steal you away. One day, he would take something from them that they truly loved so they could understand exactly how he felt. For now, he tormented Aemond and did everything in his power to piss his parents off.

Luckily for Aegon and those close to him, Laena Velaryon died in childbirth and his chance to be reunited came sooner than expected. The ride on Sunfyre was one of the best he’s had in ages. It was as if he could sense who they were seeing and was absorbing his rider's excitement. It seems important to mention Sunfyre has a fondness of your she-dragon who he may or may not have tried to breed on several occasions.

The funeral was fucking boring. He didn’t know anyone there and didn’t really care either. Aegon spent most of the time ignoring the speech and scanning the crowd for your little form. He didn’t find you, so he fled into a corner with his wine and brother close on his tail.

Your mother was stalking about staring at Daemon, Helaena was mumbling riddles to herself while playing with a bug, the bastards were comforting the Velaryons, and Aemond was on his left half asleep. Where in the seven hells was his little princess? As the sky began to cover itself in a shade of gray, he spotted you.

For a sliver of a second he was overjoyed, he dropped his wine and stood up straight preparing to walk over. The crowd began to dissipate and on your right was a young Velaryon boy with his arm wrapped around you showing off whatever was in his hands. His eye twitched and his firsts unconsciously bawled up til his knuckles turned white. Aemond peeked over and scoffed, “it’s a waste of time.”

“I’m gonna kill him.” Aemond rolled his eyes and slumped back into the wall. His obsession with the bastard was beyond him but everything his brother does is beyond him. Aegon spent the rest of his funeral staring daggers into the boys next to you. He was making you laugh and touching you far too much for his liking. Jealousy, rage, hate, hurt, Aegon couldn’t put a name to everything that was boiling inside his stomach, but it was too much. You hadn’t even fucking glanced in his direction the entire night.

It is rumored by the maesters later that night King Aegon took his first life by feeding an unsuspecting boy to his dragon. Others claim the boy simply drowned in the high tide that night and was washed away to sea. The body was never found so no one truly knows… Aemond, personally and wholeheartedly believed his brother pushed the boy into the water and let him sink. Driftmark no matter how you looked at it was a terrible night for all involved.

The hour of the bat, a time of night you learned to love dearly was now a time of loneliness. Dragonstone was incredibly terrible especially since your uncle was nowhere in those walls. You were severely depressed to say the very least. You knew he was coming today and wanted to seek him out but failed to find him.

It didn’t stop you from sneaking out at night in a very desperate search for him. It took around twenty minutes for you to weasel your way through Driftmark to his supposed chambers. You ran full force into Aemond on the way which made you both fall to the ground. He was going to try and claim that damned dragon you saw him watching her all day and you were going to reunite with your uncle-lover. Both of you would be in the deepest shit known to man if anyone found out.

So, a silent pact was made to tell no one where either was going. You knew it was a real deal because he helped you off the floor and nodded his head in the direction of the room you were trying to find. ‘Good luck,’ you whispered quietly as you both scurried off in opposite directions.

Much to your dismay he was passed out drunk. You had to literally shake him awake. “Aeg… Aegon!” You climbed on top of him and shook his shoulders. He moaned, groaned, tried to push you away but you were determined. “Wake up! We don’t have all night.” You swore you saw his ears perk up like a dog. His eyes opened and he shot up in bed nearly knocking you off.

“You!” He grabbed ahold of your face, squishing your cheeks in his hands. “Yes, it’s me! Where the hell have you been all day?” Aegon looked offended and almost betrayed, “where have I been? Watching you swoon over some Velaryon cunt.” You scoffed, “watching me? I looked for you all day! I had to give up and talk to a cousin I barely knew.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, “if you barely knew him then why was he all over you?” You grabbed his face, “if you paid any attention, I was trying to escape him the entire time.” Hm, he could have been blinded by jealousy and didn’t notice you politely backing away and avoiding the kid’s eyes completely. He thought you were acting shy and coy, but this made sense.

“You still love me?” He did this more often while drunk. If he ever felt insecure his blue eyes would turn pale and start to water. His lips puffed out slightly and he bore into your soul begging for consolation. You knew the quickest way to make his fears go away.

You pressed a kiss on his lips, trying to drink away all of his fears. Aegon pulled your face as close as possible, sucking all the air from your lungs. Your lips danced around each other passionately trying to make up for the time apart.

“I still love you, Aeggy.” You murmured into his lips; a faint grin formed on his mouth. With his eyes half lidded he whispered, “prove it to everyone then.” You chuckled softly; a soft look of confusion plastered on your features. “How do we do that?” His hands slipped down to your waist, then to your thighs rubbing them slightly. “Give me all of you before they take you away.”

There was a deafening pause in both of your movements. The amount of trouble you would both get into would be life altering. Losing your maidenhood to someone who you weren’t wed to was a sin, a crime even. “So, you don’t really love me. You don’t even trust me enough with yourself.”

It felt like a sword was plunged through your heart. Of course, you loved him. Of course, you wanted to give him everything. “T-that’s not-” he released his hold on your thighs and ripped his face away from yours. “Get out.” You grabbed his hands and tried to pull them back to you, “Aegon please this isn’t-” His eyes turned dark, his hands were ripped out of your grasp. “Don’t lie to me. You used me and now you’re discarding me just like everyone else.”

Tears began to prickle at the corner of your eyes. You never ever used him; you loved him with all your heart. There was never another person who made you feel the same way he did. “Please, I love you,” your lips trembled while you spoke. “I don’t love you.”

You shook your head no, no, no, no, no, your entire world came crashing down at once. The sword in your heart ripped it in half. Your breath quickened and your arms began to shake. The tears that threatened to fall came pouring out of your eyes. “Please- pleas- I love you- please- you can have it- anything you want please don’t leave me.” Your cries were near incoherent.

He was evil, this was the absolute proof of it. Aegon knew he was lying to have you; he knew exactly what hold he had over you and did it anyway. You just couldn’t understand, if he took your maidenhead, you could be together forever. He wasn’t just doing this for himself, it was for both of your sakes. It was blisteringly obvious he would never stop loving you.

“Shh, don’t cry, I’m sorry.” He pulled you into his chest and combed his slender fingers through your hair. “We’re going to be together forever, okay? I'm never leaving you.” He lifted your chin up so you were looking at him. Even when you cried you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. “Let me show you how much I love you.” You nodded your head desperately.

It took minutes before you were laid out flat on the bed. He lifted your legs over his shoulders and buried his tongue inside your core. It was new and the pleasure was radiating throughout your body faster than before. Aegon swirled his tongue in circle around your clit as he brutally fucked you with his fingers.

Your hips bucked up to meet his face and he growled a response. The vibrations sent waves of heat through your veins. Your thighs clenched around his head as your orgasm began to wash over you, far quicker than ever before. You cried out at the feeling of the coil coming undone in your stomach. You could feel his lips form into a smile, he placed kisses onto your sensitive clit causing you to whimper. It wasn’t over, he had just started.

Aegon pulled away and you whined at the loss of his heat on top of you. Then you heard the sound of his trousers being pulled off, you looked away out of politeness. “Don’t be shy, baby. It’s all yours.” You pulled your head off of the pillow and your eyes widened. Aegon was thick, incredibly thick and you couldn’t imagine how that was going to fit inside you.

His tip was a bruising pink, and you could see his seed already beginning to leak out. It looked painfully hard as his veins popped out. He climbed on top of you without a moment's notice and rubbed himself against your dripping slit. “Aegon,” you whined as he teased your entrance.

Aegon leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. He prodded your entrance, “just be a good girl for me. It will only hurt for a second, I promise.” You tried to open your mouth to reply but an incredibly loud scream escaped your lips as he slowly began forcing himself inside. “Gods, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned under his breath.

The sensation of being filled to the brim made your eyes roll into the back of your head. Aegon moved painfully slowly, thrusting himself in and out of you. You moaned incoherently as his tip pushed into that spot inside of you. What started out as pain was quickly turning into pleasure.

You wanted him deeper inside you, you needed him to fill you completely. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pulled him into you. He moaned as your cunt swallowed his length entirely. “So needy for my cock, princess.” You whimpered breathlessly underneath him, “please Aegon.” He moved his hand to cup your face, so you were staring at him. Your eyes were blown out in desire and your face was flushed a deep shade of red.

It was as if Aphrodite was underneath him begging for him to fuck her. “That’s a good girl begging for me.” His thrusts started to become faster, and your mind began going numb. Your cunt clenched around him as your eyes welled with tears. “Yes! uncle, please. Please!” You stuttered between moans and whimpers.

His lips crashed into yours stifling your moans as he forced himself deeper inside you at a bruising pace. His cock pounded against your cervix and not even his lips could fully swallow your moans. You wrapped your arms around his neck and dug your fingers into his shoulders. “Fuck baby, you’re so perfect for me.” Aegon’s praise made you whimper for more.

His cock was throbbing inside you, his seed threatening to spill at any moment. “My good girl,” he moaned into your ear, putting emphasis on ‘my’. Your entire body was going limp beneath him. The friction of his skin rubbing against your clit caused you to start coming undone.

“Aeg- aegon- please cum for me.” He never expected those words to pour from your mouth like a carefully constructed melody. Aegon dipped his head into the crook of your neck and began to whine as you clenched around him. As your core began to tighten you moaned a symphony, “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

Aegon picked up his pace, brutally fucking you with every ounce of energy he had. You felt the heat in your core turn into a fire as ecstasy started to wash over you. Your cunt clenching hard trying to drain every ounce of him.

The door slammed open “My Prince! It’s urgent-” Both of your heads shot to the entrance, staring at the mortified king’s guard whose eyes were boring into you. Oh, you were completely fucked.

Silence, the walk to the grand hall of Driftmark was completely silent. The guard behind you refusing to make eye contact with either of you. You could barely walk straight; your body was sore, and wetness was dripping down your legs.

All you could do right now was pray to the gods he didn’t snitch. Your hair was a mess, sweat was glistening on your faces, your night clothes were a mess, Aegon probably had your juices still on him, your cheeks were flushed a bright red and your lips were bruised… you were done for.

Although, as you entered the hall you noticed everyone else looked far worse than you. You noticed your brother’s bloody faces first and rushed over to them. Aegon immediately wanted to die the second you left his side. He wasn’t concerned at all; this was meant to be found out about.

Except, why now of all fucking nights. His brother had been maimed by your bastard brothers and his mother was in a frenzy. All he could do was stare at him in shock, the feeling of guilt washing over him. Aegon should have been there for Aemond, he should have saved him.

He glanced at you and your brothers were looking at you in disgust. Even when you reached out to comfort them, they pushed you away. Bastards, vile disgusting bastards.

It only got worse from there. Your mother came rushing in, obviously after fucking her uncle. He wanted to laugh, like mother like daughter. His mother was frantic demanding for justice, Rhaenyra screeching bullshit and you tucking yourself behind everyone.

Then the question was asked. “Aegon! Where were you?!” He didn’t even get a chance to reply before the king’s guard swooped in to make matters worse. “He was in his room, your grace… with the princess.” His head nodded towards you, and you looked absolutely mortified.

He should have waited to take it, he should have never made you do anything. Everyone in the room stared at you, just you. It took mere seconds for Rhaenyra to see exactly what had happened, only fueling her fury. Alicent, on the other hand, looked even more upset. The slap she so harshly laid across his face echoed throughout the room, completely silencing it.

There would be no justice since he had chosen the perfect day to defile the king’s favorite grandchild and his sister’s favorite child. You should hate him; you should want him dead. “Who told you these lies boy?” His father’s voice was filled with venom. “Aegon.” His father’s eyes turned dark as he tried to limp his way over to him.

“That’s not true! I told him… both of them.” A soft, quiet voice from the other side of the room caught everyone’s attention. You were defending him against the wrath of your family when he had just quite possibly ruined your reputation. If his obsession was bad, then it definitely got a thousand times worse at that moment.

Everything that happened after that was a complete blur. Insults were thrown, threats were laid out, his mother pulled a knife on his sister, and you fled the scene with your head down. It was like a fucking fever dream that didn’t seem to end.

It got worse the next day. The verbal assault he received from his mother was one for the history books. As was the slap that turned into a giant bruise on his cheek. Aegon was absolutely banished from ever talking, touching, or breathing near you. Any attempt at reaching out would immediately be cut down. His father said nothing of it, probably realizing his mistake in not wedding you sooner. Even Aemond, who should have despised him, forgave him.

It didn’t matter what they thought, he loved you, he wanted you, he needed you, and he was going to fucking have you. Aegon realized several things that night. You needed to be saved from your family as quickly as possible. The bastards and his whore sister needed to die sooner than late. Lastly, he was going to become king no matter what he did.

You were forbidden from ever speaking to Aegon again. It was awkward to say the least when you had to tell your mother everything. She should have been mad, hit you, yelled at you but she only hugged you when you cried. Your mother knew you didn’t tell anyone you were bastards. She knew you wouldn’t lose your maidenhead unless you truly believe they loved you. However, it was a secret that you could never ever tell anyone else.

You can never repeat what you said that night, but it was okay, you only wanted to protect who you loved. She explained how Aegon was taking advantage of you and men lie to get what they want. They prey on innocent girls, pretend to love them to get what they want, then discard them. Your mother repeatedly told you it wasn't your fault for your kind heart. She stated it was her own failure for not protecting you from it.

You didn’t truly believe it was all lies, at least, not all of it. It didn’t really matter now, he was gone forever, and you were alone on Driftmark.

Until you and your family would have to return to King’s Landing, five years later.

#aegon targaryen #dark aegon targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen #aegon the elder #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon angst #aegon fluff #aegon smut #aegon fic #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii smut #aegon ii fluff #aegon ii fic #hotd fic #aegon ii angst

2K notes · View notes

grimbanes · 1 year

Text

Six Months (Kaz Brekker x GN!HEALER! Reader)

Summary: “Kaz Brekker, I have seen you run with a broken leg, heard you scaled a building with a bullet lodged in your shoulder that I had to fix and you’ve concussed yourself numerous times with every nose you break- and now you’re telling me you can’t stomach a papercut?” OR : Kaz Brekker is sometimes a quiet softie if it means coming to see the reader, even in life or death situations. It takes the reader six months of service to realize they may or may not love him with their whole heart, and confession ensues.

WC: 3.8k.

Genre: Mostly fluff, maybe slightly ooc kaz?

TW: mentions of blood, usual six of crows warnings, injuries.

A/N: maybe a second part to yesterdays fic which you can read here, or just read this one as a stand-alone. The POVs have changed, i fancied writing something a little different, more personal to the ~feelings~.

It had been three months since you had the unfortunate task of bringing the Bastard of the Barrel back from the brink of death, though you were sure the stubborn young man would have crawled away from the reaper’s grips with a smirk on his face and blood seeping from every crevice - he was certainly stubborn enough to do the impossible. ‘Improbable’, you could practically hear him correct, eyes expectant of better and eyebrows raised in that condescending way he often did when he was the smartest in the room.

It had been three months, you realised silently, still scratching away at the parchment you were writing on, ink drying on its smooth surface. Months under the protection of the Dregs. You didn’t join them, that was not an option you ever considered accepting. A life of crime was no different from serving the Second Army, only your General would be well-dressed for the sheer sake of mocking the rich. In that time, you had countless trips to the Crow Club and the Slat, tending to the wounded whenever summoned.

It was a simple agreement - protection and space to live on Dreg territory in return for mending their wounded whenever jobs turned sour or confrontation reached a violent conclusion.

You knew that the small flat you were given to live in above a little dress shop was not just for your protection, even if on Dreg territory. No, it was to make calling on you easier. Kaz Brekker could keep his second pair of eyes on you at all times. You knew you did not really have any privacy anymore, doomed to only socialize with Dregs or Dregs associates so really, you chose to keep to yourself.

Even when a certain Dreg rolled his way into your life, grinning wide and fingers held in the shape of his favourite tool.

Jesper Fahey adopted you as a friend and you were almost certain he was told to do so. To keep an eye on you, or maybe keep you safe. Both options were viable but fortunately, you were not a mastermind and you didn’t care to be one.

So when you received a knock at your door, you fully expected one of their young runners to be on the other side, note in hand with a little Crow etched on it. You knew why it was a Crow, just didn’t care to invest your life into it fully. You set your pen aside and dusted your hands off on your apron, carefully stepping up from your makeshift table and taking steps towards the rickety door barely hanging onto its rusted hinges.

You opened the door, opening your mouth to greet the usual young boy who gave you your summons, only for no greeting to roll off of your tongue.

In front of you, Dirtyhands himself towered. His gloved hands remained gripped to his cane, jaw tight and eyes a calm ocean, staring at you without the usual expectancy. Instead, he seemed almost relaxed, confident arrogance that often dripped from his well dressed frame present as always. He donned his long black coat, the collar turned up at the nape and shape fitting his figure as perfectly as usual.

Assessing the situation, you accepted it but that nagging feeling of oh no sat in the pit of your stomach. You had to be cautious - Why was he on your doorstep?

“Your services are required,” Kaz’s voice spoke in his quiet, rasping yet commanding volume, business as usual. Impatient.

“Of course, Mister Brekker. Let me grab my things,” You stepped away from the door, leaving it open for the man to enter if he so wished. It wasn’t much, your humble abode. Just a small bed tucked into a corner, a sad excuse for a clothing dresser and a makeshift table against the window with an old, collapsing stool for a seat. But it was enough for you, and you knew Kaz was used to such things, preferring it to the luxuries of Merchers and nobles.

You paid him little attention as you turned to close the ledger from your day job, pen set into ink but you did note that he took off his hat as he entered, closing the door behind him with a small click and stepped his way to the small chair you had in the other corner beside a kitchen counter, making himself comfortable with his bad leg stretched out a little more than the other. He held his cane between his legs on the ground, fingers clasped to it tightly.

“Who got hurt this time?” You asked absentmindedly, a wicker basket set on top of your desk as you glanced to his still frame, his eyes already trained on you.

“Me,” Brekker answered, shifting in his seat and setting his hat aside on the counter beside him, hand falling to touch his leg and you sighed, but the small smile on your face betrayed the exasperation you felt.

“I didn’t figure you so clumsy, sir,” You subtly teased, stepping from your table once you realised you did not need to pack anything due to the fact you would not be leaving your home. You stepped to him, shirt sleeve rolled to your forearm and fingers rubbing together, hoping to remove the cold from them that your small little home often left.

The Dregs leader eyed you, unable to keep perfectly still, setting his cane down to lean against the wall and slowly began to bring his fingers to unbutton his glove. You could only watch with well masked surprise, the young man pulling at each finger until it was loose and he pried it off, offering you his slightly shaking hand, a frown pulling at his lips.

“It's uncomfortable to work like this. Fix it,” He ordered, turning his hand palm up and you studied his hand for any injury, unable to see one.

As your eyes traced his pale, near luminescent skin, you came to stop upon a little slit in the skin of his index finger, from one side to the other and you fully understood what Kaz Brekker was asking of you. Please heal my papercut, it's annoying me. You didn’t laugh, but by the Saints did you want to. You stifled it and slowly, brought your eyes up to meet his own, noting the calmness of the ones staring at you even with the unsteady tremble in his fingers, the light sheen of nervousness painting his skin and you couldn’t help but feel a little endeared.

