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flowerandblood · 6 months

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The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

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* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.

She knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of metal on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, Princess."

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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phoward89 · 3 months

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Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: Coriolanus doesn't do feelings, but he finds himself comforting you during a breakdown. A breakdown that you had because you were voted to be the female tribute for District 12 during the First Quarter Quell.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus,mentions of blood, cussing, um that's pretty much it

Story Masterlist

Chapter 6:

After sharing a deep moment with Coriolanus over poisons, you helped him out of his sitting chair and towards the direction of his room- your shared room. He gruffly protested, saying that he didn't need help.

But you insisted on helping him. His large frame felt frail as he leaned on your side, his arm draped over your shoulder as he let out painful, bloody coughs.

Looking up at him, you sighed. “I don't want to risk you falling out before reaching our room, Coryo. Just let me help you.” His icy eyes bite into you, so much conflict in them. You felt heavy under his stare, as if a ton weight was being pressed down on you. “You help me; I help you.” You told him, breaking the heaviness in the air. “You said I belong to you and that you’ll protect me, won't let anything hurt me again. Well, it works both ways, Coryo. You belong to me too; I have to take care of you too.”

Your words touched him, made any fight he had against your help disappear.

Coriolanus wasn't used to having a woman dote on him with gentle care. No, he hasn't had that in years.

Not since he returned to the Capitol from his time serving in the peacekeepers in 12. Tigris grew cold to him upon his return; never showed him tenderness again.

Locked up right in the back of his mind were the cherished memories of his mother cuddling him and singing him loving lullabies. Coriolanus lost her too soon when she died during childbirth with his baby sister.

That loss, although he acts like he's gotten past it, haunts a part of his soul. A part that he's forgotten long ago.

But with your tenderness and care towards him. Worrying about his well-being. Well, it made him realize that he’s touch starved and needs a woman's softness to comfort him, to soothe his demons.

“Well, Y/N, it looks like we'll just have to take care of each other then since, as you pointed out, we belong to each other.”

Are you ready to take care of a man? An older man with needs, with a sexual appetite? A man who has no moral compass? Who’ll drag you down to hell with him?

Ready or not, it's happening.

You're taking care of Coriolanus Snow; you're his til the day you die now.

Your soft words and concern filled actions sealed your fate.

“Come on, let's get you settled in bed.” You told your man as you guided him down the hallway. Secretly praying that Coryo wouldn't collapse before you could get him into bed. Because if he fell on the floor, well…he'd be staying there because you couldn't pick him up.

“You’ll be joining me, darling.” Coryo stated, not asked, as the door to your shared room got closer.

“Yea.” You nodded. “But between your bloody coughing and my nightmares, I don't think we'll get much sleep.”

“Then, my darling rose, we'll just rest, side by side, until we can't fight off our sleep any longer.” He said, his timbre deep, but smooth, as you opened the bedroom door and helped him steadily walk into it.

Sleep didn't come easy to you or Coriolanus.

His body’s convulsing with painful, bloody coughing fits while you refuse to sleep, your stubborn fear ruling over you.

You're too afraid of what you'll see once you close your eyes. You didn't want to relive your time in the arena; that seemed to happen every time you tried to sleep.

So, the only solution was to keep your eyes wide open as long as you could.

Since Coriolanus was coughing badly, spitting up blood and struggling to breath, he was laying by the edge of the bed with a small trash can by his side. You placed it there, after helping him strip to his boxers and settling him in bed, so he could use it to spit up blood in. You figured it'd be easier than him soaking thru hankies or struggling to make it to the bathroom to hack up blood.

This meant that you weren't sleeping next to him, like you did last night.

No.

Instead, you were on your side, looking out the large window while a considerable amount of space was between you and Coryo. You didn't want to bother him while he was coughing, plus you didn't want to be so close to him. You wanted, no needed, some breathing room.

After all, you’re still reeling from the games whether you want to admit it or not.

As you listened to him cough, shifting in bed to grab the small waste basket to spit up blood in, your mind drifted off to the day that the twist of this year's games was announced.

A cold, harsh winter day in January...

The Hunger Games are being held in a few short months and it’s your last year eligible for the drawing since you’re 18. You've been lucky that your name has never been called during these last few years. Your brother claims that the Gods (he found an old book series in the ratchety shack of the district 12 library and got into the mythological religion and lore in them) have something big planned for your life. Unlike Rein, you weren't a big believer in mystics, fate, or the Gods’ plans, but you did feel like you were meant for more than life in the depressed, cold, muddy coal district.

Your teachers at the high school felt that you were smart enough to qualify for training as a teacher or an internship at the apothecary once you graduated in a few months. You talked over your options with Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, only to decide that you'd like to intern at the apothecary.

They even encouraged you to approach the Ashberry Apothecary and ask for an after school job. They said that since you were the smartest girl in school that the Ashberrys would be foolish not to consider giving you a job cleaning up the shop, let alone the internship come early summer.

So, you listened to your family and approached the Ashberrys about an after school job cleaning their shop and what not. And, to your joy, they hired you.

Well, Mr. Juris Ashberry hired you. His wife, Belladonna, didn't want you in her shop because she didn't want you around her son, Valerian ‘Val’. She thought that you might try to wiggle your way into his heart (and bed) to get out of the Seam and into the Merchant Sector.

Little did Mrs. Ashberry know, you could care less about her son. Val wasn't your type. He just didn't appeal to you.

He just seemed…you dunno…nice, but snotty. Like, he'd talk to you in the apothecary, but out on the streets in public he wouldn't be caught dead talking to you.

Yea…not your type…

You were sweeping up the floor in the apothecary while Val was leaning behind the counter, bored. Mr. and Mrs. Ashberry were out and about checking on patients in town, leaving just you and their son to watch the shop.

“Your shadow's coming up the bend.” Val warned, pointing to the shop window.

You looked up, only to see Corbin Everdeen, in that god awful sienna sweater his Auntie Maude Ivory knitted him, making a beeline to the shop. His bright, baby blues were locked onto the shop. It seemed like that was the only thing on his mind.

You internally groaned, not wanting to deal with your neighbor. You let him wear you down yesterday about listening to a new song he was writing.

It was called My Mother Told Me and was, basically, about acquiring a boat and sailing away to a distant land. You liked the guitar melody, but not the lyrics since it was literally the same few phrases repeated over and over again.

He didn't take your criticism well; chucked his guitar at your cat and stormed back to his house at the end of the street.

His Auntie Maude Ivory came over minutes later apologizing and asking for his guitar back.

Rein gave her the guitar back, but told the widow that her nephew wasn't welcomed back into your house. That he didn't appreciate her nephew trying to murder his sister's cat by throwing a guitar at it.

“He's not my shadow, Val. He's my neighbor.” You sighed, dreading the moment that Corbin reached the shop.

“Lock up the shop when your done sweeping up. I'm heading to the square for the mandatory group viewing of the games announcement being held in a few minutes.” Val told you before pushing himself up and away from the counter.

Oh, yea, that was today. You totally forgot that all of Panem had a scheduled mandatory viewing of an important message from President Ravenstill about the games today.

“Okay.” You simply nodded, sweeping the floor as the young man with cornsilk hair went over to the door.

You heard the bell ring, indicating that he left. You saw him walk away from the shop, only to cross paths with Corbin. They stopped for a minute, only to exchange a few polite words, before going on their own ways.

You were almost done sweeping whenever the doorbell chimed. “You almost done? I thought we could walk to the square to watch the announcement together.” Corbin asked, standing in the doorway.

Why he didn't walk further into the room, you didn't know. You thought it was weird how he's just standing in the doorway, staring at you as if he's trying to imagine what you look like underneath your dress.

God, Corbin's only 14 ½, he wouldn't be thinking dirty thoughts about you, would he?

No.

No, he's just your neighbor that has a hard time making friends since he's always daydreaming and making up songs. He doesn't mean anything by the way he's looking at you.

Well, your brother begs to differ. Rein thinks that Corbin likes you a little too much. Would prefer you not to spend too much time around him. Especially after last night's incident with the guitar and the cat.

“I was just about to lock up.” You told your neighbor, who was standing with his shoulders slumped; hands shoved in his pockets as he stared at you. His stare made you feel uneasy.

“But my my brother doesn't want you hanging around, so I better just walk to the square by myself.” You told him, hoping it'd make him leave, before sweeping your dirt pile into a dustpan and dumping the contents into a trashcan.

“Rein needs to calm down.” Corbin huffed as you put the broom and dustpan away in a small closet. “I didn't mean to scare your cat, Junebug. I just got upset that you hated my song and my guitar slipped. Hell, I wasn't even aiming it at the stupid cat.” He told you, running a hand through his dark curls, while you took your coat out of the closet and put it on.

You didn't want to walk to the main square with him, but it didn't look like you had any other choice.

“Don't call my cat stupid, Corbin Evergreen.” You ordered the boy, slamming the closet shut and crossing the room.

“Don't call me Evergreen, Y/N. You know I've been going by Everdeen ever since I was 11 and first met ‘cha.” Corbin told you before storming out of the shop.

His name was really Corbin Evergreen but when you first met him, he had a tiny lisp and you misheard his word as Everdeen instead of Evergreen. For some reason he decided to stick with Everdeen. He refused to answer to his former name of Corbin Evergreen, which was something that saddened his Aunt Maude Ivory.

You shook your head, not feeling up to dealing with Corbin Everdeen and his odd mannerisms. Sighing, you opened the door, set the lock on the doorknob, and walked out into the biting, cold late winter afternoon. Wrapping your arms around your middle, in a vain attempt to provide your body with more warmth, you sigh, “Let's get to the square.”

“Think maybe the big announcement is the games are being canceled?” The lanky boy next to you asked after a couple of minutes walking in silence.

“No.” You shook your head. Cancel the games. Ha, hell would freeze over first.

“They should cancel them.” Corbin told you, his tone full of disdain. You knew you were in for it. That he'd be going on a rant, like he always did when the games or when the tribute tour neared. “They're barbaric and the Capitol pigs watching and betting on the kids killing each other for shits and giggles each year should be strung up.”

Oh no, here he goes…

“And the worst of them all’s the head gamemaker, Snowball himself. God, that man needs to be taken outback and shot for the shit he lets go on in the arena. The fact he's strutting around in his luxury suits while the rest of us wear rags; sending our young to the slaughter for him to afford to buy those damn suits is fucking sick.” Corbin ranted as you got closer to the main square, where everyone in the District would be.

“Somebody should toss Snowball’s kids into the arena; see how he feels watching his babies fight for their lives while people bet on them like gamecocks in a fighting pit.”

“He doesn't have any kids, Corbin.”

The tall boy with the dark curls gave you a look and asked, “How'd you know that?”

“All the magazine articles only mention his wife. Same with any tv interviews.” You pointed out.

“Seems like the universe helped us dodge a bullet there. Bet his kid would be as cruel and corrupt as him.”

Little did you know, the universe didn't help you dodge that bullet. In fact, that bullet was dangerously close to piercing your skin…

You didn't know the head gamemaker, so you felt awkward listening to your neighbor bad mouth him. Rein and Ashlie, who joined your family about 3 years after your mother left, raised you with the golden rule. They also told you not to judge others until you walked a mile in their shoes. Despite enduring hardships to raise you, they taught you kindness. They also taught you the strength of perseverance.

Tired of the lanky, dark haired boy’s rant, you gave him the advice of, “You shouldn't talk about him like that. You don't know him; it's not nice to prejudge people.”

Corbin’s dark brows knitted together over his crystal blue eyes. He looked at you with disappointment and annoyance painted all over his face. “Junebug, don't give that man the benefit of a doubt. He designs the arenas that kids fight to the death in. He's not a good guy.”

“I'm going to find my brother.” You said, as a way to end the conversation with Corbin, while reaching the main square.

“A’ight.” He nodded. “I'll help you find him.” Corbin offered, only to follow you while you weaved in and out of the crowd.

It didn't take long to find your brother, Rein. He was standing in front of the Justice Building with Ashlie glued to his side.

Before you could ditch Corbin and make it to your family, he noticed them. Gesturing towards them, he grabbed your hand and said, “come on, I see them.”

You snatched your hand out of his, only to say, “I can make my way over to Rein and Ashlie without any help. Maybe you should find your Auntie Maude Ivory, cause I doubt my brother wants to see you right now.”

“Fine, I'll go find Auntie Maude. But, Y/N, your brother needs to calm down. Being so fired up over nothing, but a misunderstanding’s ridiculous.” Corbin grumbled before storming off into the crowd, head searching for his kin.

Rein seemed to notice you or mainly he noticed the exchange you had with Corbin. As soon as you came up to Rein and Ashlie, your brother pointed his cigarette at you and hisissed, “I don't like how Corbin's looking at you. It ain't normal, Y/N.”

“Don't worry about it, Rein.” You brushed off your brother. Honestly, you knew he was just looking out for you, but you didn't want to deal with his protective big brother antics right now.

Taking your brother's cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag, his girlfriend, Ashlie remarked, “Rein’s right, the way that Everdeen boy looks at you ain't right. Comes ‘cross like he'd steal you away or something by how eerie his stare is.”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to hear Panem's anthem sound out into the air, marking that in a second the president would appear on screen to make his announcement. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your attention to the large projection screen that was set up right next to the platform of the Justice Building.

Once the music came to a stop, the Panem emblem that was on screen was replaced by the scene of President Ravenstill (who was a frail old man) standing at a podium. Behind him was a tall man with slicked back platinum blonde hair and cold, crystal blue eyes. You couldn't help, but feel a sense of deja vu about the eyes of the Head Gamemaker, Coriolanus Snow.

Everyone in the square was glued to the TV screen as the president introduced himself with, “As you're all aware, the Gamemakers have come up with a way to remember the impact of the war. The Quarter Quell will mark a 25 year period, a milestone of the games, and will have a special theme for the Hunger Games. Head Gamemaker Snow has in his possession an envelope that holds the special theme for this year's first Quarter Quell.”

Turning to the man looming behind him, the president held out his hand for the envelope. Without a word, Head Gamemaker Snow pulled a gold encrusted envelope from his maroon coat pocket and handed it over to the president. President Ravenstill opened the envelope, only to announce, “As a reminder to everyone that it is the rebels fault for the games; for children being reaped, during this first Quarter Quell each District shall hold an election to vote for one male and one female tribute to send to the Capitol as tribute for the games.”

The president took a moment's pause only to end his speech with, “The Capitol has faith that each District shall vote to send their unwanted and rebel citizens to the arena.”

When the president sat down, much to everyone's surprise, Head Gamemaker Snow took the podium. “Don't forget, citizens of Panem, that the Victory Tour for the Victor of the 24th Hunger Games is next week. I hope that all of you, loyal citizens, join in on your district’s festivities and greetings for the victory tour.”

“Fucking pompous peacock asswipe wants us to be festive when the child killer he created gets paraded in our home. Fucking unbelievable.” You heard Corbin Everdeen loudly squawk from his spot a few yards away from you and your family. “Can't wait to see what bloody horrors he comes up with in this year's games considering Snowball’s having us send rebels and undesirables to the kiddie death match arena this go around.”

You were drawn out of your mental reverie down memory lane by a painfully rough timbre asking the question of, “Penny for your thoughts, darling?”

Looking over your shoulder, only to see Coriolanus slumped on the edge of the bed with blood staining the edge of his mouth, you retorted with, “I don't have any thoughts worth your penny.”

Your memory hit you with the hard reality that the man next to you, wheezing and barking with a bloody cough, was the reason behind your reaping. That it's his fault you even went to the games.

If he never gave President Ravenstill that golden envelope with the First Quarter Quell twist in it, then you never would've been reaped. Never would've been voted to be tribute in the Capitol's games.

Your district would've never sent you to die.

The weight of this sudden revelation was too much to bear.

“I can hear you thinking from over here, Y/N. What's the matter, my darling rose?” Coriolanus, the head gamemaker; the man who's the reason you got tossed into the games to fight for your life, asked as he tries to suppress his coughing.

Feeling overwhelmed, you snapped, “Don't call me that anymore. Coriolanus.”

The order took the man next to you off guard. He gave you a look, conveying that he was at a loss on where your sudden change of feelings stemmed from.

“I'm not your darling rose, I'm just the District 12 girl that got sent to die by everyone in her district because of your little twist on the reaping system.” You bitterly spat. Your body started to shake and you couldn't even look at the head gamemaker. “It's just dumb luck that I won. I wasn't supposed to win; nobody from 12 ever wins.”

Coriolanus attempted to confront you, even going as far as grabbing you and dragging you over to him. “Y/N, it's not my fault you got voted to participate in the games. The twist in the rules for the Quarter Quell was meant for the districts to send their troublesome and undesirables to the arena. It was never meant for-”

You pushed him away, which wasn't too hard since he was weak from the poison he ingested hours ago, and cut him off with a loud scream, “They sent me to die because of you!”

