#But there's no doubt the wound has taken off healing
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thesirencult · 24 days ago
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Channeled Letter From Your FS
reading by @thesirencult
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Pile 1
I'm not your regular cup of tea. I'm strong, forceful and focused on going after what I want and what I want right now is you. From the first moment I will lay my eyes on you it's game on. I will approach you boldly, you will be taken aback but then you will love the thrill of the chase. My, oh, my! You will be a hard catch, but I don't care, I will pursue you in a way no one else ever has. I'm not pursuing you tirelessly or trying to win you because of ego issues, but because even if I'm not sure about myself, I'm sure about you.
You are so amazing and so worthy of love that I will get over my fears and anxieties just to be with you. Love takes courage and risk and I have nothing but that! I hope that is enough for you, in the long run.
I'm not an "one hit wonder" though! I have stamina and will never let you down my love. I know that at first you will not feel the same about me, but I will win you over once you realize I'm not the tyoe of person to hit and dismiss, pardon me!
In time, I will come to know that you were scared to let me in because no one ever showed you unconditional love and gave you without expecting anything in return. "You are the breath that I breath, you are my one lucky star..."
I'm the one who does what needs to be done. I'm a go-getter who goes after their goals. An endless flame burns within me prompting me to do my best and to take risks. I charge full steam ahead and I'm very passionate. You have not met me yet cause I'm doing "side quests" to grow and mature, so I will be ready for you.
Take care princess!
Pile 2
I'm not the best at expressing my feelings through words, although in our relationship, I will do my best to show you have precious you are to me, words will never feel enough to convey the feelings.
I'll start with this one though: You were my last hope. Your love broke all my defenses and woke me up from my slumber. How could I ever live my life thinking that I was okay being by myself, all alone in the cold embrace of the shadows while you were right there, so close to me, warmth radiating off your skin and warming up my heart. "One last time..." I thought. "I'm willing to risk it all again for her. It will either be my biggest heartbreak or the love of a million lifetimes."
You found me while I was trying to rebuild myself and mend my wounds. In reality, I healed more by your side than I coukd have ever healed on my own. You cultivated a safe space for me to open up and share my inner world with you. You made me the man I'm now.
I trusted my intuition and went after you. I never doubted our connection, just the nature of it. Were we better off as friends? But look at us, we are best friends, lovers, family and soulmates! I risked losing you to gain more of you, although, more is never enough. You consume my thoughts each and every day. I smile on my own at work and forget what I was doing while I think about you and your smile and your voice and your sweet words and kisses. This has been going on for a while, I must admit... It has been happening since our first interactions. I wanted more and more of you, begging the Universe to let us live out our fairytale. The moment I surrendered to your whims and love was the moment I freed myself from the prison of loneliness.
"You did your best!" you always tell me with a smile and I agree because you make it sound like it's not that big of a deal. That's what you said when I told you I couldn't help but fall in love with you and indeed, I did my best, the best I could have done. You outsmarted your opponent with your sweetness and I came bare to a battle I should have come prepared. I don't care though. I love the way you think and how smart you are. I love how you never let anyone or anything get between us and how your smile lights up a room. I love the way your eyes sparkle when you are thinking of something naughty or when you are trying to seduce me and influence my thoughts. I always let you win, cause I got the best prize once and I don't need any more victories.
My prize is sitting on the couch right now, wrapped up in a blanket, pregnant and with a dog lazily sleeping by her feet. Our friends just left from the dinner we held in the house that we built. A house that will host many more oarties and celebrations, but also many more quiet nights that we will be slow dancing in the kitchen to oldies playing in the background. I wish everyone got to experience that type of love just for a moment, they would never doubt this magical force exists and I'm lucky, because my wife is full of it.
Thank you for everything my love. I'll do my best!
Yours forever and always and for each lifetime, x.
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theastrical · 6 months ago
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genshin men and their way of apologising
Genshin men and their ways of apologising.
kaeya, diluc, childe, (alhaitham, zhongli, kaveh on pt.2) x reader (fem!reader diluc)
ps: it’s comfort/hurt, a bit angsty but with fluffy ending!! Also if you guys have triggers with cursing, this content has cursing/verbal scolding implications so please mind that before reading!
Kaeya:
“stop doing this and that..you’ll end up being a burden.” He shuts off the door and locks it. You were just trying to help him, and unfortunately, he doesn’t like it. This happens quiet a lot, where he closed off all part of himself in order to heal himself…that’s okay, at first, but what about you? You’re hurt and he kept you out just like that; is he here to wound your heart just like the other exes who grew apart from you?
And when you start to lose your patience, he can’t do nothing about it, right? He’s just there to hurt-hurt-and make you feel as if you in deserve of such a treatment. You cried, it felt weird to cry over kaeya. He has been sweet, yes, you never doubted once that his act are truly meant for you, but at what certain point did you do to make him immediately switch up? You didn’t know, you never know. He never wanted to communicate, that’s the problem.
“if you don’t want me to help you, that’s fine, just please kaeya…talk to me like i’m a human, not somebody you can use when you’re happy. I also need a set of time to heal.” You say that-an automatic reply set on your brain to confront him even if it’s not face to face. Now door to door-you just scold him and leave.
It took him a huge amount of time to heal. he knows what he has done can’t be undone. Listening to your cries become his worst fear, he can’t just stand in front of your eyes and say sorry, he knows that wouldn’t work. That enough explains how much he hates apologising; because his apologies always ended up with him crushing over the burden of his sins.
That’s why, the next day, in the morning when you woke up. Kaeya is already there beside your bedside. Folding your palm between his. His head on the floor.
“i’ve taken your words and…* he sighs before continuing. “Apologies don’t really matter if i don’t change my attitudes, so please, if you’re still willing to give me one more chance, can i have the privilege to change, at least, for you?”…he stays quiet for a while. “Lastly, i’m sorry, i know all i did these yesterday and these past few months weren’t tolerable. I understand if you would hate me for this.”..he looks up to you, his eyes are already watery. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hugs you and that felt so good…
A mark on your neck was left, a few peck it took for him to finally calm down. And he looks at you with a smile, even when his eyes are puffy. “I love you..thank you for still being here.”
Diluc:
Diluc came home quite late, it was unusual and it worries you, after all, since the day you married him. He had never been this late-he always come home with a huge surprise which is food…for obvious reason (he’s wants you to eat instead of cooking him a meal since he knew how exhausting it can be).
you were just about to ring up his phone-and suddenly a slam from the door was heard. You came to the first floor and..there’s diluc! “Diluc!” You grin, as always, you warmly greeted him, because it’s your husband, it’s diluc, what more reason to make you adore him?
You tried to help him get his bag and put off his jacket…but his bag was so heavy…whatever does he put inside his bag? Why is it so h— oh no! The bag suddenly hit your coffee cup and spilled the remaining coffee to the bag…now his bag is tainted with coffee and he-who saw that scene in front of him can’t even hide his raging eyes. Before one word to spit out-he gives off a long sigh-squinting his eyes.
“Why…sigh…it’s always you, you AND YOU who makes the worst mistake OVER AND OVER AGAIN! In the WORST TIMING AS WELL, CAN YOU—“ you replied, cutting off his words. “I-i’m so sorry diluc…i’ll help you with th—“ , “CAN YOU STOP CUTTING MY WORDS? Listen to me lady, it’s not about the bag or the papers, its about your presence…why helping you when you can’t even help yourself fix these problems, you’re helpless.”
He said that like a drunk man with no sanity behind his eyes, yet, this time, he’s actually sober, so sober he already pulled off that bag from your grip... He’s losing his patience and you know his words are the truth…still it hurts way too much. Why? Because it’s diluc, the one you called husband. tears fell and you don’t know what to do. It’s like your body doesn’t know how to move.
You look at his eyes, your mind went blank. You can sense his anger, but the tears never stop from your eyes. It’s like you just got hit by a truck. You try to left the living room to the bedroom upstair. At the same time diluc realise his action-you’re already up there-on the stair.
As soon as your foot step into the bedroom. You slowly loses the ability to numb the tears. You lay down on the comfy covers and then just cry. Sniffling. Without words, just cry and cry and cry. Realising that it was your mistake but..it hurts when he struck you with the truth that you’re useless in his eyes.
Diluc didn’t pay mind to pride when it comes to apologizing. Hence, when he heard the sniffling become louder in each breathe you took. He storms to the bedroom and hold your body to his embrace. Covering you from his face. Covering you from the cowardice and guilt he has to face. Securing you from his words..comforting you with his presence.
“sorry princess…don’t bother looking at my face if it means you’ll hate me…i don’t deserve the sight of your eyes…i don’t deserve anything.” He hugs you closer and strokes your hair, within each stroke, it felt like his hands have just won you again. “Thank you for helping me, it ease me a lot—that’s the word you need and i’m unable to fulfil that right..here i am, rejecting you, not acknowledging the effort you took just to wait for me.” He kisses your forehead before carrying you to sit on his lap. “but do believe that i’ll fix this mistake and beg on your knees if you need me to...” he look at your eye despite you not giving him a sight of your puffy eye.