“You could have shot yourself in the foot if you wanted to come see me so badly,” You teased gently, just like you often found yourself doing with him. He never replied to them usually, and only once did he ever roll his eyes at you. He just stared, lips pressed into a line and sometimes he hummed with a quirk of his brow. This time was different, the threat of a smile daring to pull at his sharp features and it felt more dangerous than facing a Dime Lion, you were convinced. You didn’t know how to handle Kaz Brekker smiling at you.

“I couldn’t risk not being able to use the other leg too,” Kaz steadily jested, wit rolling from his tongue in a way he never did, the humour in his voice often only present when he was with his Crows and mocking Jesper, eyes twinkling with mirth and you almost swore you could taste your heart on your tongue, between your teeth.

He didn’t even deny wanting to come see you.

“Kaz Brekker, I have seen you run with a broken leg, heard that you scaled a building with a bullet lodged in your shoulder that I had to fix and you’ve concussed yourself numerous times with every nose you break- and now you’re telling me you can’t stomach a papercut?” You exasperated, shaking your head despite the unsteady rhythm in your chest, unable to see the usual murderous bastard in Kaz’s face, daring to see a young man with an unfair amount of weight on his shoulders and that was a scary thought. Horrifying, even. You needed your morals, even in Ketterdam.

Brekker didn’t answer you to start with, just pursed his lips and his finger twitched a little, the rest of his fingers curling to his palm and just leaving his little wound out to you, eyes locked on it himself. It took him a moment but then he opened his mouth, words leaving you with a revelation;

“I don’t like the feeling of it.”

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it and even though it would normally be just a casual statement, it felt a little heavier, like it was harder for him to admit that something unsettled him so much that he had to seek out someone with the Small Science. You decided not to pry, not to tease, only to touch your hands together and then reach your hand out, ghosting the tips of two fingers over the little knick on his finger. It took mere seconds and the cut was gone but Kaz still trembled beneath the ministrations, nostrils flared with an uncomfortable exhale and you didn’t even want to know why he was so quiet.

“There we go, all better, as if it never happened,” You spoke carefully, drawing his eyes back to yours and you knew you would take this little moment to the grave with you, your little secret. You would never tell a soul that Kaz Brekker did not like paper cuts.

Except, Kaz didn’t stand to leave. He didn’t pull his glove back on, didn’t grab his cane. Instead, he got more comfortable in the little seat and rested his bare hand against his bad leg, eyes on you and that dangerous smile once again threatening his lips, meeting his eyes so subtly and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him.

“Become one of my Crows,” It wasn’t a question, it was an order.

You shook your head, lowering yourself into a crouch in front of him and tapping your fingertips together, you did your best to help ease the pain of his leg, hands hovering over his knee but never touching. You never touched him, if you could help it. You weren’t a heartrender, you couldn’t soothe his heartbeat or ease his mind, but you could numb it enough that the walk home wasn’t so miserable.

“I won’t,” You answered, knowing full well that becoming a Crow meant joining the Dregs, meant that you’d be a grunt, you’d do small jobs, risk your life, even take them. You didn’t want that. As much as you came to adore Brekker’s little quirks, the silent glances of communication, teasing the man and him letting you get away with it, the beginnings of a friendship forming, the way your heart lurched when you heard the uneven tapping of his cane against the floorboards, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You had loyalties to yourself, after all.

“You will, eventually,” He mumbled, leaning back in the seat and never once taking his eyes off of your form, his head tilted ever so slightly. Even in this lighting, midday painting him in golden, he was as handsome as the night he had almost bled out under your care. You didn’t know how he managed it, knowing full well he didn’t eat full meals or hydrate as much as he should, and didn't sleep nearly enough.

“Mister Brekker, you’d have to be on your deathbed for that to even be a consideration.”

You didn’t know how right you were.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

“Y/N! Quickly!” Jesper’s voice rang out, cracking, bringing your attention away from the printing press in front of you and with confusion, you tossed away your the paper in your hand and heard your own boots clicking and clacking against the stone floor before you even realised you were rushing out of the shop, job forgotten and keeping pace behind the sharpshooter.

You didn’t know what was wrong, you just knew that you were needed. Four months under the Dregs protection, you felt more like their protector or caretaker, tending to the wounded and keeping them fed. It was the first time somebody had come to you on shift, in your shop, dragging you away from the thing that paid your rent and kept your own stomach full. You didn’t know when you became so loyal to them, to him, but you did and couldn’t change that.

So you ran, you ran faster than you ever had. You felt your clothes carry the wind, your hair pushed back from your face and the bitter chill of the Barrel on your skin as your chest heaved, legs carrying you as fast as possible as you went through alleys, down streets, pushing past as many people as you needed. Dread kept your legs from getting tired, pure adrenaline keeping your lungs full of air and you knew, you just knew. Kaz.

Saints, you couldn’t handle knowing you cared so much about one person.

You didn’t notice when you had overtaken Jesper, throwing the side door to the Slat open and pulling off your apron and desperately scanning your surroundings. You didn’t care about anything else, you just met the eyes that stared back at you, filling the room with a bit more ease.

“Y/N-” Wylan.

“Where is he?”

“His room-” Inej.

You didn’t listen to anything else, taking off up the steps and you threw yourself into the attic room. With hardly a breath, you dropped to your knees where he lay on the bed, pale as death could be and you cussed to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die. You stopped it happening once and you would do it again and again and again if it meant you could see that stupid boyish smile on his lips and hear a mean jest rolling off his tongue again. You worked too hard for it all to go to waste.

“You’re stuck with me I’m afraid, Brekker. You’re not going anywhere,” You told him, earning yourself a grunt and his head turned, dropping heavily to one side and his eyes stared at you. Even he looked relieved. You didn’t even think to ponder on what that meant.

Setting to work quickly, you healed the artery that had been cut, apron pressed to him to keep as much blood in his system as possible as you worked at sealing it, stitching the wound with your grisha power. The short time you’d cared for the Dregs, you had gotten stronger, better with your power. Things like this didn’t take as long as it used to, didn’t take as much energy out of you. You knew Kaz would live but it didn’t make it any less stressful to see him like that. And you didn’t want to ever again, you never wanted to see death try to pull him out of your life just as you had gotten used to him in it.

“My Crow,” He uttered, rasping and breathless, the hint of teasing a whisper on his breath and you resigned yourself, eyes scanning his relaxing features and you nodded, never touching him. You were finished. He was fine. He was alive, sitting up against the wall and staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes, Kaz. It seems to be that way. The deal is the deal, after all,” You pressed your lips into a small smile, submitting yourself to the reality that you had found yourself in. It seemed your morals could be set aside if it meant keeping this criminal’s unsavoury heart beating in his chest.

And maybe, just maybe, Kaz was keeping yours beating irrevocably fast too.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

At six months, you were a Crow, but not a Dreg. You didn’t join the gang, only really spending your time with a close inner circle or drinking by yourself after a long shift at the printing press. At six months, you were seated at the bar of the Crow Club, sipping your drink and enjoying the busy ruckus as men gambled their life savings right away.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Jesper sang, leaning over the bar beside you and grinning ear to ear, whiskey in hand and pockets stuffed with kruge. You could practically smell it on him - the money and the victory. You laughed softly, tipping your glass to him and then taking a sip, you turned your barstool towards him and gave him your full, undivided attention.

“Good night?” You asked, even though you knew damn well he had a good night. He looked ready to shoot the moon.

“Fantastic,” He answered, head tilting and cheeks splitting as he grinned wider; Jesper’s ringed fingers tapped against his dimpled cheeks, eyes watching you as they did when he was about to say something that he absolutely shouldn’t say. “How’s the boss?”

You should have expected it, really. That was the reason you were there in the first place. Your face began to turn many shades of magenta, you were sure. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you cleared your throat and stabilised yourself, sitting up straighter and doing your best to return the young man’s cheeky smile.

“I’m sure he’s fine, you would know you’ve been here all day,” You answered, leaning into the palm of your hand. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears with just the mere idea of him, his name not even having been spoken yet. Pathetic.

“And your eyes have been on him since the moment you practically ran through our front door,” Jesper shot back, chin jutting to where said young man had exited his office and was stepping down the small staircase that lead to the office, uneven gait leaned on his cane and he made his way to his usual perch near the bar, arm leaning against the railing with eyes locked on the floor - it was heartbreakingly charming to you, the fact he wore his usual attire of waistcoat and fancy tailored shirt, looking every part Kaz Brekker and it almost hurt to look at him.

“Just making sure he’s alive. He’s been clumsy as of late,” You mumbled the excuse into the rim of your glass, sipping your drink but your eyes stayed on him. It wasn’t necessarily a lie but you knew it was foolish. Kaz Brekker was a criminal of the cruellest kind, had done unspeakable things to those deserving and undeserving and yet there you were, afraid to blink for fear he would disappear before your very eyes. The sole reason you choose to accept a life of crime and fix the worst kinds of people, those that didn’t always deserve to be fixed. Him included. But he deserved it.

“He’s not going anywhere any time soon, doll. He might be as fragile, but he’s smarter than that,” Jesper nudged you with his shoulder, hands smoothing over your tensed fist on the surface of the bar and you turned to look at him, not even realising your own rigidness. You were grateful you had him to call a friend, always grounding you despite his antics.

“I just don’t understand why I have all these… feelings,” You admitted aloud, turning your hand up in his to press your palms together. He tutted, shaking his head and tapping his fingers against your wrist, he offered the most eye opening fact you had ever heard in your many years of living;

“Love makes us into many things, sometimes better, many times worse. I know it makes him worse; a coward, a liar, sometimes a bit self absorbed, full of greed, selfish, but he could be so much worse,” Jesper offered, a kinder smile on his face as he leaned in to usher the words without prying ears.

You loved Kaz and you probably knew it. You probably thought about it every day when you woke up, when someone checked the time on their pocket watch, when someone handed you a kruge. You probably fell asleep thinking about it and yet it took a close friend to lay it out in front of you just what it was that kept you wanting to be near him, make sure he never cut his finger on a piece of parchment again, to heal his split lip and bruised knuckles.

It was easily the most terrifying thing you had ever done: falling in love with a crime boss was not something fun, easy, or relaxing. It was that danger that you saw whenever the man smiled, the horror whenever he cast a joke or brushed his gloved fingers against your hand when he passed you, the glance he threw your way from across the busy room, the warnings that screamed at you when he leaned a little too close to you when you were mending flesh. It was the liability that caused you to keep your eyes on him at all times, making sure he was breathing. Attachment. Investment. Attraction. Commitment. All words that came to mind when you considered your relationship with Ketterdam’s, maybe even the world’s, most menacing, volatile, impatient and undoubtedly violent criminal.

“Jesper, if I catch you flirting one more time…” The man’s voice carried weight, trailing with a silent threat and you realised that the very man tipping your world on its axis was towering over the pair of you, shoulders squared, jaw taut and eyes blazing with something unspoken.

“No, Kaz, it's okay. He wasn’t flirting he was just-”

The man silenced you with a tilt of his head and the raising of a single dark brow.

“Right boss, sorry boss. Should I just- Yeah let me just, yeah. Enjoy your night, I’m going to go do my job,” Jesper patted the bar, then the stool, awkwardly bowing and pointing, smile on his face and a wink thrown your way before he was spinning on his heel, arms wide as he cheered a greeting towards the door, sauntering his way to actually do what he was paid for.

Your attention was brought back to Kaz as the man slid into the very same seat he had just dismissed his friend from, cane set between the two of you and drink ordered, gloved hands folded on the surface of the bar. He didn’t turn his body towards you, but his eyes were on you, like always, a question swirling in his irises.

“You and Jesper…?” He seemed to trail off, finger tapping impatiently on his arm, gloved and tensed in his shoulders even as he swallowed thickly, mouth pulled down into a line.

“No,” You shook your head, turning your body away from him and towards the bar, sipping your drink with your heart pounding in your chest.

“You and… anyone?” He asked a little more quietly, eyes on his own drink as he swirled it in steady circles, the amber liquid sloshing at the bottom of the glass.

“No, Kaz. Just you,” You answered honestly.

Kaz Brekker remained silent, only nodding, bringing his drink to his lips and sipping it. No other words needed to be exchanged, and only you caught the ghost of a smile on the corners of his vile, cursed mouth.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker #six of crows

1K notes · View notes

heyidkyay · 18 days

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Five (The End)

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors note: The ending! The final chapter of Matty and Mouse's story, my heart is actually breaking. Honestly loved writing these two, as well as baby Teds, and I hope you lot loved them too because all the love this series has gotten means so much, it feels surreal. Hopefully I can write a few blurbs of them or something in the future but this is it for now. So thank you for all the support!

Warnings: EMOTIONS, Matty and Mouse way of thinking, little bit of angst, referencing to past hurts (such as not making it to a certain age), smut, unprotected sex, self-conscious characters?

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Matty wouldn’t have been able to say what the time must have been if anyone had dared ask. He’d been propped up against the headboard, still in his t-shirt and jeans, his hand never having fallen from the top of her head even after she’d finally worn herself out and drifted to sleep.

His stomach churned pitifully at the reminder, at how hard she had cried. Gasping and sobbing into that fucking pillow she still held onto, all whilst clinging to the skin of his wrist with an unforeseen strength. As though she’d been pleading in her grip of him, asking him not to go just yet.

That hold had diminished a tad during the night, she’d always been a fitful sleeper– had kneed him one too many times between the legs for him to not know that fact– but this time around… She’d been almost deathly still, aside from the frowning expressions that clouded her face whilst she’d dreamt.

He continued to sit there though, watching on as the moon sunk so that the sun could slowly climb its way into the irradiating sky, giving way to that first hint of morning.

He hadn’t slept a wink, not really. Nodded off for a second or two once or twice before he’d found himself jerking awake again. Couldn’t seem to stay down for much longer than that.

And why would he? When he’d all but destroyed the woman laying beside him. This proud, strong and resilient woman that he’d been so idolised by, so enraptured with. The one person in his fucking forsaken life that had appeared so utterly invincible.

She was a survivor. A mother. A friend.

And she was kind. Funny. Resilient.

Then she’d gone and met him, hadn’t she?

And he’d ruined her like he did everything else.

Practically broken her.

Torn the last pieces of her further apart.

The thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach. Aching with this unbound need to grovel and cry at her very feet, to make her see enough sense so that she could understand just how much she didn’t need someone like him. That she was strong enough to do it all alone. That she didn’t need to cling to him as she had, like rust to a buoy long lost at sea.

Guilt.

That was what that sticky feeling growing in his gut was. That overwhelming malady that was eating him up from the inside out, making him feel so utterly sick.

He had come over to see her. So that they might be able to talk things out. He’d come to apologise. To make things right between them. But instead, what had he done?

Pushed.

He’d pushed and fucking pushed, forcing her hand enough so that she had cracked and he’d been able to slip past those high guarded walls of hers.

And now here they were.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though– not all of it at least.

To have held her again… It had calmed some sick twisted part of him.

To have just seen her and heard her voice, no matter how pained and angry it had been. It was like the world around him had softened for a split second. Become all grainy.

Matty glanced back over to her sleeping form, to the way she had bundled the duvet high up over her head so that the tip of her nose could bury itself in the slight curve it made, her chin tucked away.

His hand was still lost somewhere in her hair, thumb cascading out over her temple every now and then, but he didn’t dare pull away. Not until he had no other choice in the matter.

So he carried on, staying there and lying awake. Thinking over the night before. Thinking back to her devastated expression, to the wary look her eyes had held. To the way she hadn’t spoken a word. To how she had simply forced her cries into silent sobs.

Suddenly, he was stuck on the very realisation that she hadn’t been reacting to it all, to everything she’d been feeling, to what had happened, but rather retreating. Hiding away whilst, somehow, still allowing him to be near. To stay. To watch over her.

A soft sniff had him blinking, regaining composure quick enough so that he could catch the scene play out before him.

…

I was embarrassed by the previous night's events. By the fact that I had been so determined to keep Matty at arms length and then failed entirely. That he had seen me so weak and well– broken.

But it had all come to a head, I supposed.

I’d been keeping up appearances ever since everything had fallen out, putting on a brave face and a smile for anyone and everyone who could see. It was only ironic, I guessed, for Matty to have been the one to shatter that image completely.

Still, I swallowed at the sight of him still sitting there beside me the next morning, seeming as though he hadn’t moved an inch throughout the whole night, and shoved all that shame back down.

“Thought you’d be gone by now.” I heard myself say as I flipped over onto my back so that I could stare up at the ceiling and at the sun drawn lines that stretched out across it.

I listened to his quiet laugh, to the way he shuffled slightly on the mattress, though I didn’t dare look back at him. It was too early and I already felt as though he’d seen enough of me. “Was just hoping for a chance at one of your brews, is all.”

Something in me shifted at his easy words. At the fact that he’d chosen to try and make me smile, instead of calling me out on all my messy bullshit.

“And if I’ve got no milk?” I replied, just because this was easier than arguing anymore.

I felt him shift, probably shrugging if I knew him as well as I thought I did. “Shops open soon enough.”

The corner of my mouth twitched, although I continued my staring contest with the blank space sat high above us.

“Who says I’ll let you back in?”

He did laugh then, a deep rumble of a chuckle that was rough from disuse and a lack of sleep. Matty sniffed, “Just gonna have to try my luck then, I ‘spose.”

It was only in that next second that I realised something, something that had me inhaling sharply as Matty’s fingers dragged their way through my hair to tuck a frizzy strand behind my ear, before then pulling away entirely.

My eyes slipped closed at the sudden loss and my hands curled into tight fists beneath the duvet at the very thought of him having stayed that way throughout the night. Of having held me in the only way he’d been able to, as though he believed it might have kept some small part of me together. Only pulling away now that he could see that I wasn’t going to crack beneath the weight of everything I still held.

The bed shifted and the sound of his feet hit the floor.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him as he stood.

Matty moved throughout my bedroom with an ease I didn’t even own, picking up the hoodie he’d thrown over my desk chair all those days ago, the same one I hadn’t allowed myself to touch, let alone wear.

I almost told him not to take it, but withheld. Only just managing to bite down on my tongue as I watched him shrug it on. It was his afterall.

“Gonna nick your keys,” He told me whilst he shook the hood out around his neck and dragged it up over his tousled curls, “Only be about ten minutes. You can shower or whatever, not worry about letting me back in.”

I could only nod in return and he smiled, pausing in the doorway to look back at me for a second or two before he nodded, almost fretfully, and turned away.

I waited, lying there still enough that I was surprised I didn’t go stiff from how tightly I was wound, until I heard the familiar rattle of keys and then the squeaking hinges of the front door. It closed behind him so quietly that had I not been holding my breath I might not have even heard it.

I was rubbing at my face not a minute later, hauling back tears leftover from last night's show, before I heaved an anguished scream that was more air than actual sound from my lungs.

Forcing myself to calm– and not dissolve into fucking hysterics– I willed myself up, noting that I was still naked as I kicked the covers away. Another thing I’d gone and bared for him, I supposed. As though it wasn’t enough that I had already cried myself to sleep with him just sitting a hand’s stretch away, but that we’d actually gone and slept together. After everything.

My head was warring with my heart as I dragged myself up out of the dirtied sheets, throwing on an old tee so that I could shove them into the washer before he got back. I forced myself into the shower quickly after, letting the hot water roll off my skin.

I must’ve been stood there for a long while, drowning under the heavy spray, because it was the sound of the door that broke me from the faraway place I’d found myself in whilst staring at the tiled walls.

