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all-mirth-no-matter · 10 months

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Time After Time | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You join the Shelbys for Christmas Eve dinner.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur, heavy fluff, probably bad retelling of Greek history don’t come at me

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Chapter 11: Dazed & Confused

I bet you know just what you’re doing. You’re not the type that’s used to losing. First you build me up, then with just a touch, leave me here in ruins. Something ‘bout your eyes, I can’t even walk in a straight line, under the influence. Oh, I’ve been dazed and confused, from the day I met you. Yeah, I lost my head, and I’d do it again. Either I’ve seen the light, or I’m losing my mind. There’s something ‘bout you, that’s got me dazed and confused. — Dazed & Confused, Ruel

God you felt so stupid. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to this house — hell, even a stranger to having dinner at this house. But after meeting Tommy, it didn’t feel like just having dinner at a friend’s place anymore. Would this nervous feeling ever go away?

You’d gone all out for this special occasion, with Ada’s help after you’d expressed your nerves. She’d been far too giddy for your liking over your anxiety. But you let her take you shopping that morning and helped you tame your hair and even refrained from fighting her when she shoved a deep red lipstick into your hands after claiming that it was too dark for her to wear.

Your hair had to be re-managed after your shift at the pub that afternoon. Apparently, Harry closed the place for Christmas Eve night. You thought that was a mistake, surely men were looking for some drunken solace after the children had gone to bed, but you bit your tongue at Harry’s excitement and accepted the extra time off.

After the age of twelve, Christmases in your house had become a less-than-joyful time of year for you. It felt like a switch — one year you were a happy kid surrounded by excited parents drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Father Christmas — and then the next you were fighting over hanging tree lights, complaining about going out into the crowded malls, sitting in three separate rooms of the house to numb yourself with whatever was on the TV at the time. The littlest things would set off your mother, leaving you either raging with anger or crying in the garage waiting for your father to get home.

The magic had disappeared along with your childhood. And it only got worse after your father died. You’d been reckless those first couple years, sneaking out any chance you got to run around town with your friends. When you left for college, you selfishly dreaded coming home during the breaks. That’s when your mother’s psychosis started to get worse.

Looking back, you couldn’t help but wonder if your mother hadn’t been alone for all that time, if she’d had someone to confide in or even just to talk to, if her sanity could have been salvaged, even just a little. But deep down you always assumed it was something darker going on inside her that made her act the way she did. By the end, if she wasn’t numb, she was crying, and you just had no idea how to handle her.

After her death, you simply avoided holidays, always volunteering to work the extra shifts or treat it as if they were any other days of the week.

Since arriving in 1918, you’d been so preoccupied with surviving, with trying to figure out what was going on, the idea of Christmas or any other holiday had been nonexistent. Which is why you’d been surprised at Tommy’s (or technically Ada’s) invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner.

Fidgeting with your dress, you stood nervously at the doorstep and knocked. Behind the door, you could hear the sound of voices and pots banging, even a gramophone playing.

The door swung open to reveal Ada, shouting her hello before pulling you inside for a warm hug. You chuckled at your friend, who clearly had been enjoying some pre-dinner drinks, and walked further into the house.

The betting shop doors were open, the tables that usually hosted piles of books, papers, and money now cleared and replaced with plates, napkins, and silverware. You took a scan at the guests around, surprised at the number of people here.

You recognized a few of them — the two men who’d been with Tommy and his brothers last night at the Garrison, Benji, and the man who stood out on the streets preaching. Then there was Martha sitting near the fire with Polly at her side, looking better but still not completely on the mend. Finn ran past you, shouting as the older of John’s kids chased after him. The rest of the men in the room you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N!” Polly shouted, finally noticing your arrival as she left Martha and pulled you in for a hug. It appeared she’d also been indulging in some pre-dinner drinks, this being the most affection she’d ever shown you. “Let me get you a drink and then introduce you.”

She shoved a glass of something brown in your hands, a quick sniff indicating it as whiskey, and began to walk you around the room, starting unfortunately with the group of men Benji was with.

“Lovelock, Scudboat, and Hancock, this is Y/N. A family friend and barmaid at the Garrison. She’s under our protection, so you know what that means.”

“Aye ma’am,” Scudboat smiled, nodding his head respectfully before lifting his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

You smiled genuinely at the man, already appreciating his vibe. Lovelock didn’t offer any words, but nodded and gave you a smile and handshake as well.

Hancock, or Benji as he’d introduced himself to you as, gave you a smirk. “We met last night,” he said suggestively, lingering his hand around yours longer than you thought was appropriate. “But it’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, pulling your hand away and instead offering a polite smile. Luckily, Polly pulled you away to work the room.

Jeremiah was the name of the preacher, accompanied with his young son, Isaiah. You were curious how he fit in with the group, but saved your questions for another time.

Charlie and Curly worked at the Yard down by the Cut. You realized this must have been the ‘Uncle Charlie’ that Tommy mentioned the other night. They were both quiet, but nice. Curly was beginning to ask you if you liked horses, but Polly shoo’d him before pulling you along to the next man.

Danny Owens, or Whizz-Bang as he mentioned everyone called him, said he could only stay for a drink before going home to his wife and kids. He was fidgeting with his hat, muttering something about wishing Freddie or Barney could be there. Obviously you recognized Freddie’s name and wondered if you’d finally get to meet Ada’s mystery man. It wasn’t the case though as you finished the rounds of introductions.

A shout of the men behind you caused you and Polly to turn, seeing Arthur and John enter the room. They welcomed everyone around them with a loud greeting. You kept your eyes on the doorway, waiting for the one family member who had not yet arrived.

As if on cue with your thoughts, Tommy walked into the room quietly, leaning against the door edge to watch the scene. His eyes scanned the room until they fell to you. The corner of his mouth rose in that familiar resilient smirk, obviously unused to being caught doing his surveillance. He gave a subtle nod over his shoulder before pushing off and turning toward the family room.

Your heart raced a little as you took the bait, excusing yourself and grabbing your drink before walking across the betting shop floor. When you walked through the door into the family room, you heard the gentle shut of the door behind you, but your eyes were transfixed on the tree in front of you.

You’d noticed it when you first walked in, but now, the simple Christmas tree was lit with candles tied at the end of its branches.

The last time you saw a Christmas tree lit up, it’d been multicolored and flashed like a bad shop neon sign, glued to the plastic thistle of a fake tree. The sight of it at the time had made you groan at the very idea of the holiday you dreaded, thinking about all the money that was wasted during this time of year on stupid decorations like that one and worthless presents that would just end up in the garbage in a month.

But this. The real fire dancing on the wicks, sending beautiful shadows across the whole room against the lush pine leaves. It was enough to take your breath away.

“We lit it just now with the kids.” Tommy’s deep voice behind you brought you out of your trance as you felt him move to your side. “We’ll re-light it again before they go to bed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he replied as you finally looked over to him, his eyes already on you. The implication of his words and that look made you blush.

You bit your lip as you shook your head and the possible compliment off. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” you found yourself admitting.

Tommy’s brow creased. “Do they not have Christmas trees in America?”

“Um, they do. Just not decorated with real candles,” you replied, not exactly lying but not responding with the whole truth.

You weren’t entirely sure when electric tree lights would be invented, or common place, even. To avoid further questioning, you asked one of your own, a genuine query you couldn’t help but wonder now that the bewilderment had faded.

“Does the tree ever catch on fire?”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah it has. That’s why we only light it for a little while each night, usually before the kids go to bed. This year it hasn’t yet, surprisingly. But the year before we left, Finn was tryin’ to light it for John’s kids and lit the whole bottom row on fire. Luckily Pol was there to put it out before the house caught.”

You were watching him as he told the story before he let a short breath out his nose and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, as if reminding himself of his own memory had been a pleasant surprise.

He cleared his throat, his smile returning back to his neutral expression as he busied himself with pulling his cigarette box out of his pocket and lifting out a stick. He ran it between his lips before lighting the end, the action causing you to lick your own lips before you remembered something.

“I, um — I got you a gift,” you said, feeling suddenly very embarrassed.

He paused at your words, his brow creased as he watched you pull a small box out of the handbag you’d been carrying.

“A gift?” He repeated, turning his body away from the tree and toward you.

You shrugged, trying to shoo away your nerves. “Yeah, ya’know, it’s Christmas. It’s not anything super fancy, but saw it this morning when Ada took me shopping and I just, I don’t know, I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not wrapped,” you lifted the box and offered it to him.

Tommy took it tentatively, his brow hooked as he examined the plain cardboard. “You didn’t have to,” he said, not yet opening it.

“I know. It’s just — it’s a thank you,” you finally spat out, your eyes chancing a look up to meet his, “for everything.”

His brow was still creased as he looked down, and your embarrassment and stupidity reached it’s peak as you realized how much of a mistake this probably was.

Did people not get each other gifts in the 1900s? Ada hadn’t said anything when you picked it out and asked if she thought this was something Tommy might like. She had given you a shit eating grin, but hadn’t deterred you or told you you were being weird.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, turning away from him to try and hide how red your face was. “You don’t have to use it, you don’t even have to open it, I’ll just take it back and we’ll pretend this never happened—“

“Y/N,” Tommy’s voice said softly, causing you to look back over at him, the box open on the table and the cigarette case now in his hand.

It was a simple case, minimal decoration around the border, but the minute you saw it, it made you think of Tommy and his damn cigarettes. Part of you wanted to get it engraved, something snarky about killing his lungs — but you could only afford the case, so you got it on a whim. It’d definitely been more than you could afford, but it was the holidays, you reasoned. You’d start saving again next week.

Tommy tested the case, using his thumb to click the flap open, then closed it again. He did that a couple times before letting out a humored breath out of his nose, the corner of his cheek rising as he pulled out his box and moved a few sticks into the case.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as his eyes found yours, lifting up the case to emphasize before smiling back down at it. “It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years.”

You swallowed, dropping your head as your cheeks reddened again. The feel of his fingers against your cheek caused you to lift your head again, not realizing he’d gotten so close. Your eyes found his, serious and soulful as he peered down at you, the light from the candles dancing off the glassy orbs. God, he was beautiful.

A bang on the door caused you to jump before stepping away. Polly shouted from the other side, instructing you both that dinner was ready and to get our asses out there.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time.”

Tommy met your laugh with his own softer one as you turned toward the door. Before you could reach it, he grabbed your arm and spun you back toward him, pulling your body against his as his lips crashed against yours.

He wrapped the hand still holding your gift and his lit cigarette around you to curve your body against his, his other hand raking through the base of your head and neck, nearly lifting you up to meet his hunger. Without a second thought, your own hands found themselves around his shoulders as you clung to him, your kiss matching his eagerness. You tilted your head and opened your mouth just enough for him to dive in deeper, breathing in sharply through his nose as you let out a needy moan.

Fuck the dinner, screw all the people on the other side of the door. You’d let him take you right here on the couch, on the floor, you didn’t care. All you cared about was his hard body against yours, his hands gripping at you, his mouth and where else it could consume you.

When you found your feet flat on the ground again, he pulled his lips away just enough before giving you another slow kiss, then another, before pulling away completely.

He smiled as you caught your breath, still surprised and slightly disoriented from the action. You thought he was going to kiss you again as he brought his hand back to your cheek, but instead he used his thumb to rub what must have been smeared lipstick off your face. A pathetic whimper left your throat at the disappointment.

“Better not keep Pol waiting,” he said easily, adjusting his suit and sliding his new cigarette case in his jacket pocket before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his own lips. You watched as the white fabric turned red from your lipstick and smirked, thinking of other scenarios where you could leave pieces of you with him throughout the day.

He noticed your look and rose a brow as you licked your lips, shooing those ideas away for more socially appropriate ones as he opened and held the door open for you.

Ada and Martha were helping to set the table when you joined them, grabbing two plates from Polly before adding them to the make-shift dinner table. Once every seat was served, Ada pulled you into a chair next to her. You looked at the head of the table, expecting to see Tommy but surprisingly it was Arthur who stood up and rose his glass. To his right sat Tommy, then John and Martha; to his left was Polly, then Ada and you.

Arthur cleared his throat, causing everyone to quiet and turn their attention to him.

“Um,” Arthur cleared it again, pulling down at his vest as he fidgeted. “I um, I’m not much for speeches. But um, I wanted to— wanted to thank you. This year— these years, being away, it’s been—“ his voice chocked as he looked toward Tommy.

Tommy smiled up at his brother and stood, gripping Arthur’s shoulder as he held up his own glass. “It’s been good to be back,” Tommy said simply, finishing Arthur’s prompt, possibly not in the same direction Arthur was heading, but a good detour to keep the moment light. He continued to keep his arm on his brother’s shoulder, as he addressed the rest of the room. “We all know the hardships and blessings we’ve been dealt, this year especially. And soon, it’ll be a new year. A fresh start. This is our opportunity to seize, and we’ll be damned if we’re going to let it slip.” His eyes flicked to you before rising his drink higher. “A toast, a simple toast, ya brotha’?” He pulled Arthur closer as he chuckled, rising his own glass higher with his brothers. “To good fortune, good health, good horses! Happy Christmas!”

“By order of the Peaking fuckin’ Blinders,” Arthur added, his voice strong again.

Everyone exploded with cheers as they raised their own glasses and shouted “Happy Christmas!”

The night went on as everyone ate and talked. You were enjoying the dinner, laughing as you watched the family dynamic between the core Shelbys as they enjoyed each others company. Everyone’s inhibitions and guards seemed to be set aside tonight, giving you what you assumed was a rare glimpse at what dinners pre-war must have been like for the group.

On the other side of you sat Charlie and Curly, and you were grateful that Benji had been placed at the end of the other side of the table, just far enough so that easy conversation wasn’t possible. But you felt his eyes on you, causing you to shift in your seat every now and then when you’d catch his gaze. After the second time it happened, you found yourself sighing, knowing you’d have to have an awkward conversation at some point with him to convince him you weren’t interested.

The dinner party was winding down, with most of its guests already gone. Even Ada had given you a kiss on the cheek before whispering that she was sneaking out. She wiggled her eye brows, causing you to roll you eyes and shove her away, whispering your own ‘be safe’ back at her.

Of course, Benji took the opportunity to swoop in to fill the opening.

“Your first Christmas in Small Heath?”

You nodded, taking a sip to keep your mouth busy.

“I’ve always liked winter over summer. Sure, it gets bone cold, but there’s less smoke in the air during the winter,” he mused, topping off his own glass and offering to do the same for you.

“That so?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, just feels like it, I guess. Maybe it’s more to do with the days being shorter.”

You nodded, slightly surprised at the insight. “Could be.”

“Do you have to go back to the Garrison tonight?”

You coughed at his unexpected turn in subject. “Um, no, Harry closed the pub for Christmas Eve.”

“So you’re free, then? We could go get a drink—“

“We have a drink,” you replied, holding up your glass. “And we’re guests at a party.”

“Come on, no one would miss us if we left—“

Scudboat appeared behind Benji, dropping a weighted hand to his shoulder. “Gotta go, Hancock.”

Benji’s brow creased as he scoffed. “Now?”

“Aye, it’s Russel. Just got the order.”

Benji huffed, “It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we do this after the holiday?”

“You know the drill. It’ll hurt his family more to see that face Christmas morning. Will make him think twice next time. Tommy’s orders. Now!”

Scudboat left you both as Benji turned back toward you, blowing a big breath out of his nose as he cursed under his breath. “No rest for a Blinder.”

No rest for the wicked, you found yourself thinking, your tongue too tied to say the words aloud. Russel — you recognized the name of a copper from the family books. He’d been one of the more recent discrepancies you’d alerted. And now he was going to get beat up, or cut, on Christmas Eve.

And it was on Tommy’s orders. You swallowed down a big gulp of your drink as Benji said his farewell.

“Ready?”

Tommy’s voice behind you caused you to jump startled. You turned to face him, his own expression seemed slightly perturbed as he watched the Peaky boys leave the shop.

“Ready for what?” Your voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, feeling both caught off guard as well as slightly uneasy about the darker side of Tommy.

It wasn’t like you were an idiot. You knew this came with the territory. Tommy Shelby was a gangster, as much as he wanted to call himself a businessman. Violence was as much a currency of this business as money. And here you were, contributing to that violence.

But you knew the world you were now a part of wasn’t that simple. Maybe this copper deserved it, maybe he didn’t. If you were going to be a part of this company, you’d have to trust the people making the calls, even if it went against your own moral code.

Did you even have a moral code anymore? Were you just making excuses?

“To talk, like I promised,” he replied, his eyes finally moving back to you. “Unless you’d rather join Hancock.”

His jealousy caused you to chuckle, despite your prior thoughts. “I told you last night I wasn’t interested in him.”

He hummed, “Maybe you ought to tell that to him then, eh? This way,” he placed his hand to your back as he directed you back toward the house.

You noticed him exchange a look with Polly before leaving the room.

“Where are we going?” You asked hesitantly as he directed you toward the stairs.

He didn’t answer you, instead taking the lead as he brought you to the top of the stairs and opened the door. “My room.”

The room was small and plain. A bed even smaller than yours in the corner, a nightstand, a chair, a dresser, and a fireplace. The decor was also minimum: a mirror hung at the head of the bed, a lit lamp on the nightstand, a crucifix on the wall by the door, and a few other photos and paintings dispersed between the walls, nightstand, and fireplace, which was also already lit.

The air smelled different in the room. There was something else, in addition to the outside air, sweat, and cigarettes that you’d grown used to. Your eyes searched for a source, but gave up when Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re not worried someone will hear?” You asked as Tommy chose to sit in the chair by the nightstand, leaving you to either continue standing or sit on the bed.

“This room is pretty sound proof, long as we don’t do any shouting. The other guests will leave through the betting shop doors. They won’t stay for long, Pol knows that we’re here and will clear them all out soon enough and lock up behind ‘em. I’ll walk you home when we’re done,” he said, pulling out the cigarette case.

He pulled out another stick and ran it across his lips, causing you to lick your own and making you fully aware that you were finally alone in a bedroom. God, your stupid libido. First you were questioning your own morality, and now all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

“Did you, um — did you drink the tea yet?”

Your eyes flicked back toward him, surprised at his question. “That where you want to start?”

He shrugged, lifting up the case before setting it gently on the nightstand. “I hadn’t intended, but in the spirit of gift giving, seems as good a place as any.”

You turned away from him, anxiously avoiding his question by continuing to examine the room and get your mind out of the gutter. The box in question was currently sitting in your dresser drawer, shoved in there after you’d finally unpacked so you wouldn’t have to look at it.

“And why not?” Tommy followed-up, taking your silence as a no.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before answering, “I have to think about it. I’m convinced it’ll either give me a seizure or just end up being a really bad cup of tea — both of which I believe will happen before it lets me talk with the dead.”

“Perhaps you should talk to Pol. She’s always been more in tune with that side of things, she could offer you some guidance.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still unconvinced.

“We’ll revisit that another time, eh. Where is it that you want to start, then?” He asked.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to consider your options. Honestly, you’d expected Tommy to take the lead in this debrief, almost demanding answers or explanations. You hadn’t expected him to hand you the reigns, and you found yourself struggling to get a grip.

He was watching you as you considered his question, refusing to speak first. You took a gulp of your drink before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“My nightmares — the two dreams that I had in the wagon, I’ve never had dreams like those before. I’ve had realistic dreams before. Mundane or stress-induced dreams where I’m living out my normal day and then wake up and can’t believe I have to do it all again. I’ve had dreams of memories, replaying of certain events. Hell, I’ve even lucid dreamed, where I recognized a dream I’d had before and been able to change the dream. But I have never in my life had dreams like the ones I had in that wagon.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward the wall across from him, some recognition in your words. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own recounting, you might have picked up on it, but instead you continued on.

“It felt so real — more than a memory, like I was actually standing in that garden, feeling the wind against my face. But it wasn’t my memory. It wasn’t me. It was like I was watching and feeling the memory of another.”

