#“forever tethered to your life but cursed to only watch” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violentdelightsandviolentends · 8 months ago

Text

Honey Girl. Chapter Ten.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - The two of you have some time to yourselves for what feels like the first time in forever.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x female reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. mention of a panic attack. initial hospital setting. one alcohol mention.

Word Count - 4k

Authors Note - 10!! 10 whole chapters!! can you believe it!! pancake recipe taken from mr carlos sainz - thanks carlito <3. double date next chapter (with protective/jealous bucky, as requested ;)). and the much awaited conversation… coming very soon. thanks for the love and support and kindness. it means the world, always <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“We can’t sit out here forever, honey.”

You stretch out your legs from where they’ve been tucked up against your chest, chin resting on your knees. Bucky places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles.

“We can.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

“I know it’s scary, but we can’t run from this any longer. We’re just going to have to face it head on.”

“I know,” you sigh, taking his hand in yours. “I’m just…”

You trail off, leaving words unspoken in the air like particles of dust in the sunlight.

“What are you so afraid of? Is it that they won’t support us? Honey girl, they aren’t gonna have much of a choice. We are literally soulmates.”

You’re trying to find a way to explain, but none of your thoughts are coherent enough to articulate into something comprehensible.

“I don’t know, Buck. At first, I think it was that. But now? Maybe I just feel guilty that we’ve kept something so huge a secret for so long. I used to tell my parents everything - by choice. That’s how we’ve always been. And suddenly, the biggest event of my life happens, and I… didn’t tell them?”

“You’re letting this guilt eat you alive, baby. Listen, I feel it too. You’re not alone in this. Do you know how many times your parents have asked me about dating in these last eighteen months? How many times we’ve talked about soulmates? And I guess I never lied… but I haven’t exactly told the truth. I’m just as guilty as you think you are.”

“I’m sorry,” you confess, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’ve had such tunnel vision with this whole situation. I’ve been selfish. I should have thought about you more.”

“You haven’t had to.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for, honey baby. You’ve never had to ‘think about me more’, because you’ve known how I felt this whole time. In here.”

He places a hand over your heart. You close your eyes, letting the warmth from his palm bleed into your chest. The weight of it grounds you back down to Earth, tethered to your soulmate in more ways than one.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he continues. “You don’t have to guess how I’m feeling, or when I’m feeling it - because I’m always telling you. And you’re always listening.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, squeezing his hand where it’s still linked with yours.

“The Universe disagrees,” he whispers back, leaning in to kiss the spot underneath your ear. “I disagree.”

It’s all so tender, so gentle, so real, that a lump in your throat forms instantly. You blink rapidly, fighting back tears as you press your side into his. If you could sew yourself into his ribcage and live there forever, resting your head on his beating heart, you would.

“Come on,” he coaxes carefully, pulling you to your feet and watching to see if you’re steady enough. “Let’s do this thing.”

You stare up at him, lost in those ocean blue irises. For a moment, you swear you see the waves moving in them, crashing against the shore in a motion so comforting, it reminds you of home.

“I love you.”

Bucky smiles at you, pupils dilating and heart beating that little bit faster. He’ll never get sick of hearing those words.

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky, honey girl. More than anything.”

Tangling your fingers with his, you inhale deeply before taking the first step forwards, towards the front doors of the hospital.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

When you reach your Dad’s room, you drop Bucky’s hand as if by instinct. When he links your fingers once more, you panic momentarily, before realising it’s futile.

They already know. There’s no point in hiding it anymore.

You walk through the door hand in hand, pressed into each others sides as if it’ll keep you standing upright. Maybe it will.

Your Mom instantly bolts out of her chair, coming over to assess you. She looks you up and down, cradling your face in her hands as she checks you over.

“You were gone a long time, sweetheart. You okay? Have you been crying?”

Bucky lets go of you to give you some space, but doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his warmth from behind you as you watch your Mom’s eyebrows furrow with worry.

“I had… I think it was, um… like a - a panic attack, or something. I don’t know. I just got overwhelmed.”

Your voice sounds so small again, so fragile. You mentally chastise yourself for not being stronger for her.

“Oh, honey.”

She pulls you into her chest, stroking your hair just like she did when you were a child and had a nightmare. You’d run across the hall and into your parents room - your Mom would always bolt upright when she heard little feet on the wooden floors, waiting for you with open arms.

“Your Dad is gonna be fine. I promise you, the Doctors have said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“It’s true.”

The voice is croaky and rusted from misuse, but it unmistakably belongs to the man lying in the hospital bed.

You make your way over and sit down carefully, cautious and calculated. Your Dad takes your hand, stroking his thumb across your skin.

“I’m gonna be just fine, kid. I know I scared you, and I’m really sorry. But I’m okay. Promise.”

You smile at him, genuinely this time, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You guys should go home.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home, get some rest. The two of you look almost as exhausted as Lori does.”

Your Mom laughs, shaking her head. You chuckle, watching them. There’s no one funnier than your soulmate.

“I think we should stay a little longer, Jack.”

Bucky’s voice has all three of your heads whipping around to face him.

“Buck, please be on my side here. You’re tired. Go home, sleep it off. All I’m gonna do for the next twenty four hours is sleep anyway. There’s no point in you sitting here watching me like a bunch of creeps.”

You chew your bottom lip, watching your Dad’s face carefully.

“Mom, Dad - we need to talk about-”

“I know, babygirl,” your Dad interrupts. “And we will. But not here, and not now. We’ll do it when I’m home. We can all sit on the couch and drink your Mom’s cherry lemonade and talk about how you and Bucky have been soulmates this entire time.”

“Not this entire time,” you grumble at his attempt at a joke.

“Seriously, you two. I won’t ask again. Go. Home.”

You look at your Dad for a moment, before averting your gaze to your Mom. They’re both wearing the exact same facial expression - the one they used to give you when you’d refuse your bedtime as a six year old on a school night.

“Come on, honey. You heard them. We’re practically dead on our feet.”

You rise from the bed reluctantly, pressing another kiss to your Dad’s cheek before doing the same to your Mom.

“Call me if anything changes, or if you need anything. I mean anything, you guys.”

They both nod as your Dad does a mock salute, laughing at himself.

Bucky extends his hand out for you. This time, you don’t hesitate to take it. You hold it tightly all the way back to his truck, and then all the way back home.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You and Bucky get ready for bed in silence, both of you flitting around your apartment as quickly as possible. You can’t wait to finally get under your duvet and lose the stress of the last twenty four hours.

The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re wide awake.

The exhaustion has seeped into your bones, making you weary but restless. You can’t settle, physically or mentally.

Bucky, on the other hand, is out like a light.

He looks so peaceful like this. The moonlight soaks through a gap in the curtains, illuminating his face like some sort of angel. His hair is a little longer than usual, stubble growing out across his sharp jawline. He looks rugged, a little rough around the edges. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

As if he can feel your gaze on him, he cracks an eye open, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. He has a pillow crease across his skin, cheek flushed pink with a dusty blush.

“You okay, baby?”

His voice is hoarse and all sleep heavy, rumbling through you like gentle summer thunder.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, trying to fight back tears. “I’m so tired, Buck. So fucking tired.”

“But you can’t sleep?”

He pulls you into his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and stroking your hair soothingly.

“It’s like my body is exhausted, but my brain is wide awake,” you mumble into his bare skin. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” he chuckles lowly. “Nothing in this goddamn world makes sense. Except for me and you.”

Bucky spins you in his arms so your back is to his chest, bodies pressed together without an inch of space between you. Pressing a kiss into your neck, he starts mumbling.

“You just need to turn your brain off, baby. I know it’s easier said than done… so I’m gonna help you. All you need to do is focus on my voice, on my touch. Focus your attention on my hands on you, my lips on your skin. The heat of my body against yours.”

He skims his fingers down your side, gripping at your hips to ground you. He’s still kissing your neck, nipping occasionally to vary the sensation. He slips a hand down your front, cupping you over your underwear as you close your eyes, breathing him in. He smells like salt water and sea air and gasoline and home.

You cant your hips into his touch, trying to get him where you want him. Bucky takes the hint, slipping his hand into your panties and running a finger through your wetness. You groan, throwing your head back into his solid shoulder.

“Just switch off, honey baby. Give in to me.”

Bucky glides a finger into you, crooking it towards him. His palm hits your clit and you keen, whining all high pitched and breathy. His hips buck into your backside at the sound, and he chuckles.

“Fuck, you sound so sweet. Sweetest girl in the world.”

He adds another finger, using his thumb to circle your clit in precise, firm motions. You’re writhing against the mattress like a serpent, unable to stay still as Bucky takes you apart.

“Come for me, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. That’s it, atta girl… ride my hand, take what you need. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

Your entire body tightens up as you reach your climax, back arching away from Bucky as he continues to curl his fingers. He pulls you close, anchors you to him as you moan and shudder.

Your head is empty, besides the thought of your soulmate. All you can think about is Bucky.

Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

You take a stuttered inhale as you try to catch your breath, beads of sweat dripping down your back.

“You okay?”

He’s muttering into your shoulder, mouth never leaving your skin. You nod, linking your fingers with his where they rest on your waist.

“You didn’t come,” you whisper, leaning your head back into Bucky.

He kisses your cheek, chuckling lowly.

“This wasn’t about me,” he reassures. “It’s all about you, baby. Always is.”

The two of you breathe together for a little while, allowing you to come down from your high. Eventually, Bucky taps your thigh, nudging you up.

“Come on, honey. Get up and use the bathroom, and then we’ll sleep for the next week.”

You do as he says, crawling back into bed with limbs that feel like jelly.

“How you feelin’?” he asks as he pulls you into his side, resting your head on his chest.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He laughs and you can’t help but laugh too, as if by reflex.

“Yeah? No more racing thoughts in that pretty head of yours?”

“None. All I can think about is how much I want to sleep right now.”

Pressing a kiss onto the top of your head, Bucky tightens his arms around you.

“Then sleep, baby.”

You snuggle into your soulmates side, relaxing into the mattress.

“I love you,” you mumble into his skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs back. “Sweet dreams, honey girl.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

When you wake, you can’t tell if you’ve slept for five minutes or five days.

The sheets are crumpled, linen strewn across the bed as the pillows sit completely unmoved at the headboard. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, warming your skin that’s exposed to the sea soaked breeze.

You reach over to the other side of the mattress, seeking Bucky’s warmth. You’re met with empty space, and the sound of a throat clearing on the other side of the room.

The man in question is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and sun kissed. His boxers are hugging his thighs just right, and you repress the urge to crawl over and sink your teeth into the muscle. Later.

“Morning or afternoon?” You croak out, watching as he softly smiles at your sleep addled voice.

“Morning. Eleven twenty four.”

You stretch your arms above your head, unaware of the way Bucky’s eyes are glued to your bare stomach.

“You want breakfast, or have you eaten?”

“Haven’t eaten yet. Was waiting for you.”

You slide down to the end of the bed where Bucky meets you, leaning down to press a minty kiss to your lips.

“Have you been awake long?”

He shakes his head, stealing another kiss.

“Ten minutes or so.”

“How’d you sleep?”

He moves some hair away from your face gently, the morning affection making you light up inside.

“Like a baby. Don’t think I moved once.”

You laugh, running your fingers over his bare shoulders.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.”

“Me neither. I think we need to start prioritising sleep a little more.”

“It’s just… so hard,” you murmur, rising onto your knees on the bed so you’re face to face. “I don’t ever want to sleep when I have the most handsome man alive in my bed. I can think of many other things I’d rather be doing.”

He groans, chuckling lowly.

“Watch it,” he warns. “Or I’ll keep you in this bed all day. Won’t let you leave.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Barnes?”

He football tackles you suddenly, both of you falling backwards into the plush sheets. You squeal, caught off guard as his hands squeeze your sides firmly.

“Keep running your mouth and see what happens, angel.”

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction. When his eyes flutter closed, you breathe out a laugh.

“I’m so scared,” you tease, peppering his face with gentle kisses. “Like, quaking in my boots.”

He goes to retort, but is interrupted by the deafening sound of your stomach rumbling.

“If we weren’t about to get noise complaints from the neighbours about that hunger of yours, I would absolutely continue this. But…”

“We need to eat.”

“Yes, we do.”

You peck his cheek before jumping off the bed, stretching as you make your way to the kitchen. Bucky follows you eagerly. Of course he does.

You click the coffee maker on as you spin to face him where he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m about to make you the best pancakes you’ll eat in your entire life, James.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Watch and learn, baby.”

When he doesn’t move, you walk him backwards, pulling out the bar stool from underneath the island.

“You just sit there and look pretty.”

He shakes his head with a smirk as you wink, turning on the stove and grabbing your bowls and utensils. He didn’t ask for a cooking lesson, but you’re about to give him one.

“The trick is to separate the egg whites from the yolks, and whip them. When they’re fluffy, you fold them into your mixture, and it makes the pancakes light and airy and gorgeous. Then you add honey, for extra sweetness.”

He watches you flit around the kitchen as if you’re the sun, bright and warm and radiant. He can’t take his eyes off you for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

Bucky’s blinking back tears, suddenly, as you sway your hips while flipping the pancakes at the stove. He wants to drop to his knees, yell out to a higher power and ask what the hell he did to deserve someone like you. He’ll beg, if he has to, for someone, something, to make sure that he finds you in every universe, in every version of this crazy life.

“I love you,” you beam at him, as if you’ve read his mind. “I love you more than anything.”

Your grin is so blinding, so utterly brilliant that the entire room lights up with it. Your own form of electricity.

“I… I-”

“I know, Buck.”

It gets like this, sometimes. Too overwhelming to put into words. To love someone more than anything, anyone - a love that knows no bounds - is completely indescribable.