Blinking, I wiped the water from out of my eyes and forced myself to wash, lathering up my hair and going through the motions, before I finally stepped out.

I didn’t dare peer into the mirror, not all too desperate to see the state I’d worked myself into on my way out. Choosing to head back into the bedroom instead, padding over towards the dresser to pull out some clean clothes and only noticing the fresh sheets that had been pulled onto the bed when I’d finally dressed.

The towel I’d been holding to lightly dry my hair slowly dropped to my side at the sight. I opened my mouth to call out and probably ask– But I stopped myself before I could. Ask what? I wondered. Why? Then shook my head at the very idea.

Doing the smart thing by shutting my mouth, I dumped the towel in the hamper and pulled on a pair of socks, taking a deep breath before deciding to venture further out into the flat.

I found him in the kitchen.

He didn’t peer over his shoulder but he must’ve heard me putter in because he greeted me: “I know I said I’d be quick but I passed by that little bakery on my way back– that hidden gem we liked that one time? Anyway, it just smelt fuckin’ devine.” He accentuated that last bit, making me smile slightly, “And I just couldn’t not, you know? Been a while, but they had those danishes you like in the window. Got a couple to share as well as some other bits.” Matty explained, head still halfway in the bag he’d obviously brought back with him, a pint of milk sat alone on the side, “And a sausage roll for Teds– kid was eating them like he was gonna starve a while ago. So I just thought...”

Matty shrugged, as though that in itself was no big deal, him thinking of my son, and turned around to glance my way with a display case of baked-goods now lining my kitchen counter.

I snorted softly at the sight, jerking my chin out towards the lot of them, “Just thought you’d bring back half the shop?” I teased and was all too pleased when he chuckled around the beginnings of a smirk.

He was quick with his quip, “So I’m guessin’ you don’t want one of these danishes then?”

I narrowed my eyes at the sheer nerve. “I never said that.”

Matty’s nose scrunched with his next shrug before he moved to snap one up for himself. “Sort of sounded like it, sweetheart.”

I shook my head, biting down on my growing grin as I slid across the kitchen to grab at one too.

I hummed around the first bite I took and all but moaned at the flavour of it, blinking my eyes back open only to find Matty wearing the most delighted little grin. I rolled my eyes but didn’t grant him the gift of an actual reply, though it didn’t seem to waver him either way.

We seemed to move seamlessly around one another after that; him filling up the kettle whilst I placed two mugs down on the countertop; the clink of a teaspoon being shot into one cup as I moved to grab the tin of tea bags; Matty switching the radio on like it was second nature and me smiling away to myself as I poured the milk.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek once we’d finally settled, he’d chosen to take up room at the table whilst I carefully stored the remaining pastries away for later.

I wanted to talk, to try and hash things out again, because this felt right to me. Him being here. In my dingy little kitchen, small but still so crowded with all sorts of bits and bobs, as well as a plethora of crayon coloured drawings. And he just, well, Matty just fit here. Or maybe that was just me hoping. Ignoring the bigger warning signs so that I wouldn’t have to feel so alone again.

Was he lying to me?

Had he relapsed?

Did he cheat?

It didn’t seem like he’d done any of those things. There was no guilt in his gaze and yesterday… I’d never seen him like that. Even whilst stressed or overwhelmed, Matty had never cried. He’d never looked at me like that either, as though he was slowly breaking before my eyes.

He’d said his piece, he’d promised, and then he’d apologised.

But.

What if I was just making a bigger mug of myself here?

Letting him back in. Giving him my forgiveness. Having him in my bed.

Was I saying that it was okay? Was that the impression I’d be giving? That he could lie and walk all over me and that everything would still be fine.

It left the world feeling a little more tilted than it had been only moments before. It left me questioning everything, once again.

…

“What are we doing, Matty?”

Matty was slow in looking back over at her, fingers tapping aimlessly away on the kitchen table to some song that had been playing on the radio.

“What do you mean?”

She huffed, a quiet chuckle full of disbelief rippling through the air, “I mean, what are we doing here?”

“The fuck if I know.” Matty replied, just as soft as that laughter she’d given him, shrugging at her from across the kitchen. Because what was he meant to say to that?

She just shook her head in turn though, completely unaware to the way he was now watching her. Taking her all in. The way the outline of her body glowed whilst bathed in the morning light that shone in through the windows. Of how her slowly drying hair curled at parts in the easy breeze that crept by. And how endeared he was by the way she never failed to tuck her joggers, or pyjama bottoms, or whatever else she’d decided to throw on whilst at home into her socks. It made her who she was, all these mindless little tidbits that he’d gathered over the last year, that he had observed.

“We can’t just– move on. Carry on like nothing’s happened.” She sounded frustrated. Sad.

“Why not?” It was almost sarcastic, the way he said it, but his voice held a whole lot of truth to it. He wanted this and he wanted her. And he’d be a fucking fool to deny it.

And what would the world make of the two of them anyway? Cause she’d gone and claimed the very same thing last night, hadn’t she?

The pair of them, fools.

“‘Cause everything’s a mess.” She answered back, staring at him now, almost defeated.

Her shoulders were slumped and she wore that sad smile she often favoured when she was at a loss, slowly being eaten away by a horde of thoughts she couldn’t seem to control.

He watched her fidget with the hem of her sleeve, peering down at it.

“Because after everything, Matty,” She breathed, voice soft even in the quiet of the kitchen, “I know that I love you and I don’t want to lose what we have left here. I don’t want that ruined.”

Matty’s mouth worked itself into a small smile as his eyes dragged between her own, trailing over the short scar that crossed the bridge of her nose, remembering the night she’d teared up when he’d reached out to caress it.

“I’d rather be ruined by you than not have you at all, Mouse.”

She blew air from out of her nose in a soundless chuckle, cheeks rounding around an amused grin for the briefest of seconds before her eyes skittered away from him again. “That meant to be all poetic?”

He gave her a curt nod and then just grinned, legs fanned out before him. “In the job description. Musician, remember?”

“Oh, do I.” She quipped back just as sarkily, leaning against the counter as she continued to watch him from under dark lashes. Matty reckoned he’d let her shove him under a microscope if it got her to let him stick around. If only for a while longer.

A silence passed between them.

“I love you.” Matty murmured, so sure of that fact, “That much I know. But I won’t ask you for anything more than I already have, you make the choice. You can hold the cards. And whatever you decide, I’ll accept.”

Her face hardened a fraction, as though she were steeling herself for an argument or something other. Hiding how underprepared she’d been for his words perhaps. Matty only hoped that she’d heard the truth in them.

“No fight? You’ll just accept it and leave?”

Matty didn’t dare blink but dipped his head in slight acknowledgement. “If that’s what you want.”

The woman before him just continued to stare him down and for once, Matty couldn’t read her face. Had no idea what the hell she might’ve been thinking. Or feeling. Or what plans she was currently devising in that clever head of hers.

“Okay.”

It took all of his sheer effort not to react to that one simple word, even though she had practically just gone and ripped his fucking heart out of his chest.

Actually, he supposed that was another lie he’d told. She’d done that months ago, on the day they’d met and went and ruined him for good.

I’d rather be ruined by you.

It’s what he’d said.

He couldn’t go back on it now.

“Okay.” He answered her, voice just barely above a whisper that he wasn’t sure she heard over the squeaking of his chair legs.

And then he was standing in her kitchen for what he supposed would be the last time. He saw her grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening, gaze unstraying, but she didn’t say another word.

They stared at one another for what felt like the longest minute on Earth and Matty could practically feel the ground shifting beneath the soles of his feet as he realised that now everything would really change.

His breath caught, the thought hitting him like a shit ton of bricks and he knew then that he had to leave before he broke down and took it all back. Before he was a fucking mess of a man on her kitchen floor.

He turned on his heel and made for the door.

“Where’re you going?”

Matty froze, entirely rooted to the floor.

He continued to stare resolutely ahead, scared to move in case she had changed her mind. In case she was saying what he thought she was.

“Your tea’s gonna go cold… and I thought you could pick Teds up with me later.” She was going for nonchalant, aiming and almost hitting, but she missed the mark by just a hair. “He was with Ads yesterday, you know, and she dropped him off at nursery this morning for me. Just figured.”

Matty pivoted on his heel, slow going and hardly daring to steal a breath as he did, before he was looking straight at her. At the way her teeth had sunk into her lower lip, the careful sheen her eyes had taken on, and then the singular strand of hair which had fallen from behind her ear. He was across the room and on her in a second.

Firm hands held her face, thumbs guarding either cheek as he bored everything he couldn’t seem to say into the next look he gave to her. Wanting her to see it all. To know, or simply understand.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

She laughed.

“Wanna bet…” Her words trailed off into a heavy breath and Matty could feel the strength of his grin as he leaned in close, nose bumping against hers, his eyes flickering over the entirety of her face, attempting to take her in all at once.

There was buzzing under his skin, he could feel it in the tips of his fingers, all the way down to his toes, and heard the way it hummed throughout his chest.

It was then that he realised he couldn’t see an end without her in it.

He wanted everything with this woman.

Everything.

And that should’ve been the most terrifying thought.

Because once he had believed he would never see the end of sixteen, puking into the bushes outside his bedroom window and not having the strength to make it that extra mile. To let mum know that he was alright.

Then it had been nineteen, that first real stint in hospital. He’d been scared to shit and alone, the darkness hiding all the groans and upset of the other patients with real issues.

But nineteen had come and gone, so then he figured twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two? Definitely twenty-five… Had to be.

Twenty-eight had been both the end and the beginning for him.

But even without everything that had been holding him back after that, the drugs, the people, the money. After he’d gotten clean– proper clean– he’d never really thought far enough ahead.

To a point where he might feel settled or want to start building a place for himself in the world. A real place, one amongst family and friends, not just amongst admiration and music– as much as it had helped shape him.

He’d never once pictured this. A person.

Girlfriends? Yeah. Flings and one night stands? Sure. But a person that would be his. Completely. That he could share half of himself with?

No, he couldn’t say that he’d ever seen that coming, that something like this would have one day been in the cards for him.

And Matty wanted so badly to sink his claws in and cling on for as long as he possibly could, for as long as she’d be willing, and then even more so. Until somebody else came along and inevitably unhooked him. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Because this was too perfect to go and destroy like that.

He’d always claimed to be a selfish man, but in this regard, all the love he had worth giving would be spent on her. On the days they’d spend together. On meals and dates. On flowers and apologies for when he eventually messed up again, because he knew himself too well to deny that fact. He’d spend it on giving her security, on rebuilding her trust. He’d spend it on her son. On the little boy he’d become so besotted by.

And if it ruined him, if it killed him? He reckoned he’d be okay with that.

He’d be content. Finally having something to be proud of.

“What are you waiting for?”

Matty eyes tracked the length of her face, fingers tangled in her hair whilst his thumbs pressed into the grooves of her temples. What was he waiting for?

As soon as he thought it, Matty was pressing against her once more, stealing all the breath from her lungs in his haste to answer her.

It was slow, the kiss; soft in the way his lips captured hers for only a few seconds before he was pulling away again, hands shaking where he still cupped her cheeks.

He wanted to make sure that this was what she wanted, but he could see it in her face, that surety, the warmth. And he wouldn’t question that, maybe in some regards he’d be willing to give her anything, but here and now, with this, with wanting her, he would as selfish as he fucking could be. He’d take all that she would give him.

The next kiss was full and deep– urgent.

Matty’s tongue slid into her mouth, hands falling aimlessly away from her face to whatever part of her he could touch, feeling no ounce of remorse over it seeing as she was on the exact same journey, her fingers winding their way up and over every inch of him.

She kissed back with just as much force, colliding with him in a way that almost felt tortured, as though trying to make up for all the time they had wasted. Not just over the past few days, but the weeks and months they’d spent dancing around one another, pushing and pulling. Despairing this game of tug of war they had started.

It ended here.

Matty continued to lean up into her, pressing her into the counter as she clawed at the hoodie he wore. Matty felt her nails catch on the skin of his back, whilst he wrapped his arms around her hips.

“Baby,” He whispered breathlessly and then moaned when her mouth closed around his bottom lip, teeth grazing against the flesh before they then bit down. She rocked into him and Matty swore his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

He reached up a hand to cup the back of her neck so that he could mouth his way across her jaw and down her collar, favouring the skin just beneath her ear. “Need you.”

It was both an admission and a plea.

And then she was grabbing at his face too, forcing his mouth back up to meet hers, breath sweeping over the cut of his jaw. She tangled her fingers in his curls and Matty had the barest second to register that he was actually staying. That she was letting him back in.

His body jolted forward on impulse, arms snaking their way around her waist to splay out over her lower back, pulling her that much closer. Her hold tightened too, hand moving down his neck, thumb pressing lightly against the pulse point there.

Matty stepped nearer and she welcomed him in, legs parting to let him step between them, kiss turning hungrier as she arched her back up and away from the countertop. He wanted all of her.

She let go of his hair to press in harder, pulling back only so that she could lick his mouth back open and drive her tongue inside. She murmured his name against his lips, once, twice. And then Matty’s hand was between the blades of her shoulders and holding fast. He moved, spinning them outwards, over towards the kitchen door.

She let out a sharp sound that was half gasp and half moan, but all love and desire when they knocked into the arm of the sofa in the living-room and fell back against the soft cushions.

When they broke apart it was only out of necessity, the need to catch back the breath that had been forced out of them on their tumble down. They shared an airy chuckle.

Then he watched on as she stretched out further up the settee, fingers caught on his wrist so that she could tug him along with her. Their hips aligned as Matty crowded her again, elbow digging into the chair's arm to hold him up above her. He hovered there, their faces and foreheads pressed together, noses lined up side by side. Matty wished to savour every detail of her.

He kissed her again, slower, softer. His lips moved against hers so gently that it was almost reverent, worship-like, and she matched him toe for toe, pouring her whole soul into it, gifting him all the sweetness that she possibly could.

Matty prayed to whoever might’ve been listening that he could have this.

He supposed someone must’ve heard him because she said, “Stay,” in this careless whisper, in a tone that was more breath than anything else. And his heart stopped.

And then he was nodding. Almost frantically.

He kissed her, the tip of his nose brushing the underneath of hers as he lifted his head to nod one more time. “Long as you’ll let me.”

She whimpered and he groaned, forehead pushing against hers once more as she lifted her hips up to meet his.

Then they were both lunging for clothes in the same instant, nearly laughing at their clumsy eagerness to get undressed, the sofa being of no help.

Matty pushed back to sit up for a moment, luring her up gently with him so that he could slide her shirt off over her head. She returned the favour, letting him trail a finger over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm once they were done before she was on her back once more.

“So beautiful.” He felt the need to whisper, even though there was no one else around to hear it. She glanced away.

Matty wouldn’t have that though, a careful hand coming up to coax her eyes back to him, hoping that she would hear the sincerity in his words. She was the best thing he’d ever seen, no matter the time of day. No matter how horrible she felt. He’d never been so enamoured by another person, or so utterly lost in his desperate need to make it known.

His thumb caught on the corner of her mouth and he smiled. “I meant it.” He assured her and felt her shiver beneath him as his words fanned the skin of her cheek, “Beautiful.”

She swallowed thickly, he saw the bob of her throat before he slid his palms down her sides to unhook her bra, dropping it off to the side so that he could mouth along the length of her torso.

He continued to murmur, tone so full of admiration as he attempted to press the words into her skin, hoping that this way they would somehow sink in.

By the time he reached the hem of her trousers she was writhing beneath him, eyes pleading, so Matty made quick work of ridding them, allowing himself to look her over for just a second. She truly was beautiful.

“Matty,” The sound of his name forced his eyes back up and he was thrown by the dazzling smile she then wore. She took one of his hands in hers, linking their fingers, “I don't have all day, baby.”

He merely shook his head and laughed, figuring that she must’ve seen the many emotions that played out across his face afterwards because she tightened her hold on his hand and motioned him closer so that she could kiss him again.

He took her there on the settee. Worked her over slow and hard, his gaze only ever wavering when they slipped shut or he buried his face alongside the skin of her neck. His hands wandered whilst hers clung tight, leaving him marked and gasping. She murmured the whole while, legs wrapped around his middle to keep him as close as she possibly could, so that he could drive that bit deeper. Matty had never heard her so vocal, just muttering on and on, only ever stopping to cry out or jolt. But even then her words would either come out all warped or in a sharp shout. It only proved to spur him on though, fingers digging in and bruising the soft sides of her hips and thighs.

He could hardly think, listening to her pleads and commands. Such a demanding little thing.

The heels of her feet dug into his flesh as her arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, holding on, sinking her nails into his skin deep enough to have him hissing. He didn’t dare tell her to let up, just attempted to pick up his pace, hand falling away from the crease of her thigh to drag along her folds, needing her to let go before he could.

“Close?”

He was met with a choked gasp: “Yeah.” Followed by a cascade of assent, breath wetting the cut of his jaw as her hands jumped up to curl themselves along his shoulders.

Matt felt himself nod, but was hardly even aware of it, gaze trained on her face, the watering of her eyes, the pink swell of her lips. “So good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

His words just made her strengthen her already too tight hold and then she was writhing beneath him, tear sliding down the side of her face just as her head tilted far back against the cushions and she moaned.

He wasn’t far behind her, but she continued to work her hips to the best of her ability whilst his thrusts became more and more desperate. He only noticed that he was clenching his teeth when her fingers came up to thread through his hair, slackening the muscles there in his face just as his head fell forward, hovering a centimetre or two above the dip in her collar.

Matty felt lips press against the side of his head, soft but there. “I love you.” She said, and he couldn’t even respond, lost in the sensations that overwhelmed him as he jolted forward, every muscle in his legs tensing as his eyes slammed close.

His breathing was harsh and laboured when he finally managed to pull out, falling into the little space she created for him on the side of the sofa. He draped an arm over her middle, not giving much thought to the damp sheen on their skin or the mess between her thighs. They could have this for a little while longer.

Matty hid a smile, nosing along her shoulder as he better settled into his position before he kissed the sweet skin there. Her back was to him now, him wrapped up around her body, their legs entangled, and he thought back to those few words of hers.

Back to that night she’d first said them.

To when she had last said them.

He started to trail a finger over her side, up and then down before he decided to trace each letter one by one. He heard her huff a laugh when she finally caught on, but he pressed on, writing more.

When she patted his hand and shifted, he frowned, wondering if he’d pushed too far, too quickly, even though she’d been the one to say it first. But she just rolled around to face him and grinned at the face he must’ve worn.

“You’re an idiot.”

His brow pinched but he still felt himself smile, “What?”

She laughed all lovelylike and he blinked at the sweetness of it, wondering when he’d gotten so used to hearing such a pretty fucking sound.

He poked at her side, prodding, “Go on, tell me.”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Matty watched the stretch of her smile soften before he stilled slightly at her slow touch, the drag of her finger which trailed over his stubbled cheek. “Just such a you thing to do.” She teased him quietly, fingertip reaching up to skim over the bridge of his nose and then his eyelids.

Matty shrugged, narrowing his eyes a tad but unable to truly hide the small smirk he was wearing. He moved his hand back to her hip, tracing another word that had her huffing and shaking her head in sudden exasperation. Then another. And another.

Her eyes were wide when he chanced a glance up at her and she swallowed at the earnest expression he gifted her. “I mean it.” He whispered into the tiny slot of space that rested between their heads.

He watched as her stare tracked along his face, flicking from one eye to the other. “How can you be so sure?”