Coriolanus hated possessive and obsessive feelings (he won't dare say love, but you've managed to wiggle your way underneath his ribcage into his cold, dead, black heart) because they made him feel things such as hurt, guilt, empathy, etc. He hated feelings because they made him weak.

Right now, watching you have a breakdown because your district voted for you to be a tribute made him feel helpless and, in a way, guilty.

He hated feeling things.

He hates being weak.

He'd rather just feel lust for you coursing through his veins, but that wasn't the case tonight.

“They thought I wouldn't come back and everyone, everyone, back home sent me off to die as if I meant nothing. And they had the power to do it because of a fun new rule change.”

“Y/N…” Coriolanus sighed, scooting over slightly so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders. Pulling you into his chest, which felt like a thousand knives were stabbing it as an adverse effect of the poisoned wine he drank, he told you, “I'm sorry that they picked you to represent that backwater district, but it's not your home.” Using his free hand to tilt your chin up, making your eyes lock onto his, he reminded you, “Your home's here with me, in the Capitol, now. I promise, I won't let you get hurt ever again.”

Feeling another bloody cough threatening to take over him, the platinum blonde weakly shifted the both of you closer to the edge of the bed.

All the while you let out a cry of, “I never bothered anybody and I graduated top of my class. I had an internship at the apothecary, Coriolanus.” Your voice quivered as you wailed, “I never thought that they'd pick me to go die, but they did.”

Seeing you crying your beautiful eyes out over the fact that those dirty scumbags in the coal district sent you to the Capitol with the intention of you dying sent a pang right through his icy, cold, dead heart. It made his chest tighten seeing you so upset over your district choosing you, a very smart girl that's nothing like the other whores of District 12, to be the female tribute.

The platinum blonde man hated seeing you emotional over a bunch of assholes. Assholes that were worth less than the shit on the bottom of a boot. You're his Victor, his darling rose, and he can't have you falling apart over a filthy district full of uneducated hillbillies that mine coal underground all day.

Pulling you closer into his chest, while trying to fight off a bloody coughing fit, Coryo soothingly combed his long fingers through your hair while telling you, “I know, my darling rose. I know, it hurts that they picked you when they shouldn't have.” Pressing a kiss to your hair, he continued his attempts to soothe you. “But you survived despite what those district coal dust covered dogs thought.”

He let out a bloody cough, using his hand to cover his mouth so the blood splatter wouldn't hit you since your head's tucked under his chin; right against his chest.

Coriolanus’ words should've brought you comfort or at least calm you down a fraction, but they didn't. Right now, you feel like nothing could make you feel better.

Nothing, but the answer to the most important question circling your mind.

“Why did they pick me? I never did anything wrong.” You asked, looking up at Coriolanus with tears shining in your eyes.

Seeing tears falling from your eyes, staining your cheeks as you asked him a question he honestly didn't have the answer for gutted him. It made him feel weak and useless.

He hates feeling weak and useless.

Coriolanus made a mental note to ask Smiley, when he calls him up tomorrow to ask him for a favor concerning the acquisition of your apothecary book, to find out all the names of the people that voted for you to get sent into the games as tribute.

Despite what everyone thinks, the voting isn't anonymous. The Peacekeepers have records of who voted for who considering the grunts were the ones keeping track of and tallying the votes.

Anyways, Coriolanus was going to find out who voted for you and make them pay. Nobody makes his darling rose cry her eyes out and gets away with it.

Nobody sends what's his to the slaughter and gets away with it either.

Despite the fact that you weren't even with him at the time of your reaping, the platinum blonde wants to hurt and punish everyone that had a hand in hurting you.

Maybe he should look in the mirror and cuss himself out, since he's the mastermind behind the rules and the arena that caused you pain. But, Coriolanus Snow will never own up to it.

No….

He didn't play a hand in your tribute problems.

No….

It's those damn district drunks and whores that's to blame.

Coriolanus wiped away your tears with the rough pad of his thumb. “I don't know why they picked you, my darling rose.” Shushing you, he said, “You need to calm down, Y/N. You're with me and, remember, we promised to take care of each other; to keep each other safe.”

All you could do was nod your head in his chest and sniffle.

“You belong to me and I belong to you, remember?” Coriolanus asked, reminding you that he could be trusted, as he felt a coughing fit threatened to take over his body.

“Are you sure you want me to be yours, Coryo? I'm damaged goods now; the games changed me. I'm a mess.” You asked, the overwhelming feeling to start crying threatening to take over, as the man holding you let out a series of loud, biting, bloody coughs.

Coryo cleared his throat, feeling blood bubble up and slide down into the pit of his stomach. Not even thinking about wiping off his blood soaked hand, he placed his hand onto your back and began to run soothing circles. The blood stained your oversized sweater, most likely ruining it. But at this moment, blood staining a sweater didn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was calming you down so you'd get some much needed sleep.

Coriolanus’ other hand softly petted your hair as a comforting gesture.

He leaned his head against his pillow, only to assure you, “You're not damaged, Y/N. You're a survivor; a victor.” You were slowly beginning to calm down as his timbre filled the air with, “Life's arena changes all victors, myself included, and the fact that you're strong enough to land on top makes you worthy enough to be mine.”

And you were his, whether you wanted to accept it or not. You'll always belong to him. Nothing could ever change that.

Because once Coriolanus Snow becomes obsessed with somebody, he'll smother them in his hold and never let them go.

You just happened to be the recipient of his obsession. All because when he saw you walk onto the reaping stage in your red floral dress with your hair pulled back in a bow, he felt a primal urge; a raging desire to have you.

It was an instant obsessive love at first sight.

So, if it wasn't for the Quarter Quell twist you might never have become the obsession of the man whose arms you're being comforted in.

Or maybe the gods would've found a way to stick you two together. A way for him to find you, become obsessed with you to the point that he’d kill to have you by his side in the Capitol.

Just because you and Coriolanus don't believe in the gods, fate, or mystics doesn't mean that they don't exist.

Because no matter what, it's you and him now.

You and Coriolanus, and all of your demons.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @urfavnoirette

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

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Separation Anxiety - Masterpost

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

Playlist: Separation Anxiety

Chapter 01: Welcome to my cage, little lover

Chapter 02: You look into my eyes, you can't recognize my face. You're in my world now. You can stay, but you belong to me

Chapter 03: Your mind wants to leave, but you can't go. This is a happy house. We're happy here

Chapter 04: Do you feel safe out in the light? Or is this the place where monsters hide?

Chapter 05: This could be perfection. A venom dripping in your mouth. Singing like a siren. Love me while your wrists are bound

Chapter 06: I wanna feel you in my bones. I'm gonna tear into your soul. Desire, I'm hungry, and I hope you feed me

Chapter 07: I don't know what to do with your kiss on my neck. I want to steal your soul and hide you in my treasure chest

Chapter 08: Your love is scaring me. No one has ever cared for me as much as you do

Chapter 09: Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

Chapter 10: I don't understand how your love can do what no one else can. Your love's got me looking so crazy right now

Chapter 11: Honey, you're Atlas in his sleeping. And when you move I'm moved

Chapter 12: If I told you where I've been, would you still call me baby?

Chapter 13: You've been my God and when you're gone I'm godless. But with my eyes closed I'm still dancing in your love

Chapter 14: I can't keep you in these arms, so I'll keep you in my mind

Chapter 15: We can meet in the middle, bodies and souls collide. Dance in the moonlight when all the stars align for you and I

If you would like to be tagged when I publish the chapters, please comment on this post or send me an ask. I will cross-post this fic on Tumblr and AO3 starting next week. I hope I can post a new chapter each week! I'm so excited!!

#sukuita #sukuna x yuuji #jjk fanfic #sukuna

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andreawritesit · 22 days

Text

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

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

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul. Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake…

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you.

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle.

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you.

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up.

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.”

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were.

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder.

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both.

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him.

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire.

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.

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tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

#at first i wanted it to take place when he was still in hueco mundo but then i thougth “fuck it” and changed it to this #i'm not sure if that would've been better but oh well #i can alwasy write that as a separate fic #but for now #here it is #aizen sosuke #aizen #sosuke aizen #aizen x reader #bleach #bleach x reader #bleach fanfic #andreawritesit

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shakespeareanwannabe · 2 months

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As You Wish, Chapter 8

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings/Disclaimers: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, breastfeeding, swearing, angst, tears, references to drinking, sadness, references to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, adults doing sneaky things, references to babies

San Diego, California, almost 12 years ago

Buttercup slowly rocked in her chair, the slight breeze from the open window fluttering the pale-yellow curtains that she had hung so carefully while Jake had been deployed. Of course, he had lost his ever-loving shit when he had come home to find the nursery half decorated and the furniture half built, but the hour-long lecture about taking it easy during pregnancy and not doing any heavy lifting had been worth it.

The nursery was exactly as she had pictured it, once Jake had finished building the furniture and Javy and Bob had finished painting the walls the pale-yellow she had chosen. The mural of pink and purple butterflies she had painted on the wall looked so perfect behind the dark cherry wood cribs, and the colours perfectly matched the crib bedding she had ordered.

She had poured her heart and soul into decorating the nursery, their forever home…and now she was leaving it. Her bags were packed and stacked by the door. She was just waiting for Jake to return with Abby so they could go their separate ways.

Buttercup sniffled as she looked down at the tiny baby suckling on her breast. “I hope you know that I would take you both with me in a heartbeat if I could,” she whispered down to her sweet Charlie. “But we have to be fair. And…” she choked back a sob. “Your sister needs me more than you do right now.”

Abby’s weight had been dropping steadily in the weeks since the divorce had been finalized, and Buttercup’s doctor thought that the stress of it all had been affecting her milk supply, and so had recommended switching Charlie to formula so that Abby could absorb all the extra nutrients she needed. Therefore, when the judge had agreed to their abnormal custody arrangement, Buttercup had made the difficult decision to take Abby, leaving Jake with all the pumped breastmilk she had stored so that Charlie wouldn’t have to transition to formula right away.

Still, the decision had nearly broken her, as much as the decision to divorce her husband had.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she whispered as Charlie released her. Buttercup lifted her daughter onto her shoulder and patted her back. “As soon as your dad’s schedule calms down a little and I get settled in my new home, we’ll start figuring out how to share custody, okay? But I promise you, Charlie. I love you and I will miss you so much.” Buttercup’s shoulders heaved with the effort it took not to break down into sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. You don’t deserve any of this happening to you. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry I can’t take both of you. I…I’m so sorry.”

Buttercup snuggled Charlie closer and gently rocked, willing time to either slow down or just stop. It was moments like this that made her second guess every decision she had made in her life. Feelings of failure and shame washed over her as easily as the ocean washed over the sand in the distance. She had failed the sweet little girl in her arms and her sister. They both had.

Buttercup didn’t know how much time had passed before a low cough broke her concentrated view on the ocean in the distance.

Jake stood with a sleeping Abby in his arms, shadows of grief and longing painting his face. “Hey…”

All the words she wanted to say pressed against lips, but she was able to squeeze out a small, “Hey,” in reply without breaking down.

“She…she’s all ready,” Jake murmured, his falling to the infant in his arms.

“So is she,” Buttercup whispered. “All the milk I pumped is in the fridge, and…and her favourite blanket is in her crib. She…” Buttercup bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t let herself cry in front of him, not again. Not ever again.

“I know,” Jake saved her, nodding at the list pinned to the corkboard. “You wrote it all down for me.”

As though moving through quicksand, Buttercup stood and waded towards him. With practiced, ease they switched babies, Abby now content in her mother’s arms and Charlie in her father’s.

“Hey…maybe we could—”

Buttercup shook her head, her eyes trained on Charlie’s sleeping face. If she met those green eyes of his, she’d fall apart for sure.

“No…we can’t.”

Somehow, she knew Jake was nodding. “Right…we can’t.”

Buttercup’s lips trembled but she refused to break. “I guess we’ll be in touch about custody…”

Jake sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be in touch.”

“O-okay…goodbye, Jake.”

Heaviness hung over both of them, the weight of everything they were leaving unsaid sitting like a leaden cloud. “Goodbye, Buttercup.”

London, England, Now

When Charlie awoke the next morning, it was to a growing sense of relief mixed with absolute dread. Relief because she wasn’t holding onto this huge dark secret that had been taking up the majority of her brain power. Uncle Bob knew. He knew and he wasn’t upset. He loved her despite her not being Abby. He loved her despite not seeing her for almost 12 years. He held her and let her cry, then ate ice cream with her and talked about her life in Texas, all the questions she’d been wanting to ask pouring from her lips like some sort of waterfall. Bob knew her secret and still loved her. In fact, he’d known the whole time, but Mom didn’t know. And he wasn’t going to tell her.

That’s where the dread came in. Telling mom. She wasn’t worried that Mom wouldn’t love her once she found out that she wasn’t Charlie, but she was worried about her reaction. Would she cry? How would she react if her Mom started crying right in front of her? What if she was angry at them for doing something so reckless? Charlie didn’t know if she could handle her mom being angry with her. What if she blamed her father? Dad hadn’t known anything about this plan and, according to Abby at least, he was completely clueless about the switch, but if their divorce had been so bad that they had to put an ocean between them, who could say if Mom would get irrationally angry at Dad for letting this happen? Even though Charlie had mixed feelings about her dad and uncles lately, she wouldn’t be able to sit there and listen to her Dad be dragged through the dirt by her Mom. However, she had promised Bob that she would tell her, and she always kept her promises.

Charlie yawned and stretched and rolled out of bed, stopping to get dressed and grab her phone, where a notification from Abby was waiting.

A: Rooster knows.

Charlie’s heart stuttered in her chest.

C: WHAT? HOW?

A: Your stupid horse gave me away. You didn’t tell me she was so skittish.

Crap. She’d known she’d forgotten something, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about Lovebug being bonded to her and only her. Dad and Javy had a hard time getting close to her sometimes.

C: Crap. Sorry!

A: It’s okay. He said my lack of football knowledge and my vocabulary gave me away too. But he’s not going to tell Dad.

C: He’s not?

A: Yeah, he said it would be more fun for him to mess with Dad.

Charlie took a deep breath. At least there was that. Javy might have been willing to tell Dad because the two had been best friends since they were kids, so Rooster was the better person to find out anyway.

C: Okay…well, Bob found out too.

A: Oh no!

C: Turns out I’m not very convincing. He figured me out at the airport…in Buffalo.

A: What’s he going to do?

C: He said he wasn’t going to tell Mom…but that I have to.

A: Okay. When are you going to?

C: Today

A: So soon? What if she wants us to switch back?

Charlie frowned, a plan slowly taking form in her mind.

C: That wouldn’t be so bad. We could meet at a hotel in Texas and have them fall back in love with each other there?

A: And Savannah?

Charlie rolled her eyes.

C: I don’t know. But Dad can’t possibly be happy with her. Once he sees Mom again, the engagement will be off, and we’ll get to be a family again.

A: And if that doesn’t work?

C: We’ll figure it out. Together.

That’s what Uncle Bob had said. That they’d figure everything out together. Whether or not their parents fell back in love with each other, they wouldn’t be on their own to figure out a solution to their problems.

A: Okay. Tell me if Mum wants to talk to me?

C: I will…love you

A: Love you too

Charlie tucked her phone away and went downstairs, finding Bob drinking his coffee, dressed in an old Top Gun t-shirt and sweatpants, and Natasha, lounging on the couch, still in her pajamas.

“Good morning, everyone,” the slight British lilt that she had been practicing quavered as Bob met her eyes over the rim of his mug.

“Hey kid,” Nat greeted, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Bob gently placed his mug down and came over to greet her with a hug. “Sleep well?” he whispered into her hair.

“Better. A lot better after talking to you,” she admitted, relaxing into the hug. “Are you not working today?”

He shook his head, straightening to his full height. “It’s my day off anyway, but I cancelled my plans. Figured you might want some emotional support, so I’ll be here if you need me.”

Charlie squeezed her arms around him, the same way she did with her dad or uncles whenever she was overwhelmed by the way they always had her back.

“Thanks, Uncle Bob,” she whispered, the lilted accent in her voice dropping away for a moment.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Nat sat up and stared at them over the back of the couch.

Charlie’s eyes shot to Bob’s, but he nodded reassuringly. “Nat should probably know, right? And you can see it as a sort of…rehearsal for telling your mom.”

Gulping, Charlie nodded and turned, squaring her shoulders.

“You two are acting so weird. Is someone dying?” Nat placed her bowl down and stood, coming around to stand in front of her. “Abby, doll, you know you can tell me anything. What is with all the whispering?”

