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#i think i evolved pretty well with the skin tearing thing

heatherchasesyou · 7 months

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Here's a lullaby to close your eyes, goodbye It was always you that I despised I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh well Here's a lullaby to close your eyes, goodbye

Goretober Day 4 - Cannibalism

lyrics from here

ALSO FUN FACT but this is basically a remake of that piece from 2021 (which also was a goretober one, w the same prompt so YAH i got the chance for a remake and i'm RLLY proud of it)

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total-drama-brainrot · 3 months

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Hello hello ophe 👋😇

How are you doing so far?

So yeah I have an another crack idea

Lindsay and Alejandro rivalry

That it’s that’s the ask

Alejandro is over there losing how someone as dumb as Lindsay dear can outsmart his ass

While Lindsay is here doing all that shit by accident and crap

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello, A.S. Anon! 👋😁

I'm still pretty sick though I'm slowly getting better, but otherwise I'm doing well! How are you?

NOTE: I'm gonna put this under a Read More because I got a bit wordy with my reply. 😅

I like the idea of a one-sided rivalry between Alejandro and Lindsay, where Alejandro is just dumbfounded by how someone so objectively dense can "manipulate the competition" as efficiently as she does.

Meanwhile, Lindsay is just A Nice Person so people actually like her and as are willing to do things for her/do as she asks. There's no hidden meaning to it; Lindsay's just a kind and friendly person (she doesn't have an intentionally mean bone in her body). Alejandro, however, interprets this as her using her looks and 'feminine charm' to 'beguile the competition' or something because Of Course He Does.

So he seethes over how she must be some sort of hidden genius, with how her dumb blonde 'act' always seems to generate results in her favour (it's not an act, and things working out in Lindsay's favour are always just happenstance), and he hates how he's being outplayed in a battle of wits by someone so outwardly ditzy even if he knows it's all a façade (again, it's not, but Alejandro doesn't know that).

And he spends a concerning amount of time scheming between/during challenges, trying to figure out a way to expose Lindsay for the mastermind she is (she's totally not), but she always seems to find some way to dodge his carefully laid out plans- yet more proof that she's outwitting him! (It's all coincidence.)

Lindsay is oblivious to this whole situation, our Unbothered Queen. 💅

It could be a mutual rivalry between the two of them, but for different reasons?

Alejandro still has his "Lindsay is a secret mastermind whom I must outplay for the million" mindset, but Lindsay also just Can't Stand Alejandro because he's (seemingly) effortlessly well put together.

His hair is so healthy and glossy whilst hers is still kind of straw like from all the bleaching, and in all the time they've shared on the Jumbo Jet he's never looked anything less than perfect, even when he'd just woken up? Not even the slightest bit of acne on his naturally tanned (which Lindsay, who goes through a bottle of fake tan a week, is so jealous of), perfectly smooth and even skin? It's so unfair! Every time she's tried asking about his skincare routine he's shrugged her off- which, rude! She's so mad about how he's gatekeeping his beauty tips that is eventually evolves into the two of them beefing for completely different reasons.

Of course, Alejandro sees Lindsay's shared animosity as her acknowledging a fellow Manipulator™ and disliking how he has 'seen through her bluff', meanwhile Lindsay thinks Alejandro is just kind of a jerk who hates her for trying to 'steal his beauty secrets', so any attraction she might've felt for him plummets into nothing because she Doesn't Like Mean Guys (further proof of this is the fact that Tyler is a sweetheart who has done nothing wrong, and she was immediately infatuated with him).

Side note; She also probably doesn't get along with Justin for this same reason, as I can't imagine him humouring Lindsay with all of the restrictions and beauty routines he has to do as a model, which she'd also interpret as him gatekeeping industry secrets from her. (Man's got literal contracts outlining what physical activities he can and can't do in order to preserve his looks. That's wild.)

I like this idea a lot. Any idea that has Alejandro near enough tearing his hair out by being 'outplayed' by someone who presents themselves as a nonthreat/incompetent whilst the person in question really is just Some Average Joe who isn't even trying to ruin all of Alejandro's schemes, has me hooked. He's totally paranoid enough to always assume the worst in people, even when they're totally innocuous.

#got a bit carried away there. oopsies 🤭#total drama #td alejandro #td lindsay #silly ideas #others' ideas #long post #ass stars anon #replies

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bitchin-beskar · 1 year

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Okay bur do you have any thots over monster!Soap, cause monster!ghost gets a lot of love, but soap deserves some of that too 🫣

oooh, so I've got a Venom!Soap ask in my inbox from @mysticalgalaxysalad that I'm gonna get to later, but I definitely have some thots/thoughts over monster!Soap (a couple different types actually!)

Werewolf!Soap

I feel like lycanthropy fits Soap really really well. I think during leave or other situations that aren't life and death (and even some that are), Soap is very much like an excitable german shepard. He's definitely strong and can be scary, but also goofy and silly, and so I feel this translates really well to werewolf!Soap. He's already a pretty big guy but his wolf form is fucking massive holy shit. He absolutely puts the fear of god into the 141's enemies when he shifts, although I feel he does it sparingly because as strong and deadly as he is as a wolf, shifting does not happen to include his tac gear or kevlar, so he's more vulnerable that way. He absolutely transforms and plays fetch and goes for "walks" with you around base because if he doesn't shift frequently enough, it can become very painful for him. It's kind of hilarious to see a huge fucking wolf bounding around a military base, and more than one rookie has fainted thinking they're seeing a hellhound or some other demonic creature. If we're going down the horny thots route, I think that the heightened hearing and sense of smell absolutely play a role. Yes it helps on the battlefield, but when you've got a boyfriend who can smell when you're fertile and aroused, and can hear your heart rate pick up when he's nearby, you're never gonna know a moment's peace. Going off the whole scent thing, Soap absolutely has a thing about you smelling like him. Thankfully he doesn't 'mark' his territory like an actual dog (you would very probably murder him), but he's constantly putting you in his clothes, hugging you when he's all sweaty and gross from training, and he's got this fascination with coming inside you and anything that drips out gets smeared across your thighs and rubbed into your skin. Maybe it's a little weird, but you kind of like it. Yes, doggy is his favorite position, do not tease him about it because he can and will make sure you're unable to walk for a week. You've also never fucked Soap in his wolf form, because holy fuck he's so huge he might literally tear you in half, but that doesn't mean you don't sometimes think about it.

Vampire!Soap

Okay, so I would probably normally vibe with Vampire!Ghost, but I think Soap works really well as a vamp too. Whereas with Ghost I think he fits the vibes of more the monstrous beings a la Nosferatu that just look off and that's what scares people, I think for Soap he's the kind of vampire that is stunningly gorgeous and hypnotising and that's why he draws you in. It's kind of funny sometimes because he gets so offended by some of the stereotypes ("Of-feckin-course the cross isn't gonna ward me off, I'm a bloody vampire, nah the feckin Devil!") but for the most part he acts completely human. He's not particularly pale, his eyes aren't red, and his teeth at first glance look normal. But when he's fighting and goes into a bloodlust, that's when people start being scared of him. He's arguably the more deadly one between him and Ghost, because you tend to stay away from Ghost, but Soap draws you in, until you realize it's too late. Also, you find out in your relationship that while he can (and usually does) live off bagged blood, fresh tastes so much better, and when you offer to let him drink from you, the both of you learn another little interesting tidbit about his vampirism, something he was unaware of. Vampires secrete a kind of venom from their fangs that acts like a calming agent in animals but in humans acts as an aphrodisiac. After all, it's hard to get a good meal when said meal is fighting for their life, so vampires evolved to come up with a way to get around it, but knowledge is mostly lost because of vampire blood banks. The first time the two of you discovered it, you both descended into a haze of lust and desire that didn't lift for two whole days. The rest of the team was concerned when they hadn't heard from you both in 24 hours, but Ghost's the one to figure out what the two've you have done.

Eldritch Horror!Soap

So, this is a bit more ambiguous, because... you know... eldritch horror with emphasis on the eldritch, but I personally vibe with a kind of strange, shadow-demonesque type of being for Soap. With his proclivity for pyrotechnics, the whole demon aspect fits really well, and the shadow part fits for him as a sniper. Basically, he has a habit of scaring the absolute shit out of everyone on base by just melting into the shadows and peering out with eyes that glint red in the right lighting. Everyone thinks that Ghost is the one to be scared of, and they wouldn't be wrong, but once you've been startled by a Scotsman's drawl coming from the shadowy area in the back of the kitchen near the fridge when you could've sworn you were alone, you realise Simon 'Ghost' Riley is not the only one to be frightened of. Soap has some basic shadow travel abilities which is a huge boon in the field, but his favorite power has to be shadow manipulation. He's able to use shadows as an extension of himself, which is fantastic for pranks, but also really really good for teasing the everloving shit outta you. The first time he did it during a briefing, letting the tendrils of shadows trace over your thighs and against the soft skin under your shirt. You're able to hold your composure admirably, but you yell at him for it later. It does nothing to deter him. In fact, it might've made things worse. Don't even get me started on him fucking you with his shadows. He doesn't need to get your clothes off for that, and it's a fun way for him to pass the time if you're in a position or situation that wouldn't otherwise allow for some fun. You tell him that you hate it and that he needs to stop, but he always retorts that the two of you have safe words for a reason and you really don't have a response to that (because goddamnit you don't actually hate it as much as you say you do. Everyone is terrified of you as a consequence of you being with Soap, because they're well aware of why his missions are classified (aka, the violence level is beastly, far more so than even many military men can stomach) and the fact that you know that and still said "ok but I wanna fuck him" scares the shit out of people.

#monster!soap #anon #anon ask #ask #asked and answered #headcanons #lynn rambles #thots #thots about monster!soap #smut #18+

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benevolentcalamity · 2 years

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Rescue Mission [Yautja (Wakate) x Fem!Reader] Pt.3 [Final]

Ngl! I feel like without having seen a single movie of the Yautja I’m doing one pretty well! Even for just skimming their wiki and shit, haha. Hopefully you guys like Wakate too.

Also I do understand there’s like... different kinds of Yautja? Like their head shapes and color schemes are different? I’ll need to reread that bit.

For now, enjoy! This is the last installment of this trilogy - let me know if you dig it! (Thinking about writing an epilogue.)

I did wind up changing my mind about this being a smut fic. This situation doesn’t have the buildup I require, so just let me get comfortable with these big guys before any of that, ok?

Also! Let me know if you want all this to become an actual full fic, because the storylines are interesting me, finally! (But that feel when that requires you facing your thing about body horror and watching the movies for deeper understanding...)

“I’m still not entirely sure why you feel this necessary.” Wakate’s voice is more confused than his normal irritation. “Normally any sort of contact with a Xenomorph spells death, especially for you humans.”

You pause from washing off [Redacted], keeping her clothes on or nearby to preserve her dignity.

“I’d have seen those hand scorpion looking things dead nearby if she was infested, and from examining her she seems to be okay, at least for now,” You mention. “They have a special medical facility at the base, something that gives us some chance of survival.”

This isn’t a lie. After the realization of a past and shamefully repeated threat, the Ripley Project, named for the first person to survive an encounter with Xenomorphs, was created. Consistent study of these creatures all the way down to the composition of their brains - samples brought back from an expedition for this purpose - is ever-evolving and expanding. What’s tragic, however, is you and the next generation won’t get to see the project be completed. You and future soldiers will use upgrading technology, yes, but it will be possibly decades, centuries even, before a human can stand a chance one-on-one.

You barely made it by the skin of your teeth, and you’re considered one of the best.

“Hence our recent communications with the Yautja as well,” You add, combing your fingers through her hair. “We’ve been attempting to come to some middle ground with the different tribes, but we end up fighting more than shaking hands instead.”

“And what about you? Where do you stand?” It’s an honest question, especially from him.