“Whose?”

You swallowed before looking back up at Tommy. “I think I was dreaming about the story of Cassandra and Apollo.”

You left out the part where in your dreams Apollo just happened to look exactly like Tommy, just with golden eyes. The logical part of you knew that your brain was just inserting what it knew into the dream. Wasn’t it a known fact in your time that people only saw the faces of those they knew in their dreams? That’s all it was, you told yourself.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “You goin’ to explain who those people are, or just leave me in the dark?”

“Do you know much about Greek mythology?” you asked, trying to gauge how to approach this.

Tommy shook his head. You took a moment to collect yourself, your brain ready to jump into explanation and story telling mode. This was one of your favorite subjects, after all. You took a sip of your drink before leaning against the wall, making yourself more comfortable on the bed.

“Where I’m from—” you started, swallowing as you decided to stop trying to hide the little details of your life — if you were going to do this, you might as well dive in. “I got to learn about it in school, mostly in language arts or social studies. I asked a teacher once why we were taught Greek over other mythologies, like Norse or any Asian religion — she seemed to believe it was because of the influence the Ancient Greek, and then Roman, society had over Europe, which then influenced Western civilization. There’s written records on top of word-of-mouth story telling that has lasted tens of thousands of years. And the influence they still have on philosophy, architecture, military, governance, agriculture, medicine — hell, even the word alphabet is Greek for alpha and beta, the first two letters of the Greek alphabet. Shakespeare wrote plays based on the mythology, Renaissance artists created masterpieces in an attempt to bring it to life. She said it was close to the same reason we learned about Medieval stories even though there’s no historical truth to King Arthur and Camelot. But we all learned them. And it started with literature.”

Tommy blew a puff of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with your pretense. “Ok.”

“Two of the oldest works of literature that’s still widely referenced are Homer’s epic poems — the Iliad and the Odyssey. The stories are pretty significant because of their themes about fate, glory, heroism, pride, wrath. And there’s so many phrases that originated or were inspired by the stories: an Achilles heel, Trojan horse, a face that launched a thousand ships, stuck between a rock and a hard place—”

“You’re losin’ me, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just — I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan war, a ten-year battle between the ancient cities of Troy and Sparta, mostly focusing on the abduction of the Spartan Queen Helen, and the hero Achilles who was recruited to help save her. That’s a crazy oversimplification of the story, and honestly I’ve read so many retellings I’m not even certain on the actual story anymore. But it’s really quite interesting if you want to hear about it some time — I think you would especially find the character of Achilles interesting—”

“Y/N,” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he waved his hand along. “Madam Despoina said you were named after a Trojan princess. That was Cassandra, ya?”

The sound of Tommy saying your middle name out loud for the first time made your chest tighten.

You nodded, avoiding the feeling. “A Trojan prince was the one who stole Helen, the Queen of Sparta, so the Spartans and the Greeks attacked Troy to get her back. Cassandra was a Trojan princess who was also a priestess.”

Tommy hummed, “And you said that God gave her the gift of prophecy, but then He wanted to fuck her and she refused.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his retelling. “Something like that. But the Greeks didn’t believe in just one God, they had a pantheon of gods, goddesses, titans, and other creatures who all had roles they played in the creation and general day-to-day motion of the world and its people. One of those gods was Apollo.”

He leaned back in his chair, “The god Madam Despoina kept going on about.”

“Exactly. He was the god of, well, a lot of things — but he’s mostly tied to references of the Sun and light. He’s also the god of music, the arts, medicine, archery, town building, and prophecy.”

“And that’s where the Delphi come in?”

“Yep. They were priestesses who spoke his word at his temple, where people would travel from all over for a consult with the oracles. The Greeks considered this temple to be the center of the world.”

“So the princess wouldn’t fuck this god Apollo, so he cursed her. Why not just take back the gift?”

“A common myth is that a god couldn’t undo the work of another god, even their own work. So when Cassandra wouldn’t sleep with him, he couldn’t take back his gift of prophecy. He cursed her instead. She had no choice but accurately predict the future, but no one would believe her. Throughout the war, she tried to warn the Trojans, her family, of the dangers of their actions, but they couldn’t believe. Eventually, the visions of disaster and frustrations of being called a liar and madwoman drove her insane.”

“Why didn’t she just lie? Say the opposite and then they’d believe her?”

You shrugged, smiling at hearing the same question you’d asked your own teacher. “I don’t think she could lie. I don’t think she could even stop herself from telling the prophecies, otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t have just shut up early on.”

“What happened to her?”

“She predicted the fall of Troy, and the deaths of her family, we well as her own death. Before that, during the siege, she was raped, and then given away as a concubine to one of the Greek Kings. She and the King were then killed by the Queen and her lover.”

“And what happened to Helen?” he asked, genuinely curious it seemed to the story.

“In Homer’s story, Paris, the Trojan prince who kidnapped her gets killed along with most of the rest of his family, and she’s reunited with her Spartan husband.”

“Lucky her.”

You scoffed, “Comparatively, I guess.”

“Does the story match up with your dreams?”

“Kind of. In the stories, it’s always implied that either Cassandra promised that she’d sleep with him in exchange for the gift and then refused when he came to collect, or that she didn’t promise him and he just assumed that she’d give herself to him if he gave her the gift. Madam Despoina seemed to imply that there was another side to the story.”

“Which is?”

“In my dreams so far, it seems like maybe they actually both were in love with each other. But then something shifts and he’s cursing me— her. And that’s when I wake up.”

“That explains why you kept saying you were cursed,” Tommy mused, taking another sip of his own glass before reaching for the bottle that was already on the nightstand and refilling it. He offered to refill your own glass, which you accepted. “And the main question — what does that all have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, taking a big gulp of your drink, the warm liquid burning down your throat. “I think Madam Despoina thinks that my mother named me after the Cassandra from this story. It seemed like she was implying that I’m a descendant of Cassandra, or I don’t know, maybe a reincarnation? Both of which are ridiculous.”

Tommy’s brow creased, “Why?”

You shook your head, flopping down to lay flat on the bed, setting your glass on the nightstand. “Because it’s just a story, it isn’t even real! Homer wrote the Iliad like hundreds, maybe thousands of years after the war would have happened. If it even did at all. There’s some evidence of civilization in the area Troy is thought to have been, and even some evidence of war I think, but still. Now, the odds of Madam Despoina being a descendant of the Greek Delphi may be more likely, since there was more evidence of the temple discovered and records found. I still think it’s highly unlikely, but who am I to question her. Maybe some distant relative passed along the stories and traveled across Europe.”

“That’s the rumor,” he nodded. “Came from Balkan gypsies, they say. Would explain why their clan is so deep and connected.”

“As well as the divinity shtick.”

“And the tattoo, it connects you,” Tommy added as he stood up out of the chair and walked toward the bed, lifting up your legs and sitting at the end of the mattress, pulling your legs back to drape over his lap.

“I got this tattoo on a whim,” you said with a shrug, as of trying to shake it off your back. “I just drew it one day and decided to get it for my first tattoo.”

He chuckled, “So, what, after everything you’re just goin’ to chalk that up to a fuckin’ coincidence?”

You huffed, “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to believe? That I thought of the tattoo because something in my blood or heritage or some mythological corner of my subconscious knew that one day I’d need to meet a Balkan gypsy family of fortune tellers who’s ancestry dates back to my own?”

“Is that harder to believe than the two of us having dreams of each other before we’d ever even met?” He asked, the question feeling like a cold splash of water.

“No,” you groaned, throwing your hand over your face. “Both are just as ridiculous.”

Tommy rubbed your leg reassuringly. “Just one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject — for now at least.”

You sat up, realizing you were practically in his lap as you waited for him to continue.

“When I went to speak with Madam Despoina alone, she told me that our fates were entwined. That I shouldn’t repeat the follies of her god and that if I listened to you, if I didn’t push you, if I trusted you, we would achieve so much more together than apart. That you can predict the future, and I would be a fool to take your advice lightly.”

“Tommy, I can’t—“

“Can you predict the future?” He asked softly, running his fingers along your jawline.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.“ You looked between his eyes, swallowing before dropping your gaze. “I know things. Not everything, I can’t predict Ada’s future or tell you what Harry’s going to have for dinner a week from now. But I know that the prohibition amendment will pass in America at the beginning of the year. I know the worker strikes will only continue to get worse. I know the Irish will continue to fight against the British government for independence, and eventually between themselves. I know that jazz music is going to be everywhere.”

“You knew when the end of the war was goin’ to be,” he added.

“And I know other things — things I can’t—“ you swallowed, lifting your eyes back to his and bringing your own hand to his face.

“Perhaps you are Cassandra,” he said, his eyes moving down to your lips, “and this time, I’m to believe you. I’m to protect you from this bloody curse.”

Your breath hitched at his words, “You— you believe? Me, all this? How?”

“Talk to Polly. Drink the tea. Who bloody knows if Madam Despoina is telling the truth or if she’s a fuckin’ nutter. But I trust my gut, and my gut has wanted you from the moment I saw you in my dreams.”

“Really?” You whispered with what little breath you seemed to have.

He smiled, humming. “And since you yelled at me down by the Cut.”

“I didn’t yell,” you chuckled, feeling the mood lighten again, your face just a breath away from his own.

He pulled you forward just enough for your lips to meet for the fourth time that night, kissing you softly. You kissed him back, the build up from tonight and two nights before making you needy.

“Tommy,” you whimpered when his mouth left your own for your neck. You swallowed thickly as an insecure thought crept through your mind. “I’m not a doll though, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said against your skin, his breath causing you to shiver.

“I don’t know how to help you,” you added, suddenly worried about whatever promises Madam Despoina seemed to be making for you.

He pulled away from your neck to meet your eyes again, running his hand through your hair. “You’ve already helped me, Y/N. I don’t care if you can tell the future — I don’t care if you can’t. I just know…” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he rest his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/N.”

>> next chapter

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naviavu · 1 year

Note

Okay we all know this trope with Ayato and daughter of some Inazuman clan, but hear me out... Ayato and nymph from Chinju forest. He found you when he was coming from beetle fight with Itto, you were laying unconscious in this pretty, translucent dress. Of course, as a gentleman, he takes you to his manor, where you are treated properly. You can't remember who you are or what were you doing, but it's alright, he says, he will take care of you from now on 👀

WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES BACK AROUND

PAIRINGS: yandere!ayato x nymph!reader

TAGS: noncon, abuse of power, somnophilia, implied fem!chubby!reader, manipulation, creampie, breeding, shy and insecure reader, kinda lore-y?, ayato is lovesick, gaslighting, ayato is a mastermind and now you’re his

WORDS: 5.6k // crossposted on ao3 // my masterlist

NOTES: after a whole ass year, guess who’s BACK. anon, thank you so much for giving me this wonderful idea and i hope you’re still around (no mentions of itto tho, sorry ☹) as usual, college got in the way but at least i’m getting an internship this year (yay! finally getting paid lol). oddly enough, this fic was the easiest and least stressful to write despite me procrastinating it the most. i hope you enjoy a darker twist in ayato’s characterization! may you have a blessed year, readers <3

The warmth swirling in his eyes is definitely from his mother, you muse. "Thank you for not letting the history between us stop you, Sir Ayato. I know things had been rocky between nymphs and your clan ever since…" your parents passed away, but the words died on your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up."

He chuckles, surprising you. "I’m just doing my job as the Yashiro Commissioner.” He scans over your body one last time. You shiver from his gaze. “I look forward to seeing you in a healthier state.”

His scent lingers even after he leaves.

Bathing in Chinju Forest alone at night wasn't the most excellent idea.

You curse as you look around, surrounded by clear waters and tall trees. The night flowers glow a faint blue, enough for you to see a path towards the nearby Torri gate. On the side, your sister’s potion cabin is empty. From here, you can still smell a whiff of whatever Danalise was brewing hours ago before she left.

After receiving news that there are members of the Shuumatsuban waiting for them by the nymph’s dwellings, your sisters have long left before sunset, leaving you alone to bask in the peaceful forest. By this time, they must be discussing affairs with your eldest sister, Danalise, the nymph’s village chief.

As the outcast, your presence isn’t needed. It's not like your sisters ever trusted you to handle political matters or tried to include you in civic discussions, anyway. It was enough for them that you stay out of their way and let smarter and more capable people take the reins. You weren’t talented as Adasia; that birds hum along when you sing. Or Phia, whose paintings and sculptures rival those in real life. Or as smart as your favorite sister Danalise, who’s made countless nymph medicines and healed dozens of the remaining few.

But you didn’t have to be this careless.

You relax when you see your nightgown still perched by the river’s rocks. There have been multiple accounts of perverts-- ordinary men, samurais, and nobility alike-- stealing your sisters’ garments while they bathe, putting you in unease. This wasn’t your first time bathing alone, but it was your first time accidentally staying until night.

Touching the amethyst pendant of your necklace, you silently thank the Archon that no one has attempted to do such a thing. You slip your clothes on.

Well… it’s further proof that even your beauty paled compared to your sisters.

You shake your head. You chose to be alone in the first place to erase negative thoughts that have been brewing for the past week, and it frustrates you how easily it returns.

No more than five steps into the forest, a small vial silently rolls.

It was too late when you hear the glass crack beneath your hard slippers.

You retch. Losing control of your body, you double over and cough violently.

Your body falls on a nearby tree. "Someone– please– help!" You're scared and confused and alone, senses overwhelmed by the foul scent.

Your head spins. The world turns dark, and the last thing you see is pale blue hair and purple eyes.

"--ord, she's awake!" A voice calls out, and your head pounds.

Everything feels too soft.

Where were your sisters?

Footsteps arrive near you. "Good. Ayaka worries too much, and she wasn't even the one who found this cute nymph passed out on the forest floor."

Ayaka? Lady Kamisato Ayaka?

You open your eyes and see Kamisato Ayato.

On his side is Thoma. Even though you’re not close, his familiar face brings you comfort. You’ve seen him talking with your sisters every once in a while.

You sigh in relief, before tensing up again. You were inside the residence of the Yashiro Commissioner himself!

The man beside you raises his gloved hand to touch your forehead. "How are you feeling– oh!"

You squeak and block him away. "Sorry, sorry! Sorry, Lord… Sir… Ayato." You turn red. So much for good impressions. What if your sisters find out that you embarrassed yourself in front of him? "I'm really confused. Where am I?" You cringe internally. In the Kamisato Estate, of course!

He pays no mind, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. He dismisses Thoma.

"In the Kamisato Estate, inside one of our guest rooms. You were out for a whole day," The shoji on the side of the room is open, letting in pleasant sunlight that warmed your skin. Inside your kimono is your nightgown from yesterday. Your necklace is still intact.

"I found you unconscious by the river when I was passing by Chinju Forest,” His brows furrow with concern, and you flush. You’ve heard rumors of his cold beauty, but nothing compares to seeing him up close. "I had to take you here to be treated immediately. Worry not, I already sent men to inform your sisters of your situation."

You bow, now feeling the ache of your sore body. "Thank you so much, my lord."

He shakes his head. "You need to be careful next time. Nymph or not, bathing alone in public places is dangerous."

It doesn’t help that the nymph's reputation has weakened over the past decades. We’re no longer the powerful creatures that we used to be. Your eyes remain on the pristine white sheets. “But I don’t blame you. The potion used on you was quite…”

"The potion?”

“The thing that knocked you out, (Y/N). Do you not remember?” Lord Kamisato reaches into his suit pocket and brings out what looks like a small perfume bottle, no bigger than three inches, decorated with intricate hearts on the front. "The bottle design suggests that whoever created this is from a foreign land. Sumerian, even. But I cannot be sure unless we get a hand on another sample of the liquid itself."

Your eyes widen. “You plan to catch whoever caused my… unconsciousness, my Lord?”

“Not just plan. I will catch them, (Y/N). I cannot let this happen again, and the fact that it did shows that I lacked vigilance in protecting my people.” You think it was too much effort for one simple case, but you suppress the urge to refute him and dare not interrupt. You can only be grateful for his initiative.

He puts the small bottle back in his pocket. “With that being said, I require you to stay in the Estate for a week to ensure your recovery and monitor you should there be any long-term effects.”

You freeze and the man gives you an apologetic smile. “It’s protocol, and for the best interests of all people in the community. I hope you understand, (Y/N).”

“O-Of course, my lord! I’m thankful for all of your efforts, and I’ll help your investigation as much as possible.” He smiles genuinely this time at your eagerness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up."

He chuckles, surprising you. "I’m just doing my job as the Yashiro Commissioner, (Y/N).” He scans over your body one last time. You shiver. “I look forward to seeing you in a healthier state.”

His scent lingers even after he leaves.

Nobody arrived to pick you up one week later.

It is common knowledge to Inazumans that the nymphs from Chinju Forest have been under the Kamisatos protection since the dawn of time, as their ancestors helped each other to grow and survive through different eras. The nymphs gather resources from the forest that helped the Kamisatos grow in their administrative standing, and in exchange, the nymphs and their village are protected from invaders and political monopoly while letting them live a peaceful life. When the time came that the Kamisatos became one of the most powerful clans in the country, they never stopped supporting the nymph’s village.

It was inevitable that one of your sisters fell in love with a clan member. Whoever she was, she had long passed or had gone missing—and even your sisters who have lived longer than you refuse to talk about her.

Rumors say that the Kamisato patriarch was poisoned because a nymph had wanted his love, but he only loved his wife. And so follows the tragedy of losing both Kamisato heads that forced their children, Ayato and Ayaka, to take over their responsibilities and grow up too fast.

Hence your sisters’ fear of the Kamisatos. They have been nothing but kind during diplomatic talks, but you can’t blame them for being wary: the case was never solved, after all. When Danalise interrogated every sister to tears (including you, at such a young age) the night that the Kamisato patriarch’s death had spread around Inazuma, no one admitted anything.

As a safety net, everyone kept their distance: weekly meetings in the nymph’s village became monthly, your sisters avoided collecting food near the Estate, and the staff weren’t as friendly to them anymore.

No one from the Kamisato Estate questioned this change. The seed of distrust had already taken its root.

However, living with them proved you wrong.

Upon Lord Ayato’s absence because of the investigation, Lady Ayaka and Thoma frequently checked up on you. You couldn’t refuse when they first invited you to dinner since Thoma told you that Ayaka was often lonely, and it was rare for her to hang out and let loose with someone else. The staff had been accommodating during your stay, even going far to prevent you from doing simple chores.

You felt like a freeloader. When you insisted that you needed physical activity to speed up your recovery, the servants shook their heads politely. ‘The Commissioner’s order,’ they said.

When Ayato finally arrived home, you greeted him with utmost respect. He laughed and patted your head. “No need for the formalities, my dear. Or else I shall feel bashful that a beauty like you insist on calling me ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’.”

You can still hear his pleasant laughter in the hallways after you bolt to your room. Your scream is muffled on your pillow.

Curse your stupid crush on him.

An hour later, one of the servants knocked. “Lady (Y/N), Lord Ayato has called for you in his quarters.”

Against your will, you find yourself in front of his door. You knock twice. “Sir Ayato?”

Ayato opens the door, still wearing his travel clothes. “Come inside, (Y/N).”

As easy as breathing, you immediately recognize the woman behind him. “Dana!”

You waste no time and tackle her in a hug.

Your sister sighs and pries your arms away. "How have you been doing? Not being a burden to the Commissioner, I hope?" She’s clad in her formal garments, but something weighs down her usually confident stance.

The indifference in her eyes and cold words hurt you. You take a step back and wrap your arms around yourself.

You expected Dana to miss you as much as you did, since she was the only one who paid attention to you and cared for your well-being.

Nevertheless, her presence brought a smile to your face. It felt like home was near.

You shake your head. "No! I’ve been trying to help around the house, I promise!”

Silence encompasses the three of you. Outside, the busy staff continue working around the estate. Some are tasked to prepare a child’s room.

