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marvel-snape-writes · 4 months

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To Be Alone With You.

Snape x original female character

18+ fluff and smut

5k+ words

Severus Snape and Eleanor's relationship has blossomed over the past months, though due to their working schedules, they often find it hard to share more than just a sneaky kiss here and there whilst at Hogwarts. With this being the case, they decide a weekend away in a cabin where some of those earliest memories were made may just be the best setting to make up for lost time... (please also note that although Eleanor is the same name as the female characters in the other one shots, the stories do not follow on! Just the same name because I seem incapable of thinking of another... 😂)

((the gif reflects the bad weather outside the cabin I guess😭😂)

Their fingers laced together like the roots of the trees beneath them, fallen twigs from the branches above snapping as they walked over them. The ground was damp, but they walked the already trodden path through the wooded area.

“We spoke too soon about the weather.” She looked up at him as the grey clouds turned even more ominous.

“I think we have a good fifteen minutes before the heavens open.” Severus glanced up at the sky before down at her, shrugging.

“And about… twenty minutes before we get back to the cabin?” She laughed, squeezing his hand gently.

“I could always…” He gestured toward his wand, arching a brow.

“What, and deprive me from potentially seeing you in a wet shirt?” She pouted her lips playfully, still looking up at him.

“Well, I could make it rain, but who would purposefully want that?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“You’d be surprised.” She winked, crinkling her nose.

Her eyes moved from looking up at Severus to the path in front of them, walking in comfortable silence. Memories came back to her of the days not that long ago when they would take their walks here as often as possible for an excuse to see each other without the crowds or watchful eyes of Hogwarts. Glancing to her left, she saw the tree where they stood upon sharing their first kiss, blushing like mad, hands trembling, a nervous laugh after. Since then, it had become place they had coined as theirs.

Through spring to summer, autumn to winter, whether it be flowers blooming or snow falling, they had walked the same path for the last few months. Though the days of sneaking around Hogwarts and kisses in dark alcoves sworn to secrecy were pretty much behind them, they still weren't overly open about their fooling around or affections toward one another in front of people who weren't in their close-knit circle. That being the case, the woods offered them not only nostalgia from their early days, but also comforting privacy.

“Oh, god!” Eleanor looked up at the sky again when she felt it begin to drizzle.

“Are you sure you don't want me to clear the sky?” Severus asked, placing his hand over his wand again.

“I just think you're worried that you’ll get beaten in our race back to the cabin…” Eleanor giggled, nudging his side playfully.

“What race back to the cabin?” Severus squinted his eyes.

“This one!” She exclaimed as the drops of rain grew larger and began to fall at a faster rate.

Eleanor giggled loudly as they ran through the woods, each step creating a splashing sound as their boots hit the muddy surface. The rain continued to pour and soaked them down to their skin, feeling now as if the way back to the cabin was endless.

“Ha!” She grinned, turning to him out of breath as she pushed the wooden door open.

Severus opened his mouth to say something but remained in the doorway instead - only this time, he was hunched over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were shut briefly before his gaze fixed to the floor, panting.

“Winner gets a kiss.” Eleanor walked closer to him with the grin still on her face.

Severus’ gaze lifted from the floor and met hers, a glaring expression on his face as he finally caught his breath enough to speak, “I don't recall making any agreement.”

“I recall you promising not to be grumpy.” Eleanor rolled her eyes, standing with her hands upon her hips.

“I don't believe I would ever make such an… unrealistic promise.” Severus stood up straight.

“Sev…” She pouted, narrowing her eyebrows.

“Hm?” He scowled as their eyes met again. Eleanor exhaled slowly as she focused on his expression, watching in amusement as his serious face broke, speaking with a smile, “Of course you can have a kiss, my love.”

Eleanor’s cheeks blushed as Severus cupped her face in his hands, pressing his smile against hers as they shared a kiss. She placed her hands against his wet shirt and kissed him back, leaning up on her tiptoes.

“Mm, thank you, Professor.” She winked as the kiss broke.

“You’re soaked through, let me get you something dry.” Severus said before walking in the direction of the bedroom and waving his wand toward the open fire to set it alight in the process.

“Hang on!” Eleanor called as he pushed the bedroom door open.

“Something the matter?” He arched a brow as he leaned against the doorway, facing her again.

“No, no,” She shook her head, biting her lip with a grin as she looked toward him. Her eyes took their time whilst gazing upon the rain-wet shirt that was clung to his body, trying not to smirk, “Just saving that image.”

Severus rolled his eyes playfully and shook his head, turning to walk into the bedroom again. Eleanor remained in front of the fire and removed her wet clothing, draping it over the closest piece of furniture to the fire in an attempt of drying it.

“I…” He began to speak as he walked into the room, stopping in his tracks when he saw her stood in her underwear and being mesmerised by what stood before him as if he hadn't had that exact same body in his arms last night. Eleanor hadn't heard his reentry into the room again and remained with her back to him as she stood in front of the fire, much to his relief, “It would appear we only brought one change of clothes, apparently… so you can wear my shirt. A dry one!” He swallowed hard, “Obviously…”

“I suppose we both assumed we wouldn't be wearing much during our time here…” Eleanor spoke with a grin as she turned around.

“Mm…” Severus’ lip twitched from the memory of the previous night as he stepped forward, handing her the shirt.

“Thank you,” She smiled softly as she took it from him, “Nice robe.” She said as her eyes scanned over the silky material that was upon his body.

“It’s nice to be in something dry.” He chucked.

“You’re telling me!” Eleanor giggled, unclasping her bra and placing it in front of the fire with the other items of clothing before pulling his shirt on and fastening a few of the buttons.

“Would you like me to get a towel for your hair?” He asked, laughing as he spoke again, “I think we could both do with it, actually.”

“Good idea!” She giggled, walking into the kitchen once he made his way back into the bedroom.

The rain was still beating against the windows, one of which were still on the latch. Eleanor hopped up onto one of the kitchen counter to reach it, carefully closing it as the merciless rain continued to pound on the glass.

“Ah, you’re in here.” Severus spoke as he stepped into the kitchen before asking in a slightly amused tone, “What do you think you’re doing up there, hm?”

“Just closing the window.” She smiled as she turned back around.

“It’s really not stopping out there, is it?” He sighed, rubbing the towel against his hair before handing it to her as he stepped closer.

“Not one bit,” She shook her head, taking the towel from him appreciatively, “But outside doesn't matter when we've got this right here, does it?” She arched a brow, looking around the cabin with a devilish grin.

“I like where this is going…” Severus licked his lips slowly, watching as she attempted at drying her hair with the towel.

“Oh, you do, Professor?” She smirked, about to hop off the kitchen counter before Severus stepped further forward, preventing her from getting down.

“Stay there,” He spoke softly, placing his hands against the counter at either side of her as he dipped his head, speaking before a kiss, “It’s perfect.”

Eleanor leaned back on her arms for a few moments as he leaned over her, though only staying in that position for a short while before sitting back up again and snaking her arms around his neck, wanting them to be closer to each other. The kiss began to deepen, though before it got too deep, Severus pulled back. Eleanor opened her heavy eyes to watch him, her lips parting also when he took a couple of steps back and placed one of her calves against his shoulder. He turned his head to the side and allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he created a pathway of kisses from her inner calf all the way down to her inner thigh.

“O—Oh…” She sighed softly from the feeling — aware of Severus’ smirk when he noticed her breathing getting heavier the higher up his lips travelled.

His feather-light kisses continued against her inner thigh until his nose was met with the bottom of the shirt - his shirt - that she was wearing. He heard her softly gasp when he pulled back all together, however not for long as it was only moments later that he had her other leg upon his shoulder. He silently praised how well she held herself in such a position - one of her legs on each of his shoulders at this point. His lips gently dragged along the skin on the opposite leg from before, then trading his lips for the tip of his tongue once he got to her thigh. After a short while, he began to take it in turn with either leg, turning his head each way as he peppered tender kisses up and down them both and savouring each patch of skin as if not to take a single inch for granted. His eyes opened briefly to capture her reaction: leaned back on her hands, head barely even upright as she allowed soft whimpers to pass through her partially open lips.

“Mm, Sev…” She cooed, wanting to place her hand on his head but afraid she would lose her balance in her current position, “S-Severus, please…” She tried to nudge her hips closer to the edge of the kitchen counter each time Severus’ lips reached the higher end of her inner thigh.

“I’m afraid not, my love.” He shook his head, keeping his face close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her.

“But, why?” Her question was more of a whine, now desperate for more contact from the Professor.

“I’m sure you were brought up to know better than to make a mess in the kitchen.” He teased, his smirk now even more prominent against her sensitive skin.

“Whoever made up that silly rule clearly never experienced your unshaven face between their thighs…” She bit her lip, letting out a soft noise when she felt him purposefully brush his stubble against her skin as he lifted his head back up.

He arched a brow as their eyes met again, carefully placing her legs down against the counter again and looked at her with an innocent smile whilst trying to play dumb, “Hm?”

“Come back here.” She narrowed her eyebrows.

“Was that a command?” Severus cocked his head, leaning a little closer.

“If that's what it takes to get another kiss…” She pouted her lips, “Yes.”

“You know what happens when you look at me like that, Miss Eleanor,” His tone lowered and eyes glanced down at her lips briefly, their faces now a lot closer, “And when you tell me what to do.”

“Come… fucking… here…” She placed one of her hands against his cheek, pressing their lips together.

“Now, now…” He tried his best not to smirk this time, “Gentle.”

“It’s been too long to be gentle…” She whined against his lips, her thumb trembling over his cheek, “Aside from last night...”

“But we must…” He paused briefly to kiss her, moving one of his hands to the small of her back and bringing her closer to the edge of the counter, whispering “…pace ourselves, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted to say something before being met with his again, willingly wrapping her legs around him and placing her hands upon his neck. Severus lifted her smoothly off the counter and into the middle of the kitchen with his arms securely around her, their kisses getting harder with each step. By the time they had reached the doorway separating the kitchen and the living room, Eleanor's nails were soothingly scratching against the sides of his neck, knowing the effect this had on him.

Their eyes were closed, but the fire could be felt against them through the minimal clothing they were wearing to indicate how far into the room they were. Eleanor could feel his shivers each time her nails made contact with his skin, lightly nipping at his bottom lips between her teeth. Severus carefully placed her feet back on the ground when he felt his arms begin to tremble around her as a result of her nails running against his skin and placed his hands on the small of her back again, desperate for the kiss not to be broken. Eleanor’s hands moved to the material of the robe he was wearing and down to the fastening tie around it, resting her hands there as their tongues tangled together. Severus murmured something into her mouth as his sweating hands trembled against his shirt she was wearing, now able to feel the swelling between his legs.

“It’s your turn to show me you can pace yourself…” She whispered against his lips, breaking the kiss.

“Wh…” Severus began to say as his eyes opened, seeing Eleanor now on her knees in front of him with her hands still on the tie of his robe.

“You heard.” She smiled sweetly.

Severus swallowed hard, his lip twitching as his gaze moved to Eleanor’s hands as she unfastened his robe. Eleanor’s mouth fell open, watching in awe as his erection bounded out of his robe, parting between the material like Moses and the Red Sea. She leaned up a little further and placed her hands upon his upper thighs, licking her lips as her eyes settled on the tip of his cock.

“E-El… fuuuck…” He exhaled his words heavily as she enveloped her lips around the head of his length.

Eleanor suckled gently, not breaking eye contact with him for even a moment from the second she had got on her knees and knowing how this drove him all the more wild. She began to ease more of him into her mouth, slowly beginning to bob her head back and forth at a very steady pace. Somehow, Severus’ hands found themselves tangled in her hair, his head tipped forward for a few long moments until his eyes gave up; shutting them in pleasure as his head tilted backwards instead. He was not grasping at her hair or guiding her head, more soothingly moving his trembling fingertips against her scalp as they tangled in her hair and enjoying whatever pace she pleased. His breathing was heavy but his moans were gentle and in the rhythm of her head.

“Mm.. mm…” Eleanor murmured against him, teasing her tongue every now and then as she moved her head.

“E-Eleanor, sweetheart…” Severus narrowed his eyebrows, feeling himself falling under the spell of her mouth already, “Allow me to please you.”

Eleanor paused for a moment, pulling him out of her mouth completely before gazing up at him with an innocent expression, “Sev, there is nothing else I have craved more than your weight on top of me, but, please, let me worship your cock for a little while.”

“Mm, go ahead, Princess,” Severus nodded, after a few moments of shocked silence swallowing hard, “How can one say no to that, hm?” He let out a breathy chuckle.

Eleanor pushed him back into her mouth again after his words and massaged her tongue against the underside each time she moved her head back and forth. Severus’ hands moved behind him when he felt the tip of Eleanor’s tongue brushing under the head of his cock with a little more pressure than the rest. Several moans passed through his lips, leaning back against the arm of one of the sofas with his hands gripping onto it until his fingertips turned white. He fought the urge to move his hips in sync with Eleanor, content with the rhythm she had built already as his head remained hung back.

“Y-You are so good to me, baby,” He gasped as his cock pulsed, “That feels incredible…” His breath caught in his throat, trying his best to concentrate on the rain still pelting against the windows of the cabin so he wouldn't allow himself to give in to the pleasure too quickly, “Y-You’re such a good girl, agh…” He inhaled sharply, feeling his thighs beginning to tremble.

“I’ve been dreaming of giving you a good ‘welcome home’,” Eleanor grinned, pressing a few light kisses to the tip of his length as she pulled her head back, “With my mouth.”

“You bloody minx,” Severus lifted his head as he spoke, and he was even a little bit thankful that she had stopped devouring him with her mouth as it was so long since they had been alone like this until this weekend that he wasn't entirely sure if he could take any more of her foreplay, “Come up here to me,” He paused to soften his tone, ensuring it didn’t come across as a command, “Please.”

Eleanor began to get up, her eyes on his as she watched him lower himself, placing both of his hands on her cheeks as he gently pushed her back to her knees. Their lips pressed together desperately but tenderly, Eleanor’s hands now upon his shoulders as her face remained cupped in his, “Meet in the middle,” He smiled against her lips, “I couldn't wait any longer.”

“Pathetic.” She joked against his lips, teasingly denying him a couple of kisses.

“Don't push your luck.” He spoke in that tone; the one that sent her head spinning.

It wasn't long before the passionate kisses on their knees turned into Severus hovering his body over her, both of them keen to be horizontal as quickly as possible. Severus’ quick thinking of comfort lead him to reach for one of the blankets on the couch nearest to them, ensuring it would be laid out for Eleanor before her back touched the floor. Though the cabin was cozy and warm - especially as they lay in front of the open fire - it didn't make the floor any softer.

Eleanor laid completely flat on the floor and pulled him down with her, her arms now around him and her legs parted as an invitation for him to settle between. Severus’ thumbs repeatedly caressed her cheekbones, tongues tangling as their breathing became heavier when she felt his arousal prodding against her lower stomach. Quickly, she pushed his robe off him completely and he swiftly unbuttoned his shirt that she was wearing, dropping it to the side and resulting in them both being completely in the nude.

“Ugh, I want you…” Severus groaned against her lips as she laid back completely again, weakly pulling at her bottom lip, “Badly.” He emphasised, letting out a heavy breath against her lips.

“Take what's yours, Sev…” Eleanor whispered, tracing her nails down his back until they landed on his bottom.

Eleanor’s words made him shiver from head to toe and he slotted himself between her legs perfectly, melting into one another in one, effortless motion. The two of them met the motion with a moan, encapsulating it into a kiss as their lips touched again. Her hands against his bottom urged for him to start moving his hips, whimpering against his lips when he began.

“Oh, baby…” He spoke breathlessly between kisses, trying to brush her hair out of her face as his hips continued to move, his own beginning to fall over his already sweaty forehead, “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I have missed you so much.”

“Show me…” She could barely speak from the pleasure surging through her, trying to kiss him properly as their bodies moved together.

Severus broke the kiss and instead dipped his head to the side of her neck, planting kisses upon the sensitive skin with each thrust. Eleanor’s back arched in pleasure, tilting her head to the side to allow Severus’ kisses to continue with ease. One of her hands slid up his spine with her nails before delving into the hair at the nape of his neck and hooking her legs around him at the same time. Her shaking hands grasped clumsily at his hair as his lips settled at the crook of her neck, latching onto the skin this time and suckling gently as his hips continued to move.

