Contém: Sangue, bastardos, inclusão de personagens não canônicos & Aemond.
Notas: Isso é um teste, caso me sintir em condições de continuar isto, atualizações virão em breve. Pode ser confuso, mas isso é em primeira pessoa da oc.
Falas em itálico sinalizam atos passados ou seja, falas no passado.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ︶︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶︶
— Diante de minhas palavras, acredito que a Pedra do Dragão tenha mais a oferecer que o vasto verde do jardim de Porto Real ou a grande presença da Fortaleza Vermelha. Os dragões são livres, assim como quem esteja sobre esta terra.
— Estar presa sobre as paredes de sua moradia não te cansa? Somos distantes, mas ainda compartilhamos ideias, Aurane. E carregar o desejo de vê-la livre e feliz ao meu lado é um sonho que tanto guardo em meu peito.
A dor era implacável, mas não tanto com o que seu irmão mais velho sentiu. Dor, raiva ou desespero, uma mistura eficaz para a queda de alguém. Uma dor que se rasga tanto quanto uma adaga rasgava a pele. E isso apenas era o início.
Seu choro era audível, como um dragão ferido. O sangue escorria, caído ao chão e que pintou sua pele de porcelana e seu cabelo prateado. Sangue e fogo se misturavam, como a mais impagável tinta.
Bastardos. Aquele garoto rastejou como uma cobra, rápido e ágil. Uma criança chorosa, virado em raiva. Sangue pintava todas as faces, assim como a tensão se instalava e trazia o conjunto de emoções. Aquilo era o abismo para o que a Casa Targaryen esperava.
— Eu não estou presa sobre as muralhas de Porto Real, se é o que você pensa, Baela. Eu apenas… sou cuidada.
— Meu pai sempre disse que apenas tolos acreditam em suas próprias mentiras ou das de outros. Suas palavras contam a verdade por trás da sentença dele.
— Pare de me provocar…
Apesar disto, ela me segurou em seus braços com força quando eu lutava contra seu cuidado. Isso foi cego, eu não senti.
Por que sentiria? Ela tinha seu irmão sangrando após um golpe dos mais covardes e isso apenas não era justo. Injustiça. Covardia. Seja o que for, esses Strongs eram a escória do mundo. Manchada seria cada vez mais o semblante do Lorde que uma vez liderou a Casa, seja por seus filhos… seja por sua morte e atos.
Bastardos, Bastardos sejam.
Por piedade e compaixão dos Sete, Ser Harrold finalmente tinha chegado e muito bem se fazendo notável. Cuidando de seu príncipe machucado com todo respeito e dedicação em seu posto.
Baela arfou, Jace e Luce fizeram o mesmo em seguida. Rhaena estava assustada, mas aborrecida. Aurane por outro lado carregava raiva e frustração.
— Me solte!
Seu clamor pareceu finalmente ser escutado, Baela fez como pedido. Mas ainda hesitante, nervosa com o que a esperava vindo de Aurane quando tudo parecia vagamente cuidado.
— Covardes! Todos, covardes!
Aurane estava descontrolada, cegada pela raiva e dor no que viu seu irmão passar. Ela chegou a atacar Baela que eventualmente tentou se defender, mas apenas um dos guardas que acompanhou Harrold a separou quando a segurou com firmeza.
Assistir não era o que se esperava, obviamente. Lucerys estava assustado, banhado ao sangue de quem era puro. Jacaerys? Tão perdido quanto seu pai ao fogo. Eufóricos todos estavam, Rhaena foi até Lucerys conferir se estava bem como fez com Jacaerys.
A raiva de Aurane era visível aos olhos de quem estava presente. Obviamente trouxe olhares de susto e que condenaram o olhar que muitos tinham dela. Mas o que fazer? Ter seu irmão covardemente atacado e não demonstrar o nada poderia tê-la crucificado.
Apesar de que isto não seja do que demonstrar e sim fazer?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ︶︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶︶
Notas finais: Originalmente a história que desejo fazer é colocada ao topo o relacionamento de Aurane Targaryen (uma oc, filha de Alicent e Viserys) e Baela Targaryen. Claro, tendo todo um drama safico como é sempre esperado 🦈👟👟 ... No caso, leitor(a) sentiu-se interessado (a)? Sinta-se livre em opinar sobre, fazer questionamentos leves e dentre outros. Estou livre para respondê-los! Espero que isto chegue nas pessoas certas 😫
first official gaul doodles/shitposts here. my greatest plight is that i really want to look at her wardrobe and yet only two of her outfits have easy to find 'references'. oh, woe is me. also president ravinstill is there
When you closed your eyes, the only thing you could see was the expression of terror on the face of that poor maid, the blood covering your feet, and in your ears the echo of that man's cries resonated.
You cried for two days, silencing your screams and moans out of habit, hurting your throat as a result.
When your free days were over you moved automatically, nodding and shaking your head as was appropriate.
Your mind kept going over the scene and every day it gave you a new detail, the shadows took the form of hands trying to catch you and the puddles grew in size until you could feel the liquid through your shoes.
When you slept you relived the memory over and over again, every part, every second trapped until Cassandra came to free you from the cycle, Cassandra with her face covered in blood and a smile that showed her sharp fangs.
Your feelings of disgust and horror that the cruel scene caused you disappeared when you saw the Omega, speaking to you in a soft tone trying to give you relief.
“Blood and human flesh are our sustenance”
You had ignored the rumors surrounding the castle and the Dimitrescu because you knew firsthand how they could be twisted for someone else's benefit.
“We need it to live”
Every being needs sustenance to continue, plants, fungi, animals and humans.
And this could be different, adapted to the needs of each being.
“You understand, right?”
Of course.
“It's part of me”
Cassandra was not human.
“You love me, right?”
Did you?
Was it love you felt? You had never felt it before, all your life you have focused on surviving, and no one tried to get close to you unless it was to hurt you.
Was it love? The day you found Cassandra you acted on instinct, an Alpha protecting an Omega from danger, an Alpha attracted to an Omega in Heat.
Was it love? What enticed you was the fact that someone wanted you, desired you, needed you. For once you felt that your life was worth something.
Was it love? Cassandra was beautiful, more than once your gaze fell on her biceps observing even the smallest detail when she threw the easels.
Was it love? You were attracted to Cassandra's attitude, demanding and firm not letting anyone walk all over her, strong and stubborn pursuing what she wants without fear, gentle and sentimental, a side that you had seen during her Heat and in the stories her sisters told you.
You didn't know if it was love, but you knew it wouldn't take long to become that.
What should you do?
You turned to see the fur beside your bed, covered to the fiber of your scent.
The next step in courtship was to provide sustenance, food.
Providing your Omega with everything she needed and asked for was your duty as Alpha.
Your Omega needed human flesh for sustenance.
And it was your duty to provide it.
Hunting, killing another human, ending someone else's life for the chance at a Mate was selfish, cruel and depraved…
Despite your silence Dorothea could get an idea of what had happened, after all gossiping was the servants' source of entertainment.
A few days ago, some prisoners escaped and their pieces ended up scattered in the hallway, her team salvaged as much as they could, after all wasting it meant someone else would take its place.
It was a grotesque scene, but over the years Dorothea has adapted to many things and made sure her team did too.
You, on the other hand, were gentler than you seemed to be at first look, despite the horrendous treatment you had experienced, witnessing such a scene surely was a tremendous shock for you.
However, if you wanted to court a Dimitrescu, even more so to Mate with one, you had to understand and accept their inhumanity.
When Dorothea found out about you, she didn't give it much importance, one more face walking on the edge of her knife.
She never thought she would become fond of you, she blames her wife for that, when it comes to Relia the barriers of her heart crumble easily as wet paper.