You bounce on your feet, oblivious to the tense atmosphere. “Sister, are we going to go home?”

"(Y/N)..." Ayato clears his throat. You look at him expectantly. "Upon consulting multiple Inazuman scholars, the potion you inhaled was reported to be a… potency potion for nymphs,” He stops, gauging your reaction.

Only the rapid beating of your heart betrays your calm façade. “What… what do you mean by that, my lord?” You ask, voice steady. You don’t want to know. You’ve had enough of potions and investigation. You just want to go home.

He briefly glances at Dana, silently asking for permission to proceed. Your sister, ever so helpful, refuses to look at both of you. Her glossy black hair covers her face as she looks down.

(Unbeknownst to you, she was seething with anger. Your sister cannot find the courage to look at you.)

Her unusual behavior puts you more on edge, like seconds before tittering off a cliff. “L-Lord Ayato,” Your voice breaks. “Please continue what you were saying.”

He takes a deep breath. “The strange potion puts you to sleep and makes your body more reactive to… stimulation. It’s highly likely that you’ve fallen victim to a person’s sinful desires.”

The whole world stops, and the room expands.

Like that night in the forest, you feel scared, confused, and alone.

You whisper. “I don’t understand.” But you do.

“It’s an aphrodisiac laced with a sleeping drug!” Dana yells, voice shrill. You visibly recoil, feeling her anger come off in waves. “It means that some scum has been planning to violate you.”

“What? I don’t…” The soreness between your thighs. Faint bruises on your wrists. A fading hickey on your neck near the back of it, one that you just noticed last night. Dana does nothing to comfort you, only glaring daggers at your shaking form. Tears well up in your eyes.

Your sister prances around the room, her heavy steps pounding your head. “I told you to go home before sundown! Why didn’t you listen to me?"

“Now, it’s highly improper to blame her,” Ayato interjects. Dana glares at him and clenches her fist.

He moves in front of you and grasps your hands. "I don’t want to delay the investigation further. We decided you can't return to our village until we catch who did this. The situation has worsened now that we know the culprit’s intentions."

"But how long would that take!" You shout.

(You miss the split second of anger in his eyes.)

You plead. "I just want to go home, Dana, please. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen."

"You might endanger your sisters, (Y/N)! We are not leading a criminal inside our home just because of your selfishness," Her words felt like death sentence. The last time you saw your sister with a hopeless look in her eyes was after she failed to catch the culprit of the Kamisato patriarch’s death.

Your soft sobs pierce the silence. "I’ll… come back for you when the time comes."

(Ayato’s hand delicately trails on the back of your neck to soothe you.)

Dana’s eyes widen, and she looks away. You don’t hear her whisper, ‘this is for the greater good.’

You’re inconsolable when the door slams and she leaves. Ayato wraps you in his arms. You don’t care if your tears soak his perfectly-ironed coat.

You spend the rest of the day in his quarters, sitting beside him while he does paperwork. He gives you a glance every once in a while, a hand rubbing circles on your back when he notices you trying to stifle your cries. Your face glows a faint red, not because of your sadness but because of his intimate actions.

He’s too close. It’s all inappropriate. You tell yourself that Lord Kamisato is just being kind.

But he’s there when you needed comfort and safety the most.

That night, you fiddle with your necklace. You vaguely remember your sisters giving this to you on your birthday.

Betrayal burns through you. You want to break it from your neck.

(You don’t.

Instead of your past, the amethyst pendant starts to remind you of the Commissioner’s eyes.)

You lose track of time. A week with no news from Dana or any of your sisters felt like agonizing years.

You’ve become restless. Every day, you ask where Ayato is.

“He’s working hard to investigate your case, Lady (Y/N).” The staff says. Their eyes that once filled with joy upon seeing you are now laced with concern and pity. “We do not know when he’ll be back.”

Being the black sheep of the nymph village is something that you accepted long ago. Still, you thought that Danalise would still fight to take you back because you trusted her as your eldest sister and your leader.

You hate that she abandoned you. You also hate that you still longed for your sisters’ presence more than anything else.

Your footsteps patter on the freshly-cleaned wooden floor. "Sir Junichi, do you know where my necklace is? It’s been missing since last night."

“Good morning, (Y/N)." The old man sneezes. On his hand is a wedding dress, elegant but dusty. The colors are vibrant and the fabric has no frays despite the old and traditional style.

You remember one of the portraits hung by the dining room where the Kamisato siblings' mother wear the exact same dress. Why is he holding that?

"I’m not sure, but I think I saw one in Lord Kamisato's office."

A faint blush appears on your cheeks when you remember the day you spent with him. "Thank you."

There was no one inside Ayato’s room, despite him being home. On the table, the rare sight of his organized documents greeted you. Several letters and a freshly inked fountain pen rest by the windows. Souvenirs from Lady Ayaka are displayed on the shelves, all with no dust. A picture of him, Thoma, Taromaru, and Lady Ayaka together in a festival is delicately pinned on the corner of the makeshift bulletin board. The sight warms your heart.

Carefully looking around, your necklace glints whilst hung on the high cabinets. You tiptoe and pull. It barely budges. You reach out and swiftly grab the necklace that the cabinet doors open.

Dozens of empty bottles roll out and you shield yourself from the fall.

A familiar rotten smell invades your scent. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You jump on your feet and run before colliding with a body. "(Y/N)? What are you doing here–"

"Thoma!" You shout as your voice shakes in fear. "He's lying! He violated me!"

"What– who violated you? Please, breathe and calm down."

"Ayato-- Lord Kamisato–" You gasp out, realizing that Thoma is Ayato’s closest friend. "There was no one else in that forest, just him, I saw him– and he said I was violated before he arrived, and that doesn't make sense because he was there before I blacked out! Thoma, please, I know I sound crazy, you have to believe me," You tremble.

In the midst of your frantic words, Thoma appears confused. "You're saying that… it was Lord Ayato who had violated you?" He whispers carefully, hesitant with his words. You nod urgently.

Your thoughts were racing, but you knew one thing: you must get out of this place now. Thoma have always been kind, patient, and understanding, so he will believe you–

"--don't think Thoma believes a word, don't you? Leave us, Thoma."

The housekeeper pulls away from your embrace, curtsied 'm'lord' before exiting and shutting the kanban behind him.

You freeze. You should have known where his loyalties lie.

Behind you, you hear Ayato pick up one bottle. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, (Y/N)."

You grit your teeth. “Find out what.”

“Playing dumb now that I’ve arrived?” He laughs. It sounded melodious when you first heard it; now it twisted your guts. “Not the smartest move, (Y/N).”

“I want to hear you say it. Answer me, Ayato!"

You whimper as your chin is roughly grabbed from behind, forcing you to face him. “I get that you’re upset, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect, princess. Now, let’s start.” He clasps his hand around your arm firmly. “Took you roughly two weeks to find out. Guess there's no denying that now, huh?"

"Please spare me your explanations, Lord Kamisato," You cried out, hurt and betrayal in your eyes. "I'll make sure that everyone in this Estate knows how much of a degenerate you are–let go of me!"

“The Estate," He whispers, voice a low rumble in your ear. "Is mine. Thoma continued his duties per usual after walking out. Ayaka is happy I finally found a fitting partner to continue our bloodline. My servants always kept an eye on you whenever I was gone. I watched your every move, darling."

"Your pathetic attempts to escape will be halted, and you'll end up in your room again. Worse, on mine," You pulled around and trashed, screaming and shouting and fighting before a bottle was opened, and you inhaled that scent again. "Breathe, my love.”

When you wake, your body was already in the throes of passion.

"Feeling good, love?" Ayato sighs, lost in the pleasure. He thrusts slowly inside you. "Look at us, spending the night in each other's arms like that day in the forest."

He leers at your panicked form, seeing your eyes go wide. He’s naked, and in the corner of your eye, you see his clothes discarded haphazardly in a pile mixed with yours. "Nymphs are easily swayed, aren't they? It only took a few threats to convince them to give you to me. They didn't even want money. They immediately agreed to leave you defenseless so I could finally make a move after all these years.”

You freeze and shut your eyes in response. He tuts and squeezes your neck, so you open your eyes again in fear. "Listen closely, (Y/N). You want to know the truth, right?”

“See your sister’s little cabin right there?” You squeal as Ayato grips your waist and sets you on his lap as if you weigh nothing. “That’s where she does her little experiments, no? Did she tell you what she was brewing that day they left you on the river?” You whimper in response, dreading whatever he will say next. You don’t want to believe it.

Ayato laughs, his hot breath ghosting your neck. You shiver in response. “That’s right. The aphrodisiac I’ve been pretending to ‘investigate’. I guess I still have to thank her.”

He embraces you closer, a hand snaking to cup your tits. You try to slap his hand away, but he grasps your wrists with his other hand. "Ah ah. You need to behave if you want me to tell you the whole story.”

“I have no use for your stupid stories,” You spat.

“Really now? Don’t you want to know what happened to your sister who wanted to seduce my father?”

You have no answer. All your life, you’ve always wondered if someone out there knew the truth.

He speaks before you say your answer. “Little one… no one poisoned my father.”

You stop. “What?”

Ayato hums. “It was an accident; he explored the woods one night and accidentally ventured too deep until he was lost, tired, and hungry. Fortunately, he saw a cabin. Your sister’s cabin. Unfortunately, your sister stupidly stored her toxic potions near the entrance door. With no light, he accidentally knocked down one strong enough to kill him. One small bottle was enough to take his life," He whispers. "It’s been ten years since then. Nobody knew but me… until I decided it was time for your clan to face the repercussions."

“That hag Danalise begged; you know. She asked that I spare the rest of you from punishment and take her instead. But I wanted nothing to do with that stupid wench.” He suddenly bites down your neck, and you yelp. He then caresses the hickey with his tongue to soothe the area. “But you, my dear (Y/N)…” He growls. “I wanted everything to do with you.”

You don’t want to believe it. Under the night sky, wetness dripped from your pussy to his thighs, reminding you that his thickness had been inside you twice without you knowing. This bewitching, powerful man is utterly, completely obsessed with you.

"So I became the sacrificial lamb?" You hiccupped. “Jokes on you, I’m the worst one. Any of my sisters could’ve been a better pick.” You press on. There’s nothing to lose anymore. Everyone you knew betrayed you.

"There’s that sad look on your face again." He gently takes your chin to face him. A look of adoration crosses his eyes and you look away, feeling vulnerable. “I picked you, (Y/N). Not any of them. You.”

"After my father's death, I was angry. I loathed your family. I instructed my people to watch out for you nymphs, especially those who dare go near our territory," He whispers, and you reel back. "Imagine my surprise when my people told me there was one naive enough to bathe alone in the forest. I had to go and see you for myself. Then I saw you… your body, naked as the night… your curves glistening in the moonlight."

“My decision was made from then on.” You don’t resist when his hand drops down to your pussy and starts to rub your folds. Your aching core is overstimulated and sensitive at the same time. “An eye for an eye. You shall be my wife, and I will do anything I can to ensure you’ll be mine.”

His hand stroking you, rubbing you in places that no one ever had, has your mind reeling from pleasure. In your calmer state, you’ve become less resistant to his touches, and your body starts to ache for more. Your face flushes at the sound of the slick between your thighs.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

He grinds his palm to your aching clit, and you moan. “Ah—my lord!”

Ayato smirks and lets out a small laugh. “That’s a good girl. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He whispers, nibbling the shell of your ear. “I told you I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Here, lie on the grass," He carefully puts you down on the cool land and spreads your legs.

You fluster at his ravenous gaze, staring intently at your dripping pussy. Laying bare in front of a man for the first time—your captor, no less—awakens something primal inside you. “Gods, look at you. Your pussy is pretty just like the rest of you. Couldn’t stop thinking about this every day for the past month since I first laid my eyes on it.”

Ayato presses his face flush against the inside of your thighs, face dangerously close to your core. You mewl– both in pleasure and shame of him seeing your intimate part up close. "Am I the first man to taste you, my love?"

When you refuse to look at him to answer, he chuckles lightheartedly, underneath, full of lust. "I would've known if you had lain with another, sweetheart. Anyone who attempted would’ve been executed and disappeared." You feel his arm tighten the grip around your waist, possessive and dominating. "Nymphs are famous for their sweet ambrosia, am I right?"

Ayato dived in and licked a strip of your core.

Your hands tighten on his pale blue tresses, unconsciously pulling him closer. "My lord, please stop! I don't want this– oh!"

"You taste exquisite, my darling," He growls. The man feels his chest emitting a growl, beastly and unlike anything he's felt before. "I could eat you up all night and never get tired. You’re the best meal I've ever had."

And he does, slurping and licking for what seems like forever while you moan and keel to his tongue. You're lost in the pleasure, unintendedly singing such beautiful high-pitched noises that sent arousal to his groin. His cock is painfully hard, and he wants to break you. He grips your thighs stronger and circles his tongue on your clit.

You feel a tightening coil inside your stomach. You pant. "My lord, please, I don't know what's happening,"

"Let go. Come," He says, and everything around you explodes in white-hot pleasure.

You were too dazed and disoriented to realize that you passed out for a few seconds because the next thing you know, you woke up to Ayato pressing soft kisses on your shoulders. "Stay awake, my love. We're not yet done."

Too exhausted to protest, your whole body relaxes. Ayato sighs and kisses your hair, fingers trailing down your strands.

He's proud of the mess he made you.

He cups your breasts and you gasp, body succumbing to his touch. You think it's dangerous that you slowly become familiar and yearn for his touch, but it's not so bad either.

With every touch, you feel appreciated and worthy of attention.

Above all, you feel loved.

You look at him again, naked and skin glistening in the moonlight. His pale blue hair is loose, draping around his shoulder like shiny ribbons.

He's as handsome as the day you first saw him in the Estate.

"Oh?" Ayato teases. "You're the beautiful one here, sweetheart. I am merely your worshipper tonight."

He positions your thighs, opening them once again. You whine when he strokes your tender folds. Between your legs and his is his cock, huge and throbbing with dripping beads of precum. He takes your hand and lets you grip it gently. "You feel that, baby? This is only for you."

It twitches on your hand. You tug it, and he moans.

"It’s—it’s big," He kisses your burning cheeks. "Darling, don’t worry. I would never hurt you. Come, put your arms around me," He places your languid arms around him. Your hold on him is tense. "It's okay, baby. You can scratch me if it's painful; I won't get mad." Your lips melt into his again; your breaths become fogs mingling. "Ready?"

He puts the tip in, and you feel stinging the stretch of his cock that you arch your back and shudder. Your nails leave marks on his back. Ayato hisses. "Archons, you're so tight… Princess, are you okay?"

"Y-Yes," You mutter. "I think so. A-ah… you're so big, my lord."

Pride swells in his chest. "You made it that way. Tell me when you've adjusted, okay? I'm not going to move unless you tell me to," His eyes brimmed with fondness and affection that it made your heart skip a beat. A glimpse of what Ayato truly felt for you; aside from his sick obsession, he was a man who truly adored you and is willing to serve all your desires. "Stay still, doll. Don't worry about me. Try to relax."

After a few moments of shifting, you’ve become accustomed to his size. He fits perfectly. "I-I'm okay. Please… take me."

Ayato goes in deep, fully sheaths himself inside you, and he feels as if everything he’s ever experienced was made for this moment. "Gods, thank you so much for allowing me to do this, sweet girl. I love you so much. Always have."

And so he lost himself between you, the stars, and the mysteries of Chinju forest. He thinks about when he first saw you and swore to himself that you would be by his side and how this was finally the culmination of his dream. He thrusts wild as if memorizing the spots with the most of your pleasure and ram himself like a man driven mad by passion and lust.

"Ah, I should take you back to the Estate after this, no?" Ayato grunts when he feels you tighten around his length. Your spongy walls feel like paradise. "Make you my wife. It won't be easy, but I could clear your name, and your sisters will live peacefully," He reaches out to toy with your breasts, letting them mold on his hand. "I'll give you the best life I have to offer, (Y/N). You'll be mine, and I'll be yours. Just say yes."

He continues, murmuring ramblings that you don't even understand because of the rapture you're in. You feel the coil building up again, and Ayato does too, as he fucks into you faster and almost losing his grip. "Please, let's cum together. Be with me, sweetheart."

Both of you slowly lose yourselves and– "Ah!"

The two of you explode in pleasure, and only the forest hears your loving cries. Your fine nails break his porcelain skin, leaving a trail of red behind. Ayato holds you closer, molding perfectly into each other as you both chase your highs under the night sky. He kisses you again, and you return his efforts this time, finding that his lips are far softer and less suffocating when he’s gentle. You think feel a stray tear from his eyes escape. “Lord Ayato… please take me home.”

"Ah, I love you so much," He whispers. He looks at your afterglow, all dopey and tranquil. He thinks about the necklace you left in the Estate. He’ll give you much, much more. "I'll make a future with you."

#navi's writings #naviavu #yandere genshin impact #yandere ayato #yandere kamisato ayato #yandere x you #genshin smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #ayato smut #yandere smut #genshin ayato smut #yandere genshin

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ladydostoevsky · 2 years

Note

Hii can I request some yandere jace with reader and yandere aemond and aegon with reader? Ps ur work is AMAZING!! <3

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 + 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐴/𝑁: 𝑇𝒉𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝒉!!🙏💓 𝑇𝒉𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑢𝑠𝒉𝑒𝑑. 𝐼 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑒.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧

The first time you met was at your step-mother’s, Laena Velaryon’s, funeral.

You were a child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhae Royce.

You were sitting with your half-sisters, Rhaena and Baela, mourning your mother when Jacaerys came. He had heard about you from his mother but never thought you would look this beautiful up close.

He comforted you for losing your second mother. After that you became very close friends, best friends.

But for him it wasn’t enough. The moment he saw you the first time he developed a little puppy crush, not knowing it will grow into something bigger and darker.

Years later you were one family.

The very day, on Laena’s funeral day, your father got married again with Rhaenyra. Standing next to you and looking at the wedding, Jace swore to marry with you in Old Valyrian tradition, just like your parents.

Living together was hell and paradise at the same time.

He was caring and loving. He did everything to protect you from anything.

Learning Valyrian together was so much fun. You teased him all the time about how you can talk better than him.

While playing with your younger siblings you always caught him looking at you longer than it’s normal. You of course took it as a brotherly love. While he imagined you playing with your children.

There were also more... darker times.

He followed you around all the time, which was pretty annoying. He didn’t let you ride your dragon alone, only if he was with you. He didn’t let anyone, except your family, touch you. Any talk or idea about marriage or engagement was shut down from him.

You tried to talk with your father and Rhaenyra about this but they dismissed it for deep brotherly love only.

The real hell started when you went to King’s Landing. He was even more paranoid now. What if some arrogant and disgusting lord or lady tries to do something? What if the green brothers who looked at you the whole trial and feast, like you were meat for the wolves, tried something?

He hold your hand or your waist all the time. He did anything to show others that you were to belong to him and no one can touch you.

When Aegon made some disgusting jokes and comments about you, this was his snapping point.

Blood and fists were thrown, which resulted him confessing everything.

‘’Stay away from my sibling you fucking creep. No one will have them, except me.’’

⎯⎯⎯

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 + 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝

You were a childhood friend of the princes.

Your grandfather was a lord in the king’s small council. Your mother had died years ago of illness and your father is helping Lord Corlys Velaryon in his war which has been going on for 6 years already.

You were taken as a child to King’s Landing with your grandfather to seek new opportunities and maybe find someone to marry.

In childhood you and the princes were inseparable, you think because they didn’t have any other friends.

They sometimes always fought over your attention and tried to embarrass the other in front of you. But overall you got along with both of them.

You were always next to Aegon after his mother had insulted him again. You were beside Aemond for days after he came back to the Red Keep with only one eye.

You encouraged, cared and loved them, when their parents didn’t and everyone else treated them like monsters.

Now you were more mature and undesrtood things better.