“Ugh, Sev… Severus…” She moaned out her words, raising herself off the ground even more when she felt his tongue flicking against the same patch of skin followed by a cool breeze of air from his lips.

“Mhmm…?” Severus lifted his head, hazy eyed as he gazed down at her, “Are you okay, my darling?” He asked, and she couldn't remember ever hearing his tone so soft.

“Mm… wonderful.” She nodded and smiled contently with her eyes still closed, though opening them when she felt his eyes on hers.

“You’re beautiful,” He blurted out, hissing through his teeth briefly as his thrusts drove the pleasure for both of them, “H-Have you ever been told?”

“Shh…” Eleanor blushed - well, as much as she could blush with her already flushed cheeks, “Sex really brings out the soppiness in you.” She teased, biting her lip as she continued to gaze into his eyes.

“No, you,” He shook his head, cupping her face in both of his hands as he moved their faces closer together, “You bring out the truth in me.”

Eleanor grinned as the gap between them closed once more, one hand grasping a fistful of his hair and the other trembling up and down his back. Despite their lips being attached, it didn't stop the moans leaving their mouthes over and over again. Eleanor could feel his cock pulse with each thrust, his gasps each time only driving her more wild. The pleasure began to bubble up in her body, tightening her legs around him as she whimpered his name into his mouth.

“Severus, baby, ugh!” She shouted in pleasure, arching her back like before but also squeezing her legs around him simultaneously this time.

“O-Oh, I'm going to c…” Severus lost his breath as he felt his length twitch madly, his thumbs now trembling over her cheeks as he continued to cup her face in order to kiss her properly, “E-Eleanor!”

“Don't hold back…” Eleanor whispered shakily against his lips, “P-Promise me you won't hold back, Severus… I- I’m almost…”

Both of them struggled to form full words at this point, let alone sentences. The heat within the cabin coming from the open fire mixed with the heat between their bodies had caused the windows to steam, drips of condensation dripping down now and then. Their bodies moved together like they were made for one another; meeting repeatedly in increasing but still merciful thrusts and motions. Everything began to synchronise; the breaths they took, their moans between, their movements, the rise and fall of their chests and their heartbeats within it.

It was only moments later that their breathing changed, now holding onto each other tightly as they gave in to the overwhelming amount of pleasure that eventually erupted from them both - each caused just as much by the other. Despite the sounds of the crackling of the fire or the rain still beating against the window, it was nothing compared to the blissful noises of ecstasy coming from both Snape and Eleanor as they rode out their orgasms together, still tightly holding on to one another as if a bond they never wished to be broken and a feeling they never wanted to end.

The two of them writhed against each other in pleasure, trying to make it last as long as possible until they eventually collapsed into a panting heap on the floor. Eleanor stretched her arms up above her head, attempting to catch her breath in between the sweet kisses Severus was dotting against her forehead. He felt her hands leave his body and moved his own to meet hers, lacing their fingers together.

“Everything alright, my love?” He asked, moving one of his hands to brush her hair out of her face.

Eleanor nodded with a breathy giggle, “Everything aside from you regularly making me have to catch my breath.”

“You flatter me far too much.” Severus chuckled, squeezing her hand gently.

They laid there for a long while, breathing in each other’s afterglow musk and trying to get their breathing back to normal, also. Severus rested his forehead against Eleanor’s collarbone and closed his eyes — it was sticky with sweat, and the blazing open fire didn't help the case, but she didn't mind. In fact, she was flattered that one of the most famously grumpy men at Hogwarts felt comfortable enough to hold himself in this position, or, more to the point, that he was allowing himself to be held. Completely vulnerable.

After their lazy, worn out cuddle in front of the fire, and once they had gathered themselves enough energy to put a robe on each, they found themselves back in front of the fire, though, on the couch this time. The weather was still wild outside, but they paid it no mind. Severus was in one of the corners of the couch and Eleanor was snuggled up at the side of him, arm across his body and cheek against his shoulder.

“We have to stop having so much time apart.” Eleanor spoke softly with a quiet sigh, “Not that I don't think this weekend has somewhat made up for it.”

“I know…” Severus kissed the top of her head, “Fooling around in dingy, dark archways and sneaking a kiss between classes not doing it for you anymore, hm?” He teased.

“Oh, no, no,” She pushed open his robe and began drawing patterns against his bare chest with her finger as she gazed up at him, “Please don't stop that.”

“You are so bad.” He let out a singular laugh, winking as he looked back down at her.

“We’ll just not leave it so long next time.” Eleanor shrugged, knowing how difficult that would be with him being a Professor and herself only just starting as a Professor, but smiling at him confidently.

“Please do not think I do not enjoy the… sneaking around whilst we are within the grounds of Hogwarts, it is quite the opposite and I even confess I find it… particularly dangerous and arousing,” He swallowed hard, playing with the ends of her hair between his fingertips, “But… this, you know? Just to be alone with you… that is when I am at my happiest.”

“Sev…” Eleanor’s cheeks turned an impressive deep red and she hid her face against his chest, grinning madly, “This is not the Severus that scolds his students for not having their school shirt tucked in.”

“Look at me,” He tried not to react to her words, waiting for their eyes to meet again before he continued, “This is Severus, this is Professor Snape, this is me… happy. Because of you.”

Eleanor remained quiet for a few moments, taking in all that he had said before she responded, “You really mean it?”

‘Don’t you dare question the words of your Professor. Who do you think you are? Do you know who you are talking to?’Would have been his usual response. Eleanor, however…

“Over the last few months that we have spent time together, you have reignited something within me that I had long thought had been burned out for good,” He cupped her cheek in his large hand, lightly brushing his thumb against her plump lips, “Think of it like this; if you were wanting to create something you once remember enjoying the feeling of or something sacred, deeply personal… but think this is somewhat impossible, you also begin to believe that the ingredients are also impossible. Whether that be a feeling or potion and its components, say a hair, feather, or a flower. You have become, to me, almost as precious to me as that of a rare flower.”

“Severus…” She pressed a gentle kiss to his thumb, “All I can say is… the feeling is mutual. Very, very mutual.” She grinned, tilting her head up and kissing him softly.

“Eleanor, I want you in ways I did not even know existed.” He spoke sincerely against her lips, his eyes falling shut as he kissed her back.

“Take me, have me,” She spoke in between kisses, “In any way you please, Severus.”

“Oh, do not forget my age,” He teased, laughing against her lips, “My stamina is not what it used to be.”

“Severus!” She gasped with a loud giggle, playfully prodding his chest as the kiss broke, and joking, “No complaints from me, old man.”

Severus didn't respond this time. Instead, he let out a content sigh, leaning forward to kiss her forehead and pulling back with a genuine smile. His lips remained pressed together and Eleanor laid her cheek back against his chest, both of them enjoying the comfortable silence with the pitter patter of rain in the background.

“Are you okay?” She asked in a kind tone, squeezing her arm around him.

“Absolutely fine, darling,” Severus nodded, nuzzling his nose against her hair before pressing several kisses to the top of her head. There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again, “I’m afraid I’m falling in love with you.” He said cooly with a shocked, singular laugh from his own words.

“Y…” Eleanor lifted her head again, lips parted in shock, though also threatening a wide smile, “You’re what?”

“Sorry, allow me to… say that how I intended,” He exhaled quietly, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers as he spoke in a soft, sincere tone, “I’m afraid. I am falling in love with you.”

Thank you for reading! This is my first soft Snape that I've written, so I was a little nervous 😬😂

Tags! ♥️

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(I'll tag everyone else in the comments! Please note: I tagged as many as Tumblr would allow, please don't take it personally if you're not tagged, it wouldn't let me tag some ☹️🫶)

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lanitalay · 6 months

Text

Before I Say Goodnight

Introduction

Reader insert ACOTAR fanfic, pairing tbd

Premise: 21st century fem!reader gets transported to the world of ACOTAR after a freak incident.

warnings: none, maybe a lil angsty

A/n: Hello! This is my first fic and an idea I have been wanting to see portrayed for a while. As of now the pairing could literally be anyone but personally I am partial to Eris or Cassian. Let me know if there are any tropes you'd like to see. I wanna make this a fun space so enjoy!!

Other chapters

It was colder than you had expected it to be. The Highlands were known for being cold and rainy but since summer began you had half hoped half prayed for a warm sunny day. The skies were obstructed by heavy looking clouds. It would rain soon and the end of the hike was nowhere in sight. Maybe this is why people shouldn't travel alone, you thought as thunder roared from above. If I was with someone I'm sure they would have checked the weather. But this was why you'd flown half way across the world by yourself. "I want to get lost in new cities" you had said to your parents who never thought this was a good idea to begin with. "I want to explore the world" how hopeful you were when it was just an idea. Now though, now you had to find shelter unless you wanted to get soaked. "This is so not worth it" you grumbled to yourself while looking around for some type of cover. There hadn't been a trace of civilization for a few hours now and according to the map the lodge was still a few miles away. Groaning, you go off the path and into the thick forest hoping to find a tree, a cave, a cabin, anything that could protect you from the weather. You walk in a straight line, careful not to get lost. Lightning strikes and thunder rattles you as you start to increase your pace a bit. The forest is dark and the wind sounds like a voice telling you to run. Run. Run. You start to jog a little, constantly looking back to make sure the path is still visible. To your horror, thick fog has rolled in from the mountains making it impossible to see more that twenty feet in front of you. Shit. Shit. Shit. You hadn't prepared for this. Hiking was always something you enjoyed, but you had no real survival skills. Other than a bit of information gleaned from your grandparents' stories or survival reality shows. I should stay here. That was the logical thing to do, avoid getting even more lost, once the fog clears make your way back. But another gust of wind urged you. Run. Run. Run. You looked around but there was nothing, absolutely nothing there except the trees, the wind and the ever encroaching rain. Nothing, not even an animal, not even an insect. Fuck. With a jump you start running in the opposite direction of the path. Something is wrong. Something feels off and wrong and you need to get away. There's a clearing coming up and a bit of sun is slipping through the break in the forest canopy. You stop dead in your tracks as you take in what's in front of you. Boulders the size of refrigerators are lined up in what seemed to be a perfectly symmetrical circle. Chills climb up your back. You walk slowly towards it, careful not to touch anything. The space feels sacred here. As you get closer you see that there are smaller and smaller boulders until they become tiny little rocks lined up exactly the same. Sweat runs cold. They seem to circle around nothing. In the center is a small round patch of grass lined with small mushrooms. Run. Run. Run. You don't know where to go, being here feels wrong but there seems to be an invisible wall that won't let you run back to the forest. The only way out was through. You walked slowly, as if someone was surveilling you, waiting, hoping for you to mess up. Avoiding any branches or roots that might make you trip, you get to the patch of grass. Thunder roared all around you. It shook the whole forest and left a ringing in your ears. Stepping over the mushrooms you place you right foot first and then the left. Only the floor is gone and you're falling. Falling. Falling. There's an immense pressure all around you, it feels like you're being pushed by the darkness itself and you're falling.

Just as it started it's over.

Shaking, you try to take a breath. What the fuck just happened? It's the only thing you can think. You take another breath and look up from the ground you just fell on. It's the forest. You realize you are lying in the middle of the same clearing. Well, it looks like the forest except the boulders and rocks are gone, the space barren. I'm gonna throw up. Run. Run. Run. You try to get up and manage to stand on wobbly legs as you feel for any injuries from the fall. There's no blood anywhere and the only pain seems to be the growing headache from trying to grasp what's happening. Then you hear them. Steps. Someone or something is close. You take off running back to where the path should be not willing to risk getting attacked by an animal. You're panting as you run and you look back for a second to make sure no one is chasing you when you run straight into a tree and blackness takes over.

You wince as you open your eyes and feel the thumping pain coming from your forehead, you touch it and feel a lump forming. Great. The fire crackles beside you and you freeze. Looking to the side you are terrified in place as you see an ethereal looking man with long red hair and a scar down his face looking back at you. "Hello", his tone is bored. "Who are you and what are you doing in this court?" You open your mouth to answer but close it again as you look closer. His ears are pointed and his eye seems to be mechanical. I've got to be hallucinating. Uncertain, you answer "I'm y/n and I have no idea where I am or how I got here." Did I eat one of those mushrooms? This has to be the worst trip ever. You swallow and more quietly say "Am I in danger?" He pokes at the fire and says "I'm not going to hurt you, but this isn't a safe place for a human". "What's your name?" he sighs, like he's tired of answering that question.

"Lucien".

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #azriel shadowsinger #cassian #rhysand #reader insert #x reader #agnst #fanfic #fairy #fae #sjmaasuniverse

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chxrrylime · 9 months

Text

❝ float on. ❞

Sorry I died again. Here's this.

Price x Alex x M!Reader ↪ 1626 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male submissive Price, cis male dominant reader, cis male dominant Alex, first time subspace, unsafe sex, oral sex, rimming, anal sex, begging, handjobs, fingering, facefucking, crying, blindfolds, and undernegotiated kink.

Price is sat on the edge of the small bed, shoulders slouched, elbows on his knees and head hung low. He feels light and heavy all at once, body weighted down by the eternal ache in his muscles, head floating up above the clouds like static focus.

He’s foggy, letting himself drift as he listens to the sounds of his partners moving about the room, cleaning up his messes—you were always cleaning up after him.

Not twenty minutes ago you’d urged him out of what gear hadn’t been returned to the armory, guiding him into the shower and scrubbing him clean. Washing away the dirt and dried blood. Clipping his fingernails, scrubbing the grime that remained from beneath them. Trimming his knotted and overgrown beard back to its presentable shape.

It wasn’t often he got like this. Loose, and pliant. It was something you’d tried to explain to him in the past, that hazy feeling. He might’ve laughed at you then. He doesn’t remember.

When he opens his tired eyes, it’s in response to the gentle hand he feels settle on the back of his neck, lightly scratching the strands there, making his skin buzz. His gaze settles hazily on the strip of black cloth in your other hand, eyes squinting in speculation.

There’s another hand on his knee, giving a light squeeze.

“How’re we doing?” Alex asks, voice quiet, like anything louder might pierce the static waves bouncing around Price’s mind.

“Mm, dunno,” Price murmurs, humming contentedly as you nuzzle beneath his chin. He bares his throat to give you better access, head lulling back as you begin to kiss and suck at the sensitive skin of his neck, “pent up…”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

You glance down to watch Alex’s hand slide up Price’s thigh, slipping over the half-hard bulge, massaging the Captain through his sweats and earning a hearty groan.

“Alex—” Price moans softly, silenced by the blonds lips, a slow and hungry wet kiss as Price gently rolls his hips up into Alex’s strong hand.

“Let us take care of you,” you say against his skin, trailing kisses down his neck, over his collarbones, lapping teasingly at his nipple before taking the pert bud into your mouth, suckling, admiring the choked noise Price makes, his chest jutting out against the stimulation.

Price fumbles for the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs you up for a kiss, panting and licking greedily into your mouth.

When you pull back, you hold up the blindfold, Price lazily locking eyes on it with furrowed brows.

“Trust us?” You ask, cupping his cheek with your free hand. Alex has moved his hand back to Price’s thigh, giving him space to think. Price’s eyelids flutter, swallowing thickly before he gives a shaky nod.

“Y-yeah,” he says, and then again, firmer, “yeah, alright.”

You’re gentle tying the fabric, only pulling it taut to make sure it sits snug. You notice out of the corner of your eye how Price’s hand scrambles to settle over Alex’s, squeezing his fingers as his vision’s taken from him. Alex upturns his palm, squeezing back.

“Gonna undress you, then get you laid back, alright?”

“Keep yer hands on me,” Price whispers, so faint you almost don’t hear it, “don’ go quiet.”

“Anything, baby,” you smile, even though he can’t see it.

You and Alex both carefully undress Price, sliding off his sweats and boxers, then slowly maneuver him back onto the bed, passively narrating each step as you go, making sure Price’s head is propped up properly, another pillow shoved under his lower back.

“Fuck,” Price breathes out, fingers clenching in the bedsheets as you all finally settle, you between his spread legs, thumbs rubbing circles on each of his narrow hips, and Alex kneeling to Price’s left, up by his head.

“Alright?”

“I…” Price begins, voice raspy. He swallows again, before giving a slight nod. He realizes only moments later you and Alex are waiting for him to say more, “never… felt like this.”

“Too much?” Alex asks, running his fingers through Price’s hair, still slightly damp from the shower.

“S’a lot,” he responds honestly, “but I’m… I’m good. Feel… outta body.”

“Still wanna play?” You hum, spreading your fingers over his meaty thighs to squeeze the supple flesh.