She never dreams that she would get to see Cassandra in harmony with her subgenre. For the new maids it wasn't much of a difference, but for the older ones the change in the young mistress's behavior was obvious.
Even though Miss Cassandra groaned in annoyance and Lady Dimitrescu turned a blind eye at her pup behavior, there was no doubt that the young mistress acted like a high-class Omega challenging her chosen one to see if she met her standards, if she was worthy of being her mate.
It was adorable and hilarious to watch.
So, Dorothea had faith in you, letting you process things in your own time despite Relia's whining was the best thing to do.
- "What is Cassandra's favorite food? Her preferences?"-
Your voice sounded hoarse from disuse, your face was pale, and your hands were shaking, yet you kept your gaze in her eyes, determined to get answers.
Dorothea gave you information about Cassandra's preferences and your butchering skills were more than enough to prepare the meat.
You just had to choose the prey.
The inhabitants of the castle were off limits due to the rules imposed by Lady Dimitrescu and Bela, out of respect you did not want to disobey them. Besides, you don’t want to ruin the good atmosphere you had with your workshop colleagues and the kitchen team.
In the village there are drunks everywhere, being prey to the Lycans is common, no one would care if one disappeared.
"How dare you even think of giving meat of such a disgusting level to our Omega?"
Your Alpha was right.
Cassandra deserved the best and your duty was to give it to her or die trying.
You had to hunt healthy prey, with enough meat to be nutritious and fat to give flavor.
Drunks were off the table.
You needed meat to offer Cassandra as food.
You needed quality meat, not too old, not too young, not too fat, not too thin, free of vices and with a healthy diet.
And while you had made your decision, snatching a child from its parents or parents from their child weighed on your conscience, you would stain your hands with blood anyway, but at least you wanted to sleep without dreaming about empty cribs and children crying.
You closed your eyes reviewing the faces of the village that you could remember, who met your requirements?
Image after image crossed your mind until you found the answer.
A couple at the peak of their age.
A couple with a balanced diet.
A couple with a life free of alcohol and cigarettes.
A couple whose parents have already died.
A couple without brothers or cousins.
A couple whose offspring is cursed.
When you opened your eyes the heaviness on your shoulders disappeared.
You have already made your decision.
Your two free days were close, you would use one to confirm the routine of your prey and on the second you would attack.
You would not let doubt consume you; you would take the next step as soon as possible.
Cassandra had waited more than enough.
--------------------------------------------
You couldn't find Greta anywhere, you needed to tell her about your temporary departure, it was either her or Bela but considering that neither of the Dimitrescu had approached you it was easy to assume that the blonde was not an option.
“Omega must be furious at our uncertainty and cowardice”
The shame of having run without looking at her burned you and the only thing that could extinguish it was to demonstrate your devotion and acceptance towards her.
Through the offering of fresh meat.
You couldn't waste any more time, so you took the risk.
- “A trip outside the castle?” - The maid was someone you had seen working close to Greta and held a higher rank than you, Olivia.
- “I’ll be back before nightfall on the second day.”- Leaving the castle temporarily wasn't that strange, as long as you had permission from the Dimitrescu or the Head Maid and returned on time, you were safe.
However, Greta had chosen the perfect day to take a vacation because you couldn't find any trace of her and time was passing.
- “Ok, as long as you arrive on time, there won't be a problem. I'll let her know your whereabouts.”-
You breathed a sigh of relief and offered her a grateful smile.
After making sure your backpack was hidden, you covered your body in mud to hide your scent and set off on a path you knew by heart.
The house where your prey lived was somewhat far from the town, it wasn't on the edge like your cabin, but the distance was enough so that the neighbors couldn't hear screams.
It's not like you were planning on making a scene, being in better shape didn't mean you could fight a mob by hand.
Hiding among the branches of a sturdy tree your vigil began.
After confirming the routine your prey followed, you prepared for the hunt. While attacking at night was perfect to avoid drawing attention, the darkness would be a disadvantage to you too and would cause trouble, plus the Lycans tended to be active at those hours.
Your plan was to enter the house just as the woman was cooking, as she used too many spices they would hide whatever leftover of your scent, you would finish her off quickly and hide her body in a closed room. When the man came home you would make noise to draw his attention and the moment he entered you would pierce his throat with an arrow to prevent him from screaming and then finish him off. With your two preys caught you would proceed to bleed them into two buckets and then dismember the bodies, focusing on taking only Cassandra's favorite pieces because you couldn't carry both bodies at once and making a double trip increased the chances of being discovered by the others more inhabitants or the Lycans. So, you would put everything you could in the backpack, cover the buckets to avoid spills and then start your way back to the castle.
After taking a bath, you would take your gifts and go to Cassandra's room to deliver them. You would apologize for your delay and depending on her answer...
Whether yes, or no, there is no turning back.
-------------------------------
You have to be fast and discreet.
Entering the house without being seen, went to the kitchen where the woman was.
Alone.
Her attention was focused on the stew on the stove, the smell of the spices was strong enough to impregnate the kitchen and the entire house.
You approached her slowly.
And with quick hands in a precise movement, you broke her neck.
The body fell at your feet writhing unable to scream, her gaze fell on you which made you lower your head and maintain a submissive posture.
Mother detested your rebellion.
“She is not a mother, she is prey”
Prey, yes, the woman was prey.
When you turned to see her, her eyes were already empty of life.
She would never look at you with contempt again.
You would never hear her insults again.
You would never feel the pain of the whip against your back for looking at her wrong, for speaking to her wrong, for breathing wrong, for existing wrong.
Never.
You took a deep breath and, taking her legs, you dragged her to the closet.
Before closing the door, you looked at the lifeless body once more.
The soup was still burning to keep the smell of the spices, your prey was a veteran hunter, even covered in mud, he could detect your scent.
You heard the footsteps approaching and prepared your bow.
A shot to the throat to stop him from screaming and then you would finish him off with your knife.
That was the plan.
However, the arrow missed its target, nailing itself centimeters above the man's head, who immediately turned to look at you.
You froze.
- “What the fuck?” – The man's confusion soon turned to anger, before you could prepare another arrow, he lunged at you.
- “What are you doing here?!” -
- “Where's my wife?!”-
- “What have you done?!”-
Each question was punctuated with a blow.
“Stop being so defensive! Attack!”
- “I should have blown your brains out a long time ago” –
“Fight!”
- “Damn aberration” –
“Fight!”
He got up from your beaten body to take out his gun.
- “I'll end your miserable life once and for all” –
“Don't you dare to leave our Omega alone!”
You kicked his crotch before he could take off the safety, the man dropped the gun in pain, but you didn't grab it. You tackled him, knocking him to the ground and threw punch after punch.
In these three months you gained weight and the work in the workshop helped you build muscle.
The man was an old Beta, and you were a healthy young Alpha.
Unlike you he could not coordinate because he was not used to being the one receiving the beating.
- “No more” – No more punches, no more kicks, no more insults, no more begging, no more pleading.
The man's movements were weak and slow
- “Never” – You would never allow him to put his hands on your Mate.
The movement ceased.
You looked at the bloody face of the man and instead of feeling guilty for killing him you felt guilty for having wasted blood.
In the end they were right…
- “Goodbye Father”-
…the blood in your veins meant nothing.
------------------------------------------------
You tied two ropes to different ceiling beams and hung the bodies, placed the buckets and proceeded to cut their necks.
You sharpened your knives while you waited, when not a drop more fell you lowered them and laid them on the floor.
*THUMP*
You proceeded to cut so you could take the pieces that Dorotthea confirmed were Cassandra's favorites.
“Omega will be happy with our gift”
Blood covered the walls, the floor, your face, your clothes and your hands.
*THUMP*
You had killed your parents.