They were more mature and finally they realized that what they felt for you in the beginning doesn’t exist anymore. They desired you, they needed you. Their little childhood crush has turned into an obsession, a want, a need.

Alicent knew what was going on, but fearing her sons wrath she turned a blind eye.

Aegon was the flirty and touchy one. He always had to say something and he always had to have his hands on you in some way. He had tried to invite you into his bed many times which you have declined.

Aemond was more the show off and 'knowledge is power' type. He loved to show off his sword fighting skills and his intelligence. He would talk hours about his family’s history or philosophy. He also likes to show off his massive dragon, Vhagar. You have rode with him countless times which had made Aegon a little very jealous.

But your hell was about to start.

When news about King Viserys's death reached you, you knew what was about to happen.

Aegon is gonna be crowned as a king and then there will be nothing to stop the brothers from taking you.

You of course had to stand next to Aemond, despite Alicent's protest. But as a future king, Aegon will get what he wants.

You knew that Aegon never wanted to be king. He hated the crown and the position he had born into. And now seeing him with such confidents and little arrogance before the cheering people made your belly twist.

And also sensing Aemond's tall and dark presence next to you didn't help the situation.

He leaned down and whispered, only for you to hear,

"We made a "deal" with your grandfather. You will enter into the real hell really soon, my love."

#the house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #viserys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #yandere aemond #yandere #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #targaryen!reader #x reader #yandere hotd

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rayassecretlife · 1 year

Text

Visions in my mind

Pairing: Aged!up Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: What if Neteyam never died? You struggles to deal with the memories of that horrid night, seeing your mate breathless, but Neteyam is here to comfort you, make sure you know he isn’t going anywhere.

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, Mature Language, Mentions of death.

Memories were supposed to be something people loved, something that gave people hope for a better future—but for you, memories only ever brought terror and nightmares back into your life you swore you got rid of.

It had officially been exactly 2,191 days, 72 months, and 52,560 hours since your life changed forever; since you and Neteyam’s life changed forever.

6 years after your mate almost died.

Years ago, you accompanied the sully’s on their move to the reef due to your lack of parental attention and your huge crush on their oldest son that nobody knew about. You were very close with the sully’s growing up, and you knew you’d stick by them whenever they needed.

But that night, something was so different.

You remember waking up on that beautiful day, going swimming with Tuk and Neteyam like you always did to start your morning. The day was fine, perfect almost, but as it got darker you could sense a pit in your stomach and you didn’t know what it could have been.

Now you believe it could’ve been early mate senses… but nothing could have prepared you for what happened that night.

You remember the urgency in Neteyam’s voice when he calls to you and Tonowari’s children, telling you all that Lo’ak was going to save Payakan from the demon ships and of course, you had to go after him.

You remember when all seven of you tried to pull the tracker out of the Tulkun, praying you had got it out in time. You remember Neteyam rushing away with the tracker on his Ilu without even consulting you, trying to draw away the ships. You couldn’t have been more worried so you followed.

You remember seeing him safe, making you so relieved it was insane, but you’d never forget the look on his face when you started to swim towards him.

“Y/N!” Neteyam’s voice slowly fades as you feel the sharp pain in your back, your cries muffled by the water. You felt the strong arms pull you above the water and before you knew it, the demon spawn himself was above you.

“Well, look what we have here” He chuckles, reaching down to cup your shivering face. You could still hear Neteyam’s voice but could also feel the ship moving, and you knew neteyam wouldn’t be able to make it. “Think your on the wrong side of the reef, kid” You hiss, reaching your hands up to claw at him but he quickly shifts away, laughing hysterically at your antics. “Feisty, huh? Sure your not sully’s kid?”

You remember the endless amount of pain you went through, watching bodies drop around you like they were nothing. You were only 15, and you were chained up on a boat, listening to a man threaten the only family that ever loved you. He’d make you talk to them, and you could still hear Neteyam’s words to you when he got the chance to talk. He was so worried, and felt so guilty for your kidnapping.

You remember when Kiri, Tsireya and Tuk were strapped down right next to you, forced to hear all the threats the man made to Jake. The constant comforting Tuk with your words, the constant praying to Eywa under your breath, and the constant hope for Neteyam to save you. You didn’t care what happened to you, you just needed him to be okay. You needed to see him again.

And finally, you remember getting off the ship alongside the sully boys and Tsireya, but just as you were about to turn to Neteyam, you saw his distress clearly.

“Neteyam?” You notice how he’s struggling to keep himself up in the water, placing a hand on his arm to help but he only cries in pain, making you immediately retreat. “Nete, what’s…” That’s when you notice the way his hand held his heart, and how his coughing was slightly hoarse, but you definitely weren’t prepared to see the blood filling the water. “No, no, no—“ You repeated under your breath, looking back at his brother who was laughing with spider.

“Come on bro!” Lo’ak slips onto his Ilu, calling for Neteyam who you were helplessly trying to keep above the water, begging him to stay with you.

“You skxawng! I’m shot” Neteyam informs his brother and all of their faces drop, your hand pressed against his wound so hard it made him since. “Y/N… Y/N I-“

“Shit! We have to get out of here!” Lo’ak rushes to your aid, helping you lift his brother onto the Ilu. His breathing was slow and very heavy as you sit behind him, your horror only growing for the boy. The wound, it was big. His back bled profusely even when you covered it, a slight cry leaving your mouth as Lo’ak rode the Ilu to shore.

“Y/N” Neteyam repeats for the hundredth time and you hear him, responding in your shaking voice. “D-don’t cry, Y/N” You shush him, telling him to save his breath. You were so afraid for him, he was losing so much blood.

“Don’t worry about me, okay? We’re gonna get you help. We’re gonna patch you up and your gonna be fine, Okay?” You ramble in his ear, placing a small kiss to his shoulder which even with the gunshot pain, still made his heart flutter with joy.

You remember having to help him onto the large rocks, meeting with Jake who was clearly distressed trying to figure out what was wrong with his son. All of you were there, and you were sitting right next to him with a comforting but sad smile as you caressed his face, trying to calm him down.

“Your gonna be okay, I promise” Your tears are falling and Neteyam notices almost instantly, even with his shuttering chin and fearful eyes. “Your gonna be okay a-and we’re gonna go back home—to the forest and your grandmother. We’re gonna take that Ikran ride we’ve always talked about, and I’ll even let you teach me how to fish” A small laugh leaves your broken voice, breaking through your sobs. “Just look at me a little longer, okay?”

“Y/N…” His touch is so weak against your cheek, wiping your tears with one swipe of his large thumb. Jake watches the two of you, a huge lump in his heart as he heard the calls of his nearing wife. “I… I lo…” You shush him, biting your lip harshly as you wipe his own tears, shaking your head. You didn’t need him to speak, you knew. You knew it all from the beginning.

“I love you too” Neytiri is approaching quickly, rambling words as she kneels to her son, capturing his gaze away from you. Neteyam’s body is shaking heavily, and his eyes are even more frantic then before. He was terrified.

“I want to go home” He stutters horrifically as Jake holds the side of his face, eyes softening at his sons request.

“I know, we’re goin’ home” Jake soothes, pleading voice as he spoke to his oldest son.

You remember the emptiness you felt once his hand fell from your face, the fear in your heart as you heard his mothers wearing cries for him. Neteyam, the strongest boy you knew, the mighty warrior… the only boy you’ve ever loved, was gone.

But by the grace of Eywa, not forever.

Neteyam fell into a deep coma for weeks, and you remember every moment you laid away next to him, praying every night and day with your hand stuck in his own. You wanted this nightmare to be over, to be able to hear his sweet voice again. Nobody understood how he survived but you weren’t questioning anything, only hoping he’d wake up soon to wrap his gentle arms around you for one last time.

The two of you didn’t wait to express your feelings for one another when he awoke, and you definitely didn’t waste any time in your relationship to do everything you promised each other, whether that be flying, fishing, making food, etc. you did it all.

You’d spend your nights sneaking away from everyone together, laying against his chest under the stars until the sun came back up, talking about the future and what it held for the two of you. He was your other half, and with him you felt whole again.

Except for when you fell asleep.

Six years later and your still waking up with the nightmares of that night, and you could still see his blood staining your hands whenever you spoke of it. You’d spend the rest of your relationship worried sick for him, always urging him to stay home because of that night.

Jumping when you heard gunshots, holding Neteyam extra tight when he came home from hunting, you did everything you could to be close to him. He was Olo’Eyktan and you were his Tsahìk, just like you talked about when you were younger, but that also meant his duties were much more dangerous.

“Y/N, take a deep breath” Neytiri’s voice chimes in from behind you as you pace the room, biting on your nails. Neteyam was supposed to be home hours ago in time for dinner, even his warriors were in their homes by now, but he was nowhere to be found. “He is probably just-“

“Why would he leave for this long? I cooked him dinner and… and I waited for him where he told me to” You turn to her, tears brimming your eyes already. Neteyam was almost always home on time, knowing the trauma it puts you through when he isn’t, and it didn’t help that you were pregnant with your first child, which made your mood swings even worse. “He won’t even pick up when I page him…”

His mother stands to her feet and walks over to you with a gentle smile, placing her hands on your shoulders. “He is alright, He can take care of himself” She tries to reassure you but it of course doesn’t work, seeing as you just shook your head making her sigh. “Y/N, you cannot stress so much. The baby-“

“I’m going to look for him” You don’t waste a second as you pull away from her, grabbing your bow that sat on the wall. Pregnant or not, you were going to find him if you had to. But of course, you were stopped once again before you could.

“Your not going anywhere, Y/N” The hoarse voice sighs, blocking the doorway from your view. You look up at the man with a mugging expression, pushing his chest multiple times until he grabbed your hands. “You have to calm down, you’ll hurt the baby with all this stress, kid”

“Get out of my way, Jake” You command with a calm voice, but he wouldn’t budge. You hiss, pushing him again. “I am your Tsahìk!” Jake sighs, looking over to his wife who already had her head in her hands, rubbing her face. But even with you being Tsahìk, you knew you had no power over your husbands parents. “Please just… just let me look outside” Your voice is shorten by your tears and you don’t even realize how badly Neytiri feels for you, having to go through this same exact thing with Lo’ak and Neteyam after that night.

He soon moves and you walk out without hesitation, looking around high camp for your mate. You could smell him, and his scent was getting stronger. You tell his parents to stay behind but they obviously don’t, seeing as you were pregnant and going out by yourself when they still didn’t completely trust the sky people that worked on pandora.

You follow his scent until you spot his Ikran, your eyes widening as you practically ran towards it, hushing it’s frantic movements. “Where is he, girl? Where is Neteyam?” You caress her face, eyes begging for her to tell you but before she could even make one more noise, a small grunt was heard from behind you.

And to your horror, you saw Neteyam sat with his back against a rock, hand holding his stomach and his breath uneasy like he was trying not to scream. “Neteyam” Neytiri ran over to him, kneeling down to his injured body. You on the other hand, were frozen in place. “It’s just a cut, it’s fine” Neytiri reassures all three of you but you still make your way over to him, your body filling with anger when he looked at you.

“Y/N-“

“I can patch him up” You tell his parents, watching as they lift him up to his feet. He had s large gash on his side, as it his own Ikran did it. He tries to talk to you but your ignoring his every call, walking with them until they got to your cave, setting him down on the mat on the floor. “Thanks-“

“Y/N, go easy-“

“Thank you” You close the cloth covering to your cave’s opening before his parents could finish, still hearing your husbands calls from behind you. “Just stop it, Neteyam” That’s how he knew you were angry, you called him his full first name which you never did.

“My Tìyawn, please” He begs as you sit down in front of him, dipping a cloth in the warm water before running it along his skin, listening to him hiss in pain. “I tried to call you-“

“I don’t want to hear of it anymore, Okay? Just let me-“

“Y/N” His hand cups your face, lifting it to look at him. “I’m so sorry, My love. I… I can’t imagine the hell I put you through when I was gone” You watch as he pulls something out from behind him, showing you the small bowl. “My pager died when I was going to get that relieving lotion you like to use for your feet, because I know the baby hurts them a lot. I also went to get your favorite fruits because I realized we were out of them and I-“

“Neteyam” You were still so angry, but you saw how sorry he was, how worried he was for what he did to you when you were here and he wasn’t. “I’m not mad. I just… I don’t know how many more times I can do this” Your eyes are now staring into his, and you can see his face soften as a tear slips from your eye. “Everytime i wake up next to you and you don’t wake up when I call you I—“

You choke out your words, lowering your head so you didn’t have to look at you mate. Neteyam knew you had nightmares, but there was so much more to it.

“I can’t stop seeing your lifeless body under me—I can’t… I can’t stop seeing your blood on my hands. I-I can’t even bathe without you because I’m so afraid something will happen to you and I’ll find you again” At this point, your throat is clogged with sobs and Neteyam can’t do anything but pull you against him, wrapping his strong arms around your small frame so firmly, you couldn’t even try to excape. “I’m so fucking scared of losing you again, Neteyam. I can’t even stay home by myself anymore”

“It’s pathetic, I know” You scoff, wiping your many tears. You should get over it, you knew that, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t get over the fact that he died in your arms, and now scarred you for the rest of your lives together. “I don’t mean to be a burden for you I just-“

“You are not a burden” He said sternly, grabbing your hands in his but making sure to keep your eyes on him. “Your my mate, Y/N. My wife, my Tsahìk… you are everything to me” He continues truthfully, even growing slightly teary eyed from the subject. He vividly remembered that day, but hearing you talk about it made him so upset. “I promised myself to you because I love you—because your anything but a burden to me”

From the moment Neteyam met you, he knew you were going to be his forever. When he smelled your scent, when he heard your soft voice, when you’d put him in check but always keep him on his toes—you were exactly what he needed, and now he looks at you like your the only girl in the world.

Which is why the two of you stare at each other for what felt like forever, not even having to say anything before you pull him into a tight hug, and let out all your tears once his arms are wrapped firm around you. Words can’t explain the love you have for each other, and you definitely wouldn’t try. His calm voice shushes you, rubbing your back as your hands get lost in his hair, like they had been finding their way home.

“Don’t cry, My love. I’m here, I’m right here” You sob as he places his large hand over your stomach, feeling the small kicks of your first born who was soon to be brought into the world. Neteyam knew the reason you were worse from your pregnancy. You were a fighter before, one of their best warriors but when you got pregnant, Neteyam wouldn’t let you do anything. He was afraid of your baby getting hurt, afraid of you getting hurt. “Can you look at me, Pretty girl?”

You sniffle, wiping your tears one last time as you pull away from him, resting your hand on his above your bump. He reaches his free hand toward your face and brushes a piece of hair from it, a smile across his lips. “Stop doing that, I have to clean you up” You already knew and it made you laugh, pushing away his hand from your face.

He doesn’t say anything else, only cupping the side of your face to pull you into a kiss. Your ears peek at the sudden contact, and you place your hand on his leg for support, giggling against his lips when you felt his tail brush your thigh.

“I’m not going anywhere. You are my home, Y/N. I’ll always come back to you” The both of you sigh, leaning your forehead against each others, noses pressing together. “How about we sleep outside in the hammock tonight? Watch the stars while I rub your feet” You smile, biting your lip to hide it. “How’s that sound, Beautiful? Just you and me, all night under the pandora sky?”

You hum, leaning into him again to kiss him one last time. He knew exactly how to make you feel better. How could you deny that offer? You pull away with your lips pressed together, a smile forming with a small laugh as you run your hand over his chest, ghosting over his cuts.

“Right after we clean these wounds, Pretty boy”

Ehhh, this is okay. Kind of rushed….

Sorry for the inactivity!! It’s been a hectic week but I’m on spring break soooo 😏

Taglist: @doggyteam2028 @luvagirlsworld @mashiromochi @angelsamor @neytirishottie @lu-the-ghost-reader @viajaeger @jakescumdump @myh3artt @rinizitos @luz15sstuff @lalamac125 @countryandsweetbabygirl

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #avatar james cameron #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam angst #atwow neteyam #neteyam gif #neteyam fluff

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farfromstrange · 28 days

Text

‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 5.8k

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

Read Me On AO3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, please—”

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

“There is always another way.”

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

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

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

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

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

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

He stopped dead in his tracks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart.

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

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement.

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

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

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

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

“I love you,” he repeated.

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

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

“I love you,” you caved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” you screamed again.

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile fades.

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

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

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

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

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

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

You shuddered. “That, too.”

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

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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iamumbra195 · 24 days

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SBG Hunger Games AU

Ashlyn, forced to survive and take on a leadership role she never wanted in the rebellion. Her parents teaching her to survive as best as they could in hopes that she could protect herself if she ever got hurt and refusing to let her put her name more than once for the reaping no matter how hard things got, only to watch her name get picked out of hundreds of others and not being able to do anything as their only daughter was thrown into a death tournament for the amusement of the rich and powerful. Ashlyn doing her best to survive the games and resenting Aiden for stepping all over her boundaries and poking his nose into her business but slowly learning to love him as time goes on. Her being forced into the arena of her nightmares a year after she and Aiden got out, knowing only one of them would walk out alive this time and she wanted it to be him. Her losing him despite doing her best to try and keep him alive.

Aiden, so hopelessly devoted to a single girl it destroys him. Aiden, the son of the mayor and his wife, whose cousin was reaped just two years before him, losing his voice and passion for singing in the process. Him watching the girl he liked (and was kinda obsessed with) get chosen for the games shortly before his name was pulled and finding it vaguely ironic because he'd always wondered what it was like to die but he'd never really expected that he would die this way. He was always testing the boundaries with the peacekeepers, seeking out dangerous things that he knew would get him in trouble. Aiden, who already knew what the outcome of the games would be because he would make sure of it himself-- make sure Ashlyn would come home even if he didn't. Him watching as she offers him the berries-- both of them go home or neither of them go home-- and falling in love with her all over again. Him volunteering for his cousin and swearing to make sure Ashlyn will be the only one to walk out all over again because he knows they won't get lucky again this time.

Ben, big and charming with a love for singing that helped him get sponsors when he was reaped, having his throat heavily damaged during the games by one of the careers. He beat them to death in his anger and his throat was fixed by the capitol but it was forever changed and artificial and Ben hated the sound of it so he never spoke or sang again, getting angrier and more defiant of the capitol until his family's home was burned down and he realized the capitol would kill them at any time if they wanted to. So he kept quiet and remained on his best behaviour, letting his hatred and anger fester inside him as other kids were reaped and then his cousin, his reckless stupid cousin was reaped and Ben knew he would die in that arena while he could do nothing but stand there with clenched fists and poisonous rage. But Aiden survived against all odds and there were whispers of rebellion and Ben began to hope-- until the victors are reaped and Aiden volunteers for him despite all his protests and he is forced to watch from the sidelines all over again, hoping that Jasmine and District 13 can extract them all from the arena in time.

Tyler, hardened and angry from loss, clinging onto the family he has left and volunteering as tribute when Taylor gets chosen so she never has to fear for her life only for her to get chosen again the next year as a punishment for his own defiant nature. Taylor, who manages to survive her games, watching her brother continue to suffer to protect her from the darker sides of being a tribute. Marianna, a victor who had a mental breakdown after the capitol killed her husband, watching her children go through the same trauma she went through and not being able to do anything about it. Tyler and Taylor being pulled back into that nightmare arena and Marianna volunteering for Taylor and dying in the arena to protect Tyler in the only way she could. Taylor, helplessly watching from the sidelines as her mother dies and falling apart at the seams when she realizes they didn't manage to get Tyler before the Capitol got to him.

Logan, intelligent and kind despite all that he went through, managing to get through his games by being underestimated and hiding with the career pack. His parents watching as he used their knowledge of botany (and drugs) to survive in a forest landscape where tributes from District 3 would generally struggle to survive and coming home despite all odds. Him being dragged into the games all over again barely a few years later.