So he doesn’t even try. He just nods at you, watching as your eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Will you pour us some coffee while I put these on a plate?”

“Anything you need,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair as he squeezes past you to grab the mugs. “Always.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You settle down to eat on the balcony, letting the midday sun warm you both up.

“I brought syrup, but, I also brought this.”

You hold out a plastic tub that contains a dark pink mixture, popping the lid off.

“Try it.”

Bucky sticks his little finger in, putting it in his mouth and sighing in contentment at the taste that coats his tongue.

“Good?”

“So good. What is it?”

“My homemade raspberry and lemon coulis. I make it to go on top of pancakes and waffles - it beats maple syrup any day.”

“You’re a genius.”

“So it’s been said,” you laugh, pouring it over your plate. “Now eat before they go cold.”

“Yes ma’am.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“You weren’t lying,” he says when he’s finished. “They were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”

You laugh, sliding across to press your side into his.

“There’s a lot more where that came from. I have so many recipes I want you to try.”

“God, I’m so lucky. I have the most perfect soulmate in the world, and she’s a baker. What did I do to deserve you, hmm?”

You lean in to kiss him gently, licking across his lips. He tastes like raspberries and sugar and eight hours of sleep.

You’re sat in comfortable silence when your phone rings, startling you both.

“Hello?”

“Babe?”

“Lacie?”

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

You smile instantly, and Bucky does too, by default.

“Your Mom called me and told me about your Dad. She’s been keeping me updated over text. How are you guys holding up?”

“We’re good, honestly. It was a little touch and go at first, but now… we’re okay. All of us.”

“Good. I love you guys.”

“Love you too. So much.”

She sighs all deep and wistful, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What’s up, Lace?”

“Well… I’m calling with a proposition. And I feel like you’re gonna say no, but your Mom already told me that I had to force you to do it, so.”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on a double date with me and Cameron tonight. Come for dinner and drinks with us.”

You take a deep breath, looking over at Bucky. He nods in agreement, encouraging you.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Her surprise is undeniable, the octave of her voice rising ever higher.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in too long, and it’ll be good for me to meet Cameron, finally. Plus, we’re visiting my Dad this afternoon, so we have a free evening.”

“Oh my God, I am so excited! Okay, I’ll text you the address of where we’re eating. Cam knows so much about you already, he can’t wait to meet you. And I can’t wait to meet Bucky… again? I mean I’ve met him before, but not as your soulmate.”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “It’ll be good for everyone to get… reacquainted.”

“Exactly!”

“Alright, Lace. We’ve gotta get ready to visit my Dad, but I’ll see you later?”

“See you later, babe. I am so excited. See you then!”

She puts the phone down, and you can almost picture the cloud of perfume and pressed powder that’s about to rain down on her bedroom. You wish you were there to watch it happen, like old times.

“Our first double date, huh?”

“It’ll be our last if you don’t behave,” you tease, leaning in to peck Bucky’s lips.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You laugh into his mouth, running your fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. It’s the longest you’ve seen it, and it’s starting to curl all cute and soft and wispy.

“Come on. Let’s go see my Dad, and then spend hours mentally preparing ourselves for Storm Lacie.”

“I always liked her. Seemed good for you.”

“She is. She’s the best.”

Bucky wraps a strong arm around your shoulder as you swing your legs over his lap, burying yourself in his bare chest.

“You nervous?” he asks into your temple.

“A little, weirdly. Meeting each others soulmate is the kind of thing we’d talk about when we were kids. And now we’re doing it.”

“We can handle it,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing patterns into your arm. “We can handle anything, you and I.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, honey girl. Anything.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

752 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month ago

Text

I won’t lose you!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: was it inspired by some of the latest creations of @leftoverp1zza? For sure! Darling you are feeding my little inner angst gremlin so well. It's incredible!

Warnings: some mild SMUT, description of blood and violence, afterbattle setting, some angst

Word Count: 1,5 K (Yey, I managed to write a short one)

Summary: based on the promt "Even at my worst?". The battle is over and Sihtric can't find reader.

Raindrops, like rare salty tears, rolled down Sihtric’s face, mingling with sweat, blood, and dirt, leaving pale trails in their wake, like tiny rivers carving paths on his skin. His joints felt heavy, as if filled with lead, and every muscle ached with even the slightest movement. Yet he raised his head to the sky, now weeping alongside him, hoping the rain would wash away not only the blood and grime but the sudden dread creeping beneath his skin.

Thunder boomed above, and the scattered raindrops turned into a torrential downpour, as though the sky had flung open its gates in a desperate bid to cleanse the earth of this stain of shame that this battlefield had become.

Death. It clung to the air—its scent, its presence palpable in every sense. He could smell it, feel it in his fingertips, taste it on his tongue, hear it in the silence between each heartbeat, and see it spread across the horizon like a plague. There was no escape from it. He was no stranger to battlefields, but this was not a battlefield anymore—it was the aftermath of a massacre. It was the evidence of men’s recklessness, a testament to the violence and rage that seemed to be the only true values left in this cursed world. And he was a part of it.

He had felt Death’s cold, bony fingers grasp his own as his strength ebbed away, blood splattered across his vision, his feet slipping in the muck—mud, blood, and filth mixed beneath him.

Sihtric closed his eyes and listened. He could hear his heart racing in the cage of his ribs, feel his breath scraping through his dry throat, filling his aching lungs. The blood pounded in his ears, rushing through his veins.

Alive. He was still alive. The realisation struck Sihtric like a searing blade against his skin. Only now did he notice his fingers still clenched around the shaft of his axe, blood dripping from his hand, mingling with the rain. He had survived even if it seemed that a part of him had died today and will remain buried in this battlefield forever.

His eyes wandered around as if searching for something or rather somebody.

You had been there, just within arms reach, as the shield wall broke and your eyes had found his – a short fragile moment of unspoken promise of peace amidst the eternity of chaos and pain.

You were his peace and his undoing, all at once. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. The unending storm of life in your gaze was one of the rare things that tethered him to this world with that invisible thread of silent acceptance. Acceptance of who he was, down to the darkest corners of his mind, to the parts of his soul even he himself struggled to claim as his own.

It seemed like ages ago, like in another lifetime, like a memory wrapped in smoke from the dying embers. That night by the fire, your lips had crashed against his with the greedy, raw and uncontained anger that replaces the battle rage, filling the void left by the screams and death. He knew it too well. That same anger ran through his veins – unquenchable, unrelenting.

His hands had found you instinctively, gripping, clawing, tearing at fabric, ravenously dipping into your bare skin as though you might slip through his fingers like sand, lost to the tide. His need as wild as the battlefield behind you, the need to feel you, to ground himself in something real, something beyond destruction and chaos, beyond ruin and loss.

You sank down onto his cock, and the world fell away as he watched you through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted, breath ragged as you took him in, inch by aching inch. A groan rumbled in his throat, deep and guttural, something between a wild beast’s snarl and a man reaching for salvation just beyond his grasp.

Your hands braced against his chest, fingers digging into the firm planes of muscle, as if anchoring yourself into him, as if he were something solid, something unbreakable, something capable of stopping you from falling apart. But he wasn’t. Not here. Not like this.

Anger and tension bled from his tired body, leaving him bare and raw, giddy and drunk from you, from your touch, unraveling him like nothing ever before as he sought the warmth of your body to save him, to make him feel something. Something that wasn’t rage or fury.

He thrust up into you, his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, breath to breath, your heart hammering against his. A collision of fury and desperation, heat and want.

There were no words between you, only the rhythm of your bodies moving against each other, wildly, frantically, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace fierce and relentless, dragging broken gasps from your lips.

Forehead pressed to your shoulder he had groaned your name as his seed filled you, your body tightening around him as your own release clashed through you, moans filling the nightly sky.

You were his everything, the only being in this world and beyond worth worshipping after a day spent drowning in death, and yet he had never told you that, had never dared to say the words burning on his lips. Too afraid to shatter that fragile something between you, too scared to name it.

And now you were gone.

He had begged you not to come with him this time. It was not your war, not your battle.

Sihtric’s fingers let go of his weapon, one by one, as if releasing the blood soaked wood meant severing a part of himself. It fell. With a dull, lifeless thud the axe hit the ground. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t.

He moved through the battlefield, body after body he combed the ground, the heaviness in his limbs and joints gone. His nails broke as he clawed at armour, rolling over the dead bodies, staring at the faces ruined by death. Searching. Praying. Dreading.

And then he saw you. A body, a still, lifeless body. A face so hauntingly beautiful, so pale, that even Mani - the goddess of the moon – would weep with jealousy.

You heard him, heard him shouting your name, heard his footsteps pounding against the wet, muddy earth as he ran to you. You heard his knees hitting the ground beside you.

You felt his warmth. The weight of his body as he pressed himself to you, the desperate rain of kisses landing on your cold skin. You felt his hands, shaking, cradling your face.

You tried to open your eyes, but you didn’t have the strength.

The scent of blood and sweat, the echoes of clashing steel, the shouts and screams all blurred into a distant hum and slowly faded, retreating beneath the press of Sihtric’s body against yours, beneath the gentle touch of his calloused palms, beneath the sound of his cracking voice.

The desperate pull of a shaky breath you stole between kisses made Sihtric freeze for a moment. His heart thundered, not with the remnants of battle rage, but with something deeper, something so much more terrifying. Love. And dread. The kind that threatened to break him entirely, an overwhelming dread that he might have lost you.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven: “You’re alive,” he murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

“As are you,” you whispered, though your voice sounded shaky and splintered as if each word scraped against a thousand shards of glass in your throat.

His fingers skimmed along the curve of your jaw, rough but so gentle and reverent, his thumb lingered at the corner of your lips as if memorizing the feel of them. His world had nearly ended today. Yet, here you were. In his arms. Still breathing. Still his. Had you ever really been his?

“Sihtric…”

It was a quiet, delicate whisper, but hearing his name in the soft exhale, leaving your lips, he could feel the tears pearling in the corners of his eyes.

Sihtric leaned in, the sheer need to kiss those pale lips that had whispered his name, to feel them, to burrie himself in the truth that you were alive, that you were still here could bring the world to stand still.

“Never ever do this again. Do you hear me? Never! I won’t lose you! I can’t lose you! I… I love you too much,” Sihtric’s voice faded into a hoarse whisper and you finally willed your arm to move, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek.

So many battles, so many nights of raw, unfiltered passion had passed between you in silence that you had already abandoned hope of ever hearing those words.

But here they were.

"I love you too, Sihtric." You forced a weak smile, your lips trembling.

His breath hitched.

"You are my life," he whispered. "I will always love you."

"Even like this? Even at my worst?"

"Especially at your worst."

#sihtric x reader #sihtric fic #sihtric #sihtric smut #the last kingdom fic #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson

125 notes · View notes

emeraldelixirs · 2 months ago

Text

Bloodsport {I: where’d it go wrong?}

bsf! m. riddle x fem!sallow!reader, fem!sallow!reader stepbrother! t. nott

Bound by Blood, Betrayed by Fate. When you’re dragged to Malfoy Manor under orders from Voldemort himself, you learn the price of your mother’s mistakes: an Unbreakable Vow, tethering your life to the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Forced to navigate a web of dark magic, family debts, and impossible expectations, you must tread carefully in a house brimming with enemies—and a few familiar faces. As tensions rise and the lines between loyalty and survival blur, one question remains: will you find a way to break free, or will you lose yourself to the darkness?

Content warnings: 18+ themes, mentions of death, mental, emotional, physical abuse, torture, trauma, dysfunctional family dynamics, taboo themes, grief, underage coercion misogyny, classic canon HP themes of blood purity, house prejudices, oppression

Word count: 2.3k

A/n: and here lays the start of y/n’s trauma, with a lovely flashback. This is merely a filler before I get to the good stuff, bc next part is 8k worth of words and I will not elaborate any further. DISCLAIMER: girl in picture is not descriptive of Y/n, I am writing her with as little description as I can besides last name ofc. I just wanted a fitting pic for the chapter until I get to an official banner.

[playlist: the lakes–taylor swift, july–noah cyrus, forever winter–taylor swift, where’d it go wrong–d4vd]

<< previous part>> << next part >>

It was a bright summer day in June, one of those days where the remnants of spring lingered in the air—a soft, cool breeze running through the wildflowers in the fields surrounding the Parkinson Mansion. Despite the sun’s gentle warmth and the comforting drone of dragonflies and honeybees, something felt off in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t place it, but the sense of dread fluttered there, stubborn and persistent.

You, Pansy, and Daphne had strayed from the bustle inside—your two closest friends pulling you out to the meadow behind the estate. The Parkinson Mansion itself was a grand, pristine building, though seldom occupied by actual parents these days; they were always away at this meeting or that trip. Under normal circumstances, you’d relish a carefree summer’s day with your friends, but the knot in your stomach refused to untie. Perhaps because your mother had acted so strangely the night before, insisting you spend the night at Pansy’s, hugging you tight enough to leave you breathless and—if you weren’t mistaken—a little dampness in your hair from her tears. You’d woken this morning with an irrational worry gnawing at you, ready to flee back to the perpetually hollow cold of Nott Manor to ask the meaning. But now, it merely circled your thoughts like a blackbird overhead.

Nevertheless, it ought to have been peaceful here. Sunbeams chased off the last dewdrops from the night. Mourning doves cooed in the distance, half-hidden in the branches. The breeze ruffled Pansy’s dark hair as she crouched, meticulously polishing her new Nimbus broom, the latest model on the market. She paused every so often, lifting it into the sunshine to watch the metal fittings glint.

“Lorenzo,” she huffed, “is going to swallow his words when he sees this baby. And he’s coming with Draco later this week—they promised to run a few drills with me. I’ll be unstoppable against them.” Her tone was smug, but you only nodded, half-listening.