*THUMP*
They raised you.
*THUMP*
They fed you.
*THUMP*
They punished you.
*THUMP*
They tortured you.
*THUMP*
They never defended you.
*THUMP*
They abandoned you.
*THUMP*
And you killed them.
*THUMP*
It was your decision
*SLASH*
No one forced you; no one ordered you.
*SLASH*
It was your choice
*SLASH*
You are a murderer.
*SLASH*
A traitor to humanity.
*SLASH*
They betrayed you first.
*SLASH*
They attacked you first
*SLASH*
They abandoned you first.
*SLASH*
In the castle there are people who care about you, who appreciate you and take care of you.
*SLASH*
In the castle there is your pack.
*SLASH*
In the castle there is the woman who sought you out, who chose you.
*THUMP*
Your actions are breaking you
You are falling piece by piece.
*Drip*
And from the pieces that fall you will create a Mate worthy of her.
*Drip*
But you can't help but fear that it will all be in vain and all that awaits you is another rejection.
Bela trusted you, had faith in you and this is how you repay her?
… is it her fault? Did you keep your resentment close to your chest until the opportunity to escape presented itself?
Did she ruin her little sister's chance because of her recklessness?
- “Cassandra!” - Daniela's scream brought her back to the present and she could finally notice the scent that fluttered around the room like a hurricane.
Anger and determination
Cassandra had gone from sadness and self-pity to anger.
- “Fuck this” -
How much she had missed seeing that flame.
- “Alpha is mine” - A statement that no one dared to deny.
Your fate was sealed from the moment Mother brought you, no, from the moment Cassandra trusted you in her most vulnerable state.
You belonged to Cassandra and Bela refused to fail her little sister again.
But… if Bela found you first, she would give you the chance to explain yourself and she would listen to you until the end before punching you.
Daniela blinked, trying to dispel the hallucination in front of her.
Because it has to be a hallucination, you would never abandon them, you would never abandon Cassandra, the Omega you courted with fervent adoration.
… right?
But when she turned to see the stupefied faces of her family, she knew it was not an illusion.
You were gone, the moment she stopped watching you, the moment she placed her complete trust was the moment you decided to escape.
How could you live like that? They had given you their full blessing to court Cassandra and not counting the accident with Lucia they had been more than kind to you.
Didn't you love her sister?
Daniela looked at Cassandra and relief coursed through her veins as she noticed that the emptiness in her eyes had been replaced with the fury that characterized her.
Her sister stood up from Mother's lap, her scent intensifying with each passing second.
Anger and determination
The relief quickly turned to fear.
What was Cassandra going to do to you?
- "Cassandra!" - As much as your betrayal hurt, she couldn't let you die, they could still fix it, they could still convince you.
- "Fuck this" - Did she decide to end the courtship? End you? No, her sister would never give up.
- "Alpha is mine" - Cassandra growled the words, her eyes shining with the intensity of the sun itself and Daniela knew that her sister was finally in harmony with her Omega.
And they were ready to capture their escapist Alpha.
Mother had stayed in the castle to prepare Cassandra's room.
- "You would need a comfortable collar to wear and long chains"-
See? Mother had finally accepted you, she gave you permission to be in Cassandra's room outside of her heat.
Chained, but those are minor details.
According to the information they obtained, only Olivia had seen you leave; after what happened with Lucia, all the maids avoided you, the only ones who didn't were Dorothea's pack and Relia's group; but because it was your two days off, they didn't know your whereabouts because for them you were locked in your room as you always did.
Cassandra caught your scent without difficulty and without wasting time she followed the trail until she lost it a few meters before reaching the town.
An admirable feat because Cassandra's sense of smell was the best in the pack. They decided to split up to search for the town, Cassandra would cover the north starting from your cabin, Bela would cover the south and she would patrol the surroundings.
Being the fastest she could cover the perimeter of the village in minutes and her eyesight was far superior to her sisters, even in complete darkness she could see for miles there was no way you could escape from her.
On her third lap she saw it, a figure covered in blood walking with difficulty through the forest. Focusing more she could recognize its features.
Your features.
She found you.
* “I found her” *
* “On my way” *
* “Don’t let her escape Daniela” *
In less than a minute she was standing in front of you
- “I can’t believe you did this, after everything we’ve been through together, I gave you my friendship and you spit in my face, com-
*THUMP*
You dropped the buckets you were carrying to soon vomit on a poor bush.
Oh, shit she forgot you were covered in blood.
She came over and checked you over as you continued to expel your guts.
You were covered in bruises and the occasional scrape, but you had no wounds that could cause bleeding.
The blood wasn't yours.
The smell of blood was stronger in the buckets, bending down she took the lid off one.
Blood.
Fresh blood.
Fresh man's blood.
She moved her hand to taste it, but stopped when she heard you scream and notice the threat in your scent.
-“NO!”- You had never spoken to her like that - “It's not for you”-
Your posture and your scent made it clear that if she decided to ignore your words you were going to attack her.
She slowly covered the bucket and with the same care stood up, at no time did you stop watching her.
You were alert, tense and covered in blood.
What had you done?
The sound of a swarm arriving caught the attention of both of you.
-“Who do you think you are, Little Alpha?” – Bela growled.
Cassandra would not take long to arrive.
Her sister checked you from head to toe, approached you and flicked you on the forehead with a finger.
- “Didn’t I tell you to let me know if you needed anything?”- She said, quickly taking your face and wiping it with the rag she always carried in her pocket – “Leaving the castle without permission or notice warrants punishment, what’s your excuse?”-
- “I couldn’t find you nor Greta, but I told Olivia that I would be back in two days at most, being Greta’s second in command I thought there would be no problem”- Huh, it seems that the dungeon will have a new guest.
- “What was so important that you couldn’t wait?” - Daniela had an idea and from the sidelong glance of her older sister she had also drawn her conclusions.
- “I-” – You opened your eyes and hurriedly walked away from Bela to take off the backpack you were carrying on your back.
*BUZZ*
Cassandra had finally arrived.
Both Bela and her walked away from you, however Daniela remained alert to protect you in case Cassandra’s fury was unleashed.
But Cassandra reformed silently, without screaming and without attacking, walking towards you with an indifferent face that was betrayed by the scent fluttering around her.
Anger
Despite that, the one who shortened the distance between the two of you was you.
You knelt at Cassandra's feet to place the backpack in front of you and the two buckets flanking it.
- "Omega" - Your voice was firm, but Daniela could notice the slight tremor in it, - "My behavior the previous nights was regrettable and I understand if you wish to end the courtship," - You raised your head and she was sure that in your eyes there was only that perpetual adoration - "Even so, I dare to beg for another chance and as an apology for my horrible behavior I give you sustenance from prey that I hunted with my hands" -
You opened the backpack and Daniela gulped because the wrappers were useless, only the smell gave away its contents.
Fresh meat.
Fresh human meat.
Of man and woman.
You bowed your head in reverence as you bumped your bloody and wounded fists together, a courtship posture that she had only read about in her books.
- “I promise you that you will never be cold because I will give you shelter, you will never go hungry because I will bring you food, you will never be alone because I will be by your side until the day I breathe my last breath; dear Omega, beloved Cassandra, could you forgive this pathetic Alpha?”-
Daniela bit her hand hard to silence her excited cry while with the other she shook Bela's shoulder until her sister slapped her without looking at her because just like her, she was focused on the scene in front of her.
Cassandra took one of the pieces of the backpack and when she opened it two pairs of eyes in perfect condition were in the palm of her hand, Daniela licked her lips hungrily, after all eyes are the favorite snack of the three and for which they are always competing.
Her sister took one and examined it in detail and then set her gaze on you.
- "Alpha, look at me" - You obeyed in seconds like a trained dog.