Ashlyn, Aiden, Tyler, Marianna, and Logan being allies in the games. Ben, Taylor and the others working with District 13 to get the victors removed. Aiden and Tyler being the ones lost to the Capitol. Ashlyn, forced to be a symbol. Taylor becoming more angry and vicious because she has lost her whole family at this point. Aiden and Tyler coming back not quite right, not fully human. Alex Laurier taking on a bit of a mentor role for Ashlyn like Boggs did for Katniss, warning her not to trust Maverick.

Ashlyn and Aiden helping each other heal, the gang and their parents coming together in the end and helping each other heal because they were still kids by the end of it all, even if they were never truly allowed to be.

IT FITS THEM SO WELL, I'M GONNA GO CRY IN A CORNER WHY DID I THINK OF THIS? 😭

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moiravim · 10 months

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Blonde Hair

PLATONIC brother!Draco x reader

Summary: Yn is the daughter of Regulus Black but was quickly taken in and adopted by Narcissa. YN is extremely insecure, but her brother Draco is always there for her. (Second person)

Warnings: YN has dark hair, fem YN, mention of blood

1.3k words

Your father, Regulus had died before you ever met him and your mother died during childbirth. The closest thing you had to a family was always the Malfoys. But even after having your last name changed Lucius had always called you 'yn black'.

You grew up feeling like you had no family and the only person who had ever made you feel any differently was Draco.

Draco always made sure you felt loved. You'd always been close and would always play together as kids.

As you grew older Draco had realized how you feel. It made no sense to him because he had always seen you as his real sister and he didn't get why you saw it any differently.

Your first year of Hogwarts was coming up and you were horrified. You wanted everyone to see you as a 'real' Malfoy. Lucius had gifted you an amulet which would change your darker hair to platinum blonde.

The amulet was a large oval with a glowing mist-like substance inside. It hung from a thick silver chain, worn as a necklace.

You were obsessed with it since the moment it was gifted to you. "YN, really... You don't have to wear that stupid necklace! You were perfectly fine without it!! No one's even here to see you-" Draco complained but you immediately cut him off.

"You just don't understand what it's like not having a family!!" This 'stupid necklace' was the thing keeping me together at the moment. It made me feel like I really did fit in with the Malfoys.

Draco's eyes started to water as his face got red. "I'm your family!" He shouted as a tear slipped down his cheek. He immediately wiped it away and hid his red eyes with his hand.

You felt bad, but you knew he was wrong. He was just trying to make you feel better. He wasn't really your brother. He was your cousin and Narcissa was your Aunt. You had no parents. No brother.

The ambiance of Draco's room continued to become more and more akward. You sigh before hugging Draco and rubbing his back. You didn't want to, but, you knew he'd do the same for you.

He hugs you back tightly as a few more tears fell from his eyes. You hadn't realized at the time he was scared of the same thing you were.

You left his room, going back to your own so you could finish packing. You and Draco left for Hogwarts tomorrow and had to leave early to get to the Hogwarts express.

When you layed in bed, anxiety took over you. 'Everyone would find out I'm not Draco's real sister and they'll all hate me!' you told yourself.

After another hour of restless sleep you sneaked into Draco's room. He was still awake and was writing in his diary. He smiled as he watched you peek into his room.

He pat the spot next to him as he wrote in his journal and you made your way over to him. You sat, resting on your knees. "I can't sleep... I'm scared. What if everyone finds out I'm not your real sister?"

He looks at you sadly. He's obviously tired of hearing about it but you have no one else to express your fears to and he knows it. But the part about you not being his 'real sister' really hits hard.

He was disappointed you didn't see him as a brother, but he was too nervous to say anything. "YN. Everyone will love you. I promise. And even if they don't I'll always be here for you." He says truthfully.

"You really think they'll believe we're siblings?" You ask once more as Draco nods.

You rested your head on his fluffy pillows before happily falling asleep with little to no worries.

You woke up the next morning in your own bed. An outfit was picked out and placed folded on your chair with your amulet on top.

You slowly woke up and got dressed. You hid your amulet under your shirt before leaving your room to go find your brother.

"YN. Your going to be late. Go meet up with Narcissa and Draco. They have your things." Lucius said as you nodded and rushed downstairs.

Lucius eventually met up with the three of you and you left for Hogwarts. When you entered the train you followed Draco to find empty seats.

Eventually a few of Draco's friends found their way to your section and sat with you two. It was fun and for once you could see some resemblance between you and Draco. You swore to yourself in this moment you'd never let anyone see you without your amulet.

A month into the school year and everything has been going great. Your best friend is Pansy, but you also hang out with Draco and his other friends.

Still none of them know your not really Draco's twin and you couldn't be any happier. Sadly it wouldn't last.

You had already made enemies due to your brother. Harry and Ron often picked on you. You didn't blame them though because of how your brother treated them.

"You know, you guys really aren't good people" you stated, tired of their constant bullying. "Says the Malfoy! Your the definition of evil" Ron argues back.

"Don't you dare talk bad about the Malfoy name!" You snapped back. You were close to loosing it. You decided to use your one talent against them.

"Duel me! Two against one! I'll prove you both wrong!"

They laughed, thinking it'd be an easy win but you knew there was no way they'd win.

You yelled out spells, constantly stunning them and blocking their counter spells.

While you were busy fighting Ron, Harry had used flipendo against you. Your body was flung into the wall and you landed roughly on the floor.

You hadn't cared for the glass stabbing into your chest, all you cared about your hair. The platinum blonde hair that was giving you a reason to live.

You sobbed out, curling in on yourself. You were so close to winning, how could things have gotten this bad. Of course you'd underestimated Harry.

You pulled at your hair as your body started to shake. The worst part was all the students watching you fall apart.

Everyone in the school would find out your not Draco's sister. Your life would be ruined.

Your eyes remained slammed shut as you felt someone pull you into their arms. "Shhhh....shhhhh... I'm here. Everything is going to be okay... My sweet sister, you don't deserve this." Draco said as he brushed out the hair you had tangled.

He lifted you up and took you away from the crowds and into the Slytherin common room.

He rested you onto the couch and noticed blood going through your white shirt. He immediately unbuttoned it to see your crushed amulet stabbing into your skin.

Draco's frown deepens as he inspects your cuts. They weren't too bad, but he still felt horrible he wasn't there for you sooner. He wished it never had happened.

He discards the amulet and cleans the blood from you. A few minutes later Pansy rushes in, hugging you as your cries die down.

"Oh, YN! I was so worried, I heard what happened... Harry and Ron truly are horrible" Pansy states as she hugs you tightly.

You smile at her comment. Draco sits next to you and continues to rub your back as you hug Pansy.

"YN, I want to talk to you in private..." Draco says as Pansy nods, giving the two of you some space.

"This changes nothing. You always have been and always will be my sister". You begin to cry at his words and hug him tightly. He hugs you back once more before you leave to get some rest.

A/N: I'm having family problems 💔 also the amulet is based off of the owl house LMAO!!

#harry potter x reader #platonic harry Potter #platonic draco #platonic draco Malfoy #yn malfoy #dracos sister #draco malfoy #draco x yn #draco x reader #hurt/comfort #harry potter fluff #harry potter #fanfiction #found family #platonic fanfiction

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campbell-rose · 9 months

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Helluva Rewrite: Millie

Okay, i dropped my phone in water and was so scared i'd ruined it, but thank the gods it was fine. Though it's fucked so i'm going to post all the IMP redesigns in short order before it dies and i lose them forever. Onto Millie!

I wanted Millie to read as a country girl. I remember being like ‘oh, that’s her voice?’ when I watched the first episode, because for some reason it just didn’t match her design for me. I considered giving her back the white splotch in her hair, but decided to change imps and give fem imps white horns. I’ve got two guesses for why it was removed: 1) she was originally trans and it was changed 2) the dimorphism of imps was thought of after the pilot. Either way, I like it. I suppose the explanation for this version since her horns are fem is she might have been born intersex?

I wanted her and Moxxie to contrast in their designs, as such she’s wearing less while he’s fully covered, she’s tall he’s short, etc... Now, as a Wrath imp, she has a darker skin tone and has spikes on her body.

Now, as a character, i'll build off of what the show has given us.

Supposedly Millie is secretly very insecure? From leaks she’s like willing to die because she thinks she’s holding Moxxie back and in Unhappy Campers she had that whole breakdown. Now, I think this actually could’ve been built up a bit.

In the rewrite, Millie is the youngest of her five siblings and the second girl. Now, from the bat lets make her a bit of a drain on the family. They hadn’t planned for her birth, and it was another child her parents had to take care of with limited money. She picked up on this when she was little, realizing that her parents often cut corners and struggle, and she perceives this as her fault. This ties into how she mentions her family going to Loo Loo Land, except in this it was once and was specifically for her birthday. She knows her parents had saved up for months to afford the trip and feels innate guilt for it. Boom insecurity explained.

Now, in this Millie meets Blitzo first. They bump into one another once Millie moves away from the Wrath Ring to Pride to try and alleviate her parents’ stress. During this time Millie has been working as an assassin for a couple months and ends up bumping into Blitzo who was hired by a different person to kill the same target. This would be during Blitzo’s attempt to start his business in hell killing demons. They fight for a bit, then realize ‘oh wait... let’s work together!’ so Millie was the first to join IMP.

Millie trains endlessly. When she isn’t doing her job, she’s at the gym. She is constantly striving to be the best because her parents pitted her and her siblings against one another (unknowingly, with things like the harvest festival). As a person she is very observant and emotionally intelligent. She is very kind and loves conversation. She also is very tight with money, and very appreciative of any gifts she receives because she grew up with little. She treasures things genuinely and is just all around a very genuine girl.

Now, other than fighting, she is fairly mediocre at anything else, due to the culture of Wrath mainly being kill or be killed and you have to be tough. One hobby and talent she does have and is working on is singing, something she shares with Moxxie and works as something they can do together. Millie loves to play guitar and sing and is constantly striving to improve. On the topic of Moxxie, Millie loves him deeply and wants only the best for him and some part of her feels like she isn’t enough.

All around I want this Millie to come off as a very confident and genuine person, trying her best to push down the deep feeling within her that she is a drain on everyone around her. So when people start showing her with praise rather than screaming in agony she is enthralled. She loves the cheers of crowds, as it was often Sallie Mae getting cheered on during the Harvest Moon Festival while Millie was always second best. She wants that kind of adoration and acknowledgement.

That’s it. Gotta work on finishing Blitzo and Moxxie rn

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss redesign #anti helluva boss #anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #helluva boss rewrite #Helluva rewrite #helluva boss millie

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dev-mars · 2 months

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Headcanons for Laurance if I rewrote MCD

• Orphaned at 4 he was left in the forest and doesn’t what happened to his parents or who they were but he had a blanket with his name in it

• Ungrth found him and took care of him to the best of his abilities

• 24 at the start of the story

• was raised by Joh and Hayden

• Both him and Cadenza were taken in around the same time he was 6

• Before he was taken in he helped out on fishing boats for extra money

• Despite Cadenza only being 1 year older than him she treats Laurance like he little brother

•Really looked up to Sasha before she died

• Cadenza and Laurance would bother Castor (the chicken shaman) as children but eventually he became sort of fond of them

• As first in his class at the guard academy Garroth had to give a speech welcoming the new recruits that was the first time he saw Garroth’s face due to the traditional uniform

• He didn’t put it together until he saw Garroth’s face for a second time because he had forgotten about the speech although before that he felt he had met Garroth somewhere because he felt familiar

• Laurance also became first of his class

• Got his scar on his lip from being too cocky while sparring at the academy

• He was naturally gifted at fighting and didn’t have to try too hard in the past but the embarrassment from the fight led him to push himself to become better

• He got humbled just enough

• He before he became a shadow knight he was a little insecure about the scar

• He gave the welcoming speech for Zenix’s guard academy class

• Laurance is charismatic and a ladies man as to compensate for how awkward he feels he is

• Although he flirts a lot he rarely actually acts on his flirting although he occasionally goes out with someone

• He let Cadenza dye his hair saying he wanted to impress ladies but actually he wanted to look more like his sister

• It end up looking not that great and he was trying to grow out so he cut out the dye

• He found Joh’s body after he died and had to help bury him

• Immediately Cadenza was missing too and he thought he was terrified he would find her dead somewhere

• Had his nose broken he before he was killed in the nether now it’s permanently crooked

• Before he went blind his eyes were darker sea green then they changed to a paler light green

Theses are just some fun story ideas that I came up with for Laurance! Most of them take place before the events of the story. Let me know what y’all think!

#laurance zvahl #larmau #garrence #minecraft #minecraft diaries #mcd rewrite #aphmau mcd #aphmau #mcd headcanons

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clazaries · 19 days

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Karma in the Form of Justice -slightlydark!Steven w/ a hint of Marc x thief!reader

Summary: An opportunist thief takes their chances stealing from the wrong tomb and has to face their karma in the form of Moon Knight. Basically, don't get on the wrong side about Egyptian matters when it comes to Steven and if he teaches you something, you better remember it. w/c: 6.9k Warnings: none really, mentions of violence and murder :) and my horrible knowledge of ancient egypt. You are the bad guy in this a/n: first fic! I kinda wrote steven slightly differently to canon steven and made him a little darker ;) ENJOY

***

It started out innocent. Because, of course, you were only 7 years old at the time. When the class was emptying out through the doorway, little, dumb Timmy left his British Museum pencil sitting freely on his desk, begging for someone to claim it. That someone was you. The urge to take it was overwhelming and you succumbed to temptation, stashing the pencil deep into your pocket when no one was looking and when no one could figure out the mystery of the disappearing pencil, it was exhilarating knowing that you were the only one who held the secret as to where it went.

The feeling followed as you got older.

It started out with a pencil. Then a pencil case. From a pencil case to a school bag. Within that school bag was a purse containing a little over £1.50, but still, it was a treasured find. From purses to watches, necklaces, rings, valuables, anything that could be pawned and make you that slightly bit richer. When you were old enough to realise about the illegalities of your little habits, guilt and paranoia began to make themselves known to you. But they were equally matched with the feeling of euphoria and the adrenaline of getting away with it, so although you did try to tone it back, you never really stopped.

By your late teens, the routine grew tiresome and you endeavoured for something bigger, better, flashier and ten times more riskier. You had to look no further than your very first pilferage.

The British Museum.

~~~~

If you ever tried to justify your actions, what sets you apart from the usual petty thieves is patience and intention. Thieves lack the former but embody the latter. They grow greedy and would plan and scheme and waste hours (the stupid ones don’t plan at all), throwing themselves into a situation that would inevitably result in handcuffs. You, on the other hand, were an opportunist, patient enough to know to pounce only when the moment presented itself on a silver platter. Why chase the thrill when you could let it find you?

On one random day during the week while your parents were enjoying their two week vacation to Italy, you decided to skip school and take a trip to the Museum. You did very little research before entering (after all, less planning means less intention means less suspicion), so you were pleasantly surprised by the museum’s ongoing exhibition of artefacts from ancient Egypt.

Your legs carried you in no certain direction, weaving in and out of the display cabinets of stone statues, plaques of hieroglyphics and crumbling pieces of sand. Despite it all being rather interesting, the artefacts weren’t the only thing your eyes were scanning for. Within the first room alone, you spotted 6 cameras and one patrol officer meandering just as casually as you were. There was no need to panic though, you were here to peruse. Not to steal.

You couldn’t promise yourself any restraint should the opportunity arise…

“Ah! I see you’ve found the Ushabti of Pa-Di-Pep.” An enthusiastic voice from your left appeared behind you. You turned to see a man with black curly hair, donning an enthusiastic smile as his eyes bounced from the ‘ushabti’ and you. “26th dynasty,” he muttered a little quieter. “Very old. Well, I guess that’s obvious. Wouldn’t be an exhibition on ancient Egypt if it was modern.” As his laughter died, your eyes caught the glint of his name tag on his jacket. Steven. You gathered he worked here.

“Oh, cool.” Your tone was rather disinterested and couldn’t be more sarcastic if you tried. “You know your stuff.”

“Oh it’s right up my alley actually. I’ve spent loads of time reading up on this kind of stuff. I could tell you anything about everything in this room. If you’d like?” The way he rolled on the balls of his feet like a child told you that he so clearly wanted to. You decided to indulge in him, only because you could get something out of it.

“Sure. It would be a great help towards my school project.” A clever lie, one that is easily bought by the sad little man beside you, lighting up his eyes and rolling his enthusiasm back to high tide. “So what about this ushabti, then? Anything else you can tell me about that?”

The man rambled on for a little while longer than you wanted, waiting for that perfect opportunity to segue onto the question that was hot on your lips. What was it worth?

“...figurines could also be inscribed with passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.”

“So not quite the ideal decoration to have in your house then?”

“Oh no, no, not at all. These are funeral artefacts, usually left buried along with a tomb.”

“Bummer. I was really looking into sprucing up my living room with one of these,” you jested, bumping a gentle elbow against his.

He elbowed back, “would really take the ‘living’ out of ‘living room’.”

“Definitely not worth it.” You began to look around the room, gambling with the idea of whether or not an opportunity could be found here. The security might’ve been too much of a risk. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t window shop. “So tell me then, out of anything in here, what would be worth having in your living room?”

“Where to begin? Oh! Here…”

Honestly, you zoned out, not having the slightest interest in anything he was saying unless it had any relevance to you. The man droned on and on about the history and the magnificence of each piece he talked about but nothing about its worth. You were about to try and cut ties until you both came across an interesting piece that gained your attention.

“And this is the bronze figure of the Egyptian God Ptah-”

“Ptah? Who’s he?”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you'd just asked what day it was. “Who’s he? He’s only the Egyptian God of creation?! He was believed to have dreamt creation in his heart and gave it life with his breath.”

Spare me the poetry, pal. What’s it worth? Give me a number.

“So top shelf mantle material.” You feigned interest, smiling widely at him.

“Definitely. A very expensive one at that. Would set you back at least 37 grand.”

Interesting.

You stayed for a little while until the number of witnesses dwindled into single digits. The museum was beginning to close up, staff were outnumbering visitors with the majority of them leaving through the gift shop which conveniently sold replicas of the bronze figure ‘Steven’ showed you earlier.

You always told yourself that you never planned, but another opportunity had opened up to you and you couldn’t help but call it fate.

It went flawlessly. When no one was looking you swiftly snatched the real bronze figure, giving you the seconds you needed to make it to the gift shop before the panicked patrol officer alerted staff. The hubbub of the precious missing artefact opened up the second opportunity to swipe a replica from the shelf.

“Oh, excuse me!” You had yelled, holding the replica up in the air, the real one encased in your rucksack. “I saw some kid walking out with this, I believe it belongs here.” Your sickly smile fooled the patrol staff, knowing none the wiser, and kindly took the replica with a relieved breath, placing it back onto its pedestal.

You walked out the museum 37 grand richer.

~~~~

Whenever you pulled something off like this, you tended to keep your head low for at least a week after, limiting the amount of times you left your home, and kept communication to an absolute minimum. Within a few weeks, you were back to your normal self. However, this time the euphoria was very short-lived. It had been a day after your theft when the paranoia settled in and you had never known it to be so all-consuming. With a pilferage worth 37 grand, it meant that the stakes were far too high to wager with. Finding rest was a rare luxury for at least a week. You tried to ease your way through the days feeling conflicted and, in all honesty, petrified of the foreseeable. With each day that passed, you found it harder and harder to keep your paranoia at bay and you didn’t dare leave your home and the mental torture plagued you with restlessness; having to check locks four, fives times before you left each room.

Your home started to feel like less of a safe space. You couldn’t explain the feeling you had every morning when you woke up, itching with an unease that someone had been watching you, spying on you, observing you with resentment in their eyes with what you had chosen to do with your life. It was then you started to notice things being out of place; the ridge in your carpet had changed shape, curtains had been drawn wider than how you usually left them, a kitchen chair was facing just a degree or two out of place. That same night, you remembered standing in the middle of your bedroom with a cold breeze drafting around you, but it wasn’t the reason for your shivers. To your left a creak of the floorboards, to your right a moan of the wind. Something wasn’t right. Something definitely wasn’t right.