“Anything for a second chance, for my princess.”
Childe:
you really love cooking. It’s something that nobody really knows-cause not evedybody has seen you cook or even taste the food you cook. You’re known to be secretive about everything; Even childe being your husband, only 2 of your 100 friends know-especially with the fact that topic is on your top 10 secret list.
And being in a marriage with childe means you’ll cook 24/7, which at first seems fine with you-but lately, you’ve been losing interest in cooking. It’s like..whatever you make is just a rating of ”it’s okay” for childe. It’s like he doesn’t even bother appreciating your food. So today, you’re trying to confront him…
He’s in a badmood-that’s why he doesn’t bother to try and reach out to you. Though it’ll be very thoughtful if you actually make him his comfort food right? And maybe if you did so, he would’ve complimented your cooking? Right! So you did and you’re so happy with the result! It taste perfect! So you began serving it onto the small bowl and put the food in front of him, you immediately get some spoonful of the food and put it inside his mouth-which is hot-like BURNING HOT. You know you fucked up so badly, so you get some water for him before he said “fuck!” so casually.
“W-what’s wrong..? Sorry i burned your tongue, i really am..!!! Please dr—“ he immediately cut you off. “No…i don’t want to eat dinner, the food doesn’t even taste good…” oh. “and thank you for burning my tongue as well! It certainly helps!.” He mocked you. “Now i can speak while enduring the pain! Right! That’s what you want your husband to feel, right?” He happily grins, a mockery. Childe immediately walked out of the dining room like a child.
And he scoffs silently on the hallway, even though it’s easy enough for you to listen because he talks to himself like he talks to another being. “I should’ve just searched for another person..i can’t stay with an idiot…” and that push you towards a realization that childe always have think of you as somebody who isn’t worth of his time. It’s like reality finally gives you a sign that he’s just one lucky pull you got. You didn’t cry. It gives you a numbing feeling, an empty one.
You sat on the dining table, taking out your apron, you get some bowl of the food and eat it by yourself. Because, like childe said, he wouldn’t eat dinner, so why bother waiting for somebody who can’t even appreciate you?
Eating alone is such a complex feeling, especially in a marriage. It feels lonely but peaceful. At least it can make your mind steady for whatever coming afterwards. You did feel a bit better but..the pain of his words never left you. It never did. It just makes the heart feel more numb as the seconds passed.
You sighed and…there he is, all shy and embarrassed behind the walls, he has been spying on you since 30 minutes ago…he’s guilty as charged. When you see him, you ignored him, immediately. Not wanting to share another eye contact with that man who have insulted your ways of loving him.
He follows you and hold onto your arm before you go elsewhere, who knows what will you do if his arms didn’t hold yours. Childe is embarrassed-guilt on his face and a coward on his heart. He made you wait for a good 5 minutes, he was waiting for you to say something..but instead, childe was met with cold air.
“i’m a loser for insulting your way of loving me. I’m dramatic. I’m a brat. I’m everything that you don’t want in a man.” His head can’t even meet yours. After all, your eyes are blank and it pierces his soul. “You don’t need to give me second chance. You don’t need to treat me right after what i’ve done. A bad deed is a bad deed.” With the courage of the final sentence; he hold onto your hand and kisses your fingertips. “I will win that cold heart of yours again and again, if it means i can live with you in every life to come.”
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yanderes-galore · 10 months ago
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Oooh what if wild Toothless who never got shot down by hiccup , toothless who can still fly , toothless who got attached very quickly to a injured human who stuck in his cove/nest❄️anon (yandere pet like concept/hcs/thoughts pretty please ) 
Yesss, here's what I got!
Yandere! Feral/Wild! Toothless Concept
Pairing: Animal/Pet-Like
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Kidnapping, Violence, Blood, Dragons killing dragons, Forced/Dubious companionship.
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I really like the idea of the roles being switched!
Instead of an injured dragon befriending a human, an injured human befriends a dragon.
This no doubt takes place during the times where humans and dragons are still fighting.
Toothless is still the last of his kind, an elusive species.
You've heard of dragons, you've seen what they can do.
Many vikings tell you to fear them.
You didn't believe them until you were attacked.
You met Toothless as you were hiding from dragons who attacked you.
The Night Fury no doubt smelled your blood from your wounds.
You aren't injured too bad but certainly can't make it back home.
Not with the dragons in the area.
You aren't sure what to think when you see a Night Fury attack the dragons around you.
Toothless sustains some injuries but for the most part is fine.
You fear for your life when the Night Fury approaches you.
Both of you are covered in blood, the attackers are gone.
His eyes are in slits for a moment but he notices you're harmless.
Weak, even.
You could be easy prey.
Instead, the Night Fury doesn't kill you.
Instead he nudges you softly, maybe even tries to clean your wounds.
This Night Fury would be more scared of you than you are of him.
He isn't hungry, he isn't scared, he just seems curious... concerned.
You keep staying still, even as the dragon lays beside you to watch you.
Since Hiccup didn't find Toothless in this you would be the one to give him such a name.
Maybe as you heal more you fed him, allowing Toothless to show his retractable teeth.
The cool thing about this version of Toothless is definitely his flight.
He doesn't need anyone to fly, he's a regular Night Fury.
Yet despite this the dragon befriends you, an injured human.
He doesn't eat humans, it's actually not in the Night Fury diet (Look at the Night Fury article on the wiki)
So he isn't interested in eating you.
This would explain why he chooses to protect you instead.
The fact you're both "harmless" is what makes you able to relax.
That is until Toothless decides to take you away.
After all, you can't be safe here.
Toothless means well when he tosses you onto his back and flies to the cave he usually resides in.
The dragon hates that you give him the cold shoulder afterwards.
He brings you back all sorts of food to care for you.
He wants his human friend to heal.
He feels you're being hunted just as much as him.
You don't harm him because of a few reasons.
You wouldn't be able to go home... and you are admittedly attached to this dragon as your only friend and savior.
This is what makes you accept the supplies you're given.
You even allow Toothless to cuddle around you.
The issue is the dragon never lets you leave.
Nothing gets in the den, nothing gets out.
Toothless has taken the role of your protector.
Your family may think you've been killed.
You haven't.
In fact, you're really safe.
Toothless, as a Night Fury, is intelligent and powerful.
He understands your social queues and gets you what you need.
If you tried to leave then the dragon forces you back in the den.
If he lets you go... you'll die.
Dragons who try to sneak up on you are quickly attacked by Toothless.
Night Furies don't eat other dragons, but that doesn't stop Toothless from tearing into them.
Toothless washes off the blood of his kills before bounding to you.
Yet you know what he's done as you can smell the metallic smell on his scales and breath.
Toothless is loyal and will protect you no matter what it takes.
Why should you even go home? Home won't accept you anymore for having a dragon...
It's just you and Toothless now.
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brailsthesmolgurl · 3 months ago
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APPRENTICESHIP
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Preview: Set back in the olden days of China, your attendance was much summoned by Master Li Shen, a renowned Medical Physician that is in need of an apprentice. Known for his stoic personality, your temperance was definitely tested. But, could there be an actual explanation behind his stoicity?
Warnings: Angst but does come with fluff (that does not actually last long heh), surprise side character oops, suggestive themes because i know chu dirty dirty (like me)
P.S: I am not a doctor, hence most of the 'medication methods' mentioned in here are for the sake of the plot and is not and shall not be implied to real life practice! Futhermore, I am not a historian so I am not the best at depicting traditional China perfectly, all of the basis of my descriptions are taken off of the Chinese dramas I used to binge on. This story was also highly inspired by this amazing artwork and the most recent memory of his! He is always known as Doctor Zayne in modern days, so why not give it an inspirational twist and make him a highly honoured doctor in the older days of Chinese history! Divider is sourced from here!
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The night after the incident, y/n could not wipe off the way events had unfolded during the night where Li Shen was tending to her wounds. The feeling of staying afloat while she was unconscious, could it be Li Shen who was carrying her back to his abode? Did he found her in the alley that night when the attack had happened? Or right when it was about to happen? She had so many questions, but little to none answers.
Running on assumptions does not seem to be worth her time either so she decided to confront Li Shen about it. However, it took her more than a week to muster up the courage she needed to ask him such questions that had been bottled up in her. Back to the current moment, she was sat in the treatment room, next to Li Shen, jotting down notes on the bamboo sticks for patient records. "Your wounds are not as deep, provide this young man with some herbs. You can take it everyday and you shall see improvement."
She wrote down the herbs that would be issued to the man and propped the ink brush against the ink stone, awaiting for the ink to seep further into the bamboo slip. Li Shen had gotten up, muttering to her that he shall be in his chambers and had asked her to finish up the current patient. Much obliged, she put the bamboo slip onto the tea table and grabbed some bandages made out of woven cotton.
The patient that sat in front of her was quite a good looking young man, long silvery-white hair that flowed down to his waist neatly tucked behind his shoulders as he was sat in front of her, top peeled off for her to examine his wound. He calls himself Qin Che when he was asked for his name at the start of the treatment. The man had eyes the shade of rubies that glinted whenever he watched her focusing on applying the herb onto his wound. So, this is the girl that the physician had set his eyes on? Qin Che finds it amusing.