Charlie took a deep breath and looked into her aunt’s eyes, ignoring the clouding and the scar that had stolen her aunt’s career and part of her vision.

“…I’m not,” she replied in a shaky breath.

“You’re not what? Dying? That’s good to know, kid, but I kinda figured.”

“No…I’m not A-Abby,” Charlie swallowed hard.

Nat’s brows furrowed, the silvery scar jumping slightly. “Of course you are,” Nat shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. You’re Abby. You have to be Abby. If you’re not Abby, then you’re…”

Bob stepped closer and put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

“I’m what?” Charlie’s throat felt like it was closing up as Nat knelt down so they were eye to eye, her good eye furiously racing over her features as though trying to detect the truth.

“Charlie?” her aunt whispered, looking up to Bob for confirmation as Charlie nodded hesitantly. “Holy shit…Charlie?”

“Language, Nat,” Bob admonished with a chuckle as Charlie was swept off her feet into a bear hug that left her ribs aching and her heart singing.

“Oh, fuck off!” Nat placed Charlie on her feet and whirled around to meet her former partner. “You knew and you didn’t tell me? How long have you known? How long has he known?”

“I always knew,” Bob said with a shrug, retreating behind the kitchen counter as Nat advanced on him.

“Always…always knew? You mean you’ve known this entire freaking time? And you didn’t tell me? What the hell, Robert?”

Bob winced slightly. “I figured it wasn’t my secret to tell. And could you keep your voice down, please? My sister doesn’t know yet.”

“Your sist…Buttercup doesn’t know?” Nat gaped at them both. “Okay, we are sitting down right now, and you are telling me the whole story. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” uncle and niece sat on the couch, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

Nat sat in the armchair across from them and folded her arms. “Speak.”

“Before I do,” blurted Charlie. “Where’s mom?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Apparently, she dreamt up a solution to her plot problem and just had to write it down while it was fresh. She’s been at it since 4 a.m., and I don’t see her coming down any time soon.”

“Okay…” Charlie took a deep breath and launched into the story: being sent to Penny’s camp, meeting Abby and immediately disliking her, the shoving match that led to them being sent to the brig, finding the photos from Las Vegas, Amelia telling them about their parents’ marriage, and, finally, their brilliant idea to switch places so they could meet their missing parent. “We plan on telling them the truth at the end of the week and refusing to switch back unless they meet in person.”

Nat studied her, brow furrowed and eyes never leaving her face. “What are you two hoping to achieve with this?”

Charlie bit her thumb nail and shrugged. “Best case scenario? They figure out a better custody arrangement so I’ll still get to see mom and Abby can still see dad. Dream scenario?” Charlie blushed. “Mom and dad fall back in love and we won’t need a custody arrangement at all.”

Natasha shook her head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don’t think that dream is gonna come true. Even getting a better custody arrangement would be really difficult. Sure, there’s no global pandemic to contend with now, but trying to line up visitation while your dad runs the risk of getting deployed would make it—”

“Dad’s not getting deployed anymore,” Charlie interrupted. “He—”

“Okay, so he got promoted enough so that he’s not going to be called away from home to deal with a crisis. And trust me, there’s always some crisis or another that’ll keep your dad away from San Diego.”

“We don’t live in San Diego, Auntie Nat.”

Nat stopped rambling and looked at her. “Okay then, where do you live?”

“On the ranch in Texas with Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy.”

Bob leaned forward. “Javy and Rooster live with you too?”

“Yeah, they retired from the Navy the same day you did. How do you guys not know this? Didn’t you keep in touch with anyone from the Dagger Squad? Mickey or Reuben or Kally?” Charlie stared at them, aghast. She’d always assumed that the members of the Dagger Squad had kept in touch with each other, even if Uncle Bob and Natasha had become mom’s support system after the divorce, same as Javy and Rooster had become dad’s.

They both slowly shook their heads. “We, uh…we kind of lost contact with everyone after we left the Navy,” Bob replied. “It all happened so fast, Charlie. We were given the option of retiring or moving on to a different unit, and that was that.”

“But why? I thought you guys were a team? A family? That’s what Aunt Penny always says! How could you just lose touch with them?”

“Because it was too damn hard, that’s why,” Natasha bit out, an unreadable look in her eyes. “Because I didn’t want to hear about them flying missions and hitting me with the “Sorry, Phoenix, but it’s classified” line whenever I ask about their work, if I ever asked about their work. Because I didn’t want their damn pity. Because it was hard enough being a female pilot, but almost losing my eye and being grounded? That was damn near unbearable.”

Charlie shrank back in her seat and nodded. “Oh…sorry.”

Bob placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Sometimes it’s just easier to say goodbye and let everyone go their separate ways instead of trying to hang onto something that’s not there anymore. I tried to reach out to a few people on the team, including your dad, but they were either always deployed or their numbers weren’t reachable or their numbers had changed. That’s what happens sometimes, kiddo. That’s just life.”

Charlie bit her lip, the question she had been longing to ask pushing against her lips until she finally asked, “So…that’s what happened? It’s not that you didn’t want me? It’s that you couldn’t reach my dad?”

Bob wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Nat slid onto the couch cushion next to her, the two of them pulling her into a hug.

“Of course we wanted you, Charlie,” Nat whispered. “We missed you like crazy, kid.”

Bob pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your mom wanted you too. And she’s going to be so happy when she finds out you’re here.”

Charlie pulled away and chanced a glance over the back of the couch towards the stairs. “I…I should go tell her.”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, kiddo. You should. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Charlie stood and Natasha jabbed an elbow into Bob’s gut. “You mean, we’ll be right here if you need us.”

Charlie grinned as Bob rubbed his stomach. “Thanks guys.”

She turned and faced the stairs, feeling like her stomach was somewhere near her feet. Then, she started to climb.

Charlie stood outside her mother’s bedroom, hand poised to knock, but her stomach was still living somewhere near her feet and her hand was shaking so badly that she was afraid that she would miss the door completely when she tried to knock.

Everything was happening so quickly. Just last month, she had been an only child on a ranch full of men. Now, she was a twin with three uncles and an aunt and, most importantly, two parents who loved and wanted her. Or so Bob and Natasha had said. She knew that they loved her, but the fear that her mother would end up rejecting her was so strong that it made her want to run out of the house and hide somewhere. But she couldn’t. She had promised Bob and Natasha and besides that, she didn’t want to live somewhere she wasn’t accepted for who she was. So, if mom rejected her, she would happily go back to Texas and live a happy ever after life with her family, who was clearly trying to protect her.

Nodding determinedly at the solution she had formulated in her head, she knocked quickly on the door and stuck her head in, spotting her mother folded into her writing chair.

“Hey babe,” Buttercup yawned, tilting her computer screen down. “Sorry I didn’t come down for breakfast. I thought I solved my issues; I had this whole dream about the solution. But the characters don’t want to listen to me. I swear, Abby, it makes me want to throw in the towel.”

Charlie fiddled with her fingers as she listened. The past few days, she had loved listening to her mother talk about her stories and how she teased out the plot points, but now she felt guilt and anxiety weigh on her heart. As much as she wanted to act tough, she desperately wanted her mother to love her for her, not because she thought she was Abby.

“Mom? Can we talk about something?”

In less than a second, she watched Buttercup go from author mode to mom mode. She stood, pulled her light cotton robe over her pajamas and stretched, putting a gentle hand between her shoulder blades and steering her towards the bed.

“Of course, Abby. Hop on up and we can talk about whatever you want.”

Buttercup propped herself up against the pillows and turned her body towards Charlie, who crawled into the left side of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

“I…” To her horror, Charlie felt tears well up in her eyes. She slammed them shut before any could escape and felt her hands tremble.

The mattress shifted and warm arms encircled her before Buttercup spoke. “Abby, sweetheart, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I…I don’t want you to get mad,” Charlie whimpered into her mother’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s possible for me to get mad at you,” Buttercup hummed, pulling her close and rocking her gently side to side. “Remember when you accidentally kidnapped Mr. Tomkit’s cat? You were holding poor Shadow hostage in your closet and dressing him up for tea for three days before we found out. Did I get mad then?”

Charlie’s tears streamed down her face. “I…I don’t know,” she murmured truthfully. Abby had never shared that story with her.

“Of course I didn’t,” Buttercup replied in a soft voice. “You were only six. The point is, whatever happened, an accident or a mistake, we’ll figure it out like we always do, yeah? It’s you and me, sweetheart. It always has been, and we’ve managed well so far, haven’t we?”

“B-but what if this time makes you not love me anymore?” The question leapt forth before she could stop it, the question she had been both dying to ask and too afraid of hearing the answer.

Buttercup’s hands found Charlie’s shoulders and eased her away just enough to look in her eyes. “Abigail Juliet Floyd, nothing could ever make me not love you anymore. Nothing in this whole universe. You hear me?”

“But I’m not Abby! I’m Charlie!” she sobbed, her hands raising to cover her face. “Abby and I met at camp, and she really wanted to meet dad and I really wanted to meet you, so we swapped places!” To Charlie, it was as though everything had been frozen in time. She couldn’t hear the birds chirping outside her mother’s window or Auntie Nat’s trashy tv shows playing on the tv downstairs. Nothing moved and nothing sounded in the longest minute of Charlotte Delta Seresin’s life.

And then, those warm arms wrapped around her tightly and held her close. “My baby…my sweet Charlotte…”

Charlie flung her arms around her mother and buried her head in her neck, breathing in the hibiscus and jasmine perfume and feeling the soft silk of her mother’s pajamas under her cheek. “You’re not m-mad?” Charlie whispered.

She fought her hands not to cling to her mother as she pulled away, just far enough to look at her. “How could I be mad?” Charlie’s heart clenched at the sight of the pearly tears clinging to her mother’s cheeks. “It’s really you, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded meekly, tucking her feet up underneath her. “Abby taught me everything about her life while we were at camp. She wanted to meet dad so badly, and I always dreamed of meeting you. I was so scared to tell you because I was afraid you left me because you didn’t want me…”

Buttercup’s gentle fingers traced over her daughter’s features, sadness filling her eyes. “I’ve loved you and wanted you since before you were even born, Charlie,” she whispered. “I…I’m so sorry we failed you, love. It’s no excuse, but this was never supposed to be permanent. We just let time get away from us, I suppose. But please…you need to know that I missed you every single day, sweetpea. I love you so much.”

Charlie let herself relax into Buttercup’s arms, her tears slowing and her breathing steadying. “I love you too, mom.”

A few hours later, the three Floyds and their honorary fourth member sat clustered around Buttercup’s computer, a Zoom call open in front of them as they waited for the call to be answered.

“I still can’t believe you knew before I did. A mother is supposed to know her own children,” Buttercup worried her lower lip as she stared at Bob, on the other side of Charlie.

“In Charlie’s defence, she really pulled the act together once she got to the house,” Bob replied. “And in your defence, you do know your children. It might have just been too difficult for you to even try to rationalize that the girl in front of you might not be Abby.” Bob shot Buttercup a meaningful look as the dark screen in front of them suddenly filled with colour.

“Uncle Roo, you need to back up,” they heard Abby gripe. “They can only see your shirt right now.”

Rooster backed up and sat in a chair behind a desk, Abby perched next to him.

“Hey, old man,” Natasha teased.

Bradley huffed slightly, a light smile dancing across his face. “Hey yourself, Phoenix. Hey Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s face filled with fondness. “Hey Bradley, how are you?”

He shrugged as the pixels danced across the screen. “Can’t complain. How’s my girl? Ow! Sorry, Jesus. I mean, how’s my other girl?” he shot a glare at Abby, who grinned back at him.

“Hey Uncle Roo,” Charlie beamed at him through the camera. “Hey Abby!”

“Hey Charlie, hey Auntie Nat! Hey Uncle Bob, Charlie told me you figured it out right away!”

Bob nodded once and pushed his glasses up. “You’re one of a kind, Abby. No emulating it.”

“Damn, you figured it out right away?” Rooster whistled through his teeth. “It took me a couple of days to figure it out. You two never thought to teach your girl about American football? Javy thought she got a brain transplant at camp.”

Buttercup and Bob chuckled but Natasha remained suspiciously silent as Charlie filled them in on how life was in England and Abby filled them in on all the Texas goings on.

“…and dad’s engaged to this dreadful woman who wants to go wedding venue shopping on Saturday!” Abby groaned.

“Abby,” Buttercup admonished. “You just met this woman. Give her time to adjust. I’m sure it was quiet something when your father told her that his daughters had switched places.”

“Oh, well, actually…” Abby started.

“Yeah, she didn’t take it that great, Buttercup,” Bradley cut in, giving Abby a little nudge with his elbow. “Remember, kid?”

“Oh…uh…yeah. She didn’t take it that well at all.”

Charlie would blame the emotional day for the fact that her mother didn’t pick up on the strange behaviour behind the screen at all.

“So, give her some time, and she’ll…she’ll come around,” Buttercup gulped slightly and reached for her bottle of water.

“Yeah, I’m sure she will,” Rooster rolled his eyes. “Why don’t y’all come to Texas for the weekend? We’re stayin’ at some fancy hotel in Austin for the weekend while Savannah looks around at different venues. She wanted to make it a weekend getaway. But you guys should come so you and Hangman can figure out an arrangement that keeps these two from pulling a Trading Places again.”

Buttercup was chewing on her bottom lip again. “I…I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a wedding related trip. I wouldn’t feel comfortable crashing it.”

“You wouldn’t be crashing it,” Rooster replied. “Jake invited you. He wants to figure out a solution too, before the wedding.”

Buttercup sighed heavily, the breath tinged with sadness. “Yeah…yeah, that makes sense. Bob, can you—”

“I’ll clear my schedule so I can go with you, and I’ll book our flights there,” Bob replied, his phone already in his hand.

Buttercup smiled gratefully. “Natasha—”

“I’ll keep in contact with the old man and make sure we book the right hotel,” Natasha replied, fixing Rooster with a glare that would have paralyzed him if they were in the same time zone.

Buttercup sighed resignedly. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll all see you on Saturday.”

“See you then, Buttercup,” Rooster winked.

“Bye mum! I love you!”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Rooster whipped around as a voice rang out behind them. “Mum? Buttercup? Dude, what the hell is—”

“Gotta go, mum! Bye!” Abby shouted as she slammed the laptop screen down, cutting off the call.

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all,” Natasha muttered.

Buttercup’s worried face reflected back at her on the darkened screen. “Oh god…what have I gotten myself into?”

Rooster glared at Javy. “Nice going, dipshit.”

“What? Me? Who the hell were you talking to on that call, man? Because I only know one Buttercup and—”

“And what, Uncle Javy?” Abby blinked up at him innocently. “Who is Buttercup?”

Javy gaped at her. “She…uh…she’s, um…”

Rooster rolled his eyes. “Cut the guy some slack, would ya, Abby?”

Abby’s grin widened as Javy’s mouth dropped even further. “Nah…man, there ain’t no way…”

“You didn’t think it was suspicious that Penny wouldn’t quit pesterin’ us both until we got Hangman to agree to send Charlie to camp on that specific day? You don’t think it’s weird that Lovebug treats her like she’s a stranger? You never noticed that your favourite assistant coach knows jack all about football now?”

Javy crouched down in front of her. “You’re not Charlie, are you?” Abby shook her head and Javy’s eyes welled with tears. “C-can I hug you, darlin’?” Abby nodded with a smile, and she was suddenly scooped up into a massive hug. “Oh my god, man…this is unbelievable!”

“What’s unbelievable?”

The three turned to see Jake standing behind them in the doorway of the office, his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, man,” Rooster greeted. “What’s up?”

“Was just coming to try to find my daughter.”

Abby gulped. She hadn’t really spoken to her father since her blow up at the news of his engagement. The news still weighed heavily on her, but Rooster’s plan would work, she just knew it. Plus, she would get to see her mum soon, and that always made her feel better.

“H-hey, dad.”

Jake’s face softened. “Hey Charlie, I was hoping we could have a chat before dinner. Just you and me.”

Javy opened his mouth and Abby pinched him hard on the shoulder blade, out of view of her father.

“Sure, dad. I think that’s a good idea. Can you put me down, Uncle Javy?” Javy hesitated but Abby begged him with her eyes not to blow this for them, and he conceded.

“Sure…Charlie.”

Abby smiled at him as she went to her father’s side.

“We’ll see y’all at dinner, alright?” Jake nodded at them as he let the office door close behind him.

“Alright, dude, you’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on right now, or I swear to god, I’m telling Jake why that pair of men’s boxer shorts were hanging outside his window.”

“Relax, Coyote,” Rooster sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “You and me are gonna have a lot of fun with Hangman this weekend.”