“Fuck, yeah,” he groans, and you smirk at the slight twitch his cock gives as your nails rake through his pubes.

You make brief eye contact with Alex, who gives you a slight nod.

You waste little time, letting spit pool on your tongue before letting it dribble down onto Price’s cock, slicking the hot flesh as you take him in hand, lowering onto your stomach. Alex takes Price’s legs, holding him by the ankles to give you better access, making Price jolt and moan as he’s spread open for your tongue, lapping greedily at his furled rim.

You spear your tongue into his hole, stretching him around the wet muscle, occasionally moving up to suckle at his taint or nose at his balls, feeling how his thick cock pulses and twitches in your hand on each tightened upstroke.

Alex lowers Price’s legs back down, his calves coming to rest on your shoulders as you shuffle back up. Price makes a noise dangerously akin to a whimper at the loss of your hand on his prick, the sound muffled by Alex’s lips as he leans down to tongue fuck his mouth.

You dribble lube onto your fingers, rubbing them together to heat the cool gel before pressing two digits into his tight ass. Alex swallows down Price’s moan, one hand gripped in the short cropped hair while the other holds Price’s jaw tight.

Price’s own hands scrabble, unable to see and unsure entirely what he’s reaching for, alternating from the sheets to the pillows to Alex’s thighs and arms and head.

You watch how Price’s hole sucks your fingers in, winking greedily around the digits, your focus only shifting when you hear a hiccup, looking up suddenly to see tears streaking from beneath the blindfold, dampening the already dark fabric as they trail down and get trapped in his beard.

Alex has paused his assault, meer inches from Price’s face as the tight grip in the Captain’s hair turns to soft petting.

Alex coos, shushing Price, kissing the older man’s cheekbones.

“Please,” Price chokes, his thighs shaking as he rocks down onto your fingers. His cock is swollen and angry red, leaking precum like a broken faucet, flexing and twitching against his furry tummy, “please.”

“You look so pretty, baby,” you praise, removing your fingers to trail your lube slicked hand up to ever so slowly stroke his cock, “so beautiful.”

Price lets out a sob as your cock finally breaches him, pushing into the tight, wet depths of his gummy walls. His legs wrap tight around your waist, ankles locked together as he all but pulls you deeper into him with a desperate cry.

When you look up Alex has his cock out, his own sweats and boxers pushed beneath his balls just enough to free his aching erection. He gives himself a few quick strokes before gripping the base, his free hand guiding Price by his hair until the sticky tip brushes Price’s saliva and tear slick lips.

Price gives a tentative lick and then moans, opening his mouth eagerly at the familiar bittersweet taste of precum. Alex curses under his breath, dropping his chin to his chest as he stiltedly thrusts his hips into the wet heat of Price’s mouth.

Price reaches out blindly, slapping at Alex’s sides until he finds the blond’s hips, tugging at him until Alex moves to straddle the Captain’s face. You groan at the site, pumping your cock faster into Price’s welcoming hole.

You can hear the slick sounds of Price’s mouth working around Alex’s girth, the wet gags each time Alex bullies his prick into Price’s eager throat. Price’s hands grasp Alex’s ass, squeezing the muscular globes, nails digging into the flesh to leave behind red crescent-shaped indents.

You grip Price’s slender hips bruisingly tight, pounding into him as hard as you can, the movements jostling both Price and the bed, pounding the frame against the wall as your balls slap against Price’s ass, the lude, wet sound of skin on skin reverberating alongside Price’s muffled, increasingly desperate moans.

You close your eyes, barely able to hear Alex’s murmured praises as he continues his assault on Price’s throat.

And then a soft, growling groan from the blond as his hips stutter forward, emptying his potent load into Price’s mouth.

It’s Price’s cock kicking hard before he shoots thick white streaks all over his stomach that has you shouting out, burying to the hilt as you fill Price’s ass—Price, who just came untouched from having his throat cum in.

Alex unmounts, giving Price a moment to catch his breath before he's pressing a water bottle to Price’s lips, gently urging him to drink, which he does so in big, greedy gulps.

His hole flutters and spasms around your softening cock, making you groan as you slowly slip free, your cum dribbling out soon after, staining the crisp bed sheets.

You crawl up the bed as Alex caps the bottle and sets it on the nightstand, the both of you on either side of Price, pressed up against his sides as he comes down. You run a finger over the hem of the blindfold and Price’s hand gently catches your wrist.

“Want it on?” You ask, using your thumb to wipe away the tear trails as Price gives a shaky nod, turning to nuzzle his head against your neck, reaching blindly for Alex’s hand to pull the blond’s arm over his torso.

#smut #mine #top male reader #modern warfare #price x reader #modern warefare 2 #captain john price #captain price #alex x reader #alex keller x reader #alex keller #alex x price #price x alex

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violentvaleska · 5 months

Text

𝑨𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

ᴏɴᴇ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍⁱʳˡ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴇᴀʀ 847. ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴀs sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ; ɢᴀɪɴ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴇʀʀɪᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀs ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ, ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴅɪʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs. ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ʟᴏsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴇɴᴠɪʀᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʀᴜᴅᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ sϙᴜᴇᴇᴢᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴛʀᴀғғɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ɴᴇxᴛ ↬

ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʟᴏsɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs...sᴏ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ, ᴇɴᴏᴊʏ ;)

Rain is something Levi has learned to embrace over the years, a natural phenomenon he didn't get to see until he was in his late twenties. When he was a child, his mother would tell him stories about the world above, and she would mention rain. For a long time, Levi doubted that the sky could be torn apart, sometimes going so far as to deny that the drops could freeze when it was cold outside. When he could see, smell, feel and hear the rain, he was fascinated. He quickly learned that grey clouds caused rain and that white clouds were just there to decorate the sky above him. He learned that rain could be beautiful and soothing, but deadly as well. The humanoid creatures they like to call Titans use this phenomenon to their advantage. Levi would know, having lost his closest friends and several comrades in the disaster.

The soldier brushes his wet locks from his face, the inky black colour looking even deeper. His steel eyes scan his surroundings as he tries to navigate the familiar fields outside Wall Maria. They used to train here before Wall Maria was invaded by the Titans. They had to give it up and lost hundreds of people in the process, something that affected Levi deeply. There was no way anyone who hadn't escaped in time could have survived the breach.

"Eld? I need you to ride ahead. Watch out for abnormals." He decides and turns to his second-in-command, letting his eyes roam over his subordinates.

"Yes Captain!" The blonde eagerly speeds up his stallion and he races away from the droop, rain and fog engulfing him at a relatively short distance. Levi doesn't like it one bit, the fact that they can be blinded so easily is dangerous.

"Green smoke signals on your left!" One of his soldiers notes, causing Levi to look in the direction where Mike's squad should be.

"Everything's going according to plan." Levi breathes out, relieved that they will soon reach Trost again. No deaths, hardly any injuries and Hange was able to study a disintegrating Titan for a few minutes. Everything was going according to plan, until it wasn't.

Levi has to force his horse to stop when he notices Eld's unoccupied one standing in the overgrown grass. A rush of panic hits him and for a moment he feels planc adrenaline rushing through his veins. For a moment, he suspects the worst and prepares to face a titan, but then he notices his dear comrade hovering in the high fields.

"Now is not the time to take a shit, Eld." Levi is quick to point out the misdeeds of his subordinates, easily dismissing them as insults.

"Uh- Captain?" Eld pipes up, pointing to the damp ground.

"What? You want me to look at your shit?" He may be short, but what humanities strongest soldier lacks in height, he makes up for in rude comebacks.

"Captain, there is a girl." Baffled, his eyebrows furrow in an unsettling frown, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.

"There's a what now?" Surprised, he lets his body sing from his stallion's back, a 'tch' escaping his lips as he sinks into the muddy earth. If there's one thing Captain Levi hates more than Titans, it's dirt of any kind.

"On the walls." One of his soldiers mumbles as he approaches Eld, who is about to place his cape over something to protect it from the relentless rain and storm.

Levi gulps as he sees you for the first time. Your head is bruised and your clothes torn, your skin pale and wet, your hair dirty and damp. There are several scratches all over your body and it takes him a moment to regain control of the situation. It's certainly unexpected.

"She needs medical attention." He decides and gestures for Eld to step aside.

"I found her like this a few minutes ago." The second in command explains, shivering slightly as his clothes soak up the rain.

"No sign of anyone else. No Titans." Levi nods and leans down to check your pulse, to make sure you are still breathing. It's weak and your condition is most likely unstable, he needs to act quickly.

"We have to hurry. Eld will take you to Erwin's squad and I'll ride her to Trost." He decides and carefully takes you in his arms, carrying you to his horse.

"Hurry. Tell him what happened." He orders, carefully pushing you onto the back of his black steed. Your body hangs over both sides, and while it's not ideal, it's better than nothing. Many questions fill his head as he rushes back to Trost, keeping a firm grip on your unconscious body. How did you leave the walls? Did the Titans attack you? Did you even come from within the walls? By saving you, he'll find the answers to these questions, or so he believes.

Light hits your vision as you open your eyes, a blinding headache makes you whimper in pain and confusion. "Where am I?" You ask aloud, slowly trying to open your orbs to give them time to adjust to the many new influences. You notice someone to your right, a man sitting in a chair looking at you. That's when you start to notice your surroundings. You are in some sort of infirmary, a white curtain shields you from the rest of the room, and a window lets in warm rays of sunlight. The stranger is wearing a greenish uniform, obviously from a military regiment. Are you in trouble? What has happened?

His blue eyes scan you with fascination, and a pair of thick eyebrows furrow at your sight. He seems calculating and calm, studying you like a predator.

"Who...?" your voice is hoarse and you can barely get another word out. It feels like you haven't spoken for a long time, which makes you wonder how long it might have been.

"My name is Commander Erwin Smith. You're in the headquarters of the Scouts Regiment, do you remember how you got outside the walls?" While the man's voice seems serious, there is a certain edge to it, something twisted. Walls? Sounds familiar, you have heard it before. The regiment he mentioned? Not so much, it must be the military division he is from.

"No sir." You blur and run your hands over the soft blanket that has been placed over your body.

"Where are you from? I suppose from somewhere inside the Wall Rose, am I right?" The Commander demands to know, making you gulp at the realisation that you can't remember anything. Not where you lived or how you got here, not even your own name. Salty tears gather in your eyes and run down your cheek, making you feel ashamed to cry in front of this military man.

"I don't remember." He looks at you with obvious suspicion, clearly doubting that you can't remember anything.

"Are you sure?" Smith asks, a slight mockery in his deep voice. You clench your hands and glare at him in anger.

"Yes, I remember having younger siblings to play with. My parents owned a bakery." Memories of fresh bread you sold at the market and faceless sisters running away from you giggling rush before your inner eyes as you swallow the numbness that has formed in your throat. More tears stream down your face at the thought that you can't even remember what your family looked like, hell, you can't even remember what you look like.

"Anything else? Names maybe, or special events in your life?" You take a moment to collect your thoughts and try to think of something special. There is one name that dominates every corner of your mind, leaving a bitter taste on your lips and making you jump at the sudden unpleasant sensation that overwhelms your senses.

"Not that I can think of." You decide to say, lying through your teeth for the first time. Although you are sure that there could be consequences for you, the thought of saying the name scares you a little, and you don't even know why.

"All right. Do you remember who found you outside the walls?" Commander Smith shifts in his seat and crosses his arms, never once taking his intense gaze from your crouched form.

"I just remember someone carrying me to a horse, that's all." You speak truthfully and lean back into the cushions. Erwin Smith lets out a sigh, his eyes moving to something you haven't noticed yet, another man, a soldier who appeared at the entrance.

"Levi." The commander gestures for the soldier to come over, giving you enough time to study the relatively small man. His hair is neat and coal coloured, his skin pale and his eyes seemingly devoid of emotion. He looks much more intimidating than the blonde, even though he's much smaller.

"It's as you suspected. Her head injuries have taken away all her memories." Erwin speaks, a serious change in his tone that you don't like. The soldier called Levi positions himself right next to the seated Commander, both of their eyes on you now.

"Maybe you could help her remember, hm? Motivate her a little." The black-haired soldier steps forward wordlessly, his movements swift and unpredictable as his hand grips your scalp tightly, making your head throb with pain. A yelp escapes your cracked and dry lips, you struggle against his grip, tears blurring your vision.

"Honestly? I don't give a fuck about your name. What really interests me is how you oh so mysteriously appeared outside the walls." His voice is deep and harsh, the way his grip on you only seems to tighten makes you feel frightened.

"Ngh. Stop!" You beg, letting your nails sink into his wrists, but as far as you can tell, he doesn't even flinch.

"Answer my questions and I will." He demands, pulling you closer, your body tensing. You feel violated, somehow suffocated and torn from your freedom. The moment you saw the Commander, you knew something was wrong, that you must have done something bad. And the worst part is, you don't even know what. The only thing on your mind is that name, and right now you're debating with yourself whether it's wise to mention it. When you open your eyes, you see a pair of angry grey ones with shadows dancing in their dark pupils. Levi, that's his name. You have the feeling you have seen his eyes before, seen him before.

"Oi. Stupid brat, you must know something. Spit it out." He is rude and annoys you, making you consider spitting in his face.

"Look at her, Erwin. She probably lost not only her memories out there, but her brain too." You groan in anger at his comment and use the moment of his momentary ignorance to collect your saliva in your mouth.

As Levi turns his attention back to you, something warm and lubricious hits his face. Surprised, he lets go of your wounded scalp and runs his fingers over his cheek, catching the thick, clear, bubbling substance between them. Confused, he looks between you and his hand, a cheeky grin on your tired face. Levi's teeth clench together as he feels disgust rising in his gut and before he can compose himself and calm down, he clenches his hand into a fist and slams it into your cheekbone. Your head is thrown to the side and for a moment you feel nothing but a numbing sting, the heat instantly flushing your cheek red. A hand closes around your face and pulls you up sharply, squeezing your flesh tightly.

"Disgusting bitch." Levi curses and roughly applies more pressure to your cheeks. Whimpering, you grab his wrist and try to pull his strong fingers away, but he makes it difficult for you to move at all.

"Do that again and I'll cut your tongue out." He scolds you, shaking your head in his grip, making you a little dizzy, your head injury and sore cheek suffering from the assault.

"Eren Yeager." You whisper softly, black spots blurring your vision for a moment.

"What?" The black-haired man leans closer, loosening his grip on you so that you can speak more easily.

"Eren Yeager. I only remember his name." Levi and Erwin share a look, the blonde shrugging.

"I've never heard of him." He decides and Levi's attention quickly shifts back to you.

"Neither have I. Who is this supposed to be?" The soldier demands to know, taking a step away from your bed to give you some space. If you are honest, you had hoped that they would know, after all this Eren seems to be important to you. You shift in your mattress, adjusting your body to the new found freedom. Hoping that this Levi man will keep his distance, you begin to explain, trying to collect your thoughts.

"The first thing I remember is waking up under a tree. My head hurt pretty bad and I was disoriented." The situation is imprinted on your mind like a bad dream; you can't remember how it started or ended, maybe it's still going on.

"I walked for a while but collapsed again when it started to rain. I don't know how much time had passed before one of your men found me. I must have blacked out or something soon after.

Erwin seems conflicted, his beautiful blue eyes reflecting his inner anguish. On the one hand he wants to believe you, sees your serious injury as reason enough to trust your words, but on the other hand this situation is too good to be true. It has only been two years since Wall Maria fell, and his theories about human trafickers using this situation to their advantage only seem to grow. Now a young woman appears in the wild fields right inside the fallen wall. It's absurd to him. His serious expression shifts to Levi, calculating his next steps.

"There are rumours that traffickers from the underground city use routes outside Wall Rose to transport women and children. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Erwin wonders, catching Levi off guard. He's not a man to give much thought to rumours, especially as ridiculous as this one, but it could be another explanation for their sudden appearance.

"I did. Although I highly doubt it. There's no way they could survive out there." Levi says, easily dismissing the idea.

"But she did." Erwin points out, both eyes resting on you again.

You doubt that you were the victim of traffickers, and apparently Levi does too. The new situation you find yourself in still confuses you, and you begin to question whether you are from their people at all.

"What if I'm from outside your walls? I honestly don't even know what these walls are supposed to be". You confess and cross your arms, and for a moment you could have dropped a needle, and the room fell deadly silent. You may have hit a nerve, judging by the way the two men stare at you in bewilderment.