"If it hurts, you can tell me and I shall let you have a breather." She glanced up from his naked torso and beamed warmly. Qin Che looked down at her, nostrils hanging high when he barely felt the sting of the herbs laid on his wound. He sighed and tugged a side of his lips up in a smirk, ruby gaze dancing between her eyes and her lips. Studying his prey carefully, watching her basking within the glow of the moonlight. "Is everything okay?"
"Never better." His voice, grumbled through his torso as he replied. This prompted her to fix her gaze back to his wound. The patient's body was full of cicatrixes, some formed scars, some still healing and some newly acquired like the one she is currently treating. He might be that tough of a hunter to obtain such scars. Her trail of doubt was interrupted when she felt a pressure against the top of her head. Looking up, she noticed Qin Che has his palm sat on her head, the smirk still stuck on his face. "You're as pretty as a doe aren't you?"
"Excuse me?" She was ready to pull back but his hand shifted positions to grab her by the nape of her neck and he pulled her upwards, his strength so great that all it took was one arm to get her secured within his lap. Y/n gasped but was immediately shushed by the man whom had already pressed his lips against hers. Her hands came up to push against his chest but it was to no avail. The man is built like a rock, heavy and immobile. "S...Stop." She begged with squeaks but the man did not budge, tongue darting out to lap at her bottom lip as his other arm grabbed her by the waist to secure her within his embrace. "Please..no..."
Based off of her will, he eventually pulled back, still holding y/n on his lap and he watched her flustered emotions, her arms raising up to shield her face. But Qin Che stopped her, wanting to savour the expression she was holding for the past few minutes. "You had never been touched before, haven't you?" His voice littering goosebumps onto her delicate skin. "Now I know why Li Shen was willing to leave you alone in the same room as me." She sensed betrayal, as if she was pawned off to a stranger for mere entertainment. Yet, she could not believe that Li Shen would do this to her. However, she could not even put a finger on what was going on in his head most of the time so who is she to assume that he may not have bad motives towards her?
Her mind is starting to be overwhelmed, hands turning cold, head still bowed low to avoid the intense gaze of the man with scarlet orbs. "He wouldn't do that." Her lips muttered what her conscience wants to believe but Qin Che only removed her off of his lap and he stood up, his height much taller than Li Shen's, making him much more intimidating. "You're lying." She could sense his presence, that same overwhelming aura she had gotten the moment she had entered the room. Fingers gripped under her chin and her head was tilted upwards, eyeing the man with the half naked torso, and a wicked smile on his handsome face.
"A pretty flower like you do not deserve to be deserted within such barren lands." He released his grip on her chin and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. His gaze seemingly had softened under the flickers of the candlelight. "It has been my pleasure to see you my princess. I look forward to our next meeting." His hands retracted, leaving the burning sensation behind as a mark. Pulling on his top, he secured it with a knot and he grabbed the sword that he had placed leaning against the wall. When he turned, she caught sight of his waist tag.
The small and compact identification tag was carved out of jadeite jade, the sheen of green unnaturally brighter within the shine of the moonlight. In this day and age, waist tags identity one's status, family lineage and also their wealth. Jadeite tags marks as one of the most influential beings within a nation and the fact that Qin Che has one, it enshrouds her small mind even more. This man is not an ordinary hunter as what she had figured, he is a scion. Her lips could not utter anything, for she had pieced the explanation for his aura, his scars, his attitude and his sword together and now had grown to be more wary of him.
Out of respect, she kowtowed, forehead pressed tightly against the back of her hands. The man sauntered over to her and she closed her eyes, anticipating any forms of physical contact that she does not even have the strength to fight against but it did not came. Instead, the man served her a command. "Fear me not, for I will come back for you, my flower." He ran his hands smoothly down the back of her head till he reached her nape and he knelt down on one knee, whispering into her ear, his breath batting against the shell of her ear. "Next time, I'm afraid I might not hold back my desires on you."
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Li Shen got up from his seated position and headed over towards the patient room that y/n was last seen in. He was wondering why she has yet to bring by the patient records for storage. Sliding the doors open with a thud as it came to a stop, he was taken aback with the sight of her on the floor, hair once in a bun now unkempt, flowing down her back with ends meeting and spreaded out on the floor. Her dress was slightly crumpled and she was caught staring into the expanse of the cold hard floors. His heart faltered yet again.
"Y/n." He leaned down to her, lightly tapping her shoulder to elicit a response. Y/n's head turned as her name was called out and he could make out that she had been crying, with streaks of moisture on her cheeks that glistened under the moonlight and her eyes that was unwilling to meet his. "Did something happened between you and the patient while I was gone? Did he do something to you?"
Her lips quivered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes when Li Shen asked her about her wellbeing. The sense of betrayal had blinded her with such rage that she pushed him off, making him stumbled back and sat onto the floor and he watched when she dashed out of the room. "Y/N!" He shouted for her name, pushing himself off of the floor with one arm and he started sprinting after her.
Qin Che's arrival was undue. It was in the middle of the night and the man had appeared at his doorstep, with a huge gash on the side of his hip, blood soaked through his top. He is a stranger, for Li Shen had never met someone who had looked so intimidating like him. Although blood was dripping down from the sides of his lips, he seemed unfazed by his wounds, only asking for herbs and he shall be on his way.
But Li Shen still took him in, because assessing the way his clothings were tainted red, he could have died if he were to be told to leave the premises. However, his crimson eyes got Li Shen wondering if he was the myth that was foretold by the villagers; a king who failed to be crowned due to betrayal, a forbidden king so great that he moves only within the mist, bearing bloodshot eyes like a beast and with a strong desire for revenge against the kingdom. No questions were put forth of course, as Li Shen has never been the one to pry for answers. Especially when this man may be a dangerous individual.
Leaving her alone with Qin Che however, was not a decision he made abruptly. It was observed throughout treatment, that Qin Che was too weak to make any advances hence he decided to leave her alone to finish cleaning up his wounds. Li Shen had retreated back to his own quarters to seek for any other viable herbs that he may prescribe to the man. Yet again, Li Shen's guilt hits when he spots her disheveled figure on the floor, failing to meet his gaze and now refuses to be within his vicinity.
The physician trudged through the bamboo forests seeking for her, lantern hung at the end of a long stick, grasped within his tight grip as he navigated through the forest. The skies being the only witness to the events that had unfolded, quietly mocking Li Shen's emotions by sending thunder crackling through the dark voids of the night. Rain would come soon and his heart grew wary, worried for her safety. A few more moments went by and he heard rustlings of leaves, followed by sniffles.
"Y/n?" He tried to call her name again, and the lantern lit the narrow paths ahead, till he spotted a figure squatted near the berry bushes. "Y/n..." He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her any further and he asked. "Are you---" But trails off when he seeks her ankle peeking out from beneath her skirt, a few cuts littered on them. There are no doubts she would not be slightly hurt as she did charged out without any guidances of any lanterns. Yet again, Li Shen was relieved at least she is in one piece.
Without even seeking for her permission, the man bent down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up onto her feet. Y/N only continued sniffling, tantrum seeking defeat when she was urged to climb onto his back and she got on, holding onto the lantern to light their way home. The journey back was a bit of a distance, and the two were entertained with the choirs of frogs, chanting to welcome the rain that was about to pour. "Why did you gave me to him, alone?" She was the one who broke the silence, itching to seek for the ugly truth, or so that was what she had in mind.
"By no means I intended to. I wanted to get him another kind of herb so I was off to my room to look through my medicinal records." Li Shen explained, eyebrows now knitted together when he tried to balance himself while carrying her up a slope. "What happened in the room when I was away?"
Her voice was hushed, indicating her fear and embarassment. "He...He kissed me." The way Li Shen's body stiffened got her stamping her face against his back. The thunder had cut through the awkward silence in between them, and rain drops started to fall. The young physician looked up at the night sky, and continued his journey, not uttering anything else to combat the ongoing silence. He directed his focus towards getting them out of the rain as soon as possible.
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Conversations with Li Shen were held to a minimal threshold for the next few days as there has been a spike in patients due to a common cold. Y/n was not allowed to be anywhere out of the premises of the clinic and is only allowed to treat selected patients, only females to be precise. Ever since that night, Li Shen's benevolence had been put to the test. Rejecting all patients whom had visited him during dusk and applying new rules to enforce her safety. Some may view this to be a result for his absolution, but Li Shen was put in a tight spot. In order to protect her, certain sacrifices would have to be made. His decision is perhaps absolute.
Y/n was sat at her desk, brush in her hand as she is writing a letter for her father, to bid a greeting to him as it has been a long while since she had last went home. Homesick she does feel sometimes, but ever since the new rules are applied, she felt even more lonelier than she had ever been. Small talks with Li Shen now are deliberately rarer, and she could barely muster the courage to ask his permission to allow her to go to the market with him for groceries. A knock on her door jolted her and she turned, facing the door as it slid open, revealing the man she had thought of.