Meanwhile, Daphne lay on her stomach in the tall grass, your head pillowed on her back. She’d spent the last hour braiding bright wildflowers into flimsy crowns—two perched precariously on your heads, the third already wilted beside Pansy, who cursed every time it slipped off. Daphne flicked a new chain of daisies between her fingers, giggling under her breath at some rumor she’d heard.

“I heard Cho was found snogging Terry Boot on the train ride home,” she announced, her voice lilting with the thrill of gossip. “Not even a week after poor Cedric died, can you believe it?”

A shudder prickled at your arms. Cedric’s death had rattled the whole school, and you still felt uneasy about how the year had ended. You shifted your weight off Daphne, dislodging a few petals. “That’s got to be rubbish,” you muttered, frowning. “Cho wouldn’t move on that fast, surely. She was devastated.”

Daphne shrugged, weaving another blossom through her makeshift crown. “That’s what Astoria heard. From a friend of a friend, she claims.” She sniffed in that way she did when she wanted to sound superior.

Pansy snorted, hugging the broom handle against her chest. “Astoria’s sources are always questionable,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I call bollocks.”

In another world, on another day, you might have teased them both about digging into outlandish rumors. But the knot in your stomach tugged tighter, a creeping sense that haunted you with the talk of death. You cast your gaze toward the sky—blue, bright, with just a hint of humidity that promised a sweltering afternoon. The day felt too perfect, as if something unspoken lurked at the edges.

Trying to ignore the weight in your stomach, you steered the conversation elsewhere: “Have you heard Lyra Nox is releasing a new novel soon? It’s about a woman who falls in love with a charmed portrait.”

Pansy snorted a laugh. “A portrait as the love interest? That’s… creative.”

Daphne giggled, half listening, half braiding. “I’ll skip the reading and wait for your review,” she joked, nose wrinkling in playful distaste.

“I’ll opt out of both.” Pansy deadpanned. You huffed in faux annoyance, reaching over, grabbing a handful of stray wilting daisies, launching them at her.

She grinned at you, “kidding, kidding. Easy Sallow.”

You made a show of tossing a few wilted daisies at Pansy in mock offense. She smirked, swatting them away. The three of you resumed your chatter—about next year’s classes, potential new teachers, Blaise Zabini’s upcoming party, and what you wanted for lunch. The conversation and the bright field nearly lulled you into forgetting the morning’s dread.

Until, you noticed a lone figure emerging from across the field. The shape drew closer, weaving through the tall grass in rushed strides. As it neared, your pulse quickened: Theo. It was definitely Theo, but something about his posture was wrong for such a sunny day. A heaviness radiated off him, like a storm cloud in human form.

He approached, slightly out of breath, hair windblown, and your friends halted their chatter. Pansy stood up a fraction, shielding her eyes against the sun. Daphne paused in her braiding, turning her head so your weight slid off her back. Silence fell.

Theo’s eyes were red at the edges, his mouth pressed into a thin line that barely contained whatever grief lay behind it. Your stomach lurched. Theo rarely displayed emotions so openly in front of others—especially not in front of Pansy and Daphne. The dread inside you knotted further, as if your body already knew what he was about to say.

“Y/n, you need to come home.” he urged softly, glancing at Pansy and Daphne with quick, polite acknowledgement before focusing on you. “Now. Your—it’s urgent.”

Fear spiked hot in your throat. “Is everything… is my mother…?” The question choked off, half-formed.

“We need to go home,” Theo repeated, voice taut. His eyes flicked from you to your friends and back again. He looked… distraught in a way you’d never seen, as if the ground had dropped beneath him. The phrase go home struck a chord of panic. You realized you never wanted to leave the safety of this sunlit field.

“Wh–what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to laugh it off, but fear caught your breath. When he remained silent, you slowly stood, petals tumbling off your lap. Daphne’s crown of wildflowers dropped from her fingers, petals scattering in the grass as she sat up, alarmed, while Pansy clutched her broom handle.

“Just… trust me,” Theo insisted, more hoarse this time. “I—I’ll explain later, okay? We have to go home, now.”

You glanced at Daphne and Pansy, confusion rolling off them in waves. But the dread in Theo’s eyes sealed your decision. “Alright,” you whispered, “Let me just—”

“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “We need to leave immediately.”

Pansy hugged her broom closer, confusion written across her face. “Hold on—what’s going on?” She demanded, stepping forward. “Theo, you’re scaring us.”

Theo parted his lips, but only managed, “I—I just can’t explain right now.” He caught your arm gently. “We’ve got to go home. Right away.”

Without another word, you allowed him to gently grip your arm, pulling you away from your friends. Shock rooted them in place. Pansy called after you—What’s going on?—but you just shook your head, tears unexpectedly pricking the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know why you felt this sudden wave of sorrow, but the air felt heavier, the sun less bright.

Daphne scrambled to her feet, her half-finished flower crown forgotten. “Wait, Y/N—?”

But Theo gave a final apologetic glance over his shoulder, and the two of you were gone, weaving back through the fields, up the winding path through the overgrown grasses toward the Parkinson Estate. The day felt too bright for tragedy, but dread clawed at your ribcage. You blinked back tears, your breath hitching as you nodded, trusting the urgent plea in Theo’s eyes.

The moment you reached the Floo station inside, your heart hammered out of control. Theo grabbed a handful of powder and swept you into the emerald flames. You clung to his sleeve, a kaleidoscope of color and spinning magic swallowing you until you tumbled out into the drawing room of the Nott estate—your stepfather’s home, which you reluctantly shared.

The abrupt shift from the sun-drenched meadow to this lifeless interior felt like stepping from day into a permanent night when You staggered out, disoriented, gripping Theo for stability.

The drawing room’s silence was a stark contrast to the lively field. At its center stood Narcissa Malfoy, her elegant features drawn tight with concern, and Theodore Nott Sr., whose expression held all the warmth of a gravestone.

A swell of panic rose in your chest, breath hitching. Theo hovered at your side, shoulders trembling in silent grief he tried to bury.

Your stepfather—no, your mother’s husband in name only—met your gaze with chilling indifference. “Your mother,” he said flatly, “died last night.”

A ringing filled your ears. The day’s brightness seemed to vanish from your memory, replaced by icy shock. “No…” you whispered, hardly aware that tears streamed down your cheeks. “That can’t be—there’s no reason—she was fine—”

Narcissa stepped forward, ignoring Nott Sr.’s disapproving scowl. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she murmured, voice trembling with empathy. She guided you gently from the Floo, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, beckoning Theo in too.

Theodore Nott Sr. cleared his throat. “She arranged for you to spend the night with Miss Parkinson, presumably to spare you the drama of witnessing… the end.”

He spoke without even a glimmer of sympathy, as if narrating the front page of the Daily Prophet. Your mind reeled, refusing to accept the finality of his words. She can’t be gone…

“H-how?” You breathed out. You already had feeling as to how and why, but you wanted to hear it from him.

He sniffed, “complications on the job,” impatiently glancing between the three of you.

It was because of her.

The mad woman that decided to marry your mother off to Nott Sr that stood emotionless in front of you, that had free reign in your house, pulling your mother into the drawing room for hours on end, sending her away at elusive hours of the night, doing gods knows what. Bellatrix Lestrange.

Theo gave a strangled sob, hearing the one that wracked through you loudly, turning his face away, wiping his eyes. You gripped his sleeve needing his presence as much as he needed yours, letting him tug you in his side.

“Emotional displays won’t—” He cleared his throat.

Narcissa, her voice firm, snapped at Nott Sr. “Leave them. Now. They’ve just lost their mother.”

“This is my house, Narcissa,” The older wizard made a dismissive sound. “They’re old enough to keep emotions in check. The times we live in—”

“Get out,” Narcissa repeated, sharp enough that even he winced, her authoritative maternal side shining through. With a roll of his eyes, he strode out, slamming the door behind him, leaving the room colder than before.

In the hush that followed, your tears came in earnest. Narcissa guided you and Theo to a nearby sofa, letting you cling to each other. She summoned tissues, stroking your hair lightly in a gesture that felt heartbreakingly maternal—something your mother could never do again.

You tried to reconcile the morning’s bright sunshine, the warm breeze, the friendly chatter with your friends, with this. The last vestiges of spring now seemed mockingly beautiful, overshadowed by your mother’s sudden absence. She must have known something terrible would happen—why else insist on your sleeping over at the Parkinsons’? The question gnawed at you.

Theo trembled at your side, every muscle tight. You slid an arm around him, drawing him close. Step-siblings, yes, but more than that—friends, companions. Now you were bound by even more shared loss, being there for him when his own mother passed a few years prior. And if Nott Sr. was your only guardian left, you shuddered at the hollowness that awaited you both under his roof.

Narcissa, kneeling by your feet, pressed her hand to yours. “You’re not alone. I’ll help however I can, you two are some of Draco's closest friends.” Her voice wavered, tears bright in her eyes. But she held steady for you, for Theo, gently bridging the gap left by that the cold, malicious man who cared little for either of you.

Outside, the June sun still shone, oblivious to your world’s collapse. You let your head rest against Theo’s shoulder, tears staining his sleeve. The memory of how lovely the day had seemed only hours ago panged in your chest, a cruel reminder that fate offered no warnings.

You still felt the knot of unease you’d woken with, that sense of dread now realized. The breeze you’d thought was gently stirring your hair had, in reality, been a herald of loss.

No matter the brightness of summer, the world looked bleak and gray now, hollowed by grief.

The sunlit day felt like a cruel mockery, each warm ray a glaring reminder of how a bright sky could so easily clash with a dark heart. You sat on the steps leading to Malfoy Manor’s lavish gardens, reading, but your body felt heavy, your mind drifting back to the day your mother died. The recollection threatened to swallow you whole, and you had no energy to resist.

Bellatrix had held you in her claws for most of the day—torturing you in every way possible except actually casting the Cruciatus Curse. You suspected she was saving that particular brand of agony for a later date. You stared at your tender hands, welts from her punishments forming red and raw across your knuckles. They pulsed with each heartbeat, a physical echo of the emotional storm churning within.

It hadn’t been physical violence alone; she forced you to “charm” a mirror, an exercise that turned your stomach. The mirror displayed a rotating gallery of men—some young, some old and unsavory—teaching you how to coax and manipulate them with your Veela magic. That memory made you feel unclean, as if your soul were smeared by something far more insidious than a simple bruise.

You’d rather have endured a hundred more blows than endure that humiliating “lesson” again. Yet here you were, in broad daylight, the beautiful summer mocking your pain.

At last, the manor’s door opened behind you, footsteps on stone drawing your attention. You glanced up, shielding your eyes from the sun, spotting Theo stepping outside with Mattheo in tow. Both wore suits—dark, meticulously tailored, each cuff hiding the marks that chained them to the Dark Lord’s bidding. They looked weary, but they managed half-smiles, as they talked animatedly about something.

“Columba,” Theo called gently, that old nickname he’d used for you since you were kids. He approached with caution, Mattheo lagging behind like a silent sentinel.

“Ready to go home?” Theo asked, offering a hand to help you stand.

The word home jarred you. Home might as well have been a crypt these days, the Nott Manor empty except for house-elves who scurried about on edge, rarely speaking. You forced a nod, sliding your bruised hand into Theo’s. Pain shot through your fingers, but you let him lift you.

He froze when he saw the injuries marring your skin. “Gods, Y/N… she did this?” he whispered hoarsely, a flare of anger in his eyes. Over his shoulder, you saw Mattheo tense as he peered over his friend’s shoulder, running a hand through his curls before letting it drop to his side, frustration emanating off him in waves suddenly.

You shrugged, trying to sound calm. “I wasn’t doing well enough, apparently.”

Mattheo let out a hollow laugh. “How hard is it to twirl your hair and bat your lashes at someone, exactly?”

Your temper flickered, turning your gaze on him. “It’s more than that, you twat.”

He shot you a look, jaw clenching. “More than enough to get beaten for?” His dark eyes glinted with incredulity, but beneath the sarcasm you caught the faintest glimmer of concern. “Please, enlighten me.”

They’d never understand, not fully, not when you hadn’t even understood barely—the art of charming guarded men, of coaxing out secrets with a coy turn of phrase, all while Bellatrix delighted in your squeamishness. The memory of that mirror and those endless faces made your stomach churn.

“Lay off it, Matty,” you muttered, brushing his shoulder lightly as you passed him to reach the door with Theo.

Mattheo stayed put. You glanced back to see him rooted to the spot, arms rigid, eyes locked on the horizon as if waging an internal war. Theo stopped by the threshold, keeping a gentle hold on you. “You coming back, Mate?” he asked, trying for a casual tone.

“Nah,” Mattheo exhaled, glancing over at the hand Theo rested on your back. “Go ahead. I have a couple things to tend to.” His voice sounded distant, any previous good mood lost.

You rolled your eyes with a touch of exasperation. Lately, this was the version of Mattheo you always got: cold, distant, and bitterly brooding. “Fine,” you said sharply, words cutting more than you meant. “We’ll see you at Zabini’s party later, yeah?”

He raised his hand in a noncommittal wave, turning away to pace near the garden steps. You half-wanted to call him back, to tell him you needed him at the manor just as much as Theo, that you despised him for being so frigid but also respected his reasons for it. But your body ached, and your heart was too drained for another confrontation or his dejected attitude.