Matty shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed up against the settee, a small smile dancing on his mouth. “Never been sure of much, but I know this.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “This your way of askin’?”

Chuckling lightly, he shook his head in turn. “Nah, gotta think of something good. Big.” He grinned at the snort she gave, but continued on anyway, fingers simply brushing against her hip now, “Figure we need time to get there again, sort through this mess.”

“Again?”

Matty hummed, thinking back to the bout of songs he’d been working on over the last few months, to the days G had smirked and asked about some of the lyrics he’d written down. “Been playing on my mind.”

There was a small curve to her brow now, an almost frown but not, Matty knew her well enough to know that she was just a little thrown by his answer.

“How long?”

Her whispered ask had him thinking, but he couldn’t really give her an exact time span. He’d hardly even realised it himself. “I don’t know, but for a while.”

She breathed out a quiet little laugh, eyes darting between his own once more, “So one day then?”

Matty hummed happily, face breaking into a slow going grin as one of his hands came up to cup her face, thumb soothing her cheek. “One day, Squeaks,” He murmured to her, “I’m gonna marry the shit out of you.”

Her cheek warmed beneath his touch but she laughed, shaking her head ever so slightly whilst her eyes looked down before shooting right back up again. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Wrinkling his nose a tad and curling his upper lip, Matty just shook his head, “Nah, don’t reckon so.”

“You say that,” She all but sang before she was kicking up a storm in his hold, quickly trying to get away from the hand that had come up to run a rhythm down her side, tickling her into shutting that daft mouth of hers.

“Yeah, I do fuckin’ say.” Matty chuckled, grinning madly as he continued to grab at her, teasing her bare skin with his tormenting touch. It was with that in which Mouse went sailing, rolling away from him in an attempt to escape, and dragging Matty with, him still so caught up in her that the pair of them went tumbling to the living-room floor.

Matty felt as though all the air in his lungs had been kicked from his chest once the world had stopped spinning and finally righted itself. He realised all too quickly what had happened, a heap of hair splayed over his face as he spluttered.

“Fuck.” He managed to drag out, forcing a huffy laugh from his chest.

He watched on as she struggled for a second, him having cushioned her fall, and she pushed up onto her palms so that she could glare down at him, not entirely unhappy. Matty snorted and raised his arms in defence.

“Don’t blame me.”

If it was at all possible, her eyes cut sharper. “The fuck I won’t! Why’d you start tickling me?”

“Because you never know when to shut up!” Matty laughed, wheezing a little as he did and bending a knee so that he could plant one foot firmly on the floor, his hand rested on his chest.

She just rolled her eyes though as she battled to sit up, spine curving once she had. Matty reached out to trail the length of it, pulse jumping at the shiver he watched run through her.

“How’d we even go from you being such a sap to us on the floor?” Mouse huffed, reaching up to grab at a throw that had been resting on the nearby armchair. Matty watched through a lazy gaze as she bundled it into an oddly shaped ball of sorts before turning back to him. “Fucking all sticky now too.”

He smiled stupidly, folding his hands behind his head, unashamed as he was, to better protect it from the hardwood floors.

She stood with a roll of her eyes, on unsteady legs mind– something Matty felt all too pleased with– and caught sight of his smirk, and before he could even see it coming the bundled blanket was being thrown at his head. He yelped girlishly and floundered to shield himself from it but it still managed to catch the side of his face with just enough force.

He listened to her hearty laugh as he tossed the thing back at her legs, frowning when it missed and her footsteps began to trail away. “Oi, where do you think you’re goin’?”

“To shower!” She called out from over her shoulder just before she could disappear through the doorway, “Again!”

Matty huffed a small snicker to himself and resorted to simply staring up at the ceiling whilst he waited, but before he could get too comfortable there she was calling out to him again.

“So you coming or what, Healy?”

And fuck if that didn’t have him scrambling up off of the floor to join her. He smiled when she merely laughed at the eager sight of him rounding the hallway and he found himself wondering how the fuck he’d managed this as she turned on the tap and pulled him under the water with her.

He must’ve seemed a little out of it though because she was tilting her head at him when he peered over at her, her hands at his hips. “You good?”

Matty hummed quietly, dipping his head to kiss her once more because he could. “Yeah, just happy.”

And wasn’t that a thought. Him happy.

Mouse grinned at him, eyes lighting up with it as he stepped on closer. Her hold tightened, “Me too.”

Me too.

72 notes · View notes

moongreenlight · 7 months

Text

Insane reader my beloved. Literally my babygirl.

@katz-chow been ruminating on this one just for you <3

CW: Gore and violence

Reader who shows up late to their first meeting with the task force. Rolls up in their dark sedan with blacked-out windows and one too many dents on the front bumper wearing civvies instead of the uniform they were given and instructed to wear.

Reader who is a privately hired detective with a talent for interrogations. Not officially a member of the task force or the military because the tactics they use are far less than legal. More a secret weapon on retainer for when doing things by the book doesn’t do the trick.

Reader who gets on the good sides of the task force boys by being sugary sweet and barely hiding their true colors. Skins and bleaches the skulls of interrogations gone South and gives them to Ghost insisting they’re better than the costume store shit he’s got on now.

Gifts Price expensive cigars tucked between the fingers of a severed hand. Drops them off in large pink boxes with delicate ribbons and giggles when he asks a thousand questions about why and how and what the fuck he was supposed to do with this.

Tosses Gaz new knives on the field when they’ve landed a kill or just wrenched them out of someone’s stomach. They make a game out of chucking the gore-slicked blades at one another’s heads to see if they can dodge in time.

Starts playing dodgeball with Soap where they toss his less-stable bombs and unpinned grenades back and forth. Only stops after they’ve accidentally blown up the camp two missions in a row. (Also heavily rumored they have tramp stamps of each other’s names because they’re both too stubborn to back down from a dare but that’s just for vibes)

Reader who gets flown out on specialty missions where a hostage really refuses to talk and takes matters into their own hands. Sometimes hopping on radio when they’re in transit and requesting the force pulls extra men so they can play a live game of operation. They’ve been watching videos on the dark web and the first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy from their military issued laptop so it’s like an 80% chance all the hostages live.

Reader who stops being allowed to train rookies because the first and only faux-deployment they led they told the group they ran out of rations three days in to a two week long training and they had to play rock-paper-scissors to create a bracket of people to eat first. The mission gets called early when Price gets word that there was actually a field amputation done. Reader doesn’t even apologize, just laughs their way through a barely reasonable explanation. I didn’t think they’d actually do it.

Reader who begs the boys to let them play kill, kiss, marry, kill in the middle of a boring interrogation and when they get told no or to focus on the task at hand, they throw such a fit that they end up sending a screwdriver through the eye of the person they’re supposed to be interrogating.

Reader who brings their own kit to interrogations. Lugs around pincers, rusted blades, rotary bone saws, and dull axes in a flamingo pink toolbox. Sets it up on a small table in front of the hostage and unboxes it like an influencer showing off PR.

Reader who also stops being able to run conditioning and drills with rookies because they pitted the privates against one another during a sparring session. Saying something about whoever could sheath a blade in the other first got a bonus check before tossing a few knives on the mat and walking away. Gaz had to run over and tell them you weren’t serious when he saw blood.

Reader who insists on being able to puppeteer the decapitated head of an enemy grunt they took down and reciting a few lines of Shakespeare to the boys. Dragging the mission out because they know as well as the boys do that everyone is on their timeline.

Reader who dances around hostages that have been zip tied to chairs and beat within an inch of their life. Singsonging threats and having the boys drag the limp bodies of their chain of command across the floor.

Reader who pouts when their victims pass out during questioning after a few of their fingers have been chopped off with a butcher’s knife. Huffs like they’re being put through a massive inconvenience and fishes smelling salts out of their toolkit to wake the poor sap back up.

#gn!reader but soooooooooo babygirl ykwim?#cod mw2 #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble

325 notes · View notes

lvsifer · 2 months

Text

Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha has to deal with his new position.

tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content (in the later chapters), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, feyd-rauther is his usual little freak self, will include mentions of noncon later on

Read all under the cut:

Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha does not bleed out in front of the emperor and the terrorist’s household, his Fremen filth and whore mother. Instead, Feyd-Rautha dreams of death on the dirty floor of a prison cell.

Blood rusts over his mouth, dries to flakes before his body hits the stone, and Feyd-Rautha tongues at it as his hands try to staunch the bleeding of his wounds. He presses where Paul Muad’Dib Atreides has pushed inside him with his blade, hot from the desert air, a pleasure so close to pain or pain so close to pleasure, Feyd-Rautha cannot name the difference.

He writhes now where he lays in a silence more shameful than defeat. All his life he has fantasised of dying in battle, perhaps in the arena, broken by a stronger hand with the rush of fighting still hot in his blood and the screams of the masses in his ears. Triumphant. Foolish of him. Such wishes come to nothing. This is one lesson the Baron could not teach him, not while he had held Feyd-Rautha under the monstrous wing of his tutelage. Sheltered is what he had been, he realises as flies start to buzz around him, landing on his opened flesh. He swats them away, but they circle him as merciless as any blood-drinking desert bird. No, he rots as any piece of meat left under Arrakis’ pitiless sun.

But he will not die. Or have they thrown him into this cell to find an ignominious end and shame the house of Harkonnen? But what advantage would that bring? Half-delirious, Feyd-Rautha shoves a swath of his leather pteruges over his wounds and pulls it tight against his opened skin to shield it from the flies and what eggs they might burrow into his flesh. A shaky exhale flees his lips as he tries to slow his breathing. What would Uncle say if he saw him like this, disgraced and defeated? Would he have fallen from the favour he clawed his way into? Then again, Uncle is dead. Slaughtered like a pig. The memory stirs Feyd-Rautha’s blood and he moans through his teeth.

The door opens. Feyd-Rautha looks at the upside-down figures, dark-robed, Suk-braids over their left shoulders, a man kneels down beside him, painted lips, cold eyes, and a finger presses into Feyd-Rautha’s mouth with a salve so bitter and tingling he forgets all else for a moment.

Then darkness sears his eyes shut.

When next Feyd-Rautha wakes, it’s in an airy room. Black night outside. Translucent white curtains billow and desert wind scatters fine dust over the luxurious trappings of the room: a massive wooden table shining with polish, jewels set into silverware, finely wrought tapestries depicting one of the Arrakeen beasts, a sandworm—

A figure moves from between the curtains, a slow, irregular step. The tall and lean silhouette of the would-be emperor. Feyd-Rautha feels for his wounds, bandaged, then tests his muscles and grits his teeth as pain shoots through him so incandescent he sees lights behind his lids.

“Cousin,” Paul Atreides says in his slow, dragging voice, a voice that holds witch-power as they all heard when Muad’Dib silenced Shaddam’s Truthsayer.

Feyd-Rautha groans as he tries to sit up.

Paul watches his efforts from above with cold blue-within-blue eyes. Eyes that are not his own, it seems, eyes that shimmer with a strangeness that makes Feyd-Rautha shiver.

Paul slinks closer, desert-creature, false prophet, predator. Killer. Except, of course, Feyd-Rautha is alive and by his wish. Or has he died in that filthy cell?

“You recover well,” Paul says. “But I will need you to heal faster.”

Feyd-Rautha sits up with all his strength, feels one of the stab-wounds’ stitches rip. Blood blooms through the white bandages on his torso. Paul tuts. Then Paul is beside him and pushes him back down, efficient, his hands warm on Feyd-Rautha’s skin, black dusty curls brushing his cheek, and Feyd-Rautha breathes him in, spice and desert and a hint of the acrid stench of stillsuits, and beneath it something boyish and honied. Feyd-Rautha wants to sink his teeth into it, tear him apart.

“Why?” Feyd-Rautha rasps. “Why didn’t you kill—”

“I don’t waste my resources,” Paul says.

The Atreides lets go of him as though he’s handled some unruly hound.

“Resources…?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harkonnen,” Paul says evenly, and after a moment’s hesitation he sits on the mattress beside Feyd-Rautha. The oddness of it strikes him, no-one has ever sat beside his sick-bed, certainly not Uncle, nor maid or doctor. He would have killed any who’d have tried. He looks for a weapon now. His eyes sink to the crysknife at Paul’s hip. Iron tang of blood in his mouth.

“Try it,” Paul says, steel in his voice that he’d already shown when confronting the emperor. Power too, the fierceness of a demigod.

“I just might,” Feyd-Rautha says and finds Paul’s gaze, grins, “Make you kill me after all, cousin.” He bares his black teeth, “All this for nothing.”

And Feyd-Rautha spits his blood into Paul’s face. Paul does not flinch. His blue-within-blue eyes seem to burn in the glint of the glowglobes. He’s beautiful like that, with his blood on his face, and it hits Feyd-Rautha unexpectedly. Time stills around them. Breath does not come easily as he inhales.

“I rule you now,” Paul whispers, dips two fingers into the blood on his cheek and sucks it off his fingers, “Your water is mine.”

A shiver runs down Feyd-Rautha’s spine, humiliation and with it the hook of desire low in his stomach. If Paul notices what it does to him, he does not show it.

“What do you want of me?” Feyd-Rautha curls his fists in the bedding.

“You’ll know soon enough, Baron,” Paul says and stands. “Heal quickly.”

With that, he leaves.

The rush of wind and sand fills the room. The grating of it, abrading all it touches. Feyd-Rautha bites his lip, breathes in deeply until all scent of the boy-prophet has gone and cold darkness envelops him whole.

This planet holds nothing but strangers now. The only family Feyd-Rautha has left is Paul Atreides.

#feydpaul #paulfeyd #paul x feyd #paul atreides x feyd rautha #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #paul muad'dib #dune #dune 2 #dune fic #dune smut #dune fanfiction #paulfeyd fic #feydpaul fic #writing the sin #literally just wrote this in a fit of madness

56 notes · View notes

that-foul-legacy-lover · 6 months

Note

Hello, I'm new here! Was checking out your blog after seeing the melusine foul legacy post.

So... If it ain't a problem; Any melusine foul legacy headcanons?

Take your time!

Have a nice day :)

YES ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE THOSE LITTLE GUYS SO MUCH THEY'RE SO SWEET

~ * ~ Melusine Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy x Reader (Platonic) Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Mentions of the ocean

~ * ~

-He’s just… a lil guy… lil Abyss sea slug creature… -(I know all Melusines are female but you know what I make the rules here) -Legacy’s a bit peculiar, even to his sisters- apart from identifying as male, his body is also more monstrous and off-putting than the other Melusines -He’s still absolutely adorable, just a liiiiittle less soft and a bit more armored, all purple and red and midnight black -Slightly taller than his sisters, and has a pair of horns instead of antennae -You know the little wings some Melusines have? His are glittery and translucent, shaped like moth’s wings -Still has mitten hands though and they’re the bane of his existence, since they make everything so difficult to hold -Can speak, but also tends to intersperse his words with trilling and chirp-like sounds -Foul Legacy lives in Merusea Village, specifically in a small alcove in the underwater part, away from the other Melusines -He has an odd and intense interest in fighting and battle, which is actually fitting because his special token is an old, rusted blade that was lodged in Elynas’ body -You meet him when he dares venture above ground so he can get the sword cleaned and repaired, shooing away some people who were trying to scam him and offering to take him to Beaumont Workshop instead, where you happen to work -Your boss Estelle is quite amused when you walk into work with a Melusine at your side, sheepishly explaining that you got held up by some ruffians. Foul Legacy hides behind you until you explain that Estelle is your friend, to which he slowly nods, handing you the blade -He stares as you work, polishing and sharpening his most prized possession until it practically gleams, chittering in awe when you finally hold it up, complete

-Legacy thanks you profusely when you hand him the cleaned blade, looking as if it hasn’t aged a day. He cradles it carefully, doing his very best to not drop it as he sticks out a mitten-like hand to shake- he heard from his sisters that humans consider a handshake to be polite!- and he beams when you take his hand and give it a firm but gentle shake -He abruptly asks you to come visit him in Merusea Village, maybe so you can teach him how to use his sword, but unfortunately your lack of a Vision means you can’t breathe in Fontaine’s waters :( -But that’s okay- he’ll just visit you instead! He insists on it, in fact. You’re his first human friend (his first friend in general, actually) and he’s fascinated by your behavior and talents involving weaponry -You really weren’t expecting much when you gave this odd, star-speckled Melusine your address, telling him to be careful as he ran off back to Elynas, his precious sword held high over his head. But there’s a soft knock on your door a few days later, and when you open it there Foul Legacy stands, proudly clutching his blade with his mitten hands -Your friendship quickly blossoms from there as you teach him how to properly wield a weapon and show him around the Court of Fontaine. Legacy is extremely eager to learn and is very curious about the world above the ground, and he often tells you about life in Merusea Village in return -He brings you various components he finds to ask you what they do- they help power those large metal creatures patrolling the city? What’re they called? Are they friendly or rude? Why do you need them in the first place? -You also get to meet some of his sisters! You’ve seen them walking around the Court before but never really had a chance to interact with them, and almost every time without fail they’ll tell Legacy to stay out of trouble and not get into any tussles, while simultaneously thanking you for befriending their brother

-Foul Legacy is a little lonely, really. He doesn’t feel particularly at home with the other Melusines, especially since his appearance and demeanor are so different, so he’s very grateful for your company -He does still live in Merusea but makes it a habit to come up and wander around the city in search of you, and if he spots you going about doing your daily chores, he’ll follow you until you notice him- Estelle often teases you about having a little Melusine shadow (he absolutely lights up when you do notice him and runs over to hug you) -Yes, he does have a tail, and yes, it does wag back and forth when he’s happy -Would die for headpats -You teach him to use various types of weapons- bows are still his weak point almost entirely due to his mitten-paw-hand things. But Legacy is one determined sea slug, so somehow he makes it work (you don’t know how, it baffles and impresses you at the same time) -He swears that he’ll protect you from anyone or anything that tries to hurt you. Not that he doesn’t think you can’t defend yourself! He just likes the feeling of camaraderie and like he’s making a difference in someone’s life -Occasionally Foul Legacy will draw you sketches of what Merusea Village looks like, pointing out where his house is in particular. If you ever happen to be blessed with a Vision he’ll immediately ask if you’d like to see his home, happily swinging your hand and skipping towards the ocean if you say yes -Overall he’s a little strange for a Melusine, but is still very friendly and an excellent companion. Good sea slug Legacy :)

88 notes · View notes

pasukiyo · 11 months

Text

OH MY, WE REALLY WERE TIMELESS

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!reader word count: 3743 words warnings: fluff summary: down the block there's an antique shop and something in your head said stop, so you walked in... note from author: fun fact, i went to denver night 1 for eras tour and this was my surprise song after listening to it nonstop the week leading up to my show... i had literally talked about how much i fell in love with this song and how it was my song the day before my show and the fact that taylor performed it proves it's my song!! so of course, i had to write about it...

“You got me sushi for lunch? You spoil me too much.”

She chuckled as she rested her phone between her ear and shoulder, opening the door to the local sushi place with her hand not holding the plastic bag. “It was more for me than you,” she replied, taking her phone back in her hand as she made her way back to her car.

“You know, you can just admit that you love me, it’s alright,” Bradley said into the receiver, and she rolled her eyes as she unlocked her car, swinging the door open to toss the takeout bag into the passenger’s seat. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t be wearing your ring if I didn’t, right?” She tittered, climbing into the driver’s seat, her phone once again pressed between her cheek and shoulder as she started the engine.