Li Shen slips himself into her room, a scroll in his hand and a bag in another. "Y/n." His call for her name has always been gentle, the only time he had ever resulted to a frantic call for her name was when she ran away from him, out of his personal space, leaving him in a state of guilt and confusion. He took a seat opposite her at her desk and places the items he was holding onto the ground carefully. "I am here to discuss with you about some matters."
Setting aside her brush, she looked up at him and awaited for him to speak. Her mind wandering towards what would be the discussion this time, part of her wishing he would care for her, maybe present a change in her daily routines or maybe finally allow her to take a breather outside of the house with a much lenient curfew. But his stoic look does not look promising. "I will be discharging you back to your home town. You are no longer needed to be my assistant."
Y/n felt her world spinning, her brain hammering against her skull when he literally just verbally dismissed her. He handed the scroll, his eyes studying her shocked features, but he remained expressionless. "Was this because of what had happened? When that patient did something humiliating?" Y/n was upset when the whites of her eyes are starting to line with red veins, tears surfacing. "Or was it because I ran away and you find me to be troublesome to your operations?" She had never been so straightforward, so outspoken about herself that Li Shen is all the more convinced that she will no longer remember her past memories with him and this is the right choice for him to make. For her good and for his own to forget about her.
Reluctantly sighing, Li Shen's eyes failed to meet hers. His sanctimonious act felt like an abrasive insult towards the young woman. "Nary of your propositions affected me when I decided upon this." His hands worked on smoothing a slight crease on the shoulder of his white hanfu. "I took you in only because of your father's wish and insistent nature." And maybe I just wanted to see you again. The last sentence of his was hushed, restrained from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. "You may pack up your necessities, your carriage will be ready by tomorrow for you."
He caught her hunched figure, candle light painting warmth onto her now pallor face. The silence in between them was cut off with the sounds of toads croaking. Her small hands had scrunched onto the piece of scroll, distorting the scroll into a crooked semi circle. She looks pissed, but had uttered naught. "There is one more thing I had in my mind." Laying down the scroll in her hand, she looked up, pupils dilated as she moved closer towards Li Shen. She was expecting him to move back, to not be so keen on her invading his personal bubble but he stayed put in his spot. "What went through your mind that day, when you found me in the patient's room?"
An imaginary spotlight was placed onto the young physician, his eyes staring straight back at hers, his forest-like irises eaten by his black pupils. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise, she cuts him off with a question that reeked of dourness. "Were you elated perhaps?" His eyebrows furrowed as she continued questioning him. "That you managed to pawn me off to that patient and allowing him to display such indecent manners upon me." Her torrents did not seemed unending, her laments expressed through every single word of hers. "My father gave me a choice, whether to be married to someone of royalty that he had picked for me, or to work for you. I chose you, Li Shen."
Li Shen although seemed indifferent, he felt like he was to be blamed for the guilt she is feeling. Or whatever negative emotions she has to hold onto at this very moment. "I figured it can't be a coincidence, but, having you to send me off now, maybe it was my father's plan afterall. Maybe he did got you to set me up with that patient and after what the man had done to me, I would be bound to him, for I no longer maintain the chastity of my lips." The tears finally shown themselves, trailing down her pale cheeks and dripping down the edge of her jaw. "I never thought---"
"I would not do that to you." Li Shen chimed in before she could continue, already annoyed at the accusations that were placed upon him. He himself did not know that Qin Che is a royalty, nor did he paid specific attention to his identification tag around his waist. Li Shen placed two fingers under her chin and brought her face up just high enough so he may see her. Eventhough she is crying, she still nevertheless looked ethereal to his eyes. "I'm sorry that I made you feel this way y/n. But I did not act according to your father's will to find you someone of royalty. For I am no matchmaker." His eyes traced down her tear streak, till it came to a halt at her plump lips. "In fact, your father sent you to me not only because of your apprenticeship," his voice had gotten hushed and it was like he had silenced the croaks of the toads outside of the room they were in. All y/n could hear was the sound of his gentle voice, cooing her. "but he seeks for us to be in matrimony too."
Gasping, she blinked her eyes rapidly, refusing to believe that Li Shen is supposedly going to be the one that she shall be holding matrimony with. She could not bring herself to say anything, but to only be lost within his gentle, eager gaze. Li Shen's eyes darted back to her lips, and he slowly leaned in, giving up the advices thrown by his mind as he let his conscience took over him. "That day, when I found you, I was beyond furious. I never thought seeing you in that state would take me such great willpower to hold me back from acting brashly. I had never wished for you to be in danger, y/n." His lips hovered over hers, and she could feel his slightly quickened breaths feathering against her upper lips. "I want you, y/n."
The collision of theirs lips was a burst of emotions, a canonical event that shall reshape the course of their relationship. Li Shen had held back long enough that he thought his desires were going to vanish if she were to leave him. But the longingness he felt, mixed with his desire for her love, was not a good mix and it showed through his fervent kiss. He pushed her back, hand placed behind her head to be a cushion for her as she laid back against the mat. His lips were soft, gentle and needy, lapping over hers like soft tides over the edge of the beaches. His kiss had set Qin Che off to another tier --- imposing a new threshold for y/n--- as it was slow, unrushed, emotional and it felt right for her.
After a moment, their passionate embrace was withdrawn and Li Shen leaned back slightly, a tinge of scarlet now apparent on his cheeks and tips of his ears. The kiss was abrupt and with her most recent trauma, he was not sure if she could have taken their kiss lightly. However, she seemed to be spacing out, eyes slightly narrowed, lips slightly parted and complexion mimicking his, with the scarlet blush splattered across her cheeks too. She did not seemed to be in any abnegation, but she does bear the look of someone who was flabbergasted, or more confused. “My apologies.” The physician blurted out and her eyes travelled to meet his. Engaged in an intense stare, Li Shen could feel his heart trying so hard to lurch out of his chest.
“Li Shen.” A hand on his got the thump of his heart to slow down. Hearing the way she had called out for him and judging by the way she had reacted to his kiss, Li Shen was convinced that perhaps, perchance, she might not have taken it negatively afterall. “I think I need some time.” And there goes the crack on his heart. But when her fingers wrapped around his hand, it got him to continue listening to her. “I like you Li Shen, but I think with what had happened recently, I think it would do me good to retreat back to my home and to recollect myself.” Her words were drawn out slowly, as she seeks for his understanding on her situation, for she is nervous too.
“I understand y/n.” Li Shen reassured her, using his other hand to cup one side of her cheeks. “I will give you all of the time you need, but do not wrong me for giving up on you y/n.” A small smile then appeared on his face when she placed some of her weight against his palm, with her eyes closed, seeking refugee within his warmth. “I do want to be in matrimony with you.”
Her eyes slowly opened, and her smile surfaced. Under the cadence of the candle light, the dim, warm light danced across her face akin to how the butterflies flopped in Li Shen’s belly too. Being emblazoned with the memory of her lips on his, he could no longer look forward to that kind of passionate interaction as he knew that just because he got to hold himself back this time, it may not work as he intended anymore next time. And if her chastity have to be maintained till after marriage then Li Shen would patiently await for her, no matter what it takes or how long it takes for him. “I should leave you to rest for the night, y/n.”
Leaving her in the room, knowing that she would be departing the next day gave Li Shen a heavy heart. It was so heavy that it weighed in for his footsteps, the wood beneath evolved into imaginary mud, dragging his steps into clomps and slowing him down insignificantly. Arriving at the doors leading to his chambers, he heard a shrill of a crow, followed with an ear piercing scream. Li Shen turned and started dashing his way back to her room. It was no doubt that the scream belonged to y/n. "Y/n!" He called out, slamming both of her sliding doors opened, any harder, they would have broke off of its hinges.
Standing by the edge of her window frame, Li Shen could make out the figure that invaded her space. The broad-shouldered, towering man adorns a menacing aura that Li Shen had never encountered before. When he turned, Li Shen managed to seize half of his features in the gloomy room. This is the same guy whom had laid hands on y/n, leaving her stunned within the treatment room, unable to croak even a word, and leading her to flight due to his revolting actions. There, in the shroud of darkness, stood Qin Che, bearing the pupils of a monstrous beast that gleamed red under the silver moonlight, with y/n hoisted up in his arms like a porcelain doll that shall be shattered tonight.
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Special tags: @xvysarene @pinkblusheschuu @uyenlee
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nackrosor · 4 months ago
Text
~Warm, Soft and Alive~
Captain John Price x sergeant fem!reader
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8,5 k. - Your captain comes knocking at your door in the middle of the night after the umpteenth nightmare of you dying in his arms jolts him awake.
warnings: porn with plot & feelings, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, soft dom, light power dynamics, praise kink, sleepy sex, multiple orgasms, mildly dubcon (just because you're very eepy), dry humping (except it's very wet), first time together, underlying romantic fluff, I'm not sure if this can be counted as somno but just in case I'm mentioning it.
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John has seen many people die. He has witnessed a great deal of bloodshed, both among enemy's and friendly' line. He had his own soldiers fall on missions, fine men and women giving their own lives in order to save others. Some even took their last breaths in his arms. He remembers each one of them.