"Shit." The smaller one breathes out and puts his flat hand to his face.

"Either she's stupid or she really is from out there." He mumbles to himself and glances at his Commander, waiting for new orders and instructions. The blonde stands up, slightly towering over his soldier, looking down at you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, both emotions that will determine how they will treat your stay here.

"Organise a meeting with the Section Commander. I'll write to Commander Pixies." They both walk past your bed without further explanation, leaving you in the dark as to what's going to happen.

"Wait!" you demand, making Erwin stop in his tracks, while Levi continues to walk away, not interested in staying and continuing to entertain your confused self.

"What will happen to me?" You ask, worried about what they have planned for you. It's not as if they were particularly hostile towards you.

"That is up to you" With that, the Commander follows Levi's lead and leaves you alone with your thoughts, giving you time to process everything that has happened. Crying, you hide under your blanket, wondering what has happened to you and your memories.

You wonder who you are.

#fanfiction #attack on titan #levi ackerman #aot #levi ackerman x reader #oneshot #shingeki no kyojin #levi #levi x reader #captain levi #levi ackerman fanfiction #female reader

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briyourmotherdown · 1 year

Text

cool water ★ part I

James Hetfield x fem!reader

★ everyone is running from something ★

Words: 6.7k

Warnings: i know nothing about arizona and it shows. VERY incorrect timeline. mentions of rehab and alcoholism. james is a moody prick. 18+ in the future but part I is PG minus some swearing.

A/N: so i'm asking you all, please, PLEASE be kind to me because this is the first fic i've written in well over a year and the first metallica one I've ever posted. this is so unbelievably self indulgent it's insane. title named after a marty robbins song because that's where this whole idea stemmed from. i tried not to use y/n because i know some people hate that jhskjfhkjhfthftdhftkj. also i really really hope the fact that rehab is in here isn't a trigger or upsetting to anyone!!! it just makes sense for the plot. it's also very inspired by the some kind of monster documentary. this will probably be a shorter fit made up of a few parts but it may take a while since i'm literally about to graduate uni and i'm drawing in assignments. anyways i hope you enjoy <3

parts: (1), (2)

★

A few states over, a little over a thousand miles and a few days long trek away, lies a life– packed crudely into a beat up Subaru with too many miles on the metre to go about adding another thousand. The air conditioning unit cracked out one state back, leaving only the rolled down windows to offer any sort of reprieve against the Western American summer heat. The unknown lies in the interstate ahead, yellow lines and road signs guiding you closer to your next destination. Only the front windows are open, the rear windows obstructed by precariously stacked belongings in unsealed cardboard boxes and garbage bags balanced against the glass. To roll them down would mean losing a good chunk of your clothing.

A map is sprawled out open on the passenger seat, red lines and circles marking the last stretch of your journey into Yuma County, Arizona. Golden light pours over countless acres of sprawling farmland ahead of you, the setting sun glaring into your eyes beneath your sin visor as you drive with one hand on the wheel and the other propping your head up against the open window. Your yellow Subaru is the only vehicle for miles, alone on the barren road as the sky fades into an inky blue. It’s eerie, being this alone. Eerie as you turn down yet another country lane, rolling the windows up. Eerie as you make sure the doors are locked and the gas tank full. Eerie for a girl who’d only left the city twenty-four hours prior, where such silence and solitude was such a rarity that you never stopped to consider what it felt like to actually be completely alone.

The night is still when you reach a stop sign, the hiss of crickets and cicadas audible even from inside the car. There’s no breeze that rustles the trees, nor a cloud to taint the clarity of the starry night sky. You feel as though you should be quiet and hold your breath, goosebumps raising on your skin. They only begin to subside when your headlights illuminate a sign reading Palo Verde Ranch.

Tires kick up dust as you roll down the tree-lined passage, inching closer and closer to where you will spend the next summer, checking the map one more time and breathing a sigh of relief when the trees part way to an opening. The ranch and lodgings look the same as the pictures in the brochure you were given, apart from being shrouded in a heavy darkness from the night. The porch lights are on, along with a few lamp posts circled by moths and mosquitoes. Pulling into an empty space next to a pick-up, you kill the engine and rest your head back against the headrest. The roar of the crickets seem even louder as you sit silently in the driver’s seat.

With a few final taps on your steering wheel with your fingers, you heave yourself from sitting position and stretch your aching legs, lifting your arms above your head before grabbing your suitcase from the backseat and forgoing the rest until tomorrow. It’s far too dark to go about it now. Boots crunch on gravelly dirt as you make your way to the lodging house, reading the brochure once more to check where the key is kept. It lays underneath a small terracotta pot, placed upside down and completely indiscrete. It makes you smile to yourself when you lift it up to examine it against the porch light– a small, metal cactus keychain hanging from it. You smack a mosquito from your arm as you unlock the door.

With a creak, the door opens up into the lodging house, though to you it seems more like a bungalow that had been converted into some sort of bed and breakfast. There’s a small kitchen to your left, under-cabinet lights casting an amber glow over the linoleum countertop and laminate floors. You take note of the humming refrigerator before turning to your right to examine a quaint sitting area, equipped with a floral printed sofa straight from the 1970s and a chestnut bookshelf housing a sparse assortment of books and magazines. It reminds you slightly of a waiting room– pretending to be lived in as to put you at ease.

Straight ahead lies the hallway, two doors on the left-hand side and three on the right, one of which has been left ajar. Upon further inspection, with slow, easy steps, you come to realise that it’s the bathroom, nose scrunching up slightly at the prospect of having to share one bathroom with multiple other people. On every door is a hand painted number, accented by flowers painted on in pastel colours. Very Bohemian, you note, eyeing the beaded curtain that hangs in the windowsill of the window at the end of the hall. Dim light spills from underneath doors three and four, but the other two remain dark.

Your room number is two.

Opening the door, you flick the light switch on before closing it behind you, a small puff of air escaping from between your lips as you take in the room. It’s cozy– genuinely, unlike the sitting room from before. It nearly reminds you of the room you’d grown up in, or, at least spent the earliest years of your childhood in. A golden oak bed sits against the wall in one corner of the room next to the window, fitted in cream and pale green floral patterned sheets. There’s a dresser-vanity and a wardrobe of the same golden oak, and a small nightstand next to the bed. On it beneath the small tiffany lamp lies an unopened note and a small plush teddy bear.

Tears fog your eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed and drop your suitcase at your feet. It feels so familiar– like a distant memory of a time in your life where things weren’t so turned upside down. A time when you weren’t running from something. Clutching the teddy bear against your chest, you open the note– a sweet, handwritten one from the owner of the land, welcoming you to your home for the summer. It tells you of breakfast in the main house at 10am, that there are fresh towels in the wardrobe, and that the vanity drawers tend to be a bit fiddly.

With a watery sigh, you blink up at the ceiling to clear your cloudy vision, flopping backwards onto the bed.

★

James knew that he needed a distraction.

He knew better than to be around all the same people and places from how he was before. Breathing the same California air he knew and once loved now feels too thick in his lungs, like some sort of poisonous gas.

He knew better than to be around reminders.

Due to his therapist’s orders, James was to go somewhere different for a little while. In his words, to “relax, be at one with nature”. He had spread a pile of pamphlets across his desk, closing his eyes and laying his pointer finger down on the first one it came in contact with. Arizona didn’t seem to appeal to James’ bandmates as much as it did to his therapist. They had a hard enough time communicating as is, too many alcohol-fueled yelling matches only worsened by the unmade upcoming album that loomed over their shoulders. James wasn’t sure how he could make the album to begin with, not while he was walking this tightrope. If he was constantly teetering on the edge, how could he be a productive member of the band?

Part of him didn’t want to go. Running away from it all felt cowardly, as though he’s weak for not being able to handle what once was so normal. A few drinks at the bar with friends turned into something else, something monumental. Gigs, rehearsals, afterparties, bar to bar to bar to bar. People who once gave him comfort now only serve as reminders of how he has ended up.

His PA booked his flight and had his truck sent to meet him at the airport. His intentions were clear– he would spend a few months working on the ranch away from anything that might tempt him, and then he would return home in autumn and attempt to clean up the mess he had left behind. The mess in question haunted him on his flight, tension aching behind his eyes as he rubbed at them. Divorce papers. A band that might hate him, left hanging and waiting for him to get his shit together so that they can release another album. Loose ends, after loose ends. Mouth set in a straight line, he realises he’s clenching his fists, blunt nails pressing into his palms.

Settling in was fairly easy. There was only one suitcase to unpack, clothes folded neatly into the dresser and notebook placed haphazardly on the nightstand– blank paged and unopened. For a few days it was only him in the lodging house, resting and rising in silence, eating a bowl of cereal by the kitchen window before heading out to work on the ranch with Wayne, the owner’s husband. Wayne is a shorter man, or at least much shorter than James, with salt and pepper hair he keeps hidden beneath a straw hat, and a laugh that often turns into a smoker’s cough if your joke is good enough. Wayne is friendly and a hard-worker, unafraid to put James to work too.

A few days later, a couple more lodgers began filtering in, two men who based on their accents, come from the south. They didn't spare James a second glance, and James gratefully did the same in return. There was no need for making friends.

When you arrived it shook up his routine. He now had to wait for his morning showers, entering only after you had spent far longer than he would’ve liked, only to be met with fogged up mirrors and the scent of vanilla and jasmine. He could hear music playing gently through the thin walls, some shit from the 70s that he wasn’t into, and he’d have to put up with the way you’d softly hum along. Truthfully, he avoided bumping into you at all costs. There was no concern of seeing you at breakfast or dinner– he skipped them in favour of some cheap crappy microwave meal– and he worked more on the ranch with Wayne while you settled into tending the vegetable garden.

Avoiding you seemed like a waste of time, however, because you didn’t notice him anyway. You always seemed too lost in your own head, focussed entirely on pulling weeds to notice him walking back and forth by you, carrying bags of feed. He didn’t offer a greeting, or even his name, but then again neither did you, and he was more than happy to keep his distance.

Your name only came up one day as James was sitting with Wayne. They’d both spent hours of the morning tending to the stables in the intense heat, James doing most of the heavy-lifting, and took refuge under the shade of a large tree. After collecting a few random chopped logs and sticks, James took out his pocketknife and began carving. Wayne spoke of plans to make his wife a wooden sculpture of a cactus for their front porch, with James silently shucking away at the wood to bring it to a sharp point.

In the distance you’re harvesting crops from the vegetable garden, wearing denim cutoffs and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. From here James thinks he can spot the image of Garfield printed on the front. He stares for longer than he should, eyes trailing down the expanse of your bare legs, and admittedly, over your behind when you turn and lean down to grab a shovel.

Wayne breaks through the intensity of his gaze by saying a name, the glass shattering when James averts his eyes and returns to sharpening the wooden shiv with care. His finger slips against the grain and he winces, plucking the splinter from his thumb, “That girl. She’s here from Seattle.”

He remains silent, lip twitching with a hint of annoyance at the older man’s intrusion. Yet he lets your name settle in his mouth, silently testing the way it feels on his tongue. Aware that he was caught, he keeps his eyes trained intensely on his craft to avoid Wayne’s gaze.

“Pretty, ain’t she?” Wayne muses, stripping bark from an ash log and looking at you in the distance as you pick weeds from the cauliflower beds, “We don’t usually get people like her out here,” he turns to James, simpering, “Don’t usually get rockstars ‘neither.”

He turns away to continue stripping the log and James uses the moment to steal another look at you. The sun beats down on your back and you wipe sweat from your brow with your bare forearm, pushing a few loose hairs back that had fallen from your ponytail. There’s a half empty sack of compost on the ground by your feet that stains the tips of your gloved hands. You look tired, standing back from the garden bed to study your handiwork before tilting your head all the way back to soak up the sun, hands on your hips. When you turn and glance in James’ direction, squinting your eyes through the heat mirage, he averts his gaze, once again all too aware of Wayne and the way the man lifts his hand to wave dramatically at you.

He doesn’t look up to see if you wave back.

He sees you again that late afternoon, in the same way he always sees you— in small vignettes, in short scenes that make him think momentarily that you might just be a figment of his imagination. He sees you walking past him with a crate full of lettuce, too focused on not dropping any from the heaped pile to pay him any notice. He sees you when he walks by the wire fence, where you’re being walked through the steps of feeding the chickens in the coop. He sees you now, entering the same house he’s staying in, the same one he’s walking to, only a few paces behind.

But still, you seem to pay him no mind, as if he’s a ghost. He thinks he might be one if it weren’t for the acknowledgment of Wayne and his wife, Marie. The other workers don’t much like him, interpreting his silence as him being a stuck up rockstar. He wonders if it’s for any reason that you don’t notice him. Does he skulk around too quietly? Sure, he’s not been the most conversational since he’s been here, but he’s sure you would’ve at least noticed him.

It really bugs him.

For a man whose profession is to be seen and to be heard, he typically really likes fading into the shadows in his everyday life. There had been too many days of butting heads with Lars, too many arguments with his ex, too many paparazzi, too many expectations of him. He was only one man, and he knew he was too fucked up to be a role model for anyones kids. Before he entered rehab, he enjoyed the anonymity of a small town bar and the way no one knew who he was there. If they did, they didn’t care, clinking pints with him over the bar as if he was just another one of them. And even though Wayne and Marie do talk to him and put him to work, they still treat him like all the others staying on the farm for the season. And he does enjoy the fact that Wayne and Marie seem to pay him no mind, as well as the other workers.

But when he really thinks about it, he doesn’t like slipping into the shadows as much as he thought he did. Perhaps it’s his ego talking, but he at least likes being acknowledged.

It was as if you didn’t even know he was there.

It bugs him as he opens the door behind you after you’d let it close, watching you saunter down the hall and into the room only a door away from his own, not offering a glance as you shut it behind you. It bugs him as he makes his way into his own room, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands over his tired face. It bugs him even more when he hears your door open and close again, squeaking on its hinges, followed by the click of the bathroom door and the rush of the shower turning on.

You claimed the shower before he could, as you always seem to do. Only today he had worked hard, back sore and legs aching with strain. Annoyance twitches at his lip but he tries to brush it off, taking deep breaths, groaning lowly as he lays back onto the bed. The day's work sits heavily in his bones and he shifts uncomfortably. He feels grimy, a layer of sweat having dried on his skin, sticking the Arizona desert sand to the hairs on his arms. He grimaces and tries to brush some off.

Minutes pass while he waits for you to finish in the bathroom, then more, and after thirty minutes he’s grown more and more impatient with you, rising from the bed and storming into the hallway. He doesn’t take any time to notice that the shower has stopped running, the blood rushing too loudly through his ears, and as he’s about to aggressively rap his knuckles against the door, it swings open. You jump back with a start when you see him, his fist raised and face twisted in irritation.

Momentarily, he’s stunned, face contorting into an expression that matches your own as his eyes trail over your form– wet hair against your shoulders and fresh skin dewey with what he assumes is lotion. You’re gripping your towel tightly in one hand, the other clutching a toiletry bag.

As he lowers his hand, he realises that this is the first time you’re noticing his existence. Wide eyes glimmer up at him shyly, lips parted from the shock of opening the door to a man standing angrily directly on the other side.

With that realisation comes another—actually, two realisations that took him possibly too long to register– the fact that you’re almost naked, and he’s blocking your way out of the bathroom. Embarrassment nips viciously at the back of his neck, tinting the tips of his ears pink as he takes a step back.

James has never been good with embarrassment. His ego always gets in the way or gets him into trouble. Sure, it has won him many arguments, much to the chagrin of his opponents, but it has also gained him the title of an egotistical asshole to many people. Whenever James becomes embarrassed, the outcome is always the same– confrontational, cruel, unnecessary words he doesn’t really intend to say bubble up in his throat before he has any chance to stop them.

“Knowing that there’s only one bathroom, you should be more aware of how fucking long you take.”

He snaps his mouth shut the second the words are out, lips pressing together in a firm line. You raise your eyebrows at him, taken aback at the gruff rudeness of his tone.

You want to say something. Some witty comeback or even something to match his hostility, but your tongue struggles to find any words. Words have never come easily to you in the first place, always choosing to be quiet unless you’re around people you know, but they especially don’t come when you’re half naked and an angry, 6’1” man is towering over you.

All you can muster is a small, “I’m sorry.” as you push past him and retreat to your room.