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pastshadows · 2 months

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 12: Growth

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.5K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

You stare into the pale Elf’s vibrantly red eyes as he holds the razor-sharp edge of his dagger against your neck, which he seems to be looking at rather too ardently for your liking. You frown at him, struggling against his hold on you. He’s stronger than he appears at first glance. You knew this man was bad news as soon as you laid eyes on him. You’ll never be able to comprehend why you thought it was a lovely idea to turn your back on this stranger and walk away.

Perhaps you can blame it on being tired, having a worm thrust into your eye socket, falling out of the sky, or your head injury that smarts fierce and unforgivingly under the baking heat of the noonday sun.

You’re about to burn him to a crisp for this attack, but as you gaze into those eyes, your soul sparks with recognition you can’t place. You know this man, somehow, but you’re sure you’ve never seen him before.

The way he leers at you almost makes you giggle. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

Fear. You can see it plainly, hidden behind this facade of confidence. Your arm holds the dagger's tip steady as the steel kisses your neck. Keeping your voice as balanced as you can, you retort, “You have it backwards - they took me prisoner, just like you.”

“Don’t lie to me. I - agh.”

Your mind twists. Gods. The squirming behind your eye is beyond uncomfortable as it moves your brain matter around. You close your eyes and surrender to the sensation. It seems like the only option lest whatever is wiggling might break open your skull like a melon. A vision is steadily anthropomorphized. You’re looking out of unfamiliar eyes, prowling dark, busy streets. You try to hold onto the memory, but it fades, and you’re left with the light and a potent fear that makes your stomach churn.

“What was that?” The pale Elf stares at you with a suspicious glower. The tenor of his voice increases. You recognize distress when you hear it. You better proceed carefully, or you’re going to wind up with a blade in your windpipe, ”What’s going on?”

Well, there’s no point in lying. Is there?

“It’s the mind flayer’s worm - it connected us."

His grip on you eases as he draws the pointed tip of the dagger away. You think about asking him if he recognizes you or if you’ve met before, but there’s nothing in his demeanour to indicate such. Have you hit your head far worse than you thought, and it’s scrambled your brain like an egg?

“You’re not one of them. They took you, just the same as me.” His scowl eases and becomes… artificial amusement? Real amusement? This man is decidedly hard to read. “And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

Apologies? Apologies?! Is that really all he has to offer you after he dragged you to the ground with a godsdamned dagger? He’s lucky you didn’t hail fire from the fucking sky! Gods. You want to punch him in his pointy, pale, beautiful face.

Well, I was contemplating burning him to death.

“Apology accepted.” You hiss at him, dusting off your robe. There’s sand in your mouth, gritty against your teeth. It makes you want to punch him all the more, “I might have done the same if roles were reversed.”

He chuckles at your taunting, “Ah, a kindred spirit.” He leers at you with a haughty glower, “My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

The streets were familiar as the vision played out behind your eyelids. If the glimpse wasn’t enough to convince you that he’s telling the truth about his origins, his accent does.

“I’m a Baldurian as well,” you glower back at him, meeting his arrogance with your own.

“Is that so? We clearly move in different circles.” You roll your eyes at his pompous intonation. “So, do you know anything about these worms?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” You hesitate but decide truth is the best course of action. He might as well know what he’s up against, “They’ll turn us into mind flayers.”

“Turn us into - ha. Hahaha!” You jolt at his mordant laughter like a giggle at a funeral. There’s such a deep sadness woven between the facade cracking. “Of course, it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?”

Your heated palms itch. Not with the draconic fire that squirms underneath the thin skin, but to reach out to him, to comfort this total stranger who has been nothing but a pain in your ass since you met him moments ago. So, why do you desperately want to hug him?

What in the Hells is wrong with me? Good Gods.

He continues with an abstract hopefulness, “Although it hasn’t happened yet. If we can find an expert - someone that can control these things - there might still be time.”

“Control it?” You scoff and quirk a brow, shaking your head. Control the worm? No. You need to fucking expel it immediately! You lean forward and resist the urge to poke his chest, which you are currently trying to imagine without that lovely doublet. You shake your head again, trying to rid yourself of your thoughts, “We need to get rid of it!”

“Well yes, of course,” he drawls as if you’re an idiot. With the way you’re acting and thinking, you begin to wonder if your head wound is worse than you thought, “But first things first.”

“You should travel with me.” The words are blundering out of your mouth before you have time to consider what you’re asking. He’s already been enough trouble, and you’re requesting more, but maybe, if you’re lucky, you will see him shirtless… Fuck! What in the Hells is wrong with you? You clear your throat, “Our odds are better together.”

“You know, I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn’t such a bad idea.” Astarion, this pale Elf you don’t know but somehow recognize, sizes you up as you frown at him, “And you seem like a useful person to know. All right,” he bows shallowly, “I accept, lead on.”

A useful person to know?

Ah. Yes. Of course. He’s one of those. He does not see you as another living being. No. You know his kind well. He sees you as a tool he can use to implement his liberation from your new friend who’s currently in a competition with your brain matter for space in your skull.

You walk a couple of steps before your outrage gets the best of you, and you whirl on him, fire in your palm and the Weave aglow in your eyes, “You said your name was Astarion, correct?”

“Yes,” his hand moves toward the dagger’s hilt at his hip. “That’s correct.”

“Don’t make any sudden moves, Astarion,” you snarl and toss Firebolt as close to his toes as you can without burning him.

“Ah,” he puts his hands up in an innocent gesture. You’re sure it’s merely a placation so that you let your guard down. His voice is as smooth as butter and warm as daylight, “I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, yes? I apologized. What more do you want? I’m all out of wine and chocolates - I’m afraid.”

“Listen closely, Rogue,” you try to hide the insecurity you’re feeling behind an illusion of poise. “If you ever put another knife to my throat, if I have even a suspicion you might, I will reduce you to dust.”

“Oh, sorceress,” Astarion smirks, cavalier and handsome, “I would love to see you try, you brute. I don’t fancy your chances. I know a thousand ways to kill you before you can so much as utter an incantation, but I digress. You’re welcome to try, of course. You’ll find I am particularly hard to kill.”

You scoff, holding your hand in his view as fire edges over your fingers, up your arm, and back before petering out. “Who said anything about incantations? I hope you’re as good with that blade as you seem to think you are.”

“I assure you, I am. I’ve had more practice than you can possibly imagine,” he turns his nose up, puffing his chest out in bravado that makes you want to deflate that cocksure attitude.

You roll your eyes, stalking away toward the wreckage. You need to find supplies, coin, food-

“Ah-ah, sorceress!” Astarion chimes behind you with a jeering lilt that makes you close your eyes and curse under your breath as your patience wears incredibly thin.

Gods, give me strength.

“What?”

“Hells. You’re a snappy one. Are you always this rude?” He quips. “Do you have a name, or shall I just continue calling you sorceress, brute, shrew….”

“SHREW?!” You cut him off, trying very hard to hide your amusement but finally relenting and dissolving into raving laughter.

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” he peers around, crossing his arms, jutting a hip out. He’s obviously not accustomed to his jeers being scorned, but you’re not some soft-hearted juvenile.

“If you mean to upset me,” you giggle as he glares disdainfully, “you will have to try much harder than that. Until you can come up with a worthwhile slight, you may call me Kamena.”

“Kamena…” Something flashes in Astarion’s ruby-red eyes, dazzling and animated in the sunlight. His lips rap together as if he’s sampling how your name feels on his tongue. He shakes his head, sweeping the perplexity furrowing his brow away, “I would say it’s been a pleasure to meet you, but I would be lying. Now, if you’re quite done threatening me, may I suggest we get a move on?”

The spoon in your hand idly churns the thick, pasty curds of the cold porridge that was supposed to be your breakfast. You stare, disconnected and disgusted by the thought of consuming any form of nourishment despite the grumbles in your stomach indicating that you’re hungry. You slump in the chair, pushing the bowl away from you with a grimace. Your appetite is insufficient, and you can’t conjure the will to shove a spoonful of the algid, viscus goop into your mouth.

Days have turned into anxious nights with naught a syllable uttered between you and Astarion. Your heart is heavy in your chest with longing and uncertainty. He doesn’t come out of his room during the day and leaves late at night when he thinks you’ve fallen into your trance. Your nightmares have returned with a savage vengeance now that Astarion is no longer there to wake you from them before they start to escalate. Dark, puffy bags are beginning to extend under your eyes as you avoid slipping into your trance night after hopeless night. Your head spins misery like a web around your last interaction.

Perhaps I should have kept my feelings to myself.

“Sorceress,” Tara grumbles by your side, but you’re so tired her voice is forgotten as soon as it whispers over your ears. “Kamena!” She asserts more stridently, jolting you awake.

“What?” You snap at her, digging your fingernails into the table.

“You look weary,” Tara purrs soothingly. “What troubles you?”

“I did it,” you whisper, trying to swallow the heavy shadow of your heart constricting your throat. “I told Astarion how I felt. He has not spoken to me since.”

“I see,” she considers your words and then smirks as much as her little nose will allow. “So, now he is being the idiot.”

Even with tears welling in your eyes, seeping from the corners, mutinying your control, you laugh, “I suppose you could say that.”

“Did the vampire tell you he did not feel the same?” She looks at you softly with those green eyes that hold the wisdom of a sage in their depths.

“No. Nothing like that,” you say with a tremoring voice and shake your head. “He requested I give him space.”

“And this troubles you,” she cocks her head, “this request for solace?”

“No,” you try to find the words to explain your melancholy. “No, it’s not the space. I can give him that. It’s the avoidance. The silence. He is usually so hard to shut up.” You give a meek laugh and let your head drop into your hands. “I will never get this right, will I?”

“Come, idiot,” she tilts her head toward the door. “Take a walk with me, will you?”

Tara half flies, half-scampers beside you, leading you deep into the forest. Golden sunlight flickers gently through the canopy. A brisk wind shakes the withering leaves from the trees, and they float down around you in a shower of oranges, reds and yellows. She leads you into a small alcove. Her wings flutter as she lands, stretches and settles them.

“What are we doing out here, Tara?”

“Pick a tree and make it fall.” Tara’s eyes glimmer as bold and keen as a hawk. “It matters not how.”

The request is odd, even for her. You can’t begin to fathom why in the world she would drag your sleepless, sapped self out here to simply fell a tree. You grasp the Weave and let the peaceful force thread through your muscles, giving them a pleasant buzzing tingle that starts in your toes and gambles up your spine. The incantation rolls off your tongue like poetry and the electric blue of lightening hisses as the current churns around your fingers. Picking a tree far from you or Tara, the bolt strikes true right at the base with a resounding, echoing boom that causes birds to flit away from the high boughs.

Tara shakes off the splinters of timber your grand display deposited on her fur. “Did it make a sound, sorceress?”

“Are you deaf?” You scoff. Your ears are still ringing from the blast, “Yes, of course, it made a sound.”

“When a tree falls, it tells the forest the tale of its demise, yet its seeds will grow in silence,” she says softly like a purring lullaby. “Growth and creation are often quiet. Even in this silence, you and the vampire are still growing.”

Oh, Hells. This godsdamn cat.

Shit. Tressym.

Astarion sits in the dimly lit confines of his room with his head in his hands and fingers curled in his hair. Turmoil surges within him as long-dormant fears roil, unravelling a tapestry of overwhelming emotion. He scolds himself with a scoff. He’s being a fucking fool, but those catacombs of pain and darkness have once again cast their baleful spell on him. Old insecurities he thought he had conquered paralyze him.

Cazador’s words often float through the darkness in his room. Will he ever stop hearing his voice? How many years will it take for it to fade away, lost to time like the colour of his eyes?

“You are nothing but an insignificant little insect, my boy.”

"You are no one. A monster, a fiend, a creature that can never be loved.”

“You are an abomination, unworthy of affection or compassion.”

It’s not an easy thing to untangle the web that Cazador wove. There are so many knots, snares and tangles that he keeps getting caught on. He feels trapped in this bloody prison of his own making, bound by the chains of his past. Fear has become his warden, prattling doubts that feed on his shattered self, holding him captive. Why can he not leave these things behind? Why do they keep cropping up to plague him?

Gods. He yearns for her touch, the warmth of her embrace to melt away the ice that has solidified in his veins, but shadows loom over him like monstrous spectres, threatening to extinguish any hope of happiness.

He heard the snarky feline call him an idiot today, and he’s loathe to admit it, but she’s right. Two hundred years of being surrounded by lover after lover, victim after victim, and never did he feel any real connection. Not until he met her.

“You look dreadful in that colour, sorceress.” He tuts, clicking his tongue. “That robe is quite unsightly. It leaves much to be desired.”

“It’s a good thing that you already desire me so much then,” she turns, walking backward and taunts. “Perhaps this will stop you from drooling over me like a lovesick pup.”

“I do not drool!” He scoffs.

“You’re drooling over my very delectable neck right now.” She grins, caressing her buttery skin. She does have a very lovely, biteable neck. He would not mind another nibble.

“Gods. You wish.” He crosses his arms, glowering at her presumptuousness. “No one will drool over you if you keep wearing that.”

“I think Gale finds this robe particularly attractive,” she giggles, twirling to showcase the horror show of a garment.

He attempts to remain impassive and emotionless, but a scowl devours his features nonetheless. The wizard has been all over her since she pulled him out of that damned portal. He hoped that Gale might be deterred after their little late-night tryst. It didn’t seem to dissuade him any. He should not even care if she finds herself in the arms of another. Yet, the more he witnesses Gale, Wyll, Hells, even the Gith, ogling her, flirting with her, giving her those amorous looks and suggestive comments, the more it simply rubs him the wrong way. He cannot quite comprehend why. He’s never been a jealous man before. He tells himself it’s because they might ruin his “simple plan” if they gain her affections.

“That’s not a good thing, darling. Do you see that purple curtain he’s wearing?” he snorts, grimacing.

“Need I remind you that you were also wearing purple when we met?”

“Yes, but it looks decidedly fabulous on me,” he retorts. “You look like you're wearing a burlap sack.”

“Oh,” she brings a finger to her lips and cocks her head in an adorable fashion. “Now, that’s a great idea. I shall adorn a sack on our next outing for your viewing pleasure since you seem so utterly invested in my outfits.”

“Hells below.” He grumbles. She likely will do it to get a rise out of him. “By all means, embarrass yourself further. I care not. Just have the decency to leave me at camp so I don’t have to be seen with you.”

“You know what?” She giggles, her face crinkling with the delight of teasing him. “I’ll just take it off right now. Will that shut you up, or will I have to rescue you from drowning in a puddle of your own saliva?”

“First, I cannot drown. I do not need to breathe.” He huffs, sticking his nose in the air. “Second. I do not drool. Third. I’m calling your bluff. Surely, you would not disrobe right in the middle of the road.”

“Hmm.” She ponders with her eyes cast skyward, twinkling in the fading light. A mischievous glower splits her lips, “Challenge accepted.”

“What?”

She laughs as her fingers unlace the ties on her hideous robe. His mouth drops open. Surely, she will stop. Even if she doesn’t, surely, she’s wearing something more than her undergarments under that.

Right?

…. Right?!

It falls open as she fiddles with the last couple of ties, and he’s glad she’s not looking at him because his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. She is decidedly not wearing anything other than her undergarments, and fuck, she is not stopping. He swallows thickly. She is a sight to behold, but good Gods, he does not want anyone else to behold it!

She chuckles and throws the robe over her shoulders, letting it drop to the dusty ground in a puddle around her feet and saunters off with a provocative sway of her hips. It takes him a moment to regain his poise as she strolls down the road in nothing but her underclothes and tall boots.

“What are you doing?” He grabs her robe off the ground, shaking it off and jogging to her. “Are you out of your mind? There are Goblins, Gnolls, and, ugh, Gnomes, roaming all over these parts.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I am not shy, hm?” She laughs lightheartedly. “You’re gawking, Astarion.” She leans in close, swiping a thumb over the corners of his mouth, “And drooling.”

He swallows. He might be drooling a little, but he will never admit it.

“You, my dear, are intolerable sometimes.” He smirks. This woman is full of surprises. “Now, get dressed before I hold you down and redress you forcibly.”

“No, darling,” she tuts, mocking him and poking his chest. She purses her lips, glowering defiantly at him, “I don’t believe I will.”

“I will do it, sorceress,” he asserts with a low growl. “Do not tempt me.”

She giggles and takes off in a sprint through the trees. She calls back over her shoulder, “Consider yourself tempted, Rogue.”

Day bleeds into nightfall, and you sit with your back pressed against the headboard of your bed, resting your chin on your knees as you make the fire transform into various shapes. Your ears seemingly twitch with every tick, tick, tick of the clock, which is maddening as it seems to mock every second spent without Astarion. You’ve considered breaking it several times, and tonight may be the night it meets its fiery end. You see a shadow crawling across the floor, and you jump to your feet on the mattress, looking for the offender. Your heartbeat reflexively patters in your chest as you scan the floor. Your door opens abruptly, and you yelp.