“Yeah,” Bradley sighed. “That, and you wouldn’t have let me fuck your brains out like last night.”

Her cheeks burned at the memory as she placed her phone down, letting the call connect to the Bluetooth instead, her lips curling into a smile. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Mr Bradshaw?”

Bradley’s laughter permeated the car as she backed out of her parking space, “no I cannot, Mrs Bradshaw.”

She chuckled as she drove down the street, stopping at a red light and propping her elbow against the car door, her fingers on her lips. “So are you on your way now?” Bradley asked, and she hummed in reply.

“Yeah. I’m just now leav—“

Her words caught in her throat when her eyes set upon a building down the block, gaze locked on the old, rusted sign that read ‘ANTIQUES.’ The silence was filled with Bradley’s voice, “babe? Hellloooooo? Still there?”

She blinked when the car behind her honked their horn and she realized the light had turned green, her fingers tightening their feel on the steering wheel. Her heart pounded on her chest, unable to shake the voice in her head telling her to stop.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she turned, parking in front of the old antique shop, sighing as she shifted the car into park.

“Hellooooo? Mrs Bradshaw? My wife? Love of my life?”

“Um… I’ll be there soon there’s just… there’s just something I need to do really quick,” she finally replied, reaching for her purse.

“Oooookay… see you soon?” Bradley said, audibly confused.

“Mhm, yeah,” she replied, turning the engine off and bringing her phone back to her ear as she climbed out of the car. “See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too…”

The call ended as she pulled the door open to the shop, the smell of old books, dust, and wood polish wafting to her nostrils, her shoulders heaving when she sighed. The older woman at the counter looked up from her book, her eyes crinkling when she smiled and waved. Giving a small smile in return, she waved back, her eyes settling on a sign on the counter, a cardboard box just below.

‘PHOTOS……….25 CENTS EACH’

Looking away from the older woman, she stepped closer to the cardboard box, the smell of musty old paper filling her nostrils but she didn’t grimace or cringe away. She pushed her phone inside her purse and began to sift through the photos, a lump forming at her throat as she eyed the different black and white photographs.

There was one of a bride, the date on the back reading 1933. Another of two lovers, their faces lit up in smiles as they sat on their front porch, the back captioned ‘July 1962. Our first house!’

Her lips curled into a soft smile, her fingertips ghosting over the pale faces of the two lovers, their hands laced together over the arms of their chairs.

Her heart skipped a couple of beats and she breathed a chuckle, thinking back to when she and Bradley officially moved into their first house together. It was mid-July, the San Diego heat was unforgiving and by lunch, the two of them were drenched in sweat, panting from the amount of moving furniture they had been doing.

They had finally settled on a place to set down the couch, muscles aching as they plopped down side by side on the cushions, fluttering their eyes closed as they caught their breaths.

“You should’ve just let Jake and Javy come help,” she panted, rolling her neck to turn and face him. Bradley grumbled as he pressed his lips together, rolling his neck on the back cushions and squeezing his eyelids shut tighter. “Absolutely not. There is no way I’m letting Hangman into the house,” Bradley shook his head and she rolled her eyes. “We still could’ve used the help. And they offered.”

Bradley peeled a single eyelid open and cocked an eyebrow to his hairline, “what do you mean? We’re doing great,” he replied, shifting his weight. She rolled her eyes as she glanced down to his sweat-stained gray tank top, laughing as she gave his belly a few pats.

“Sure big guy, I just love being absolutely drenched in sweat and not being able to feel my arms. Or legs for that matter,” she sighed, giggling when he caught her wrist, tugging her closer into him. “Yeah, I know you do,” he grinned. “Just like last night, right?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, she rolled her fingers into her palm to form a fist and knocked him on the shoulder, causing him to laugh and tug her down into the cushions with him by the wrist. She couldn’t help but break her glare and laugh as he pulled her weight on top of him, his hand curling around the back of her head, the other gripping her hip through her shorts.

“Jesus, you just can’t help yourself, can you Bradshaw?”

Bradley smirked and leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss to her lips, his mustache tickling the skin just below her nose.

“No I cannot, future Mrs Bradshaw.”

She chuckled to herself as she set the photograph back down on top of the pile of Polaroids, sifting through the old, feeble paper before another photograph caught her eye, and she had to stop and smile. This one was of a teenage couple standing in the driveway, leaning against the hood of a car in their finest clothes. Their hands were locked together, the girl’s head on the boy’s shoulder, each giving the camera a bright smile. On the bottom of the photograph was a date written in black ink: ‘April 1958. Prom.’

A lump formed at the base of her throat at the memory the photograph brought back, the first time she ever saw Bradley. Girl’s night had decided to move to the small, seaside bar that was the Hard Deck, the sky was void of blue, small flecks of white littering its dark canvas instead. It was a quarter past eleven by the time she and her friend had stumbled in, but you’d never guess it was nearing midnight with how crowded and lively the place was.

Her friend had taken her by the hand to lead her towards the bar, dropping it when they arrived and leaving her to wrap her arms around herself instead. Her eyes wandered among the sea of people surrounding her, she was never one for crowds— and they were pretty much shoulder to shoulder with everyone in this little bar.

She glanced back to where her friend was in front of her, blinking when she realized her friend had completely forgotten about her, choosing to sidle up to a man with dark, buzzed hair instead. Her face fell at this and she threw her arms to her sides, a furrow in her brow.

So much for girl’s night.

She scanned the bar and the other surrounding tables for any free seats, unfortunately coming to no avail. Her chest heaved when she huffed, running her fingers through the hair atop her head as she swung her head back around, fully intending to call out her friend for leaving her alone.

That was, until she stopped, her gaze landing on someone entirely new instead.

Suddenly, the bar didn’t seem so lively or crowded, nor did the noise seem to drill a hole from her ears into her skull. All at once, the crowd seemed to slow, and so did time as her eyes locked onto a pair of hazel eyes across the room, her limbs locking in place.

It was a man in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, exposing the white tank he had on underneath, a pair of aviators hanging off the neckline and teasing a sliver of the skin of his chest. There was a mustache above his lip that on anyone else, she’d have scrunched her nose at but on him… it was just perfect. He was perfect.

And he was staring right back at her.

And then he was coming closer.

All she could do was stand there and wait, feeling color burn her cheeks with each step he took closer, feeling as if she’d burst into flames when he approached, his fingers wrapped around a bottle of beer. His lips were full and pink and shiny with a mixture of saliva and beer, and when he swiped his tongue between them before murmuring a “hello,” his deep, rich hazel irises studying every feature of her face, she knew she was done for.

“Hi,” she replied breathlessly, her chest heaving with a breathy laugh. The man looked around, a furrow in his brow, “you didn’t come with anyone, did you?” He asked and she giggled again, eyeing the ground and shaking her head. “No, uh… my friend over there ditched me,” she said, gesturing to where her friend sat with the man in a Navy uniform at the bar. He turned to gaze at where they sat, the corner of his lips quirking when he tittered. “Coyote,” he mumbled beneath his breath before turning to face her once again. “Thank God. So there’s no one I have to worry about? No boyfriend, husband?”

She cocked an eyebrow at this, trying to suppress her grin. “Are you making a move on me, aviator?” She eyed the aviators still dangling off the neck of his shirt. He followed her gaze, breathing a laugh, “would you turn me down if I was?”

He seemed closer now. Normally, she’d shy away. But already with him, she didn’t think being this close was such a bad thing.

“I don’t know. You got game?” She asked, looking up at him, their eyes surging into one another’s. The man grinned, “oh, I got game.”

They spent the majority of the night sidled up together in the corner of the building, able to snatch a table away from everyone else and most importantly, away from his fellow aviator friends. He told her his name— it was Bradley— and they talked for hours upon end about anything and everything and she was practically spilling her entire soul for a man she had met mere hours ago but somehow, it just felt so right.

Before either of them knew it, the noise in the bar seemed to die down as the crowd began to slowly but surely spill away— neither her friend nor this Coyote Bradley spoke of in sight. By one in the morning, it was only them and a few other drunks downing as many beers as they could physically handle at the bar. Soft music played through the speakers, her eyelids growing heavy but still, she didn’t want to leave. If she could stay here in this bar with Bradley forever, she absolutely would.

“Are you alright?” Bradley finally asked, noting her heavy eyelids, “want to call it a night?” She smiled, rolling her straw around her drink, shaking her head. “No,” she admitted, kicking her shoes against his. He humored her and gave her foot a playful nudge back, tilting his head up to the ceiling, humming. She cocked an eyebrow at this, “what?”

Bradley glanced back down at her and grinned, “I love this song.”

She paused to take a moment and listen to the song, smooth jazz and soft lyrics permeating the nearly empty Hard Deck. She pointed towards the ceiling, “Chet?”

Bradley’s grin widened, “Baker.”

It was then that Bradley rose from his seat, downing the last droplets of beer left in his bottle before setting it back down on the table, outstretching a hand towards her. She eyed his hand curiously before glancing back up at him and his stupidly handsome smile and his stupidly handsome mustache.

“What are you doing?” She questioned, prompting him to shake his hand around, gesturing for her to take it. “Come on, the dance floor is all ours.”

She could feel the scarlet creeping to her cheeks at this and she shook her head, gazing down at her fingers where they cuddled with one another on the top of the table. “I don’t dance,” she replied, to which Bradley groaned and rolled his eyes, snatching her hand with his anyway. “Bradley!” She shrieked as he hoisted her out of her seat, dragging her towards the open floor.

“Come on, all you have to do is follow my lead.”

She whined as he pulled her into his chest, her muscles stiff when he slithered a hand around her waist to rest on the small of her back, encasing her hand with his free one. Her heart was pounding and she was so sure he could feel it against his chest, only adding to the heat pooling in her cheeks.

“Your hearts pounding,” he noted as he began to sway them back and forth gently to the music, and she scowled, glaring up at him. “Thanks, I hardly notice,” she replied, sarcasm lacing every syllable but still, she couldn’t help but laugh, feeling herself becoming more and more relaxed. Bradley joined along, gently pressing her in closer to his chest, letting her rest the side of her head just above his heartbeat.

“Yours is too,” she said in hardly a whisper, but Bradley breathed a chuckle. “It’s because you’re so good at dancing,” he remarked and she rolled her eyes. “Please, this is hardly dancing,” she tittered and Bradley pulled away just enough to catch her gaze, his pools of hazel spilling into her own.

She thought her heart skipped a couple of beats.

“Well whatever is it, I think I’d like to do more of it,” he said. “With you, of course.”

Her vision was glossy and wet with tears now and she sniffed as she dropped the picture back in the box, backing away from the counter to glimpse around the old shop. There was a dark, dusty bookcase in the corner, books scattered about its shelves and the overwhelming smell of old paper and cedarwood made her scratch her nose. Her eyes lined the spines of the books, looking for any stories she recognized.

That was when she came upon a book covered in cobwebs, the spine reading ‘ROMEO AND JULIET’ in bold, faded gold letters. She sniffed again as she recounted the old tale, a story of a romance torn apart by fate. It was strange, the way the tragedy made her feel now.

She couldn’t help but let her mind wander, couldn’t help but put herself and Bradley in Romeo and Juliet’s shoes. It was silly– so ridiculous– for her to think this way, to think that even in the 1500s off in a foreign, even if she were forced to marry another man, that she would still find her way to Bradley.

She could feel a tear drip down her cheek and she blinked the blurriness away from her vision as best she could, wiping her face as she backed away from the bookshelf, her arms wrapped around herself. And when the haziness was gone from her vision, her eyes caught on a framed photo on the wall, a man in a uniform and his wife embracing in the midst of a crowded street. She blinked down to the year written on the bottom of the frame, 1944.

Her heart was bursting at its seams– never up until this point had she come to realize just the extent of her love for Bradley. She wasn’t sure what it was about this old antique shop that made her feel so connected to Bradley, as if there were a thread of fate tying them together. But somehow she knew– she knew in her mind, heart, and soul– that they were supposed to find this. Each other. She knew that even in a different life– whether that’d be in a crowded street in 1944, a quiet neighborhood in July of 1962, a school dance in 1958, or in a foreign land in the 1500s– he still would’ve been hers, and they would’ve been timeless.

She wanted him to be her past, present, and future. She wanted to love him even when their hair turned gray, and she wanted to have a cardboard box full of photos of the life they made just like the one on the counter. She wanted to sit on the front porch with him some day in the future with their grandchildren playing around in the yard, holding hands as they went through photographs they’d taken throughout the years, and Bradley would say “oh my, we really were timeless.” And somehow, she knew that was their future. It was almost as if she could reach out and feel it.

She sniffed again and reached back into her purse to fish out her phone, gazing down at the photo of her and Bradley on their honeymoon she had saved as her home screen wallpaper. She took a few moments to simply stare at the picture, to reminisce on the memory before unlocking her device, finding the phone app and pressing on Bradley’s contact.

“Hello?” Bradley said into the receiver as she turned, walking past the counter to reach the exit. When she rested her hand on the door handle, however, she turned to look at the older woman behind the counter to find that she was already staring back.

The woman smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Babe? Are you there?” Bradley asked again and she turned, pushing open the exit door. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’m here,” she replied as she made her way to her car, tugging open the door and slipping inside. “Thank God. Thought I was a booty call for a second there,” he chuckled and she scowled, tossing her purse into the passenger’s seat beside their lunch.

“Please don’t say booty,” she sighed as she started the car engine, connecting the call back to the Bluetooth. Bradley’s laugh permeated her car, “I want to see your booty. When are you bringing me my lunch?” He whined and her lips curved into a smile, dropping her forehead against the top of the steering wheel and shaking her head.

“I’m on my way now,” she chuckled, buckling in her seat belt and taking one last look up at the old, rusted antique shop sign. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, you better hurry. But don’t hurry too much. Can’t pay another goddamn ticket.”

“Yeah, and whose fault was that?” She tittered as she back out of her parking spot, making her way down the street towards the Naval base. “Let’s not turn this into an interrogation now,” Bradley replied. “Anyways, I’ll see you soon?”

She smiled, “yeah. I love you.”

“Love ya too, darlin. Can’t wait to see your boot–”

She rolled her eyes as she ended the call before he could finish his sentence, her heart still pounding against her chest, every feeling she felt in the antique shop still weighing heavy in her chest. Before she even knew it, she was pulling into the Naval base, ID in hand. At last, she had made it to base, taking the takeout bag and her purse with her as she exited her car, a lump forming at the base of her throat.

She made her routine walk through security and down the hallways before she finally reached the lounge she’d always meet Bradley in and when she pushed open the door, there he was, sitting at a table near the back, watching the sports highlights playing on the television. Jake and Javy were there too, as well as a few other aviators she hadn’t seen much of too.

“Mrs. Bradshaw in the flesh!” Jake exclaimed when he caught her eye from the other side of the room and she watched as Bradley’s head shot up, his lips curving into that stupidly handsome grin of his. “You got Rooster sushi?” Javy gaped as she walked by, setting the bag of takeout on the table in front of Bradley as he stood, cupping her face in either of his hands to give her a peck on the lips. “When was the last time anyone’s ever brought us sushi, Hangman?”

She chuckled as she settled herself down into her seat, wringing her hands together as Bradley rolled his eyes at them. “One of the benefits of having the best wife in the world,” he shrugged before settling himself down in his own seat across from her, tearing open the plastic bag to fish out the carry-out boxes.

“God, you really do spoil me too much, babe. Gonna have to train extra hard after you treat me like this,” he practically moaned at the sight of his favorite roll when he opened the styrofoam box, but all she could focus on was him. She could feel the familiar sting of tears burning the outskirts of her eyes, her chest burning with the same thing she felt in the antique shop.

Bradley must’ve sensed there was something different in her, for after he stuffed his cheeks full of sushi, he glanced up at her, furrowing his brows at her tear-filled expression.

“Ish somefing wrong?” He asked through his mouthful and her chest heaved with a laugh, shaking her head and wiping at the tears lining her eyelids. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she tittered, reaching for his hand where is rested beside his takeout box. He let her fingers slip between his, although still bewildered as he looked up at her. “Then what is it?” He questioned, and all she could think to do was smile.

“I’m just… I’m just really glad we found each other.”

a/n; so yeah... in conclusion, timeless is my song!

TAGLIST

@oliviajdjarin

#bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #miles teller #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #rooster top gun #top gun #Spotify

296 notes · View notes

mintawasalreadytaken · 8 months

Note

i saw in ur pinned post that ur into horror & am curious if you’ve extended that into fics at all? do you have recommendations?

i recently got SLIGHTLY into drarry + horror-ish vibes in fics and only read a few but i fell in LOVE with “Yours Is The Earth (Hold On, Hold On)” by chickenlivesinpumpkin - and it was like just the right amount of fucked up & just the right amount of like ‘holy shit??? DAMN’ with normal drarry in it.

was wondering if u had any similiar spooky time recs for drarry fics- maybe??

(‘: thank u so much ( ur works are so large they scare me a bit but i’ve bookmarked them for a less coward me in the future )

🦇 SPOOKY DRARRY RECS! 👹

hullo and THANK YOU for this rec! i am dearly thankful to get 100k+ of deliciously dark writing to sink into!

unfortunately, while i know i've read some really great drarry horror, it's lost to my AO3 history instead of bookmarked, so i'll be damned if i could remember or find any of it ☠️ my bad.

instead, i asked some fandom buds for their spooky drarry favs. in no particular order, here they are:

🔪 cruel blade by @wheezykat

Drowning in his grief after the murder of his husband, Draco will do anything to bring him back.

But this is not Harry. This is something else entirely.

🧠 mastermind by @schmem14

Draco Malfoy has been with Hermione Granger, is currently dating Harry Potter, and he's determined to have Ron Weasley at any cost. He has to complete his set of three, after all…

🌊 saltwater stain by @the-starryknight

Seven days stuck on a boat investigating a rogue ghost wouldn't be so bad if Harry didn't want Draco so much. Draco has his rules and Harry's content to follow them, but the air feels different away from the shore. Is it possible that the sea could offer Harry something impossible on land?

📚 i demand a soft epilogue by @the-starryknight

James didn't arrive on the Hogwarts Express, and so Harry hasn't slept in a week. Something has brought him back to the stoop outside a building marked "Library" in gold letters. He's going to go inside. Maybe the Librarian can help.

🩸 in our blood by @secretsalex-blog

Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job—cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

🎃 the other cottage by @corvuscrowned If Pansy wasn’t shagging Ginny Weasley, Draco would never have been dragged to Luna’s ridiculous Halloween party in the first place - meaning he wouldn't be sitting in the corner of the room with Harry Potter all night.

But when a strange comet passes overhead, things start to get even weirder than usual.

As the night unfolds, Harry and Draco are forced to grapple with strange realities, reckon with new sides of themselves, and find their way back before the comet finishes crossing the sky.

👻 on the last day by @thusspoketrish

Draco is still mourning the recent loss of his mother when the Wizarding World is struck with the tragic news of Harry Potter’s untimely death. It’s just his luck that Potter not only comes back as a ghost, but seems intent on haunting Draco as he’s the only one that can see him. It’s a race against time to retrace the last few days of Potter’s life in order to find his body before he’s lost to the living or spiritual realm forever. On their journey, they’ll uncover secrets, betrayals, and a horrific truth that will disrupt both the living and the dead.

🏚️ the manor by @kittycargo

There was something wrong with the Manor.