Cassandra placed the eye between her teeth and chewed it without closing her mouth, she did it slowly without looking away from you.
While Daniela could not see your face your scent revealed the disgust you felt towards the action.
Her sister took another and repeated the process, always staring at you.
Despite your clear displeasure you did not look away for even a second.
When you finished Cassandra smiled and that was enough for your displeasure to be replaced by pure and absolute euphoria.
Her sister's smile faded, and she leaned down to held your face, her gloved hands stained with the blood from her snack but you didn't seem to care as a content rumble came from your chest.
- "Did you leave the castle just to hunt?" –
- "Yes, I used my two days off and told Olivia I'd be back before nightfall on the second day." –
- "Why didn't you look for Greta to inform her directly?" –
- "I looked for her, but I didn't find her neither I find B-" You flinched and hissed in pain before continuing – "L-Lady Bela and I didn't want to waste any more time."
- "Why in such a hurry?" –
- "I've made you wait too long." –
Cassandra brought her face closer to yours and her whisper was clear to her superior ears.
- "I think the same." –
And she kissed you.
Cassandra, out of her Heat, totally in control of her actions, kissed you.
SHE KISSED YOU.
Daniela screamed without a voice and proceeded to do three backflips before kneeling and raising her hands to the sky.
- “Praise the Dark God”- She whispered with all the gratitude and happiness her body could generate.
hola!! I would like to request larissa x reader where they broke up years ago and when larissa sees reader again she finds out reader has a daughter who looks just like her 👀 lots of angst please
All the Quiet Things
Larissa Weems x fem!reader
A/N: Ngl, I usually wouldn’t write fics where a kid is involved, but reading this request my brain was immediately flooded with angst ideas…. I hope you’ll enjoy it, I sure enjoyed working on it! Oh and happy pride month!
She tells herself it’s the books.
There’s a stall in Greymoor Square that sells rare volumes. Bindings cracked from age, typefaces long since faded. The woman who runs it speaks only in riddles and won’t haggle for anything less than a poem. It’s charming, Larissa tells herself. Worth the hour’s drive, if only for the atmosphere.
That’s why she’s here.
She repeats it like a mantra as she steps onto the cobbled main street of the town just past Jericho. Her heels click sharply against stone. The air smells of baked bread, cherry blossoms, and something sweeter underneath. Something she refuses to name.
It’s early yet. The market is just waking.
Sunlight stretches pale across the awnings, catching on glass bottles filled with syrup and honey. Someone’s tuning a fiddle in the corner. Wind stirs the edges of paper signs.
Larissa inhales. Exhales. Keeps walking.
She should be back at Nevermore, revising staff evaluations, fielding calls from the board, dealing with that absurdly smug fencing instructor who’s started teaching metaphors alongside parries. Instead, she is here, in a town she once passed through and never returned to.
The lie still holds.
Barely.
She stops at a table of marmalades, nods politely to the vendor, pretends to study the jars. Her gloved fingers pass over labels—plum-rose, blackberry-thyme, fig and burnt orange. The colors are rich and glimmer faintly in the morning light.
She does not buy anything.
Instead, she drifts. Watches the life of the market unfold in pieces. An elderly man arguing about tomatoes. A pair of girls balancing loaves of bread between them. A woman with a sleeping child tucked against her chest, the tiny hand curled in soft trust.
Larissa’s stomach turns.
She pauses at a flower stall. The scent is almost overwhelming: lilac, sage, and freshly cut mint. She remembers the smell. Not the exact one, but the shape of it. You once carried mint on your fingers, tucked wild herbs into your pockets. You used to tell her she smelled like winter, and you were determined to warm her up.
She hadn’t thought of that in years.
Hadn’t let herself.
But now the memory presses forward uninvited, and she cannot push it away.
Because someone said your name.
It had been nothing, really. A casual remark over coffee in the staff room. One of the teachers, cheerful and unobservant, had mentioned passing through the Greymoor market the weekend prior.
“Oh, and I could swear I saw a woman who used to work at the Academy years ago… What was her name? The one with the clever mouth. You know, the one Principal Weems was always—well. Never mind.”
Larissa had smiled. Tilted her head. Raised one perfectly plucked brow.
“You must be mistaken,” she had said.
But her tea had gone cold in her hand.
That night, she couldn’t sleep.
And this morning, after the groceries, her car somehow veered west instead of north.
And now, now she is here. Pretending not to search for something she has no right to find.
She rounds a corner and sees the bookseller’s stall in the distance.
Her breath stutters. Not because of the books.
Because someone just turned away from the herbs stall, and she would know the shape of your shoulders anywhere.
There are moments the mind saves for after the fall.
Not the arguments. Not the leaving. Just the quiet before it all began to end.
It comes to her now like mist curling through an open window. Soft and familiar, tinged with the ache of what she never gave.
You used to come to her only after dark.
Never earlier than midnight, never later than two. The hours when the halls of Nevermore slept, and her corridors belonged to no one but ghosts. You never knocked. You didn’t have to. The door was always unlocked, cracked just slightly as if her restraint had slipped at the last minute.
She remembers the sound of your steps.
Barefoot on stone. Careful. You used to hum to yourself on the nights you thought she wasn’t listening.
She always was.
Her quarters were colder than they should’ve been. A high-ceilinged thing with windows far too large, draped in velvet so deep it swallowed moonlight whole. You hated the curtains. She used to watch you wrinkle your nose at them, mutter something about feeling like a kept secret.
And you were.
She made you one.
Every time you touched her, she felt seen in ways she didn’t know how to bear. You peeled her open with fingertips and laughter and soft, unrelenting trust. And what did she give in return?
Nightfall. Shadows. Silence.
You’d crawl beneath the covers beside her, skin warm from sneaking across cold floors. Your body always found hers instinctively, one knee slipping between her legs, one hand brushing her hip like you had every right. You’d smile into her collarbone and call her headmistress in that irreverent way that made her shiver.
She let you shift her. Literally, sometimes. Those were nights she gave in to the instinct buried deep in her kind, the one that allowed her to change shape and body, to take on something heavier, harder. You liked that. She did too. Not because of what she became, but because it was still her, and you never flinched.
But even then, in the dark, there were boundaries she never let you cross.
No hand-holding outside.
No pet names. Not where anyone could hear.
And always—always—you left before dawn.
She told herself it was protection. That if the wrong person knew, your job would be in danger. That you didn’t want that kind of attention. That the board wouldn’t understand. That she was sparing you.
But the truth lived deeper.
She didn’t want to risk herself.
It was easier that way. To keep the thing sacred only in secret. To let love bloom behind curtains, never in daylight. She convinced herself you understood. That the way you curled closer afterward, pressing your forehead to her sternum like it was the only place you slept well, meant you were content.
But she remembers the last night.
You’d said it like it didn’t matter.
“I won’t do this forever, you know.”
Your voice had been soft, almost sleepy. You were lying on your side, hair mussed from her pillow, fingers tracing idle circles over the inside of her wrist. Larissa had stilled. Not enough for you to notice, not enough to seem afraid, but she had felt something tighten.
You didn’t look at her when you said it. You looked at the drawn curtains, the ones you always hated, as if they were the ones holding you captive.
“I can’t keep being nothing in the daylight.”
And Larissa, she didn’t answer.
Not with anything that counted. Just touched your hair, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and pretended the moment hadn’t happened. She thought, maybe, if she stayed quiet long enough, you'd stay too.
But you didn’t.
You left before dawn, as always.
Except you never came back.
She had told herself it was for the best. That you’d moved on. That some bright-eyed suitor had offered you a life that didn’t involve shadows and silk-draped secrets.
That it was easier this way.
It’s what she clung to—until now.