Momentarily you look off in thought. “I’ve been recommended for promotion. As I stand now I don’t have the biggest inside looks on the actual project itself.”

“As for [Redated]?”

Swallowing, you check her pulse. She’s stable. “... I actually don’t know. They say a good few years after the project formally started, she was brought back to us. A leftover from the Ergoproxy Station, I think is the story.” You pause, pouring more water over her. “There was some Xenomorphs...” You trail off, noticing something off.

Lifting her shirt up above her tearing grey sports bra, you recoil with an uneven shriek.

Smack dab beneath her ribs is an ugly patch of scar tissue, suggesting an injury repeatedly opened back up and inflicted. At first glance it looks more like she was impaled on a pole, but when you take a closer look at how it’s formed, it almost looks like...

Your face blanches. “... Hey, Wakate... Take a look at this, if you’d be so kind.”

Almost immediately after you request it he’s right beside you, kneeling down and lifting [Redacted] slightly to get a better look at the scar. His enormous finger prods and pokes it, him looking from slightly different angles. Eventually he lifts his head, looking toward you.

“Do you know how Xenomorphs reproduce, Ooman?” He questions, and you nod. “This is not a wound from the outside in.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” It really doesn’t. “The chestburster method is supposed to be fatal.”

“Either the actual parasite can travel, or she’s tremendously unlucky.” He’s audibly rolling his eyes. “This particular Ooman’s an odd one.”

Wetting your lips, you raise your hand to your communicator. “Johnson, come in.”

“[Name], evac’s going to be there in thirty, the hell you want?” His uncharacteristic testiness has you momentarily recoiling. “... Apologies. The commander’s been up my ass about the operation.”

“Cry me a river,” You sigh. “Listen, do you or I have access to the files of the Ergoproxy Station incident?”

“... Negative.”

Furrowing your brow, you try not to snap at him. “Well, who does?”

“The scientists, bioengineers, the whole nine yards, all involved with this damn project. The commander, too.”

“Why would they keep those files from us?”

“Beats me... Will that be all?”

You huff. “Yes. Ending communication.”

The moment your finger releases the communicator button, you slump, almost tempted to hit yourself in the forehead. Letting out a sharp, aggravated breath through puffed cheeks, you try to relax, scooping [Redacted]’s hand up in yours. Squeezing it slightly, you lift your head back up, straightening your back to look towards Wakate, now looking a bit more relaxed.

“What’ll you do now, Wakate?” You’re wholly aware you two are a good team, maybe even starting to bond. Whatever the case may be, you just want to know if he’ll be okay.

“My hunt is over, and you retrieved your friend. So, our alliance has served its purpose,” He responds. “My ship will be back soon. In the meanwhile I’ll be combing this island for anything that might’ve escaped the nest.”

You swallow. “Well then I’m staying.”

His mandibles flare. “You said yourself you’re out of bullets, and you’re inadept with what you have still. You’ll be fodder before you even take a breath.” His voice is stern, almost harsh, but even you can pick up the undertone of care. Once you do, his large hand is on your arm. “You fought well, and proven yourself a worthy Ooman. Do not throw that away.”

“But...” You tilt your head slightly. “How will I know you’re okay?”

He snorts. “You don’t need to be concerned about me. You’re quick and resourceful, and equally I am strong and agile. If you can make it that long in the nest, I can survive the island.”

Only mildly assured, you nod. “Okay...”

For a moment, you’re both in silence. There’s no reason for him to stay beside you, other than whatever’s going on in his head. You like thinking maybe he’s just looking after you and [Redacted] until your chopper arrives, but there’s probably something else. Perhaps what he’ll do when he gets back home, wherever home may be for him.

“... Wakate,” You say after a moment.

“What?”

“When [Redacted] and I get back to the base, I’m going to see if I can access the files to Ergoproxy station. If I can get those, I can probably find out about her too.” You put your hand over the scar under her shirt. “If what you said is true, then she’s been through a whole lot more than we know.”

“And what’ll happen when you do find all that?” He sounds... doubtful? You’re not sure.

“I’ll prevent it from happening again.” A newfound resolution creeps onto your tongue. “And if there’s more I’ll put a stop to it. To hell with retirement - if this is more than just her, someone’s gonna have to answer for it.”

A moment, and he erupts in laughter. Confused, you turn back towards him, tilting your head, before he puts a hand on it.

“I was right to believe in you!” He guffaws. “Alright then. Hopefully we’ll see each other again when your next hunt begins.”

“Hopefully...” Your voice trails off at the telltale buffering of an engine.

Raising your head you look aside, seeing the helicopter closing in from just over the horizon. As it approaches the trio of you, you stand up, raising your arm high and waving. Before you know it a ladder drops down as the chopper door opens. Colonel Weiss, initially confusing to see, leans out and waves back at you.

“[Last Name]!” He shouts.

“Sir!” You respond, giving him a quick salute.

“You’re both in one piece, thank god! Now just get her and let’s get the hell out of here!” His voice is normally crusty but he sounds like he’s been smoking so many cigarettes on the way. Even the actual smoke radiates off him and he doesn’t even have one in his mouth.

Turning, you lift [Redacted] into your arms, approaching the ladder as Weiss descends. Softly passing her over to him, you fail to notice the displeasure on his face as you turn back towards Wakate. Feeling the colonel going back up the ladder to secure her, you clear your throat, approaching him yet again.

“You are not staying,” He reiterates, helmet on his hip.

“Not planning to.” You know it’s what’s best. So, you manage a smile, holding your hand out. “Well... so long, Wakate.”

He looks down at your hand, his mandibles rubbing together. Before long he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.”

Blinking, you watch him set his helmet aside, swinging his arms before turning back to you. Momentarily you fear him trying to strangle you now that he has no further business with you, but then you’re surprised when he closes the distance. Before you know it your cheek’s pressed to his chest plate, and his arms effortlessly hold you.

... Oh. OH.

Holy fucking shit.

Ignoring your back popping slightly, you do reciprocate his attempt at a hug. Sadly he is so huge that you have your arms almost stretched out completely to your sides, your forearms only barely touching his back. As though aware of your frailty he’s clearly just hanging his arms; you shudder at the possibility of his true strength.

... Yep. He’ll be just fine.

“Be safe, Wakate.” The helicopter is loud, so you are hopeful he doesn’t hear.

“Stay alive long enough for us to meet again.” It’s practically an order. “If my ship returns again and you’ve expired, I’ll drag you back from whatever afterlife you end up in and hunt you down.”

You chortle, raising your voice so you’re audible. “You too, don’t you dare die to anything!”

“[LAST NAME]! STOP HUGGING THE YAUTJA AND LET’S GO!” Weiss about screams through the helicoper.

You scoff. Asshole... “... See you around, Wakate.”

Reluctantly, you break from him, patting his arm as his almost serpentine eyes blink along with him nodding.

“Good hunting, Ooman.”

___

“So from what I understand, [Redacted] was snatched and dragged into this island’s nest, right?”

“Correct, sir.” You finish patching your injuries, having prioritized [Redacted] and risked infection; you must’ve had more injuries from your fight with that Xenomorph than you thought. “We confirmed the death of the queen, and suddenly we were ambushed by a Xenomorph.”

“I see.” His shift to being calm is... odd. “And that’s when you met the Yautja?”

“His name is Wakate, sir.” You wipe some sweat from your forehead. “He helped me find the nest and retrieve [Redacted]. If not for him I’d be long dead.”

“Never expected you to make friends with one of them, but what matters is all three of you made it.” He reaches over and pats your leg. “You’re sure to get that promo, hopefully. By the looks of it you’ve been through hell.”

“And dragged myself out of it, too. I killed a Xenomorph - might’ve been the one that snatched her, too.” There’s an odd pride in your chest, only swelling when his eyes brighten slightly.

“That’s great news. You were always one of the best - maybe you’ll be the best, with some more time with this line of work.” He contemplates his cigars and lighter, before his better judgment puts them back in his pocket. “There’s a good fat paycheck waiting for you. Maybe some vacation time, if you’re up for it.”

“I’d like to be able to stay in contact if I do, keep in the know about [Redacted],” You affirm. “I do want a vacation, but her health is just as important as mine.”

“Granted. I can tell, after all, that this is very important to you.” Then his chest bounces with a laugh as he leans back. “This takes me back. When you were raised to this rank and put on this work, we had just recently recruited [Redacted]. Girl couldn’t even say her own name or talk to anyone, but then you came along and she actually acted human.” His eyes crinkle with a smile. “... It was meant to be, [Last Name].”

“I’m honored you regard both of us so highly, sir,” You nod, giving an appreciative smile. “I hope we keep pleasing you.”

“I know you will.”

“And sir?” You lean on your thighs.

“Yes?”

“Do you... happen to know something about Ergoproxy Station?”

#aliens vs predator #yautja x reader #yautja #yautja x human #xenomorph #reader insert #my writing #writing #predator

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deancasbigbang · 2 years

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Title: Cockatrice Fic (Working Title)

Author: KaylieMalinza

Artist: errantia

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Dean/Castiel (not explicit romantically or sexually but it certainly is Something), mention of past Dean/Lisa and Dean/Rhonda Hurley

Length: 35000

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, brief violence involving humanoids and animals, injuries and mild gore

Tags: canon divergence, multigender!Castiel, NotTotallyCis!Dean, Dean cooks, falconry, jewelry, Purgatory

Posting Date: October 25, 2022

Summary: Set between 8x12 and 8x17. Dean cracks an egg for breakfast, and out comes a baby cockatrice. Dean complains a lot, but rapidly evolves into /r/DadsWhoDidNotWantPets. Sam is in the background investigating a mysterious prophet from the middle ages and rolling around in the archives like a nerd pig in a mud library. Kevin is jealous of the mysterious prophet and generally is Suffering. The cockatrice is living its best life and trying to get Dean to glam up a little. Castiel is--well, you'll see.

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

Excerpt: Dean grabs an egg from the stupid brown carton ("You won't even notice the difference," Sam said) and cracks it one-handed because he's a freakin' chef.

What lands in the pan is a blue marbled skin sack, slick with mucus, distended and roiling. Dean's pretty sure that bulge there is beak-shaped and the spike on the other side is a wing joint, but he's not an expert in poultry.

The sack tears open and a tail falls out.

"Oh, that's just gross. Sam! I noticed the difference!"

Sam ambles into the kitchen. "Dean, what--" Sam runs over, reaching into his waistband for... a ballpoint pen.

That's the problem with safehouses. You feel safe, so you stop taking normal precautions, and then you die. If Dean were on his game, he would've flipped the pan and smashed the thing already. He's gotten soft since Purgatory.

"What is that?" Sam asks.

"I'm guessing it's organic and free-range," says Dean.

More of the sack has ripped open, clinging to sharp joints and scrawny limbs. There's definitely a beak, bracketed by pebbled eyelids squinched shut over Gollum-y eyes. The snakey tail flops around, streaking mucus across the non-stick pan.

"Don't move," Dean snaps.

The organic free-range freak of nature freezes with one foot outside the pan. The other foot sizzles quietly.

"I think it can understand us," Sam says.

"Oh, that's useful. Will it understand if we tell it to screw off?" Dean asks.

Sam glares like that's not a valid question. "Standing in a hot pan can't be comfortable," he says. Then he adds, "You can get out, if you want."

The not-breakfast stumbles over the lip of the frying pan and onto the range--which Dean had just cleaned--and balances with slime-wet wings.

Dean glances down to check that Sam has his boots on. "I'll knock it to the floor, and then you stomp on it."

"No! Dean, I think it's just a baby."

They glance over. The creature looks mostly like a chicken: the same dumpling body shape and two bumbly legs, long feet, translucent yellow talons. The skull is covered in wet-black feathers and topped with a red coxcomb, cracked and ashy like elbow skin. After that, the chicken designation goes out the window because the neck is way too long and covered in mottled scales like a house with dirty shingles.