James is paralysed in his spot, the increasingly familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine wafting over him from the bathroom as you walk away, listening to the door slam behind you. He’s not sure how long he stays standing in place, fists clenched at his sides with frustration directed at both you and himself. With a defeated sigh, he locks himself into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Once he’s stepped in he wastes no time in pressing his forehead against the cool tile, cursing himself for not being able to hold his tongue.

James really wants to spend the evening the same way he’d been doing, skipping dinner and smoking a cigar out on the front steps, but Marie had taken notice and when she bumped into him earlier in the day, had all but forced him into promising to come to dinner tonight. It didn’t sound appealing at all. It felt like fucking summer camp, having to sit around a big table with everyone staying at the ranch and talk about your day and the work everyones’ been doing. He’d quite honestly rather starve.

It didn’t help that he assumed you would be there.

He had made up his mind that he disliked you. The annoyance of the way you’d practically ignored him for a week seems to only have increased with the duration of your shower. It was like you had no consideration for anyone else and didn’t look past the tip of your nose. He didn’t want to eat at the same table as you for that reason, is what he told himself. Not because he saw you in your towel and was so unnecessarily rude to you, no– James doesn’t do embarrassed.

He’s taken a nap directly after his shower, waking up even groggier and in an even worse mood, throwing on clean clothes and making his way down to the main house where Marie would be making dinner. The front door is already open when he gets there, and he takes an already exasperated breath before entering,

The smell that meets him is already mouthwatering, as much as he hates to admit it, and for a moment it makes him question why he’d skipped out on dinner for the past week. Wayne greets him as he walks in, already sitting around a large wooden table with a few men he recognises from around the ranch. Wayne has a cigar attached to his mouth, bobbing as he talks.

“James!” He exclaims, raising his hands in the air to greet him warmly, “Come on in, you should meet my guys.”

James nods curtly, having already met them in passing and discovered they didn’t much like him. But he puts up with it for Wayne’s sake, standing over the table but not sitting down, nodding in acknowledgment as he introduces everybody. They seem nice enough, greeting him with smiles, apart from two men at the end of the table who don’t so much as return James’ nod. They’re Dylan and Wes, the other two lodgers in the house. They offer him forced smiles, but James can see that the second Wayne turns his head to speak to someone else, they narrow their eyes in his direction. For a moment he wonders if you’d met them– if they treated you in the same way or if you hadn’t even noticed them in the same way you did him.

With that thought, Marie comes bounding in, wielding a wooden spoon in one hand, “James!” she grins, “I’m so pleased you came,”

She diverts her attention to Wayne, smacking him on the shoulder with the wooden spoon and scolding him in Spanish. The cigar between the man’s lips threatens to fall, but miraculously remains sturdy as he says something back, a sheepish expression on his face.

Marie rolls her eyes and turns back to James, “You, help me in the kitchen because my bum of a husband apparently has better things to do.”

Any other time James may have cringed at the idea– he’s not the best chef– but now, as he turns to glance at Dylan and Wes who stare at him with a look of contempt, he takes the out and follows Marie into the kitchen.

The moment he enters, his eyes land on you where you stand chopping vegetables at the butcher’s block island. You’re not looking at him yet, too focussed on dicing a tomato, and he takes a second to look at you. Your hair has dried, thrown back into a ponytail while you’re cooking, and you wear a white cotton sundress with thin straps that contrast against your skin. It’s different to how he’s seen you dressed, in denim cut-offs and cowboy boots, and for a moment he’s halted in the doorway to watch you.

“Could you shuck this corn?” Marie asks James, and your eyes finally snap up to look at him, trailing over his attire before you quickly go back to chopping.

He clears his throat with a small sure, taking his place across from you at the butcher’s block. You don’t dare to look up at him again, hoping that he doesn’t see the blush that tints the tops of your cheeks.

“You’re both very quiet, you know that?” Marie laughs, stirring a pot both metaphorically and literally, “Come on! Talk to each other.”

A short silence follows, painful and uncomfortable and it makes your skin crawl, clearing your throat and daring to glance at James. You break the silence by offering your name, extending some sort of peace offering.

He doesn’t seem to extend the olive branch in return. uttering a gruff, “James,” as he shucks another ear of corn.

You nod, You’d hoped that he’d say more to make you feel less nervous, hands shaking slightly as you hold the knife. You knew his name already– Marie had told you a few days ago when she caught you staring at him while he repaired the broken gate near the stables– shirtless. He had been sweating, lugging planks of wood from the shed on the other side of the lot, tattoos and bare skin glowing. Marie had snorted at your pink cheeks and made a smart comment about how he could fix your gate– whatever that meant. You’d been stealing glances at him since, averting your gaze quickly whenever he would begin to turn his head.

You soon became aware of his dislike for you, and other than the earlier shower incident, you can’t think of why. You tried to stay out of his way as much as possible, which wasn't hard considering he hadn’t showed up to dinners so far, and always kept to himself except for when he was working with Wayne.

It really bugs you.

You sigh when he doesn’t say anything else, glancing at Marie who’s back is to you as she leans over a large pot of stew, hoping that the heat of your gaze might burn just enough for her to turn around and save you. No dice.

“I–” You begin, “The gate looks really good.”

Instant regret rushes over you as a look of confusion paints his features, brows furrowed. You rush to explain, “The- the one by the stables, I saw you fixing it. It looks really good. I haven’t had to scale the fence to get through since.”

You embellish your compliment with a breathy laugh, audibly nervous, cursing yourself at your ability to make things so much worse. He didn’t return the laugh, and in fact, it seems that somehow your compliment had soured his expression even further.

“Thanks.” He deadpans, averting his gaze from yours and back to the corn.

You sigh, chopping another tomato.

Meanwhile James is internally kicking his own ass, unsure of why he can’t be fucking normal, intending to say one thing and actually saying another. He watches you from his place across the counter, the concerned furrow of your brow, pinched in the middle, to your nimble fingers diligently doing what Marie had instructed you to do. He feels a flash of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he misunderstood you. After all, you had noticed him– the gate was proof of that. Maybe he wasn’t as invisible to you as he thought he was. But that still leaves one question unanswered– if you noticed him, why did you intentionally ignore him? It’s silly and it’s childish, but it’s enough for him to continue on with his negative opinion of you.

Time goes by wordlessly between you both, Marie instead taking the time to explain everything she was doing in detail, sure to send both of you home at the end of the night with the recipe for Birria engraved in your brains. Time passes this way until the table has been set and the food is ready, Marie ushering you both out of the kitchen and to the dining table.

The only three empty seats are lumped together, one of which is at Wayne’s side. It would be rude to sit where you know his wife would be sitting, so you take the next one with a small frown, waiting for James to take the one next to you. You’re aware that he’s not happy with the arrangement, and for a moment you wonder if he would take Marie’s chair, but he doesn’t and instead fills the vacant spot on your other side. The table is tightly packed, and due to James’ frame, he has to keep his shoulders pinched together slightly to avoid rubbing them against yours. It’s nearly insulting, watching the amount of effort the man puts into not touching you, rolling your eyes to yourself as you eat the food Marie (and you and James, but mostly Marie) had prepared.

“So…,”

The mention of your name has your head snapping up, paused with your fork halfway raised to your mouth to look around at who had said your name. Your eyes fall on Dylan, who’s sat at the table directly across from you. You’d only met him once before and hadn’t really been able to form much of an opinion on him. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger around twenty-three, with shaggy brown hair he let fall over his blue eyes and a smile that had a tinge of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He had helped you reach a pair of garden shears from the top shelf of the shed, and all you’d talked about within that span of two minutes was your names and where you were from.

“Hm?” You hum in acknowledgment.

“You mentioned you’d stayed in Europe for a while, what was that like?”

You recognise the invitation of small talk, and you’d be thankful for it if it were just the two of you, but as everyone’s eyes settle on you for your response, you feel a little put on the spot.

“Uh, yeah, it was really cool,” you swallow, “Beautiful architecture.”

It’s a lame comment, and you're aware of it, but you're not sure of what else to say at the moment. Dylan nods slowly, eying you up and down in a way that makes you squirm nervously.

Wayne comes to your rescue, “James, have you been to Europe? I imagine y’have.”

The man beside you freezes, and he’s close enough that you can feel the tension, shifting in his chair. His bicep rubs against yours for the first time and you inhale quietly.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “Been a few times.”

“You been there on tour, I imagine?”

This piques your interest, eyes flitting to look at James profile. His jaw is clenched as he nods, “That’s correct.”

“On tour?” You ask.

He turns to you, and the intensity of his eyes this close up almost makes you regret asking. He nods, “My band tours here and there.”

“Ha! Understatement,” Wes snorts from across the table, southern accent strong through his laugh, “Mr. Big Shot over here has toured a whole lot more than just ‘here n’ there.”

He holds his fingers up in air quotes to emphasise his words, and you’re left confused. Mr. Big Shot? You thought James looked slightly familiar, but couldn’t place from where, so you’d just brushed it off as nothing. You turn to look at him again, studying his face and racking your brain to think of where you might have seen him before. It would make sense for him to be in a famous band, but which one? And why would someone in said famous band be out here in the middle of nowhere?

“What band?” You ask, ignoring Wes.

James looks uncomfortable, “Uh, Metallica.”

It’s as if bells go off in your head, piecing it all together and finally realising where you've seen him before. It wasn’t just one place you’d seen his face, but many. He’d been everywhere, on MTV, on the front covers of magazines on the newsstands back home, on billboards– dare you say Wes wasn’t too far off by calling him a Big Shot.

“Oh,” is all that comes out despite the revelation– despite the fact that you’re now painfully aware of how famous he is. Your pre-existing nerves have only worsened with this newfound information, struggling to get a bite of your food down, wincing.

James, however, takes your lack of response and pained expression the wrong way and gets on the defensive, scoffing into his glass of water before slamming it down. The entire table goes quiet, and he doesn’t miss the way you flinch at his action, momentarily pausing to meet your gaze. Your eyes are wide as they lock with his, confusion written all over your face.

He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up, “If you’ll excuse me.”

You watch his back as he retreats through the front door, letting it slam behind him. You flinch again and turn to look at Marie, who’s sitting next to her husband with a distraught look on her face. Sighing, you stand up and place your napkin on the table.

“Dinner was absolutely wonderful, Marie, please excuse me.”

Marie flashes you a sympathetic glance as you walk to the door, and despite their chittering you don’t care to look at the expressions worn by Dylan and Wes. Instead, you make your way out of the house and down the front steps. The evening has finally matured into darkness, the pathway to the lodge lit only by lamp posts and strings of fairy lights that Marie had just put up earlier today. You’re not sure where to look for James, or even if you should be looking in the first place. If you truly are the cause of his bad mood, surely you’d be the last person able to talk some sense into him; but curiosity eats away at you, the need to fix whatever you’ve done gnawing at your stomach.

It doesn't take too long to find him, sitting on the front steps of the lodge, mostly shrouded in shadows except for the orange cast of the fairy lights.

“Hey,” you offer carefully, slowing your pace as you near him.

You debate whether or not to sit next to him on the stairs, thinking it might piss him off if you do, but awkwardly rocking on your heels feels even worse. You take a seat next to him with a light huff, making sure to keep your arms from brushing against his like at the dinner table. He’s smoking a cigar, the burning tobacco lighting up his face ever so slightly on each inhale. Though he doesn’t verbally acknowledge your greeting, he doesn't leave either. As if he’s waiting for you to say something worth his while.

“I’m sorry, you know,” you offer softly, “I’m not quite sure what I did to upset you, but whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

He remains quiet, the sounds of the crickets and cicadas deafening. You exhale a sigh of defeat, tilting your head up to glance at the vast array of stars in the clear sky, counting the brightest stars until you lose your place.

James isn’t quite sure what to say. The longer he’s left to sit with his thoughts, the more he doesn’t understand what you’ve done to bug him so much. There’s been an explanation for every misunderstanding so far, leaving no reasons for his disdain, yet for some reason he just feels immensely frustrated by you. It’s something he feels under his skin, fizzing in his blood uncomfortably. He’s starting to wonder if it’s even got anything to do with you to begin with, or if this entire trip out to the desert has backfired and he’s got too much time and space to think about his life. Stress eats away at him, bubbling up slowly.

“I’m sorry about hogging the shower,” you ramble, “I didn’t realise you were waiting for it and I just got kinda…kinda lost in thought, I’ll hurry up next time.”

Nothing. It’s radio silence on his end, the air so thick that you feel it clouding your lungs along with the smoke from his cigar. You can’t stop your mouth from running, ”And it’s really cool that you’re in Metallica, I um, I don’t really know much about you guys but-”

“You can stop,” he interrupts, the stress bubbling over, your face flaring with heat you’re glad he can’t see in the lighting. ”I don’t really care, honestly.”

He looks at you for the first time in the last five minutes, emotions flat and guarded, and for the first time since you’d met him, you feel your own anger rise up in your stomach instead of nerves– frustration, annoyance, fatigued with his attitude.

“Look,” you stand up, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’d appreciate it if you'd stop being a total dick.”

He puts out his cigar, standing up to tower over you, not letting you have the upperhand of being taller than him. He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him.

“All day, you’ve been awful to me, and we just met. I don’t get it, what’s your problem?”

He scoffs, “I have a whole fuckin’ list of problems, sweetheart, don’t feel special.”

You stare, dumbfounded, arms crossed over your chest, “Yeah? And what about it?” you challenge, eyes narrowed, “Why do you think I’m here, huh? We’ve all got our shit, we’ve all got things we’re running away from, what makes you think you can treat me like shit for no reason? Because if this is how it’s going to be all summer then I’m already real fucking tired of it.”

Cicadas are the only thing you receieve in return, the chirping filling the empty space between you and James. There’s nothing. There’s no apology to speak of, not even any retaliation. His face is void of emotion, hands dug into his pockets as he stands and stares.

His stare is intense and unmoving, but there’s something hidden behind it. It’s almost a sort of hollowness, as if this is something he’s been through a billion times before. It almost makes you falter, trying your hardest to search his eyes for any clues as to what he may be thinking. But his eyes are still those of a stranger’s, and you can’t place exactly what it is that he’s thinking. Shaking your head, you finally back down, taking a step back.

“I came here to apologise, and I did. I have nothing else to say,” you turn to the lodge and step towards the stairs, “But Marie didn’t deserve that shit you pulled tonight. I think she at least deserves an apology.”

The words hang between you in the night, heavy and oppressive. There’s a moment where your fingertips hesitate over the doorknob, casting one last look in James’ direction in hopes that he would say something. But he’s remained stoic, gaze set hard towards where you’re standing, hands shoved into his pockets. Shaking your head again, you step inside, leaving him in the dark.

Only when you’re gone does he rub his hands over his face and swear under his breath. With a sigh that holds the weight of the world, he takes begrudging steps back towards Marie and Wayne’s house.

★

A/N: god pls bear with how slow and badly written this felt. anyways i hope you enjoyed jsdhgkjshdkjhgsdjg

#james hetfield x reader #james hetfield #metallica #metallica x reader #reader #x reader #fic #metallica fanfiction #i was supposed to be writing an essay #i did this instead #anyways stream marty robbins gunfighter ballads and trail songs

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kurooblossom · 8 months

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「BLACK SHEEP」サタン

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST

➤ Word Count: 1,050 ➤ Inspiration: Prompt

➤ Pairing: Satan x Reader

➤ Tags: accidental demon summoning, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!reader, family drama, family pressure, mention of depression, mention of pregnancy (not reader), pact marks, reader is mid-20s, references to canon

Black Sheep (noun) - a member of a family or group who is regarded as a disgrace to it.

Being in the Devildom for so long, Y/N had nearly forgotten how much she disliked visiting her family. The family she had before she found her own in the Devildom. The few happy memories she had coupled with the memory of delicious home cooking clouded her judgement. She thought just maybe the visits to her family home weren't as bad as she had remembered.

But then she actually returned home.

“Just look at your sister: has her own house, a caring husband, a baby on the way… And what do you have?”

Standing above her with her chest puffed outward, her mother glared down at her with her arms crossed. Looking at the scene from the outside, one would think Y/N had done something horrific. Something no one should get away lightly with.

"Depression." Y/N answered flatly.

Her crime? Being a female in her mid-twenties who isn't married with a 'typical' life that most follow.

It wasn't exactly her plan to get dragged away from the world she had known all her life within a blink of an eye, shortly after finishing college, but it happened. She lived with the Seven Avatars of Hell, she befriended the Prince of the Devildom, she became the apprentice of Solomon the Wise, she had various encounters with the angel Michael. She hadn't planned for any of the events of the last year and a half to happen. But they did happen, and she wouldn't change a moment of it.