Everything was heightened during the early years. Every death devastated him, causing him nightmares and awful flashbacks... But as the years went by, his skin thickened and his mind grew used to the atrocities. Nothing could get through to him anymore.
Or so he thought.
He can't seem to shake off the image of you bloody and unconscious, laying in his arms as he puts pressure on the gnashing wound on your side, trying to reduce the blood loss. He can't forget the anguish he felt while looking at you in such a miserable state. How on edge he was on the frantic ride back to camp, with you falling in and back from consciousness the whole time. Those weak groans and cries of pain that left your lips still echo in his ears. He can't forget how lost he felt as the medics took your limp body from his arms and rushed to the operating room to get you under the knife. To save your life. You had lost so much blood on the way... There was a high possibility that you wouldn't... That you... He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if you did. Thankfully, you’ve always been so strong. One of his best soldiers. You perdured. You lived. You healed. Still, he can't forget a second of it all. The sight of your limp battered body sagged against him haunts his dreams to this day. Months after the event. No matter how many times he sees you strolling about the HQ, chatting with your mates, smiling and nodding at him as you pass by. Every night he has the same nightmare of you dying in his arms, and his mind is pestered by fear and doubts. What if he truly lost you? What if you didn’t make it?
Another nightmare has woken him tonight, robbing him of sleep. And at this point, he knows there will be no peace for him until he sees you breathing and standing on your feet with his own two eyes. He can't wait for the morning, for you to wake up. He needs to see you right now, lest he loses his mind entirely. 
That's why he's marching to your quarters through the dark hallways of the HQ. Pace hurried, heart aching in his chest, head still whirling from the dreadful images of your life slipping away from those pretty eyes of yours. He can't take it one second longer. His fist hits the metal surface of your door a bit harder than he intended to, but he needs you to hear him and come open the door as quickly as possible. 
You jolt awake at the sudden knock on your door. Your heavy eyes flicker to the alarm clock on the nightstand, a groan leaving your lips upon noticing the green light signaling 2:40 am.
With much effort, you turn on the lamp then drag your feet off the bed and towards the entrance, groggily swaying the door open.
"Who the fuck-" You're ready to protest and tell off whoever dares to interrupt your sleep, but the words die on your tongue when your half-closed eyes land on your captain.
One glance at your half-asleep, messy look and all the tension washes off of his body like soothing water. 
“Can I come in?” John’s voice sounds shaky, the relief of seeing you battling with the effects of the nightmare still lingering in his mind.
"Uhhh-" you look up at him, momentarily taken aback by his request, your mind still clouded by sleep. Why is your captain at your door, at such a late hour, asking to come inside your room? Perhaps you're still lost in your dreamworld. 
With a sluggish shrug, you eventually move aside and let him step inside. 
John shuts the door behind him, quietly. It is darker inside your room than out, but he can make you out in the darkness thanks to the faint yellow light coming from the abajour on your nightstand. 
His eyes trail down your body, checking you over as discreetly as possible for any signs of injury; a habit he’s taken on since that day. There’s an urge to grab your arms and hold you still so he can run his hands over you, check that you’re real and solid in front of him.
You don't notice his scrutinizing gaze as you rub your hands over your face, trying to wipe the sleepiness out of your features.
"Hm, cap?" you call out for him, your voice raspy and drowsy. One of your hands lazily tug at your thin top, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. "What happened?"
The way you pull at your clothes has John quickly sweep his gaze over the exposed skin. He’s seen you in a similar attire countless times before, but for some reason tonight this sight of you has his stomach flipping.
“Nothin’ happened. I just-“ he breaks off. John can’t admit that he’s here because he woke up from yet another nightmare of you bloody and broken, dying in his arms.
“I needed to see you.”
The words take a moment to register in your hazy mind, and when they do, you blink at him in confusion.
"Hm. Me... ? Why?" you ask him hesitantly, a slight frown taking form on your face. You shift awkwardly on your feet, your head tilting to the side as you look up at him with your doe eyes. Your fingers scratch mindlessly at an old scar on your bicep.
His eyes flicker to your arm. The sigh has his heart twisting in his chest. He knows all of your scars, old and new. And he remembers that one clearly, even more than the others. Perhaps because he wasn’t the one to patch you up that time.
John takes a step forward, closing the space between you two. It’s suddenly stifling in your room, and he’s hyper aware of how thin your top is and how much he wants to touch you. 
Your head cranes upward as he steps closer, your eyes unwavering from his face.
"...Cap?" you whisper softly, your frown deepening at his silence. You hold onto your arm with undisguised unease, warming up your bare skin with your palm.
John reaches to brush some of your messy hair away from your face. Your skin is warm beneath his palm, soothing the coldness in his chest. All those moments of seeing your lifeless body flicker in and out of his mind, and here you are. Warm and soft and very much alive.
He can’t stop himself. John brings his other hand up to lightly touch your shoulder, his fingers tracing the slope of your bare collarbone.
Your flinch of surprise to his touch is delayed, your tired eyes widening imperceptibly as they dart to his hand on your collarbone before moving back to his face.
You're not sure what's happening. Sleep still lingers in your mind, muffling your thoughts, slowing your instincts.
"John...?"
The way you say his name, all soft and quiet and surprised, has his heart giving a thump against his chest. John is aware he’s being too forward. He’s your Captain, he shouldn’t be here, this close to you. Touching your bare skin, in your room. It’s not right, it’s not proper. But after waking from those nightmares for the umpteenth time, all he wants to do is touch you. Reassure himself that you’re safe, that you’re real and here standing in front of him.
John can’t look away. In the low light of your room, your eyes still manage to stand out, full of life even when clouded by fatigue. His fingers trail from your collarbone to your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb brushing along the underside of your chin. The contact has you shivering and your eyelids fluttering. You lean into his touch on instinct, heart stuttering in your chest.
He’s suddenly reminded of many a night spent together on a cold ground, of times when you’d curl up beside him and he wrapped his arm around you and kept you warm and safe and alive. He doesn't know if you remember, if you've ever noticed, but he does remember. He craves that feeling again. 
John lets his touch wander down the side of your neck, feeling the quick beat of your pulse. Alive. Alive. Alive.
"What's the matter…?" you whisper drowsily, heavy eyes locking onto his again, your hand reaching up to wrap around his wrist.
He can see the tiredness in your eyes, hear it in the groggy whisper of your words. You don’t seem to register what’s going on, not like he does. The way your hand gently wraps around his wrist causes his heart to miss a beat, a pang of possessive need filling his chest.
“Just-“ he swallows roughly, trying to control the sudden urge to push you down on the bed and cover your body with his own. “Need to make sure you’re okay.”
Your brows furrow at his words, head tilting again in confusion, your doe eyes staring deeply into his.
"Why wouldn't I be?" 
That pout you make when you're confused? He finds it adorable. And you’re pouting now, staring up at him through heavy eyes, not a clue in the world about the memories or the nightmares that have been tormenting him.
John’s fingers grip your chin, holding your face steady so he can look at you. To really look at you. Your soft face, your slightly chapped lips, the dopey eyes that don’t seem to understand.
“I need to make sure,” he repeats. His voice gravelly and deep, rough in a way that even surprises himself.
You blink slowly, sluggishly, keeping your eyes on him despite the urge to close them.
"Cap, I'm all in one piece." you say softly, a hint of protest in your voice. Lazily raising your arms as if to point out that you are in fact all intact, you add, "see?"
The innocent gesture has his stomach twisting. Your top rides up, baring more skin, a slice of your stomach exposed in the dark. When you drop your arms again, the movement causes the fabric to ride up even more, the top shifting along your shoulder and causing the strap to dip down, just enough to show the upper edge of your breast.
John’s eyes fix on the sight, on that sliver of smooth, naked skin. The need to run his hands all over you, feel everything and confirm you’re here, is so strong that he releases your chin and grabs at your forearms instead, fingers curling around your soft flesh.
He pulls you a little closer, until he can look down at you easier. A rough sigh leaves his lips as he gives you a slow glance over. One hand pulls your top back into place. His fingers linger on your bare skin, brushing along the strap.
"I can see that.” 
Your stomach flips at the way he grabs onto your forearms, at the way he stares down at you with such intensity. You still can't wrap your head around what's happening; it all feels like a dream, both so vivid and dazed.
With your arms restrained by his grasp, you bend your head to one side and rub the corner of your eye with your shoulder, causing the strap to drop again. This time, he does not slide it back on. 
"Then... Can I go back to sleep?" you ask him softly, quietly, a hint of plea in your voice. A yawn escapes you right after.
John’s grip on your flesh tightens at the sight of your yawn, but it’s the sound of your slight plea in your quiet voice that makes his stomach do a flip.
“Not yet,” he mutters, not sure if he’s doing it to make himself feel better or because he’s enjoying the rush of power it gives him, holding you. “Gotta ask you somethin’ first.”
A breathy groan leaves your lips at his words. Your eyes, heavy and droopy, blink lazily at him.
"What... is... it?"