Oh, and the tail. The curlicue tip of it shudders, flinging out drops of mucus that crackle in the frying pan. The goop smells great, actually, and the sack is frying up like chicken skin. Maybe supernatural placenta is extra tasty. Dean's eaten worse, charred and blood-salty. He's sucked meat from fetal bones, still soft and jellied.

That was before he gave up on eating because it's a waste of time if you can't starve to death. Hunger is just a part of Purgatory, like rocks and barkrash.

The creature cracks its beak and makes a noise like a rusty door hinge.

"Yeah. Adorable," says Dean.

#dcbb 2022 #fic preview #2022 promo #deancas #destiel

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shadowglens · 2 years

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all “features” for sara pretty please 🥺🤲🏼

JUMBO ASK MEME

🌸 what does your oc’s voice sound like? their laugh? are they good at singing? do they have an accent?

sara has a fairly quiet voice, but not in a necessarily soft way - there’s always been a cold, brittle edge to her, and sometimes she just thinks that’s what it means to be atoan, to have been born on a planet where the local inhabitants have evolved to mingle and survive in the harsh, frozen climate. she tries to smother the hard edge, tries to make herself softer and warmer (for the younglings’ sakes if nothing else), and she does a very good job of it for a long time. her laugh is even quieter, and is honestly more of a sighed breath than a laugh. emotional coldness is her forte and sara appears fairly monotone and ‘in control’ most of the time.

🎀 do they wear a specific accessory with a special meaning behind it? what is their usual fashion sense like? what do they wear when they want to be comfortable and what do they wear when they’re going to a fancy party? or do they just not care?

sentimentality was a weakness that yoda trained sara in well after her master died, and so sara has hardly any accessories or special pieces of clothing besides those given to her by the jedi. the only form of self-expression she lets herself indulge in is using lighter-toned robes. she’s grown so used to the heavy cotton and linens of her jedi instructor attire that she finds comfort in the sterile beige fabrics whether she means to or not.

💗 what would your oc say is their best feature? why? what do their friends / family / lover(s) / people they know think is their best feature and why?

sara’s never thought much about her appearance besides that she wants to keep her hair short (so it doesn’t scratch at the burn scars between her shoulder blades). most people find her eyes the most striking, with their icy blue tone, because it’s one of her few physical features that separates her from a ‘standard’ corusant-born human.

🌺 does your oc have any tattoos or other body art? does their body art have any specific meaning behind it? do they have any scars? how did they get those scars? any birthmarks?

no tattoos, but she has some scars. sara never saw much combat or active duty, even during the clone wars, so compared to some jedi she’s a fairly clean slate, but there are still a few here and there. the palms of her hands are still a little mangled with burn scars, but the skin grafts took well. the scarring between her shoulder blades and down her upper back where the burns were more severe is not as well healed, but still - she can hide them well. after the order falls apart, she gets a nasty scrape of a scar along her cheek and jaw from clone blaster fire, and without the expertise of the temple’s medics, that one never heals quite right. there’s also a jagged-edged circle of a scar just below her left ribs from when an inquisitor stabbed her clean through with their saber. the wound and resulting scar is almost comically small considering the damage it did, and if it wasn’t for dane tearing on their force bond to heal it, she likely would’ve died. it’s a small, nasty reminder even so.

🌷 in what ways would your oc alter their body if they could? how would they do it using mundane means (hair dye, surgery, make-up?). what is their ideal look for themself?

like i said, sara has never put much weight into her appearance, has never cared enough about her looks to want to change anything. the only thing she would change if given the chance would be the burn scars i think, even if it would hurt to have them taken away. they’re all she has left of dina, the imprint of her shoulder scorched into sara’s right palm. but still - sara would remove them, if she could.

#oc tag #arklay #ch: sara nev'ii #ty leah!!!!!#many thoughts and feelings about my sad star wars girl......#these were good questions for her!

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livingwithlosingyou · 2 years

Text

Living with Losing You - 8/30/2022

I’m a snake.

Literally, my hands and feet are peeling as if I am shedding an old skin. In a weird way, it is metaphoric to this situation. This has forced me to shed the old dream and expectation that I had for our lives, and accept/ grow into this new skin.

I am not going to lie, I was a little frustrated (or as you would love me to say FUSterated) because I was sleeping in for once, and my work called me twice in a row and it woke me up. Today was my day off, so yeah, I was not happy about that.

I felt so bad because I woke up to a text from your dad saying that he tested positive for COVID-19 (among other terrible stuff that’s happened). It’s all just insult to injury. I can imagine how upset he is, that was me. Still is me. Being sick sucks.

Anyway, I woke up and took Sadie to her camp. I had plans to meet up with another girl from church, so I wanted to try and be productive prior. I was able to do a couple loads of laundry, and I ended up just ordering Public Square for brunch. Let’s call today, semi-productive. You’ll understand as I keep typing.

I met up with her in North Park at a cute coffee shop. I will definitely be back. The vibe was very chill and their oat milk chocolate milk was delightful. Her and I had a good conversation. I have been very open about you, and I think it’s helping me to really make sure I am building my community in a heathy way. I cannot avoid what happened, and honestly, it’s a part of my story. It will not define me forever, but right now it is a large part of my life and who I am. She unfortunately lost her dad to a rare cancer, so we talked about grief and how it is never linear. Right when you think you’re having a “regular” day, you’re suddenly in a puddle of tears. The struggle is so real. I truly cannot wait for the day when I can think about you and not feel this depth of pain. There will always be grief, but it will evolve. I have to remember this.

After this, I went back home and took a nap. Having had two pretty intense illnesses on top of grieving has made me a lot more lethargic. I also do not think I am sleeping very well. I am even trying sleep aids, but I think they’re making me have vivid dreams. I just do not know how well I am sleeping in general.

After my nap I got ready and headed to practice. Today the boys had a tempo / mile repeats (depending on JV and Varsity). It was a warm one today. I did end up altering the mileage, but I could tell the boys were gassed likely more than they would have been if it weren’t so hot. I know what readers are thinking, “Madison is savage”. I did go to the trainer and got ice cold water to have available to them all during their entire working, from warm up to cool down. It was a good practice overall, all things considered. A few of them came up to me afterward and said I quote, “Looked like a XC coach today”. Apparently I do not typically? I will post pictures on the bottom of this blog for reference.

After practice I talked to your mom on the phone as I headed to pick up Sadie, then went home. we also had a really good conversation. It makes me happy to have a good relationship with her. We both miss you terribly.

Once I got Sadie into the apartment, I called in an order for a salad for dinner, and walked to grab that. It was super yummy! I ordered the Farmers salad from Farmers table. I talked to Marissa while I was eating, and for a little while after.

I decided to spend a little time playing some music today as well. I only had time set aside for this evening, but I have been sending / talking to Kevin about the production process. I am feeling excited about this, but also nervous. It’s intimidating, but in a good way.

Just the fact that I am going back to KY excites me. Have some plans and things in the works. That’s all i will say for now.

Now, back to what I was saying - today was not as productive as it should have been. I probably should have gone to the grocery store. I definitely should have done at least an hour of coaching training, and completed that CPR/First Aid online portion of that class. This in person portion of the class is on Thursday, and it HAS to be done prior. I wish you were here to just walk me through it since it’s been a minute.

I have to work tomorrow, and am planning on meeting up with the MMA girls for sushi in the evening. I was supposed to go to practice, but we have a work meeting so we will see if I can make it. Likely will not be able to unfortunately.

It’s getting late and I should try and go to bed. I have a lot that I need to get done tomorrow and Thursday. I am eagerly awaiting Friday. Also excited for an extra paid day next week due to labor day. Lots of positives, gotta take it one day at a time.

Good Night, Sweetest James. I loveth youeth soeth mucheth.

Rest in Peace, James Burton Nichols

10/1/1993 - 7/16/2022

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thesunshinebunny · 3 years

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Hello! May I please request N/SFW headcanons of Lilia, Rook, Riddle, and Epel dating an F!MC who likes being face fucked and cummed on? I know it sounds very dirty, and you don't have to do it, but thank you very much!!!❤❤❤❤❤❤

Ohhh shiiiit, daaaaamn that's graphic. I have never clung to a computer so much when reading an order like this, as I read it I got closer and closer to the monitor and a mischievous smile was forming on my face.

Uffffffff, of course I can. Buckle up, because it's time for +18

Lilia

Mama bear Lilia here is more than in.

Bring him the papers, conditions and clauses; don't forget the rules and limits, Lilia wants to know everything. EVERYTHING.

I firmly believe that fucking with Lilia would be a unique experience. The gentleman here has lived hundreds of years and must surely have a few tricks up his sleeve.

Every night, or day, or afternoon, or when he is up to have you in his arms, it's a blow up to your head.

And now with what you just said …… UUUUH BABY, you just turned at a point of no return.

With Lilia, everything is a yes, you have to experience everything at least once in your life. A blowjob may have happened before, but not with the intensity in which you said it.

Lilia couldn't help but hide his enthusiasm all day, he even got to worry and raise suspicions among his dorm students. Our little one here was feeling like a child at Christmas, eager to unwrap his present.

When the moment of truth arrived… Lilia was a bloody monster.

From the start, he knew exactly how to handle you, how to guide your pretty head from the bottom up, preventing you from breathing normally multiple times.

And let's not even talk about the amount of saliva you left as a sign of your beautiful work towards his cock. Yes, Lilia was a fucking sadist.

“Com’on sweetheart, I know you can do better than that. Show me how much you like to be facefuck, m’yeah? "

Anyway, as much as he loves to see your face covered in his cum, Lilia is a 1000/10 in aftercare. You would not spend two minutes with your face covered that Lilia is already wiping a wet cloth over your skin.

May o may not start a makeout session with your mouth full of cum.

Rook

Uh, ma'am, I hope you're prepared to be photographed because I think… Rook just found a very beautiful image.

We know that Rook is a gentleman, so he wouldn't go straight to shove his cock into your mouth without asking your permission first.

Of the four, I think he would be the kindest at all times.

Asking if he is "doing it right?" "Is the speed correct?" "You like it?" and those things.

I also think that, if you have a praise kink, being with this mf would rise it to 1000000%

I'm not joking, all the time telling everything that he sees that it's beautiful in it's essence and form ... imagine listening to it every second of that moment.

“You’re doing it so well, beautiful, taking me so so good. You like this, don't cha? Yeah you do, my sweet little girl "

Is it hot in here or is just me?

Occasionally, Rook would get out of hand a bit, but in the end, it's what you wants right? Let him be a brute by fucking your mouth until you can't breathe.

I recommend that you hide the camera from him, because I am very sure that he would take thousands of photos every time his cum paints your face beautifully. Not because he's going to paste it behind the wallpaper in his room, no no, simply to admire them and put them in an exclusive folder for that type of photos.

Riddle

I don't think I'm the only one who would think that Riddle would be stopped at such a statement.

Let's see, I bet all my valuables that the poor man has never dated a girl in his life (thanks to his mother) and to have such a revelation of his first romance ... ufff, holly mother, the little one has a lot ahead of him.

Riddle might be a bit confrontational at first, let's also assume it would be his first time doing the do, so I don't see him getting into those kinks so early.

Already with months evolving in this "quiet relationship", one long night you brought up the subject again and Riddle gave a somewhat hesitant yes, but as all mothers say: "if you don't try it, you won't know if you like it"

Ohhhhhh, shit, Riddle had never moaned like tonight. Poor Trey heard all the wobble, please stop his suffering

At first, Riddle didn't really know what to do, where to put his hands, when to increase speed, etc.