✨bonus points / non-Drarry✨

🐓 tidewracked, sidetracked by @vukovich (Luna/Theo)

A Cursed professor. An attractive Cursebreaker. A hut that grew chicken legs and rampaged around Hogwarts.

☁️ flour & flesh by anon (Pansy/Hermione) The cottage on the hill is shrouded in clouds like a secret. Our secret. In some muggle neighborhood lore, I’m sure we’re the witches inside, granting a glimpse of the future in exchange for a rusted penny. And no one else could find us unless they knew the way.

i'll shamelessly self-rec my whumptober collection and this erotic body horror fic replete with puns for you to sample as well.

do you have a fav spooky drarry fic to share? leave your recs in the comments/links in a reblog!

thx to @prolix- @kittycargo @the-starryknight @fictional @schmem14 @nv-md @citrusses @vukovich & @kittycargo for the recs xo

#drarry #drarry horror #dead dove #spooky drarry #have a wonderful halloween

86 notes · View notes

avrilsboy · 3 months

Note

What were your thoughts on the ending of True Detective/ the season as a whole?

i went in expecting to be primarily focused on rust because quite literally all of the true detective content that comes across my dash is rust-focused, but i instead watched the whole season squinting at marty lol....

in general i really liked how the minutia of the case played on both of them wrt their moral landscapes and family history. in a case where there is intense and more or less state-sanctioned harm against women and children, the focus naturally lands on martin and rust's own children and wives, and their stances regarding authority (in the workplace, in the religious landscape, their own authority as men & police). failure and loss come for both of them, but martin never truly fails and never truly loses; when he intentionally murders a suspect, he's rewarded. when he's in the hospital at the end of the season after his brush with death, his ex-wife and his daughters who went with her are by his side. he's slotted very neatly in the very systems that bred the horrors of the case they're working and not only can't fathom a life outside of it, but never faces consequences that would lead him to believe that he has to.

rust, of course, is a storm of loss. he loses his daughter and his wife to no fault of his own. he loses his own identity for nearly a decade working undercover as crash. he loses any modicum of happiness or internally-driven purpose. he believes in little aside from seeing things to the end, even at the cost of his own well-being and sanity. this can't be misconstrued as justice, because as a cop he acts in ways that are unjust -- his departmentally-famous treatment of those in custody to get statements, his harm towards nameless people to get to the next step in their case -- and in this way he's faulted by his own ideas of "good" and "bad" no matter his own philosophies. unlike martin, he functions purely on his own authority, because following the authority of his parents, his boss, his job, God, has in turn only harmed him. even if he is a strong reflection of his own father in the end anyway, which is its own discussion about how these men fall into the very footsteps they tell themselves they're turning away from.

the ending in which martin is, at the end of it all, the only person who is willing to be there for rust, and willing to find a friend in rust despite how categorically insane he makes him -- going from "stop saying weird shit" to "talk to me, rust", remembering rust's favorite cigarettes and something he said at dinner years ago -- and rust confiding something very dark and personally painful to him, bringing it back to how the loss of his daughter utterly derailed him, the death of his father, how in the moment of his own near-death he was floating in his own personal religion and willing to die in that final bout of being surrounded only by a child's love for their father in the dark... so poignant and a really solid wrapping-up point for these two characters and their relationship with one another. what the power of nearly dying in each others arms can do to a motherfucker.

#i think being forced to become a survivalist in alaska as a young child forever radicalized rust.#ty for this ask because i forgot to write up my thoughts after finishing the season lol <3 #true detective #rust cohle #martin hart #ask

23 notes · View notes

coldshrugs · 5 months

Text

talk me down

pairing: io laithe/estinien varlineau word count: 1.8k note: this is a modern au in which io and estinien are roommates but io has been offered an orchestra chair in a city across the country; she accepts it. estinien is grumpy about it. some cursing and alcohol mentions.

There’s nothing between them—not like that anyway—so why is he bothered?

Io would be stupid not to take this opportunity. Estinien told her that much. He insisted. And when it became real, well… it was easier to be excited about an application than the acceptance.

Now it's easier to hide.

Estinien shifts his weight and the fire escape creaks, another notch in his confidence that this place is actually suitable for inhabitants. The rent is cheap and the neighbors mind their business. That's always been good enough, because Io made it home.

The sounds of her going-away party stream from the window he crawled through. He tries not to think about each second bringing tomorrow that much closer. Focuses instead on the cars a few stories below, the wail of a siren in the distance, the glittering lights and warm breeze and none of it works.

Two years in this apartment together, a few years of therapy and studying and feeling each other out before that. “Friends” doesn’t feel like the right word, but it's the word he's got. The word they use.

Tomorrow he will take her to the airport and watch her fly east, and that will be that.

“Hey,” she says, more question than greeting. Io is already halfway through the window by the time Estinien turns around. “I thought you’d be out here. Everything okay?”

Last he saw her, she and their friends were getting a little rowdy during a drinking game, making the kind of memories he isn’t ready to accept as only memories. Each time she laughs, it’s a reminder this is finite. This isn’t how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and will they even be in contact next year? Just… fuck. So he came out to the fire escape (where it’s easier to hear her if he can’t see her), a reasonable behavior any of the people inside would expect from him.

Except for Io, who knew a going-away party was not his idea from the moment she walked through the door. And she knows he’s not out here just for a smoke.

Her hair has frizzed a bit with the sheer amount of body heat in their apartment. She wears an alcohol blush and a smile that says I can leave you alone if you want. But that’s the last thing he wants so he digs deep, past his natural inclination to run away.

“Just needed some air.” He lights a cigarette and leans against the rusted metal railing. An invitation if she wants it. “You know how it is. How I am.”

Io nods, and the sobering breath she takes, the mental armor she slips on to be around him right now... it kills him. He thought he was doing a decent job of keeping his sulking to himself. Her eyes flick to his, then out at the restless city as she says, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s you.”

But she decides to ignore the eggshells for now and pulls up next to him at the railing, their backs to the noisy street below and the bright lights beyond. Shoulder pressed tight to shoulder, and there's nothing between them.

They face the worn, brown-brick building. Their home. Tucked into the corner of the fire escape, Estinien catches only blurred glimpses of the party inside, but someone (Thancred) has found his guitar and a chorus of off-key voices squeeze out of the partially open window to join them in this already public hideout.

Io hums along for a line or two, then nudges him gently. “You like this song.”

“Alberic likes this song,” he corrects.

“And you like what he likes. Albie may not be your dad, but your taste in music? Something genetic about that.”

A tiny part of him wishes she would stop. That she wouldn’t put her blowout evening on pause just to stand in the dark with him. That she’d do him the service of pretending she doesn’t know his life inside and out.

But the bigger part of him is selfish.

He nudges back. “Yeah, well, you try being impressionable and depressed at fourteen, getting dragged to Blue October and Hinder shows every month. Not my fault it stuck.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Io shrugs. “It’s not just Albie, either. I like how you pick up things from people you love.”

What does he say to that?

His responses snag on "I like how you," trying to twist it into something... Something. So he takes a long drag from his cigarette and says nothing. As they stand there, listening to their friends (badly) sing this song, leaning on each other a little heavier than before, he wonders what she thinks he’s picked up from her.

The song ends in a round of cheers and whoops that cut through this little calm. Estinien shakes his head. Maybe they should go back in. He might be more fun after a couple of shots.

Next to him, Io laughs. The sound is small and out of focus, her real laugh. It’d be lost in the noise inside, so he commits to a few more minutes on this metal deathtrap.

“What?” He passes her the cigarette and she takes it without looking.

He looks though, watching the way their fingers graze, barely, handling something small and smoldering so delicately. Watches her follow some movement from inside, her smile creeping from lips to eyes until the skin on her nose wrinkles. A strand of dark hair blows across her cheek. She raises the cigarette to her mouth, pulls in a slow breath, and his smoke rolls between her lips and into the night.

She passes it back to him, still looking inside.

“Urianger just cleared the table for a tarot reading, but Tataru picked up his spread like he dealt her a hand of poker.” She mimics holding the cards, laughing again. Looks like her buzz is back, and maybe he’s catching it too. “He looks crushed. Ugh, I'll miss this. How am I supposed to do this without you guys?”

Estinien chuckles. He takes a final draw and stubs out the finished cigarette. “They'll be lost without you and you know it. You won't be left out of anything, whether you like it or not.”

“What about you?” She turns to him, breaking the line of warmth at their sides. Replacing it with a teasing smile. “Can't wait for me to go so you can finally have some peace and quiet?”

He looks through the grates under their feet, thinking about this apartment—this city—without Io: Never finding his clothes in her laundry, no surprise takeouts when he’s home late from work, not getting absorbed into her fucking obscure dramedy binge-watches. Her quiet hope, the music she radiates even in silence. The thing that’s taking her away.

How did she come to occupy so much space in his life, burning through him, like smoke in his lungs? Their friends won't be the only ones lost without her.

“That’s not true.” His lop-sided grin feels out of place in this sea of sudden nerves. Honesty has never been a difficult thing before tonight. “I’m gonna miss you like hell. I just—” he looks at her, and now he’s the one being watched. She holds him in those big, dark eyes, and maybe there is something between them. Maybe it’s always been there, dormant, or intrinsic and now he's forced to see it for what it is. “I just worry you leaving means we won’t… be like this anymore. That you won’t miss me like I’ll miss you.”

“Estinien—”

“Io—”

“Hey,” she says. Comfort, not a greeting. She surges forward, arms around his neck and waves of puffy blue hair in his face. He feels her cheek on his neck. Her breath, warmer than the night.

The railing is a sharp pressure against his back as he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her closer. The wind moves their hair and clothes, but they stay, swaying when one repositions an arm or chin. The lights and sounds fade to nothing. There’s only this.

Estinien isn’t ready to let go when Io loosens her grip and pulls back. He hasn’t fully etched the feel of holding her this close into his memory—then there's another feeling. Io presses a kiss to his cheek, so soft he isn’t sure it’s real. She turns her eyes on him again, and his are wide with surprise.

“Estinien." Her voice is low. It shakes. "All I can think about is how I miss you already.”

She lingers, too close to the corner of his lips, arms loose around his neck. Her full weight leans against him, trusting him to hold them both upright. What the fuck is happening? He hasn’t processed her breath rushing over his mouth or her half-closed eyes when she pointedly brushes her nose against his.

He doesn’t know when he started wanting this, but good god, he does. Whether she is in the next room or two thousand miles away isn’t going to change that.

He nods. Their faces glance. There is something comforting in the way even that new touch feels natural. They hover in the almost of it all, and Estinien wonders for the first and final time what Io’s lips will feel like against his, how she tastes.

They meet, then they sink. He follows her lead, the gentle press and the beginning of a hungry rhythm. Her hand drifting from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, and he shivers at the thought of her sliding it into his hair, fingers tangled and tugging—

Glass breaks, and so does their kiss.

“Shit!” Cid’s unmistakable voice is thick and slurred.

Io bolts toward the window. “What on earth did they do?”

“Hey,” Estinien says softly. She turns back to him and when they're eye to eye, he knows she finds his meaning without the need to spell it out. She’s confused like he is, and sheepish delight brightens her expression as she waits for him. “Are we okay?”

“We’re always okay.” She climbs back into the apartment and pokes through the window again. “Now please come back inside. I don’t want to be at the party you planned if you’re not there.”

She air quotes you and planned. Estinien laughs through his nose, but even this pulls him toward her.

“Fine. Move so I can get through.”

They rejoin their friends. Tomorrow still fucking sucks. The difference is now Estinien thinks about how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and how many times he will have kissed Io by next year.

#azia writes #io/estinien #io laithe #otwr au #i truly do not know what is happening anymore but #i'm having fun #i miss writing modern stuff like. the energy i had during the wayhaven days flowed through me for this one #i'm not editing this. it's just write and post. BYE #i feel like. they're not saying or doing enough in this #but that's fine because in the story of this au that's in my head all of this means so much a;sljfdlsk

26 notes · View notes

woundlingus · 2 days

Note

Sabriel in the 70s conversation pit (my second most recent reblogged post)

In news I’m sure will horrify you as requester and everyone else who knows me for my horny niche, I actually made fluff with feelings- they get a fade to black tho so know in your heart that they fuck gross and nasty

Short sabriel fluff, misunderstandings and feelings under the cut ❤️

“Welp, this is me.”

Sam hovered just behind as Gabriel slipped a key into a lock that looked like it was just about ready to rust and fall apart, sure he was going to have to kick the door in and give the neighbours all something to call the cops about, but by some miracle the key still turned within and clicked the old thing open, sending the door creaking itself open on uneven hinges.

“Make yourself… comfortable, I guess,” Gabriel told him, hovering in the doorway as he watched a world he no longer lived in come to life with the flick of the lights.

Faded orange carpet, green walls, a fucking disco ball. Movie posters on the wall for some obscenely sexualised horror movie with the final girl splayed out in the monsters arms, and a boxy tv on one of those rounded tables.

It was seventies in a way Sam had never been old enough or rich enough to experience firsthand, his encounter with it was mostly floral wallpapers in motels, and the playboy magazine that used to be Dean’s that he’d stolen, which might have even been John’s that Dean had stolen first, which was… a lot grosser now that he was old enough to think about it.

The tables were red, the counter tops were red, the chair seats were red- none of it worked together, which in its own gauche way seemed to work. If Sam had to conjure an image of where the trickster might reside, he might very well conjure this very image. It was enough to make him want to laugh, at the predictability, at the cliche, at the almost vulgar way Gabriel had set up an apartment to look like a set he could picture tall and tan oiled men pushing over blonde babysitters in what looked like a ‘sex pit’ of a living space sunken into the floor, all to the tune of Girls On Film.

It would be very funny, if that person still existed.

This had been a home, and yet Gabriel wandered around the furniture as though he were a stranger, afraid to touch any of it too much. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a space he would have blended in just a few years ago, instead he cringed away from the performance of fun and sexuality. Despite being a man of small stature Gabriel had always taken up a lot of space with a big presence, but here among relics of things he didn’t want or need anymore he just seemed so much more impossibly small; perhaps it was the way he refused to look up from his shoes, like if he raised his head to look at the world he used to fit into he might fall apart and he’d just managed to get himself together after so long, he’d only just gotten brave enough to let Sam drive him here and open up a time capsule from a life pre-hell.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way,” he called back to Sam as he wandered around barstools to get to the kitchen. “There shouldn’t be much to pack.”

“You want me to get started anywhere in particular-“ Sam started, watching Gabriel swing the fridge door open and then immediately slam it shut with absolute disgust. “We’re not bringing the fridge, huh?”

“Absolutely not, don’t open that if you value your life.”

He wandered off down toward a hallway, presumably where he’d find the bedroom and most of Gabriel’s personal possessions that he’d care about keeping, but the guy appeared right in front of him to cut him off from going any further.

“You uh, don’t wanna go in the bedroom until I clear some stuff out first either.”

Sam, with the roll of his eyes, “Gabriel, I’m a grown up. I don’t care if you have sex toys, just tell me which drawer and I’ll leave it alone.”

“It’s cute you think it’s a drawer. Don’t go in there.”

He didn’t know if it was better or worse not to know, not knowing saved him the potential trauma of seeing something he was not prepared to know about his only very recently offical boyfriend, but the not knowing left his mind running rampant with ideas that were probably a lot more dramatic than the reality hidden behind the door- he just thought he deserved a heads up beforehand if Gabriel needed to put him in a little cage with a tail in his ass in order to get off.

“Well, is there anything I can touch?”

He hadn’t meant to, but it had been a long drive and he was tired, and it left an air of shortness to his question. He was tired, Gabriel had asked him to come all the way out here and now he wasn’t even allowed to touch- it almost always felt like Gabriel didn’t want to make space for him, and that wasn’t entirely fair to say when he knew this was hard, but it was hard too to be guarded away from bubble wrapping lava lamps like it was all sacred ground of a better life before he was stuck with Sam.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

And it’s all over just like that, before it can even start. With the mighty archangel Gabriel, pulling at his fingers, lip wobbling like he was waiting to be yelled at. Punished. Put in his place.

Again, frustrating, especially when neither of them were wrong, and neither of them could help it.

He throws his hands up in defeat, and follows the stairs down into the sunken lounge space to find a seat to bide his time, “Fine. Let me know when you’re done.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Gabriel said, following him down like a little mouse. “If I did something wrong you have to tell me.”

It felt silly trying to find the words to lay it out so bare and plain, that surrounded by gaudy riches Sam felt insecure. Insecure about the kind of life he could provide someone like Gabriel- something like Gabriel. An archangel; a god; a playboy. What could a poor man who was too scared of loud noises and had a bad back provide for the likes of him when what Gabriel enjoyed most was luxury in excess and being the center of a party? How many others had passed through the door, how many lovers had he shared a bedspace Sam wasn’t allowed to enter? What kind of a life was it for a social butterfly to live buried under the earth with Sam and his only friends- his older brother, and Gabriel’s brother; who were basically obligated to be his friend based on principle. Sam wasn’t fun, his idea of fun was being left alone for a solid fifteen hours to get a really good sleep and maybe jerk off without having to wonder if Dean was going to kick in the motel door at any moment. That’s who Gabriel was saddling himself with, a man who was thirty seven and still needed to sleep with his big brother in the room lest he have bad dreams, he couldn’t even give him a motel room to fuck in.

But Gabriel could do all those things if he really wanted to now that he’d gained a little more strength back, and if it’s what made him happy then it’s what would make Sam happy, because what really made him happy was Gabriel! But hadn’t, not even once, tried to allow Sam into any part of his life. It was all grand tales of mighty conquests and high speed chases, and none of the actual living- at least, not with Sam. Maybe Gabriel had another boyfriend, a better one that he saw on weekends when Sam was away hunting with Dean. One that was cool, and funny, and liked all of the things Gabriel liked…

Okay… now he’s just spinning out, so he has to say something before he creates a whole pretend man to get angry at.

“Why don’t you want me involved in your life?”

Gabriel stared at him hard for a good long minute, long enough for Sam to flush a deep shade of red with embarrassment.

“Never mind-“

“You are my life.”

Gabriel says it so matter of factly that it’s now Sam’s turn to sit there gobsmacked and staring, and while it makes his heart swell a little he isn’t quite sure he believes fully that Gabriel wasn’t saying that just to shut him up.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying-“ Sam stopped and gestured at all of Gabriel’s things, “-This. Your life. Who you are. You never let me be a part of it, you never let me in.”

“This isn’t my life,” Gabriel said, an echo of exhaustion to his tone and the way he slumped into the tacky printed pillows. “This was a thing I did. I don’t let you be a part of it because I’m embarrassed. For whatever reason you’ve decided that you see something of worth in me, and I don’t want you free roaming my past and remembering I’m some kind of scumbag.”

“I don’t care that you were… very… sexually active, Gabriel.”

“This is about more than just the sex- this isn’t me! This life isn’t something I want to associate with you!”

A line of tension forms in Sam’s jaw as he snaps his mouth shut, but before he can glare and storm out, Gabriel continues.

“I’m building something new, something better with you. All of this is buried under a mountain of shit with Loki and what happened that I don’t want to begin to unpack, I just want to go! I don’t want you in here becoming tangled up with everything that feels so bad when you’re the only good thing I’ve got!”

Well, now he just feels stupid.

The shame must be visible all over his face because Gabriel scoots across the lounge to drag him in close, closing the distance first for Sam to the be able to put his arm around him.