Theo gently guided you inside, toward the Floo station. You cradled your bruised hand, stepping into the emerald flames with your stepbrother by your side. Home. The concept twisted in your mind like a knife, the echo of your mother’s demise still haunting your chest.

taglist: @moonlightttfae

A/N: I love a good broody Matthew and a protective Theo, anyone else? I quite literally thrive off of it, and platonic scenes between the Slytherin gang. Anyways, feedback, likes, weblogs are always appreciated. And lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#joy to the works ✨#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x you #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #bloodsport masterlist

57 notes · View notes

stevesbestgirl · 2 years ago

Text

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dreamweaver #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus fluff #one shot

222 notes · View notes

dirty-bosmer · 1 year ago

Text

Fandom: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Relationship: Mathieu Bellamont/Lucien Lachance but in the "haha, I think of you nonstop and want to kill you so bad that I'll cut you open and crawl inside your skin to be inside you" sort of way :) content warning: dissolution of the self, murder and the grief that accompanies it.

I just really love Mathieu Bellamont + he gives me more excuses to write angst. Here, I wanted to write a series of microfics that explore the tragic relationships he has with the people in his life, past and present.

Preview:

Prologue: Dead Spaces

Remember the breeze? Remember its salt tang? Remember the snap of the sails in the harbor, the rolling rhythm of Wayrest’s waters, how sharp the first breath hit the back of our throats when we rose from the white-wash, hand in hand?

When we were together— alone together— we were perfect, could have stayed like that forever. Weren’t you happier too when it was just the two of us, you and I away from Father? If only you knew what I knew, that nothing else really mattered. Together, we were whole. Mother, why did you have to bring us back to that house we knew was never a home?

— from the diary of Mathieu Bellamont

Because at nine you saw His sickness in the flesh, an evil so mindless, so monstrous that your little voice couldn’t yet find the words to name it anything but death. Because death’s fist clenches much further than its arm can reach, and only in her absence did you learn her passing had killed the both of you, that beyond the artifice, beneath the skin, it was all blood and bone and borrowed time. Ten thousand suns and ten thousand more to come— they rise, each one, like the weals left by biting gnats. As a boy, all your wounds too were circles, and sometimes you wonder, were there anything left of him, what shape would he have become?

The shadows pulse along the sanctuary wall— yours, a gnarl of limbs bent by the weight of accruing grief that as a boy frightened you so much you fell asleep with your eyes open. Hours you’d spend watching your silhouette warp in the receding light, convinced even your own body could betray you. And why shouldn’t it? Flesh deceived you once before, and your father’s blood beats within you still, a traitor’s poison. Hear it sloshing. Hear it straining, slow and viscous, stirred by some feat of necromantic magic keeping your corpse tethered to Nirn. Yes, though these eyes blink and this mouth moves, you hang beneath the surface of the skin. The hand in the puppet, the echo of an old command, yet there is no more man here than there is in a persistent haunting. Were you a curse or were you never more than an afterthought of Arkay’s to begin with? See, it’s not so much death you’ve cheated as it’s life you’ve managed to escape, but men as small as you can do that when made up of empty space.

Your existence has been no more than an exercise in breathing as little as possible, taking only from Nirn what is needed to carry onward one more day. Consume too much of life, and you risk dissolving the formlessness you’ve cultured. Someone might notice, reach out and touch you, pull you off your liminal stage. Pray tell, what happens then? Do you precipitate? A deposition? Can you turn the vapor back to crystal, form the memory of what was into the man who should have been? If someone called your name, could you answer sure and without wincing? Could you level a stare, gaze back into the eyes of the damned and living and see reflected there the shape of you, the quake of you? Could you risk it?

To go on knowing that maybe you weren’t drowned completely, that all this time you could have saved yourself if only you had reached, that when Arkay turned his back and let the dead wash up, blue and bloated, maybe your mother’s life wasn’t the one you’d been brought back to retrieve.

And are you both or are you neither when all that’s left of her is your face? No, no. Tell yourself she is not gone, merely going, and keep your grip tight even if it demands all of your strength, because wherever she is, there you are too. Remember that her heart beat once for the both of you, and though what you share now is not life, it is sacred: a bond more binding than your father’s blood. How could anyone else comprehend it? The others sleeping in the sanctuary, their body heat like a low grade fever, will never know you’re not their brother, already someone else’s son, and you’re a son as long as you remember that you are a part of her, the heart of her, that even before you came into this world, you were wanted, you were loved.

And if the boy you were was still here, would you recognize him? Would he, you, lying awake as you are now, dry eyes turned to the horizon’s beginning light? Imagine him somewhere on the water, trawled up and imploded, body misshapen, his smile split like an open coffin. Imagine him shadowless and shapeless, lying still and blistering with hope as he waits for the next of ten thousand suns for the day he’s made back into one.

Take comfort then in having been born again a ghost, for you do not look to the future. There is none.

#heeheehooo I have no shame. I am unstoppable #sonny writes #mathieu bellamont #tesblr #the elder scrolls oblivion #Lucien lachance #tes fic #the elder scrolls #the dark brotherhood

58 notes · View notes

mimi-1384 · 22 days ago

Text

La Mort

The hour hangs heavy, the moment as inevitable as the breath you still draw. Here, in the veil of the world between worlds, you can almost forget, forget the shadows that coil around your spine, the whisper of fate in your bones, the way time grinds, shuddering and endless, beneath the weight of your existence. You used to be something, someone, didn’t you? Before all of this. Before the stillness of eternity claimed you. Before her.

Her. The one who slipped through your fingers like sand, delicate and fragile.

"Remember when I first saw you? Just a flicker in the dark, a faint whisper that never quite formed into words." The thought brushes against your mind, but there’s no solace in it, no relief. Her face, olive skin, eyes that seem too knowing, too empty, lingers like a curse, always just beyond the edge of your reach, yet you can never forget. You’ve tried to forget, haven’t you? How you used to wonder what the world felt like when it was more than just death, when you were more than just the afterlife.

But she knew. She always knew, even when you stood there, staring down at her as her body laid still. For once, you were not the one to claim the soul; it was hers that slipped through your grasp. And the irony was bitter, how you, the one who wears death as a cloak, would forever be haunted by the memory of that one who had no fear of it.

The sharpness of her grin, the hollow laugh that echoed in the corners of your mind, it all fades, but never completely. It is always with you, an ache that no amount of time can dull. You were her end, yet her existence lingers like a thread pulling you, tethering you to this unholy dance between life and the void.

"Do you remember the moments before the end?" you ask the empty air, though you know it’s futile. But you ask anyway.

The silence answers, stretching out between you both like an ocean without a shore. You do not move. You are still, a fixture in the bleak landscape, tethered by what once was, by the face of a woman who did not fear you but had woven herself so deeply into your being that now you wonder if you are the ghost, not her. What remains of you but the cold residue of a life unlived, unloved?

No. Not unloved. She loved you, didn’t she? Loved you in the way only someone like her could, sharp, cutting, and irrevocable.

But now, it is too late. The world spins on without you, the sound of it a muffled hum that presses against your chest. How cruel, how unbearably cruel it is to still be here, watching the world pass by, and yet feel so utterly unseen. Would you have chosen differently, had you known how much she would haunt you, how much you would become nothing but the echo of her? Or would you have done it all again, drawn to her light as moth to flame, consumed by the beauty of the fall?

#it's me again #still can't title properly #the sims 2 #the sims 4 #ts2 #ts4 #ts2 premades #sims 2 premades #strangetown #olive specter #grim reaper #simblr

6 notes · View notes

weirdofox12 · 3 months ago

Text

I know I normally don't post stuff revolving around ships but the new Rabbitology song "Preybird" just came out on the tube of you and I just thought of a bakudeku au

Okay, so imagine. Katsuki in this world is some sort of guiding spirit. He doesn't exactly like the job, as he constantly has to watch people meet their beginnings and ends

"I’ve watched it happen again and again, haunted by a thousand kind beginnings and a thousand bloodied ends. I shouldn’t play with fate. But what if once, I could make you safe?"

This part would refer to Katsuki seeing countless people live and die (often in brutal fashion). But then he starts watching over Izuku, then he starts to wonder if he could stop a bloody death for at least one person. He doesn't understand why he started thinking that way, but he is determined to help Izuku.

"So while you think you’re alone, you cast two shadows down the road where you have buried all your past lives’ bones. The two red suns in the sky blink, my pity-filled eyes, hoping the heartlines will change this time. If you’d just look up, I could be your guide. Why can’t I catch your eye how you’ve caught tens of mine?"

This can refer to Katsuki's feelings watching people die over and over again, but now that he has Izuku, the previous nihilism he had is slowly being dispersed. And the "all your past lives' bones" can refer to the previous wielders of One For All, which could imply that he saw their births, their lives, and their deaths.

"You’re blind to all my warning cries when I speak in dust devils, crop circles, flocks of mayflies. So I’ve no choice but to come down, pardon my steps shaking the ground."

Izuku keeps getting into more and more dangerous situations attempting to become a hero, and doesn't see all the warning signs Katsuki keeps sending him. Growing tired of Izuku's obliviousness, Katsuki decides to stop hiding as a spirit and appear as a 'new student' at U.A. to keep a closer eye on Izuku.

"But the birds on my shoulders prepare for a feast. You can taste it in the air, the soon-to-be dead meat. Eye in the sun, you’re all I see. Why don’t you look at me?"

So, being a guardian spirit, Katsuki can perfectly interpret omens. While staring out the window outside, he sees a single magpie resting on a tree branch (referring to the old rhyme, "One For Sorrow"). Katsuki, for whatever reason, cannot figure out what this means, but knows that something bad will happen, but whether it happens to Izuku or another member of Class 1-A, he isn't sure.

"My breath heaves down your nape, wrestlin’ you ‘way, but I’m too late. A body rests, dagger in chest. The heart in your hands drips, as its soul crawls from splintered ribs ro eclipse my head and beg again for revenge."

So, the event Katsuki has anticipated finally happened, and during some sort of attack (with the dagger in chest thing, I'm thinking the battle with Stain), Izuku gets severely injured with the possibility of death. Katsuki, at this moment, finally realizes he had fallen for the one he was suppose to guide. Filled with a rage he's never felt before, nearly loses himself in his want for revenge.

"Oh, you may think you’re alone if you hide from the shadows. You can bury bones, but not the souls. And two red suns in the sky will be the light to build your pyre; they’re my blank and pitiless eyes. Every death birthes a bird to this wretched flock, forever tethered to your life but cursed to only watch. Catastrophe. Repeat until you look at me"

After the battle, Izuku was taken to the hospital and bandaged up, Katsuki, with a great speed, manages to tether Izuku's soul back to his barely living body before he can pass on. A flock of magpies rests in trees outside the hospital, each bird representing a soul that had died under Katsuki's watch. He doesn't want Izuku to join it so early. It's here and now Izuku finally sees Kastuki for what he is; a spirit meant to guide one along their life.

"(See my two sun eyes, feel my slow moving thighs) (Tumbling dust in a dimming tide) One day I’ll come reckoning. (Hear the squabble angry caws of our wretched flock) (Forever tethered to your life but cursed to only watch) Wearing the feathers of our souls as wings."

Despite Izuku living, another magpie joins the flock. Except this one was birthed due to love and life instead of hate and death. It often comes to Izuku's windowsill when Katsuki's not around, watching over him.

The final sequence of the song refers to the power Katsuki gave himself to be used when parading as a human. It refers to fire, light, and embers which fits Katsuki's Explosion quirk.

i dunno might polish this up when i'm not eepy lol

#bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #izuku midoriya #mha izuku

5 notes · View notes

toastthewolfie · 7 days ago

Text

ughdjskdjj foxcry is such a good song i love rabbitology so much like.. all her music is awesome (my person favorite is Preybirds bc THE LINES “Forever tethered to your life but cursed to only watch” and “So while you think you’re alone / you cast two shadows down the road / where you have buried all your past lives’ bones / the two red suns in the sky blink / my pity filled eyes / hoping the heartlines will change this time / but the birds on my shoulders prepare for a feast / you can taste it in the air the soon to-be dead meat”) n foxcry just sounds so… captivating? I love the message it conveys and the vocals are gorgeous. It also flows really beautifully (my favorite lines are “I can feel those eyes sinking into me / you hate it when i sing but you love it when i scream / i know why you shoot with your right hand free / shoo hunter boy go skip your stones in a tree”)ajsjskaks def go give rabbitology a listen her music is AKSKAOAOSOSKALLA [/pos]

1 note · View note

desolationcleo · 16 days ago

Text

so Rabbitology recently posted a youtube short confirming that they're a life series fan

Idk if you've heard their song Preybirds but for those not in the know: the official lyrics video comments section is flooded with traffic light heart emojis for a DAMN GOOD REASON. Not only is it officially called "Preybirds (Watcher Song)" but the lyrics are full of bird imagery, talk of past lives and a repeating loop, red eyes, sun imagery everywhere, overlap of these two things, the narrator having wings and tens of eyes, breaking binds, angel imagery, violence and murder, "the birds on my shoulders prepare for a feast", "hoping the heartlines will change this time", "I've watched it happen again and again, haunted by a thousand kind beginnings and a thousand bloodied ends", "forever tethered to your life but cursed to only watch"

No life series fan writes a song this Grian coded by accident.