John’s fingers wander down, tracing along your collarbone again and lingering at your pulse point. You’re so tired and half out of it, that you don’t even seem to realize what he’s doing. He’s having a hard time controlling the urge to pull you against him, wrap himself around you and let the feeling of you pressed against him ease the flashbacks in his mind. You’re so soft and warm beneath his hand. The fact that he’s touching you like this, that he’s touching your bare skin and you’re letting him, is making him feel drunk on power.
“Do somethin’ f’me?”
You simply nod, slowly and mindlessly, bleary eyes drooping and resting for just a moment before you return your gaze to him.
"Whatever you need, sir..." you murmur under your breath, your words garbled from weariness.
Sir.
He nearly winces at the sound of his title coming out of your sleepy mouth. It does something to him, hearing you call him that when you’re like this. Soft and malleable and so compliant in your groggy state.
John is a strong man, but that? That makes him weak. So weak that he almost pulls you flush against him right there and then, to just hold you and feel you, really feel you. His mind immediately conjures up the many things he needs from you, some of which have nothing to do with his nightmares. You’re barely even fully aware of what you’re agreeing to, how vulnerable you are right now... But he takes a deep breath in, keeping his thoughts under control, focusing on the matter at hand.
“Need you to not be so reckless in the future.”
The words are gruff, but there’s an underlying hint of worry in them. He hates how much the sight of you lying limp and wounded in his arms messed with him, screwed with his mind. So much so that he hasn't been able to get some shuteye in months. 
"Reckless?" you parrot, looking lost. Your face lazily scrunches up in a puzzled frown, your eyes dropping to slits. Your mind is too muddled to connect the dots, to realize what he's referring to. The incident that almost took your life is so far off in your thoughts, so far off in time too, that you barely remember it happening at all. The only poignant memory you're left of the event is the large but healed scar on your side.
"Reckless." John repeats, his fingers leaving your collarbone to trace along that one little faint scar on your bicep, his mind instantly reeling with images of that nasty gash on your side he tried so desperately to clog with his hands. “You could have died.”
The rough tone of his voice seems to lift some of the fog from your mind, the words 'you could have died' resonating within you. Your hand twitches, yearning to move to your face and rub your eyes again, but his hold keeps your arms still.
"But I didn't." you whisper, your voice raspy. "And it's been months since."
John's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around your arms. It's been months since it happened, and he still gets nightmares about cradling your bleeding body in his arms. Even months later, the sight of you being so close to death causes him to jolt awake with his heart hammering in his ribcage. Yes, it has been months, but for him, it happens again and again every fucking night. That moment is ever present in his mind.
“And I don’t want a repeat of it.” He says darkly. John glances down at you again, trying not to get caught up in the sight of you. “I don’t want that to ever happen again.”
You blink at him, his voice making your stomach churn. When he adopts that imposing tone of his, all you can do is nod and whisper, "Yes, sir."
John lets out a low huff out of his nose at the immediate obedience. That sense of power he’d felt earlier spikes, burning hot in his chest. 
He should back away. Let you go back to bed and get some sleep. You’re tired, you’re vulnerable and sleepy… and wearing that goddamn skimpy excuse for a top.
But instead, he hears himself saying: "Lie down... and let me see the wound." 
His order has your fuzzy mind spin. Your tired eyes widen in disbelief and confusion, seemingly regaining some focus.
"T-The scar's perfectly healed, cap. Why would you need to-"
The words stumble from your lips, groggy and tired, as you try to make sense of his demand. He can see the surprise flash in your weary eyes at his request, can feel the way you go to protest against his order. John’s grip on your upper arms tightens, his fingers pressing down into your soft flesh, shutting you up before you can finish your sentence.
“I'm not asking.” he says gruffly, his voice that low, authoritative tone that you’d usually instantly comply with. He moves even closer, making you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.
“Lie down and show it to me.”
Your breath hitches at the way his grip tightens on your arms, at the way his voice drops gravely as he reaffirms his command.
You only stall for a moment, gulping, doe eyes boring into his, before you gently pull back from his hold and pad to the bed, tiredly easing yourself down onto the mattress. Your fingers roll up the hem of your top to the underside of your breasts, exposing your left side to him.
You’re disoriented and confused, mind fuzzy from sleep, but you still listen to him. You listen to his order. John’s mind is reeling as he takes in the sight of you lying on the bed. You’re obeying him so easily. So readily. And goddamnit, it’s making him feel insane. You’re following his every word like a good little soldier…
John lets his eyes rake down your form on the bed. You look so vulnerable, so soft and tired. It sparks a possessive urge in his chest. His eyes track the way your messy hair splays out on the pillow and the way your top slides up as you bare your skin to him. He follows you to the edge of the bed. His eyes keep flickering down to your stomach, to the bare skin that looks so very soft and warm and inviting.
The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits down beside you with one knee settled on the bed and the other leg hanging from the edge.
He knows he’s being pushy, taking advantage of you like this, he knows it. You’re half out of it and clearly confused and he’s using it to his advantage. But the nightmares are too fresh on his mind, still replaying in flashes, and you looking so damn vulnerable and soft beneath him right now has all his instincts on edge.
John's eyes hungrily devour the sight of your exposed side, his eyes falling on the soft curves and the pale, fading scar; the wound reduced to a light puckered line, but nonetheless a stark reminder of how close you came to dying. How close he came to losing you.
You lie there, silently, heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at him. Your breathing is slightly altered just like the pace of your heart. Even through the drowsiness, you seem to realize how odd the situation is... The effects John's presence in your room, on your bed, so close to you, have on your tired body are evident. What you can't seem to pick up on is that strange flicker passing across his gaze as he examines your scar.
You keep silent though, simply staring up at him and keeping the fabric of your top rolled up, slightly pulling up your braless breasts with your hand as well, to push them out of the way.
John's eyes follow the way your chest slightly rises and falls with your breath. He notices the way it seems to stutter as his eyes drift over you. He doesn't know what to focus on. Your messy hair sprawled over the pillow, the soft curve of your breasts just barely exposed as you lift up the fabric of your top, your bare stomach and the faded scar. His eyes keep flickering from one part of you to the other, his mind going haywire at the sight of you, vulnerable and lying in front of him like this.
His mind begins to fill up with all kinds of thoughts. Thoughts of taking your top off entirely. Seeing all of you bared to him. Feeling your soft skin against his and running his hands all over you. Feeling your warm body under his own.
No matter how much he tries to resist, he can't refrain from reaching out with his hand and let his calloused fingers graze the bare skin of your scar.
The jolt of your body and the sound of you drawing in a sharp breath has his instincts flare in warning. But you don't recoil, you just look at him with wide, hazy eyes. Your body so close and warm and tense beneath his hand. So responsive to the touch, reacting without you even meaning to.
John's hand continues to graze over the skin of your scar, his thumb rubbing over the skin slowly, gently, feeling the way your stomach flexes beneath his touch. His eyes flicker up from the pale scar to look at your face.
"Does it still hurt?”
"It-" you try to answer, but your voice comes out raspy. That forces you to take a moment to clear your throat and wet your dry lips before trying again. "It itches or tingles from time to time... but it's nothing, really." you admit in a whisper, voice still raw as if reluctant to come out. Your fingers tighten a little on the fabric of the top, keeping it still on your chest.
"I see."
John's fingers keep moving over the scar tissue. Feeling the bumps and ridges of the skin, his eyes fixated on your stomach, on how you respond to his touch. Every breath and twitch and soft gasp makes his entire body flare up. It's a struggle to keep his mind somewhat coherent.
His eyes slowly move to your hands balled into the fabric of the top, the way you're holding on just a little bit tighter. He can tell that you're conscious of the fact that you're not fully clothed and that you're feeling vulnerable. Yet, he can't keep his hand away.
"Does it hurt now?" He reiterates. His hands continue to glide across the scar, fingers slowly tracing along the soft curve of your stomach.
You meekly shake your head in response. Your neck cocked slightly to the side, allowing your gaze to drift to his hand and watch as his fingers travel over your skin, so carefully, tenderly, yet... possessive.
"It... tingles a little." you whisper, muscles flexing again under his touch.
He's intoxicated by the sight of you underneath him, and you're responding so sweetly to his touch. Vulnerable, exhausted, but oh, so soft, warm, and sensitive. It's making him lose his mind, seeing you like this. Feeling your heat against his fingers. Seeing you in that damn top barely cresting just under your breasts.
Without thinking, he shifts on the mattress, leaning down to press his lips on your scar.
You gasp sharply, body arching at the sudden contact. Your tired eyes widen and the fabric of your top falls from your hold as you plant your palms on either side of you on the mattress, slightly lifting your torso from the bed.
John is getting addicted to your noises. To the way you gasp and arch beneath his touch. It's like a sick taste of what it would be like to really have you like this. To have you writhing beneath him, moaning and gasping because of him.
His hand tightens on your stomach. He can feel the muscles flex beneath his touch, the way your body reacts on instinct to his lips on the scar. He doesn't think. He just acts. He kisses the scar again, feeling a sense of possession wash over him at the feeling of your soft skin against his lips.