Astarion looks around and arches a brow. He leans a shoulder on the doorframe with a regaled smirk, “Let me guess,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You saw a spider.”

He knows you too well. His voice is a salve to the deafening silence, and for a moment, you just let the sound and sight of him wash over you.

“I saw the shadow of a spider,” you finally reply, eyes flicking toward the floor to make sure the errant arachnid is not crawling toward you. “I have yet to see that actual perpetrator.”

“Well,” Astarion giggles. “If you can calm the thumping of your heart. I could find this transgressor rather quickly.”

“It’s not funny, Astarion!” You scold him and cringe, “Have you seen all the legs?”

“On the contrary, darling. It’s fucking hilarious and entirely adorable.” Astarion strolls around your room with silent footsteps. He cocks his head, listening intently, “It’s under your bed.”

Fire instantly leaps to life on your fingers, and you wonder how angry Gale would be if you burned his manor to the ground. You feel like it might be justified.

“A little excessive, no?” Astarion’s hand covers yours, making you smother the flames. “Come, love.” He grabs your legs and throws you over his shoulder. “I will rescue you from this most deadly of foes.”

You giggle as Astarion strides down the hall to his room. He places you back onto your feet and closes his door. You nearly wrap your arms around him until you remember he asked for space. Instead, you fold your arms around yourself and shrink away, taking quick steps back.

He frowns at your retreat, and an awkward silence stretches between you. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately,” Astarion begins, breaking the silence, “I just needed time to-“

“Are you okay?” You don’t mean to cut him off, but you finally find your voice. Unfortunately, it means everything you’ve been holding in starts spewing out in a blundering regurgitation of words. “I’m sorry. It was perhaps an ill-judged confession. I don’t expect you to feel the same. Nothing will change between us if-“

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cutting off your verbal vomit. He holds you close, your body perfectly pressed into the contours of his. He takes his time tasting you, savouring your flavour with an intimacy that makes your knees feel like hot jelly.

“Well,” he smirks, breaking off the kiss, leaving you once again breathless and wordless. “That always did work wonders to shut you up. Now, will you allow me to get a word in, or shall I keep kissing you until you forget what it is you were going to say?”

“I’ve sufficiently been shut up,” you say breathily.

“Good. Sometimes, your mouth is bigger than mine.” He chuckles, taking your hand and kissing all your fingers and palms, rubbing them comfortingly, “Cazador devoted much of his time to convincing us that we were nothing, that we did not matter - not to him, not to any of the Gods, and certainly not to anyone else, and the centuries proved him right, unfortunately. No one ever saw me, really saw me. They saw the rake, the persona I portrayed, and never thought to look any further than that - until you came along with that very darling neck, all your questions, and your objective stupidity.”

You open your mouth to answer, but Astarion puts his finger against your lips and tsks you, “Uh, uh. Patience, sweetheart. It never was your strength.”

His voice is trembling with a vulnerability he seldom allows himself to display. “My past… makes me believe that I am unworthy of such love, but more to the point, it makes me unworthy of you.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. Your features are a gentle portrait etched in a mix of concern and resolve. “Astarion,” you implore, reaching for his hand, “there is no past that can make you unworthy of love.”

“I have done… unspeakable things,” Astarion protests, casting his eyes away from you. “Things that will haunt me for eternity and beyond.”

“I’ll always be there to fight those phantoms of your past with you if you will allow me,” you assure, trying to keep your voice steady while tears streak down your hot cheeks. This is starting to sound a lot like a goodbye, and you’re not sure if you’re ready, “If you’re going to tell me you’re leaving, it’s okay. I understand.”

“What?!” Astarion looks at you with his eyebrows curved upward in shock. “Gods above. No. Come here.” Astarion pulls you in, pressing you against his chest. He only pushes you away slightly so he can guide your eyes to his and looks at you with an intensity that makes you shiver. “I’m not afraid anymore. Not of our future together. I once told you the Gods sent you to ruin me. I realize now they sent you to save me. My heart is yours now and forevermore.”

He pushes you up against the door, pinning you with his hips. Your lips are locked with his in a passionate embrace. Astarion gently skims his fangs down your neck. Your hands tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. He scoops you into his arms and throws you on the bed playfully. He crawls over you, removing his shirt and catching your lips in his with a wild and ravenous desire.

He peels off your nightdress with desperation as if his hands simply cannot bear to not have your skin against them for a moment longer. Astarion kisses your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the stiff peak. Your back arches off the bed, pushing yourself further into him. Your skin is hot, melting the icy chill of his, and you shudder as he bucks his hips into you.

He looks up at you through thick lashes, “What would you say if I said I wanted to make love to you tonight?”

His question consumes all the air inside your lungs, and your body goes rigid as stone. Your heartbeat kicks up as you stare at him with rounded eyes. “Astarion… What are you saying?”

“Hmm,” he cocks his head and arches a brow at you with a charming smirk, “I thought I was rather clear. No matter. Let me try that again. If a night of passion is on offer, I would very much like to make love to you tonight.”

“I… Are you comfortable with that? Are you ready? We don’t have to. We can wait for as long as you need.”

“Oh, my love,” Astarion purrs, taking your hand, kissing every knuckle while never taking his eyes off you. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off, well, mostly off, you. Do you? I have been thinking about being inside you nonstop. It has been quite distracting.”

You sweep your thumb across his cheek and along his strong jaw. Trepidation slightly pinches your brow. Good Gods. You want this, but you are afraid.

“I will stop if I need to.” Astarion assures assertively, kissing your forehead and cheek, “But I do not foresee the need. Do not hold back. I want this, Kamena. Really, really want it.”

“Hells, Astarion. I want you too.”

“I know,” he smirks as his fingers find your folds already slick with arousal. “Always so eager for me,” he teases. “Gods below. I love the way your body responds to me.”

Astarion parts you, running his fingers up and down your seam, coating them in the sleekness of your desire. He circles the border of your swollen flesh, and your hips jerk in a plea as you whine against his needy mouth. You wrap your arms around him, and Gods - he feels like he’s been made to fit in your embrace. Astarion’s arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling you tightly to him. His fingers finally sweep over your sensitive bud, and he groans as he coaxes whimpers and moans from your throat, catching your sweet cries on his lips. The outline of his desire is pressed against you. Your fingers undo the laces of his pants and grip him greedily, eliciting a hiss from his clenched teeth.

“Gods,” he pants, kicking off his trousers and freeing his throbbing cock. Precum already beads from his swollen head, and your mouth waters with the memory of the salt of him on your tongue.

Astarion sinks two fingers into you, twitching the pads up so that they hit that sweet spot that makes white flash in your vision with every languid pump. He expertly settles into a rhythm that drives you senseless. You could not keep your eyes open if you tried, and you jerk your hips, sinking his fingers deeper into you with the cry of his name.

“O-oh! Gods. A-Astarion.”

“I love the sound of my name on your tongue,” he purrs, peppering kisses down your neck, and he increases the speed of his thrusting fingers.

“Astarion…” you mewl into the crook of his neck, dragging your fingers through his hair as your muscles tighten. “F-fuck. You’re s-so good. I’m going to… fuck. Astarion! You’re going to make me…”

“Yes,” he groans, guttural and eager, as you both drown in each other. “Let me feel you come.”

Your head drops back, and you cry out with the pure blissful intensity of your climax. Your core grips his fingers, clutching and spasming around him as he hauls you tightly to him and catches your lips in a savage and passionate kiss.

He’s between your legs before you’ve fully recovered, hooking your knee with his. His hands guide your hips in little rolls against him as he glides his cock that weeps with his arousal through your folds. The chill of him on your heated sex is decadent, bracing and sets your nerves aflame.

“Hells,” he purrs with a heavy breath, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. His voice is gentle, yet rough as sandpaper. “I will go slow. Tell me if it hurts or if you need to stop.”

“Make love to me, Astarion,” you murmur, kissing his chest, nipping his neck playfully, and letting your lips whisper up to the tapered point of his ear.

Astarion gasps, shuddering and curling his fingers into your hair. He eases in inch by delicious inch, slowly working you open. You let out a pained whine, and he stills, allowing your body time to adjust to his girth. Gods. The stretch is such a pleasurable kind of pain that you wrap your legs around him and plunge him into you, savouring the fullness.

“Shit,” he hisses, blinking slowly, looking into your eyes. “You feel divine wrapped around my cock, Kamena,” he pants darkly. “Fuck. I missed this.”

He thrusts, tender and sensual, almost painfully teasing in the measured pace. He rocks his hips into you, coming to his forearms and caging you beneath him, pressing himself into every curve of your body as if he cannot possibly get close enough. You sputter nonsensically, twisting your fingers into his silky silver curls. Astarion increases his tempo, and you buck your hips in time to meet his thrust. He presses kisses to your forehead, your cheek, and down your neck. You roll your head to the side in an offering.

He growls, unadulterated and wanton. His fangs sink into your neck. Your eyes snap open. Your hands grab the taut muscles of his side, and then the pain ebbs to an all-consuming ecstasy as you’re spiralling through his body and drizzling in his veins. Your skin prickles as you chase your release. Astarion’s hips stutter as your walls flutter around his hard length, and he moans, a sinfully heavenly rumble deep in his chest. Astarion’s pace becomes less measured and masterful, his movements frantic and hungry.

When you’re walking on the precipice of your orgasm, Astarion rests his forehead on yours. His face is twisted in pleasure, lips parted, taking heavy breaths with every snap of his hips. It’s a beautiful sight that brings tears to your eyes. Astarion purrs, “I love you.”

Fuck. That’s it. That is your undoing, and you crash into a blissful rapture so intense you’re sure that your heart skips several beats.

With one last plunging pump, Astarion joins you as your core is still in the throes of clenching and spasming, massaging him. You can feel his cock pulsing and twitching as he spills himself into you, “Gods above. Oh, f-fuck! Kamena!”

You wrap your arms around him and take his panting lips, dragging him into a ravaging kiss, pressing your sweat-slicked bodies together. Astarion rolls, somehow keeping his cock in you, catching you in his arms and pulling you atop him. You nuzzle your face into him, breathing in his scent. His chest rises and falls beneath you as he heaves a contented sigh.

“You are perfect,” he coos, pressing a kiss into your mussed-up hair and checking the bite on your neck. His breathing is as uneven as yours, “Every time.”

You lay there with him for a while - you’re not quite sure how long, while his hand skates up and down your back, and he hums comfortingly. You could stay like this forever, wrapped in his embrace, sheltered and shielded from your troubles and worries.

Eventually, after your heartbeat settles, you crane your neck to look at Astarion. He smiles at you with ardent love impassioned in the vibrant scarlet of his eyes, “Are you okay?”

Astarion chuckles and points to his temple, “Up here, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I am free, safe, and happy.” He sweeps some wild strands of your hair back and runs his fingers along your jaw, “I have you in my arms, in my bed and on my cock. It would be a most grievous understatement to say I am simply okay.”

“So vulgar!” You giggle, “Are all vampires so crude?”

“Oh yes,” he drawls, grinning devilishly. “It’s a well-loved pastime of ours. We often meet to exchange vulgarities to unleash upon the unsuspecting masses.”

“I would love to see you unleash some of those upon Gale,” You laugh, letting your fingers trace the defined muscles of his arm, “I wonder how red he would get.”

“Sweetheart,” he snickers, “Gale would positively expire on the spot if he heard some of the things that come out of my mouth. Even yours. You are not innocent, sorceress.” He leans close to your ear and gives you a playful jostle, “I’ve heard some delicious, sinfully indecent things from your very lovely lips.”

“I learned from the best,” you quip with a clever flare in her eye.

“Oh, as much as I would adore taking the credit,” he chuckles with a wicked grin. “I think you’ve always been an absolute freak.”

When you wake, you’re famished, and Astarion practically pushes you out of bed, grumbling about how your growling stomach annoyed him all night.

“You’re a vampire,” you retort, giggling at the look of annoyance scrunching up his face. “You don’t even need to trance.”

“Need and want,” he tuts, clicking his tongue, “are very different things. Now, get out of my bedroom and eat something.” Astarion’s lips quirk up, lop-sided and handsome. His curls are mussed, falling with reckless abandon. He winks, “I have some very depraved, hedonistic plans for you later. If you hope to keep up with me, you need your strength.”

Good Gods. You're already wet. Astarion chuckles as you roll your eyes and slink out of the bedroom. The remnant of your night together is still sticky between your thighs, and your skin prickles with the exhilaration of it all.

Astarion is here, in your bed, in your hands and in you.

“Good morning!” Gale greets you as soon as you step into the kitchen. “I trust you had a… good night?”

You hear Astarion’s loud laughter echoing through the manor and try to stifle your own.

Oh… shit.

“You could say that.” You feel the blush burning your cheeks.

Gale chuckles, sipping his tea while you shovel cut-up fruit into your mouth. The silence is a little awkward, and you’re not sure if participating in useless small talk will make it worse or better, so you opt to stay quiet.

There’s a tap on the door that makes you jump, “I’ll get it. Gale, are you expecting someone?”

“I don’t believe so.” Gale’s brows pinch, and then he smirks, “It’s likely a neighbour coming to make a noise complaint.”

You groan, feeling the heat erupt, rushing back to your face. The early morning sun dazzles you as it streams into the open doorway, blinding you momentarily. When you blink, you realize it’s not the sun that blinds you; it's the gleaming of the silver, metallic armour of the guards standing before you.

“That’s her!” Mr. Blackwell snarls from behind the City Watch guards. The noble is bruised and bleeding, with an eye swollen shut, his lip split and seeping, and a cheekbone that appears to be broken along with many of his teeth. “She’s the one who assaulted me!”

“No!” You gasp as the guards grab your arms, forcing them behind your back. “I didn’t do this!”

“Save it for the courts,” the guard drones, paying your protests no consideration as iron manacles snap shut around your wrists, biting into your skin with an uncomfortable pinch.

“Gale!” You shout over your shoulder as they drag you away. “Don’t let him do anything utterly fucking foolish!”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We are finally getting to the smutty goodness :)

And then Kamena is entirely ripped away from the promise of these depraved plans. I, for one, would kill Mr. Blackwell simply for that alone.

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #shadows of the past #astarion bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav #astarion spawn #spawn astarion

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cressthebest · 2 months

Text

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 8

chapter 14:

1. “"Obviously fish have brains. All living beings have brains," Regulus tells him. "Well, except for you."”

ADKDJKSJSKS i’m sure that’s another moment in which regulus wanted to look to sirius as if to say “are you seeing this shit?”

2. 😭😭😭😭 james why are you still figuring out you might have a knife kink?? i been knew since before the arena. plsssss

3. 😭💀 the rocks in jars story

4. 😧 james killed someone for reg. no hesitation. that’s gonna haunt him forever

5. oh god, the tenderness reg uses with james after james murdered someone. he’s so gentle and worried for him. this is gonna haunt them forever

6. in reference to james committing murder: “He has the disjointed thought that his parents must have seen that, as well as Sirius. The last people in the world who would judge him for it, and he still wonders what they're thinking.”

JESUS THAT IS HEARTBREAKING. the people he cares most about isn’t judging him cause they’ve done the same thing. it just hurts

7. god, and now they’re face to face with death eaters. i can’t do this shit anymore

8. 😟😧 oh no.

“James can safely say he doesn't have a knife kink. Blade kink. Sword kink. Any of that—he doesn't have it. No, it's just Regulus he likes, and anything to do with him. When Mulciber has a sword to his throat, it's not sexy at all.”

9. reg’s threats are so scary

10. knowing reg’s loyalty to kill for sirius is fucking wild. he would murder everyone in that arena if it meant keeping sirius safe. and sirius did the same for reg.

11. 😧 shocked. oh my god. jaw dropped. reg is just hacking at mulciber with a hatchet

12. ✨evan✨☺️🩷

13. whoop there it is. in reg’s mind, he mistakingly referred to james as his boyfriend. it’s downhill from here

14. oh god, james is using his “it was self defense and murder is grotesque and not always clean” speech that he used to give to sirius all the time. i wonder how often he’s had to tell that to himself in this arena

15. GOD NOT THE FUCKING BEAR TRAP- JFC CAN THEY HAVE ONE MOMENT IN THIS ARENA???

chapter 15:

1. reg called james baby ☺️🥰💞

2. “"Sirius, you're going send something to fix him, or so help me, when I get out of here, I'm going to rip all of your hair out right from the scalp until you're fucking bald."” LMAOOO REG IS SO PROTECTIVE OF HIS NOT BOYFREIND THATS GONNA HAVE TO DIE ANYWAYS. and he threatened to make sirius bald 😭😭😭

3. “"I like you," James declares cheerfully, and Evan winks at him.” EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP EVAN AND JAMES FRIENDSHIP

4. “Sometimes, healing is harder than being hurt.” godDAMMIT he’s right, and that cuts deep into my soul

5. reg and sirius are so like me fr in hating change. for them it’s the needing stability after a childhood of not having it, and for me, it’s autism.