It could’ve been your paranoia, it could’ve been your lack of sleep, but you were certain you spotted two glowing eyes peering through your window from across the street, staring directly into your soul.

“Fuck this,” you whispered to yourself. Without a moments’ hesitation you reached for the bronze figure you had stashed within the hollows of your wall. “Time to get rid of this.”

Being quite the weasel you are, you sold the bronze figure for almost double the money on the black market and made the very bold decision to get out of the country before you were consumed by guilt.

~~~~

3 years later

“You ready?” Amon asks you, propping up his scarf over his face to fight against the sandy winds. You nod to him before following him into the entrance of the tomb that lies just beneath an alcove, hidden in the shadows of the dunes.

Amon had already scouted the entrance of the tomb a few days prior, so he takes lead on the scavenge guiding the way with a bright white torch and the moment you step into the tomb, you become his shadow. The tunnel is narrow and carries a draft only a fraction of the winds outside and it’s something you’re thankful for, otherwise you would be dripping right through your clothes with sweat. Every step is with caution, every living breath is considered your last, both you and Amon are aware of the risks that these tunnels carry.

Amon, being a local, had his reasons for entering the tunnel; he knows of the treasures and rarities of what lies inside, a conversation that caught wind and found your eavesdropping ears in the midst of a busy town outside Cairo. Not to mention, he’s as greedy for his share of the fortune if you are skillful enough to succeed. Unfortunately, being a local, he also has his reasons not to enter. On a spiritual level, this tomb is considered to be cursed, ladened with traps of an Egyptian mind that could easily kill you with one wrong step. He is too afraid to do it alone.

On a more realistic level, the structure is unsupported, tunnels weaving their way beneath tonnes and tonnes of ancient bricks, sand and rubble that could collapse at any given moment. That’s the real risk you’re more frightened of.

“How much of this did you actually scout?” You ask.

“I go until no more.” His broken English rises above the low moaning whistle which Amon claims to be the voice of the dead, warning you to turn back while you still have a chance. You don’t heed his superstitions.

You both eventually reach the point that Amon had mentioned and honestly, you were expecting it to be a lot further into the tomb and not just a few minutes into the journey. Before you, a collapsed section of the tunnel with a small point of entrance between the ground and rubble. Eyeing it up, you realise it’s big enough that you could squeeze yourself through there if you held your breath but taking a second glance at Amon, there’s no way his 5'10 well-fed body could do the same.

He gestures to the blockage, “I go until no more.”

“Right.” You heave a sigh, considering your options; ignore the risks and do it alone, or turn around and walk away from it all.

Alas, that small hole is an opportunity. And where there is an opportunity, there is possibility.

You begin to strip yourself of your equipment until you are down to a few layers of clothing. You lower yourself onto your stomach heading face first through the opening. “When I get through, pass me my equipment, okay?” Amon nods in understanding, but not without mentioning how crazy he thinks you are.

It’s an awkward shuffle through to the other side. Hands, elbows, knuckles and knees are scraping against the ground in an attempt to push your way through, aided by the breath of relief when you make it to the other side. Beams of white light shine through the cracks in the rubble and when Amon hears you made it, he passes through your equipment.

You find his eyes through one of the cracks. “Will you wait?” You reluctantly ask, suddenly feeling vulnerable now that you have been separated.

“Yes. I have walkie-talkie. Atamanaa lak al tawfiq.” You don’t know what he said, but from his tone and the way he looks at you with hope you guess that it’s along the lines of ‘good luck’.

With a final nod, you head off into the unknown, your torch shining the way.

There’s a million thoughts running through your head as you delve deeper into the tomb, but yet not one that gives you any comfort. What if there isn’t anything to find? What if you get lost? What if Amon doesn’t wait for you? What if you get trapped?

What if you die?

They remind you that you are way out of your depth here, you aren’t an adventurer nor an explorer of any sort. You’re an opportunist thief who takes their chances where they shouldn’t. What the hell are you doing here?

You force yourself to swallow your growing discomfort, clinging on to the small possibility and Amon’s knowledge that you do find something worth your while. Besides, it’s that small possibility that motivated you to crawl through that opening and continue your journey. You have to keep going.

The tunnels eventually open up into a massive hollow cavern lined with broken paths and cliff edges, hanging over a substantial drop. You take a moment to collect yourself, eyes following the paths and finding that the only way is down. Down into the pit of darkness. There isn’t a sound to be heard, and if it wasn’t for your powerful torch, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing. The breeze has calmed to nothing, not a single wisp of your hair moving upon your head and the heat starts to become more of a nuisance. Your palms sweat as you cling onto protruding rocks along the wall and your torch threatens to slip from your grasp. It’s a challenging obstacle course, manoeuvring yourself from one path to another, planning and scheming as you go.

“You there Amon?” The bleep of the walkie-talkie bounces against the walls of the cavern, its echo travelling for miles. You estimate that you’re about 50 feet down from where you started.

“Yes. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, the tomb goes deep. I don’t know if the signal will carry if I get to the bottom…” you pause, hesitant over your next words. “This might take a while. If you don’t hear from me in 4 hours, then just leave.”

“Leave you? No, no, no, I wait in car. You come back in 4 hours. Yes?”

“Okay. I’ll contact you again when I get to the--shit!!” What stops you mid-sentence is the pair of glowing white eyes at the bottom of the cavern, floating, watching, observing. You’ve seen those eyes before. It was unnerving the first time but it’s even more terrifying the second time, a new wave of fear now rattling your bones. Your heart rate picks up, your pulse almost thrumming in your ears in sheer panic. No, no, no. It can’t be…

You shine your torch towards the eyes but in its deathly white glow, they disappear, reappearing only when you avert your torch.

“Hello? You okay? Hello?!” Amon’s almost yelling through the walkie-talkie.

“I’m okay, sorry, just…” You have no idea what to say, eyes glued to the glowing ones miles below you. “Just got a fright.”

“Be careful,” is that last thing Amon says to you before the line goes dark. When all is silent, you’re left to quietly battle against the glowing pair of eyes, unmoving and unblinking. You don’t dare take a single step, adamant on keeping your gaze locked firmly below you with two hands clenched around the torch in a white-knuckled grip. You quickly become stuck in a cycle of shining your torch onto them, repeatedly watching them disappear and reappear in the hopes that they’ll eventually vanish forever.

“Fuck…just leave me alone,” you quietly murmur to yourself. When the eyes refuse to react, you bravely decide to take a single side step, closer towards your next descent where you know you will have to detach your gaze, but you know you can’t stay here forever. The eyes don’t move, they don’t blink, they just keep watching you. So you take another step, and another, and another…

Within a matter of panic-inducing seconds, you eventually reach the edge of a ridge when your torch begins flickering, the light dimming with each flicker. “No, no, no you have to be kidding me!” Stressed, you bang the torch against your palm in a nervous attempt to keep the light, it’s your only salvation right now, you can’t lose it. You could’ve sworn the batteries were fully charged. You had them charging overnight knowing you were going into a dark tomb, why aren’t they working? Fuck, why won’t they work?!

Despite your distraction, you’re hyper aware of the eyes below you, eyes that you are not currently watching and having lost your composure, your paranoia floods you with thoughts that this was what they were waiting for; their moment to pounce. They could be scaling the walls towards your position. They could have moved and you wouldn’t know. They could be inches from you and you wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. You feel it. They’re crawling closer and closer and closer…

After a few heart stopping seconds, the torch finally flashes to life and with a desperate sob you shine the bright beam towards the eyes as if the light is your shield. Like before they disappear, but unlike before, they don’t reappear. They’re gone. You can’t see them anywhere. Not above, not below. Gone.

The stress overwhelms you and you drop to your knees, passing a strangled whimper and letting your heart rate slow to an easy beat. Fuck. You’re still a long way to go, how are you going to manage?

Against your better judgement, you continue at a slow and agonising pace, still very aware of your surroundings as if you’re expecting the eyes to appear again. Thankfully, about an hour and a half of descending down the multiple jumps and hazardous steps, you reach an opening. Finding another narrow tunnel that leads you away from the cavern seems like a saving-grace and you don’t give the glowing eyes another opportunity to appear before you follow the trail.

“Amon, can you hear me?” Your walkie-talkie hisses a low frequency back at you. “Amon, are you there?”

No response. You are truly on your own now.

You readjust your rucksack straps, retie your bootlaces, wipe the sweat from your brow, and with feigned determination, you set off through yet another dark, narrow tunnel with your untrustworthy torch in hand.

You quickly find that this one isn’t like the one you and Amon travelled through at the entrance, this one feels like a maze. Despite it having only one path and being completely linear, there is a tight 90 degree corner every 5 or 6 steps. Left, right, left, left, right, left, right, right, left. It’s unnerving because even though you know you can’t get lost and you know exactly where you came from, there’s no way of telling what lies ahead of you, no way of telling what lurks just around the corner, waiting for you in the darkness. What’s worse is that there’s no way of telling if anything is following you until it’s exactly five steps behind you which, by that point, there’s no outrunning it. You’ve never felt paranoia like it and the deeper you trail, the more anxious you become.

After fifteen minutes, you feel you’re going in circles. Logically, you know it isn’t possible but the disorientation you feel convinces you otherwise. You’ve taken so many left and right-hand turns that you’ve lost count and you just can’t map it out in your head. There has to be an end, this can’t go on for much longer.

After another five minutes, you stop to gather your sanity tucked neatly into one of the many corners of the tunnel, keeping track of where you came from and where you intend to go. You cleanse your mind with a refreshing drink of cold water, splashing some sparingly across your forehead and the back of your neck, revelling in the small relief it brings you. The droplets on the ground are the only evidence of your travels and you figure it would be a good indication should you succeed in making it back. Just a couple of more hours, you tell yourself. You can do it.

Composed, you rise to your feet ready to take another step but before you do, your torch flickers again, subjecting you to intermittent seconds of pure darkness. Your heart stops dead in your chest. The last time that happened the eyes were watching you and you can’t bear to think that time is repeating itself.

Your strategy from last time fails you and no matter how hard you hit the flashlight against your palm, this time it doesn’t come back to life. Flicking the switch off and on again does it no good either and your breathing becomes panicked. Crouched in the corner, you’re enveloped in darkness. It’s so dark that you begin to see swirls of your imagination floating in front of your eyes, so dark that you can’t even see your hand inches from your face, yet still your eyes flicker around frantically as if you could see.

Helpless, you turn to your other senses, feeling around the rocky sandy ground in search of your rucksack where you know you packed emergency flares. It’s a struggle to rummage for them and until you do, you keep on high alert, listening out for anything out of the ordinary.

That’s when you hear it; the crumbling of sand, the crunching of footsteps and the soft ruffle of fabric. Someone’s here. There’s no doubt about it. Everything in you is screaming to just abandon the flare and just run but fear keeps you rooted with your hand deep into your rucksack. Your heart feels like a weight in your chest, banging against your rib cage to escape the situation you’re in but your brain tells you to stay, hoping that whoever, whatever, is here is just as blinded by the darkness as you are. If you move, it’ll hear you.

Your hand eventually knocks against the flare, feeling the familiar cylinder encased in your hand. Alarmed, you pull it out and set it alight, its red flare bursting to life. It gives light to the corridors to your right and to your left…where a tall, daunting mummified figure in white stands, glaring its glowing white eyes on you. Its sudden presence kick starts your reflexes and adrenaline pumps through your veins, pushing you to your feet with a hysterical whimper escaping your throat, and before you even know it, you’re running almost blindly through the tunnel. There isn’t a second thought spared to the broken flashlight and the rucksack full of equipment you mistakenly left behind, running further and further away from whatever is stalking behind you. With the flare outstretched, red walls zoom by you as you try to cut every corner, scraping shoulders and elbows against the walls in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between you and that thing.

You can hear it behind you, marching at a quick pace, its footsteps drumming into your ears gradually getting closer and louder. Oh God. It’s right behind you. Keep running, keep running, fuck just don’t stop running!

Tears and sweat glide down your cheeks and you begin to worry that it’ll be the last thing you feel before this being captures you. However, you're granted one last chance of salvation when you turn a corner and see that the tunnel stretches out into a long, straight, narrow path, giving your legs a chance to break into a full uninterrupted sprint. Towards the end you see an archway leading you into the heart of the tomb where a sarcophagus lies in the centre of the room; the very one Amon described as being a goldmine of treasuries. If you can just make it there…

You pick up speed at the moment the tunnel surrounding you begins to rumble, tremors setting your feet off course and pushing you off balance. Little stones and flecks of dust fall from above you and land in your eyes but you know you can’t afford to stop, knowing that that being is still behind you. Little did you know that you had set off a trap, stepping on a plate that triggers the corridor to collapse, no doubt a preventative measure to stop people like you from pilfering the tomb within. But you had been running so quickly, you barely even noticed. Perhaps if you keep running just as fast, you might be able to escape from being crushed to death…

The rumbling becomes so loud that it drowns out the footsteps from behind you and you put all of your remaining strength into sprinting as fast as you can, pumping blood and adrenaline to your legs as they carry you closer and closer to the tomb. Every step is paired with an exhausted pant, your own voice crying out with exhaustion and fear. You have to make it. You can do it.

You dive into the tomb just milliseconds before a large solid rock closes off the entrance, separating you and the being.

All is silent in the tomb. The rumbling ceases and the footsteps are long forgotten. When a shred of sense returns to you, you take the dying light of the burning flare to the wooden torches dotted around the tomb, not only giving light to the room but giving light to the very, very fucked up realisation you’ve just had. Four solid walls surround you.

There’s no relief to be had, because although you had just escaped being crushed to death, you now face death in a far more morbid way. There isn’t another way out. You’re beginning to think that you’ve made yet another mistake; being crushed would’ve been a quick and painless death. Now, with no other means of escape, you’ll be subjected to a long, agonising, painful torment, forever waiting for the moment that starvation, thirst, suffocation and time consumes you.

You didn’t just enter any tomb, you entered your own tomb.

“Fuck!” You scream, falling to your knees, already bloody, bruised and scraped but the pain doesn’t translate when you’re deep in despair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The walls swallow your cries, accepting your defeat.

If it wasn’t for the situation you find yourself in, you would be revelling in the numerous pieces of ancient artefacts around you, gushing over the rusted gold that shines on the mantles on the walls, laughing with hysteria about how your discovery had just made you a thousand times richer. But no, all you can think about is how claustrophobic you feel, how your lungs burn in your chest and how you will never see the light of day again.

You spare a thought to your parents whom you had failed to keep in contact with. For the first few months you kept it to just once a week; a picture of your face with an unidentifiable background and a message telling them you were safe. They learned pretty quickly after your sudden disappearance that you weren’t going to answer any of their questions and soon accepted that your weekly message would have to suffice. It was all they needed to know; you were okay and you were safe. Despite the numerous ‘how’s, ‘where’s, ‘what’s, and ‘when’s, there was only ever one ‘why’.

‘Why did you do it?’

Your parents knew exactly why you fled on the day the British Museum had reported a missing bronze figure alongside a grainy picture of your profile captioned ‘number one suspect’, but the one little detail that left them mentally spiralling over their own parenting techniques, wondering where they went so wrong was…why?

Why did you do it?

Why indeed.

The pencil, the pencil case, the rucksack, the purse, the £1.50, watches, jewellery, everything you had ever snagged in your life, was it all worth it? Was this your karma?

You aren’t sure how much time has passed before you have no more tears left to cry. Completely numb from crying you come to a stand, quickly arriving at the anger stage in the five stages of grief over your own inevitable death. You begin kicking the sarcophagus, knocking things off the mantles and punching anything your fist can connect with with reckless abandon that you don’t even care for how much your temper tantrum is costing you. Everything hurts but you just. Don’t. Care.

Hours later, exhaustion begins to creep up on you just when the fire of the torches begins to flicker to nothing and before they completely die out, you take one last look around your tomb. You think it’s been more than four hours now which means Amon will be long gone. You are all alone.

Lying in the corner surrounded by the remains of your temper tantrum with all hope lost, you close your eyes.

~~~~

“Tut tut tut.” A male voice murmurs, arousing you from your slumber. The room is dark when your eyes flicker open, so it’s impossible to miss those glowing white eyes standing at the far end of the room. Fuck. Not again. They startle you so much they jolt your body to full attention, your chest feeling heavy as if you had been defibrillated back to life. “What a waste.” The footsteps lurk around the sarcophagus, scuffing against the shards of the ceramic artefacts you smashed earlier. How he can see, you have no idea. Yet, you still feel the need to push yourself further back against the wall.

You take a shaky breath, mustering the courage to speak. “Please…” The eyes sway casually as the being walks nearer, standing over you cowering in the corner. Before either of you say another word, something drops at your feet. It’s your rucksack.

“Open it,” he instructs smoothly, a hint of an American twang interlacing his words. “It’s much too dark in here, and I’d prefer to see the fear in your eyes when you get what you deserve.”

Keeping your eyes rooted to the being in front of you, deja vu runs coldly through your veins as your hand sneaks into your rucksack to find the flare. However unlike last time, you’d rather face him in the dark, not a single cell in your body wishes to greet the mummified adonis standing inches before you, threatening you.

“Go on,” he encourages, eyes flitting to your bag. He knows you don’t want to. It’s pitiful how much you don’t want to.

When the red glow illuminates there you see him, in fact it’s all you can see. The intimidating being you had only seen for a split second before in full display. His silhouette is so all-encompassing, the red glow doesn’t reach far past him. He’s wrapped neatly in white bandages with gold embellishments on his chest with a flowing cape cascading down his back, resembling warrior regalia. Shadows flicker behind the contours of his hood that hangs over his masked face, giving away no emotion. Everything about him is a mystery and you can’t help but feel vulnerable knowing he can see everything about you, reading the terror in your eyes as if it was written out for him.

You pull your legs to your chest as he crouches down, levelling with you.

“I usually don’t deal with petty thieves until they start messing with things that shouldn’t be messed with.”

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

He chuckles menacingly, tilting his head. “Looking for an escape? Don’t bother. You won’t be leaving here. At least not until I’m done with you.”

“What…” Your voice scrapes against your dry throat. It’s been hours since you last had a drop of water. “What are you going to do to me?”

He doesn’t immediately respond, but instead looks into his own reflection in the gold plating of an artefact you smashed, muttering a tense “not now, Steven.” Steven? What?

He turns back to you. “The same thing I did to your partner on the surface.” Amon. Shit!

“Is…is he dead?”

“Almost. I left him with just enough of a heartbeat to keep him alive, enough to teach him a lesson I know he will learn. You - however - I have no hope for.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, “I was only exploring.”

“Hmm, I highly doubt that - shut up Steven!” Your brows furrow with confusion, who the hell is Steven? Looking around, you can’t seem to see anyone else here in the room with you and this being. He doesn't give you a second to question his weird antics, coming very quickly to a stand with a grunt and pulling what looks like a gold, crescent shaped weapon from his chest and into his hand. “You’ve been thieving from the moment you knew you could. You know yourself you’re never going to change, so I’m here to put an end to it, to make sure you never get away with something like this again - dammit Steven, fine! But don’t let her get away. She’s mine.”

“What the fuck-” Before another word leaves your lips, the being morphs, or rather, his regalia does. The bandages unravel, withering away to reveal a white tux, donned by the same glowing eyes peering down at you.

“Exploring, eh?”

You’re taken aback by the minor change in his voice, his inflection. All Americanisms smoothly disappear and in place a British accent shapes his words. One that seems far too familiar for your liking…

“What…”

“Gathering research for your school project?” He crouches down again, leaning closer and invading your space. “Or scouting the place out for a heist.” His tone isn't questioning anymore. They’re words of a statement, of a fact he knows is true. It’s really starting to shake your nerves. Something about all of this feels disconcerting.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s a shame, really.” He stubbornly ignores your question, picking up a fractured piece of artefact. “This statue would’ve looked really nice on a living room mantle. Really would’ve spruced up the place.”