You flinch again at each kiss, soft gasps falling from your lips as you stare down at him, confused, dazed...
"C-Cap...?" you hesitantly call for him, your voice barely audible, breathless. "W-what are you-"
"Shh."
His free hand comes up to rest on your side, fingers splaying across the skin and holding you in place. Holding you down. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's losing control, feeling drunk just from having you below him, reacting to his touch. Letting him do all these things... letting him take all these liberties without even fighting back.
He shouldn't be doing this. Taking advantage of you like this. But your skin is just so soft, and you're so responsive to him, and he can't stop himself. This is his medicine. His medicine against the nightmares, against the horrible memories plaguing his mind. 
Soft gasp after gasp is falling from your lips, sweet in John's ears. The sound and the sight of your body arching below him, writhing at his every touch, is driving him insane. Your fingers digging into the sheets, your body trembling and shaking in his hold, the way your chest rises and falls with your labored breaths. It's all just so damn good. A stark contrast to the sight that wakes him up every damn night. He needs to see you like this. To have you arching and writhing and gasping under him. To see you alive.
He sucks a hot, slow kiss into the sensitive skin of your abdomen, tasting the salty sweat on your skin. His fingers dig into the flesh at your side, holding you down against the bed and keeping you completely in place. His other hand drifts up slowly, tracing over the soft curve of your ribs, his fingers brushing against the bottom curve of your breast, slipping under the top.
"Oh~!"
The unexpected sensation of his rough fingers touching the delicate flesh of your breast sends your fuzzy thoughts spinning. Is this really happening? You can't think straight. And you're convinced that even without the lethargy of weariness inhibiting your judgment, you wouldn't be able to think clearly. Not with your captain kissing your tummy, cradling your breasts, and keeping you pinned to the bed. Your handsome captain… whom you secretly adore...
Your mewling gasp makes a bolt of heat shoot up his spine and all the blood in his body head straight south. The noise that escapes from your lips has his hand reflexively closing over your breast, his fingers squeezing on the warm, supple flesh. A dark, possessive part of his mind revels in the noises you're making, in the way your body shivers at his touch. In having you pinned down with his hand and mouth on your skin. No fight back, no pushing him away, no words of complaint fall from your lips as he kisses and touches and holds you down with little effort. He would pull away from you if you asked him to, he believes that strongly. He would never hurt you, even with the promise of making you feel better. But you aren't pushing him away. You are not protesting. You're not showing him any signs of objections. And it isn't only because you are worn out. He can see it in your eyes and hear it in the way you respond to his touch. You like it, you enjoy his attention. And that's enough to spur him further.
His fingers delicately caress the smooth curve of your breast, feeling the pillowy and tender flesh just beneath his fingertips. He has lost all sense of control at this point. All sense of reason. All he can think about is how soft you are, how warm and malleable beneath him, how deeply he craves to touch more of you…
He lifts his hands, tugging at the fabric of your top, revealing your chest to his gaze. He can't resist a second longer, and he pounces on your breast, attaching his lips on your hard nipple. His eyes flicker up to your face, taking in your expression, your glazed eyes, the way your back arches up, and your lips part to let those delicious moans escape.
A shiver of pleasure strikes your tired form. One of your hands moves spontaneously to his head, fingers threading in his hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, against your chest. That provokes a pleased hum to rumble in his throat. It only serves as confirmation that you’re not trying to stop him but rather holding him against you. Encouraging him, even. And he's more than inclined to indulge you.
He's lost every ounce of his restraint at this point. He can't recall why he came to your room in the first place. What was he seeking for? Just to look at you. Or perhaps he subconsciously hoped for more. Now... There is no going back from this. And all he knows is that he's going to make you feel good, make you feel alive and to engrave the sight of you, high on pleasure, into his tortured mind so that it may take the place of any other horrible memories he has of you.
"John..." you whine softly, breathlessly, your half-closed eyes peering down at him, watching as he cradles your breasts and sucks on your nipple, scratching and tickling your sensitive skin with his beard. Your entire body is ablaze, tightening from both fatigue and yearning.
Hearing the sweet quivering sound of your voice uttering his name in the quiet night has his heart thunder in his chest. He keeps his focus on your face, watching how the mist in your eyes seems to intensify. 
He pulls away from your tits with a wet sound just long enough to speak, his voice deep and rough. "Say my name again."
John's mind is slowly slipping into a haze of lust and possessiveness. He's never heard his name sound like that ever before. It's like a drug, something that hooks over his core and keeps him there, wanting to make you utter his name again and again in that pleading tone as if you were begging for more.
He can't take it any longer. Without any warning, he's pulling back from your chest and peeling his shirt off, discarding it as if it was scorching his skin. He doesn’t give you time to register one action, before he rushes onto another. Rough hands grabbing onto the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down in one firm and swift motion.
Your muffled mind struggles to keep up. Droopy, glazed eyes try to follow his movements, your hands idly resting on the mattress, your bare chest raising and falling heavily, mouth open and drawing each breath in quick, quivering gasps. Your newly exposed thighs press together out of instinct, attempting to give you relief from the ache in your core. You can feel the dampness of your panties as they brush against the inner flesh of your thighs. You can feel how aroused you are for him.
John's eyes immediately catch the subtle movement of your legs bending at the knee and rubbing together. And his hands don't take long to follow. He's now hunched over you, his large build dwarfing your smaller, supple body. His hand travels along the inner surface of your trembling thigh, gliding over the smooth skin till his fingers reach the edge of your underwear, then slide across the thin fabric. He can feel the heat and the wetness through the material and that’s enough to trigger a deep groan from the back of his throat, a sound that's somewhere between an exhale and a growl.
This night has gone so far off course he doubts either of you will be able to look at each other the same way after this. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is being with you, and making you feel good. He's not thinking anymore. Thinking has fled his mind. 
He pushes your legs apart, letting his hands run up your thighs towards your center, feeling your muscles tense at his touch.
“Oh, my sweet girl…” he coos, gliding his palm over the expanse of your panties, making you whimper in response, trembling in delight at the contact and his words.
His voice is low, deep, and full of praise as he looks down at you, watching intently the way your body reacts to his touch.
“My pretty girl…”
He repeats the motion, this time with a little more pressure, rubbing the flat of his palm against your clothed heat, watching with a deep, possessive pride the way your thighs shiver and twitch at his touch. He can feel the dampness leaking through the fabric, the heat and the moisture soaking into his skin.
"My reckless, pretty, pretty girl…." he says, his tone firm and territorial, with a tinge of frustration edging it.
He sweeps his hand over the small patch of fabric that covers you, pressing the heel of his palm to your swelling bundle of nerves, drawing a tight circular pattern over it while relishing the way your thighs spasm and your eyelids flutter.
"Giving me such a fright…"
The firm, unyielding pressure of the palm against you sends waves and waves of ecstasy shooting straight to your core. You attempt to speak, to ask him what he means, but only whimpers leave your lips.
He drinks in the sight of you, flushed and breathless, thighs twitching and clenching, chest rising and falling with you heavy breaths, trying to speak but unable to form coherent words. You're so desperate for him, so responsive to his touch, it's making his head spin. He wants to see more of you, he needs it to forget the nightmares. He needs you. 
He moves closer, his hand still firmly rubbing against your heat, fingers curling on the drenched fabric, as he nuzzles your neck and presses scorching, wet kisses all over your skin. His mustaches and beard tease your skin, amplifying the tingling feeling that spreads throughout your body. 
His gaze burns into yours, holding you captive as he moves his palm over your heat in slow, languid circles, watching every expression and twitch of your face from up close, taking every noise that escapes your lips as a hint, making him adjust his touches until he gets the prettiest, loudest moan from you.
"Getting yourself hurt…"
He rubs his hand even more firmly, his palm moving faster and faster, applying more and more pressure on your sensitive nub, as if to emphasize every word he is saying, but it only causes you to lose more focus on his voice.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me… to see you in danger?” he whispers, his voice deep and rough. His free hand slides under your head, to hold onto the nape of your neck. “To see you in pain?”
If you were out of your mind before, you're being totally pushed out of your body now as he takes you closer and closer to the edge. You hear him, you understand what he is saying, but you are unable to form a single thought; you lack the energy to answer or apologize.
Your whole body is buzzing like a live wire, every nerve on fire, your mind blank with primal urges. 
He's watching your face, watching your eyelids flutter with each stroke of his hand, watching your lips part and your tongue slip to moisten them, watching you shiver and writhe under him, whimpering and desperate for release.
"You give me too many damn heart attacks, you know that? Keepin’ me up every night…"
“M’sorry-” you manage to cry out, gazing up at him but battling to keep your eyes open. Your hands find his tensed arm, and cling onto it for support as you feel the knot in your belly tightening, your body arching in anticipation.
Your apology is hardly coherent. He can hear the slur in your jumbled words, feel the tremors in your frame, see your eyes struggling to stay focused, your body arching and bucking and quivering under his touch, your fingers digging into his arm as if you're trying to hold on for dear life.
“I know, doll…” he croons, lips grazing the side of your jaw, close to your ear. You can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, rising goosebumps all over it.