6. reg is absolutely insane sounding and i’m 2000% on board for it

7. reg is willing to kill because they scarred james’ face but still says he hates every breath james takes. bitch. wtf do you mean you hate him? do you not get it yet?

8. 😐 bitch, yet another self indulgent moment that reg calls a parting gift

9. evan and reg team!! 🐈‍⬛🫱🏻‍🫲🏾🐍

10. comparing james to the sun >>>>>>>>>>

11. reg being the best seeker during hide and seek 👀

12. EVANNNN NOOOO

13. 😧 evan says he’s reg’s friend. shit i’m about to sob at one am as i’m writing this. and reg jsut lost the best friend he never got to have

14. god, reading from sirius’ pov now IS making me sob.

15. LMFAOOO I SHOULD NOT BE LAUGHING OVER THE BURNING TREE

16. shame on me for not realizing that the author of crimson rivers also wrote just lovers. i just realized that. like, while reading authors notes. i feel so fucking stupid rn

#james no longer has a knife kink #and they killed my favorite background character #i can’t do this anymore #marauders #regulus black #fanfic #james potter #jegulus #evan rosier #sunseeker #starchaser #sirius black #crimson rivers

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ladykailitha · 7 months

Text

Royal Pain Part 24

All righty, folks! Before we get to Steve, we have the band on tour and Eddie is really, really gonna go through it this chapter.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23

****

Once they were on the road and the euphoria of getting the job offer of a lifetime wore off, a sense of unease settled in Eddie’s gut. He knew he should feel excited. He was doing the one thing he always dreamed about doing ever since his mom gave him his first guitar. A sweet little acoustic that he had written “This Machine Slays Dragons”. He still had it, but right now it was safe with Wayne.

But he didn’t. He just felt empty. Not good or bad. Just...empty. Like a bottle leftover from some party. Once part of a good time, now just an empty shell.

Eddie looked over at his friends. Jeff and Brian were talking, while Gareth was asleep. He pulled out his sweetheart. The way he always did when he got down.

He closed his eyes and began to play. The chords where slow and mellow. He wasn’t sure how long he played like that, just pouring his soul out into his music, but when he opened his eyes he saw that all three of his friends were staring at him open-mouthed.

“Holy shit, dude,” Brian said after closing his mouth with audible click. “Where did that come from?”

Gareth waved a piece of paper in his hand. “I wrote down as much as I could, because seriously, that was fucking incredible.”

Eddie ducked his head and blushed. “I guess I just needed to work out some shit.”

Jeff and Brian shared a glance and then Brian moved over and sat next to him.

“I think I know what you mean,” he said. “And I think you should write the lyrics too.”

Eddie looked up at him and then at Jeff and Gareth. They nodded.

“I just don’t know,” he said. “It all feels too personal to write down.”

Jeff scoffed. “And that’s exactly why you should. Because it’s personal. There’s a damn good reason that you’ve written ninety percent of our songs, man.”

Gareth nodded. “Because you’re fucking brilliant at it. Write the song. I think everyone needs to hear it.”

Eddie nodded. He got right to work on the lyrics. Taking what Gareth had transcribed and reworking the song with the lyrics. He was nearly done by the time they stopped.

Brian patted his shoulder. “Hey, man. Don’t worry, we’ve got this. You continue working on your song. I’ll send someone to get you when it’s time for the sound check, okay?”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “You guys sure you don’t need an extra hand?”

Gareth laughed. “Fuck we need several, but don’t worry about yours. They’re doing the important part.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got this.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he was lost in his head working on the song, but he had just put down his pen when there came a knock on the door.

He got up to answer it and saw a small Hispanic woman standing out there. “Yeah?”

“It’s sound check time,” she said. “And the drummer said something about a set of headphones or something?”

Eddie looked around and spotted the sound-canceling headphones by the table. He picked them up. “I’ve got them. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

He closed the door but it hadn’t closed all the way because he heard her say, “God, what kind of loser wears noise canceling headphones to a metal concert.”

Eddie’s blood turned to ice. He picked up his guitar and carried it out of the bus.

Thankfully she wasn’t around otherwise he would have blown up at her.

He made his way through the labyrinth that was the backstage to get to where he needed to be for the sound check.

Gareth came running up to him. “Oh thank god! I thought I lost them already.”

Eddie scoffed. “Nope, just left them on the bus like a dork.”

Gareth stuck his tongue out at him.

Eddie got to work setting up for his kit. He was almost done when a sound guy came up to him.

“We’re having trouble syncing our sound to your drummer’s headset,” he told him. “Does he need them for this?”

“What’s the problem?” Eddie asked. “They didn’t have trouble in Indy.”

The guy sighed. “Our system is newer and it’s causing feedback.”

Eddie pulled out fifty bucks from his wallet. “Go buy a pair that works. And if that doesn’t cover it, I’ll pay you back.”

The guy just rolled his eyes and did as he was told.

They played that night to a sell out crowd. They were only opening for Metallica, but damn the crowd got them going. Afterwards he called Steve and chatted about their day. His day was more exciting to be sure, but he loved hearing about the client that passed out at the sight of the needle. Apparently they hadn’t realized that tattooing in involved the pesky things and had an absolute fear of them.

Then someone was tapping him on the shoulder telling him had to go. He said goodbye to Steve and was rushed out the door.

Even though they only had three shows in those two weeks, they were quickly learning that playing wasn’t the only thing a band had to do on the road.

There were parties, and talk and radio shows, and photo shoots, and signings.

Sometimes he would get to speak to Steve, but most of the time it was leaving voicemail after voicemail.

All around him he kept hearing:

“Three weeks isn’t a relationship! It’s a fling!”

“He’s not a fan of metal? What is he a fan of?”

James came up behind Eddie and clapped him on the back. “Everything okay back home?”

Eddie stared at his phone. He had just left his third message that day with Steve.

“Yeah,” he said, voice shaking a bit. “It’s just we were so new to the relationship part, we were friends before that, that I worry being on tour has hurt us in someway.

James nodded. “It’s hard being on the road, away from family. It’s why most of us take them with us when we can.”

Eddie chewed on his lip. “It’s hard because he has his own tattoo shop and recently took on two apprentices so he’s like super busy.”

James pursed his lips. “That can certainly make it hard. What time is he off?”

“Eight.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Instead of doing on encore tonight, why don’t you boys bow out and spend time talking to your families. It’ll be good for morale all around, I think.”

Eddie sighed gratefully. “Yeah. I’ll bring it up to them and see what they say.”

James squeezed his shoulder and went on his way.

“If the drummer doesn’t like noise why did he chose drums as an instrument?”

“A drummer that startles at loud noises? Get a new drummer!”

Lars paused them on their way to the sound check in Houston. “Hey, I know you guys are only doing a couple more shows, but after that fiasco with the Chicago guys me and the boys decided to spring for everyone to get a set of these.”

He handed the case to Eddie.

He opened it up to reveal little black earbuds. “What are these?”

“It’s what all touring artists wear,” Lars explained. “They’re fitted to cover the full inside of the earlobe to drown out the sounds around you so you can hear your own music.”

“Oh wow, that’s neat.” Eddie put one in and was amazed at the quality. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Lars grinned. “It’s mainly for your drummer. Everyone deserves accommodations for any kind of disability and if the loud noises bother him, it makes it hard for everyone else to concentrate because you guys are worried about him.”

Eddie smiled. “Thanks!”

“It’s a pity that tattoo will never be finished. I could give you the name of my artist if you want!”

“It’s a shame that your tattoo artist wasn’t good enough to finish the tattoo before you left, maybe you could get covered with something else. Something better than that.”

The band was admiring Eddie’s back tattoo.

“I’m really liking the details, man,” Kirk said.

Robert nodded. “Hell yeah. Who’s your artist? He does some really sick work.”

Eddie blushed, grateful his back was too them. “He’s my boyfriend, Stevie.”

“Damn, you’ll never have to pay for another tattoo ever again,” Lars said. “Lucky.”

Jeff laughed. “Nah, knowing Steve, he’d probably charge Eddie an extra mayhem tax.”

Kirk and Lars shared a look and then nodded unison.

“Fair,” the said together.

Eddie yelped, “Hey!”

He turned to Gareth and Brian, but they agreed with Jeff, too.

“And they said I’m the menace.”

“Ooh, honey, let me take you somewhere private. Your boyfriend will never know.”

“It’s a shame he’s gay, all the girls are just gaga for that doe-eyed look of his.”

Eddie turned down another request to share his hotel room. Never mind that he was sharing with all the other members of Corroded Coffin and wouldn’t have had any kind of privacy. Never mind he had a boyfriend back home. Never mind he was gay.

It didn’t seem to matter with these people. Hot rock star equals slut apparently.

“How the hell do you do it?” he asked James. “You have been married to the same woman for twenty five years and you still get women throwing themselves at you.”

“It’s hard,” James said with a shrug. “But she’s more important then any roll in the hay ever will be.”

Eddie nodded, pursing his lips. Steve was more important then any roll in the hay. He could hold on to that.

“I know he’s your friend, but maybe it’s time to get a touring drummer. He can still record with you or whatever. But he’s really holding the band back right now.”

Gareth isn’t just some guy. He was family. He wasn’t even Corroded Coffin’s first drummer that dubious honor went Kyle Creevy, a snot nosed, freckled kid whose arms were barely thicker than the drumsticks he played with. But he moved right before Eddie’s ninth grade year and Gareth just slid into their lives.

They may have been playing at the Nightmare Holes for seven years but the band been together for much longer than that. They had been playing for over a decade. And unless they had someone that could learn their music in mere months were Gareth had taken years...they could fuck off.

God, the members of Metallica had been playing together for forty years and the only change they’d made was when a member fucking died.

“That back tattoo of yours is really not a good look. It’s the biggest part and no one will ever see it.”

Eddie couldn’t make them understand the tattoo wasn’t meant to be seen, it was meant to be felt. To put to feeling growing up as a small town pariah and making it out. Not ending up in jail like his dad or dead like his mom. To be the Freak and turn it into something special. To finally find his wings.

Steve understood. God, he missed Steve so much and he felt like he was pulling away. It was like a rubber band being stretched. It might snap or might not, but whatever happened it would never be the same.

The members of the band’s team shooed these people away when it got to be too much for him.

“Fame and fortune wait for no man. It’s time to lose the dead weight.”

He came close to punching that guy. Some haughty agent they met in Houston.

It was thrilling to watch security throw him out.

“The long hair went out in the eighties, darling. I really think a half shaved look would be better for you.”

Eddie laughed at that last one straight in their face. Kirk fucking Hemmet still had long curly hair, they could fuck the fuck right off.

But then the tour was over. They were going home.

****

Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

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tamurilofrivendell · 4 months

Text

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 17

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth @0chemicalwaste0 @silvercobra @thesunschild777 @atlanticowe @whore-of-many-hot-men

Anarórë.

She had said your name. Your true name. You had always known it. With the name being wiped from the books of history entire, to keep you safe, lost to time and forgotten, Radagast had had no problems with telling you that was your name. But the wizard had made it so that, to you, it was second to Lothíriel. It was still not wise to go around introducing yourself that way to all and sundry just in case - it could never be known who the Enchantress' spies were. So it had become the name that you'd mostly just be called if you were in trouble. He only ever used it in moments of great need, most often when he pushed his call into your mind when you strayed too far away and he could not find you.

You had not told Luithien that name.

It hit you then, far in the deep recesses of your mind.

Luithien. It meant Enchantress in the Sindarin tongue.

Another cold chill ran up your spine and you felt a sense of dread gnawing in the pit of your stomach. You took another step back, eyes locked on the woman's face. "How do you know my name?"

She stood with her hand still outstretched, the corner of her eye twitching slightly when you did not immediately move towards her as she had commanded of you. Slowly, she lowered her hand, clasping both of them together in front of her. She looked you up and down very slowly, in a calculating sort of manner that seemed to make your very soul feel uneasy. When her gaze landed back on your face, her smirk returned. "You are a clever girl." She said softly. "You already know. Don't you?"

You swallowed hard, a lump in your throat. You felt suddenly trapped, cornered, a fawn before a wolf. Yes. You knew. You had walked right into her trap. She had been here the whole time, plotting, watching you. She had already made contact and you were too stupid to realise it. Her name! She had made it so obvious but you were too dense! Oh, how you cursed yourself!

The Enchantress.

"Come. Here." She said again, her voice louder this time, more commanding. Her smile had vanished.

This time you did move, taking a step back towards her, though your mind screamed against it. You felt as if you had no control, as if you could not stop yourself, as if you had to walk towards her. Your eyes widened at this, as you realised finally that she must have laid some spell upon you, that she had such powers of persuasion. You didn't realise that you were stronger than most, that you had already fought against it where usually she met no resistance.

She seemed to relax just slightly as you did as you were commanded. She decided that whatever grip you had kept on your own free will was surely overcome now by her own power. She was stronger. She felt satisfied in that knowledge. "Closer."

Another step, your eyes wide, your heart racing in your chest so fast it was a wonder you did not pass out at her feet. The knowledge that you had walked so dumbly into the very trap Radagast had spent his life protecting you from filled you with despair and anger and shame. How could you be so stupid?

As you stared up at the Enchantress, who somehow now seemed so tall that she was looming over you, her presence no longer comforting despite her pretty exterior, you thought about Thranduil. He flickered unbidden into your mind and it was almost as if the image of him snapped you out of something for a moment.

You blinked.

Your gaze shifted to the side slightly, across the room, to where a large black door stood ajar.

One more glance at the woman in front of you and then you turned and ran.

"Oh, for goodness sake, just get on here!" Radagast urged Feren, who was still having trouble with the horse he was attempting to mount.

The beast wanted to be anywhere but near him, it seemed. Feren was beginning to panic, not wanting his king to be too far away without him, not if there was a chance the Enchantress could come close again. If the girl was out there alone, she was an easy target. Nobody knew how long she had been gone from the palace! And Thranduil should not have run off alone like that!

He glanced at Radagast, looking like he'd rather not get on the back of the rabbit sleigh, but he was too intent on getting after Thranduil as quickly as possible so he gave in very rapidly and hurried towards the wizard and his impatient rabbits.

Just then, there was a commotion from up ahead, in the direction of the settlement. The thundering of hooves and voices crying out in the wind as they called out the name of the new rider who had appeared so suddenly from the trees.

"Ah!" Radagast's eyes lit up at the sight of the approaching figure, who eased his horse to a stop just beside the two.

Gandalf had come at last.

Gandalf looked down at Radagast from beneath his bushy brows as he sat upon his horse. "Something tells me I have arrived later than you expected." He mused, looking around, seeing nothing of The Elvenking and sensing that he was not there at all.

"As usual." Radagast muttered under his breath.

This was heard and quite easily ignored by Gandalf as he turned his attention back to the brown wizard. "Where is Thranduil?"

Thranduil, as it turned out, had made some progress already in the brief time since his departure. His horse was swift and knew its way through the forest well enough to know where to avoid the most twisted of roots.

The Elvenking was making for the clearing where he usually met you. He didn't know if you would even have been able to find your way from the palace back to where Radagast lived, where you'd grown up, but something inside him was screaming at him to go in that direction and so he listened to it.

Still, the longer he rode without seeing you simply lost under the trees, the more his anxiety began to grow. Something didn't feel right about any of this. How was it possible that you had gotten out of that room, out of his hall, and past the settlements without anybody seeing a thing? It did not make sense and the longer he went without seeing anything (you, a trail left behind, something) the more he began to get suspicious.

Surely not...

Surely she could not have gotten her hands on you. You had been safe in his realm, nobody could touch you, not even the Enchantress could get inside and he knew that. Right? Thranduil gritted his teeth as he spurred the horse faster, the poor animal going as quickly as it could go through the forest. A tree branch bit at his face but he barely even felt it.

He didn't like this one bit and the sooner he found you again, safe and well, the sooner he could relax.

"Come on." Gandalf's voice was gruff as he urged Feren and Radagast to hurry.

Feren had relented and gotten onto the back of the wizard's sleigh, uneasily holding on as the rabbits bounded through the forest. Gandalf was running alongside the sleigh on his great steed, which Radagast thought was quite something considering how fast the rabbits could go when they really wanted to.

"Your letter was rather vague." Gandalf stated. "Tell me exactly what has happened."

Feren held on, unsure how the wizards could carry on with a normal conversation while moving so quickly and haphazardly through the trees. The slight swaying of the sleigh was making him feel dizzy.