You had to guide him, bringing his hands to your head, indicating that he could hold you at any time and when he felt that he needed more, that he could apply more pressure and move your head as he preferred.

What started with a slow pace ended with your head bobbing up and down awkwardly, but intensely, on his cock.

"Wait, Darling, I'm-I'm gonna cum"

Did Riddle turn your head away? No. Did you walk away alone? Also no.

Riddle came half in your mouth and half in your face, and let me tell you, your expression… UUUUUUFFFF, it was worth every fucking minute of that roller coaster.

See your face covered with some jets falling towards your chin and mixing with your saliva, while you breathed aggressively through your mouth, letting to the naked eye see his cum slide down your tongue ...

Yes, new kink unlocked.

In the same way, that beautiful intercourse is not a daily bread. Riddle would use this kink as a method of discipline, improving his movements each time, to the point of making you cry.

Riddle definitely loves your fucked face.

Epel

Pikachu shook face.

Much like Riddle's reaction but not to the degree of cardiac arrest.

Yes, Epel was shook, but we all know that Epel has a bit of audacity, so let him process your statement for a few minutes.

When the waters are calm, the coast is clean to try those tastes of yours.

Epel may be a bit nervous at first, but I think that with communication and a few "classes" you can reach a result that benefits both of you.

He would use your mouth as an anti-stress method. You know, when exams time comes around and you're littered with books and little time… well, instead of a slime ball to de-stress, Epel has you.

A good session of de-stressing sex can't start without first fucking your mouth like there's no tomorrow.

Your throat spasming every time the tip of his cock touched the end, your dedication trying to take it to the end before releasing and taking little breaths, then trying again and again.

The way your hands were placed on Epel's hip looking for support, or sometimes placed at your side, preventing you from touching him.

Your eyes filling with tears at the intensity in which your head was used as a toy, your lips swollen and a small trace of saliva falling down your chin to the ground.

If that's not an image that can fix a bad day, I don't know what it is.

“You like when I manhandle you like this, don't you? 'course you like it, you like when I fuck your litle mouth like the whore you are "

It may be a bit rough, but you both get pleasure from it, so a win-win.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge #rook hunt #rook x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #epel felmier #epel x reader #not sfw #lilia x reader

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logicheartsoul · 3 years

Text

I should be trying to sleep but I had this idea in my head and I want to share it.

It’s a variation on a soulmate au, the one where you’ll get glimpses of your soulmate but only in dreams, and the dreams become clearer and more regular the closer in contact you are with them. But once you actually meet and touch each other (like skin to skin contact) for the first time, the dreams disappear (but instead you’ll just have this psychic sense of knowing their feelings or whatever).

So, I’m imagining this with sambucky, right? And for Bucky, he’s like... got this very nebulous notion of the idea of Sam. And his peers at this point, growing up, have better ideas of who theirs are, but not Bucky, but there’s something about it that makes him so sure. Where he gets his well of faith, who knows, but as a result, when things are tough, he writes to his ‘soulmate’ whoever they are. Maybe as a way for them to get to know who he was back then, thinking it’d be a nice gesture.

So he keeps doing this even during the war and all his letters are kept eventually in storage.

When he’s under Hydra’s control, they’re really glimpses he doesn’t understand, but seeing it makes him feel a sense of... well, he doesn’t know. Less emptiness? Perhaps the more he goes out and does the things he’s being ordered to do, he might accidentally find answers?

Obviously, he doesn’t write letters during this period.

But, he starts seeing and understanding more about Sam, deeply, intrinsically, like one of his own buried memories.

And then TWS happens, and it’s like... a jolt. Sam kicks him in the head, he tears his wings, but now the dreams are happening in pretty regular time. He starts seeing through Sam’s eyes, understanding, all the while, I’m sure Sam is having the same happening and grappling with it because he’s using it to help find Bucky, who is trying to avoid him only because he doesn’t want to be found. Because he sees the conversations Sam and Steve have and how determined Steve is to find him, even if Sam is the one searching.

(The angst of all of this for Sam would be for another day because goodness, he’s experienced so much loss and witnessing people he cares about suffering. Taking it upon himself to try to make things better for people even though he never gets help for himself unless it’s absolutely necessary/too late. Understanding the grief and abandonment through loss and hoping that maybe at least with his soulmate he might not have to experience that, even if it’s just a dream he thinks won’t happen. Anyway.)

Even if he doesn’t want Sam physically finding him, he wishes circumstances weren’t what they are. He starts writing again, this time not only about himself, but about what he sees from Sam’s eyes, what he learned about him, what he remembered about him, but also just wishing for things to be different. Maybe if Steve wouldn’t ask Sam to bring him back, maybe, maybe--

Anyway, so instead he writes to him. Things Sam might enjoy, or like, or writing words of consolation when he dreams of something horrible Sam went through. Even though he wishes he learned these things under better circumstances, like Sam telling him personally. When they eventually catch up in Civil War, and etc, he never tells him about these letters, some which are written on paper, and some that are kept in journals.

It goes on for years, but over time his curiousity, his evolving friendship, turn into more.

So yeah, once they did their little “handshake” in episode 5 (because does touching vibranium count? I dunno, I just thought this idea up 2 seconds ago, there is bound to be potential plot holes lol), the dreams of each other disappear. But by then, they’re practically side by side all the time.

And sure, Sam probably saw some glimpses in his dreams of Bucky writing away furiously, but he just assumed he was writing down memories, not because he’s writing to him.

Anyways, one day, Bucky finds out his old letters he wrote to Sam during and before the war still exist and kept somewhere. He tries to get them back without Sam knowing. He finds out Bucky wants some letters and is curious. The two of them make fast work of getting it back.

Bucky doesn’t share much about the letters, and while Sam is really really curious and wants to ask him to read it, he doesn’t. Bucky tells him he’ll tell him what the letters are about some day.

Some day ends up being Sam’s birthday but near the end of it when everyone is gone and it’s just the two of them. Except it’s an entire huge box and Sam is so freaking confused because what is in it?

And then Bucky explains it all. Why he started, why he continued it, that even though he knows they’re soulmates, he wasn’t sure that Sam had romantic feelings for him like he did, or he was just a forever platonic soulmate for him, which is fine because knowing they were soulmates and he didn’t hate him was enough, and he wanted to make sure he lived up to being worthy of that, by doing right by Sam, by helping him, by supporting him, by being by his side, by caring for him the way he could.

There wasn’t a way he couldn’t tell him he loved him by just a simple conversation.

These words are for you, Sam. For your eyes only.

At the top, are the really, really old letters from Bucky’s youth, scrawled in neat penmanship but the letters somewhat yellowed in age.

But what can Sam say? The news is a lot to process, this is decades of information just literally dropped in his lap.

Sam spends all night, reading them, one by one -- he’s gotten no sleep, sees the evolution of not only Bucky but his feelings, of his knowing of Sam, and moments where Sam thought he was utterly alone or had no one to go to for a remembered incident, and there, Bucky wrote something he wished he could’ve said to Sam, comforting things.

Anyway, I haven’t thought through to the end. I just really wanted to see Sam reading several decades worth of (love) letters from Bucky and his reaction. lol

You were something I chose to believe in, time and again. And I always will.

Maybe he reciprocates back? Or maybe he tells him he has to think about it all. Or maybe he just doesn’t say a thing. All I know is he’s moved af and that more and more every day, after that, Bucky isn’t writing him letters, but instead showing his devotion through action now that they’re literally in each other’s space 24/7. Making up for treating him like shit but also those years he wasn’t there for Sam but they both existed at the same time. Coz he has decades to catch up on lol

#sambucky #not quite a #prompt #au #i haven't gone to bed yet and i saw posts about sambucky and love letters and i keep thinking of the fics where they leave each other notes #or write each other love letters and then i thought of this #a spur of the moment idea lmao #sam's side of things would make this post a million times longer because the heartache and pain and he's also annoyed with bucky at times #(understandably so lmao wouldn't you be if you were him?) so bucky would have to really work to make it up and not just by dumping a box of #letters lol but anyhow i dunno if i would write this i just wanted to share this idea out so if you got to the end of this rambling congrats #i'm sure there's plot holes but imma gonna head to bed

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pretoriafics · 3 years

Text

If I wasn't a goddamn werewolf

I simply needed to do something with Talia. I think the pack dynamics would be so wonderful with her, with Laura, and with Cora. Should I do a part 2? Let me know <3

Talia just came back from the dead, and she is just trying to figure out what is happening with her son. But when she met you, everything becomes clear. Word count: 1.757 Pairings: Reader x Derek Contain: Pure angst!!; Derek being a dick; Warnings: English is not my main language <3 PART 2 TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

Things were a true mess these days. The starting point was a resurrection. Nobody knew exactly how Talia arose from the dead, but everyone was trying to find out. Well, after so many years out of the Beacon Hills life, Talia was trying to fix in and absorb what had happened during the time she was dead. Peter had tried and failed to kill his daughter Laura, Cora comes back to the city, and the Hale's had rebuilt their pack with three new members: Boyd, Isaac, and Erica. Derek was happy with the presence of Talia - actually, everyone was - but as a mom, she knew something was pretty wrong. He was being a little bit... sad.

Talia caught Derek thoughtful during the night several times. Sometimes he just simply took his car and disappear. He was also taking time for himself, staying alone with his own thoughts. Talia just simply couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with her son. But when she has begun to think that maybe all of that was just something created inside of a mother's mind, she finds out about everything.

Talia, Derek, and Laura were doing some groceries at a supermarket. Talia and Laura were chatting about the city while taking a few things when suddenly, both of them heard a female voice greeting Derek in the corridor next to them.

"Hey, Derek."

It was you. Laura recognized your voice immediately. Talia's older daughter took her mom's wrist and took her to spy Derek, making a sign with her finger on her lips to her mom stay quiet. When Talia and Laura look at you and Derek, they notice all the signs of a couple in love. Your hearts were beating fast, and your eyes were shining like a thousand stars. You were pretty anxious, like a teenager talking for the first time with your crush. And your voice was so sweet... The air seems to completely disappear from Derek's lungs.

But despite all of the signs of love, Derek didn't reply to you. Actually, seems like the soft expression of love simply disappeared from his face - which was pretty severe and cold now. His facial expressions seem to let you even more anxious. You begun to regret to had the stupid idea to talk with him.

"Uh..." You started to talk, with his lack of answer "I..."

Without saying a word to you, Derek takes a can from the shelves and, simply, walks away from you. It was like you even weren't there. And, God, it broke your heart. Alone in the corridor and without becoming aware that you were being looked closely for Laura and Talia, you let escape a tear that ran through your face. Trying to compose yourself, you breathe in and swipe the tear away. You need to be strong.

When you just simply walk away from that corridor, Talia looks at Laura, pretty confused.

"Is that his ex?"

"No, she is just a girl he met. They started to become friends, but things evolved. Derek had decided to fell apart from her when Kate threatened to do something with her. You know, she was trying to manipulate him. But Derek thought that she would be safer without him. She doesn't know anything about supernatural, so..."

"It's dangerous for her."

"Exactly."

"How long ago did this happen?"

Laura drums her fingers on her chin, thoughtfully.

"I think it's been a year..."

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah, I know. You would love to meet her." Laura and Talia walk close to the candies session, looking at you. "Her name is (Y/N). She's a great girl."

"She seems like one."

Laura, Derek, and Talia were putting the groceries into the car - the place where Cora was waiting for her family. Talia was pretty thoughtful, thinking about the issue between you and Derek. Despite thinking that Derek did the right thing, she felt sad about the whole situation. It was pretty clear to her that Derek likes you a lot, and so do you.

Talia was torn from your thoughts when she listened to Cora's voice.

"Oh, I didn't saw her coming into the market."

Derek arches his eyebrows at his sister, walking in the driver's seat direction.

"Who?"