Because now, in the center of the market, the crowd parts for just a moment—and you’re standing not ten paces away.
Older. A little.
Your hair is longer. Or maybe shorter. She can’t tell. Her breath has stilled in her throat like a bird caught behind glass.
You haven’t seen her yet.
You’re studying a jar of jam like it contains the answer to something complicated. The sun lights your cheekbone in the exact way it used to when you turned toward her bedside window. She feels the past stretch toward her like an echo trying to find its source.
It hits her all at once:
You’re real.
You’re here.
You suddenly lift your eyes.
And the world stops.
Larissa doesn’t remember stepping forward. Only that your face is exactly as she remembers, and nothing like it at all. Softer around the edges, perhaps. More tired. Or maybe just sharper, carved by five years of silence and everything they didn’t say.
Your expression changes.
Not shock. Not warmth.
Something colder. Something closed.
Her breath stumbles. She swallows it.
“…Hello,” she says.
It lands with all the grace of a stone dropped in water.
You don’t smile. Don’t look away. You just set the jar down on the table—deliberate, controlled—and straighten.
“Principal Weems,” you say, voice dry as paper.
That stings more than she’ll let show.
She gives a small nod, trying to hold herself upright beneath the weight of her own cowardice. “You… look well.”
“Do I?”
There’s no warmth in your voice. No invitation. But you don’t walk away.
Larissa seizes on that small mercy and steps closer. The space between you is measured now, not by feet, but by regret. The kind that yawns wider the longer it’s left untouched.
“I didn’t expect—” she starts, then stops herself. She can’t say she came looking. Not like this. Not when she barely deserves your gaze.
You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to see me? Or didn’t expect to see me here?”
The market bustles around you, oblivious. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle begins to play. It’s light, cheerful. Out of place.
Larissa draws in a breath. “I heard your name. A colleague mentioned seeing you. I… didn’t believe it at first.”
Your jaw tightens, just slightly.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back this way,” she adds.
“I didn’t,” you say flatly. “Not until recently.”
A beat.
She wants to ask everything. Where you went. What you’ve done. Who you became without her.
But you speak again before she can find the words.
“You look exactly the same,” you say, tone unreadable. “I guess time doesn’t touch you the way it does the rest of us.”
Larissa flinches inwardly. “That’s not true.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
Her throat closes.
There are a thousand things she could say. Apologies she’s rehearsed in the silence of her chambers, explanations that don’t excuse but still try to make sense of her choices.
But you glance to the side. Just slightly. As if checking for someone. Your posture shifts, not in fear, not in nerves, but in the guarded way of someone who has something precious nearby.
A little girl—no older than five—comes sprinting toward you across the square. Pale curls bouncing, face alight with joy. You bend slightly as she flings her arms around your waist, and you catch her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you have always done it.
Like you are her mother.
Larissa can’t breathe.
The child turns and looks up at her. Wide blue-grey eyes. A dimple in her left cheek. The shape of her nose, her chin, the curl of her lashes…
Larissa staggers a step backward.
“She looks like me,” she says.
You don’t answer right away.
Larissa can’t move.
Because suddenly, the past five years shift. They realign. Every breath, every sleepless night, every echo of your body in her bed.
It all collapses into this one impossible truth:
She hadn’t just left you behind.
You hold your daughter a little tighter.
It’s instinct. Not fear. Just the kind of silent tether a mother keeps when the ground starts to tilt.
You don’t look at Larissa. Not right away.
Because you can’t.
Not when her eyes are locked on the child like she’s seen a ghost. Not when her voice trembles with that awful, fragile kind of disbelief.
“She looks like me,” she says again.
You breathe through your nose. Slow. Measured.
You’ve practiced this.
You’ve practiced everything.
The way you kept your voice steady through the morning sickness. The way you signed the birth certificate without a second name. The way you buried that old photograph, the one where you lay half asleep, curled into her bare chest, her fingers still tangled in your hair.
You buried it all.
But it still breathes.
Your daughter shifts in your arms, resting her head against your shoulder. Her curls brush your cheek. You close your eyes.
She smells like sun-warmed linen and lemon soap and the apricot pastry she insisted on having for breakfast. She smells like home.
You open your eyes and finally meet Larissa’s.
She’s pale. Paler than you’ve ever seen her. Her lips parted. Her hands slack at her sides.
You don’t want her to look at your child like that. Like she’s a riddle. Like she’s an answer. Like she’s a revelation Larissa didn’t earn.
So you speak. Soft. Sharp.
“Don’t.”
It stops her cold.
Her mouth opens. Maybe to ask. Maybe to apologize. But you cut in before she can do either.
“You don’t get to look at her like that.”
Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.
Just slightly.
Larissa notices. Of course she does.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were—”
“Pregnant?” You exhale. “Neither did I. Not when I left.”
The words sit heavy between you.
“I wasn’t hiding her from you,” you add. “I just didn’t know she existed yet.”
Larissa stares. Frozen. Like if she breathes, the world will split open.
You look down at your daughter. Your voice softens without meaning to.
“I left because I was tired of being a secret, Larissa. Not because I stopped loving you.”
She looks like she might fall over. Like the ground has opened and nothing is holding her up anymore.
“I would’ve stayed forever,” you say. “If you’d let me exist in the daylight.”
The silence that follows is raw. Almost sacred. The kind that only lives between people who were once everything.
Your daughter stirs, blinking up at you.
“Everything okay, Mommy?”
You brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Smile, soft and instinctive. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”
You glance back at Larissa. Her face is shattered.
You should walk away. You know you should.
But something stops you. Not pity. Not cruelty.
Just history.
Just love. Old and threadbare, but not quite dead.
So your voice gentles when you speak again.
“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”
You shift your daughter higher on your hip, thumb smoothing the back of her dress.
“I didn’t plan any of this.”
You start to turn away. Then pause.
And when you meet her eyes again, something quiet lingers there. Not forgiveness. But not quite blame, either.
“If you’re wondering,” you say, “I named her Solene. she’s kind. And she’s bright. And she likes to sing when she thinks no one’s listening.”
A breath.
“She got that from you.”
A silence.
A heartbeat.
Then you’re gone.
The car door slams harder than she means it to.
Inside, the silence is too much. The stillness. The absence.
Larissa grips the steering wheel with both hands, but it’s pointless. Her palms are damp and shaking. The leather is warm under her fingers, but she’s cold. Icy, bone-deep cold.
She stares straight ahead.
The market is still busy. Families move between stalls, children tugging their parents toward sweets and painted wooden toys. Laughter floats through the air. Bread, flowers, the sharp salt of feta samples. It all smells like life continuing. Like nothing has happened.
But something has.
You.
And the child.
Her child.
Larissa shuts her eyes.
“She looks like me,” she had said.
And it was true. God, it was true. Those wide grey-blue eyes. The dimple. That nose. That mouth. It was like someone had taken the smallest, most human parts of her and carved them into new life.
A daughter.
Your daughter.
She presses her forehead against the steering wheel.
You didn’t tell her.
Not because you wanted to hurt her. Not because you meant to hide it. You just… left.
Larissa feels the ache of it now. The terrible symmetry of what she did to you—hiding you behind drawn curtains and late-night shadows—and what you had to do in return. Raising a child alone. Bearing the weight of both your griefs in silence.
She had no idea.
All these years, she thought you walked away out of pride. Out of anger. That you’d found someone new. That the pain she’d tried not to feel was mutual, deserved, symmetrical.
But you didn’t know you were pregnant.
And you still chose to walk away, because Larissa never once gave you the sun.
She breathes through her teeth.
Something hot and acidic swells in her chest. Grief, yes, but something else too.
Longing.
Want.
Not for the past.
For now.