Radagast filled in the blanks that his letter to Gandalf had left out, the grey wizard's face growing more and more grim with each word uttered. This was not good.

The Enchantress.

Gandalf had actually started to believe that she had vanished from the world altogether. Scarcely had she been heard of or seen in the last few centuries, though of course his own mind had been elsewhere.

This situation troubled him. He had not been in Lindon that day but he knew the story well. He also knew Radagast had been hiding you all these years and for good reason.

His mouth set into a thin line as he pondered all of this information, thinking about how the Enchantress would seek to destroy not only you, but perhaps Thranduil himself as well, who was now alone somewhere up ahead of them, cut off and vulnerable.

"She has her Gandalf, I know it." Radagast said then, voicing what he had not said out loud to Thranduil when they all discovered you missing. But he could sense it, he could feel it in his bones. The Enchantress had you in her grasp.

"Then we'd better hurry." Gandalf said grimly, urging his horse faster as Radagast did the same with the rabbits. Feren squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #lotr fanfic #the hobbit fanfic #hobbit fanfic #sleeping beauty

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kitthepurplepotato · 4 months

Text

Chapter 12 - The boys who went through hell.

Summary: Eijirou is a good friend but even he has his limits. Izuku finally wakes up, but he’s not really himself.

Warnings: Swear words, arguments, a lot of crying and mentions of injuries. Mentions of mental issues.

For those who are waiting: In this chapter, we get to know what’s up with Izuku. The next chapter is still angsty but he’s alive and relatively well and that’s not gonna change, so I’ll leave it to you if you wanna start reading now or wait until Chapter 14 which is the official end of the angst. Chapter 14 is almost angst free and Chapter 13 ends on a positive note.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Is he alive?” Is all you say after your phone lights up with Eijirou’s name.

It has been a whole hour since the accident but Katsuki’s and Eijirou’s phone just went into voicemail after a few rings, both of them probably busy giving statements to the police and making sure Izuku is (hopefully) taken care of.

After a few seconds of silence, there is a quiet “yes” coming from the other side. You can’t help but start crying again, even though you’ve literally just stopped 2 minutes ago.

You called Izuku’s mom right away. You tried your best to stay strong for her and it drained all your energy, even if it was only a 5 minutes long conversation because thankfully, All Might was with her so your phone call ended up with him trying to soothe your troubled soul instead of the other way around.

Your mind is a mess. There are no thoughts, just… emptiness. This is how being in shock might feel like, there isn’t any other explanation for it.

“He’s… alive… but… Y/N, you must stay strong. He’s… fuck.” Eijirou’s voice wavers. “We can’t see him until tomorrow. They need to do a lot of surgeries… his arms… they are broken. Shattered. The explosion… isn’t at fault. The building. When he was young he… broke his arms too many times….” Eijirou mutters, not even able to make full sentences, just little bits and bobs, trying to give you as much information as he can but failing with the interpretation so much you can barely understand a single word. “They don’t… know if he’ll be able to do hero work. They said this might be the end of his career. If the surgery succeeds, he might have a chance but he’ll need to stop completely for… months.”

“Ei, that’s not important right now.” You try your best to sound confident, but your voice can’t stop shaking. “What about his chest? His heart?”

“All good.” A new voice takes over. You have no idea who this is. “He lost a lot of blood but otherwise, he’s fine. It will leave a scar and it will take a while to completely heal as we used up all his stamina to save his right hand. Oh, I’m Kenji, the doctor assigned for his case. I asked Red Riot and Dynamight to try and relax but they aren’t listening.”

“Fuck you and your stupid fluffy blanket, Kenji.” Katsuki’s voice comes from the background and you can’t help but laugh in between two sobs.

“So as I said, we used up all his stamina to heal his right hand but both of his arms were injured quite a few times when he was young due to his quirk being too strong for his body hence why he was advised to keep them out of harm’s way to avoid any complications. Needless to say, this was the last straw for those poor, severely battered bones. Even though we healed it he won’t be able to lift anything for a while. He should be fine with everyday things but nothing else. He will need to start from the beginning and go to rehabilitation, but I do believe if someone can make it out of this, it’s him. I’ll send a note over with all the information you might need to support him. I’m sorry I can’t let you see him as we had to start with the surgeries as soon as we can, we also need to do some magic on his chest to make the pain more bearable, so… yeah. It’s going to be a long journey, but he’ll live.”

“That’s amazing, thank you.” You cry, finally able to breathe properly.

“I’m keeping these two for another 30 minutes then they’ll go straight to you. You have amazing friends, by the way, they couldn’t stop talking about you since they came in.”

“She ain’t my friend.” Katsuki grumbles in the background. “She’s… fucking family.”

“Oh, Katsuki…” You burst into tears again. “Can I talk to him? Please?”

“One minute. That’s it.” Kenji mutters and gives the phone to the grumpy blond.

“Oi, the fuck do you want?” He grumbles into the device, his voice shaking with every syllable.

“I love you too.”

“Fuck you, you asshole!” There is a sob on the other end and the phone goes silent.

~•🥦•~

It takes the two another hour to make it back to Izuku’s flat. Katsuki’s eyes are red and swollen and he does his best to avoid any kind of eye contact as he plops down right next to you on the sofa, leaning into you like a grumpy kid in need of attention. Eijirou only sighs, eyes just as red as his partner’s but somehow, more put-together in general; he makes a beeline for All Meowth’s little castle in the corner and starts petting the usually grumpy animal like his life depends on it.

“The list is not the problem, Deku is. He will… not be the same when he comes back.”

“Can we not have this conversation right now? We just came back. I want to chill.” Katsuki retorts angrily. You can’t help but gawk at him for using such a rude tone but this is not your fight so you let them talk this out.

Eijirou ignores his rudeness and concentrates on you instead. Nevermind then.

“We should make some food for tomorrow. I think they’ll let him come home in the morning. Kenji said he’ll be in a wheelchair for the first two or three days because of his chest injury. It will sting like hell every time he moves. Let’s make sure there is enough space in the flat for him to move around, maybe we should move some things… can we sleep in your room, Y/N?” Eijirou does not sit down; he’s walking around aimlessly, his mind clearly in a frenzy.

“Eijirou, sit down…” you are just about to retort but Katsuki jumps into your words.

“I ain’t gonna cook. We can fucking order. I saw my best friend almost die on the…”

Katsuki can’t finish the sentence. Something snaps in Eijirou and it’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. His face is hardened on the edges, his skin is red from anger, he looks downright manic as he starts to yell.

“Your best friend?! Really?! Oh, I’m so fucking sorry, princess, would you like a fucking cup of tea, you selfish little prick?! I was there too, you know! I was the one getting his broken body out of the rumble while you sat on the fucking floor doing nothing, yet you didn’t even ask how I’m feeling! He’s not just your best friend! He’s mine, too! I felt just as miserable as you, yet I tried to be there for you and you can’t even move your fucking ass to make Katsudon for him! I can’t even close my eyes without seeing his dead fucking eyes and his head lolling in my arms lifelessly, thank you fucking much for asking!” Eijirou takes a deep breath, his legs shaking so much he can’t help but fall down to the floor. “Doesn’t fucking matter. Let’s just sit around and be sorry for ourselves. That will fucking help.” He mumbles between two sobs.

“I’ll… make Katsudon.” You mutter, trying your best to leave the two alone as soon as you can because whatever this was about, you have nothing to do with this.

“Let’s make it together. I… I’ll get the original recipe from Auntie.” For your surprise, Katsuki looks… extremely embarrassed, like a kid caught in the middle of mischief. There are fresh tears in his eyes, his cheeks dusted red, but his voice is weirdly even, like he’s been slapped out of his stupor and now he’s back to his usual self but more relaxed, more pliant. He touches the top of Eijirou’s head in a silent apology as he sneaks past him, but doesn’t do anything else and he also ushers you into the kitchen, forcing you to leave the redhead alone. After a few minutes of silence you can hear him standing up from the floor. He starts rearranging the living room, his actions followed by quiet sniffles and murmurs.

“Is he…?”

“He’ll come around. He gets scary as hell when he’s angry. If I would have tried to talk to him he would’ve beaten me to a pulp. He rarely gets mad but when he does, you better run.” Katsuki mutters, still looking at his phone, probably memorizing the recipe written in the reply. “Let’s get this shit done then I’ll talk to him when we go to sleep.”

“Are you not mad at him for talking to you like that?” You look at the blond, completely stunned.

“Why would I? He was right. I was being extremely self-centered and ungrateful. He deserved better.”

“I’m glad you know that.” Suddenly, Eijirou appears in the door, leaning on the wall lazily that he didn’t just have a complete meltdown mere minutes ago.

“I’m not fifteen anymore, I know when I fuck up.” Katsuki grumbles back and instead of an answer, Eijirou just bumps his fist into the blond’s arm in a friendly gesture and goes back to rearranging the flat, leaving you two alone to finish the food preparations.

These two are certainly something else.

~•🥦•~

“You can come in now. I need to finish some of his paperwork but he’ll be able to leave in a few minutes.” Kenji smiles at the five of you sitting in the waiting room. Inko and All Might are also here. “I must warn you, he’s… not in the best mood. Please take everything he says with a pinch of salt.”

You pale completely from his words. You’ve seen Izuku in a lot of different moods but this one doesn’t sound like him at all. He can’t serious… right?

~•🥦•~

“Why is she here?”

Your stomach churns from the sight in front of you. Izuku’s almost completely covered from his neck to his hips with bandages, one arm in a sling while the other just lays motionless on the bed, his fists clenched weakly as he stares at Katsuki and ignores everyone else. His eyebrows are scrunched together, his gaze angry, almost maniacally so, mouth tightened into a thin line. It feels like Katsuki is the biggest traitor in the world even though he literally did nothing to deserve such a treatment.

There is real terror in your eyes when you realize you don’t know this man laying on the bed. His face and his behavior is the exact opposite of your beloved’s, brash and rude, almost insensitive.

“The fuck do you mean, why? She’s your girlfriend!”

“Yeah, and she’s quirkless and you just danced around the whole city with her when we have a villain group literally after our biggest weaknesses!” Izuku yells back, flabbergasted, completely ignoring you sniffling in the background. Eijirou puts his arm around you and pulls you closer and you can’t stop yourself from burying your face into his chest, completely heartbroken.

“Midoriya-shounen. Y/N is safe. These boys didn’t leave her side since the accident.” All Might speaks up in a calm tone. “Don’t talk to them like that. Would you be able to sit at home in this situation? I don’t think so.”

“I’m really done with everyone yelling at me. Fucking sorry I exist, honestly.”

“Katsuki…” Kirishima tries to warn him but Katsuki doesn’t back down.

“You can be an asshole and tell me off for bringing her here but here’s the fucking truth: the villains have no fucking reason to fuck around with any of us anymore as I’m quite sure they proved their point by making the number one hero incapacitated.” Katsuki sneers while Eijirou pulls you even closer, knowing how hard this situation must be for you.

“I’ll bring Y/N home. Right now.” The redhead gives Izuku a side eye. “Actually, I’ll just ask Auntie Inko to take her away for a while.”

“I’m more than happy to take her in.” Inko speaks up between two sobs, clearly disappointed in his son’s behavior, even though she can’t hide how worried she is for her boy.

“No!” Izuku finally snaps back to his old self, his eyes the size of saucers as he sees you moving towards Inko, completely heartbroken. “Please…”

“Let’s give these two a moment then.” Eijirou sighs. This is the second time in the last 24 hours when you are utterly shocked by Red Riot’s forever changing personality. It’s like he knows what works with who, like a chameleon changing his colors to blend into their surroundings. You can’t help but respect that about him. Clearly, Eijirou is the one that keeps their friend group together, who helps everyone out in need, who’s always by everyone’s side even if his efforts are not appreciated. He’s amazing, honestly.

When the group leaves the room, Izuku moves one of his fingers in a silent plead for you to come closer and needles to say, you shuffle closer without a single retort.

“Sweets, I… I’m not okay.” Izuku bursts out crying just as you put your hand over his broken one. Izuku tries to bury his face into your chest but seeing the pain in his eyes makes you realize he can’t even move towards you without being in utter agony, so with tears streaming down your face you sit closer and move towards him, even if the position is extremely uncomfortable for you.

“I know, love. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” You mumble, your fingers raking through his messy hair gently, in case there is an injury you don’t know about around the back of his head.

You feel miserable but also… weirdly happy. Izuku is clearly not okay, he’s hurt in more ways than it’s visible for the naked eye but he still wants you around, he doesn’t want you to leave and that means a world to you.

“I… want to be alone. But I also want you to be around. I know it’s selfish, but…”

“It’s okay.” You mumble before Izuku can finish his sentence. “Whatever you need, baby. We will get through this. I promise.”

“I love you so much, you don’t understand.” Izuku whispers. “I’m sorry - I know you hate to hear that but I need to say it anyway.”

“Say that to Katsuki, honeybun.” You sigh, your lips leaving tiny kisses on the top of Izuku’s head. “He got told off by Eijirou yesterday. It was downright cruel. Then you yelled at him today, again. He feels really bad about freezing completely while you got hurt. He feels like it’s his fault.”

“He froze?” Izuku tries to look up at you but he winces from the pain right away. You really want to help him and it’s extremely frustrating that there is nothing you can do.

“Yeah, he just collapsed on the floor, unable to move. Eijirou pulled you out of the rumbles alone and brought you both back to the safe zone. You don’t need to talk to him right now, but in the future… don’t forget to apologize, okay?”

“Okay.” Izuku sighs. “Go home with them, okay? I’ll ask mom to bring me home. I just… want to talk to All Might. He…”

You can’t help but smile.

“He told me in the waiting room. I know everything. Just rest, okay? See you at home.” You jump off the bed but Izuku pulls you back for a proper, deep kiss that tastes kind of stale but it’s still sweet nonetheless.

Life might not be easy for you two right now but there isn’t a single obstacle you two can’t overcome together. Love is silly like that. It makes you to be able to do things you wouldn’t be able to do alone. And if the amount of love you two feel towards each other is any indication, even this mess will eventually clear out and one day, maybe a bit later in the future, you’ll be able to see pro hero Deku again, confident and victorious as he looks down at the handcuffed villains by his foot. It’s going to be a long journey, but…

“Until you are by my side I know I can do anything.” Izuku mutters into your mouth before he finally lets you go.

… yeah, exactly that.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato Ramble:

- Okay, so the next chapter will also have some angst in it but it will be nothing compared to the main angst so it’s only up from here. Also, I don’t think there’s gonna be any more angst after Chapter 13 except one scene later in the future, but that will be a short one and much milder so I’m sorry guys for all the angst but I had this planned since the beginning and it’s important for the story. One more chapter and the fluff is back! I swear!

- Kenji means “to be in good health”. I wanted to give the guy a name that works for his quirk, in the good old Horikoshi way.

- I’ll probably write the Kenji’s list down for you guys but this chapter is already too long so it will be in the next chapter!

- Izuku’s wheelchair will be a high tech one; instead of spinning the wheels he can just use a little joystick to move around because he’s hands are obviously fucked. It can also go up and down to make it easier for him to go to bed for instance. One of its arms is also retractable so he can literally just flop out of it. Random info.

- I can’t wait to be done with these chapters. Honestly, they break my heart but I’m actually quite proud of them.

- Send me your thoughts, please! I also need the support! 😂💜

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x you #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #pro hero deku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 1 year

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| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC Ellie Williams x platonic!fem!OC | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 62.1k (as of Chapter 12) | CONTENT: explicit sexual content (later chapters), PTSD, allusions to sewer slide and self-harm, grief, typical canon violence, 🔥 SLOW. BURN. VERY SLOW BURN. 🔥 | SYNOPSIS: You are Jackson’s Community Coordinator amongst other things pertaining to getting newcomers settled into the community. Your work is cut out for you when Joel and Ellie return from their travels and are now under your wing. Will you manage to integrate them into Jackson and add to your growing list of success stories or will their arrival only stir up ghosts from the past and leave you lost? Spoiler: It’s the ghosts from the past option, but maybe Joel can help.

|| | main masterlist | ||

"𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝."

― Wɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ Bʟᴀᴋᴇ

Ch 1 - If the Moon Smiled Ch 2 - The Hedgehog's Dilemma Ch 3 - Let's Meet Again for the First Time Ch 4 - A Suffering Soul Develops a Taste for Misfortune Ch 5 - Clever As the Devil and Twice As Pretty Ch 6 - Old Things Have Strange Hungers Ch 7 - Try To Be Gentle with Me When You Are Ripping Me Apart Ch 8 - The Ghosts of the Past Speak To All Who Will Listen Ch 9 - And If I'm Dead To You, Why Are You At the Wake? Ch 10 - Exit Seraphim and Satan's Men Ch 11 - And When Her Halo Broke, She Carved the Two Halves into Horns Ch 12 - Madness and Sanity. Hell and Paradise.