Cora indicates you with a nod in her head, and Derek's sight runs in your direction. Now Derek was looking at you for a distance he could saw you properly. Damn, you were so beautiful... He was pretty sure you did something with your hair, who made you more beautiful than ever. His heart began to race, and his face softened. You were like a sedative for him, with the power to take all of his angry away.

Unless you were next to another guy. In this case, you would stoke his fury just like the gasoline feeds fire. That was the case now.

You were walking in a man's direction, close to an expensive car. Despite being upset and heartbroken, you forced a smile on him, and he gave you a soft and slow kiss. Derek's chest vibrated in a low and threatening roar.

Laura looks at Cora.

"Who's that guy?"

"Well, he's her boyfriend. They're together a few months."

"He's hot. And seems like he's rich too."

Yeah, he was perfect. Derek didn't hate him just because he's the one who touches you now. Derek hates him because that guy was perfect, and better than him in so many aspects. He was rich, handsome, and a perfect gentleman. And he has you.

Oh, God... Derek wants so much for being under his skin for one day... Derek could simply forget all the supernatural bullshit and stay with you without worries. Damn, he wants so much to touch you again and kiss you again. He wants so much to say to you how beautiful you were with whatever you did with your hair, how you smell good, and how sorry he is for hurting you because he would never do that if it weren't for your own good.

If Derek wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he could take that vacation on Hawaii with you that you wanted so much. If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he could wake up by your side in the morning - something he never was able to do because of all the supernatural crap in the city. Derek could wake you up with kisses and breakfast in the bed too. If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he would take you to live with him on his loft. You would never cry of sadness, just of happiness.

If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, Derek would give you a ring and would ask if you want to be Mrs. Hale.

Instead of all of it, Derek was forced to broke your heart for your own protection. He was forced to tell you not to talk with him anymore because he never felt anything for you. You were nothing more than a one-night stand, his little toy.

Derek remembers that day like it was yesterday. You were crying like never before while you listened to his sharp words.

"What do I did with you that made you thought you were so special?"

"You are nothing to me."

"I just wanted some fun. You can't blame me."

"Stop acting like a stuping teenager in love!"

It was hurtful to say those words to you. None of them were true. Derek just wanted you to hate him as much as someone could hate. With it, you would stay away from him and all of the danger. In fact, you said that night those three words he wanted you to tell him.

"I hate you!" You yelled, with your face wet in tears. "You are the biggest mistake I could ever make in my entire life!"

Despite saying horrible things to you that had hurt Derek as hell, your words hurt as much as his own. But even with all the emotions conflicting inside himself, Derek even could hear your heartbeat failing. It was the sound of your lie.

Despite all of that, you didn't hate him. You didn't think he was the biggest mistake of your like.

That broke him even more.

Derek just wants to feel you in his arms again and say to you how much he loves you - because, yeah, he really loves you, and he really thinks you are the one. Instead of it, he gives up on your love to keep you alive and safe.

Suddenly, Derek listens to your boyfriend talk with you. He was still with his face close to yours.

"I'm so lucky to have you as my girl." Your boyfriend smiles at you "I love you."

Your heart ached one more time that day. Oh, if those words were from Derek's mouth... But no, you think he hates you. Determined to move on and forget about Hale, you force a smile on your boyfriend.

"I love you too."

Your heartbeat sound failed, and the Hale family on another side of the parking lot could hear your lie. You didn't love your boyfriend but, oh, you really wish you could. He was perfect.

However, you always thought about how boring perfection was and, actually, you would love to be imperfect with Derek.

Your boyfriend gives you a sweet smile and gets into his expensive car. You walk towards the passenger's seat door and, before getting into the car, you look in Derek's direction.

He was looking at you with those beautiful and glacial green eyes. It was pretty hard to pretend he didn't love you because he does so much. While Talia was watching the entire situation, she noticed that yours and Derek's eyes were yelling a silent, dangerous, and forbidden I love you - the one who could let anyone with no air in their lungs.

Then, you breathe in, trying to contain yourself. You got into the car and, then, you and your boyfriend were leaving the parking lot and Derek's sight. If getting away from him and being in another man's arms meant you were safe, then Derek could handle it. However, after looking at the whole situation, Talia was not well with it. Well, Laura and Cora weren't either. They knew about his brother's sincere feelings, and Talia knew it that moment either. The gears inside her brain were already working to find a solution for all of that.

Derek, however, could only think of how much you would never really be his.

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fanfics #teen wolf fics #teen wolf fanfic #derek hale imagine #derek hale imagines #derek hale x reader #derek hale fanfics #derek hale x you #derek hale x y/n #derek hale fic #derek hale fics #derek hale fanfic #derek hale fanfiction #derek hale fanfictions

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chocoladieimagines · 3 years

Note

1) Love ya blog already I need more black x readers on my dash

2) Is it possible to get some fluffy headcanons about dating Zenitsu and introducing him to black culture? (I hope that made sense this is my first time ever sending in an request liek this)

Thank you, also yes it makes sense! I’m excited to get my first request and I’m glad you feel comfortable about asking for a scenario! That’s what this place is for, helping readers feel comfortable.🤎🍫

Zenitsu x Black!Reader

(A bit long)

“In the mid-16th century, a significant number of Africans came to Japan as crewmen, servants or slaves on European ships. Their presence generated great interest and wonderment. But along with the presence of white Europeans, it influenced an evolving discourse on race among a people who had previously divided humankind into three civilized nations: Japan; China, and India, and miscellaneous barbarian people. Their skin color caused Japanese to link them with the inhabitants of India yet their treatment by the Caucasians who had brought them to Japan implied that they were an inferior people who ought to be despised. During the Tokugawa period, (1603-1868), the increasingly critical, even hostile view towards India and Buddhism had a negative impact upon all peoples considered dark skinned. Thus, black Africans, and other peoples with whom they were commonly conflated, were alternately honored, tolerated and disparaged.” (Leupp).

- This would change years later as you set foot in the final selection.

- You succeeded honing a unique breathing style; executing it with expertise as your sword was cloaked with green ribbons of ectoplasm.

-You took in the scenery of the beautiful vining plants with cascades of blue to purple flowers. They felt ever so alluring to the fate sealed for an examinee’s failure.

- As you caressed the velvety petals between the pads of your fingers, you heard a blood curdling scream nearby.

- Of course it was as expected due to the exam you were taking, but the primal cry bypassed your eardrums to the lining of your brain; coming from a place of terror, telling of a mind in absolute fear.

- A boy ran under the safety of the wisteria trees, as they are poisonous to demons, thus the creatures must stay on the mountain top.

- You looked at him as he ducked his head into his body with his hands covering the back of his neck. His trembling form curled into a ball, hearing as he talked to himself in a whisper.

- “I don’t know if I’m ready. I won’t be able to catch up to the other slayers. I’m going to die...I’m going to die...in fact I’m already dead.” He spoke in self doubt and despair, his mind already subduing to the pressure.

- You walked over to him and crouched to his level. You reached your hand for his shoulder, lightly prodding your fingers against the yellow fabric of his haori.

- He lifted his head at the touch of comfort, turning towards the direction of someone’s hand.

- “Do not cower.” You tell him. “We are to fight to rise above demons. To prevail against the monsters who try to level us to the bottom of a status quo. But we are strong, we will not submit to them, we are more powerful if we band together and fight as one. What’s your name?”

- He froze when he saw you; paralyzed in surprise and silent panic. Under the moonlight, the moon bounced off your melanated skin. The light shined under the construction of your cheekbones, defining the muscles in your cheeks and showing your risen smile of your full lips. Your kinky hair huddled in profusion as they defied gravity. Then it was your eyes.

- He couldn’t stand eye contact but yours captured his into a trance, stuck in the mental state of high arousal as nervousness washed over him like a wave.

- “Z-Zenitsu...Agatsuma.” He finally spoke. “Zenitsu Agatsuma, my name is y/n l/n. They will remember our names and I will remember yours. Would you like to fight by my side?”

- Despite his rosy cheeks by your presence, he nodded.

-After you two became demon slayers, you caught the eyes of many people.

- To be honest, it wasn’t common to see black people during the time. No one was used to your skin full of the sun’s rays or your voluminous hair that others described as being “all over the place”, “showy”, “lazy”, “a distraction”.

-Nevertheless, Zenitsu warmed up to you and found you an easy person for seeking comfort. He hated himself for cowering, running away and sniveling but your calming voice reassured him that everyone is scared of something. That we were born with survival instincts necessary to respond to fear when we sense danger or feel unsafe.

- Not only did he constantly want comfort and motivation, but he was curious. He knows little to nothing about black people because of his lack of seeing one.

- He found your beauty intimidating and overwhelming; the transformations of your hair, your curves, the vibrancy in your walk and the way you talked. You expressed yourself fearlessly, not boldly, but such as being able to remain calm without altering under an opponent which helped your teammates stay levelheaded during battle.

- One day, you two shared a conversation. It was about your past missions and some of the funniest looking demons you came across. It suddenly faded into the awareness of how people looked at you like you were an alien.

- You only shrugged it off with a laugh but it lured Zenitsu back into curiosity. He wasn’t sure how to word it; “How come your skin is so pretty?”, “How is your hair different from the others?”, “How are you so magical?”

- Once your talk came to an appropriate pause, he hesitantly asked a question, “H-Hey, erm, y/n, can you tell me about yourself? Like your ethnicity or who you are as of people?”

- You smiled at his big brown-golden eyes showing his intrigue. It was almost the biggest he’s seen you smile before it elicited your sweet laugh.

- “Well, it’s really a long story but my favorite is to study about my culture. There is a such thing called ‘Black is beautiful’, which included identifying and expressing yourself by doing your hair in a myriad of styles. Using a grooming tool like a pick, which is a type of comb, customized with a black fist was a way to proudly assert political and cultural allegiance to the black power movement. Black writers used their creativity to support a black cultural revolution. Soon enough, we rose into mainstream like music entertainers, sports figures and in stereotypical roles on television. We increasingly demanded more roles and more realistic images of our lives, both in mainstream and in black media.”

- You doubted Zenitsu understood what you were saying so you showed him pictures from school books and showed him videos from a film projector. He could hear the thrill in your voice as you spoke and explained things to him.

- Learning these things from you, he fell even deeper into his crush for you, telling you out uniquely from other girls.

- Sometimes, he watched you braid your hair into protective styles or listened as you sang a song to him that was picked up within your clan. You explained that as slaves, black people prayed and sung joyful songs to keep our heads level headed with what was going on.

- But you felt bad since you thought you were blabbering on about the things you were interested in, instead of finding out the things that Zenitsu would want to hear.

- So one night, while getting ready for bed, Zenitsu wanted to confess to you. Although he is aware of his desperateness of wanting someone to commit his love to, he could no longer take ogling you day to day without the imagination of what your lips felt like or what it would feel like to be ultimately comforted by cuddling and sharing kisses. He wanted you more than anything.

- That night, you two were unbeknownst that you wanted to talk to each other about something. While everyone settled in to go to bed, Zenitsu bumped into you while you were in your pajamas. He blushed at the sight of your hair being braided into cornrows; openly showing your face to him.

- “Zenitsu, what a convenience, I just wanted to talk you.” You chuckled. “Heh heh, I-I had something to say to you too.” He stuttered. “Ok, come in my room.”

- He followed you in, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he felt his body temperature escalate. “You can go first.” He said, clearing his throat. “Well, I just wanted to say, I don’t want it to seem like I’m making you bored, ya know about the things I talk about. I wonder if it’s fair to talk about them to you or if I could be scaring you. History is just a nice thing I like to talk about, one of the things I favor most.”

- He looked at you in shock, “Oh no! I-I don’t mind at all of you coming to me about that. I want to be a person you can come to talk about anything to. I-If anything, I see you as a really pretty person. To see you idolize people and—because of them—feel empowered to show your beauty means a lot to me. As long as it means you will continue to appreciate who you are as a person, I love that about you, y/n.”