For that child who looked up at her like she was no one. For that child who should’ve known her. For the curve of your voice when you said she sings when she thinks no one’s listening.
She should’ve heard that.
She should’ve known that.
Larissa shoves the door open and climbs out.
She doesn’t think. Doesn’t lock the car. Doesn’t glance at the market square. She just walks—quickly, eyes darting, scanning for any glimpse of your silhouette, your hair, that soft blue dress your daughter wore.
She doesn’t care how foolish it looks. How desperate. How loud.
She needs to see you.
Not to apologize.
Not to explain.
To ask.
To beg.
Let me try.
Let me meet her. Let me know her name. Let me hold her just once. Let me be the thing I never thought I was allowed to be.
Let me be her mother.
She turns a corner and sees the crowd begin to thin.
Shops give way to cobblestone alleys and quiet cafés. She slows slightly, eyes searching every step ahead.
She has no idea what she’ll say when she finds you.
But she knows she won’t let it end in silence again.
She sees you half a block ahead.
Near the bakery. That little one with the peeling paint and the lavender hanging in the window.
You’re slower now. Your daughter’s hand is wrapped tightly in yours. She’s walking on the low stone edge of the path, carefully balancing herself as you guide her. You glance down every few steps, steadying her with just a brush of your palm.
Larissa doesn’t call your name. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.
She just walks faster.
You hear her steps before she’s close enough to speak.
You stop walking. Don’t turn around—just stand still, spine straight, hand still curled protectively around your daughter’s. You murmur something to the little girl, and she hops gently off the stone ledge. You gesture toward the bakery door.
“She’s hungry,” you say as Larissa slows to a stop behind you. “We came here for bread and I let her get distracted. She loves the cheese twists.”
Larissa swallows. “You do too.”
You almost smile.
Almost.
“She’s five,” Larissa says, quietly.
“Four and a half,” you correct. “Birthday’s in November.”
There’s silence. A breath too long. A breath too charged.
You sigh.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Larissa’s voice is hoarse. “Because I didn’t get to say anything.”
You don’t turn around. Not yet.
“She asked who you were,” you say. “I told her your name. That’s all.”
“And if she asks more?”
“She won’t. Not today.”
Larissa nods. She deserves that.
You shift slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.
Your eyes are tired. Not just from today. From years of it.
“She doesn’t know,” you say. “Anything. She doesn’t know you exist.”
The words land with a weight she can barely bear.
“And it wasn’t to punish you,” you say again. “I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I didn’t want to give her a ghost.”
That’s what Larissa had become, after all.
A name unspoken. A grief unshared. A memory too sharp to explain to a child with nothing but questions.
“But now I’m not a ghost,” Larissa says. “I’m here. And I want…”
You turn fully now. Still holding your daughter’s hand. Still standing between them.
Larissa’s voice cracks.
“I want to know her.”
You say nothing.
“I want to learn her favorite color. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to know she came from something… from someone who would have loved her so much if she’d only known.”
You blink, and something shifts in your face. Not forgiveness, not yet. But a fissure. A place where something old has started to melt.
“I don’t know what you’re asking.”
Larissa steps closer.
“I’m asking you not to shut the door. I’m asking you to give me a chance to meet my daughter. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Just…” Her voice breaks again. “A beginning.”
Your daughter tugs lightly on your sleeve.
“Mommy,” she says. “Is she sad?”
You crouch to her level, brushing a curl from her face.
“She’s someone I used to know,” you murmur. “And maybe… maybe someone we’ll get to know again. What do you think about sharing your cheese twist?”
The little girl looks at Larissa.
Then nods.
Larissa doesn’t move.
You rise slowly and tilt your head toward the bakery. “Come in, if you want.”
Larissa breathes. For the first time in minutes. Maybe in years.
Summary: The company deems you should be rewarded. All rewards of this nature are to be overseen by an Eagan and, as your mentor, Ms. Cobel will be the one to administer it.
Author's Note: By the company, I do mean Helena asjsjndnd. The idea hit me and then I wrote this in one sitting. Enjoy <3
Reader is wearing a skirt and panties.
ao3 | masterlist
You follow Ms. Cobel, your mentor at Lumon Industries, as she walks to Ms. Eagan’s office. All Ms. Cobel has told you so far is that you’re to be rewarded for your loyalty to the company, and that Ms. Eagan will be overseeing it.
Ms. Cobel knocks on Ms. Eagan’s door and you take a deep breath. You’ve never been summoned to her personal office before and it’s nerve-racking. You can’t even enjoy the beautiful view the floor-to-ceiling windows offer.
“Come in,” Ms. Eagan’s smooth voice says.
Ms. Cobel holds the door open for you, a new experience, and you nervously step inside. Ms. Eagan is sitting behind her desk, wearing a pleasant smile. One you’ve seen in countless photos. Strangely, there’s a table in front of her placed perpendicularly to her desk. Since it’s in the spot you would normally stand when talking in Ms. Cobel’s office, you awkwardly stop next to it.
Ms. Cobel closes the door behind you and stands of to the side. You shoot her a nervous glance but her expression has yet to change. It rarely does.
“I would like to personally congratulate you on your efforts yesterday,” Ms. Eagan says.
“It’s what anyone would have done, ma’am,” you say meekly.
“Unfortunately not,” she says.
You aren’t sure how to respond and you send Ms. Cobel another glance. She now has her hands clasped together in front of her. You copy the stance.
“Loyalty is always rewarded at Lumon,” Ms. Eagan says continues. “Sit on the table.”
“The…table?” you ask hesitantly.
“We wouldn’t want Ms. Cobel to kneel on the hard floor, now would we?” Ms. Eagan says with that same pleasant smile.
You have no idea why Ms. Cobel would need to kneel on the floor but you shake your head and obediently move to sit on the table. Bizarrely, Ms. Cobel guides you to sit on the edge facing the window, leading you to have to turn your head to look at Ms. Eagan. Your legs hang in the air and you cross your legs. Half to keep some semblance of professionalism and half so you don’t accidentally flash Ms. Cobel.
“Look at me,” Ms. Cobel says and you do immediately.
She steps closer, her skirt brushing your knees. Your hands flex in your lap. She’s rarely this close, despite your own desires, and she isn’t holding anything. What could the reward possibly be?
One hand hooks under the knee of the leg you’ve crossed on top. She gently lifts it and uncrosses your legs. You let her. Ms. Cobel will sometimes move you around when you’re in the way and not quite getting the clue. Your excitement when it comes to observing can make you a little oblivious to anything else. You don’t think too much of it, even with Ms. Eagan watching, until her hand dips under the edge of your skirt.
“Ms. Cobel!” you half-gasp, half-protest as you grab onto her hand and stop her.
“Settle down.”
You gape at her. This is not you getting too excited about a result, and yet she’s giving you that exact expression.
“Place your hands on the table,” Ms. Eagan commands.
Your head snaps to look at her and embarrassment floods through you as you realise what she just saw. Then you process what she said. Your eyes flicker nervously between her and Ms. Cobel but you do as she says. You’d never disobey the next in line for Lumon, let alone Kier’s heir. Ms. Cobel places her hands on your knees and gently opens your legs again.
You can’t say you’ve never thought about her touching you. There’s rarely a night where you don’t daydream, in the safety of your bed, of what your mentor would be like if she touched you. But Ms. Cobel is so professional you had never dreamed of it becoming a reality. And your boss touching you like this is meant to be wrong isn’t it? Yet the head of the company is in the room, watching as your boss touches you however she likes.
You hold your breath as one hand creeps under your skirt. It’s an effort not to close your legs again as she gets closer to your wet heat but you manage. You still startle when her fingers brush against your panties. You squeeze the desk tighter when she finds the wet spot forming on it. Her fingers circle the spot and you have to swallow a whimper. Her fingers are right above your entrance.