Promo shorts for Preybirds contained a lot of emphasis on the protag being a "Watcher character" (or at one point "watcher angel") and on several occasions had a "iykyk" somewhere, as well as saying things like "who does this remind you of" "summoning the animators" "which fandom will claim watcher song"

If you look at Rabbitology's website, you'll see a blog post about Preybirds in early December 2024 that mentions she started writing the song 3 years before, which would line up to the end of 2021, aka shortly after the Last Life finale. It also shows some lyrics from previous beta versions of the song. There's desert imagery, and it also refers to the Watcher character as "he" and talks about him committing acts of violence. Also mentions "a thousand hungry eyes" at another point

Again, she's confirmed she's a life series fan, SHE KNOWS

Conclusion: There is a real chance that Preybirds is about Grian. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

2 notes · View notes

htetalks · 3 months ago

Text

I'm Sorry

The history of our friendship kept me tethered to you, and at fourteen, I didn't understand that how you treated me reflected how you felt about yourself. I watched as you took the world by storm, and although you had said I was by your side, the more I grew, the more I realized I had always been ten steps behind you. You didn't deserve what you got, but I didn't deserve what I got either. The more you tried to keep me caged, the more I began to shy away. Finally, as you became an adult at seventeen, I realized that as long as I stayed and let you continue to treat me that way, I could never be happy. So I did the only thing I could do at seventeen, I ran away. I ultimately left you without a word because how could I explain what I didn't completely understand myself. But it's been six years since we talked, and thinking about our friendship is nostalgic. I don't think I hate you; how could I hate someone who will forever be a child in my memories of you? Although I'm braver than I was, sending this now wouldn't benefit either of us; too many years have passed, and perhaps it's my punishment for running away to forever have unsaid words between each other.

Dear ****,

I'm sorry, truly. I should not have left without a word; you didn't deserve that. A decade of friendship should have ended with closure, and for that, I truly apologize. By chance, fate would bring me to your state, and eventually, you would become the first friend I made there. It felt like I was meeting a soulmate; our birthdays were mere days away from each other, and despite you being a year older than me, I felt like you were my twin. We were attached at the hip and I truly felt like I didn't need anyone else, as long as I had you. For a decade, we'd go through all our milestones with each other and nobody knew me better than you. But along the way, our friendship became tainted. Life got the better of us and we both coped in our own ways. I understand that life got complicated for you, but it didn't excuse how you treated me and made me feel. You took out all your frustrations on me and being your friend felt more like a job. You isolated me from my life and made me feel guilty for not being there for you 24/7. At fourteen, I was scared. I endured it because I didn't want to lose my only friend. I was understanding, and I told myself that you were hurting, but after everything, you would heal, and everything would be alright. But three years later, I was in the same situation, and the final dinner we had made me realize everything I had been trying to pretend was temporary was permanent. The more I had allowed you to treat me that way, the more it became embedded, and that's just how it was supposed to be. And if I were to tell the truth, I started to hate you. I hated that I did. I hated you more for making me become someone who hated their best friend. I began to mentally note everything you did to me. Tick. You cursed me out because I didn't answer you right away. Tick. You told me another story about you doing something deplorable. Tick. You made me stay on Facetime with you even though I told you I needed to do homework, and then you got mad at me for not talking to you. Tick. On the last day, tick after tick accumulated exponentially, and as we sat at dinner in silence for about fifteen minutes, I laughed in my head. How childish this all was. I was desperate to just have it all end. Rather than a best friend, it felt like I was at dinner with an abusive partner. I had started to learn to read your facial expressions and your tones, I catered to you to avoid being yelled at, I paid extra attention to every detail of your life because you got mad if I didn't notice a new article of clothing. What was it all for? I had lost all desire to be friends with you. And so, after everything, I just left your life. I stopped responding and interacting with you. And I haven't regretted it since. I don't hate you anymore, the older I get, the more I forgive you. Perhaps you'll never forgive me, but I'm okay with that. I just wanted to write at least once how I felt about you and why I left. The reality was that we were both little girls who were losing control of their lives and we both behaved childishly. Maybe communication could have solved it? Maybe if I had spoken up, you could have changed, we could have still been friends. But none of that really matters because by the time I had realized my mistakes, it was already too late; it didn't matter if you changed because you had hurt me too much; there was too much that had happened for us to really be friends again. I don't think of you often, but sometimes I'll hear your name. I wonder how you're doing and hope you're well. When I get married, I'll remember how I used to think you'd be my maid of honor as a passing thought. But ultimately, despite the last rocky half, thank you for being my friend. We had good moments, and it'd be disingenuous to pretend I didn't have a deep love for you once. I'll choose to remember you for your wild spirit and your tenacity. I'll choose to forgive you for me. And I'll choose to remember you as an old friend.

Sorry

It’s not that I hate you, i just don’t feel like talking to you. I love you but sometimes you get clingy. If i answer your calls, I wouldn’t be able to hang up until you say so. I won’t be able to get anything done if you kept talking to me. You make me feel bad when i don’t listen to you. You got to understand that i have a life too. I understand you have problems and that you want me to be there for you, but how can i help you if you don’t want to help yourself? You send me millions of texts when I’m sleeping and get mad at me when i don’t reply right away. I’m sorry, for not answering your calls but this is why. I’m sorry you think i hate you, i don’t. I just want space.

#letters #writing #reflection #friends #toxic relationship #reminiscing

1 note · View note

acourtofmenandthirst · 3 years ago

Text

Life & Death

Azriel x Reader, in which you have been secretly by Azriel’s side more than he ever knew (inspired by this light vs. dark theme I had in my head, seemed to only fit well with Az, I think he serves it justice)

Warnings: None, adult theme (death)

Word Count: 2.5K

Azriel embodied death.

He was born in darkness, raised in the shadows, and grew under the vesper. The only light in the male’s life for many years was the fire that danced on his hands, burning his palms and scorching his veins. He befriended the whispers in the crepuscule, under the bright moon that bled through the slits in his minuscule window. His wings were cramped, the confines of his cell so tight he couldn’t spread them, even as a small child.

Azriel blended into the shadows, the ones that sang to him, his mother’s sweet song, and the ones that protected him, hiding him away from his brothers. After his rescue, they followed him around, twisting around his ankles and wrists, guarding him from any newcomers - with good intentions or those without. He lived in the dark, embodying his newfound gift.

The male hadn’t had any friends, aside from the two brothers he quickly found. Strangers, Illyrian and Fae alike, avoided him, some spitting at his feet from far away, others completely terrified of him. In the camps, after Azriel’s first kill, the tides turned, and one after another, that number grew.

Deathbringer. He never cared what others thought of him - while he was privy to the rumors and stories surrounding his name, he hadn’t found it in himself to care. He embraced what they thought he was - he became the Shadowsinger, the merciless torturer, hidden in the shadows and hungry for blood.

You had always been enthralled with Azriel. The legend surrounding him had only spurred you further in your search for him, desperate to meet the Illyrian yourself. You watched him from high above the forest floor, where you tracked him to. You admired the fit of those leathers, the dark battlegear he wore regularly, tight around his strong legs and lean torso.

You flew over the treeline, noting how he vanished into the shadows around him, disappearing without a trace. To call him the Deathbringer was an insult, a harsh connotation spread around by fearful Fae and jealous Illyrians. You almost laughed, each time when they cowered away from the male, so certain he’d bring harm and annihilation, when all he brought them was immunity and freedom.

Death was not dark and gruesome, nothing to be feared or shied away from. It was life that was so dirty, grim and hopeless; life that shrouded all creatures in the universe. It was the curse of life that chained every soul to the earth, stuck on rotting soil, bound in Fae form and left to suffer forever. Humans suffered greatly in slavery and their wretched bodies that fell so easily to illness and starvation. The Fae remained tethered to life for far too long, surrounded by ravens that gouged their loved one’s eyes out, and the vultures that picked at rotting flesh and muscle until there was nothing but cracked skulls remaining.

The truly blessed were taken in the soft hands of death, welcomed home into the bright light by the Angel herself. It was death that set them free, no longer relying on the capricious sun for light, for sustenance and existence. Death, who many thought left their soul rotting in the river of black sludge, underground and long forgotten by the Mother. But that was life: hell on earth.

Azriel greeted death warmly, so often sent creatures to their blissful end, no longer trapped in the restraints of existence. The male that you’d kept your eyes on for centuries, watching from afar as he sent Fae and Illyrian alike to you, unknowingly - to be taken by you, a sacrifice, a promise, a vow. He sent you countless souls, even having a few brushes with death himself. It was those moments when you came the closest to him. When you were able to hold him in his dying state, cold in your arms, as you offered him warmth, the sweet release of death.

You flapped your white wings, descending down between the trees, feathers fluttering and bracing your drop as you met the forest floor. Plush grass tickled your bare feet, your white gown fell gracefully around you as you settled on the cool earth. You smiled to yourself, sensing the shift in the air as shadows swirled around you. As the oxygen shifted around you, you counted down the seconds until the male appeared beside you.

Three.

Time moved slowly. As if centuries passed between each second.

Two.

You turned on your heel, breath held tight in your lungs.

One.

Azriel appeared in front of you, a swirl of shadows and darkness.

He winnowed straight back as he felt your presence in the woods, the heavy trees around you brustled with each flap of your delicate wings. He’d been tracking you for years, the only trace he’d had to follow was the shift in the air, how the sun felt brighter, the air felt hotter, and the soft beat of your wings that reverberated in his bones.

The only way he’d been able to summon you was to wait.

For you to find him.

Azriel didn’t know who you were. He didn’t know what you wanted from him, or how you’d been able to follow him for so long without his shadows catching on. They were no help, unable to detect who you were or where you hailed from. He had to rely only on his own instinct, on the pounding of his heart whenever you drew near.

You raised a hand to his face, slow and intentional. Azriel did not question you, he did not stop you or ask why. His chest thundered, shoulders tensed in anticipation. He could feel his heart banging in his chest, desperate for escape, for you to hold it in your hands. His hand fell to Truth-teller, his fingers caressed the hilt of his short blade, dancing along the cool metal as he anticipated your next movement.

“Your reputation precedes you, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you traced a line along Azriel’s cheek. He tensed, jaw clenched tightly and tendons flexed beneath his golden skin. His hazel eyes stayed locked on yours as you took in every feature, from the sweep of his eyelashes to the arch of his brow, the green flecks in his eyes down to each scar adorning his cheeks.

“I wish I could say the same,” he muttered, his voice quiet, plump lips barely moving as he spoke. The typically menacing male remained entrapped in your gaze, victim to your hand, gradually moving down the column of his throat.

You offered him a smile, one you surely would pay to see strewn across the male’s face. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of wrinkles or lines on his face - missing the harsh smile lines carved into the Lord of Bloodshed’s cheeks, or the wrinkles etched around the High Lord of Night Court’s eyebrows. He bore no such marks, no emotion betraying the stoic male that stood before you.

“I’m (Y/N),” you replied, dropping your hand but not daring to take a step away from him. “You’ve met me before.” The male’s eyes narrowed, hints of gold and green shifting as his eyes washed over your features. His chest rose and fell slowly, concentrated and controlled, as he searched for the memory. His shadows skitted around him, swirling around his neck and torso, twining around your ankles in investigation.

He shook his head slowly, unable to break your hypnotic gaze. Azriel felt the pounding in his chest, the tremor of the hum released deep in the depths of his soul - it sent his bones vibrating and blood racing; he kept his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “No,” he offered simply, shadows unable to recognize you.

“The bloodbane on that arrow through your chest,” you reminded him, dropping your finger to your own heart. “Fallen before the Cauldron itself.” Azriel remembered vividly, shoulders tensed as he relived that harrowing day. It wasn’t darkness surrounding him, pulling him into a sea of nothingness. He was encapsulated by light, blinding, white light. The warmth from the glow seeped into his soul, kept him conscious. “It was not the King who held your life in the balance, Azriel,” you whispered, the male going weak in the knees at your hushed tone. “It was me - I was there while he bargained your life away.”

“You weren’t there.” Azriel barely spoke aloud, his breath swirled the loose hair framing your face. He noted the rhythm of your breathing, matching it in entirety.

“I was.” You held your hands open before you, showing him your empty palms. Between the two of you, the air warmed, not with fire, not with light - there was nothing. Nothing but the air you both breathed, your bodies wrapped in warmth. His fingers twitched, the familiar heat sinking into his bones. “It was I who did not take you in that moment. That warmth around you was me, Azriel. It was death.”

His face revealed nothing, but the bob of his throat did. “You’re the Angel of Death,” he finished for you, incredulously, not believing the sight before him. The myth, the legend that the children whispered about in the Illyrian Camps, meant to scare each other in the dead of night.

The beautiful Angel of Death, alluring young males and enticing warriors on the battlefield to follow her. It was told that she was beautiful, with hypnotic eyes, nearly glowing with ethereal beauty. Black wings, given to her by the Devil himself, a crown of thorns, exquisite gown. Some said she had fangs, others reported horns. She was only a fable, shared by the young soldiers preparing themselves for death, hoping to be welcomed into the arms of a beautiful female. A beautiful female who was death incarnate, a devil, the keeper of all good and evil.

What shocked Azriel, though, were your bright white wings, feathered and fluffy, like something of the Dawn Court. Flowing white gown, hair splayed wildly around your head, tousled from flight. No fangs, talons, horns, or pointy tail. You stood before him calm, steady, unwavering as you stared your mate in the eye. You emitted nothing but life.

“It seems my reputation does precede me, after all,” you whispered, nearly reading his thoughts verbatim. “I choose who to take. I was by Hybern’s side when the Archeron sisters killed him, when the General of the NIght Court Armies laid on the battlefield with his guts spilt out, when your High Lord and High Lady died - every time, in fact.” He watched you with that unwavering stare, studying every word you offered. “I held your life in the palm of my own hands, but it was not your time to go.” You raised your open hands, at which Azriel reached for them, holding them together against his chest. “It was never anybody else, Azriel, you are mine.”

He took a step toward you, chest impossibly close to yours. “And you are mine, (Y/N),” he whispered, laying your palms flat against his Illyrian leathers. His heart beat fast and true, never more sure in his life that his mate stood before him, winged and equal, ever true.

You craned your neck upwards, peering up at the male from under your eyelashes. He leaned forwards, tilting his head to one side as he captured your lips against his. The male had not been known for his hesitation, but his lips touched yours just for a moment before he pulled back. You dropped his hands, throwing your arms over his shoulders, circling them around the back of his neck.