- He lost himself in his words and felt himself carrying on and on. You stood in silence, completely surprised how he confessed his feelings to you. “I really really like you. You’re so unique from everyone else, you help me feel better and saved me from getting my ass killed god knows how many times. I...I...”. He felt his nerves come to him, cutting his words short as he looked at you with fear.

- He suddenly watched your lips stretch into a smile, feeling himself freeze in place as you walk closer to him.

- You say to him, “Although people may think you’re a coward, no matter how many times you may break down into tears or feel scared, you are just as much brave. You have the biggest courage of everyone to overcome your fears and take a leap.” And you gently captured his lips with yours, comforting him just as he yearns.

Hopefully I answered just as you requested. As well as having hope that everyone else enjoyed this scenario🤎🍫

#kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #zenitsu x reader #black reader #demon slayer x poc!reader #demon slayer x black reader #zenitsu fluff

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @huliabitch @revolution-starter @starlight-starwrites

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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sweeethinny · 3 years

Text

Everything will be alright

this story is going to be about missed abortion, I know it's a sensitive topic, so if you don't feel comfortable with it, I don't recommend reading this story. Missed abortion is when the fetus is not expelled, remaining in the uterus for weeks or months, and there are some possible reactions, like bleeding or disappearance of normal pregnancy reactions - like nausea

i know it's not usually possible to hear the baby's heart in the first few months, but i believe that magical obstetrics is much more evolved than ours :)

I was inspired by real stories to write this story, and I hope you like it <3

To the Anon who asked me for this <3

music indication: Sing of the Time - Harry Style

AO3

---------

They weren't trying to have a baby, they had been talking about trying two years from now, but Ginny wasn't going to say she wasn't at least a little excited when she found out she was pregnant.

It was scary, she and Harry were silent for almost fifteen minutes staring at the muggle tests and the orange potion in front of them, both of them sitting on the floor of the small bathroom in their apartment. Ginny cried when Harry said, 'We'll be parents.'

She was happy, but first of all, Ginny was feeling desperate. They had just gotten married, and had probably gotten pregnant on their honeymoon, Harry had been promoted and was traveling more than ever and she had managed to sign a five-year contract with the Harpies as Chaser, moving from being a reserve to being the most new star of the team.

They didn't have the time and were not prepared to have a child.

Teddy had just turned three and Ginny thought how difficult it was being to have time with him, trying to make the day last longer so that at least three days a week they saw each other, or when they couldn't, he would go there at the end of week. They couldn't do that with a baby, one of them would have to give up to stay home, and Ginny felt awful for hoping that person was Harry.

She didn't want to stay home, not when her life had just started.

And she knew that Harry thought so too.

But deep down, she was happy, and she was happy to see how happy Harry was. He even bought a baby outfit the next day that was patterned with several bears; panda, brown and polar. It was the most adorable thing Ginny had ever seen.

"We'll make it work, I promise," Harry whispered to her one night, a week after they found out about the pregnancy. He kissed her forehead and hugged her, making her feel safe as all those insecurities spilled over again and Ginny started to cry.

They didn't tell anyone, it was too early yet and Ginny thought it would be best to hold back this information for a while, just in case something went wrong. But she and Harry started to walk around the children's stores much more than usual, now and then buying a teddy bear, an outfit, a shoe, they even considered buying a crib, but she said there was no way to hide a crib and if anyone came by surprise at their house, they would have to tell.

And her father would probably want to build one for his first grandson, Ginny thought.

As the days went by, Ginny became more excited about the news, nothing to overcome her anxiety and nervousness, but she was already happier than when she found out. She even started talking to her stomach when she was going to take a shower, and that encouraged Harry to do the same.

"Daddy and Mommy love you so much already," he whispered before the fateful night, lying with his head on top of Ginny's bare stomach, smoothing her skin and smiling passionately.

And the next morning, Ginny faced what would be the worst day of her life for a long time.

It was almost five in the morning when she woke up thinking she was going to wet her bed for the third time that night, running to the bathroom still half-drowsy, trying not to trip over their mess strewn across the floor. They needed to clean the house urgently.

For Ginny it was a normal dawn, she had been feeling this urge to pee more often now, and she was glad that at least that was it instead of the morning sickness from before. It was harder to hide when she threw up than when she needed to go to the bathroom.

She needed to tell Gwenog, she remembered too.

She would do it today, they had practice at eight and Ginny would talk to her as soon as she got to the field. Afterwards, she would stop at the burrow, because she was missing her mum's hug and eating her biscuits with tea. And thinking about Molly made Ginny's eyes water for some reason. She was getting pretty emotional these past few days.

When her bladder seemed to deflate completely and Ginny cleaned herself up, she screamed much louder than would be respectable at this time of morning. But it didn't matter, she couldn't even hear her voice properly, nor Harry's as he ran to the bathroom, because her hand shook and her vision began to blur with tears, the paper in front of her now smeared with blood.

The sight of her blood-spattered thighs and panties made her scream even more. It was an endless nightmare and Ginny hoped she would manage to wake up in the end.

But she didn't wake up. She didn't wake up when she arrived at the hospital, nor when the healers took her to a room and laid her on the gurney, asking Harry several questions once they realized that Ginny couldn't answer.

She felt paralyzed, still seeing the blood on the paper and wondering how she was able to let this happen. It was a nightmare that seemed to take her closer and closer to the dark at the bottom of the well, and Ginny was reminded of when she thought that a child was not what she wanted now.

Now there were no more children to disturb her dreams. There was no one else stopping her.

Are you happy, Ginevra? She screamed to herself, not even knowing how she still managed to cry.

It felt like a century had passed when the healer Lana took her hand, a kind smile on her face. ‘Let's take you to the exam room, ok? Let's see how the baby is going.'

Ginny nodded, and again she tried to close her eyes so the nightmare would end, but when she opened it, she saw Harry beside her, holding hands with her as someone pushed her gurney down the hospital corridor, the white walls made everything even sadder.

"It'll be alright, I promise," Harry whispered as they entered the exam room, which was dark and cold, even more so than the rest of the building. But Ginny knew, she felt, that it wouldn't be, so she cried more.

“We're going to apply a balm to your belly so we can hear the baby.” She heard the woman say, and for the next minute after feeling something cold touch her belly, they didn't hear anything.

It was as if the whole world had fallen apart and Ginny had been buried under the rubble.

Worst pain of her life, forget tortures with the Carrows or Umbridge, that silence was worse than anything.

It probably hurt more than dying, Ginny thought, wishing she were dead.

She didn't remember much of what happened afterward, only that Harry never left her side, crying along with Ginny when they returned to the room and the healer came out to call someone. She remembered hearing them say they needed to remove the fetus. Her baby.

"I'm here," Harry whispered sometime during the day, sitting beside Ginny's bed, running a hand through her hair and kissing her temple.

"I killed him, Harry." Ginny sobbed, squeezing his hand and starting to cry again. ‘I thought I didn't want to have a child, I thought that-’

"No, Gin, no." As he managed, he hugged her, keeping her safe in his arms. “It wasn't you, no, no… The doctor said it could have been several things, but none of them were you.” He ran a hand through her hair, tightening his grip as she sobbed into his chest again. 'It was not you.'

The next few hours were the saddest of her life, being taken to and fro for exams, healers touching her... her belly, her vulva. And not that they were rude or anything, they were all very polite and they talked about every little thing they were doing to her, always asking her how she felt and always allowing Harry to be by her side. But it was the pain of having someone touch you, she thought, to prepare you for what could be the worst moment in your life; they were touching Ginny preparing her to pull her dead baby out of her, and it hurt so much more than she could ever put it into words.

'It's a potion to get us to induce an abortion, you can rest assured that we'll do everything to make this moment the least painful for you, alright?' Healer Amy smiled at her, a gentle and sad smile, her hands on over Ginny's. She didn't think she would have any other pain that surpassed what she was already feeling, so she nodded, unable to speak. The woman looked at the other healer, who handed over a vial of bluish liquid, and Harry helped Ginny sit down to drink.

It tasted like death, bitter and iron, and it made Ginny want to throw up, but maybe it was just because she knew why that potion worked that she felt even more disgust.

To take my baby out of me, she thought as she lay back down, my dead baby.

‘Let's wait a few minutes for the potion to take effect and we'll be right back. How do you feel?” Destroyed. Empty.

Ginny nodded, not knowing what to say. 'Fine.'

‘I know this is a difficult time, Ms. Potter, don't hesitate to ask our help with whatever it is, okay? We have a psychologist on duty today, and you.” She looked at Harry. “And you, sir, can ask to speak with her.” They both nodded, and the healer was gone again.

The silence made Ginny need to close her eyes to keep from starting to cry again, she felt Harry's lips on her fingers and then on her forehead. “We'll be fine, I promise. I'm here with you.” She nodded.

“I love you.” She looked up at him, already sensing she was going to cry again. Harry was crying too. 'So much.'

'I love you so much too. It barely fits inside my chest.' Ginny wiped the tears from his face, feeling the least bit happy in the midst of that storm because Harry was there with her.

[...]

When they left the Hospital the next morning, Ginny had been given a two-and-a-half week layoff from the Harpies on medical advice, and Robards had turned off Harry so he could stay with Ginny.

It was Harry who told Molly and Arthur what had happened, while Ginny was lying on the bed, watching as her mother sobbed and ran to hug her, her father right behind. She was still in shock, and the psychologist had said it was a normal reaction after trauma, but that Ginny had to try to tell the people she trusted the most for more support.

Her mom kept coming to their house or calling them on Floo at least once a day to make sure they were okay. She would bring Ginny cookies, stay with her in bed, hug her when Ginny started crying again, and watch TV with her daughter. Ginny didn't even bother to look like a needy child who called her mum when she was scared, because Ginny felt that was what she wanted, and Molly didn't seem to mind at all.

When it was a week old, they told Hermione and Ron, which was good too. The more Ginny talked, the pain seemed to get a little less. It was as if she gave each person a piece of pain, and the weight on her shoulders lessened and it was easier to live.

It still hurts, a lot. But it got a little easier.

On Saturday, after 10 days, Harry left in the morning to go to the market and Ginny was left alone watching TV, a cooking show that was a little too chaotic but made her smile and forget about life for a bit, following the pairs running against the time for making cupcakes and trying to win a prize.

Harry arrived two hours later when Ginny was watching a movie about a millionaire who fell in love with a prostitute. It was a pretty story, and the actors were pretty handsome too, which helped a lot in keeping her entertained.

'I thought you had lost your way home.' She said when she saw Harry enter the room, grinning from ear to ear and looking like a kid who's up to something and doesn't want his parents to find out. 'What happened?'

'Close your eyes.'

‘Harry, what-’

"Close your eyes." Ginny sighed but did as he asked, waiting for whatever it was he had bought her. Harry liked to give her presents when she was sad, Ginny found that out over time.

She felt something being propped up beside her, it was a little heavy and soft, and… did it have paws?

"Surprise!" Harry grinned even wider as she opened her eyes, watching the small caramel dog beside her, huge black eyes glaring at her, short furless tail swinging from side to side, ears pricked up intently. "There was an animal adoption fair near the market, and I saw this little one and they told me he was abandoned on the road and needed someone who could love and care for him."

Ginny's heart melted, and for the first time in 10 days her eyes filled with tears but for something other than sadness. The dog looked at her hopefully, eagerly waiting for her to do anything. When she reached out to pick him up, he seemed to smile and licked her face as if in thanks.

‘He already has a name, it's Sir...We could change, but I liked it... He looks pretty sassy, like me-’

"When you said Snape didn't need to call you Professor." Ginny laughed, still holding the little dog in her lap. He had a lovely puppy smell, his belly swollen and warm, and his little paws were resting on her chest, his nails still too small to hurt her. ‘I love it, babe.’