“You are free to express yourself,” Ms. Eagan says.
You twitch. Her smooth voice combined with Ms. Cobel’s fingers on you is almost too much. Your eyes flick to her for a moment but quickly skitter away when you see where she’s looking. It’s not at your face.
“This is a reward,” Ms. Cobel says. You meet her eyes and the slight approval there as you opening your legs wider. “Enjoy it.”
She makes it sound so simple that you nod. She pulls your panties aside and runs her fingers through your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine. She gathers your wetness for a moment before nudging at your entrance.
“You’ve done so well,” Ms. Cobel says.
Your breath catches in your throat.
“Yes,” Ms. Eagan agrees, “You’re performance has been highly-rated.”
There’s a slight expression shift in Ms. Cobel’s face but you can’t quite read it. You also can’t bring yourself to look at Ms. Eagan with your mentor’s fingers almost inside of you.
Ms. Cobel circles your entrance one last time before carefully pushing two fingers inside. You whine quietly when she doesn’t stop until she’s three knuckles deep.
“You’re taking your reward well,” Ms. Cobel says, lower this time. “You’re behaving perfectly.”
Another whine escapes you, this one sounding closer to a whimper, and you squirm slightly on her still fingers. They move and you gasp as they begin to slide out of you. You try to open your legs wider, a needy sound escaping you, when you think she’s going to pull out all the way. You moan when she pushes back inside instead. Her pace remains slow and steady. It’s a struggle not to grind down on her fingers, not to beg for more.
“Express yourself,” Ms. Cobel says firmly and her thumb finds your clit.
You press into her hand eagerly as your head tilts back with a moan. You stop trying to hold back. You’ve been given leave to enjoy the reward as you will, so you do. You moan as Ms. Cobel fucks you and whimper when she swipes firmly with her thumb over your clit and try to grind down on her fingers every time they’re completely inside of you. Ms. Eagan would have faded into the background if it weren’t for the sound of her breathing. It’s gotten unsteadier and louder with every noise you make.
You turn your head and force your eyes open. Her eyes are stuck to where Ms. Cobel’s hand disappears under your skirt. One of her own hands has disappeared below the desk and you swear you can see her arm moving. You buck harder into Ms. Cobel’s hand.
“See what your good behaviour does?” Ms. Cobel asks, too quietly for Ms. Eagan to hear. You nod hurriedly, nails digging into the wood of the desk as you get close to your high. “Such a good thing.”
You cry out as you come, clinging to the desk desperately as Ms. Cobel guides you through it. A stifled moan comes from the direction of Ms. Eagan’s desk and you have to lean on Ms. Cobel for support as you shudder around her.
You slowly relax into her as your high leaves you, forehead against her shoulder. The lingering tingles making your legs weak. You only straighten up when she pulls her fingers away. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and you watch with slight mortification, and a hint of longing, as she wipes her hand clean. Ms. Eagan is entirely composed when you look over at her, both hands back in front of her on the desk.
You smooth out your skirt nervously. Your hands are slightly sore from how hard you were clinging to the desk. Ms. Cobel steps back and gestures for you to get down. You do, leaning on the table at first to make sure your weak legs won’t embarrass you.
“Do not speak of this reward outside of these walls,” Ms. Eagan says. “It does little to make the other workers jealous.”
“Jealousy is not a virtue Kier holds dear,” Ms. Cobel concurs.
You nod. It was doubtful that you would without the warning (how would you even begin?) but now you’ll be sure to mind your tongue.
“Thank you, Ms. Eagan,” you turn to your mentor but you can’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Cobel.”
Ms. Cobel brushes the back of her fingers against your cheek, just for a moment.
Summary: Helly kisses what isn’t hers. Helena needs to remind you exactly who you belong to.
Tags: strap-on, hair pulling, rough sex, ficlet
Reader is wearing nondescript pants.
Authors note: Helena give me one chance I swear you won’t regret it.
ao3 | masterlist
Helena watches with cold eyes as Helly kisses your innie. Kisses you. The one good thing Helena has that Helly doesn’t.
It doesn’t matter that Helly made friends. That people care about her in a way they never have about Helena. Because Helena has you. You care about her. You see her and you love her and you’re hers. Helly putting her filthy hands on you is something she won’t tolerate.
Helena’s hands are clenched tight enough for her nails to dig into her skin as she stalks out of her office to find you. You’re at the kitchen table, reaching up for something in the cupboard. She doesn’t care what. She walks up behind you, tension in every line of her body, wraps her fingers around your waist and shoves your hips against the counter. You yelp in surprise, catching yourself so you’re already partially bent over for her.
“Helena?” you ask.
There’s only confusion in your voice. No fear or hate or annoyance. She grinds her hips against yours and feels the way you shiver. The stiff strap-on between her thighs was the right choice. Normally, you’re the one to worship her in the bedroom. This will be a rare treat for you.
She wants you to feel the ache as you make your oblivious way around the severed floor tomorrow.
“Did something happen?” you ask, always so concerned for her.
“Quiet,” she says and grips your hair. You submit instantly, letting her pull you into an arch as she devours you with her eyes. “Who do you belong to?”
“You,” you say. “Only you.”
Her free hand pulls down your pants while the one in your hair pushes until you’re lying flat. You’re wet enough that she can fill you with one thrust. She isn’t in the mood to give you time to adjust and relishes the way you gasp. She pulls out all the way to the tip before pushing back inside of you. You jolt and moan. Her free hand goes to your hip to keep you still as she fucks into you again.
Her pace is harsh and it isn’t long before she’s pulling you up by your hair again.
“Helena,” you whimper.
She allows a small, greedy sound to escape her.
“Say it again,” she says and tugs at your hair.
“Helena,” you moan.
“Who do you belong to?” she emphasises the question with a rougher thrust of her hips.
“You.”
Helena watches the way you gasp and moan and cling onto the counter. It makes her want to devour you whole but she remains firm in her control. She isn’t an animal.
Instead, she digs her fingers in and watches you slowly fall apart under her. When you start making those little high-pitched noises that mean you’re getting close, she snarls,
“You’re mine.”
“Yours, yours, yours,” you chant in time with her thrusts.
She feels the way you tense and break under her. She lets her nails dig in as she watches you writhe and moan for her. She memorises every twitch as you slowly come down. All this time and she still finds watching you fall apart fascinating.
She doesn’t move again until all that’s left of your orgasm is little shivers wracking your spine. She slowly drags her strap out, noting the way your breath hitches, before just as slowly pushing back in.
“Again?” you ask.
“I want you to feel this tomorrow.”
You nod, taking a deep breath. You slowly cross your wrists at the small of your back. She exhales sharply. Yes, this is exactly what she needs.
I'm asking for some cuteness with Lady Jane and some smut, let your creativity flow! take your time in this.
Moments In The Woods
Lady Jane x bounty hunter!Reader
A/n: I definitely took my time with this, I'm so sorry 🤣 Fluffy, with a hint of smut (I've been hitting a huge block with smut, so I'm terribly sorry if this wasn't what you were looking for 🥹).
"Won't a fire alert them to where we are?"
"Well since we're not anywhere near them, no."
Despite all of it however, as you watched her pull herself back standing and brush off the dirt from her knees, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.
Her blunt tone made you scoff, and you fell back into silence as she stoked the fire to life, crouched down on her knees to blow into the barely lit embers. Darkness had rapidly fallen on surrounding forest, she too focused on the hunt and you too focused on her to notice.