Her one regret? Not being able to tell anyone else about the best year of her life.

"How do you think it looks that you graduated a year and a half ago, and you haven't found a proper job?" Her mother continued. "You could at least try to do something with your life, you know. Your sister-"

Her mother’s words soon fell on deaf ears as Y/N’s mind began to wander to nothing in particular. From what possible shenanigans the brothers were up to in that particular moment to that spell Solomon wanted her to practice. Her attention was anywhere and everywhere but on the disappointed and disgusted filled words spilling from her mother’s lips.

”Are you listening to me?!” Her mother screeched, pulling her attention back momentarily. She nodded, not meeting her mother’s eyes as the woman groaned and continued her rant with pointing fingers.

For what felt like hours upon hours, her mother's tyrant eventually came to an end. Quickly, she fled to her childhood room, where she closed the door and locked it behind her.

With her back to the old and worn wooden door, she slowly slid down the flat surface until her butt came into contact with the cool wood flooring. With her knees to her chest, her arms circled around her knees and she buried her face into her shirt sleeves.

Bitterly, she humorlessly laughed as she finally felt the shaking of her body. She may be in a pact with the Seven Avatars of Hell and one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. She may have been able to live amongst demons as a minority. She may have been able to stand up against Lucifer himself without so much as flinching. Yet, it was her own mother who made her tremble for the first time in a long time. The woman who birthed her, who raised her, who put a roof over her head and feed her until she went to college. That woman was the one to make her feel so inferior, weak, useless. Not the demons who hated her guts and saw her as weak. Not the angels, who equally saw her and other humans as weak. Her mother.

"...Tsk."

Dejectedly, she moved to rest further onto the door, leaning her head back against it with closed eyes. Focusing on keeping her breathing even, everything around her faded into the background. Not even the slight tingling of her pact mark caught her attention as it faintly glowed underneath the fabric of her clothing.

"...Y/N?"

Her brows scrunched at the familiar voice.

Was she hallucinating? There was no way she could be hearing his voice if she wasn't. Her D.D.D was in her bag that was laying, long forgotten, on her bed, so it couldn't be that she had accidentally called him. Was she finally loosing it? Did her mother's words finally get to her where-

"Y/N." There it was again, followed by the familiar warmth on her knees. "Y/N, look at me."

Hesitantly, her eyes opened, and a gasp slipped past her lips. Looking back at her, with furrowed brows and a frown, were the emerald eyes she had come to know and love.

"What's wrong?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

With practiced ease, Satan's hand raised to her cheek and gently wiped away tears she didn't realize had begun to fall. Worry was written clearly across his features as he peered down at her.

”I—“ she tried, but nothing came out.

Small little squeaks and cries escaped her lips with each attempt she made to speak. After one too many attempts, Satan carefully wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, quietly hushing her as one of his hands found its way to her head.

During her time in the Devildom, her and Satan had many long late night conversations discussing their earlier years. She knew his almost as well as he knew hers. So while he didn’t know what the situation he had stumbled into was, she knew that he likely got the idea with a moment or two of observing the situation. For that she was grateful, in all honesty.

“It’s okay.” Satan murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You don’t have to tell me right now.”

She nodded, leaning into his embrace. Wordlessly, Satan’s arms tightened around her frame and pulled her in closer. His hands rubbed comforting circles into the fabric of her shirt as she nuzzled her face into his neck. Her tear stained cheeks moistened his skin, not that he minded.

“You’re okay.” He murmured, pressing another kiss to her forehead, before pressing another and another to any exposed skin he could reach. “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. I’m here now.”

A/N: I’m honestly not happy with how this turned out, so I’ll most likely rewrite this in the future when I’m in a better headspace for this type of fic.

#satan x reader #obey me x reader #satan fanfic #satan fanfiction #satan x mc #obey me x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #satan one shot #obey me one shot

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under-the-aspen-tree · 7 months

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A Moth To You (Chapter 2 - Endings, Beginnings) Aegon II Targaryen x (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart.

Word Count: 1.9k

The crimson of rooftops looked like flecks of red dirt in peachy sands from where you flew above Kingslanding, circling the city from the confines of the clouds. The journey to Westeros was an easy one, with the ship mooring at Dragonstone so that you had time to bathe and rest before separating from Rhaenys, your cargo safely chasing behind you when you took flight on Cerys. You were eager to fly once again, legs and stomach aching from days on the boat, and try as you might you were eager to see your family once again. Cerys, your young dragon, was delighted at the opportunity to roam the lands of her birth once more and had spent the journey dipping her scaled talons in and out of the seas before soaring up towards the hazy cloud lines.

Cerys was a great beast of five-and-twenty, older than yourself and larger than your brothers by nearly twice fold. Her scales were of a beautiful milky white with flecks of silver that marked her underbelly. She was such a perfect shade of cream that even Cregan Stark had found himself delighted at the sight of her curled up in the snows of Winterfell at the beginning of your tour, remarking on how well she took to the icy terrain.

Now, her colouring was the perfect illusion as you drifted through the skies, awaiting the moment you would be forced to make an entrance. You knew your family would have some idea of when you would arrive, that they would be patiently standing within the dragon holdings beside The Red Keep, but for some reason, you couldn't face them. It had all seemed so quick. One moment, you were breezing through the days with the sun on your skin and your worries in the breeze, the next clad in thick riding leathers, your hair twisted back in knots and layers with that life almost 500 miles behind you.

Stirring you out of your thoughts, Cerys let out a light snarl, rumbling your saddle as you twisted the reigns to circle the city once more, the beast growing tired. You had departed from Dragonstone before the sun was more than a quarter way through the sky and it was now gone noon. The winds had thankfully assisted your travel, but you were certain you had been in flight for almost nine hours. Your skin was dry and tired, your throat parched, and Cerys must have felt even worse having carried the weight of the journey for all this time.

"I know girl, I know," You said, stroking your hand against her scales. You looked out once more towards the East, imagining how simple it would be to turn back, before running your dry tongue against your lips and tugging at the reigns. Cerys dipped her head gladly, stretching out her wings as you began your descent. The rooftops merged from flags to mosaics, and then into houses as you soured further and further down in swooping circles. The wind rushed in your ears and, even tired, you let out a laugh at the feeling. Even from here, flying above the city, you could smell the familiarity of the lands. There was a comfort in home, even if you had wished to stay away. Cerys circled twice before flapping her wings against the wind, the holdings beneath you. You could just about make out the white hair of those waiting, the flapping of coats and dresses as Cerys made her descent, before rocking in your saddle as she hit the ground with a gentle roar. "Okay," You whispered to yourself, heat pouring to your cheeks as you heard the chatter of those waiting for you. "I can do this."

You took your time unbuckling yourself from your saddle before resting your feet on Cerys wings. Your legs ached from hours of sitting and it took a moment to stretch some life into them as you slowly stepped down and back into solid ground. A hand reached out to assist you, and you grasped it before realising who it even belonged to.

"Jacaerys!" You gasped, catching sight of the mop of dark hair resting against the boy's forehead. Well, boy was a sweet word for the man before you. The Jacaerys you had left behind over a year ago was shorter than you by a head and a half, with angular shoulders and an almost elvish face. Your brother had certainly grown in your time apart. He stood like a man now, with the sturdy strength of a swordsman and eyes that had to look down to behold you. He took you into a welcome hug, lifting you off your feet slightly.

"(Y/N), It's been too long," He laughed into your ear as he set you back down, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. "I hope your travels were easy."

It had always been so easy with Jace, perhaps because you were the closest in age. He was born less than a year after yourself, though always seemed determined to fill the role of older brother. Throughout your childhood he had protected you in every way he could, even if sometimes you had to chastise him afterwards for being so imposing. Once back in his arms, you had no idea how you had ever left them.

"They were lovely thank you," It was as though every concern you had was washed away at the sight of your brother, every dreaded thought seemed silly, though the pleasantries were off-putting. "How is everybody?"

"You can ask them yourself," Jace said with a knowing glint in his eyes, gesturing behind you both.

Your mother stood proudly, her hair twisted in elaborate braids away from her face, with one hand on Lucerys' shoulder and the other wrapped around Joffrey. Behind her, with his chin up and his hair longer than you remembered it being, was your great Uncle, Prince Daemon. You practically had to tug Jace to keep up with you as you faced your family.

"Mother!" You cried out, burying your face in her hair and breathing in the smell of nectarines and lotus that you loved. It had been so long since you felt her arms around you, seeing her kind eyes and gentle face. You hadn't realised how much you missed it. Luke and Joff came next, though you had to lean down a little to hug the latter. You were shocked at how much they had changed in your time away, with the only faces remaining the same being your mother and step-fathers.

Finally, stood back beside Jace, you finally had the chance to speak to them, and everything came rushing out. "How are you all? How is the king? How is the dragon riding coming along? Are you all sword fighting? Why did you want me home?" Your mother had to place a hand on each of your shoulders to prevent the onslaught of eager questions, but her eyes were alight with a smile.

"You will have a chance to ask anything, and I'm sure your brothers are very excited to hear about your adventures themselves, tonight. The King and Queen have hosted a feast to celebrate your return."

You clamped your mouth shut, cheeks going red as a smile broke through on your face. "Yes, mother."

"Jace," She turned her attention to your brother, pushing your shoulder slightly to face him. "Could you lead your sister to her chambers to rest before supper?"

Jacaerys stood proud and offered out a hand to guide you. It was only now that you realised you were in dire need of a bath, leathers drenched in sweat and skin smelling of dragon. You took his hand and smiled farewell to your family before joining him on the path to The Red Keep.

"We're all well," He informed you as he led you across the grounds, smiling as you beheld the keep. It hadn't been so long since your last visit here, but it was as though you were seeing it for the first time. You had forgotten how high it reached, how far it spanned, and just how many people were there. Back in Pentos, it all seemed a lot quieter. "The King is deteriorating, but not more so than is expected. The Queen is well, but it is our Uncles you must watch out for."

He gave your side a knowing nudge with his elbow at that and you laughed. You had almost forgotten about your extended family, so caught up in seeing your siblings. The last time you had seen them, they had barely said a word to you, with Aegon looking frustrated with being forced to make an appearance at your departure. Your childhood with them had been a bittersweet one, with your eldest uncle doing his best to completely ignore you, or sometimes pull your hair if given the chance. Aemond was kinder, but the incident at Driftmark changed something within him, and you found yourself lumped into the hatred he bore your brothers. Helaena was sweeter, you had nothing but fond memories with the girl, even if you had little in common. You shook aside the thoughts. Having repressed them all for over a year until now, you could hold them aside for a little longer.

"How so?" You inquired, giggling. You knew Jace had never gotten along with your Uncles, and they perhaps hated him even more. You had spent many days watching from the sidelines as they played at swords, bashing each other to the ground at every opportunity.

"Well, Aemond HATES me," He started quite dramatically. "And he hates Luke even more so. He won't ever say it directly, but he talks in these weird riddles as though I won't realise what he actually means when he says-"

As Jace complained about training and dinners, your eyes wandered to where a group of people watched your entrance, servants bowing as you came into view. But there, at the front of the gathering, stood two quite noticeable men, though if not for their bright silver hair, you would have scarcely recognised them. When you had last seen your Uncles, they were still on the cusp of youth, yet their differences were even greater than your brothers.

Aemond stood prouder than you remembered, with a sheet of icy hair that fell like water down his shoulders. His eyepatch was stark against his pale skin and his lips were twitched upwards in something close to a smirk. He watched you like you were beneath him, and there was something almost cat-like in his regards. Poised, careful, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Beside him was Aegon, the elder of the two, yet slightly shorter still. Where you remembered a skinny boy with unkempt hair and a youthful face, the man that now regarded you was filled out. Cold eyes, wavy hair cut to his chin and pushed behind his ears and an arrogance that had grown remarkably. If Aemond looked at you like you were a mouse, then Aegon watched with the primal intrigue of a wolf stalking prey. They were your family, you had known them since childhood, and yet the glint in Aegons eyes sent chills that ran down your spine and remained there until long after you left them behind. Their purple eyes followed you all the way across the gardens before Aegon turned his head to whisper something into his brother's ear. Even you could hear the cold laugh that rang out clear across the grounds at whatever he had said.

#Aegon #Aegon Targaryen #Aegon II #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen x you #Aegon Targaryen x reader #Aegon II Targaryen x you #Aegon II Targaryen x reader #Aegon II x reader #Aegon II x You #Hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #asoiaf #y/n #bastard velaryon

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Midnight Blades {18}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Aemond falls at the battle for Rook's Rest but not all is as it seems. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, murder and violence WC: 2548

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

Rook’s Rest (north of King’s Landing), Westeros - House Staunton

Lord Staunton had declared his support for Rhaenyra. That was enough of an insult to King Aegon that he was sending his Lord Commander Ser Criston Cole to march on the castle. There had not been the progress expected as the people barricaded themselves within the castle walls and no matter how many soldiers Ser Criston had, they could not defeat an enemy that refused to come out.

Ser Criston had ordered the dry fields to be razed, burning the city’s food supplies and grain as they prepared to wait out the siege. They had not noticed the ravens taking to the smoky skies, especially the one heading east to Dragonstone begging assistance.

Aemond had prepared to meet Meleys and her rider across the Stepstones that they patrolled but he was alone in the sky. He quickly came to understand why the small islands had been forgotten as he reached the coast where Rook’s Rest stood. The fields surrounding the city burned as far as the eye could see and beyond the flames two armies collided.

It was not the fire or the battle on the ground that had him urge Vhagar to fly faster, but golden Sunfyre and bloodred Meleys warring above the city.

“Sōvegon, arghugon, ossēnagon! Dohaerās.” [High Valyrian: Fly, hunt, kill! Obey.]

Teeth, talons and fire ripped through the air as the two dragons tangled but Meleys was far larger than Sunfyre and the golden dragon was already badly injured. Aemond could see the older dragon circling back to take the kill but then Vhagar was there with a roar that shook the heavens.

Meleys’ talons ripped Vhagar’s wing as he intercepted the beast from killing Sunfyre and Aegon. Aemond felt her struggle to remain airborne as the mammoth weight began to sink beneath the smoke clouds. Circling back for another attack, Aemond rose on his saddle, unsheathing DragonBane. His last thought as he raced along the spiked spine towards Vhagar’s tail was an apology, he was sorry he lied. To save his brother, he would give his life. Aemond was not coming home.

Aemond leapt from the clubbed tail, narrowly missing the open maw that gnashed for him before he slammed into Meleys’ neck and buried the sword deep into the scaly skin. A great roar deafened his ears as blood began to rain down on the soldiers below and he gritted his teeth as he climbed the dying beast.

“Meleys!” Rhaenys screamed for her dragon but there was nothing to be done to save it as she bled out.

Aemond looked to the sky, seeing his own dragon’s shadow and felt his chest ache as he cupped his hands around his mouth to give his final order, “Jikagon lenton, dohaerās! Dohaerās” [High Valyrian: Go home, obey! Obey!]

The ground was quickly rising to meet Meleys, her descent losing control with each drop of blood that flowed from her body, and Rhaenys sat despondent on the saddle. “Was it worth it?”

There was no need to lie when he was facing certain death. “No.”

She seemed to appreciate the honesty as she looked to the skies fading as the smoke thickened closer to the ground. “One day Westeros will welcome a true queen, but it is not ready to accept such a thing as yet.”

“You should have told Rhaenyra that.”

“She was willing to cede the Iron Throne for the peace of her nation.” Rhaenys pinned him with a glare. “It is not the throne she fights for, but her son. Every death in this war is your fault.” Aemond had heard enough and lunged for the saddle with his dagger in hand. “Blood on your hands…”

Rhaenys died with a smile on her face as Meleys crashed to the ground, throwing Aemond from the beast and the world went black.

–

Aemond woke to a kick in the ribs, the bruises from the crash landing aching under the crunch of his bones breaking. He screamed at the white hot pain that erupted and his breathing laboured as he realised his mouth was covered with cloth and his captive was watching with a disgusted sneer from above.

“We should slit his throat and dump his body on the Red Keep,” Jacaerys said as he stood beside his mother, Rhaenyra. “It’s no more than he deserves after what he did to Daemon.”

“No, death is too simple for a monster like him,” Rhaenyra disagreed as she knelt before Aemond and looked at her half brother. “There’s someone who cares for him more than those at Red Keep. We will send a message to his wife, the Scythian will appreciate it far more.”