Ch 13 - coming soon Ch 14 - coming soon Ch 15 - coming soon Ch 16 - coming soon Ch 17 - coming soon Ch 18- coming soon Ch 19 - coming soon Ch 20 - coming soon

#fic: Endless Night #EnNi #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader

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flowerandblood · 6 months

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The Man with the Cold Lips

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the King about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive − she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.

She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.

About Vhagar.

He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her − however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?

She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the Prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.

He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide − the King would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.

However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?

She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.

She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.

Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.

She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.

She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.

"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed.

Only a few years ago she would have believed his words.

She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.

They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.

"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking.

If he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.

She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she stepped into her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.

She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.

As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly; she heard the door to her chamber open − Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.

She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.

She could see nothing but blackness.

She heard the sound of steel hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.

She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.

She felt the touch of his big hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.

She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open − she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.

"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.

She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.

"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin − it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.

She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair − she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.

"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.

He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs − she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.

"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over. She heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek − she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the bud hidden between her folds.

All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.

"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist − his tongue ran over her upper lip as his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."

She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate rocking, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.

She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her swollen slit, thrusting forcefully inside her.

She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her − he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.

They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core − this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.

"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.

She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.

"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.

"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he slammed his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back − she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.

"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts − she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.

"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.

"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words − she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling − they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.

She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.

"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.

Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.

"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.

His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.

Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.

He always rose before dawn − she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.

She feared, however, what she would see.

All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.

When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.

She was his.

He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the King, he would end their lives.

"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.

"Mmm."

When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.

She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.

He didn't need to say anything − she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.

"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger − she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.

He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.

"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.

"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now − they had to wait until night fell, like every day.

"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly − she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"

She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak − she felt her walls clench hungrily on her fingers, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again. She heard him gasp with satisfaction as he saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.

"− mine −"

That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.

"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"

Her question hung in the air as if in the void; she felt his body freeze − for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.

Silence.

Long, cruel, cold.

"Yes."

She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.

"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief − she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.

"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat − his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.

He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.

"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"

After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.

That they would really get married.

She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him − her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.

That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.

She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.

He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.

A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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violetriorsons · 6 months

Text

—in a world alone (we're all alone);

a collection of missing moments based on xaden's letters to violet. // pre-FW; iron flame spoilers.

part one.

“sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying garrick during threshing. she says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but i think i just reminded her of my grandfather.” — chapter 12 (iron flame).

.::.

The number one objective: don't die today.

It's proven to be a shockingly easy goal over the last few hours. A quick glance at the sun in the sky tells Xaden it's the start of the afternoon, and the biggest problem he's faced since Threshing started at nine this morning is the uncharacteristically strong heat for the beginning of October.

It's unsettling — he knows damn well that Fen Riorson's son is at the top of the hit lists of a number of cadets in his year (and the other years, for that matter). And he also knows Threshing is the best opportunity any of them are going to get to finally settle any bets.

It's why when his year dispersed this morning, Xaden had made a point to move in the opposite direction than Garrick and Masen. The target on his back is too big today to risk his only friends.

But so far, it seems his worries were for nothing. The few cadets he's come across over the last four or so hours have paid him nothing more than a wary glare, clearly far more interested in finding their dragons than wasting time trying to run a sword through him.

The dragons Xaden has passed by have also ignored him, both to his relief and mild dismay. The jitters in his chest persist, but for new reasons.

For months, the most common and accepted rhetoric he's heard spread throughout the quadrant is that no self-respecting dragon would go through the disgrace of bonding a marked one. That there's nothing worthy in the children of the people who had threatened the safety of human- and dragonkind all over Navarre.

Up until now, Xaden hadn't let himself dwell on the theory. His priority was keeping himself, his friends, and the rest of the marked ones in his year alive (a feat he's already fumbled, twice). But now, walking through the disturbingly quiet forest, there's no escaping the nauseating fear that everyone was right.

If he'd had the choice, Xaden thinks he might've gone into infantry to honor his father's wishes. He hadn't had the time to figure out for himself what he'd wanted to do with his life before fate and the lost Battle of Aretia had written his destiny for him. Before he knew it, the apostasy had come and tragically gone, and he was suddenly saddled with a hundred and seven souls to keep out of Malek's all-too greedy hands.

Three years ago, Xaden had brokered a deal with General Sorrengail to keep the orphans of his father's allies alive. He knows his father would've abhorred the agreement, but the man had also taught him well about making tough decisions. And making it through the riders' quadrant was their only shot at survival.

But now he's dreading that he might've sentenced them all to a worse fate: if the dragons aren't interested in bonding them, they'll all be doomed to relive their first year in the riders' quadrant over and over until Malek finally decides to collect his due.

Xaden hears the crackling of dragonfire in the near distance— too near for his liking. He quickens his steps as he searches around him in vain for any spot of blue.

Unlike Garrick this morning, Xaden did have a certain dragon from Presentation on his mind. An enormous, navy Blue Daggertail that had left him stunned when he saw it near the end of his deadly stroll yesterday.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he'd first caught sight of it, and had Garrick not given him a shove from behind, he's sure that he would've ended up a pile of ashes for daring to look a dragon in the eye for as long as he did.

It was an honest mistake. Xaden had felt something shift inside of him when he locked eyes with the beast, a sharp thrill that lingered long after the first-year cadets had all retreated to their bunks for the night.

Though judging by the icy narrowing of the dragon's eyes as it stared back at him, he thinks maybe the feeling was not mutual.

The thought is reinforced by the fact that he hasn't caught a single hint of her presence anywhere this morning. Idly, Xaden wonders if perhaps the Daggertail had picked another cadet at the start of Threshing, and his mood begins to sour.

But before he can linger any longer on his newfound worries, he hears a familiar shout nearby that has his stomach dropping.

It's Garrick.

All thoughts of the Blue Daggertail are forgotten as Xaden races in the direction of the shout.

The number one objective: don't die today. It goes for himself and especially for his best friend.

Xaden may or may not bond a dragon today. But if nothing else, he'll gladly spend the rest of the day making damn sure his friends make it out of this forest alive.

The shouting continues as he approaches, and Xaden recognizes the voice of Garrick's opponent just before they both come into view.

Prince Alic.

Xaden should've seen this one coming. He'd been too concerned about the target on his own back to consider that his friends have also made enemies in the quadrant all on their own.

The limp-dick, sorry excuse of a prince had wasted no time trying to assert dominance in the quadrant after crossing the Parapet this summer. He's been a terror to most, the Riorson son included, but Alic has had it out for Garrick since he lost to him during assessment week on the mat.

And apparently, he's decided Threshing is the perfect setting to enact his revenge.

Garrick's one of the best in their year when it comes to sparring, but the royal training the asswipe of a prince has under his belt makes him more than a worthy adversary. And though Xaden would be willing to bet that Alic snuck up on Garrick, any matters of honor and dirty tactics don't matter much if Alic makes it out of this forest with Garrick's head in the end.

Rage waves over Xaden and he barely manages to wrangle it back under control so he can slow his steps and assess the situation from a distance.

So far, Garrick seems to be holding his own well enough.

Xaden wavers, unsure of whether to step in or let his friend prove himself to any dragon who may be paying attention.

"I'm betting the prince loses his head."

The unfamiliar, feminine voice startles him out of focus from the fight. He hadn't noticed the giant shadow under his feet that now blankets his immediate area, and when he twists around to look for the source of the voice he finds himself face to face with the navy Blue Daggertail he'd been seeking all morning.

"Holy shit," he curses without thinking, and he just barely stops himself from scrambling backward. Dragons typically don't respond well to cowardice, and he doubts this particular one is any exception.

Her size had been daunting during Presentation, but having her right in front of him now, with her head lowered to his eye level and a bit too close for comfort, it dawns on him what a monstrosity of a creature she is — especially compared to the other dragons he's come across in the field today.

Suddenly, Xaden can't remember exactly why he'd been searching for her in the first place. Does he have a death wish?

The dragon's head moves forward, and Xaden locks his knees in place as she gives him a quick sniff at his chest before lightly blowing steam in his face through her nostrils.

"There's something very familiar about you." Her voice echoes in his head again, and his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage as she stays in his personal space and continues her perusal of him.

Xaden arches an eyebrow. Familiar? "Yeah, we kinda met at Presentation..." His joke falls flat, but he pushes forward. "I'm Xaden —" He stops short of saying his last name, and his earlier fear surges back with a vengeance.

Despite all it's cost him, Xaden has never been at odds with the war his father had started. Their country was corrupt, rotten to the core, and the price Xaden has been made to pay for his father's actions has only strengthened his belief in Fen Riorson's cause.

But would the dragon agree with that?

"Riorson," the dragon finishes for him, rather absentmindedly — uninterested, even — as she sniffs at his hair. She says nothing more, all her focus on her odd inspection of him, and some of Xaden's nerves give way to confusion.

Is it a good sign that this dragon is currently covering his leathers in snot?

As if in response, the dragon chuffs. "Better that than being charred by dragonfire, I would think."

Xaden's eyes widen in return. Did she hear his thoughts?

"Very true," he breathes. He tenses again, keeping quiet as he awaits judgment from the dragon he'd spent all night thinking about.

With no warning, the dragon lifts a claw and swipes it over the upper left side of Xaden's face, too quick for him to see it coming. The claw breaks the skin deep over his brow, nicking the eyelid he'd managed to close out of pure instinct, and digging through the top of his cheek.

"Fuck," he swears without thinking, instinctively lifting a hand to his eyebrow. His fingers come back bloody.

"There," the dragon says, sounding satisfied as she lowers her head to his level again. "Now I see it."

"Interesting word choice after almost taking my fucking eye out." He can't help himself from expressing his disdain as he works to keep the blood from seeping into his eye. "What do you see?"

"I'd given your grandfather a similar scar during his Threshing. It'd been accident then."

Surprise quells the anger. His brows knit together, the movement making the sting from his new wound worse. "You knew my grandfather?" He didn't even know his grandfather. From either side of the family.

"He came before you. But he didn't make it out of the quadrant." Her words are matter-of-fact, but there's an undertone of sadness that has Xaden believing she feels the loss far deeper than he ever could.

"I'm sorry...," he trails off, not sure how he's supposed to address her. He wipes more blood away from his brow before it gets in his eye.

"Sgaeyl," she offers distractedly, her eyes moving beyond him, to the sword fight still being waged in the tiny clearing behind him. "I said the prince would lose his head today. Why don't you go prove me right?"

Xaden turns back around and tenses, cursing himself for forgetting about Garrick.

Blood is now flowing from Garrick's left shoulder but he's paying it no mind as he raises his sword up to block Alic's attempt to slice Garrick's right arm off. As the two swords clash, Alic gets in a sloppy, but effective kick to the side of Garrick's calf that has him going down.

Garrick manages to twist his body last-minute to land on his side and avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. But the maneuver has his wounded shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

Xaden's moving toward them before he even realizes it, silently drawing his own sword as he approaches. His heart is hammering again as he watches Alic raise his weapon to take the final strike.

Xaden sword is quicker, and he runs it through Alic's back, deep enough that it reappears through his abdomen. Alic's response is a garbled groan, and Xaden lifts his foot to kick the prince off his sword.

Alic falls forward, the force of Xaden's kick sending him face-first towards the ground — right where Garrick is lying.

Garrick rolls out of the way just as Alic hits the dirt. His eyes meet Xaden's with a flash of gratitude as he works to get himself up.

Xaden waits to make sure his best friend is good before turning his attention back to the dying prince, who's working mightily to get up onto his knees.

"You're a... worthless piece... of shit, son of a... traitor..." Alic's rambles are out of breath as he continues to bleed out on the ground.

Xaden hears the dragon grumble behind him, and he can feel the wordless expectation emanating from her as she waits impatiently for him to follow her earlier command. He spares a quick glance at Garrick again, who's retrieved his sword but is distracted by the dragon who's stepped out from the trees and into view.

"Sorry I butted in," Xaden tells Garrick with a sheepish grin. "But I've been asked for his head." He tilts his head in the dragon's direction as means of explanation. Garrick's eyes widen, but he chooses to stay silent in the presence of the dragon, giving Xaden a firm nod instead.

Before he can think too hard about it, Xaden swipes his sword through the neck of the still-rambling royal. The man's head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Xaden works to keep his breakfast down.

Though not his first kill, it is the first time he's ever decapitated someone. It turns his stomach in the worst way, even as he feels a small twinge of satisfaction in getting to behead one of King Tauri's sons.

Perhaps he's not quite as monstrous as he's come to feel over the last few months — yet.

He's still got a dragon to impress, so he forces down the nausea, compartmentalizes any horror he may feel over adding to his body count, and bends down to retrieve the severed head by its hair.

He turns toward the dragon and tosses the head at her feet, making sure to keep his eyes off the ground and on hers the entire time.

She chuffs in what seems like approval. "Ruthless."

A heady rush of pride sweeps through him, giving him confidence as he admits to her, almost accusingly, "I've been looking for you all morning." Her earlier words about his grandfather finally sink in.

He came before you.

She'd chosen him. And now she's choosing Xaden.

She lets out another chuff. "I woke late. And I refuse to skip breakfast, even for Threshing."

Xaden smiles, glancing behind him to see that Garrick has disappeared. His smile wavers, and he worries over the wound in his friend's arm. Will he be okay to keep dragon-seeking?

"You care a lot for him. And for the others." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Xaden answers anyway. He forces down the trepidation over letting her in on his secrets.

The marked ones and Aretia are who he's dedicated his life to, and there's no point in trying to hide it from her. She needs to know who she's choosing, and what he'll be continuing to fight for. And all the types of monsters he's willing to fight against.

"You carry scars for the ones you're devoted to," she notes. "And now you'll carry one for me as well."

The reminder of the wound on his brow cuts through the adrenaline enough for him to feel the sting again. But her words erase any lingering resentment he may have felt over the scratch.

She steps forward. "Get on my back. The cadet you saved will be just fine, and your other friend has already been chosen. There's no point in spending any more time around here tempting the cadets who'd love to take your own head off your shoulders."

Xaden exhales in relief at the news about Masen, and decides to trust her certainty that Garrick will make it just fine on his own.

He hesitates for just a second, calculating the best strategy to make it up her leg. The gauntlet didn't quite prepare him as well for a dragon of her size. It's a challenge, but he makes it up to her back, avoiding the spikes at her neck, and reaches the divot with only minor embarrassment.

"Didn't you practice?" she chastises him, but her tone is light.

"Of course I did." He rolls his eyes. "But you're huge."

She chuffs. "Wait until you see my mate. You'll see who's the real monstrosity of a creature."

Xaden lifts a brow, fighting the discomfort of her knowing what he had been thinking earlier. "Is that always...?" He trails off, not sure how to phrase the question.

She scoffs. "Get used to it, cadet. I know everything about you. I always will." It almost sounds like a threat.

He nods, mostly to himself, knowing he'll just need time to adjust to it.

As a means of distraction, the dragon formally introduces herself. But she also launches into the sky as she does so, and her words are lost to the wind whooshing past Xaden's ears as he directs his focus on staying seated as she flies high above the trees.

He remembers her earlier introduction, though — her name is Sgaeyl. She's a navy Blue Daggertail, once bonded to his grandfather.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago of his mother rises to the surface. She'd told him once that her father had entered the riders' quadrant while she was a baby. She never got to meet him.

"Dragons aren't allowed to bond direct descendants of their previous riders," Xaden notes lightly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling that comes from remembering his mother.

Sgaeyl stays silent, and Xaden interprets it to mean that she has little care for any rule that may stand in the way of what she wants. And what she wants at the moment is him.

"I could go mad," he continues absentmindedly. Judging from the excited flip his stomach just did at the thought of being wanted by this dragon, he may already be half-way there.

"You won't go mad," Sgaeyl asserts.

He arches his wounded brow. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I chose you," she scoffs.

He grins at the arrogance, but his chest fills with pride. And anticipation, as he sees the flight field getting nearer in the distance.

Soon, they'll be landing in the field. Soon, he'll be walking up the dais to look the roll keeper and General Sorrengail in the eye and announce the name of his new dragon — and relish in the shocked faces of Commandant Panchek, Captain Fitzgibbons, Colonel Aetos, and anyone else who doubted that a dragon would choose Fen Riorson's son — or any marked one.

Sgaeyl knows everything about him. And she chose him.

Xaden Riorson is officially a rider.

#xaden riorson #sgaeyl #xaden and sgaeyl #fourth wing #iron flame #fourth wing fic #empyrean fic #this really got away from me oops #it's way longer than i thought it would be #lina scribbles

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