‘I remembered that you had said that our house seemed lifeless, and what is better to give life than a dog? Right?'

'Totally.'

'And since neither you nor I have ever had one, I thought it would be cool.' Harry sat on the bed next to her and Sir, who was now lying in her arms like he really was a baby, his head close to her elbow and his paws hanging one on either side of her arm. "I told you she was going to love you," he muttered to the animal. 'The vet said he wouldn't grow much.'

"That's good, we don't have much space in the apartment."

#hinny #harry x ginny #hinny headcanon #harry potter #ginny weasley #my fic #spoiler: Sir turned into a huge dog :)

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Leannan // O.W. (celebration fic)

Request: Congratulations hun! Seriously, slow down xD No, please don't :D so I would like to have Oliver Wood - duh xD, Hogwarts, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff 4. - “Is that my shirt?” (You just captured my Scot baby so well, I couldn't miss it!) Congrats again, hun, take all the time you need! <3 - @heloisedaphnebrightmore

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: Coming from the queen of Oliver fics, this means so much! Thank you! For those that don’t know, Leannan is Scottish Gaelic for ‘sweetheart’. I don’t know whether this reads as enemies to lovers but there is a lot of teasing, however, I’m happy to rewrite if you want it! As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for 1.5k!!

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, teasing

Word count: 1.7k

Truthfully, you considered yourself to be a very calm and mature person. There was very little that could rile you into a frenzy, and if it did, you almost always dealt with the problem by finding a solution as quickly as possible.

But you were absolutely certain there was no solution for Oliver Wood.

Since joining the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in your Third Year, he had made it his mission to get on your nerves every practice and every match, or whenever he had a spare moment. The teasing started off innocently enough; but then it evolved into something more and now you both felt at a stalemate.

There was no ill will between you; just teenage stubbornness tied with mutual attraction that neither of you were willing to admit. He liked to challenge you; becoming your rival in so many forms whether it was on the pitch where he would challenge you to races, or in the classroom room where he would test your patience through essay grades.

In so many forms, you could class him as your enemy for the pure fact that he drove you up the wall, but there was the rare occasion where you would catch him watching you across a classroom or the common room, and you had to wonder whether he felt something more.

---------

Sighing to yourself in the changing room, you unzip your bag, pulling out your uniform and setting it on the bench. The day had already started out bad; running late to first lesson after having spilt orange juice down your blouse and then forgetting to submit an essay for your third lesson of the day had your mood lower than it had been all week.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as you begin to get ready for practice. Silently praying that it would be an easy one.

“Leannan,” A known voice sings, “Practice starts in ten.”

Turning, you fix Oliver with an unimpressed look, “I am not your sweetheart, Wood.”

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe, “How did you know I was calling you a sweetheart?”

You pause; wondering how the hell you were going to explain this one. Absolutely refusing to explain that you had spent one evening in the library, scouring through a Scottish Gaelic dictionary until you came across the word. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how heated your skin felt one you read the translation; how seeing it sent a thrill through you.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes, “Shove off, Wood. I need to get ready for practice.”

Oliver holds his hand up in surrender, laughing, “I’m going, I’m going.”

You throw a piece of clothing at him, “Go faster.”

“Alright woman, no need to resort to bodily harm.”

“Wood, I asked you to leave and you’re still here. Either you love to annoy me this much or you so desperately want to see me naked, now which is it?”

Oliver splutters at your words; his face a picture as a bright blush creeps his neck, “I’ll see you on the pitch.”

You stifle your laugh as Oliver walks into the doorframe before leaving the girl’s changing room. His slight embarrassment making your day that little bit better. You find yourself thinking of him as you get changed for practice; of his confidence that really does get the better of him sometimes, of his love of quidditch, of how he lights up when he delivers the pre-match speech that the team has memorised but that he will always deliver.

Shaking your head clear of all thoughts of the brown-eyed scot, you grab your broom and head out onto the pitch, joining the rest of the team. You ruffle young Harry’s hair as you walk past him; earning a playful glare in return.

“Have we quite finished?” Oliver admonishes; his gaze fixed on you.

“Yeah, have you quite finished?” Fred parrots.

You elbow him harshly; knocking the breath out of him, “Shut it, Weasley.”

Oliver claps his hands together; gaining the attention of the team. Setting up the plan of action for today’s practice, he blows his whistle – the command to saddle brooms and take off.

It feels as if it’s revenge for your comment in the changing room. Oliver nit-picks every move you take; taking it apart and demonstrating for the team the exact moment where you went wrong and why it should have been avoided. Oliver isn’t being outwardly malicious – he doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body; he’s just placing extra attention on you because of how you reacted in the changing room.

Oliver hadn’t admitted this to anyone; how attractive he found you, but how clueless he felt when it came to approaching you. He could tease you well enough; rile you up and get on your nerves, but he really did like you. You were his Leannan, no matter how much you seemed to despise the nickname.

Practice finishes with you landing back onto the pitch in one smooth motion; hopping off your broom and flipping Oliver off as he shouts for you to come back and talk. If you spoke to him now, you knew you would say something you would come to bitterly regret. Walking away, as you did now, meant that you could cool off and think through things rationally.

As you’re pulling your robes back on, an idea springs to mind. An idea that would definitely repay Oliver for how harsh he was during training.

Your mood brightening once again, a smirk breaks across your face as you hoist your Quidditch bag onto your shoulder and take hold of your broom; this would definitely be a fun prank – one that you couldn’t predict the outcome of, but it was one you also needed particular help with.

--------

At breakfast the following morning, you take a seat next to the Weasley twins, greeting each with a wide smile that only had them questioning your motives.

“Boys, I have an idea and I need your help.”

They both lean closer to you, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Quidditch captain would it?”

You bite your lip, “It might…”

Fred and George laugh, “What do you need us to do?”

----

Fred and George succeed that very night; pulling young Harry in on the scheme as well – getting him to distract Oliver with numerous questions about Quidditch whilst they snuck into Oliver’s room and stole his spare Quidditch jersey. He would never notice it missing; choosing to wear the same one for each match for luck.

They join you in the common room after having completed the deed; smuggling the jersey to you which you hide underneath the blanket you’re huddled under. Oliver frowns at the three of you; cutting him off on his education for Harry, he shouts over to you, “What would you three be planning?”

You widen your eyes, batting your lashes, “We would never do such a thing.”

Oliver frowns, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You place a hand on your heart, “The lack of faith you have in me is astounding, Wood.”

“Leannan, the three of you together can create enough mayhem to shut the school down.”

You grin at the use of his nickname for you, “Then lucky for you we aren’t planning anything,”

Oliver grumbles but says nothing further as he turns back to Harry; the boy looking as captivated as ever by Oliver’s explanations.

“What are you going to do with it?” George asks.

“Burn it? Tear it up? Dye it green?” Fred asks.

You shake your head at all his suggestions; feeling only slightly alarmed, “I’m going to wear it.”

Fred sits back with a huff, “I’d have dyed it green.”

You pat his leg consolingly, “Next time.”

-------

Your plan was to wear Oliver’s Quidditch jersey around Hogsmeade; starting with wearing it to breakfast in the Great Hall. You walk in proudly; winking back at Fred and George as you sit down next to them at the Gryffindor table.

If Oliver notices something, he doesn’t say – he glances your way once through all of breakfast then refuses to catch your eye after that.

You turn to the twins, “What are your plans for Hogsmeade? Room for one more?”

George nods, “We always have room for one more. We’re going to Zonko’s first and then we’ll see where the day takes us.”

You laugh, “That we shall. I’m going to grab some more money, but I’ll meet you in the courtyard?”

With a thumbs up from both of them, you leave the Great Hall, rushing back to the Gryffindor common room. Fred nudges George and points at Oliver who when noticing your absence, made sure to follow you from the room. They both roll their eyes, knowing full well you would not be meeting them in the courtyard.

-------

Returning to the common room after breakfast to grab some last minute money before meeting the twins, you’re pulled to one side by a frustrated looking Oliver.

Frustrated doesn’t seem to cover what Oliver feels at the sight of you in his shirt; he feels confirmation that you hold some feelings for him, but mostly feels desperation at how much he wants to get it off you.

“Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing; your face the picture of innocence when you finally meet his brown eyes, “You know… I think it is.”

Oliver’s hands flex by his sides; an action he only does when he’s getting frustrated and can’t do anything about it, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You pull out the hem; reading his quidditch number out loud before saying, “I don’t know, I think it looks pretty good on me. Don’t you?”

Oliver leans in closer; just enough so he can whisper in your ear but far enough where he’s purposefully not touching you, “Leannan, what are you doing?”

You angle your body away from him, “I think you know what I’m doing.”

Oliver’s hands finally leave his side; fiddling with the hem of shirt that’s now draped over your body. With a smirk, he asks, “Just how set are you on going to Hogsmeade today?”

“Why? Got plans for me?”

He chuckles; hands fisting in his shirt, “Leannan, you have no idea.”

**********

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firetextskpop · 3 years

Note

Could u pls do a wayv gangbang?🥺🥺

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long. ♥ Pure smut, super long.