Your heart stops and your breath catches in the back of your throat. The conversation throws you back into your memories, images of the British Museum flashes through your mind. The Egyptian exhibition. The bronze figure. The bumbling staff member who showed you it all. The name on his badge was…

“Steven.”

“Ah, so you do remember. See, you’re smarter than you look. That’s what fooled me all those years ago when you manipulated me into thinking you were just an innocent student looking to learn. You bloody well used me, didn’t you? Cost me my job.”

“Look, Steven, I’m sorry, o-okay? I was young and stupid, I didn’t know-”

“Young, yes. Stupid? No. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out with that figure. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stashed it in your bedroom walls. I looked everywhere for that statue, waiting for you to reveal where you hid it. And you fucking sold it!” So you weren’t seeing things that night. You know that feeling of being watched wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, it was Steven. “You knew what you were doing when you walked into this tomb. But I bet you don’t know whose tomb you walked into, or what ancient artefacts you recklessly broke. Still ‘willing to learn’? I hope so, ‘cos I think it’s fucking hilarious.”

Steven comes to a stand and begins marching over to inspect the side of the sarcophagus. At that moment, the light of the flare illuminates the rest of the room and your eyes dart to the entrance where the stone that locked you in here no longer exists. How? Never mind. Survival first, question later. As ever, you take the opportunity and make a dash for the entrance, your legs a little lethargic from your lack of sustenance.

Sadly, you only get so far. A broad arm wraps around your neck and pulls you flush against Steven’s body. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” His crushing strength borders dangerously between cutting off your oxygen but keeping you conscious enough to hear the words as he mutters them down your ear. “See this sarcophagus here? Do you know who it belongs to?

“No!” You ball, kicking up a fight. You barely push him off-balance. “I don’t give a fuck, let me go!”

“See this is why I find the irony of this hilarious. Go on, have a guess. I’m intrigued to see if you’re capable of learning a lesson.”

Steven man-handles you, gripping your jaw to fore to look at the large sarcophagus in front of you littered with inscriptions of a language you can’t translate and decorated with hieroglyphics you don’t understand. You get the feeling it’s something that Steven had already told you about during his ramblings at the museum. But he talked so much about shit you didn’t care for and you didn’t retain any information unless it had to do with its price. Fuck, whose sarcophagus is this?

“I…I don’t know. Please, just let me go, I promise I won’t steal anymore.” You’re sobbing now, your tears rolling down your cheeks to be absorbed by Steven’s white suit. Frustrated, Steven tightens his hold on you.

“No, come on. Focus. I need to know that you didn’t just use me, I need to know I taught you something. Now what was it? I’ll give you a clue, it was one of the first things we talked about.”

Fuck. It was about some Ushabti thing, right?

“The Ushabti?”

“God, you butcher the pronunciation. But well done. The Ushabti of who?”

You really can’t remember, and you feel it will be the death of you if you don’t. So overrun with hopelessness, you completely give in to defeat and fall weak in Steven’s arm. “I just want to go home.”

“No, not the Ushabti of I-just-want-to-go-home. Who. Was. It?”

Come on, think! Who was it? Da…Fa…Pa-something. Pa…Pa…

“I’m going to be reeaalllyyy disappointed if you don’t get this.” Steven’s harsh voice vibrates down your ear, his mask pressing firmly against the side of your ear.

“Pa…”

“Yes?”

“Pa-Di…”

“Almost there, darlin’”

Finally, the knowledge springs to life and the syllables roll off your tongue. “Pa-Di-Pep?”

“See? You did know it, which means you’ll know what these inscriptions are on the side of this sarcophagus and on all the relics in this tomb, which means you know why I find this so funny.”

If you had the breath to sigh, you would. He’s right. You do know why. The scraps of information he fed you come whizzing back with a stab of irony. You understand it now.

“Passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.” You relay his words back in your voice, Steven chuckling maniacally behind you.

“And you just broke them all. Bad luck, eh? No safe passage to the afterlife for you. My buddy Marc will make sure of it. If you haven’t already realised, I’m the brains of this body. Marc is the brawn. Never misses a kill that one. Do you, Marc?”

Steven suddenly shuffles behind you, maintaining that iron steel grip he has around your throat. When the material of the mask traces the shell of your ear and his voice returns, his tone has changed. Deeper, lower, threatening.

American.

“Kind of you to say, Steven. Y’know, it’s a shame Steven isn’t kind enough to let you live. So, little thief, what’ll it be? Shall I kill you where you stand, or do you want to join Pa-Di-Pep in his sarcophagus?”

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writingintheshadowsforever · 1 year

Text

Imagine Shuri being the one to come find you

A cough wretched itself from your throat making you to stop to bend over and hack it out. Your entire body felt like crap and it was getting worse by the second. The sun was just a a few hours away from setting with the sky getting darker. You had stopped running the second you reached the forest settling for a slow gait. Your left inner thigh was on fire from that shallow cut as was the large open gash on your left cheek. Even though your instincts were telling you were right to run, your brain and body was cursing you for it. After all its know like you were truly thinking rationally at that point. You were driven by pure emotion and fear even now your emotions were still high.

As much as you wanted to turn back for help. There wasn't nearly enough strength in your body for you to do so. With no other choice in sight you decided to rest up inside of a tree with a gaping hole. In the middle of it and wait for the Dora Milaje to come for you, because they would come. You were like family to everyone and that's what you do for each other. They would probably searching for you already.

Right.

Palace

Shuri missed your presence for the entire day pouting away in her lab. When T'Challa informed her that the Dora Milaje would be conducting training outside of the palace today, and she wasn't to interrupt in anyway. She was upset more than annoyed you were the light of her day sometimes. Her best friend since day one when the her father chose to let you reside in their own. After both of your parents who were soldiers for Wakanda died on a mission. You were four years old when it happened, and truly couldn't comprehend why they didn't come back. It was Queen Ramonda who ultimately decided the royal family would take you in.

While you got a bit more freedom than Shuri did like being allowed to go to public school, and going out without being under a watchful eye. All the time that still didn't stop the two of you from becoming the best of friends. You would bring her back sweets when her parents told her no, and tell her of your adventures. If anyone messed with you at school Shuri would give you some type of contraption. The next day to use on them it didn't bring any harm to the bully just a small prank that would cause a mess or embarrass them. But as both of you got older life would pull you in separate directions. Shuri was always going to be on a different path from yours being a princess and all. But her talent and love for science making her want to spend all her time in the labs, and your desire to leave up to your parent's legacy. Not to mention prove all of the other girls wrong about you being to soft to join the King's Army is. What truly made it impossible for you and Shuri to spend as much time together as before.

She had to get use to you not being around that much just looking over her shoulder. While she worked or perched up on her desk cracking the occasional joke, whenever she grew frustrated with something. Once Okoye finally got back to you after your physicality test with her to confirm you were eligible to join.

Shuri spent a week afterwards low-key upset with the General for not failing you instead. While the princess knew it was your dream and your decision, and would never truly get in the way of that. She was scared for you to not only join the Dora Milaje because of the danger that came with the title. But she really feared how it would change your relationship with her, and was silently wishing something would stop you. Eventually her brother gave her a pep talk and made her talk to Okoye about how she was feeling. Unbeknownst to you the General made a promise to the princess to do everything in her duty to keep you alive and unharmed. If it was in her power to do so without betraying her duty.

Okoye anticipated Shuri's reaction the second you ran away, and knew it was best to deliver the news to T'Challa and Queen Ramonda first. She sent word ahead of time for them to meet her in the throne room for discussion.

"Are her injuries severe?" Queen Ramonda asked. After Okoye was done recounting everything that took place including your strange new ability.

"No they won't bring her to death's door or anything, but the gash on her cheek will need stitches. By now she will need antibiotics for risk of infection as well" Okoye said.

"Give me five minutes to suit up and then we will take a jet to go look for her." T'Challa said getting to his feet.

Okoye nodded and just both of them were heading towards the double doors. They opened revealing a slightly irritated but still happy Shuri who waltzed in. "Is y/n in here I've been searching the palace for her for quite sometime. I see all the other trainees are retiring for the day, so where is she?"

Okoye looked away still a bit worried of how the young princess would react. T'Challa opened his mouth to answer but no words came out as he was unable to find the right ones. You were like a little sister to him, and the only real reason he wasn't freaking out was because. Unlike his little sister he how strong and capable you truly were. Also he knew in your current state by now you were probably tucked somewhere in a tree. It wouldn't be that hard for them locate and rescue you. But none of those reasonings would prevent Shuri from freaking out at the news you were missing.

"There was an incident during training and she fled into the wild out of fear." Queen Ramonda spoke up realizing that the other two couldn't do it.

The smile on her face disappeared replaced with a frown. "What happened in training? Do we know where she is?

"Princess that is a long story and yes we have an idea. A search party is about to be sent out for her there is no need to worry" Okoye tried to soothe her.

But she wasn't having it. "You haven't sent out a search yet" she exclaimed angrily. "Why would she be afraid?"

T'Challa walked over to grip her by the shoulders. "Calm down Shuri you're not the only one in this room who cares for her. I will bring her back to the palace before nightfall, and then you can talk to her yourself."

"No I want to go with you to find her" Shuri demanded leaning back to catch her brother's eyes.

Immediately he shook his head no letting her break free from his hold. "Okoye and I can handle this."

"That's not fair brother she's my best friend I should be out there." Shuri insisted whirling around to face Okoye pointing a finger at her. "Tell him I need to go please Okoye you owe me this."

Okoye didn't know what to do on one end arguing with the king wasn't in her, but the pleading look in Shuri's eyes struck a nerve. Luckily enough though she didn't have to make a decision. Queen Ramonda once again saved the day by speaking up.

"No my child you will remain here like your brother asked. Trust him to bring y/n back to us, and when he does she will need immediate medical attention. Can you be ready for when she gets here?" Queen Ramonda said knowing it would be easier to convince Shuri to stay behind. If she had something to do besides sit around waiting in anticipation.

Shuri hated the idea of being cozied up in her lab while you were out there alone, scared, and hurt. She wanted to go look for you herself, but no one here would let her do such a thing.

So she decided to just stop asking. "Yes mother I can do that" Shuri reassured her with a nod. Then turned back to her brother and the general, "bring her to me straight away please when you return."

"I wouldn't trust her with anyone else" Okoye swore to her. T'Challa gave her a nod and both of them exited the throne room.

In The Forest

It was getting dangerously close to nightfall which meant the temperature was steadily dropping. At first you were fine not really noticing it, but eventually your body started shivering involuntarily. When you took a deep breath and released it into the air. It was visible and you knew then time was running out. There was no way you could survive a night out here in nothing but your training gear. Which consisted of a simple pair of black leggings, and a red shirt with a breastplate installed.

Your gut was telling you to go seek out shelter, but you knew without trying you were too weak too stand. You shouldn’t have a ran away like that. It was a stupid idea and now you were paying for it. You rested your head back onto the tree closing your eyes. A little nap couldn't hurt right you were tired and its not like there was anything else you could do. Whenever the search party came no doubt they would be calling for you. The sound of their worried voices would stir you awake then everything would be fine.

Just as you felt yourself slipping away into a dreamless slumber. Your ears picked on the distant sound of tree branches being crunched, and the grass ruffling. Instantly your eyes snapped open as you sat up focusing your attention. On the small hole in the tree that was the entrance to where you were. Animal attacks were scarce in Wakanda, but there weren't totally unheard of. You were in no condition to fight off a lion or hyena. As if the power felt the fear bubbling up inside of you again.

The same blue energy manifested from your open palm lying on the ground, and surrounded you in an protective sphere. The energy emitted a bright glow lighting up the tree, and acted as a beacon. For whatever was trekking around outside the tree. This power was seeming like a blessing and curse at the same time more and more. The sound of footsteps got closer and increased in pace. Indicating the intruder knew exactly where you were located now.

The footsteps came to a stop right outside the entrance to the hole. You tensed up expecting to hear a deep rumbling growl of a lion. But there was nothing but silence other than the crickets whistling, and the occasional bird. You wondered if the animal could sense your power, and if that's what was making it hesitate.

"Y/N are you in here?" A familiar face appeared peeked out from the side. It was Shuri the light from your energy shield making her face visible. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blue orb surrounding you. "Holy shit what is this?"

You let out a cry of relief at the sight of your best friend, and the shield disappeared. Your legs shook as you moved to crawl over to her.

"No no no y/n stay there I'll come to you." Shuri said bending down to fit into the hole. She made her way over letting you collapse into her lap. The second she was in range catching your body wrapping her arms around you.

"Are you alone?" You asked her eyes glancing back to the entrance. As you wondered if the King T'Challa and the Dora Milaje were waiting on the outside. It would make sense to send Shuri in alone. Your trust for her was unwavering.

"Aye I am the although the others probably aren't that far behind. I got a thirty minute head start on them had to sneak out of the palace. They wouldn't tell me what happened, or why you ran away. I couldn't wait plus you're my best friend. I had to come for you because if it was me. I know you wouldn't hesitate" Shuri explained bringing a hand to brush over the gash on your cheek.

You winced in pain flinching at the touch. "Easy" you warned.

"Sorry" Shuri whispered moving her hand hover over your heart. Maybe you didn't notice but she could tell your condition was worsening. Your heartbeat was steady but your body told a different story with how sweaty it was. Even though your temperature was low because you were cold. She had to get you back to her lab asap. "Okay y/n it's time to get you out of here-" your hand snatched up hers in an iron grip.

"What's going to happen to me if I go back? You asked her. It was obvious your question threw her off as she tilted her head to the side in confusion. But there was no lightness in your voice or a joking tone. You were serious.

"Nothing I'm going to take care of these nasty cuts, and we'll go from there" Shuri insisted.

You gave your head a small shake. "What about this power inside me. I can't control it Shuri and that girl I was training with earlier-" you paused to look away ashamed. "I hurt her and she was in bad shape."

Her hand gripped you by the chin forcing you to turn your head back. So you were looking at her face again. "That was an accident and everyone knows it. I'm not going to let anyone touch you, and they would have to get through my brother first anyway."

You were really too tired to continue to protest, so with a small nod your grip on her hand relaxed. "Besides this is not America we do not lock up our own people and experiment on them. We're going to help you figure this new power out" she quickly added. Her reassurance and presence is all that you really needed to truly relax now, and without warning you passed out.

Shuri let out a frustrated groan knowing she wouldn't be able to carry you out of here. By herself she didn't plan for you passing out before she got you onto the jet.

"Why don't you let me take her little sister" A familiar voice said. It came from the shadows in the entrance. A figure she could barely make out because of the darkness filled the tiny exit. Shuri already knew who it was letting a small grin form on her face.

"About time brother hurry she needs medical attention right away" Shuri ordered. She dragged your limp body over to him trying to be as gentle as possible. T'Challa lifted you into his arms bridal style and moved so his little sister could exit first. She came face to face with Okoye and Ayo waiting a few feet away.

"I'm guessing you don't want your mother to hear of this" Okoye said with a raised eyebrow.

"I would prefer that yes" she replied trying to sound unbothered. But all of them could see right through her. Her mother hated it when she made it a habit to outright disobey or lie to her.

"If mother asks I found her now let's move" T'Challa ordered. A ring of white light shot down from the sky surrounding all of them in a circle. They started to float upward into the jet awaiting them.

Tag List: @danveration @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @yelenabelovasgf @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @lizlil @be-missed @natashasilverfox @jokertgkk

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #black panther imagine #shuri x reader #t'challa x reader #okoye x reader

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blues824 · 1 year

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I don't know if you did this already but may I request twisted wonderland dorm leader's with an mc that is like Ayato Kamisato from genshin impact por favor. You can ignore this if you already made this. Also How are you today?

I’m good! How are you?

Also, I apologize but I really did not have motivation. I’ve been suffering Writer’s Block, so I will give you three Housewardens.

Riddle Rosehearts

He absolutely loves having you around, save for your tricks. You had manners and even made an active effort to follow each of the Queen’s rules, which he appreciated more than you could even fathom. You definitely got an invitation to every unbirthday party.

Riddle becomes attached when he sees how loyal you are. You always deal with Ace and Deuce yourself when they break the rules just so he wouldn’t have to. You acted like a Queen’s Knight, which felt a bit taboo considering you both were in love with each other.

He tolerated your pranks and tricks, but he didn’t like them. Sure, when it affected someone else (Ace), he had to refrain himself from even cracking a smile, but if it were targeted towards him he would calmly talk to you and tell you that he didn’t appreciate this inappropriate behavior.

Leona Kingscholar

He probably thought you were acting all holier-than-thou until you started playing a few pranks on your friends. Then he actually liked having you around since your antics were very amusing to him. However, it’s best not to try his patience.

The Pride back in the Sunset Savannah were all family-oriented, so it brought a sense of familiarity seeing you like that as well. It also made him think about having a family with you in the future, since you reminded him of a lot of his own parents.

He didn’t know what it was like to take over as head of the family, but he knew what it was like to be raised to take over the throne of the kingdom (in the slight chance that his older brother died). You seem to be handling the pressure well. Props to you.

Azul Ashengrotto

He assumed that your polite disposition was one of falsehood and deception, so he was wary around you. He thought you were like Jade, where you had a darker side. However, he was proven wrong with your lighthearted tricks.

Every single time you displayed your loyalty to your lovely cecaelia boyfriend, he found himself blushing so hard. It could be just defending him from angry customers, or massaging his shoulders after a particularly stressful day, but it doesn’t matter.

You are an unofficial employee/co-manager of the Mostro Lounge, basically Azul’s right hand person. Since you are familiar with becoming the leader of a family (or restaurant, in this case), you were definitely his first pick.

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elvisabutler · 1 year

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Austin!Elvis x reader - Elvis convinces the reader’s mom to let her stay at Graceland for the whole summer. You can do whatever you want from there.

queen of graceland

summary: your parents don't like elvis one bit. you do like elvis quite a bit. somehow you get your parents to allow you to stay with your boyfriend all summer. the two of you have a plan to make your stay permanent. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley rating: m pairing: austin!elvis ( 50's ) x female reader word count: 5007 ( do i have an explanation? no, no i don't. but welcome to why my requests take a hot minute i guess? ) warnings: p in v sex ( unprotected ). oral ( f receiving ). breeding kink. mutual weirdly wholesome entrapment. everyone is of age. going against parents' wishes. controlling parents. pregnancy. gladys' death is mentioned at the very end. mentions of elvis's close relationship with his mother. author’s note: first off anon! thank you for this request and saints preserve me i am truly sorry it took so long to get to it and it turned into- well this. so i got this before i did kinktober and blah blah we all know life is hectic around the holidays but once i realized this clearly is happening with an of age reader and all that jazz i had to pick an elvis and while i believe it can be agreed that this prompt lends itself well to a sort of dark ( or innocent tbh ) 70s elvis thing- my brain settled on this interesting 50s elvis mutual entrapment breeding kink thing that was originally a little darker but still has those morally grey tinges. i hope you enjoy anon, i did actually really like this prompt from the moment i got it. special thanks to @blurredcolour for being my 50s elvis woman always and my partners in breeding mrs. presley crime, y'all know who you are. and if you all so desire you can imagine elvis in this. but i did try and stay closer to the movie than i have lately on some of my specifically austin elvis requests as of late.

Your mama hates Elvis, it's a fact you've known since the moment she laid eyes on him when you brought him home. First it was that he wasn't good enough for her daughter, too poor, too stupid and too destined to be in the poor parts of Memphis until he dies. Then it was that he was too vulgar and too free wheeling and he was just gonna hurt you, besides what would he see in the girl he left behind at home. All the things she whispers in your ears aren't true because you know as well as anyone the Elvis is practically obsessed with you to the point of madness. It flatters you and delights you enough to make you want to keep him until the end of both your lives. It makes you want to claim him and keep him as your own, to be at home while he travels the states or to accompany him, whatever he wants and whatever brings you the most pleasure in your life.