Aemond struggled against the chains that held him sat up against the dungeon wall but the movement only brought him more pain.

“True torture, you will come to find, brother, is surviving while the people you love are taken from you. Take his ring, take his sapphire eye.” Rhaenyra turned and left Jacaerys to follow her orders and his nephew pulled his dagger out with a chilling look that was nothing like the boy Aemond had grown up with.

“This is for Lucerys, uncle,” Jacaerys stated as he took Aemond’s hand and pressed it to the stone floor. “For my little brother who would never have hurt anyone, but you still butchered him.”

Jacaerys stabbed his dagger down and severed Aemond’s ring finger off. The cloth did little to muffle the scream that left Aemond’s throat raw and he nearly blacked out as his blood pooled on the floor where Jace took the ring and tossed away the rest.

“Now for the eye that started this,” Jace pressed his dagger to the edge of the sapphire and blood ran down his cheek as he dug around, finally freeing it and leaving the gaping hole of his eye socket behind. “There, a face only a mother could love.”

Aemond’s head hung heavy as darkness swum in his vision, closing in until he collapsed into the embrace of unconsciousness once again.

Six Weeks Later - Scythe

Your body had healed but your heart still ached. Each time you looked at Aedira you were slammed with the image of Aemond and it was bittersweet.

Your thumb nervously turned his ring on your forefinger and you looked at the dragon crest as though you had not memorised every detail of it. You had placed the ring on your finger for safekeeping until Aedira was of age to wear it as a true-born Targaryen, but the warmth and weight of it had eased a little of the hurt.

“You have a newborn babe!” your father growled as you stood before him in riding leathers and Dark Sister at your hip. “Your responsibility is to her and as Crown Princess it is to your people, not chasing vengeance”

“It is too late,” you said with a sigh. “Nessa will care for Aedira in my absence and I have placed her dragon’s egg in her crib so she will never be alone. If I fail to return,” you stumbled over the thought of never seeing your daughter grow, “then teach her to be the Crown Princess the people deserve.” You took the circlet from your head and placed it on your fathers lap. “Hold this with the hope of my return.”

He did not think he would have to farewell you twice in his life but you had already returned home once before so he held the delicate diadem and nodded. “I shall pray to the stars for you, my dear.”

You could not find the strength to see Aedira again before your departure, the pale blue of her eyes from her father had a gravitational pull that you knew would make a farewell even harder. For the first time in your life you would truly be alone, no prince, no guard, no army. Just you and Vhagar.

News had arrived in recent weeks that King’s Landing had fallen to Rhaenyra, shortly after Aemond had fallen behind enemy lines saving his brother only to be burned by the bitch who called herself queen and shipped to Scythe. The latest report had been that the people of King’s Landing and the remaining soldiers had rallied together and were making it impossible to keep control so they were returning to Dragonstone.

That was where you would meet Rhaenyra and pay the blood oath, one way or another.

The cold at your back went deeper than just the wind whipping past as you rode Vhagar, it was the absence of Aemond’s warmth where he would press behind you and hold the reins. There was no glee or laughter that usually came with the freedom of flying, not even the dragon danced - she kept her snout firmly to the west as she beat her wings to set a quick pace.

Perhaps your luck was finally changing as a familiar golden dragon shimmered in the fading sunlight and when he spotted the great shadow of his brother’s dragon he turned and flew to meet you. Surprise flitted across his face and his eyes were sharp with sobriety, something you had yet to see in the months you resided in his Keep.

“That dragon does not belong to you,” Aegon shouted over the wind.

“Try to take her from me,” you dared and Vhagar echoed your sentiment with a growl at the king. “I am to take Dragonstone, will you flee or fight?”

Aegon looked to the island that was still small in the distance. He had lost all ability to plan when he had fled King’s Landing as it fell to Rhaenyra, his Hand, Ser Otto, had been killed. Helaena had been driven to madness in her grief after the murder of their eldest son and his youngest had been crushed in the melee of panic when trying to escape King’s Landing. He had nothing left to lose.

“For what my sister has wrought, I will fight with you.”

“Ivestragī īlva pōntoma zālaza,” you said with a dark smile that held no happiness. [High Valyrian: Let us burn them all.]

Vhagar did not need instruction as she tore ahead of Sunfyre and his smaller wings. The distance was quickly closed and you found the docks were full of ships arriving with their soldiers, and their screams of alarm reached you but it would do them no good as Vhagar opened her mouth wide and blasted them to ash with the fire raging in her belly.

You had no conscience for the innocents that died as the fires spread, there was no feeling at all except that anyone who resided on Dragonstone deserved to die. Aegon finally caught up and together you herded the masses like sheep, their screams a lullaby to your broken soul.

“Syrax!”

You turned at Aegon’s warning and found the bitch queen and her dragon taking to the skies along with a smaller dragon, Vermax, that was ridden by her heir, Jacaerys. Finally a true smile spread on your lips as you felt your blood ignite with fury aimed solely at her.

“Rhaenyra’s mine,” you growled at Aegon before tugging the reins and gripping the saddle horns tight as Vhagar turned sharply.

You ignored the long white hair that glowed in the setting sun, you ignored all similarities shared between your husband and his half sister entirely. You had killed Daemon and you would kill her too.

The buckles that held you to the saddle left instant bruises as the dragons clashed with snapping teeth and sharp claws but you remained atop Vhagar and screamed your encouragement, fueling her bloodthirst.

Even with her experience in fighting dragons, age and size was slowing Vhagar down and Syrax’s nimble wings had her avoiding the strikes that would have sent the dragon and rider crashing to the stones below.

“Is there where you found your precious Daemon?” you taunted the Would Have Been Queen as you unsheathed Dark Sister and let her see the glint of the metal as you spoke, “I never got to thank him for this.”

An unintelligible scream erupted from her lips before she ordered Syrax to attack, not realising you understood the language. Turning Vhagar away, you let her dive in close and to think she had the kill shot but then Vhagar flung her wings wide, catching the air and coming to a sharp halt that sent Syrax passing by. Curling her wings in tight, Vhagar dropped her mammoth weight and Syrax could do nothing as Vhagar wrapped her giant talons around the dragon and ripped it apart.

Beast and bitch tumbled to the rocks below and you found Sunfyre burying her sharp teeth into Vermax’s neck, shaking it wildly until head and neck separated from body. Both King and dragon were flailing as blood cascaded to the beach below, whatever damage Vermax had done was taking its toll.

Vhagar coasted lazily on the breeze as you watched Sunfyre fall from the skies, wondering if you should have tried to save the king. Perhaps if he had treated you better you would have but you just sat there until his screams faded with the wind before finishing what you had started.

When charred remains were all that was left of the soldiers, you landed Vhagar on the bridge to the ancient castle, drawing Dark Sister and preparing to lay waste to the last of the rebel force. Whatever staff had remained were nowhere to be found and you had no doubt that they would have been instructed to take the remaining offspring of Rhaenyra to hidden tunnels.

You had no plans to kill the children even though they could grow vengeful as they matured, but as a new mother that was one line you found you could not cross. But, perhaps, if the children were taken from these lands then they could be raised in peace and the violent cycle would be broken with them.

So down you trekked, into the bowels of Dragonstone and the damp, dark halls.

The torch in your hand failed to provide any real light but you were relying on your hearing and touch for the most part, feeling the cold stone walls for hidden doors and listening for the sounds of feet. You held your breath as you heard movement up ahead and you unsheathed Dark Sister, ready to face whoever it was hiding in the dark. Another sound reached you, the scrape of chains then a groan of pain you knew intimately.

Abandoning all common sense, you rushed towards the sounds, jarring your arm as you rounded the dark corner and into a small chamber.

A sob ruptured your chest as you found Aemond chained to the wall, his long hair hacked off and his left eye socket empty. You scanned his body but his tattered and torn clothes hid any other injuries until you saw his hand, the metallic tang in the air telling you the black stain spread over the stone was his blood. His finger that had held the ring you wore was gone.

“Ah,” Aemond groaned as he blinked up at you with a pained smile. “Finally. Death is more painful than I imagined but at least it is beautiful.”

Click here for Part Nineteen.

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @eddiemunson17 , @ninjabritches , @solacestyles , @hideing , @missusnora , @marrianena , @jonsncws , @dudfahsn , @queenofterrasen418 , @naeviahope , @averagethottie , @evilcherries , @delusionsofnostalgia , @le-who-zer-her , @readsalot73 , @thewew

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic

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draguta · 9 months

Text

.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-six.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 3796

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Admissions

You stared at the roses, still fully in bloom despite the months that had passed since Feyre and Tamlin’s doomed wedding; this damn eternal Spring. Once the never-ending blooming flowers and green, fresh gardens had been a beauty you thought you’d never stop being in awe of, now they only reminded you of everything you had been forced to face since you’d first seen these grounds.

Above, the stars were dim twinkles in the darkness. There were so few visible here in the Spring Court. Not like Velaris, where you could practically see the very bursts of each and every star in the sky, even those that stretched far off to other worlds beyond the skies of the world that you knew.

Only the creeping darkness, more-so than had been present during your wait, told you that the person you were meeting had finally arrived. You didn’t turn, didn’t look at them, your eyes trained on that sky above. You couldn’t look at the roses, couldn’t think about what they represented.

“I thought I was meeting with Rhys,” you said into the night. You heard the soft inhale behind you.

“He’s…preoccupied tonight,” Azriel said softly. You raised an eyebrow, scoffing slightly.

“Is that what he calls it when he’s avoiding someone?” You countered, crossing your arms over yourself. Despite the thick tunic you had borrowed from Lucien’s wardrobe after he had fallen asleep, large enough to wrap around you comfortably, there was still an odd chill to the air that night, one unknown to the Spring Court before. You couldn’t help thinking that, perhaps, it was foreshadowing for what was to come should Tamlin answer that letter. What would become of these lands - cold and unforgiving - if Tamlin was to side with the enemy.

“He’s not avoiding you,” Azriel said, but when you finally turned to look at him in disbelief over your shoulder, he shrugged, hands still tucked into his pockets. “He thought you wouldn’t want to see him.”

“And he would be right,” you confirmed.

Azriel pinched his lips just a tad. “He is sorry.”

“I’m sure he is,” you said, hands rubbing the cold from your arms. Azriel’s dark eyes followed the motion, seemed to linger a second on that tunic, on the way it sat too large on your body, on the way it was Autumn Court amber. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive him.”

He tilted his head to the side, looking back up at your face. “Well, he deserves to wallow for a while,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Let him stew in it.”

You didn’t answer, instead glancing over his shoulder toward the manor; it was dark inside, no faelights or candles to be seen, but Tamlin had yet to return, despite it being long past midnight, and you couldn’t risk being caught with Azriel, consorting with what Tamlin believed to be the enemy.

“We don’t have long,” you said, and Azriel nodded firmly.

“What have you found out?” He asked.

“Tamlin received a letter from Hybern,” you explained, and a flash of concern fell over Azriel’s eyes, clouding them for a second, before they returned to their natural hazel.

“What did it say?” He asked slowly, taking a step closer to you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Ianthe caught me snooping before I had a chance to read it. But I’m sure it’ll be offering Tamlin something in return for siding with Hybern in the war. That has to be it.”

Azriel began to pace, the gravel of the path crunching beneath every single step that he took, running a hand through his dark locks. “That would be the most logical assumption,” he said quietly. “But Hybern’s not stupid. He wouldn’t have made his intentions clear in a letter. There’ll be something more to this, I’m sure of it.” He halted his movement, glancing at you from the side of his eye. “Keep an eye out, find out anything you can.”

You nodded firmly. “I will.”

Azriel looked you over once, almost as if considering something, and then stepped forward again. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, brushing your own hands away; something in the warmth of his touch thawed the chill across your body. His eyes caught yours and the gaze was so intense, so severe and fierce that had it been someone else, someone who wasn’t your friend, who hadn’t saved you so many months ago, you would have looked away. That didn’t stop the flush from creeping across your breeze-chilled cheeks. “This - you being here at all - is dangerous, Y/N. I know that you know that. But things are about to get real.”

You blinked slowly up at him, your features slack in surprise. “You’re so close to Hybern now,” he continued, his thumbs stroking over your arms gently. “What comes after this isn’t going to be easy, and I’m worried for you.” He paused, and then removed his hands from you so fast that it was almost as if he’d been burnt. He took a step back from you, looking down at the path, shoving his hands in his pockets again. He swallowed once. “I just…I just want you to be careful. Be safe. We need you back in Velaris in one piece.”

You smiled softly, reaching forward to touch his forearm, warm beneath the leather. “I will be.”

His eyes trained on you for a moment. “I think it’s best that we keep in contact more regularly from now on. Once a week. I’ll have Rhys send over a message each time, to confirm the location.”

That moment of vulnerability was over, and as he stood there now, he was the spymaster of the Night Court, the Shadowsinger. The loyal apostle to his leader. No sign of a friend. No sign of whoever had practically begged you to be safe. Who had been so against the idea of sending you back to the Spring Court in the first place.

So you simply nodded, once, and then again. He held your stare, his body turning as if he were going to go, but his eyes lingering a moment longer. Then he cleared his throat, turned away from you entirely, and in a cloud of shadows he disappeared into the night.

You stayed there for just a moment, looking to the spot where he had been moments ago, then you turned and made your way back to the manor. Your walk back to the manor was slow, your feet dragging, eyes trailing upward to those stars once again.

‘If you ever decided to stay, there would always be room for you,’ Cassian had said.

‘We need you back in Velaris in one piece,’ Azriel had said.

Even Tamlin had once said, long before Under the Mountain, when you had still been mortal, just like Cassian, ‘You could stay here you know. There’s room for you here.’

Was it only Rhys who didn’t seem to care? Once upon a time he had. He’d said that you were his hope, had helped you when very few people had even cared to. But now…now he sent you back into the throws of terror, back into the arms of a brother you had sworn you would never go back to. Had blamed you for something that brother had done. And now sent his own brother in his stead, pretending that it was to make you more comfortable, but was likely because he couldn’t face you after what he had said.

You’d once imagined Velaris as a home of sorts. Perhaps not a permanent one, but a home nonetheless. Now, with your relationship with its High Lord so…tentative, could it really be your home? Yet, the same problem lurked here, in the Spring Court. Perhaps you’d never find a real home in Prythian.

Red glinted in your periphery, and you paused, eyes snapping down, to the patio attached to the house where Lucien stood, watching you curiously. You drew in a deep breath, and continued onward down the path.

“What were you doing?” Lucien asked when you finally reached him, passing right by him toward the house, toward the dark foyer and the bed upstairs that was calling your name.

“I went for a walk,” was all you said in reply.

“At this time of night?” Lucien asked with a small scoff. He caught your upper-arm, pulling you back toward him. The moonlight filtered through the open patio doors, illuminating the tiled floor of the foyer in white light, illuminating his golden complexion in white light, as bright, you imagined, as Helion’s power, the High Lord of the Day Court who wielded pure sunlight. “What were you really doing out there?”

“I was thinking,” you said, the lie slipping from your tongue with ease, but tasting like salt. A lie to him. Another lie to Lucien.

“Thinking about what?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. Gold and russet honed on your features, scanning over every inch of your face. You drew in a shuddering breath, your arm feeling clammy under his grip, and gazed up at him. It was time, you decided, for him to know everything. For each lie to come to truth.

“You know what’s coming,” you said carefully, turning fully toward him, resting your hands against his chest, bunching them in the white linen of his shirt. “I know that there is no way, being who you are, that you don’t know what’s coming.”

“Y/N-”

“War, Lucien.” You said it without hesitation. Said it with such clarity and stability that there was no way it could be questioned again. “War is coming. Hybern is coming. I found a letter last night to Tamlin. It was from Hybern.”

Lucien’s eyes widened in shock, his grip on your arm tightening slightly as if you were an anchor in the weight of such a reveal. “Tamlin has been speaking to Hybern?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I know that Tamlin will soon choose what side of this war he will fight on, and it won’t be a choice based on what he believes is right.” You looked over your shoulder, up the stairs, as if you could see right into Tamlin’s room, even if the High Lord wasn’t there. “He’ll make a choice based on what he will benefit from it.”

“I can’t believe…” Lucien began, eyes blinking rapidly like he was trying, and failing, to make sense of what you were saying.