“You look so pretty for us” Hendery said lifting your head with one finger under your chin. Currently, you were on your knees in front of 7 men. This day had been planned out way before this moment and it was highly anticipated from the 8 of you. “Open up y/n” Kun said. Not wanting to upset the leader, you follow instructions. He smirks and grips the back of your head lightly before slowly thrusting into your mouth. You moan around him trying to please him a bit more. It works and his grip tightens. Ten got behind you and kissed down your back. “Gonna wreck you.” He mumbled. Your grip on your thighs tightened. His hand grazed your core and he began rubbing circles on your clit. Instinctively, your legs closed around his hand but in that same second, Xiaojun’s hand struck your right buttcheek. “Keep them open love.” Kun’s thrusts were shallow at first, not wanting to harm you. Before you knew it there was a warm tongue running from your clit to your entrance. “You taste so good princess.” Ten said and bit his lip. The arch in your back deepened as the youngest of the 3 last mentioned slapped your pussy. You gasped and Kun seen that as his opportunity to thrust deeper into your throat. His hand supported the base our your skull. Ten began eating you out like you were the juiciest fruit he’s ever had. He left no parts down there untouched. The moans you elicited around Kun had his head lolling back as he fucked your throat. “So precious.” He mumbled. With tears in your eyes from the great amount of pleasure you’re receiving, you watch the oldest member. When he’s close to his high, he looks down and holds eye contact with you. “Be a good girl and swallow, okay baby?” You nod and prepare yourself. Ten inserted his middle and ring finger into your core and you clenched around them. The thrusts Kun had were getting shakier and you knew he was close to his high and licked around the base of his dick. With a tight grip on the base of your skull, he released inside of your mouth and you swallowed as promised. Going as far as to show him as well. He smiled and bent down to kiss you before YangYang came over. The youngest males smile definitely brought happiness to you but right now you had things to focus on, like Ten abusing your g-spot and furiously licking at your clit while trying to keep your trembling legs open. YangYang honestly was in shock that he was really witnessing this and invited to be apart of it. “Please come here.” You begged the stunned boy. He looked to Kun for guidance and Kun nodded over to you. Slowly, he came over and really was just admiring how beautiful you looked fucked out, on the brink of your first orgasm. You very quickly got to business, pulling down his underwear and kissing his tip. He licked his lips and moaned. Observing his reactions, you began to tease him in other ways. You dragged the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock to the slit of the tip. An elongated groan came from the boy. “Stop teasing him, give him what he needs.” Sicheng demanded from the side, simply watching. “I j-just wanna have a l-little fun.” You whine out quietly. Ten now was sucking on your clit and switching between thrusting his fingers inside of you and hitting your g-spot. “Unless you want a sore ass for the next month and no touching for 2, I suggest you do what I say.” The normally quiet boy says. Sicheng’s dominance sent you over the edge. Although WinWin’s threats were very tempting, you follow his orders and take YangYang completely in your mouth. A few groans were heard from behind you and then someone began rubbing themselves against you. Judging by the size, it was between WinWin and Lucas. “Winwin GeGe’s words turned you on that much? You made a mess beautiful.” Yukhei’s deep voice mumbled. You swallowed around the youngest and began bobbing your head a bit more. “Oh my gosh, Is that even going to fit?” YangYang asked a bit concerned. The taller male nodded while still rubbing himself against you. “Tens got her nice and wet, just gotta take it slow.” Lucas tapped his dick against your clit a few times making you nearly collapse from over sensitivity. You remove YangYang from your mouth to kiss on his dick a bit more. “Please fuck me Lucas.” you mumbled. He smirked and slowly entered you. Your eyes lolled back a bit but you stayed focused on pleasing YangYang. Sicheng cleared his throat from where he sat and you began sucking the younger male off again. A breath got caught in his throat as you took him in as deep as you could while still licking around him. Curses left his mouth. “Can I fuck your throat?” He asks airy. You nodded and he smiles before going to town. Lucas sees this and also picks up his pace. The 2 men find an equal balance to get theirselves worked up. The tightness in your stomach was close to unwinding and the warm substance being released in your mouth wasn’t helping. Neither was the 6ft+ man slamming into your hips. Lucas filled you up so well. He reached around to rub roughly against your clit. “Cum for me baby girl.” As you came, your body relaxed and you became limp. Yukhei slowly pulled out of you making your body jolt a bit. Hendery came by your side with Xiaojun. “You look tired y/n, do you want to stop?” The older of the two asked while pulling you up. You shook your head. “I’m having a good time.” Using the bit of strength you have, you laid back while rubbing on Junnie’s hard on. He bit his lip and thrust into your hand. “Your throat must be tired.” Xiaojun mentioned while rubbing his hand across your chest. “A little.” you admitted. He nodded and helped you move your hand against his erection. Hendery hovered against your body and kissed down to your hips. “So pretty, and so good for us.” He whispers against your skin before coming back up and putting your legs on his shoulders and his tip against your entrance. “Please..” You begged quietly. “Wish granted” He said before slamming into you. A loud gasp left your mouth as he put his energy into the thrusts. Your grip tightened against Xiaojun and you moved your hand faster. “I-I’m gonna cum.” The younger of the 2 whined. You teased his tip a bit more to get him to orgasm. His release landed on your hands and chest. You scooped it up and licked it off your finger. Xiaojun couldn’t help but lean down and kiss you which evolved to a make out. Hendery was way too far gone pounding into you and admiring your warm velvety walls around him. He was very close and you could tell from the stutter in his hips as well as his tight grip on your thighs. Your moans turn into whines as he slams into your g-spot and Xiaojun reaches down to rub and pinch on your clit while still making out. “Don’t you cum princess, I want you to be a complete mess when you’re on me.” WinWin states. You groaned a bit but accepted it. Too caught up in listening to his GeGe, Hendery forgot to tell you he was cumming. He pulled out and released all over your pussy. The little bit that got onto Xiaojun’s hand, he broke the kiss to let you clean it off. When you did, Xiaojun kissed you again. “Perfect, c’mere y/n.” WinWin says and finally relieves himself from his boxers. You get up with shaky legs and go over to him, straddling his lap. He runs his hands up and down your thighs before whisoering, “Ride me.” You bite your lip before angling him to your entrance and sitting on him. The grip Sicheng has on your ass was tight. Slowly you bounced on his dick but he was not satisfied. He tsks before slamming you onto him. Sicheng was slightly longer than Lucas so he was hitting spots untouched before. While moving you, he also was thrusting to meet the pace and make the thrusts strong and deep. At this point you couldn’t think of anything else. He spoke dirty words into your ears which had an evident effect to you. “I’m close, so close. Oh my gosh.” You babbled. “Go ahead, you can cum.” He groans into your ear and your orgasm follows immediately. Curses were heard as you actually squirted against him and he continued to pound into you. “My dirty girl.” Sicheng says and nibbles your earlobe. Your walls clinched against him a few more times and he released inside of you in spurts. Immediately he kissed you and held onto your limp body. “Wow.. When can we do this again?” Lucas asked. “Not anytime soon if someone doesn’t get a warm rag or run some bath water.” Sicheng says and massages your legs while cuddling you. Immediately YangYang and Lucas got up. YangYang returned with the rag and Lucas had warm water ready for you.

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buckysgoldenheart · 3 years

Text

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Folks I did my very very best. I am so bad at chaptered fics, it’s insane. But I tried. As always, Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship.

Words: 1606

Part 7: Change

You were breathing. That’s what Henry kept repeating in his head when he relived that horrible night in his sleep. His body would shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat, and he would have the agonizing thought that he failed. But then he would look to his left, and there you were. You were breathing.

His days were filled with watching you to constantly reassure himself that he hadn’t lost you forever. Every time your breath hitched in your sleep, his did as well. Every time he nearly dozed off in his chair, he shook himself awake for fear that the change hadn’t fully taken hold; that maybe he was too late after all.

“She doing any better?” Henry nearly leapt from his seat at Chris’s voice. His friend walked over after shutting the door quietly behind him.

Henry ran a hand down his face. He needed to relax. He was getting jumpy. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

Chris pulled another chair up to Henry’s side and joined in monitoring the rise and fall of your chest. “Are you alright? It’s been a while.”

“This is my fault,” Henry rubbed at his brow with a groan. “I cut it too close. It’s taking too long for her to heal.”

“Do not hate yourself for this, Hen,” Chris said, lightly slapping his friend on the back. “She’s alright. I would’ve done the same if I still had a pretty little human I was so desperately in love with.”

“She’s not human anymore.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

Henry shook his head, denying his friend’s answer to feel the full weight of disappointment in himself. “Elias seemed to think the same, but…not from the same perspective.” He took a deep breath as he remembered the look in the Lord’s eyes right before he broke your neck. There was pity there; acknowledgment of a loss he knew Henry would not get over for centuries, if at all. “He didn’t think I would turn her. He left her body there, knowing I could turn her before it was too late, but he was so sure I wouldn’t. Why, do you think?”

“Henry,” Chris whined with irritation. “Don’t start—”

“Because we don’t subject the ones we love to this life,” Henry said as he stared at you, then he looked to Chris. “You never turned Amara. You loved her as a human until she died because you knew she would be miserable if she were like us.”

Chris swallowed the pain; the discomfort in his gut at the reminder of the woman he would’ve crushed mountains into rubble for. “I agree, this is not an ideal life, but…take it from me. When you’re in love with a human, there is nothing more painful than seeing them age without you.” The blond cleared his throat, and his voice shook slightly as he continued. “I couldn’t give Amara a normal life. I couldn’t marry her or give her children untainted by vampire blood like she wanted. So, I honored her wishes and let her go on to find that human she married. But don’t think for a second that if someone killed her when she was mine, that I wouldn’t have bitten her to save her too. It’s not wrong to save the ones we love, Henry.”

Henry grunted like the stubborn mule both you and his friend knew he was.

“Look, Amara is not Y/N,” Chris said, pushing his friend to see the best in the choices made the day you died. “Y/N was the first human to love a vampire in centuries. She saw you as more than what you are. Do not take advantage of that gift. She is now like us. You can have her forever. There was a time when I would’ve given anything to have the same.”

Henry rose an eyebrow. “So, I’m being an unappreciative prick, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Chris smirked, taking a drink from his glass, and standing. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

------------------------------------------

You woke with a massive arm draped over your abdomen. It felt like a heavy brick and you couldn’t get enough air, so you blindly shoved at it until lifted. The bed shook as you deeply inhaled, swallowing oxygen the way you would if your head just broke the surface of the ocean and you could finally feel the air on your skin.

“Oh, thank fuck,” You heard whispered from your left as two massive hands cupped your cheeks and turned your head. “Open your eyes, baby.”

You tried and winced when the tiniest bit of light seeped in, slamming them shut again to avoid the headache.

“It’s ok,” The voice said. “It’s ok. Try again, just take it slow.”

You did as asked, bracing yourself for the pain of it but powered on, blinking a few times until your view came into focus. “Henry?”

Your voice was gravelly and felt itchy in your throat, but by the way Henry’s face lit up, it might as well have been the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Hey,” He smiled, running a hand over the top of your head. Tears welled in his eyes; the blue orbs darting all over your face as he stroked your hair. One of the droplets fell on your cheek and Henry quickly kissed it away.

His lips were warm, and you sighed into the feeling, suddenly sinking into the curve of his body as it lay against yours. “I feel like I died and rose again,” You groaned as you stretched your limbs the best you could, testing their limits to alleviate the stiffness.

“You’ll feel better soon.” Henry kissed your forehead. “It just takes a little time.”

You tilted your face back from where it was pressed against his hard chest to look up at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He grew uneasy, averting his gaze and shifting his body awkwardly without removing his arms from around you. “The, uh…transformation takes—”

“Transformation?” Your torso rose, surprisingly not aching the slightest.

Henry leaned up as well and cupped your cheek, savoring the feel of your skin in case you tried to kill him. You would have the strength for it now if you planned your attacks strategically. And if you hated him, he would accept your decision. He was selfish, after all, but he couldn’t let you go.

“Baby, you…you did die.” Your eyes widened and Henry internally cringed. “Elias killed you, and I bit you on, um…” He grabbed your wrist and brought it up to your face. “I bit your wrist. I changed you”

And sure enough, there were two faint dots on the inner side of your wrist; the marks shimmering to perfectly match the small cut on your finger.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

Henry moved to lay on his back. You could tell he was avoiding your eyes; that he was scared of your reaction to his next words. Crawling on top of him with unexpected ease, you straddled his waist and planted your hands firmly on his chest. You pressed down lightly, giving him a little jolt, when he had still hadn’t answered.

His eyes locked with yours and he wrapped his fingers around your forearms to keep your steady above him. “I just didn’t want to lose you. I’ve never been that scared in my life, and it made me—"

“No.” You shook your head. “Not why did you do it. I meant, why are you sorry you did? You want me, don’t you?” You didn’t ask for reassurance. You knew how he felt, but you wanted him to see that changing you was the only option if he wanted to be with you; and him wanting to have you would never be something you could punish him for. Being like him did not terrify you. It didn’t shock you into silence. Honestly, you didn’t feel all the different.

He sat up until you were face to face and wrapped his arms around your waist. One hands fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine. “More than anything.”

“Henry, I had nothing for me in that life,” You said as your hands settled on his shoulders. “Nothing.” Tipping your head down, you connected your lips and he moaned so deep his chest vibrated against yours.

“You’re really ok?” He asked when you pulled apart.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” You said.

A small laugh came out in the form of a puff of air, then he tucked his head down until his cheek was resting against your left breast. He sighed, but it came out more like a moan. “I love that sound.”

“You can still hear it?”

“Only when I’m this close,” He said, nipping at the skin and nuzzling into your chest. “You’ll just have to tell me how you feel about me from now on.”

You smiled, but then your face fell serious. “Henry?”

“Hmm?”

“What now?”

He pulled back as he took in a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. “Now the change fully takes hold. Your eyesight will increase, you’ll get stronger every day, your fangs will come in soon, and you’ll hate it because you’re going to be biting your tongue fifteen times a day for about a week.”

You grimaced, but chuckled.

“There are a few other things, but we’ll deal with them as they come, not now. Other than that, not much else,” He said, framing your face with his hands. “You’re mine now, baby. And I’m yours.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.” He grinned and pressed his lips to yours.

---

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