Lady Jane had taken you under her wing a few months back, an outbreak from the camps proving to be a bit too difficult to handle on her own. Instead of having to share majority of the profits with another skilled Bounty Hunter, she'd taken on you, freshly inducted and thoroughly clueless as to what you'd gotten yourself into. The first bit was rough, bordering uncomfortable, as Lady Jane wasn't used to someone "lagging along", but over time she'd grown rather fond of you, your ability to pick things up quickly and humurous wit endearing her to you. Now here you sat, shivering slightly on a half-fallen log in the middle of god-knows-where as she attempted to get some sort of dinner started.
She slumped down beside you, exhaustion from the long trek finally settling in, and she thunked her head into your shoulder, trusting you to keep an eye out for any threats so she could rest a moment. The fire crackled and popped before you, the lively dance of the flames soothing the chill that permeated the air, and you nearly thought Jane had accidentally fallen asleep momentarily until she spoke.
"You've been far away today little bird. What's got your tongue?"
"It's getting harder and harder to track them, and they seem to be getting more resourceful. Aren't you ever worried we might be on the losing side now?"
The nickname made you smile. It had come about after another hunter referred to you as "Lady Jane's awkward fledgling"; at first she'd teased you, but had since continued to use it as a term of endearment throughout your companionship. You idly fidgeted with one of the many thick rings on her hand before clearing your throat to answer her question, nervous of what the answer may be.
She chuckled at that, adjusting herself so she could pull you into her arms and place you comfortably between her legs. Gentle nips and kisses were pressed along your neck and collarbone, and you sighed into the affection.
"I have little to worry about when I have you like this, birdie."
You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing full well the intention behind her words. Sure enough, her hands tickled their way up your hips to the button of your jeans, pausing, waiting-
"Yes."
She grinned at your confirmation, her heart doing "that damned fluttery thing" when you reached over to gently pulled the rings off her fingers for both your comfort. She continued to nip at the space between neck and shoulder, and you let out a pleased huff as the pads of her fingertips gently stroked you, pinching and circling at just the right moments to have you squirming. Normally she tried to keep you quiet, lest your pleas reach unwanted ears, but tonight, as she held you close under the moon, her only desire was to hear you. Your head fell back on her shoulder, a high-pitched whine echoing off the trees as she slipped inside you. Her pace quickened, a small bubble of pride erupting in her chest as you finally came undone, her name tumbling from your lips. She kissed your forehead and cheeks as you attempted to catch your breath, and you couldn't help but chuckle at the self-satisfied smirk she gave you before licking her fingers clean.
A shot, alpha x alpha, they fuck, cute in the end ig, girls with cocks, valentine's day yaaay
GIF NOT MINE
[ i just need a good omegaverse fic with alpha x alpha (ofc reader and larissa), but i made this. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE ]
Alpha!Larissa x Alpha!Reader!
-
Larissa was always expected to choose an omega mate, not just for her family but also for her future. heirs. So it comes as a shock to everyone, including Larissa, when she ends up choosing another alpha to be her mate. Almost every week, Larissa would have a few dates with omegas, but each and every one of them was rejected by her inner alpha. Until one day, Larissa finds her partner during one of these hearings, an anonymous escort for a foreign omega. With the scent of bergamot and sweet tangerines filling Larissa's nostrils, she knows her search is over. She gets up from her chair and walks towards the omega, completely skirting the omega and arriving right in front of the alpha behind her, who stares at her presence with mild surprise. The two stare at each other before Larissa cracks a smile, nodding her head as the other people around her sigh loudly. The only time the principal had to do this, was for her parents.
"May I know my mate's name?"
Larissa asks, waiting anxiously for the other woman's response.
“Y/NL/N, I'm Principal of *you choose* Academy.”
The woman says, returning Larissa's smile and shocking with the depth of your voice.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Weems.”
You nod with grace. Larissa had heard of your Academy before, a place where alphas, betas, and omegas were treated with equal respect, a stance Larissa wants to adopt in the Nevermore. Though his superiors are well aware of her dreams, they have tried to discourage her countless times, telling Larissa that others, especially alphas, would not tolerate this, not when it harmed them. Perhaps if she could have you by her side, it would be easier for your people to change. After all, an alpha mating another alpha is a rarity, even if they are destined to be mates.
"Nice to meet you too, Y/NL/N."
Larissa returns, feeling much more hopeful about the future now than she did a few minutes before meeting your lovely companion.
With long, shiny, tied silver hair and bright blue eyes, do you particularly think your companion is the most beautiful person in the world? everyone you've met in your life and you've seen many beautiful people, men and women of all secondary genders.
Larissa knows that the typical tradition for predestined alpha couples is that they pursue a platonic relationship while having omega spouses, but she wants to meet you, taking the time to see if there can be mutual love between you, fighting the traditions that required her to secure her bloodline with an omega mate. So Larissa does the unthinkable and risks…
"Miss Y/N, would you do me the honor to let me court you?"
Larissa asked, taking her favorite bracelet off and presenting it to you. Eyes wide with surprise, you hesitate for a moment, then let go. a shaky sigh.
"I will."
You say before reaching out to take the bracelet, only to have your hand held by Larissa.
“Let me put it on.”
Larissa looks into your mesmerizing eyes, lips curling into a dimpled smile as you nod. And that was the beginning of their relationship, filled with love and understanding between two alphas who decided to break with societal norms. Larissa and you got married, mated, and fought for secondary gender equality after the coronation. One would think that between two alphas, routines would be a nightmare to deal with, and then there was the issue of heirs… For the second edition, you and Larissa continue to work on duty. And as for the grooves, well…
“Rissa, stop! You're too tight!"
You scream, drooling as Larissa jumps on top of your cock slamming against her stomach, sweat pouring down her toned body, crushing sounds coming from where her ass is swallowing your cock.
"Oh GOD—!"
Larissa scoffs.
"You...your cock is fi- ah...well..."
She pants, her rhythm doesn't falter as her alpha stamina keeps it moving.
"I thought you loved fucking my ass, what happened to that, huh?"
You look visibly tense, veins bulging as you look down to where Larissa is leading you to the base of your knot in formation, its edge extending so much it looks more like an omega is standing on top of it. you. Except Larissa is definitely an alpha.
"What? Cat got your tongue?"
Larissa teases her behavior by making it seem like she's just talking instead of fucking you with her ass. Because that's what's happening. You're getting ass fucked by Larissa. During Larissa's routine, she prefers to go downstairs first, mainly so she can be less aggressive and take her time opening you up and having sex later. It works both ways, with you doing the same thing during your routine. You whimper, wanting nothing more than to turn Larissa and fuck her that way, but they're both well aware of an alpha's routine instincts. Larissa would settle for nothing less than being the dominant force in this situation.
“R-Rissa”
You whimper uselessly, cupping your own chest and playing with your nipples. Larissa pulls your hands away, her own hands taking their place as she pinches your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers before squeezing the thick muscles beneath them as she uses your chest for support as she rides you even harder.
“You know what to say if it's too much..”
Larissa reminds you, who shakes her head and presses her fingers into the sheets. L
"All goOD-"
You gasp, pushing yourself against Larissa, and get slapped in the chest for your troubles.
“Are you going to cum on me? Will you tie a knot and breed me, Honey?~"
Larissa teases, you moan loudly at the suggestion, unable to hold back any longer as you place your knot in Larissa, filling her with copious amounts of cum. Larissa moans, rubbing and swirling her hips onto your cock, then wraps her hands around her own cock and fucks them until her own knot bursts, cumming into his chest with a deep, guttural growl.
"Fuck yes, Y/N!"
Once the heat of the moment has subsided, Larissa leans in, as far as she can while being tied by a stick and kisses ur forehead. a contrast to their rough sex.
You take Larissa's hand, Larissa's favorite bracelet still hanging around her companion's wrist, and bring it to your mouth, giving it a soft kiss.