These wants are how you found yourself practically begging your mother for permission to spend the summer at Graceland after Elvis has already plead his case. You're nineteen and an adult but you still live under your mama and your daddy's roof so their rules are law. And their main rule is one date every two weeks with you and your boyfriend. The concept of you spending an entire set of months with him is not one they're willing to easily agree to but you promise that no funny business is going to go on and besides, his own mama would rather die than have him do anything untoward to you. Nevermind that she's been pressuring him to put a ring on your finger since she realized that you were fine with how close they were, found it endearing and hoped, God willing that your own son and you would have the same sort of relationship. Granted, you were aware that it was unhealthy and all but- Elvis wasn't ever going to unwind himself from his mama so you dealt with it, you could deal with it and charm her to where she needed to be charmed.

Elvis doesn't waste a minute as soon as he sees you walking up the steps of Graceland, carrying two bags full of clothes you planned on wearing while you were there. He takes them from you despite your valiant protests and sets them down by the door the moment he shuts the front door.

"Can't believe you got her to agree to it." Elvis grins, practically bouncing on his heels. He looks like a kid in a candy store, like you've given him the best present you could have for his birthday, his Christmas, his everything. "Getcha all to myself all summer."

You move closer to him moving your hands to his hips and pulling him in for a kiss that's supposed to be chaste but- you've missed him too much to try, instead allowing your tongue to meet his and your teeth to pull at his lip earning a low moan from him as you pull away. "If you do your job right, it'll be longer than the summer, Elvis. I'll be here every summer. Every winter." You move one of his hands to your stomach. "I'll be here every second you want me and them to be."

His eyes widen just a hair before he rubs at your stomach, picturing you full of him, your stomach swelling with a baby or two he's put there. Picturing you going home to your parents only to be sent back because his child or children are growing inside you. The only thing that keeps him from pulling you inside and fucking you against the nearest surface is the knowledge that his mother and Mary and Grandma Dodger are in the kitchen but he moves closer to you anyway, pulling you inside as he nips at your ear. "That you askin' for a baby, Satnin? Askin' for me to fill ya up before ya go back to your parents? Make them see ya belong wit' me?"

You feel your arousal pool in your undergarments as you clench around air, wishing he was having sex with you already. Wishing you could feel his cock filling you up in just the way you needed. A noise of pure desire- a mix of a coo and a whine- leaves your mouth as you push him against the wall by the door. "That's me beggin' for one, El." Your own accent thickens, brought on only by the desire coursing through you at proving that you belong by Elvis's side.

Elvis looks like he's about to say something, or like he's about to lift you up against the wall- everyone be damned before he hears his mother shouting his name and he growls against your neck, allowing himself to at the very least shove his knee in between your thighs. Gladys comes around the corner, grinning and looking pleased as punch to see you even as you take just a second to grind on her sons' thigh as you smile over his shoulder at her.

"Y/N!" She shouts, starting to walk to toward the pair of you, causing Elvis to move his thigh from between your legs and turn to face his mama. "Bewbie, you were supposed to tell me when she got here!"

Elvis has the decency to look chargined for a moment, burrowing his face into your shoulder like a little boy and mumbling. "Mama- she just got here and I missed her."

"And you think I haven't?" She frowns, lightly slapping his arm and pulling you away from him. If she notices anything about his lower half she doesn't say anything, instead focusing on pulling you in for a hug. "A whole summer with us, oh- I was thinkin' I was gonna have to talk to your mama myself to convince her." She pauses and looks at Elvis. "You'd have thought she thinks my bewbie's gonna ruin you."

Elvis looks over at you as his mother just squeezes you in her hug. His teeth are biting into his lower lip as he tries not to laugh, knowing fully well that had she not interrupted you that he would have been well on his way to ruining you by the front door. Your smile back at him is full of promise and can barely be called a smile, edging more to a smirk than anything else. The idea is for him to ruin you this summer, you are both entirely aware that your parents will never let you be with Elvis as long as they live unless something drastic changes. Unless they're forced to allow him to be with you and while you like to think there's a better option, from the way you and Elvis keep looking at each other you both have come to the same conclusion, there isn't. He's never going to be good enough in your parents' eyes for their baby even if he makes all the money in the world or if he settles down and stops making that rock and roll music. No, he's always going to be that boy they don't like, that boy who'll only ever bring ruin to their baby girl. Even if that's the furthest from what he is, from what he wants to be.

In a perfect world, he likes to think he'd have you after seeing you dressed up all in white, looking a vision from the bible, all virginal and ready for him to explore in ways no one ever had or ever would after him. You'd be underneath him, writhing and panting in the way you do when you both get a little hot and heavy in his Cadalliac but he'd have you bare and so open to him. So open to be able to receive his cum, so open and ready to give him children so that he could see you swollen with him. So that he could see a little blond boy or girl suckling at your chest with you all sweaty after having brought them into the world.

in a perfect world, he likes to think the two of you would have a gaggle of kids after you got married and that he'd take them on the road with him. Get himself a bus like BB where he can just have you and his kids as a little moving sanctuary or maybe just have them at home with you taking care of them. He knows you might wanna work outside the home but he also knows that can wait, he could provide for you both and for anyone else for now. In this world though, in the world you both live in he has to find a way to even have you for longer than a summer and drastic situations call for drastic measures. The pair of you are so busy looking at each other that neither one of you are really paying attention to Gladys when she pulls away and says something to the both of you only to shake her head at how little you're both paying attention.

"Ignoring me because you can't take your eyes off each other-" She sighs a little, clutching her chest at the image. "I'll leave you two be, Elvis go take her things up to her room, show her what we set up for her."

You raise an eyebrow as she leaves and within a minute you're up against Elvis, grabbing both of your bags for him to take from you. "My room." You pause and giggle softly. "You mean the room that's just going to have my clothes in it?"

Elvis has to shut his eyes for a moment as he shakes his head, exhaling softly. "Darlin'- if you're lucky your clothes are gonna be there. I plan on havin' ya everywhere in my damn house."

A gasp leaves your mouth as he takes the bags and starts to walk up the stairs. "Everywhere in the house, El- what about everyone else."

He's silent as you head up the stairs and doesn't bother to answer your question until you're both safely in your room. The bed is simple enough, large enough for you and Elvis to be on it together easily and the room is surprisingly simple in decoration. Gladys' influence, you figure. The bags hit the floor with a thump as suddenly you find yourself being walked back to the bed. The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you let out a huff of surprise before flopping on the bed. Elvis doesn't miss a beat as he crawls on top of you, his eyes heady with desire.

"Satnin, darlin' they ain't here all the time." He starts before kissing at your neck, his hands moving to undo the buttons of your blouse with surprising ease. "And if you want to leave here with my baby in you, we gotta make sure there's enough of me in there. Gotta make sure you're full of me. Gotta make sure it stays and catches, like they all say it does."

A shiver goes through you at his words, your hands moving to undo his belt and pants, some sort of primal need overcoming your desire to say anything else. He's right and you know this. You know that there's no guarantee you'd get pregnant on the first try, that practice makes perfect and it wouldn't hurt to have him fill you up with his- release as much as he can. Yet, hearing the words come out of Elvis's mouth, hearing how he's going to fill you up has your body on edge, has it craving what he's offering. You faintly hear a chuckle as you struggle with the button to his pants and feel his warm hands- always so large- over your own, assisting you before you triumphantly achieve your goal. Your hand slips into his underwear, finding its way to his cock easily, feeling his foreskin and how dry it is before you pull his cock out. Elvis grabs your hand and spits into it, knowing that sometimes you forget to spit, forget that while his precum helps, the beginning part, this part depends on a little extra liquid.

"Don't hold back, darlin'." He mutters, seeing your lower lip caught between your teeth. "Gonna make you mine, wanna hear how you love it. How you would have sounded if we could do this proper with a wedding an' everythin'."

If you're embarrassed at the whimper, it doesn't show, the arousal starting to seep out of you becoming unbearable as your chest heaves just a tad. Elvis watches your breasts still in your bra bounce that little bit as your chest heaves and tries to focus on anything but your hand wrapping around his cock as you move your hand up and down for a moment before starting to pull back his foreskin. He hisses the second your thumb brushes against his tip. His precum makes it glide easily but- it's too much, he wants to be in you, doesn't want to waste a single drop down your throat or your hand or anywhere. Somehow his hand makes it down to your skirt, pushing it down with an ease he'll explain away later as just dumb luck. He knows fully well it's come from the few times he's had someone on the tours but he loves you- has loved you from the moment you agreed to date him but he was lonely. Somehow your underwear comes with the skirt and you find yourself shivering at the cold air against your pussy. Elvis looks down, his fingers sliding between your folds, marveling at just how wet you are for him. A growl leaves him unbidden as he moves to shoo your hand away from his cock and lines himself up with your exposed pussy, allowing himself to put just the tip in, feeling you stretch around him. He knows he should wait, knows that you've stretched yourself as much as you can playing with yourself over the phone while he pumps his cock in empty hotel rooms, but it's nothing compared to his cock inside of you.

His eyes dart across your face, asking for permission to push in farther and you nod just barely, your eyes shutting as you feel the burn of his cock in you. It's a uncomfortable but you manage, breathing through your nose as he takes his time. You figure this has to be torture for him, after all you had felt how hard he was, saw how red the head of his cock looked but he's still being gentle. He's still putting your needs so far above his own. This is what your mama doesn't see- the man who treats you like a goddess when he's fucking you for the first time. You roll your hips up, earning a groan from him as he increases his speed, taking your actions to mean he can. Whimpers and small tiny moans escape your lips, providing a small symphony of noise around you both as Elvis's lips smack against yours and against your skin and as your skin meets over and over again as his hips rut against you. Your brain floats the more you feel him, the more you feel a coil deep inside of you tightening, feel yourself inching closer to the edge. Your hands move to his back, pulling him closer into you before you hear him curse, and feel his hips rut a few times in quick succession before feeling a warmth inside you. Your own orgasm follows soon after, the moan that escapes your lips being swallowed by Elvis's kiss so as to not arouse suspicion of what you've done up here. Elvis stays on top of you, keeping his cock inside you even as he catches his breath and his hips still pump ever so slowly into you. Your ears faintly register a faint squelching noise as he does and you find that you can't look Elvis in the eyes, the noise somehow reminding you that this is an inherently filthy act. A moment passes of still hearing the noise before your vagina inadvertently clenches around him, earning a low growl and a biting kiss from Elvis.

It was like you were trying to suck him into you, trying to make sure no part of his cum or him would be free of you. You don't intend for it to be that way and yet it's how it goes, allowing you to hold him close as you both continue to catch your breath. The amount of time that passes isn't something either one of you pay attention to before Elvis starts to pull out, earning a whine from both of you as he does.

"Got me in a vice grip, Satnin. Gotta let me go, mama was cooking with everyone- gotta make sure we keep up our strength." He murmurs, kissing your cheeks, your lips and down your neck to your chest. "Gonna have fun tonight- play with those breasts of yours. Show ya how our baby is gonna eat from ya."

A low keen escapes your lips as you push him off of you, knowing that the way he's talking is going to have you pulling him back on top of you, ruining any hope you have of getting to stay the rest of the summer. Gladys may want you here but she doesn't know what her son and you have planned, how right she is about him ruining you. How with any luck, you'll be leaving with a baby in your belly that will round out your form and have your parents forcing him to marry you. A simple entrapment scheme- but one you and Elvis are privy to while either set of parents aren't.

It takes a moment before you and Elvis are put together and you hear Gladys calling for both of you as you're both smoothing out each other's hair, making sure it's just mussed and not completely giving away how fucked out you are. That it's not giving away how you feel his cum leaking out of you enough that you want to push it back in but know that it can wait. This time it doesn't need to take. Besides, if it did- why you think you'd be leaving with an already there bump, and that won't quite do. Elvis kisses you one more time, gently before grabbing your hand. "Come on darlin', gonna show ya how it's gonna be when you're here forever."

True to his word, Elvis does manage to fuck you in just about every place in the house, except for the few rooms that are off limits. Sure, the Colonel comes and has to have meetings and Elvis has to leave one week to record some music but otherwise, he's by your side unable to keep his hands off of you. Unable to keep himself from being in you the moment he can, there's even a moment while you're out on the porch with you in his lap and your skirt billowing around the two of you as he fucks you while watching the sunset. Your period doesn't come the last month you're there, and Elvis finds that any time he touches your breasts you hiss, swatting his hands away. He doesn't dare put into words what he's thinking, what you're both thinking until the hot sticky August day you have to leave. You're waiting for your father to come pick you up, sitting in the living room and Elvis finds his hand moving to your stomach, rubbing it, trying to feel out a bump he's praying he'll get to see soon.

"Ya think it took this time, darlin'? Think they're growing in there?" He murmurs giving you a soft kiss as he does. "It's out last shot, don't think ya parents are gonna let ya come back if they aren't."

One of your hands moves to cup Elvis's cheek while you place the other on top of his hand that's on your stomach. "I'm not gonna think about it that way, don't wanna talk 'bout it and then something happens. Have a little faith, El. You know I want this as much as you."

He nods exhaling shakily. "I-I know, just don't wanna think of a world where I don't get to keep ya. Where they keep ya away for good this time, ya- ya know I gotta do one of those tours soon and I wanna be able to take ya to see some places, baby."

Your lips quirk into a smile. "And you will. Faith, baby. Faith." A honk interrupts whatever you're planning on saying next and Elvis pulls away slowly, his hand reaching out to pull you up from the couch as he kisses you goodbye. "Make 'em send you back as soon as ya know, lil one. Please."

The only answer you give him is a nod as you rush out the door, carrying your bags and cooing a loud hello to your daddy.

Elvis- Elvis doesn't see you for another two months. Not intentionally on your part, mind you, but more due to the fact that your mother sees the signs and hopes and prays she's wrong. Prays that her fears won't be confirmed, that after she let herself be charmed by you and that stupid young man that he's ruined you. You've always stayed the same size, always been able to not need your skirts or your shirts changed since your waist and your chest settled into what they are. Yet, here you are, slowly filling out, your breasts pushing at the buttons of your blouses and your stomach starting to bloat. She thinks it's just your period only to realize it's not when you don't come to her as you would normally like clockwork. You're eating everything she puts in front of you and she swears on more than one occasion she hears you retching in the bathroom in the early evening hours.

It all comes to a head one afternoon with you on the couch, your hands settling on your stomach, highlighting a bump that's starting to form, that's beginning to be more pronounced by the day- that has her seeing red in her mind's eye. Her question is brusque and to the point.

"When was your last period?" She pauses. "Don't lie to me, Y/N."

In another time and place, one where you aren't secure in the knowledge that you're carrying Elvis's baby, you'd look away when you answer, too mortified to admit that Elvis got you pregnant because you wanted him to. In this time and this place, you press a little harder into your stomach, trying to protect your baby from your mother, lest she do something awful. "Three months ago. Maybe almost four, I lost count, mama."

All hell breaks loose after that, with your mama screaming and telling your father and calls to Graceland where you can hear Gladys calling Elvis's name sounding more angry than you've ever heard her. Throughout it all- despite it all, you're in your room smiling, talking to your stomach telling the baby that's growing in there that they're gonna meet their daddy finally. A week after you find yourself being driven to graceland in a coat to keep yourself warm in the cool weather while also hiding what's underneath from the fans gathered outside the gates. Your daddy leaves as soon as he sets your luggage down next to you, muttering about how he always knew that boy would ruin you and now he's gonna be stuck with him as a son in law.

The door opens to reveal Elvis looking like he's going to curse someone out before he realizes it's you. No words are exchanged as you open up your coat carefully and grab Elvis's hand to press against your bump. You're wearing a tighter blouse than normal to highlight it, and Elvis starts to breathe a little heavier taking note of just how much you've started to change in the months since he's seen you. He pulls you inside, grabbing the bags with a speed you marvel at before he pulls your coat off and takes a proper look at you.

You breathe slowly and Elvis swears he sees one of the buttons on your blouse look as if it's going to pop off before you smile ever so sweetly at him. "Mama hasn't let me get new clothes and- I wanted you to see what you've done to me." You lean forward, your lips brushing against his ear. "How you've ruined your sweet girl. Would have waited a little longer but I wanted you to see me grow."

His only answer in reply is lifting you up with a surprising bit of strength onto the dining room table, laying you out on it with your legs dangling at the edge, his head moving under your skirt. You can barely hear what he's saying as he kisses up your thighs but what you catch has you shivering in delight. "Made you better. Gave you my baby. Made it so your mama had to let you go. Get to stay with me. Be my girl, be my queen of Graceland."

You try and push him away, your brain reminding you that there's people in the house and you can hear cooking happening in the kitchen but your attempts are forgotten at the first brush of his tongue against your slit and the brush of his nose against your clit. He licks at you like a starving man, his tongue fucking your pussy like a pale imitation of his cock as his fingers play with your clit, rubbing and touching and even pinching in the way he's learned you enjoy. You bite your lip, whimpering even as you do, trying to keep quiet so that no one realizes just what Elvis is doing to you even as you barrel quick enough to your orgasm that it shocks you with the sheer force and speed it comes at you.

Gladys voice rings out as your chest is heaving and Elvis finds his way out from under your skirt, his face glistening as the door to the kitchen swings open. His mama sees you on the table and looks to her son, her eyes narrowing just a hair before she shakes her head. "Bewbie, you're- we gotta get you two married before you do anything else." Her face flushes just a little. "Off the table, Y/N. Let me see you and my little grandbaby you got growing here."

Her hands move to your stomach, feeling around like she's looking for something before her lips curl into a sad little smile. There's a moment where she looks like she's going to lean in to tell you what she's thinking before she stops herself and just pulls you into a hug. "I'm- We're gonna take good care of you here. Gonna make sure you and this baby have all the strength you need. I told Bewbie to marry you but- didn't think you'd both be so silly to do this to make it happen. It's alright- what's done is done and now we have this to celebrate."

And so life goes until everything comes crashing down with the papers and the Steve Allen show and Russwood- it all culminates in you seven or eight months pregnant, wishing you could drink as heavily as Gladys is when you hear your husband is getting shipped off to Germany. You promise to take care of his mama and promise to call him the minute you go into labor so that he doesn't miss seeing his baby born while in training. Yet, you find that you fail the first one so miserably when you come across Gladys on the stairs, slumped over, forcing you to call Vernon to help you with her. Not even the movement of the baby within you is able to rouse Elvis from his tears until the Colonel says something to him. You're hidden away from the cameras at Elvis's request. People know he's married, know that you are due to give birth any day now but beyond what everyone's already seen, he doesn't want anyone to see you, not right this moment, not when everything feels so raw and he's got to protect his only girl left- his queen of Graceland.

It's the day before he goes back to finish training when you feel the pain- when you feel your back and stomach twist and you moan in the bed, clutching at your stomach like that will help. This would be so much easier if Gladys was there, she could coach you through this. Elvis forces his way into the room, too scared to be away from the only Satnin he has left, too scared he'll lose you too if he lets you out of his sight. When you push out your first and it still feels like there's another in there- you realize just what Gladys had held back this whole time, too superstitious to even whisper to you that she figured you were too big for just one baby.

You name them Elizabeth and Loretta and Elvis promises to find a way to have you all brought to Germany with him. It takes a year but when you finally do see him again- when you finally both see each other again? You make a vow to stick to each other like glue if only because you're both so tired of being separated when there's no reason to be, no matter what the Colonel would like to argue.

And if perhaps your number of children shows that level of togetherness? Well. You can't very well be a queen without plenty of heirs, now can you?

tag list: @eliseinmemphis, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @aconflagrationofmyown and @butlersxbirdy, @lindszeppelin, @powerofelvis @floralcyanide seriously i never know who to tag in this and breeding kink is so iffy i apologize y'all and hey once again if you all want to be on my tag list ( in general, tbh ) just give me a heads up or a holler.

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