He tasted of cedar and smoke, the taste of shadow and night swirling around your tongue. The hairs on the back of your neck rose when your lips met, a shiver sent down your spine when he pulled away. Azriel felt the sparks as soon as he touched you, and kissing you made his whole chest explode. He had to hold himself back, using the only bit of willpower he could muster, to restrain himself from taking you on the forest floor right then and there.

Azriel huffed a sigh in relief as you pressed yourself fully against him. His hands found your waist, squeezing tightly before falling to your hips and holding you flush to him. His heart raced, never before had a female had his mind reeling and his chest pounding. They said the mating bond was unquestionable, his gut twisted and every muscle in his body flexed as he held you in his arms.

His shadows whirled around you both, his wings flexed outwards behind him. You sighed as the cool air hit you, his wings unfurled completely before you. You had to resist the urge to touch, instead your fingers carded through his hair, pulling tightly at the shaggy locks, which earned a low growl from the male. His hand rose to cup your jaw, tilting your head further, deepening the kiss until the two of you meshed into one, nothing but a mess of teeth and tongue.

As Azriel’s other hand fell lower, cupping the back of your ass and sliding down the back of your thigh. He bunched up your gown, grabbing layers of skirts and fistfuls of fabric, searching for skin. You dropped one hand to his, pulling it from your body and dropping it at his side. With a groan, you pulled your lips away from his, sighing as his forehead pressed against yours. He leaned forward, desperate for another kiss. “(Y/N),” he snarled, perhaps in warning.

“Being mates,” you began, cut off at the harsh breath the Shadowsinger let out before you. At your touch, the male had began to succumb to his primal instincts. To have you in his arms and to claim you - he wondered if that was the only thing that would be able to calm the roaring in his veins. “Is not so simple, Azriel.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he replied, stealing another hungry kiss, holding you tighter against him.

“Tethered to death,” you continued, pulling away from him again, holding him still by his hair. Your life would be as mine is. You’d be tethered to me. To the Angel of Death. Your words failed you as he weighed your every movement, hazel eyes watching you, searching for those thoughts. “Being mated to death means the end of your own life.”

At that, Azriel paused, his intentions halting. He remained a hair's breadth away from you, just enough to study you from down the bridge of his nose. His bright eyes flicked between yours, his dark brows pulled cross in thought. The male had no plan to let you go - he’d never thought he’d find a mate at all, merely stuck between choosing one of the females the Mother had placed in his path. He didn’t want the convenient choice, nor the easy way out. He’d finally been blessed with a mate, his equal - Death and his Angel - he was prepared to sacrifice what he had to in order to keep you.

“I am no stranger to death,” your mate replied, afraid of nothing.

“It’s ironic,” you added, finally stepping away from the male, releasing the death-like grip you had on his black locks; though he did not drop his hands from your waist. “Deathbringer.” Your mate tilted his head to the side, not offering a question or even the quirk of a brow. “You are everything about life, Azriel.”

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #shadowsinger #acmaf #acowar #acotar fanfi #fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel/you

487 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 4 years ago

Text

PULL ME BACK FROM THE DARKNESS ~ CATO HADLEY

PLOT: You and Cato fill in the missing pieces of each other.

Warning: smut, m/f, hints at PTSD and depression, slight breeding kink if you squint, slight size kink.

I am not responsible for what media you choose to consume. If you cannot handle the contents of this or are too young, please do not read. It is your responsibility, not mine.

________________________________________________________________

Wet strands of hair dripped down your back as your fingers nimbly worked at braiding them away from your face. Not yet fully dressed, you leant across the sink to gaze into the small mirror to see whether the top of the braid was flat. A click resonated throughout the room and you couldn't help the smile that sidled its way onto your face as the thudding of heavy footsteps filled your ears. The hulking figure of the man who had been your rock filled the doorway and you connected eyes with him through the mirror. Rough fingers replaced your hands as he smoothed out the tangles in your hair and expertly twisted the strands together. Once he was done, you couldn't help but admit that he had done a better job than you would have done yourself. Reminding you that he had younger sisters who he'd been forced to practice on, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before stripping for his own shower.

Sinking your teeth into her lip, you heard him exclaim in shock when the water came out cold instead of the usual lukewarm. Guilt made its appearance once more when you realised you had used up the hot water for the day. Plopping down onto the mattress, you closed in on herself as the memories that had plagued you all day took their toll on you. For so long you had been fighting – fighting for survival, fighting other children, fighting your own mind. Whilst your hands were no longer covered in blood, they would never be cleansed of the innocent lives you had taken.

Pulled from your thoughts as a bare chest entered your view, you bit her lip at the towel slung around his hips. How it didn't drop any lower was beyond you but you found herself almost willing it to slide down. Leaning into his touch as he placed his hand on the side of your face, you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Rough day, baby?"

You remained silent, relishing in his strength for a moment or two. All you wanted was to lie down and wait for the fight to pass. To wait for the moment when her mind would fall blank and the memories would cease to exist. Eyes connecting with Cato's, you realised you had disappeared inside your own head once again. Concern was written across his face until you reassured him that you were present in the room and not back in the arena. Both of you had spent too long plagued by the chaos that had followed you out of the arena. Thankfully, one of you was always there to be the tether to reality. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Cato from looking at her as if she was one crack away from irreparable.

"Stop," she demanded. "I'm not weak enough to crumble from one bad day. I’ll get through it, just like I get through the rest.”

"Sweetheart, I never meant-."

"No, I know exactly what you meant. The next Games are fast approaching and my nightmares are coming on faster and darker but so are yours. Snow didn't break me. I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be hidden away whilst the pieces are glued back together again. I am perfectly mentally capable of mentoring the next lot of tributes without having a breakdown.”

"Indie, this isn't about me thinking you're not strong enough, this is about me not being strong enough! How can I look at these small children and send them to their death. I've already had to deal with losing them before."

Falling to his knees, Cato buried his head in your lap and allowed the tears to fall. Whispering soothing words, you ran your fingers through his blond strands. Teardrops slid down your own cheeks as you watched the strongest person in your life fall apart. Cato had been there for you since the moment you had been reunited after your were rescued from the arena after cutting down all those in your way. He had been there to catch you every time you stumbled. Watching him feeling so hopeless shook you and although you felt like curling up next to him and giving in, you knew it was your time to be there for him.

"Listen to me, we've made it through death and we've made it through separation. Baby, I am just as scared as you but I know that we're going to get through this together. We haven't made it this far just to lose now. You and me, together, Cato. Forever."

"You don't deserve this." Cato sniffled, brushing away his own tears. "You've been through so much, lost so much, I'm supposed to be there for you."

"Cato, I'm your partner, it's my duty to be there for you. We fight together or we don't fight at all. Don't forget that we're from Career Districts. We're always strong and we never lose. We will not allow these next Games to strip away the strength that we have left."

"Well maybe, for one night, we reward ourselves with the luxury of being weak. Just tonight, let's forget about this stupid war and just wallow in our pity. Please?"

And maybe it was the broken look on his face, the sadness swirling in the sky blue eyes, or the fact that forgetting about the future Games was all you wanted to do, you granted him the only thing he had ever asked of you. Snuggling into his comforting (still bare) arms, you allowed yourself to cry about your own pain. The tears that fell weren't for the fallen and all they had left behind, they weren't for the deaths of the future children you were about to witness, these were purely for how mentally exhausted and rundown you felt. Soft lips kissed away your tears. One warm hand rested on the cool skin of your hip, having slithered its way under the thin shirt you slept in.

With a small inhale, you pressed your lips to his whilst your hands snaked their way into his hair. Salt mixed with the taste of his tongue but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A rumble echoed in his chest as his length pressed against you and he straightened, yanking you up with him. Spinning you around, Cato backed you up until you hit the wall with a bump. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you rested your head against the wall, back arching when Cato sucked on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"I love you," his lips traced the words down to the valley between your breasts before he wrenched the top over your head and threw it behind him.

Left hand reaching up to palm at your breast, his mouth wrapped around the nipple on the other one, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. Your breath hitched and you used your foot to deftly push the towel down and finally reveal what had been hidden from you. Exclaiming in shock, you scowled when Cato chuckled against you. When you reached down to grasp him, he gently bit your nipple but the action forced your hips against his and with one roll, he brushed against your clothed clit.

"Off," you begged, lifting your hips slightly away from the wall so that Cato could slide them down your shaky legs.

Fingers dancing along your legs, he reached down to cup your heat and one finger slid between your wet walls.

"I will never get sick of this," he groaned, watching as you bit your lip in pleasure.

Thumb rubbing your clit, he added another finger, watching as they plunged in and out of your slick heat. His name tumbled off your lips as your pleasure increased and Cato knew that that would be his favourite sound. If there was one sound that could banish the nightmares and dispel the darkness, it would be you crying his name as you tumbled over the edge, coating his fingers. Panting slightly, you pushed him away, revelling in the confused look on his face.

As you sunk to her knees, lust clouded his blue eyes until they were as dark as the sea in District Four on a stormy day. Hand wrapping around the base, you smirked as he hissed when your tongue licked a stripe from balls to tip. Mouth wrapping around his tip, you moved down ever so slightly before pulling back up. Hollowing your cheeks out, you sucked gently on his tip and was rewarded with a throaty groan as Cato bucked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

"So good to me, baby." Cato cursed, hand resting on your head as he pushed you down a little more.

Humming around him, you gagged when he jerked slightly and his dick hit the back of your throat. One hand gently fondled his balls and Cato swore before pulling himself away from you.

"As much as I love your mouth wrapped around me, I'd rather put my cock somewhere else."

Shivers skittered down your spine as his husky words were whispered in your ear and you found yourself being pulled of your knees before you were shoved against the wall face first. Large hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and you smiled knowing Cato remembered just how you liked it.

"Always so tight for me," he grunted as he slid into you.

Cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall, you whimpered as your walls adjusted to the girth of him. Teasingly, he slowly entered inch by inch until his impatient girl backed up and enveloped the entirety of him in one quick movement. One hand braced on the wall, small grunts escaped his mouth as h thrust gently into you. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred back of his hand, you rested your head against his hand in a loving gesture. A primal instinct ignited in Cato at the sight of his partner so small and vulnerable, as you let down your guard and opened yourself up to him both emotionally and physically. The woman beneath him was always so strong and fierce that he couldn't help the dark chuckle that escaped as his body encompassed yours entirely as he pressed you further into the wall.

"Such a good girl. Take me so well," he praised, enjoying the little pants that left your mouth and with a shift of his hips, he coaxed a scream from you.

Unable to help the moans that tumbled from your mouth, you reached down to grab the hand that gripped your hip and pulled you against his cock. Love swelled within him as you held on tightly to him, begging him to go faster as you pleaded for her impending orgasm.

"I love you," you cried as stars exploded across your vision and your walls clenched him tightly.

At the feel of your orgasm, Cato burrowed himself in deeper and pounded harder into your sensitive walls.

"So close, Princess." Cato gasped, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his movements quickened as he sought release.

"Cum in me," you begged.

Not one to deny the woman he loved, Cato called your name as he stuffed himself inside you, hot cum painting your walls. Sensitive to his touch, you leaned back into his chest as his arms came around your waist and pulled you in for a loving embrace. One hand wrested flat on your belly as he whispered promises of having their own family but in a world where the Hunger Games didn’t exist. Naked and wrapped around one another, you could pretend for just a moment that you were a normal couple whose only issues were what to eat for dinner and how many children you wanted. Whimpering as Cato pulled out of you, you watched him wander into the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

Hand resting on your own abdomen, you wondered whether you would have end up with child. And, for the first time in your life, you found herself hoping you would. Struck by the aching pang within you, you realised that the life you had built with Cato had made you realise just how badly you craved a perfect family with the man you loved. In a world where they grew up safe and never needing to learn the ways to kill another person.

________________________________________________________________

Loosely based on a scene from my Cato x OC story but details have been adapted to avoid spoilers. You can find the book Pugnator at;

Wattpad

Fanfiction.Net

#cato imagine #cato hadley #cato hadley imagine #cato smut #cato hadley smut #cato thg #thg cato #Hunger Games #hunger games imagine #hunger games smut #5sospenguinqueen

471 notes · View notes

sunflowershouto · 4 years ago

Text

only us - part one (daichi x f!reader x oikawa)

𝐚/𝐧: hi beans! i got this idea for a series listening to one of my favorite albums and i really hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! there is some canon divergence just for the purposes of the story: daichi is a detective, and oikawa is a pro-player in japan. as always, any feedback is greatly appreciated! enjoy! -leo

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After getting out of a long term relationship, Y/N is reunited with an old friend from college. Old feelings are reignited, but things just don't seem to work out the way that they should.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pining, mentions of infidelity in the context of a past relationship

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: slowburn, love triangle 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: animal - annie eve

❝𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊'𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕. . .❞ ❝𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒊 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆. . .❞

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐔𝐒

‧₊˚✩彡.

The previous weeks had been what Y/N could only describe as a gravity-well, the center of which she was trapped in. She couldn’t outrun the heaviness in her chest, and her mind was all spinning circles and revolving doors that were moving too fast for her to escape from.

However, the pace of her career was relentless, and being a journalist meant that there was no time for her to take pause or wallow in the misery of a freshly-ended relationship—if she wanted to survive in her field, she would have to keep moving and moving and moving, with that gravity-well following overhead.

The soles of her shoes clicked softly against the linoleum tile of the Tokyo Police Department’s main office, her demeanor giving away none of the turmoil that was simmering within. She was polite and professional as she explained that she was a journalist there to speak to one of the detectives about a case she was working on, and to any onlooker, she might have even seemed cheerful.