“I’ve made my choice already,” you said determinedly. “Now you need to make yours, Lucien. I won’t tell you what side to fight on, and I won’t try to sway you, but…when you do make that choice, when you do pick a side, try to make sure you’re on the right side of history. Because I love you Lucien, and I don’t want to see you make a mistake.”

With that, you leaned up, planted a hard-pressing kiss to his cheek, and turned for the stairs.

Tamlin’s tongue ran across the front of his teeth, sucking in harshly, enough that the air hissed. His eyes were tired, stinging with every blink. He tried to ignore the blood still crusted on his knuckles from where it had crumbled loose as his claws retracted - the blood of a doe killed that day, one that the beast had deemed needed for lunch, despite the taste of raw meat being less than delectable to Tamlin’s palate.

But it was neither the dried blood on his hands nor the lingering taste of the doe’s flesh that he was focused on. Rather, it was the letter that sat on his desk before him. A letter handed to him upon his arrival back to the manor by a smug-faced priestess, held between her long, pale fingers. A letter bearing the seal of the island to the West.

Hybern.

His eyes trailed over the words as he read them through again, the twelfth time in the past ten minutes. Certain phrases jumped out at him from the paper as if they had been enchanted to grasp his attention. ‘Mutual friend…a common cause…anything you want…rumours of a betrothed stolen…the end of Rhysand, High Lord of Night…meeting in Hybern in three days hence…’

So, Ianthe had been leaking information to persons outside of the Spring Court. Tamlin had suspected, but he had to admit that he was surprised that it had been Hybern. The connection between the little coastal island and his High Priestess was one that he had been aware of - their connection went back at least a century if he wasn’t mistaken - but for her to have been exposing his weaknesses to them…

But then again, Hybern were strong, and the King of Hybern was powerful. He remembered the stories he’d heard of that King during the first war, of entire armies slaughtered at his hand, of those he kept as prisoners of war from the legions that had fought against him, and had been tortured to the point that they gave up the names of even those they loved the most, if only to make it end. Of spells cleaved across the battlefield that hadn’t been wielded in thousands of years.

He’d met the king once before - only the once - at a ball his father had thrown. His father, who had fought alongside the King during that first war, who had become a consort and advisor to the King, had befriended him. Tamlin had been too young to really remember anything about him, other than the fact that he had trained…her. Amarantha.

Powerful. Amarantha had been powerful. Detestable. Hateful. Loathsome. Barbaric. But powerful, yes.

And Hybern had said, ‘Anything you want.’

There was only one thing Tamlin wanted. Only one person. Feyre returned to him, safe and unharmed. Alive. Free of the clutches of that Night Court heathens who were no doubt hurting her…

No, he wouldn’t think about what they were doing to her right now. He wouldn’t go down that road again. Not when he had this; a way forward. A possible way to get her back.

He was on his feet before he even realised it, pushing from his chair and strolling through the manor with more purpose than he’d had in a long time. It was late, perhaps around one o’clock, certainly after midnight, but he didn’t care. If he had to wake them up, then he would.

But, as he reached the foyer, he realised he didn’t have to. There, pushing her way through the patio doors, arms wrapped around herself and, to Tamlin’s fury, wearing a particular tunic that he himself had gifted to Lucien ten Solstice’s ago, which fell right to her thighs, was Y/N. He clenched his fists. Four paces behind her, looking as if he might be about to drop to his knees and beg for her forgiveness for whatever reason - a reason that Tamlin surely didn’t care about one bit in that moment - was Lucien himself. Both fell short at the foot of the stairs as their eyes fell on him. He swallowed once, holding his chin high.

“Prepare yourselves, both of you,” he said, voice lower and fiercer than he intended, the ire of the beast still pumping through his veins, so soon after his transformation back to Fae. He cleared his throat, and continued, “We’re going to Hybern first thing tomorrow morning.”

Y/N let out what could only be described as a startled whine, and Lucien baulked in surprise behind her. “W-Why?” She asked.

“I believe they can help us,” Tamlin explained. “Help us bring Feyre home.”

“Tamlin, I don’t think-” Lucien began, but Y/N stepped forward, hands falling to her sides as she interrupted her lover.

“What about the other High Lords?” She asked. “Helion, and-and maybe Winter or Dawn? Must we go straight to Hybern?”

Tamlin cocked his head. “There are other options we can look into as well,” he said, glancing at Lucien over her shoulder, who simply straightened his back. “When we return from Hybern you’ll go straight to the Day Court, see if there is anything those scholars in their libraries can do to help us.”

Lucien nodded once, a low tilt of his head in confirmation. “Of course.” Tamlin was sure he saw the glare that his sister shot her lover over her shoulder.

“I’ve heard of Hybern,” Y/N said slowly, brows pinched. Her voice was an almost plead, one that broke Tamlin’s heart. How had they become this? Lying to each other, locking each other out. Once they had welcomed each other’s company, had sought out the other to confide in and ask for advice, but now…

‘It’s your own fault,’ Tamlin thought. ‘You let your fear control you. Let the memory of her dictate your actions. You did this.’

“They are a cruel people, ruled by an even cruller King,” Y/N continued; one hesitant step toward him, mirrored by Lucien behind her. “Are these really the types of people that we wish to ally ourselves with?”

She was right; of course she was right. She was clever, had always been clever. He had known that from the very first moment he’d met her. And this…she was telling him exactly what he already knew. Hybern was dangerous, a temperamental ally, one that would make deals and alliances to your face, and sharpen their sword ready to make their killing blow behind your back. But…

But Feyre. For Feyre he would do it. He would make that alliance, and when she was safe at home again, then he would find a way around it, find a way out of the deal he would make. If he even needed to make one at all. Perhaps… There was always the chance that another solution would be found. But to not even consider this one would be a mistake.

“It’s not your decision to make,” was all Tamlin replied, ignoring the way she recoiled slight at his harsh tone, one that he had hoped conveyed all of his ever-racing thoughts but only seemed to contain that cold disdain that he’d worn for so long now it had become like an armour to him. “We’ll speak with Hybern tomorrow and see what they can offer us, what we can offer them, if an alliance was to take place.”

“But-”

“The decision has been made,” he said again, fiercer, sterner. And with that, he turned on his heel, stalked back to his study.

He tried to ignore Lucien’s soft murmur of, “It’s just a meeting, Y/N. We’ll have other options later.” And the soft groan that Y/N released as she buried her face in his chest.

The walk back up the stairs was silent. Lucien kept his eyes trained on Y/N, on the way her hands wrung before her, her own eyes tracking her footsteps up each step. She was thinking, he had no doubt, that beautiful mind running through every possible course of action. Every possible outcome of that meeting the next day. Why Tamlin had invited her - when he had been so against the idea of Y/N being put in the path of danger every other time - Lucien wasn’t sure, but he knew that, whatever it was she’d been taught in the Night Court, she was honing those skills. Calling to those new strengths that she now possessed.

It wasn’t until they were standing in the hallway, her room on their right, his on their left, both loitering outside as if neither wanted to go in, that he finally spoke. Just as she turned, the words tumbled from his lips, a truth finally uttered, “I’m on whatever side you’re on. Whatever side keeps you safe.”

A glint in her eye, one that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Was it relief, perhaps? Or maybe, as much as he hated the idea, cynicism? Incredulity? That he would do anything to keep her safe…

“You’ve chosen, then?” Was all she softly said. Lucien swallowed, even as she took a step back toward her bedroom door, even as he took a step closer to her, arms coming to rest on either side of her body, caging her in place.

“I’ve chosen,” he replied, voice low. He licked his lips as her scent engulfed him - jasmine and lavender, sweet and fresh. That scent, her scent, would be the death of him. She blinked up at him, and he wondered what was going through that mind of hers now, what she was considering, what she was hoping and surmising. He wanted to know, wanted to know every inch of her, even that mind. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion. He wanted to feel them all, to see them all, to think them all himself, as if they were one in the same.

Was that the mating bond? The bond that hadn’t snapped yet? Would that bind them together in that way, for eternity? He could only hope that when that bond did finally snap into place, he would know every inch of her.

“And what side did you choose?” She asked, her voice so quiet it was almost like the whisper of Spring breeze that fluttered across the night-kissed grounds outside.

He smiled softly, catching her eyes with his. Sparkles of glints in her eyes seemed to burst under his gaze, like starlight, pure and beautiful. “You don’t already know?”

“What side did you choose, Lucien?” She asked again, her voice a little firmer this time. She needed this answer, needed to know what side of this war he would fight on. Needed to know whether it would be by her side.

“You,” he said finally, drinking in her scent once more, filling that one word with such sincerity that he was sure it would have been less difficult to simply rip his heart out, still beating, and lay it bare for her in the palm of his hand. Because this was difficult for him - to love someone, to care so deeply that it hurt to know how fragile that love was, and yet be unable to give it up. He had loved, and he had lost. He had mourned a love so great, but this ran even deeper, this feeling that he had whenever he looked at Y/N. And he knew, no matter what, she was all that mattered in this world, in his world. She was everything. “I choose you, Y/N. And I will never stop choosing you.”

And with that, he closed the space between them, he tasted her sweet flavour, marred in wine that she had likely been drinking before her little walk in the garden, and fresh chilled wind. She tasted perfect.

His everything.

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dont-f-with-moogles · 8 months

Note

Someone said smut prompts? Ho ho ho how about 16? ✨️

Smut Scribbles 16. “You taste so good.”

In The Empty Hours (NSFW-ish) Characters: Levi x Hange Modern AU Word Count: 1341 words

Too much of the night had elapsed to call it dusk; too little for it to be proclaimed dawn. Pale patches of sky were blotted by dark blooms of cloud like ink on paper. Below, where the rest of the city slept, drizzle soaked empty pavements. Flickering, neon lights glimmered in shallow puddles. Above where Hange was seated, the flimsy gable whipped under a sudden, rain-flecked gust. A cluster of plastic bottles and take-out containers were tossed into the gutter. Cloaked in a fine mist, the rain cleansed away all the sins of the previous day. Hange mused upon this gravely, the promise of a clean slate, as their hair sank damp and heavy upon their shoulders. Shifting around on their seat, Hange gazed over a low counter surrounded by tacky wall menus and faded images of deep-fried dishes. This establishment was little more than a hatch in the wall rather than an actual restaurant, but for twenty four hours a day it served questionable food and reasonably-priced drinks. For that reason it drew all the lost souls of the city; the ones who never slept but wasted the stretch of empty hours until sunrise. Reaching for their drink, they knocked back one last mouthful of cold beer before setting it back down amongst the glasses which cluttered the wooden bar. There was a hand on their waist. Levi Ackerman was helping them down from the stool, passing a handful of notes to the proprietor for his trouble.

Admittedly, Hange had lost count of the number of drinks he had bought them that night. The alcohol had spread through their veins like warm water, setting their cheeks aglow in the cool air. It had loosened their tongue and left them with a smile upon their lips. Although, admittedly this had less to do with the half a dozen bottles of beer they had consumed and more to do with the company. The pair of them had talked for hours, one playful snipe aimed after another. Conversation was a game to them both; a series of matches to determine who would have the last word. Only what had begun as friendly sparring quickly descended into provocation. Levi’s voice was as dark as smoke, drifting dangerously as he drew close enough to whisper in their ear. Intoxicated, Hange had leaned closer; Levi’s fingertips danced circles on the back of their hand, eyes cast down to their mouth. A foot leaning innocently against his ankle one moment had started to slide invitingly up the inside of his leg the next.

On the other side of the counter the manager had averted his eyes, rubbing at the same water spots with a dirty dishrag. Subtly, Levi’s fingers had threaded through theirs; his thumb tracing their knuckles, sending electricity shooting along their arm. He was so good-looking, he really needn’t have wasted any money on so much beer. Either way, the two of them were leaving together. There came another small shock as their noses touched. Anticipation sent Hange’s insides fluttering. Levi was so close now that his breath was grazing their mouth. As Hange closed the gap, he pulled away at the last minute. Tantalisingly, he lifted their hand and pressed a kiss to their open palm.

“We’re a little too exposed here, don’t you think?” he had remarked, eyes narrowed. Hange glanced over his shoulder, left and then right, taking in both ends of the empty street as they smiled to themself.

“Then it’s lucky for you that I live nearby.”

Lulled into a haze, Hange’s limbs were too heavy to move with any kind of grace. Instead, they were forced to cling to their new acquaintance as the pair of them traipsed along the narrow sidewalk together. In the distance, the call of sirens wailed and died. Voices rang out from several roads over, only to be answered with peals of echoing laughter. A far-off throb of music shook the earth several buildings away, sending residual tremors beneath their unsteady feet.

They swayed towards the road together, Levi’s arm slung around Hange’s neck. A car rolled into view, forcing Hange to pause in mid-stride with one foot lifted from the curb. Wobbling, they clung onto Levi’s waist.

“Whoa!” Hange laughed airily. Levi’s arm rested against the back of their neck, fingers entwined with theirs. “Don’t let me go, okay?”

Levi’s hand squeezed theirs in reply.

“Never.”

The two of them wound their way towards Hange’s apartment, Levi’s arm encircling their waist. His fingers grazed over their hip, thumb toying under the hem of their shirt. Hange stepped down a sidealley leaving the scents of fried chicken and the faint waft from the sewers behind them. Here the night air was cooler, carrying with it the tang of sea salt. Tower blocks leaned so close together that only a glow of artificial light filtered down, outlining the expanse of redbrick which stretched to dazzling heights above them. Air conditioning units dripped cold water into shimmering puddles below. Bolted doors loomed within shadowy recesses.

Levi’s shoe scraped against the pavement. Hange drew to a halt, expecting that he had lost his footing. Instead he pulled them into his arms.

Excitement exploded in the pit of Hange’s stomach as they felt the press of his lips against theirs. He broke away slowly, with a gentle pull upon their bottom lip. Parting only for a moment, they leaned in again. Each kiss was deep, sensitive, lingering - laced with hidden meaning. Each time they parted, in that brief second, the fire inside Hange reignited all over again as they yearned for the pressure of his lips. Turning their head, Hange felt his mouth open against theirs, tongue gliding across the back of their teeth.

With a jolt, Hange’s back slammed into cold metal. Their mouths, their hands ran all over each other; bodies obscured by the shadows which pooled from the recess. Levi’s tongue was cold from the beer. Addicted to his flavour, Hange’s fingers threaded through his hair, keeping his head in place. The sounds of the city faded on the wind, replaced with the rustle of Levi’s jacket; the gasp of quickening breath; the sounds of kissing.

But Levi had other designs on them. He eased his head away, dropping his lips to Hange’s jawline. Dark, damp hair swept featherlike across their cheek. With a sigh Hange’s head rolled back against the door, leaving the skin of their neck bare. Already a step ahead of them, Levi’s body covered theirs. Hot, open-mouthed kisses were pressed to Hange’s throat. A half-stifled moan only seemed to spur him on. His lips lingered on their neck, branding their skin until it was reddened and raw.

Hands reached underneath Hange’s shirt; Levi held them to him, fingertips stroking their back. Gently, he teased with the subtle grinding of his hips as he kissed the soft spot of skin beneath Hange’s ear. A delicious thrill ran through them, electrifying their very core. Hange’s leg slid up, knee crooked into his waist. He was hard against them, each movement sending whips of white-hot pleasure lashing through them. If this is how he could make them feel fully clothed… Hange couldn’t begin to imagine how well this man could fuck. Their apartment was so close, barely a two minute walk from the alleyway, but it seemed unlikely that either of them was going to make it there. Desperate for real friction, for the sensation of his warm skin against theirs, Hange’s hands moved down to his belt.

Levi pulled back long enough for Hange to draw in a ragged breath. A hand slid out from the material of their shirt to encircle their wrist.

“I find that the best meals are the ones where you savour every bite...” His eyes shone, their depths dark like the ocean floor. “...so if this is just for one night, then let’s make it last.” His mouth was tracing their jaw again.

“Besides, you taste so good…” Levi’s breath curled against their lips. “... I have to try every part of you.” ... Okay, okay so the reason this one is so long is that I shamelessly lifted it from a x reader oneshot I've been working on! Sorry but I've been pushed for time this week. Hope you enjoyed it anyway, Nube! ❤️

Go on, send me not so SFW Ask. You know you want tooo~ 👉 Smut Scribbles

#If I've accidentally left 'you'#Or 'Yokohama' in here #Let me know?#tw: alcohol #hange zoe #levi ackerman #levi x hange #levihan #Levihan smut #Sort of #Levihan drabble #attack on titan #aot #snk #n.sfw-ish #smut scribbles #my writing

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