“Right… sorry.”

Gabriel shrugged, “I don’t know what there is to be insecure about, it’s not like any of this was ever real.”

“It was though, even if it’s all tainted and bad now this was your life, and I can- I want to help you pack what you still love and bring it home. Pretending it’s not real isn’t going to fix anything, let me help you do this right. Say goodbye.”

There was a deep sigh from under Sam’s arm as Gabriel relented, whether he believed Sam’s quack science or not was up in the air but he’d do it anyway.

“Fine. You want to say goodbye to the house? I feel like the only appropriate way to say goodbye is the same way I said hello. To bring it full circle.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed before he knew what that meant, because all he heard was what sounded like Gabriel making healthy choices, and it wasn’t until the angel had straddled his lap that he understood just how he’d christened the house. “How many people have you screwed on this couch?”

“I mean, they call it the conversation lounge for the great many guests you can have all at once… I don’t know that we were doing much talking though.”

“Oh god…” Sam sighed and scrunched his nose up, trying not to focus too hard on the couch and if he felt any stiff spots beneath where he was sitting.

“Oh no, Sam. God was definitely not in the room when that was happening.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam groaned and leaned in to kiss Gabriel before he could open his mouth with another disgusting comment, grinning into Gabriel’s throat at the playful shriek out his mouth as Sam toppled them over into the pillows, to give Gabriel a touch of something sweet to remember a chunk of his life by.

#the words move through me I am simply the vessel for them to form on the material plane and the cards did not have kinky sex on the table #today at least #spn #supernatural #gabriel spn #sam winchester #sabriel #sona’s writing #asks

11 notes · View notes

rabbitenn · 7 months

Note

Kamisama kiss au with Kitsune!Tenn, I’ll leave this one up to you, my darling 🫶

AS LONG AS YOU REMAIN WHERE I CAN SEE YOU.

“Could I make a contract as your familiar? This one’s from my heart.”

ft. Kitsune Kujo Tenn x gn! reader.

cw/genre: kamisama kiss au, fantasy au, kitsune Tenn, romance, fluff, some angst. I tried to be vague about the plot of Kamisama Kiss so that I don’t spoil it.

Thank you for this request, my love ! I hope you like it and I’m very sorry it’s taken so long… Thank you too for always sending ideas that are self indulgent to me hehe, enjoy <3

Aureate skies hang over the shrine, fleeting hues of ochre and rust transient in the form of fallen leaves.

The afternoon settles in a gentle breeze, the temperature descending with the last birdsong of the day.

The fox spirit pauses his movements.

The weather is nice today.

And this place, this home is bustling with life now; much more than it was a few months ago, at least.

His gaze, that doesn’t differ that much from the cotton candy clouds drifting peacefully above, sets skywards.

It now seems by design, that you ended up here, by his side.

Perhaps the stars peeking from behind the faraway mountains already had your fate written in their afterglow.

The kitsune lets out a sigh, moondust lashes brushing his cheeks as he closes his eyes momentarily.

He is aware the feelings he harbors for you are akin to wishing for the impossible.

You are a human, turned into the divinity of the earth.

He is only your familiar, and a youkai at that.

And yet…

“Tenn.”

The gentle call of his name puts a smile on his lips.

Not the devious one he offers his enemies when he protects you from their curses, but a soft and sincere one.

Tenn turns around, his white fluffy tails swaying with his movement, his clothes mirroring the momentum.

There you stand, bunched up in your coat as the wind ruffles your hair.

The smile you offer him is wide, unadulterated; so pure, making the sun that’s close to the start of a gilded sunset pale in comparison.

Tenn wishes he could wake up next to that sight every dawn; he wishes when his hand touches yours it weren’t just to steer you to safety as demons give chase.

He has an eternity before him, but he’d happily trade all of it for the memory of one yesterday with your hands in his hair and his lips on yours.

You step closer to him, with your hands behind your back.

A strong gust of wind blows by, a whirlwind of autumn and dusk that makes you flinch.

You sneeze.

So cute. The fox spirit thinks, with a soft chuckle.

Meeting you halfway, he removes his fur scarf, wrapping it around your shoulders instead.

“You’ll catch a cold like this, [Y/n].” He tells you, flicking your forehead.

A pout forms on your lips, hand rubbing at the spot he touched.

Your cheeks warm up, due to the comforting fabric of his muffler or his proximity, you are not certain.

“I’m wearing my coat, I’ll be fine.” You tell him, your brow furrowed in fake annoyance. “I actually was going to give you something, but since you insist that it’s cold…” You take a step backwards, a smirk playing on your lips.

Tenn’s eyes widen, a shadow of disappointment passing over his perfect features at the possibility of this precious moment being shattered.

He closes the distance between you, taking a lock of your hair in between his slender fingers, bringing it to his lips for a delicate kiss.

You stare at the beautiful kitsune, breathless, without any difficulty now in discerning the cause for your heated face.

The early evening sun casts him in an ethereal halo. Strands of star-threaded hair sway in the breeze, caressing his spotless skin in the way you’ve endlessly yearned to do. His lips are like peony petals on your hair.

And maybe you’d like them on your own more than it’s safe to admit.

Then, Tenn pulls away, one of his hands cradling your cheek.

His eyes lock with yours, pupils dilated, a beautiful eclipse of early twilight and the euphoria of rose wine in your veins.

“Are you sure it’s still cold?” He asks you, the pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, careful not to hurt you with his long nails.

You take in a breath.

Clearing your throat, you present him with the bag you had been concealing.

“For you.” You stammer, shoving the gift into his hands.

Tenn’s fluffy ears twitch at your action, as he curiously takes a look at the contents.

“You tried them before…” You begin, avoiding his gaze. “You said you liked these human snacks…”

From inside the bag, Tenn produces a rosy donut.

His eyes soften; you have no idea how sweet you are, do you?

His free hand finds one of yours, fingers intertwining as he guides you towards the house’s porch.

You two sit together.

“Let’s share, shall we?” He suggests, as his fluffy tails wrap around you, shielding you from the cold night air.

With a shy smile, you accept half of the soft pink donut.

Leaning against Tenn’s side, your free arm laces with his.

Periwinkle speckled with dots of starlight reigns over the heavens.

The moon shines in the middle of it, akin to a stage light focused on the couple starring in tonight’s idyll.

The fox spirit’s head rests gently on top of yours, the proximity to each other making you forget all about the mid autumn chill.

There will be other moments to think about how to tackle this forbidden romance.

Maybe the night will hear his prayers.

For now, though, having you so close like this is all the youkai wants.

Tenn’s soft ears flatten against his head as you play with his fluffy tails.

Your hearts dance together in the moonlight.

And right now, that’s more than enough.

31 notes · View notes

rosewaterandivy · 4 months

Text

@myosotisa - maybe it goes a lil something like this? (v. rough first go, apologies)

You nearly drown screaming his name. Sea water and blood surging up your throat in violent fits of coughing, body so cold it feels as if you’re burning. Teeth chattering, you fight to grip the life preserver, wishing your body could get with the program and give up the ghost.

Eventually, the helicopter comes. Hands lift you from the brackish sea and strap you to a gurney. Lights flicker behind your eyelids, flashes of white like so many fireworks. A voice, gruff and familiar, Promise me. Hey, keep your eyes open f’me, c’mon. The sound reverberating through your chest, rumbling the cage of your ribs.

Lips moving against the crown of your skull, split and dripping blood into your hair. Y’gotta get back, for me, for Max. Promise me. An uncerimonious shove into the single rescue pod on board. A violent scream tearing from your lungs, fingers clawing against the glass.

Eyes. Blue. Sorrowful yet resigned. No tell-tale curl of his lips now, just the fond pull of them as he takes one last look. “Don’t do this,” You beg through snot and tears, banging your fist all the while. “Please don’t do this, I can’t–”

He releases the trigger and kicks the pod from the PONS bay just as the tail of a kaiju smashes through what remains of the jaeger. As you freefall, the rough crackle of his voice echoes through your mind, You promised.

He’s back in the PONS too soon; everyone realizes that, in retrospect.

And it’s not even his fucking rig because Jackal Romeo had been lost to the breach. Spilt right down the middle sending Steve toppling to the waves below.

He shakes it loose before he can chase the rabbit.

Owens loads him for a drop in a spare jaeger, Orion Echo, and he’s spitting fury the whole way because Robin has somehow been roped into this clusterfuck too.

“No.”

“Not a request Harrington,” Owens intones. “It’s an order.”

Robin, his best friend who shouldn’t be anywhere near a PONS bay, suiting up with a tentative smile reserved for Steve.

Neural handshake initiating.

He presses his mouth into a thin line and shakes his head.

“It’ll be fine Steve,” She says. “Just a training exercise, no big whoop.”

Neural pathways strong and holding.

The calibration is the easy part— right brain, left brain. Two pilots to handle the neural load, learned the long and hard way since that first kaiju attack all those years ago. It’s simply too much for one person to handle, bust blood vessels in eyes, crimson flowing from ears and nose in steady torrent.

Steve is a… unique case. His parents piloted a jaeger and became the de facto choice for the Shatterdome. He grew up in this rusted hunk of metal, scampering underfoot in the garage much to the head mechanic, Wayne’s, chagrin. And, when he came of age, it only made sense to put the golden boy in the academy to become a jaeger pilot.

The fact that he could drift with just about anyone was a welcome surprise.

And one they were putting to the test now.

Immediately, a spike of pain goes through his head, seeking out the familiarity of his former partner’s mind to find, instead, the chaotic fuzziness of Robin’s. The jaeger shudders, plates of metal screeching through his ears.

“Shut it down,” He grits out through clenched teeth. “Owens, shut it the fuck down.”

He ignores the falling of Robin’s face, feels her breaths evening out, but can’t bring himself to fold away the memories. Knows it would all come out in the drift regardless.

And he’s given so much already, hasn’t he? Doesn’t he deserve to keep some things for himself?

Orion Echo remains at a standstill, PONS bay thrumming with mechanical whirs. Robin helps him out of the suit, helmet cradled in her hands.

Steve stalks off without a word.

There were several rapid knocks on your door as the opening credits of a movie ran. Checking your phone briefly to confirm your UberEats order, you toss it to the side rising from the sofa.

Several clicks and turns later you open the door to reveal none other than Jim Hopper, known as Chief during his jaeger days, holding the food you’ve ordered he grouses, “You’ve gotten sloppy,” and barrels his way inside the apartment.

Incredulous as you shut the door and do up the locks, “You intercepted my UberEats order? Tyler was going to get mad tips, poor guy.”

He rolls his eyes and set the bag on the counter. “You couldn’t even pretend to check the peephole? What if I was some creep?” Realizing too late the window of opportunity he’d given you.

“First of all, you are some creep and secondly,” You make your way to the burger and fries in the greasy bag. “Tyler was supposed to leave it on the doorstep and knock - easy peasy.”

Peeling back the paper, you take a bite, “Ah, five stars Tyler, way to go bud!” And continue to eat while Hop stares you down. “So,” You say grabbing a napkin to dab at the corners of your mouth, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Chief?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #pacific rim!au

15 notes · View notes

primus-why · 1 year

Text

I Dream of MegOp

Okay imagine a MegOp story where they're both still at war and on one planet they touch some sort of Macguffin relic that ends up connecting their dreams? (Valveplug)

Like imagine Optimus is in recharge, and starts dreaming of a steamy scenario that just so happens to involve Megatron. That's harmless enough; this war has gone on for a very long time, and he's come to know and even respect a lot of things about the Decepticon leader... so long as it's a dream and he's not actually putting himself or his Autobots at risk, why not let his processor wander and indulge in some fantasy?

Strangely, his processor decides to conjure images of Megatron for multiple nights in a row-- don't get him wrong, it's incredibly lascivious, but it's an admittedly odd coincidence. He decides to forego his nightly rust sticks and hopes a change of diet will help him dream of something else... literally anything else.

... Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. The dreams have been going on for a couple weeks now. Optimus isn't even sure he used to dream so frequently. He tries something different and instead engages the dream Megatron in a fight as they would normally in real life... only for the scenario to morph into something straight out of those erotica he'd secretly read as a guilty pleasure from time to time back in his days as Orion Pax. It was a rush, being so thoroughly dominated and operating on pure, primal instincts like that. He briefly wondered what else he could push his mind to conjure... before stamping down on those fantasies to get ready for his work.

-----

The real Megatron wasn't faring any better. He'd been having dreams about the Prime constantly for so many consecutive days, he seriously considered approaching Soundwave about it. Of course, even though Soundwave is his most trusted and loyal Decepticon, he couldn't bring himself to explain to his subordinate that he's been fantasizing all kinds of lustful scenarios centered around their enemy.

Ultimately he's glad he hadn't said anything, because the dreams have recently gotten very interesting...

It began with a dream about a fight, just like any other... only this time it ended with the Prime pinned beneath him, writhing in ecstasy instead of bleeding out in the dirt. Another saw Optimus giving him the remote to an interface device while the Prime attempted-- with valiant effort, Megatron mused-- to orate some nonsense speech in front of a crowd as the warlord controlled every pulse, vibration, and thrust. In one dream, Megatron sat himself on-- what he assumed to be-- Optimus' desk, demanding the Prime's attention, and Optimus responded by worshipping his whole entire frame at a slow, tender pace. It was blissful, almost like a high...

Now they were engaged in debate, probably somewhere in Vos. Seated around a large table with other representatives from their factions, Megatron enjoys countering the dreamt up banter with legitimate arguments-- he can literally do this in his recharge-- but secretly looks forward to when he and the Prime may slip away into the hall during a recess...

... Which might be coming soon, judging by Optimus' mounting frustration.

"Fine." Huffed the Autobot leader, "We'll table that discussion for now. Why don't we take a quick fuel break?"

Finally. As everyone else scattered, Megatron made his way over to the Prime.

"In an effort to continue this peaceful discourse, we ought to fuel together. Someplace a bit more private than the commissary, perhaps?" said Megatron with a grin.

But something was off. The Prime's shoulders slumped a bit, which was not the enthusiastic response he had become used to.

"What am I even doing?" Optimus let out a long sigh, "Guess that's what I get for trying something different..."

Megatron eyed the weary Prime for a moment. The gripe was obviously rhetorical, but he felt compelled to respond anyway.

"Trying something new is commendable. After all, the Decepticon movement began because we wanted to abolish the old world order. You argue that much has changed since," the warlord looked at the Prime, who met his gaze, "obviously this is true, but you'll find there are certain points we won't budge on, even today."

"I know." The Prime smiled lightly, looking away and out one of the many windows in the conference room. Megatron found himself staring as well-- when was the last time he saw a functioning Vos? He'd forgotten how beautiful the view from the city spires could be.

"Still, it seems that even in my dreams I can't sway your mind."

Megatron barked a laugh at that. "Silly Prime, that's because this is my dream."

"..."

"... Shall we--" but Megatron stopped, taken entirely off-guard by Optimus' perplexed expression.

"What did you say?"

"I was going to suggest we head back to--"

"-- No, not that, you said this was a dream. Your dream."

"I... did." Where was he going with this??

"But... this is my dream." The Prime said, letting out a nervous laugh.

"... No, it is not." Megatron said carefully, but instinctually he knew something was very wrong here.

"I think I would know my own dream!" Said Optimus, "I settled on this scenario and location before falling into recharge!"

"What?"

"These dreams have felt so real! I just wanted to see if I could walk through some hypothetical peace treaty discussions, you know? Make them a bit more useful aside from getting me all hot under the hood!"

"What??"

Basically they both wake up with a start, thinking 'wow that was really weird and specific' or whatever, but next time they dream they learn the truth and they wake up screaming lmao!

#megop #fuzz writes #spicy #valveplug

117 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 11 months

Text

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

The very first thing Elain did once the sun set on that second night was turn on the tap. Water the color of rust flooded the tub Elain had spent the majority of the evening scrubbing and rescrubbing. She was desperate for a bath to wash away her fear and a night of running through the mud. After that, she was going to burn her fine dress even if it meant showing up to Beron’s doorstep in the rough peasant clothing Jurian had gifted her.

Elain didn’t mind—truly. In her mind, Beron was kind and generous. He’d hear her out, take her in, and keep her safe. And sure, maybe in return she’d marry one of his sons but that was worth it to see her stepmother dethroned. It had become Elain’s new favorite fantasy, one she felt immense guilt for having. She shouldn’t wish ill on someone, but maybe it was okay given her stepmother had ordered her heart carved out.

Elain sat on the edge of the floor, watching the water shift from rusty red, to a diluted orange, to yellow and finally clear.

She gave it a little extra time, both to heat up and to keep from reverting back to that horrible brown. Once she’d convinced herself the water was safe, Elain undressed, kicking the dress to the kitchen before sinking into the tub. Jurian had sent soap—nothing fancy, and no oils or lotions. She was learning to make do, though sometimes all Elain really wanted was to break down sobbing. Two days, she reminded herself. That’s all it had been since she’d left. Five since Nesta had set out. Elain wasn’t going to die, not like this. She knew, if Nesta was alive, that she’d fight, too. Elain couldn’t be the thing that tripped her sisters up, that made them careless. She could handle herself, at least for now.

And Lucien had agreed to take her to Avalon when the snow cleared. Three months of this, and then she’d plead her case to their king. Her plan was in place. For now, all she had to do was lay low, pretend she was no one interesting at all, and survive the winter.

That didn’t keep the thoughts from racing around her head. Why, why, why. There had to be more than just her looks. She’d been beautiful her whole life and her stepmother had been there for all of it. Surely she would have been easier to kill as a little girl? Elain turned that thought over in her head endlessly until the water had become cold and the knocking wind against the windows made her think someone was trying to sneak in.

Elain had considered just how lonely it was to live alone, but that first night without exhaustion driving her into dreamless sleep was the worst by far. Every little noise pulled her out of bed until Elain had to shove a pillow over her head to keep it all out.

By the time dawn broke, Elain was ready for a little sunlight. The world was mocking her, because instead of a warm, cheerful autumn day, Elain was gifted more rain. There would be no working outdoors in the garden to prepare it for spring.

“I suppose I’ll start indoors, then,” she said to no one in particular. Elain took her time cleaning out the sink, drowning beetles in the drain before filling it with soapy water. Everything needed a good scrub, from the windows to the walls to the floors and everything in between. She had a feeling she’d find a place that was terribly charming.

The work was dull and yet it passed the time well enough. Elain started on the walls, hopping onto counters to reach the top of the pointed ceiling while grime dripped toward the dirty floors. It had to be done, and the rain outside kept Elain from giving up halfway through. She was frustrated and bored, wishing for someone to talk to as she scrubbed every inch of the years of accumulated grime.

As Elain worked, little birds fluttered to the windowsill to watch, chirruping sweet songs they bounced between them. A doe scuttled by, peering inside with wide, curious brown eyes and when Elain approached her, the creature allowed Elain to scratch behind her ears before she took off, spooked by a snapping twig close by.

A knock on the door, followed by, “Let me in!” sent Elain scurrying for Jurian. Brown hair slicked over his forehead, making him look more like a drowned rat than anything. Suppressing her smile, Elain stepped out of the way as Jurian stomped mud onto her freshly washed floors.

There was no complaining when Jurian was bringing her food. She saw the rueful expression when he, too, realized he was making more work.

“Should get a doormat for this place,” he said in that gruff way of his. “Looks good.”