She was led down a long hallway into one of the offices, given a seat in front of a large mahogany desk, and told to wait.

Y/N found that as of late, she hated having any sort of down-time that might force her into stillness. She couldn’t see the clock that hung over the doorway behind her, but she could hear it—she could feel it. It ticked monotonously, and with each forward stroke of the second hand, she felt like she was sinking further and further into herself. The heaviness in her chest crept up on her and became crushing as she was allowed time to think: about the sight of someone she didn’t recognize lying in her bed, lying in the arms of her partner. About the signs that she had been ignoring for the weeks leading up to it. About how silent her apartment was when she came home in the evenings when there was no one else there to fill the space. It had been months, and she was still trapped as though it had all happened yesterday.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the ground, challenging the slow rhythm of the clock as though the frenzied tempo of her agitation could force the seconds to pass faster.

Eventually, the door behind her swung open, and the detective stepped into the room.

“Excuse me for being so late,” came a deep and almost familiar voice from behind her. She stood and turned to face him, eager for something to snap her out of her trance, but was forced back into stillness as recognition settled over her. “Daichi?”

Sure enough, earnest dark eyes stared into her own, and for a moment, as a wide grin split across his face, the gravity-well that loomed over her finally seemed to let up.

He stepped towards her, both of them abandoning any semblance of formality. “Y/N, I can’t believe it’s really you. It’s been…” “Forever,” she supplied, flashing him a warm and sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Forever.” Daichi’s gaze was piercing as he took her in, staring for just a moment too long before moving to take his place behind his desk. He carded through a few files on his desk before pulling one rather decisively from the stack.

It was Y/N’s turn to stare, taking in the way he moved about his surroundings with relaxed authority, as though he knew exactly where he belonged. He hadn’t changed at all since college, not one bit. She couldn’t take her eyes away, even as he glanced up at her through his lashes, head still tilted down towards the papers in his hands.

She was stuck like that, lost in his dark and steady gaze, her heart seeming to stutter to life in her chest.

“L/N?”

‧₊˚✩彡.

“L/N! Don’t get too far ahead!” Daichi scolded lightly, fondness in his eyes as he watched Y/N skip ahead of him, carnival lights reflecting like stars in her eyes. Her joy was contagious to him, like a flame in his hands that he wanted to keep kindling and protecting.

“Stop being such a worry-wart, Dai,” she laughed over her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped adamantly around the plushie that he’d won her just a few minutes ago, a blue penguin that smiled vacantly no matter how tightly she squeezed him. “Do you think we could go on the Ferris Wheel? I bet we could see the whole city from the top!” He nodded, quickening his pace to keep up with her. They were walking side by side now, and Daichi had made plans for this exact scenario—he’d brush his hand gently against hers, and find a natural opening to intertwine their fingers. The only thing that stood in the way was the round blue penguin that she had named ‘Squish.’ He shot a sidelong glare down at the unassuming plushie that was currently occupying Y/N’s arms, mentally cursing the stupid thing for ruining his plans. “One ride on the Ferris Wheel, and then home, alright? You have a lecture tomorrow and you’ll be grouchy tomorrow if you stay out so late.”

Y/N turned to face him in mock-offense, sticking her tongue out and hugging Squish closer. “What? I don’t get grouchy!”

“Maybe ‘unpleasant’ would be a better wor—agh!” He broke out into warm laughter as her elbow collided softly with his side, and he held up his hands defensively as if to finally relent. “Alright, alright!” “I’ll have you know, I am delightful always,” she insisted, beaming triumphantly.

And there was that smile again, the one that felt like fire in his hands and made his mind go blank and his body feel like there was lightning inside. “Yeah,” Daichi agreed softly.

‧₊˚✩彡.

“And that’s the basics of what we have so far. Unless we have some sort of solid proof, I have no way to make the arrest. It’s been months and… Nothing,” Daichi sighed wearily, flipping the case-file shut and leaning back in his desk chair, a frown etched deep into his features. His coat was draped across the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, markers of the hours that had passed since he and Y/N had begun discussing the Suzuki case.

The department had been investigating Goichi Suzuki for years, with strong suspicion that his company was partially a front for drug-trafficking. Evidence had always been circumstantial, and leads seemed to disappear as soon as they turned up, frustrating even the best of the department’s detectives. Sawamura, however, had refused to give up.

“Daichi.” Her voice was clear, almost lyrical, as she addressed him. Her own concerns were momentarily abandoned as she worked to tether him, to pull him out of the frustration that she knew could be so crippling. “We’re going to catch him.”

“Right.” His expression seemed lighter now, lifted in determination and renewed confidence. “Well… That’s about all we can do today until you can speak to your sources. Thank you for agreeing to help me, Y/N.” It wasn’t what he was saying, so much as how he was saying it—nothing he had said, if repeated back on paper, would sound anything but professional and polite. It was the way that his eyes shone, and his voice warmed up to her like honey on a hot day that told her that his ‘thank you’ was more than just business. She was almost suffocated by how deeply she had missed him, but she knew what this was—she was starting to rebound. She had just gotten out of a relationship that had ended in a messy breakup. Of course her old feelings would be amplified, especially when he was being so damn inviting.

“Of course, Daichi.” She could only watch as he pushed himself out of his chair and circled around to the other side of his desk, then took perch on the front corner just in front of her, his body language now completely casual.

He tilted his head slightly as he took a closer look at her, his face scrutinizing but not-quite judgemental. “So. What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Y/N shrunk back beneath his gaze, suddenly much more conscious of how she was holding herself, what she was presenting to the world around her. Stop looking at me like that, damnit… Had she really made it so obvious that she was carrying around her own personal baggage? Great. She could add looking unprofessional to her ever-growing list of things to worry about. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been a long time, and you’re good at hiding it, but I still know you well enough to know when something’s bothering you. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… What’s the matter?” Daichi leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his legs.

“Well…” Y/N began hesitantly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes, “It’s a bit of a long story, but I just got out of a long-term relationship. It didn’t end very neatly, and I guess I’m still just... “ She trailed off, unable to find a word that could even begin to cover the regret, the doubt, the blame, the unfairness of it all.

“Processing?” he suggested, his tone much gentler than before.

“Yeah. Processing.”

His expression softened into a sympathetic smile, and he brought up an idle hand to scratch the side of his neck. “I’m sure you’ll make it through just fine,” he assured her. “You’ve always been strong.”

Just like it always used to be, Daichi’s reliability was enough to help uplift her, and Y/N found herself mirroring his smile easily, sinking into the comfort of having a friend that she could trust. “Thank you, Dai.”

Days and then weeks went by, and the pair found it easy to mask the tension with the guise of professionalism—stray glances and candid smiles could all be brushed aside as remnants of their old friendship, the foundations of which they had found were still very much in-tact.

Daichi felt a rush of inexplicable pride every time Y/N confided in him, though she only did so in fragments, each of which he remembered carefully to try and piece together later. He could tell whenever they landed on the topic of her last relationship that it was still sore, that he shouldn’t press too hard on a bruise that was still healing. He kept his growing contempt for her ex-partner to himself, though he entertained his own ideas of what he’d like to say to the man if they ever crossed paths. Sawamura didn’t care for unfaithfulness to begin with, but the anger that swelled inside him with each new detail that Y/N shared was almost unjustifiable. Or at least, it would have been, if she was just a colleague to him.

‧₊˚✩彡.

“Sorry for keeping you at the precinct so late.” Streetlights lined their path, showering the detective and the journalist in an unnatural orange light, which was broken sporadically by the brilliant glow of passing headlights that faded into dull red as they disappeared down the road. It had been almost 2 months since their first meeting, and the two had fallen into an easy rhythm, which they used to dance around the growing tension.

“Not at all,” Y/N assured him, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets as frigid air bit harshly into the exposed skin. “I think we made some really good progress today! The overtime was definitely worth it.”

“Right…” he agreed absently, watching her in his periphery before sneaking a longer look. The streetlamps shone in her eyes like those carnival lights had all those years ago, and he was reminded of the flame in his hands, which now seemed to flicker just out of reach. He knew it was wrong of him to allow his feelings to be reignited, and on more than one count. She had confided in him the details of a traumatic breakup, not to mention the fact that they were currently acting as partners on a professional level. Logically, he knew all of these things, and Daichi had always been good at logic. It was how he kept his cool under pressure, and the reason that he was a detective at all—but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. The girl that he had once been in love with had fallen right back in front of him, like the world was handing him a chance on a silver platter. He’d be a damned fool not to take it.

For a moment, their staggered steps and the occasional passing car were the only sounds to ease the tension. The hum of the city, which Sawamura usually found comforting, was now taunting, like a thousand flies buzzing in the distance. Finally, Daichi spoke again, if only to keep himself from drowning in the silence that hung between them. “Let’s grab dinner, okay? It’s late and neither of us has eaten since we started working.”

Y/N’s response was delayed, and for the first time in weeks, there was an expression on her face that he found himself unable to read. Her pause couldn’t have been that long, maybe a second or two at most, but it was enough time for a simmering anxiety to sweep over him in a wave. And then she smiled again, and it set his mind on fire.

When they stepped out of the restaurant, it was like leaving a time-capsule. Cheap ramen after a night spent studying had been a staple of their friendship in college, and being there again had left them both feeling like the years had melted away around them. Things felt simpler, more carefree than they’d been in months.

“My apartment isn’t far from the train station,” Daichi told Y/N as they stepped back out into the cold. He could feel it, the haze of nostalgia slowly seeping through the cracks in the pavement, getting carried further away by each passing car. “I can walk most of the way with you.”

“Alright,” Y/N agreed tentatively, wrapping her coat tighter around her as they started down the sidewalk. She could feel that the pull between them was growing stronger, that she was starting to open up to him more and more and more, and she was scared that her old feelings for him would spin out of control if she let herself get swept away by the sentimentality that was swelling up inside her. ‘These feelings aren’t real. Rebounding. I’m rebounding.’ She could repeat it to herself as many times as she wanted, but she’d always been a shitty liar—even when it came to lying to herself.

“Can… Can I ask you something?” Daichi finally interjected after about a block and a half of silence. He sounded tense, nervous even, and Y/N could tell that he was preparing to approach a difficult subject—she didn’t have to be the detective to know what.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, counting the uniform lines in the concrete as she stepped over them. “Anything.”

He took a deep breath, hesitating as though he were expecting his next words to go wrong, but trusting that they were both comfortable in their friendship. “How… How did you find out that Takashi was cheating on you?”

The question hung heavy in the air, settling uncomfortably around her shoulders, and though it was a forward thing to ask, Y/N couldn’t say that it was totally unexpected. They’d been weaving their way through the subject for weeks now—it had only been a matter of time before they finally arrived here.

She was careful not to slow her pace as she formulated an answer in her head, still trying to mask some of the hurt that she was carrying with her. “Well… I had been travelling for work. It wasn’t a long trip, and I wasn’t far; just a weekend a few cities over. But, I finished my interviews ahead of schedule, so I decided to come home early on my last day.” Y/N was forcing her voice to stay even, pacing herself and trying hard not to let herself fall into the weight of her words. She realized now that she hadn’t told this story yet, hadn’t even really let herself process it.

She could feel Daichi staring, and she glanced to the side, knowing that she’d melt under his gaze. “When- When I got back to the apartment—our apartment—it was early afternoon. I didn’t see him anywhere so I thought that maybe he’d run out for groceries or food or, well—it doesn’t matter what I thought, I guess. I went to our room to put my things away and- and he-”

They had reached his apartment now, and they lingered on his doorstep, bathed in the glow of fluorescent lamps.

Daichi watched her with sorrow in his eyes, his gut twisting with the impulse to reach out to her as she began to cry. He was angry—angry at the one who had done this to her, angry at himself for feeling the way he did, wanting the things that he wanted.

“He was in our bed, and she was there too. And he- he was holding her like she belonged there, like- like they had done this a thousand times and-” Her voice finally broke against the lump in her throat, and her hands quickly moved to hide herself as tears spilled freely down the sides of her face. “And I’m not strong, because I just felt so- so stupid, Daichi. For thinking that- that I could ever mean something to someone wh-”

“Don’t,” Daichi interjected softly, finally finding the words to comfort her. Gently, his hands curled around her wrists and pulled them from her face, his own expression distressed as he took in the sight of her like this, overwhelmed by a hurt that she had been hiding and carrying with her for so long. “Don’t. You could. You do. Listen to me; whatever he did, whatever choice he made, it wasn’t about you. Trust me. Please.”

Y/N’s vision was still blurred by welling tears, but nothing could obscure the intensity that burned in Daichi’s eyes as he held her hands away from her face. There was an urgency about him that amplified his usual sincerity until she was consumed by it, by the feeling that she was safe with him.

“Daichi…” she whispered, her voice still watered down as they searched each other’s eyes, every moment leading up to this one playing back in their minds.

He pulled her close against him and held her like he was afraid she’d disappear, his arms tightening as she returned his embrace. He lost himself as she looked up at him with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, glittering with tears. Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her wildly, desperately.

Y/N’s heart stopped as he started, but she kissed back, letting her mind run blank as he pulled her closer into him, comforted by the steadiness of his arms around her. There were sparks between them that she could no longer explain away, lightning that only accompanied love, indisputable proof that he was more than just a friend, that this was more than just a rebound. When he kissed her, she felt alive.

She could hardly breathe when he finally pulled away from her, his eyes wild and drilling into her with a burning intensity.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, just as breathless as she was. “Stay… Stay with me.”

Her back was against his front door, and she knew exactly what that look in his eye meant—it meant that if she followed him in, that this was for real. It meant that she was serious about him, and that he was serious about her, and that they were finally letting this happen as it should have all those years ago.