“Thanks,” Elain replied, unpacking the cloth bags he’d dumped on the counter. “Do you want to stay—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, taking a step back. “No, you ah…you’ve got this under control.”

“Well—”

The door snapped shut before Elain could finish her sentence. It would have been nice to have a little company she supposed, and maybe it was for the best that Jurian didn’t want much to do with her. If someone came sniffing around, he wouldn’t have anything worth sharing, besides. Still, he could have stayed a little while, even if it was just to complain.

With a sigh, Elain carefully unpacked the things he’d brought her. There was more than enough to get her through the week and all of it was a reminder that she didn’t know how to cook anything but pie.

While Elain agonized over what kind of pie she might make, fate knocked again. Not fate, but Jurian, who didn’t stick around to be thanked for the lovely basket of ruby red apples left just outside her doorstep. Elain came fully out, hands on her hips.

“Thank you!” she yelled, looping the handle around her elbow and coming back inside. It wasn’t a fully cooked roast, but it did decide her meal for her.

Pie could be dinner, she reminded herself. And pie was decidedly not cleaning. With that in mind, Elain made the best of the silence and began working on her crust and her filling. She hummed a little, making up nonsense words to a nonsense song until she was almost relaxed. Elain set an apple pie up on the windowsill to cool while she began to work on a blueberry and lemon pie.

Elain turned her back just long enough to hunt down a couple plates, and returned to the huntsman at her window, finger stuck between the latticed crust for a taste.

She narrowed her eyes. “Back already?”

“If you wanted my attention, an apple pie will do it,” Lucien replied roguishly. “I brought you a chair.”

“Just one?”

“How often are you entertaining guests, princess?” he asked, sliding that apple coated finger into his mouth.

“Hey!” Elain said, smacking his hand with her spatula when he tried to reach for another taste. “Get out of here.”

“Let me in,” he retorted, his face twisted with outrage. “Feed me for my trouble.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she grumbled, though Elain trotted to the door all the same. Lucien stepped inside, a chair held in one broad hand. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He set the chair down, testing to make sure it didn’t wobble. “It’s my fault you’re out here.”

“You didn’t order my death,” she reminded him, softening ever so slightly.

“I would have done it, though. If you hadn’t been…” Lucien trailed off, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Anyway. Are you sharing that pie?” She started to tell him no before remembering that Lucien was the first person who’d looked her in the eye and spoken to her all day. Jurian had darted out so quickly there’d been no time to even beg him to stay. Lucien was looking right at her—he wanted to talk to her.

And besides, engendering a little good will from the man who could give her news of the palace and get her to Avalon couldn’t hurt, right?

“Yes,” she told him, gesturing toward the table. Lucien went for one of the rickety chairs, plopping to the freshly washed floor in order to examine it. “I don’t have much else, though.”

“I’m surprised a princess knows how to bake at all.”

“My mom taught me,” she admitted, leaving Lucien to his task in favor of cutting up pie slices. “I would have done anything with her. She so rarely paid me any attention.”

He hummed, his tone urging her to continue. Ignoring whether it was wise to tell him so much, Elain plowed ahead. “I don’t think I can eat pie for every meal.”

“I don’t see why not,” Lucien replied in that easy, laidback way of his. “But if you’re angling for a cookbook, I could probably arrange that.”

“And someone willing to try my concoctions,” she added quickly. Might as well force him to interact with her on a more regular basis. Just for information, she thought privately, knowing full and well it was a lie. She dared to look at him, sprawled on the floor trying to tighten one of the legs on the chair so he didn’t have to eat on the floor.

“I never turn down a free meal,” he said, frowning not at her but the task laid before him.

Elain walked to the table, balancing her pie, plates, and utensils carefully.

“Why didn’t you kill me, Lucien?” she asked. His head snapped up, eyes wide. There was no way he’d answer her, and as the silence stretched, Elain scrambled for something that would spare them both how awkward things were becoming.

“Because,” he finally said, rising to his feet. Lucien was so tall, broad and muscular and handsome despite the scars on his face. A little rough and yet she could picture him in fine clothing. In fact, it wasn’t hard at all to imagine him as someone that she might have been interested in back home. A little rakish, perhaps, but easy to smooth out.

“Because,” he said again, taking a heavy breath. “I’m surrounded by so much ugliness. So much cruelty, too. And it seemed a shame to take your life and rob the world of your kindness…and your beauty.”

“Oh,” she murmured, suddenly embarrassed. “I…thank you.”

Lucien balanced himself carefully in the rickety chair, cheeks flushed red. Waving a hand, he mumbled, “Don’t mention it.”

“I was hoping you’d tell me if you heard any news of Nesta?” she asked, sliding a piece of pie to his plate. Lucien watched her, waiting until she sat in the good chair before taking a bite. “Or my family?”

Lucien’s eyes fell to his plate. “Well…no news of Nesta…but I have heard that princess Elain ran off with a stable boy.”

Elain gaped. “A—stable boy?”

“True love, I suppose,” Lucien agreed humorlessly. “Prince Graysen is terribly disappointed.”

“I guess that’s better than finding my body,” she replied, heart hammering in her chest. “I did wonder how my absence would be explained.”

“Now you know,” he said, taking a large bite. “Amarantha seems placated for now.”

“I wish I knew why,” Elain lamented, pushing apples around her plate. Lucien looked up again, and before he could say it was simple jealousy, Elain held up her hand. She thought if she had to entertain that theory she might actually go insane. It was too ridiculous to be believable. “Don’t.”

“You asked,” Lucien reminded her, though he didn’t push it.

“Tell me about Avalon,” Elain said instead, wanting a change in topic. “What do you know about the king?” Lucien grimaced. “Are you sure about this plan?”

No, she wasn’t, but it was better than nothing. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Well,” Lucien began, chewing slowly. “I hear he rules with an iron fist.”

“And his sons? I heard—” Lucien’s gaze pinned her in place, waiting with what she thought was delight.

“What did you hear?”

No turning back now. “That they’re handsome. More handsome than the brother before them.”

Lucien rubbed his jaw, contemplating this. “So his youngest son would be the most handsome of them all?”

Elain bit her bottom lip. “It’s not important. But…”

Lucien’s smile made her heart stutter. “No, of course not. But if you’re going to throw yourself at a foreign prince, he might as well be easy to look at.”

She nodded. “And I thought…if he saw me, he’d be more willing to help.”

“Oh, I’m sure he couldn’t resist if he saw you,” Lucien replied, turning back to his pie. “If you want to know what I know of Avalon and its court, it's that you’re better off trying a different route. I can see, from that look on your face, that this your best plan. If I were you, I would try the oldest. Eris.”

“I don’t think I’m first born son material,” she replied, though Elain was intrigued.

“He would help, I think. From what I know of him, I think he would want to help…or invade. But if you can convince him, you’ll have your shot with the king. I’m told he’s Beron’s right hand man.”

“That's…actually very helpful, Lucien.”

He only smiled. “Well. I would hate to see you trapped in a marriage with a lowly born seventh son. Aim high, princess. Until then, let me see if I can get you that cookbook.”

“Thank you, Lucien,” Elain said, hoping her tone conveyed her gratitude.

He ducked his head. “Don’t mention it.”

But she would, one day. When Nesta was queen and they were all safe, Elain meant to insist Nesta make him a lord of some parcel of land. It was, after all, the least she could do.

LUCIEN:

Trudging back to the castle was torture. Lucien knew if he stayed away too long, Amarantha would start to wonder what he was up to. He needed to be seen on occasion, mulling about with animal hides and meat for the kitchen. No poachers mercifully, though Lucien still made his way to Amarantha to give her the report.

That box sat on her vanity, the heart likely rotting inside. She wore a furred black night dress and blood red lips as she dragged a brush through soft, ruby waves. “Do you plan to hibernate this winter?” she purred when he finished his report. “Or will you be remaining in the palace?”

“I’ll remain in the forest, like I always do,” Lucien said stiffly, taking a small, measured step away from the queen. “Poachers take the opportunity to pull bears from their dens.”

“How very noble of you, prince,” Amarantha replied, those beetle black eyes glittering in the firelight. “Do you miss your home?”

Yes. “No,” he replied, knowing full well she wouldn’t tolerate any disobedience. Lucien hated her, though. He’d never liked her, but knowing she was keeping a heart on her desk like a trophy, that she delighted in the death of an unarmed woman, made him want to fly across the room and kill her.

“Keep the paths cleared,” she said, turning away from him abruptly. Just like that, he’d stopped amusing her. “I’m meeting with the princess of Scythia in a month and I don’t want her stranded in the ice.”

Lucien might have told her it was impossible to keep ice off the roads , but Amarantha knew that. She merely wanted something to punish him for later—some warning she could call back to when she made another absurd demand of him. Lucien nodded his head, bowed deep, and retreated back into the hall.

He knew Elain would want news of her sisters and if he asked, he’d arouse Amarantha’s suspicions. That was something he’d need to get from one of the servants. In the past, Lucien might have gone looking for one of the kitchen girls, cornering her in some dark hall.

That seemed lewd to him now. Elain was in his head, reminding him that he was a prince, and princes didn’t get caught in the serving halls with their pants around their ankles. And a princess likely didn’t want a rake for a husband.

Not that Elain wanted him as a husband, either. Not really—he was merely an abstract concept to her. Lucien wondered what she’d do when she learned he was the youngest son she was planning on. Living in exile, not even Beron Vanserra’s actual son. Or, so he said, anyway. Lucien didn’t know how much truth there was to the rumor his father was actually King Helion of the Western Isles.

Maybe Beron merely wanted to torture his wife again, and inventing an affair was the easiest way to do so. That certainly seemed like his father. Lucien did think Beron would take Elain, though. As soon as he learned how weak Ellesmere was, he’d be planning an invasion. What better way to solidify his right to rule than by marrying one of his sons to their only surviving princess?

It certainly wouldn’t be to him, though. Lucien had been sincere when he told her to aim for Eris. She’d end up his wife, regardless. Maybe Cadmus, who’d become governor of the new territory with his captive wife at his side, a symbol meant to keep the people from rioting.

And Lucien would have to flee. Again.

He was halfway out the door when a hand on his wrist stopped him. Lucien whirled, reaching for his blade when he realized it was the king who’d stopped him. Lucien immediately dipped into a bow, heart hammering in his throat.

“My lord,” he breathed. When was the last time he’d seen the man? Let alone see him looking so clear?

“I need you, huntsman,” he said, his voice hoarse and strangely desperate. “My Elain—my Elain is missing.”

Luicen swallowed his horror. “I…”

“She’s run off. Please—please find her. Bring her home, tell her…tell her I’m not angry. She can stay married, just…just bring her home.”

“I…”

The king's grip tightened. “Promise me.” he demanded, brown eyes searching Lucien’s. “Swear you’ll find her and bring her back.”

Lucien couldn’t make that promise. Elain could never come home, not as long as Amarantha lived there. Lucien almost told the king everything. He nearly confessed what he’d almost done and how the king's daughter was living like a common peasant in the woods.

He couldn’t. So Lucien offered a smile and nodded his head. “I promise.”

After all–he was keeping her safe. And he had to believe that was what the king wanted, above all else. Safety for his beloved daughter, even if it meant he couldn’t see her. The king relaxed, stumbling back a step. Lucien wondered the exact manner of the king's disinterest in his home. Was it truly grief?

Or was it Amarantha?

That was a question for another day, given the king exhaled a shaky sigh and turned back for the interior of the palace, mumbling something softly under his breath. Lucien didn’t dare chase after him. Not yet, anyway. He’d talk to Elain, first, and see if there was any truth to his suspicions. Maybe there was more to wanting Elain dead than just her beauty.

Maybe Elain would be able to come home if they could untangle it, too.

Lucien set back out, collecting the last wolf carcass he’d set aside for Elain. The pelt could be used to fashion a coat or a blanket if she was so inclined, and he could show her how to cure and dry the meat so she wasn’t dependent on pies every night. Or he could just do it for her—keep himself useful, he rationalized. If only to make sure she stayed safe through the winter.

It certainly had nothing to do with her big, brown eyes or the way she smiled at him. He definitely didn’t want to kiss her. And he certainly didn’t wish her plan to marry Beron’s youngest son was a possibility. No, she was merely his responsibility. He’d forced her out here, the least he could do was help keep her alive.

Lucien found Elain back in the kitchen, a strawberry pie cooling on the windowsill. When she saw him approaching, rather than frown, Elain offered him a beaming smile that robbed him of breath.

“I was wondering if you’d come tonight,” she said, rushing just out of view to unlock the front door. Lucien stepped inside, wiping his muddy boots on the little mat just inside. Light flooded the once dark space, revealing a rather lovely cottage. Elain had done something with it—rather than just cleaning it, she’d begun to decorate, too. Where had she found so many flowers, he wondered?

Jurian had clearly come by, given a squashy, stained yellow couch now sat in the once empty living and dining room, and a braided rug brightened the room. Firewood had been ignited, crackling merrily alongside a host of candles in chipped glass jars.

Shelves had been carefully nailed into walls that were no longer yellow from dust and time, but a rosy pink decorated with hand painted daisies. Lucien counted little books, the spines worn and cracked, along with more candles and jars of dried herbs and spices.

“I made a stew,” Elain told him proudly, pulling at the white strings of the apron tied around her yellow and red dress. She’d twisted her hair off to one shoulder, the curls hanging sweetly against her neck. The heat of the kitchen made her face seem rosier, pretty against her fair skin. “I need you to taste it.”

Lucien offered her a smile. “Alright, princess.” Not admitting that he’d taste anything she offered him. She offered him space to set down his pelt, folding it carefully on a little coffee table in the middle of the living room.

“If you give this to Jurian, he could have it made into a coat for you. A blanket, too,” he added, thinking she might need something warm to sleep beneath when winter arrived. “After dinner, I want to show you how to preserve some of this meat.”

“That would be wonderful,” she agreed, ladling thick stew into rough metal bowls. “I’ve been making good use of the deer you brought me.”

Who knew it would take less than a month for Elain to fully acclimate to her new life? Lucien had been around a lot of noble women in his life, and didn’t think any of them would have accepted their new circumstances half so gracefully. There was an innate optimism to Elain Archeron that he admired.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he joked, eyeing that stew. She’d made a couple meals for him, none of which had been excellent. And Lucien was in no position to complain, nor willing to pay Elain anything but compliments.

She saw right through him, regardless. Elain always knew if he truly loved something she made or if he was eating it because Lucien had learned not to turn down a free meal. He set the cuts aside, washed his hands before she could scold him again, and made his way back to her.

Like always, Elain waited for him to take the first bite. Lucien coughed without meaning to, pepper lodged in his nose. Elain sighed, exasperated.

“I knew it was too much,” she complained, spoon clattering to the table.

“No!” Lucien choked. It was a little much, but certainly not as bad as the salt debacle from three days earlier. “It’s good, I was just unprepared for—”

“I thought cooking was going to get easier,” she said, elbows on the table. “But I keep making mistakes.”

“You’re still trying, though,” Lucien reminded her. He plucked a piece of deer meat from the stew, letting her watch it fall apart in his hand. “And your meat is much better than it was the first time you cooked it.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. The recipes Jurian brought me don’t say how much seasoning to use, so I’m just…guessing.”

“You’re going to figure it out,” Lucien assured her, taking another bite for good measure. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re learning.”

“Other people know how to do this as children. I feel…” she ran a hand down her pretty face. “Spoiled, I guess.”

“Trust me. You’re far from spoiled, Elain. You’re learning, and it takes time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Thank you, Lucien,” she said earnestly, eyes big and wide again. Lucien choked on his next bite for an entirely new reason. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand she stop looking at him like that, with those trusting eyes. And Lucien thought he might die if she took his words to heart and never looked at him again like she was right then.

Like she trusted him.

Like he was worth something.

Special, even.

Lucien did duck his head so she wouldn’t see how embarrassed he was. “Eat your dinner, Elain. I want pie.”

“It’s strawberry,” she said with obvious pleasure. “And I’ve made you a loaf of bread.”

“You spoil me,” Lucien said with undisguised delight. Bread and pie? Did she want a husband? Because at this rate, Lucien would find himself marching back in to Avalon declaring himself a prince and Elain his wife. Perhaps Beron would shield them both in exchange for the secrets of Ellesmere.

Lucien didn’t think he wanted to go back to that place, that life. He was content in the woods and some part of him wished she could find that same peace, too. Maybe if he showed her where he lived up in the trees, or promised her a more spacious home with room—what was wrong with him? He barely knew her and more importantly, she was not for him.

He still worked for her stepmother, after all.

“Okay,” Elain said, taking her first bite. “It is a little spicy.”

“It’s good,” Lucien retorted, spooning the rest of his food into his mouth. “Stop being so hard on yourself.”

She smiled, cheeks pink. “So…huntsman. Are you ever going to tell me how you ended up here?”

Lucien stood, making his way back to her pot to ladle himself more of the peppery stew. “There’s not much to tell. Your father needed someone to keep poachers out of the forest and I needed a job.”

“Do you like it?”

Lucien plopped back in his chair. “I liked it when I was working for you father. Poachers take too much without consideration of the forest, of the life that already exists here. I don’t like…”

Being asked to murder innocent women.

“Right,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Actually, I saw him this morning. He seemed clear. I—” Lucien looked at Elain, holding her gaze. “Is he sick?”

“He just never recovered from my mothers death,” Elain told him sadly. “It seemed like he was getting a little better—he even arranged the marriage to my stepmother. I knew he wasn’t happy about it, but he seemed…I don’t know. Hopeful, I guess? Like this would rescue us? And right after he just fell back into his sadness.”

That was exactly what Lucien wanted to know. He believed there was grief there, and it wasn’t such a stretch for him to imagine that his new wife played some role in keeping him lost in a fog. Docile, but alive. She needed him, though to what purpose, Lucien could only guess.

“Any word of Nesta?”

“No,” he said quickly. “If she was dead, though, we would know.”

As it stood, no news was still good news. After all, Elain hadn’t been announced dead yet, and Lucien knew that if Nesta was dead, Amarantha would be spinning some narrative, too. Maybe not that the future queen was dead, but perhaps she, too, had run away or was otherwise occupied but would return home just as soon as she could.

If Amarantha had nothing to say about Nesta, it meant that Nesta was still alive and capable of challenging any narrative proposed. Lucien was willing to bet on the Archeron sisters. Though they might be sheltered princesses, there was a tenacity to them that seemed to run deep. And if Nesta was anything like Elain, she’d fight like hell. Lucien was certain of that.

Lucien stayed for more than his fair share of pie, teasing Elain until there was no good reason to stay. He managed to buy himself another hour when he insisted he help with the dishes. Elain talked about everything. Her plans for the front garden so when spring came, Jurian could plant flowers if he wanted (Lucien didn’t dare tell her Jurian would never), and how she thought she could grow vegetables indoors so long as it wasn’t too gloomy.

Lucien just liked the sound of her voice. He liked her wit and how funny she was, like her little observations. And more than anything, he liked how Elain merely adapted. He’d spent a solid six months feeling sorry for himself when he’d had to flee, but Elain merely made the best of it. No complaints, no feet stomping or tears. Just the sunny belief that things would work out because they must.

She walked him to the door. “Thank you for all this, Lucien.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. And then, impulsively, he lowered his face swiftly to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Be safe, princess.”

She didn’t move. “And you, huntsman.”

Lucien practically floated home.

#elucien

49 notes · View notes