The words were on her lips when the images came flooding back, of her space in her own bed occupied by another, a stranger lying in the arms of the person who she had chosen to love, to trust. Daichi’s steadiness suddenly became uncertainty, and she found herself wilting away from him.

His arms fell away from her easily, and her heart sank at the tortured look that was written all over his face as she moved away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried her hardest to at least look him in the eye. “I-I’m sorry, Daichi. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“You’re…” Daichi cut himself off, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at his feet, a long sigh rolling off his lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” As Y/N turned away and headed for the train station, she was forced to reckon with her own conflicting emotions. Being with Daichi had felt so right, so safe, but the thought of taking that risk again, putting herself in a situation where a single person could hurt her so badly… If there was anyone in the world who she thought would never betray her, it was him—but that trust might only mean that she would have farther to fall.

Daichi watched her go, and though he wanted to scream as he watched her silhouette disappear into the night, he had become unequivocally certain that he truly wanted to be with her. It was what he had wanted for a long, long time.

‧₊˚✩彡.

Y/N had gotten into work that morning and immediately been scheduled to conduct a last minute interview—one of the writers for the paper’s sports column had needed to attend to a family emergency, leaving her to cover for him in his absence. She wouldn’t need to visit the precinct today, something she was almost grateful for. There was an almost unfathomable level of awkwardness between her and Daichi, and not having to see him made it that much easier to try to forget what had happened on his doorstep two weeks ago.

She stepped into the designated meeting room, notepad in hand as she slid into the seat across from the athlete that she was supposed to be interviewing. “Hi,” she began, giving him her usual professional hospitality. “I’m L/N Y/N, it’s nice to meet you— I’ll be interviewing you today.”

“Hello,” he almost seemed to chirp, leaning back into his chair and shooting her a charming, coy smile. “I’m Oikawa. But with a face like yours, I’ll let you call me Tooru.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyu imagines #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #hq imagines #daichi x reader #daichi imagine #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi sawamura imagine #oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru imagines #daichi angst #oikawa angst #tw cheating

111 notes · View notes

sooniesspot · 4 years ago

Text

Fluff Drabbles

☁️ Yoongi Fluff ☁️

warnings: poetically implied smut, slight Angst. Longing. Lil sprinkle of heartache and hopelessness.

word count 2.4k

A/N: Im purely publishing this on the notion that when sending this to my bestie @countingyoongis it made her "flip the soul she doesn't have" thought that was good enough reason. Anyways, enjoy!

“I’ll be here, waiting.”

Maybe it was the way you watched the world go by. Maybe it was the way you missed your family. A life constantly on the road never faired well for you. Sure, for him a decade on the road doing a job he loved with his best friends, never seemed to phase him. But countless birthdays and Christmases were missed, your family opening presents without you. You missed hearing your brothers argue about making your mother her tea. Your mothers laugh at the way your family dog would spin in circles; excitement racing through their body. Your friends who yearned for your company. Dissipated into the background that was your blurry life, travelling the world with the love of your life.

You felt empty when you were alone lately. Finding little joy in the things you used to. Plants withered and games unplayed; kept in boxes for you to deal with another time. The moments spent with him were the best moments of your life. The realest moments you could ask for. Sleepy flights where he would curl up into your side, cheeks rising like bread and heavy eyes as he mumbled incoherently to you. Moments you watched him on stage, giving his all. Even after injuries, falls, criticisms. You loved him all the while.

Even in the moments of early morning, before the sun graced the sky, you’d sit in silence, alone with your thoughts. Unable to find sleep while your boyfriend was counting sheep; mouth slightly agape with the odd snore. Sleeping in the foetal position as steadily moving hands without rhythm or agenda; fumbled through the sheets to find you. Interrupting your thoughts. You watching the world go by through a microscopic lens. Before he was pulling you against him and lulling you to a welcomed sleep.

Tours of Europe. Sight seeing under hidden cloak of masks and guards. The Eiffel Tower standing in prominence around a large garden park. Unable to hold him like you wanted to or to take that cliché photo of a stolen kiss in the foreground. The Temple of Zeus, looking out over the mountain top to the streets of Athens below at sunset. Casting oranges, purples and golds into the sky. Spending the moment together, but not how you wanted. Not how you craved. Walking the streets of Amsterdam, admiring the flowing water of the river Amstel. Bicycles with tinkling bells that adorned your ears. Quiet. Quaint. Light touches and feeble displays of watered-down affection. Pretending to be, nothing but friends. It was hard. There was no doubt. Being the secret girlfriend of one of the most famous K-pop idols in the world was gruelling; heart wrenching. Wanting just to be. Without stolen glances or whispers. To be with one another, regardless of consequence.

But in the night, when pretence of ‘just friends’ was disregarded; Thrown within piles of discarded clothes. He would hold you in exhilarating ways. Making your heart stop and run as if in tandem. On repeat. Forever. Light touches no longer feather like as strong hands smoothed hair from your face and lips connected with yours in passion so fierce your lips would pray to bleed. Pray to crumble apart under the sheer pressure. The weight of his own, cracked; against yours. Wanton and excruciating. Muffled groans of your name whittled into your skin as you would cry for him. In ways one could only imagine. Pressed against you so your skin would suffocate in his own. Hands held with dedicated influence as bodies mould as one.

But after all was done. Sweat cold to the touch as tangles of limbs tangled their way into crisp white hotel sheets instead. Held in the moment. Not wanting to let you go. Hands spearing through your hair as eyes glassy, stared deep into your soul. No words were uttered, only breath shared. Moments like this is what you cherished. Wistfulness overwhelming you. There was nowhere else in the world you would rather be. From the deepest depths of your heart, your soul belonged to him and him only. Though your mind; a woeful friend in your darkest moments and a constant shadow in joy, would often voice its unwanted thoughts of whether this was enough. Whether it was enough to live happily with him, but irrevocably without him. Happily in secret. But were you happy?

Never one to brandish your personal life on the highest billboards. A secret life seemed fine to you. But as time went on and appreciation was questioned. Affection shunted into the darkness. Your thoughts wandered into the unholy depths of your hell. A rabbit warren of twists and tunnels. Doubt. Jealousy. Questions of Self-worth. These thoughts followed you to every concert, as he would look out to see thousands of adoring fans. A gloomy cloud that hung over you. Over every cup of coffee, a faltering smile. Clawing at your chest in small bursts as you found yourself awake. Again. Silence for everyone but you as the warren would flood with hopelessness.

It was then he found you that morning. Light not even breaching the horizon as you sat, gazing into nothingness. The void that was your heart. Wholly consumed by him and the fear of losing him. The fear of him drifting away like the cherry blossoms floating along the river Amstel. A cursory touch found your restless form in the early hours. An incoherent mumble of your name as sleep filled eyes fluttered open delicately to look vacantly at you. Engaged with the sudden knowledge of your dazed state.

“Tink.” He mumbled. Affectionate nickname travelling through sheets to greet your troubled form.

“You’re awake?” he would ask.

You hummed non committedly as he shuffled closer to you. Hands on your thigh soothingly. In comfort as his dreary eyes assessed you. Planting one kiss on your thigh. Then a second. The lip-smacking sound donned with nothing but tenderness and contentment.

“What’s up? Tell me.”

No pretences could be grasped at here. No excuses as to why you looked sullenly into his eyes, shaking with contained emotions. He grabbed your small hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly; urging you to go on. You mustered every bit of strength within you to ask the question that toppled from your lips moments later and once you had, you realised everything would be brought to light and you could no longer hide in the shadows; the deepest caverns of your desires.

“Do you love me?”

Silence befell the room, his brows furrowed as he forced himself to sit up in front of you. Hand still in yours, unwavering; constant. A reminder of your tether to him.

“Of course I do, you know I love you. More than anything.” He mumbled, his hand smoothing over your messed head of hair.

Fingers placed on your jaw as his thumb soothed circles on your cheek. A kiss placed delicately, full of purpose on your forehead. Looking back into your hooded eyes as he ran his other thumb along your knuckles. Only your breathing could be heard within the room. Both calm and collected although, in the way that he looked at you, mirroring your upset. You felt yourself gasping for breath.

“Do you not feel loved?”

The words crumbled your refrain from showing your emotions. A rogue tear had slipped from your eye and he effortlessly caught it with the pad of his thumb. A small whimper sounded from your lips before you were enveloped into his arms. No words said as he held you. Held you until the world stopped spinning and everything stopped being overwhelming. Your face resting in the crook of his neck, his scent that brought you solace. Peeled oranges and coffee on a rainy Sunday morning. Keeping you calm as he held you in silence. His grip tight on you as if you would slip away, never to be found again.

A mumble of words. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m so sorry.”

Silence.

“Please stay.”

Your heart broke at hearing his words. Hearing his silent worry for you. The same worry you had been holding in for months. Lingering at every grace of his hand. Every kiss. Would it be the last time you would feel his lips against yours? The last touch? The last time you’d see his endearing smile; all gums and not much else. All the while he felt the same. Fleeting glances your way to make sure you were still with him. By his side. Would it be the last time he could run his fingers through your hair? The last kiss pressed to your skin in the dark of the night? He craved all that was you in every waking moment. In his sleep he would hold you close to him like his most prized possession. He pushed everyone away apart from the boys and you. You stayed. You stayed for him. Now he felt everything falling apart.

Never hearing your reply, just broken sobs as he could feel tears threaten to spill from his own eyes. Finally parting from you. He gazed into your eyes, puffy and sad from crying. Something he had only seen you do once before.

“I don’t know.”

He felt his world cave in. was it not enough anymore? Just to love you? In any way that he could? In that moment he cursed his job for not letting you be. For you both to just be, in love. Happily. Healthily. Openly. He knew how much it hurt to never hold hands in public. Confined to closed hotel rooms and dark alleyways where he would steal a kiss. A need he had been carrying with him the whole day. Smiling as he would finally feel your lips against his. Bracing you against an old brick wall. Unjudging and unyielding like his love.

“I miss my home. My family. My friends” You began to stutter, feeling your emotions drown you as you tried to swim your way to the surface for breath.

“Yoongi, I love you but I don’t think I can love you in secret anymore. Not when I’m on my own.”

He heard your heartfelt words wretch through his chest. Like a sincere punch straight to his gut. Precise but untamed. Thoughts rushed to mind in all the ways he could keep you here, with him. Get you to stay. Every idea falling flat as he looked at your face. Now tear stained cheeks and furrowed brows. Flushed and hopeless. Not knowing where else to turn. Being forced into a decision you never wanted to make.

“Okay...I love you, but okay.” He said solemnly, admitting defeat.

His words shocked you, just like that, it was over? He saw the shock and sudden hurt on your face before he continued; practically straddling you now as he pressed both of his hands to cup your face.

“Don’t think for 1 second I’m letting you go that easily. I fucking love you and I can’t risk losing you.” He nuzzled his nose against yours before kissing away your tears. Kissing your closed eyelids before kissing your temples then down to your nose. Finally landing a firm solidifying kiss on your lips.

“I’ll let you go on 1 condition.” He looked into your eyes. Searching for something in them. Something to soothe his aching heart.

Your eyes fluttered to meet his, no more than a couple of inches away. Eyes silently urging him to continue.

“Come back to me, please?” you could hear his voice break and you could feel your heart tearing in two. Tearing away from the cavity it once called home in your chest. You knew in that moment, the way his eyes searched yours, bed head bordering on crazy with dark strands falling into his eyes. He looked at you with adoration and hope. Love and kindness. Your heart belonged to him and only him. A sob wracked your bones as you nodded, barely containing the urge to kiss him as you pulled him against you. He kissed back fervently. Your hands quickly hanging from the nape of his neck as his hands splayed out across your ribs. Pulling your heated skin against his own. Mouths moving as one with desire and wanton need to be with one another. Never to part. His lips, mumbled against yours, once. Twice. Before-

“I’ll fix this. All of it. No more secrets. I just want to be with you. Completely.”

You nodded in agreement to his statement, chest constricting at sudden emotions you had been holding back that rapt against your chest, begging to be set free. Lips connecting again and again as hands wandered and grabbed at one another. You found him above you as you familiarised yourselves within the sheets. Holding one another so close; breathing each other in. you chuckled dryly as he rolled off of you, breathing laboured as he glanced your way, meeting his eyes. Swollen lips from kissing, his tongue sliding over the seam of his lip before a small smile graced his features. Close mouthed but sincere.

“I just need to go home. Then I’ll come back.” You encouraged him.

You looked at him, looking at you. White sheets, meeting his pale skin. Old t shirt hanging off to the right slightly, showing cool expanse of collar bone and his necklace you got him that one time he had been staring at it when you visited an old street market in Spain. Even though he said he wasn’t; repeatedly but still smiled like the lovable dork when you presented him with it later that day. Dark eyes, still ebbed with sleep lingering in the corners; were shining and strands of dark hair graced his forehead, grazing his eyebrows slightly. His lips, parted with the odd swipe of his tongue for moisture. Hand appearing from under sheets to flourish the back of his knuckle against your cheekbone. Stealing a quick kiss on it as it passed your lips.

“I promise.” You whispered; afraid the word would be cursed if uttered at any greater volume.

A light began peering through the crack in the hotel room curtains, signalling the sun rising and a new day beginning. The light; feasting upon his form. Illuminating a profile of his face in golden light; basking in it. You were enamoured and ardently consumed by all that was him. In every lifetime. For the rest of your life time. You were his. He was yours.

Taking your hand in his, he kissed it once. “I’ll be here…Waiting.”

Hope you guys enjoyed! I take requests so please do ask 😊

Love Always

Mac 🧡💜

#min yoongi fluff #min yoongi #idol au #yoongs #fluff #myg x reader #myg #bts #bangtan #bangtan fluff

32 notes · View notes