“You’ll be the death of me… but you’re so damn beautiful-”
You look so helpless, so lovely like this. He just wants to give you what you want. His hand grinds against you, harder but steadier, increasing the pressure in a demanding and relentless motion. His eyes keen on watching the way you wriggle and arch, the way your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw falls slack as he ultimately pushes you over the edge.
"That's it, doll... that's it... come for me... my sweet girl…”
Your release is a sight to behold. Your body tenses like a bowstring before you climax, your moans and gasps turning into mewls of his name with the last shred of breath in your lungs, your eyes flying wide open and rolling back in your head, your nails sinking into his arm… then your entire body goes limp. Your legs tremble and spasm beneath him as he guides you through the aftershocks. John doesn't let up, doesn't stop moving his palm, prolonging your peak until you're left spent and boneless, breathing heavily. Only then does his hand slowly come to a halt, brushing one final time over your soaked panties as he lowers his forehead on yours. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his gaze glued to your pretty face, his fingers leisurely rubbing the back of your head. When he moves slightly to pull back and take you in, he becomes acutely aware of the strain in his bulge, struggling against the confinement of his jeans. He quickly unzips them and lets his stiff length breathe, with him drawing in a shuddering breath as well.
He chances a look at your panties, the possessive pride in him flares up at the sight; the fabric is so drenched it’s become see-through. His fingers gently move over it, his eyes instantly flashing to your face as you protest weakly at the contact. You're still lost in the high, eyes closed, lips parted, and chest heaving heavily. He’s never seen anything more beautiful; the image is going to be forever burnt to the inside of his eyelids. Well, he hopes so. He’d gladly wake up every fucking night at the memory of this, instead.
John watches you for a moment, letting you regain your bearings. If he could, he would keep you in this state, breathless and blissed-out… but he needs more. He’s only had a taste and he’s already addicted.
“You with me, doll…?”
He murmurs the words against your lips, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth at the way you don’t even pretend to be coherent. You were barely conscious before, he doubts you’ll be able to keep your eyes open for the rest of the night… but he needs you to be present for what comes next.
He dips in and draws your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it before gently nipping it between his teeth, like he’s coaxing you back to consciousness.
You whine softly, eyes fluttering and slowly managing to open up. Your hand instinctively reaches out for his hair. 
Your fingers pull on his short strands just the way he likes it, making his eyes grow dark. And he can’t help but chuckle as he notices your half-lidded attempt at a smile, watching your tired self struggle to lift the corner of your mouth as if it took all your strength to do so.
He reaches down, fingers curling around your jaw and gently shaking it to make sure you focus on him. “There you are…” He coos, his voice deep and gravelly. “Did I wear you out already, sweetdoll?”
You groan, eyes dropping closed again and slowly opening up a few seconds later.
“Hmm… ‘was already worn out-” you slur, voice hoarse and quiet, almost as if it's coming from someplace distant. 
You’re barely lucid, half-conscious, and yet you’re still trying to sass him. That’s his girl.
He chuckles again, shaking his head as he leans in to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He’s smiling widely as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, traveling up your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your cheek.
"I know, sweetheart. I know..." He murmurs the words against your temple, his fingers gently stroking the side of your face, caressing over your cheekbones, your eyelashes, your mouth.
"But you're about to sleep on me. Can't have that…"
He wraps his fingers around your jaw and gives it another gentle squeeze. “You’ll have to stay awake a little longer, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”
He keeps his firm grip on your jaw, waiting patiently for your hazy eyes to focus back on him. The expression you wear, dazed and exhausted, is like something out of his most depraved, shameful dreams.
“I don’t know if I can, John…” 
His expression softens at the sound of your weak voice. He can’t deny that you look downright adorable right now, your eyes droopy and half closed, your jaw slack in his hand, every inch of you vulnerable and malleable in his grasp. 
He lets go of your jaw and gently runs a hand through your hair, smoothing the loose strands away from your face. “Try for me, doll. Can you at least try?”
Your head lolls tiredly against the pillow, following the movement of his hand, a quiet hum leaving your lips. "M'so tired..." Your slurred whisper is barely audible, your voice growing ever distant. Your eyes cross as your eyelids droop again. 
John sighs. He can see the exhaustion in your face, the way your eyes keep wanting to slip close against your will, how much you desperately want to give into the fatigue. You look like you’re about to pass out at any moment now.
His hand keeps on caressing your hair as he weighs his options in his mind, trying to figure out what he should do. He can’t deny that he wants to do so many things to you… One above all, peeling those ruined panties off your legs and burying his face in your wetness, devouring your cunt and every drop of your juices like a man starved and feeling your soft thighs twitch and tremble and clamp against his head. Then he would sink his cock inside your still fluttering walls and watch your spent body come alive again an again and again as he fucks you all night long.
His eyes drop to your thighs, his jaw clenching tight. He can feel his stomach twisting and his erection throb painfully in longing even only at the thought of doing all of that to you. But you’re too exhausted. Too out of it. He wants you to enjoy every second of what he plans to do to you, but in your state you wouldn’t be able to.
His eyes flicker to your face again and he leans in to gently kiss your lips. He feels you respond, even if meekly. He pulls back to look down at you again, your eyes reduced to slits but fixed on him. Your hand lazily reaches up to cradle his cheek. He smiles at the gesture, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Maybe he can do one last thing before you doze off to sleep. 
Carefully, he eases himself down next to you, lying on the mattress on his side and gently moving your body so he’s spooning you.
“Stay awake for me just a couple more moments, hm? Just a couple more, doll.” he croons in your ear as he wraps one strong arm around your middle and moves his other hand to his pants to hurriedly tug them further down, together with his boxers. 
You mumble sluggishly in response, but relax into his warmth, head lolling back, forehead brushing the rough skin of his cheek. He places a firm kiss on your temple while digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your belly and pulling your panties to the side with his other hand. He shifts, bringing his hips closer to yours and letting his hard length rub along the crevice of your ass.
“Mmh… John-?”
He squeezes you harder as he presses his cock against you, moving it up and down a few times before guiding it between your thighs and through your soaked folds. A low groan rumbles through his throat, blending with your weak whimper. His breath fans the side of your face as he gently pushes his groin into your ass, coating his length in your juices, his tip hitting the moist fabric of your panties, eliciting one more exhale from him. He pulls you flush against him until your body is molded into his. Only then does he begin to buck his hips back and forth, letting your drenched folds stroke his cock and your panties tease its head. He won't fuck you, not properly, not while you're not fully present, but he is going to steal one more orgasm from your exhausted body - and pleasure himself in the process - before allowing you to drift off completely.
“It’s alright, sweet girl… It's alright…”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling your skin and planting lazy kisses all over it. John keeps his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand splayed over your soft stomach, holding you in place against his body as he moves leisurely against you. His pace is so slow and steady that it feels like it's lulling you to sleep. That's what he wishes to do; he wants to ease you back to sleep by numbing your nerves with pure bliss. He wants you to collapse with his cock grinding against your cunt, stimulating your swollen nub with each slow, deliberate push.
You’re boneless against him. Moaning ever softly, body too tired to wriggle but tensing up in ecstasy all over again. He can feel the flutter of your stomach under his palm, the quick steady puffs of air leaving your nostrils. John moves his free hand to your hip, letting it glide over your smooth skin until it closes around the underside of your thigh and gently lifts it and places it over his leg. Both of you moan at the new position which lets you both feel more of each other. 
He feels your hips shake and hears your shallow breaths getting louder. He knows you’re already close. That’s good. You’re still awake for it. That's all he wanted. The hand resting on your belly glides down your mound, slipping under the fabric of your panties and touching your heat. He groans at the contact. You’re so fucking wet and hot… The pads of his fingers find your clitoris and start to rub tight circles over it. His lips press into the side of your neck, feeling your pulse, while you squirm faintly at the added stimuli. You make such pretty sounds for him. Soft mewls and moans, whimpers and gasps. Even weak and tired as you are, your body’s still so reactive to him. 
“That’s it, doll… you’re such a good girl…” he praises in a breathless whisper upon your flushed skin. “Stay with me… just a bit longer…”
When his hot breath brushes against your neck, he can feel a shudder go down your spine. He can hear your breathing getting heavier, your body twitching and trembling against him, and the whole feel of you is driving him insane.
It just takes a few more thrusts of his hips and flicks of his fingers for you to come undone again, spasming weakly in his arms - arms that hold you snugly to soothe your tremors. You cum all over his length, letting out a feeble cry so deliciously filthy that it makes his hips stutter. He halts altogether before he can over stimulate you.
“There you go, my sweet girl… There you go…” he coos in your ear, lips brushing against your cheek, before he buries his nose in your hair and drinks in your scent. 
John squeezes you tightly in his embrace until your shakes and ragged breaths subside. He watches your eyelids flutter one more time before they drop and remain closed.
He feels your body sag against his, your muscles going entirely limp in his arms. He keeps you nestled into him, his hand resting on your stomach and softly kneading soothing circles over your scar, while your other leg lies boneless over his. He can hear your breathing even out, slowly falling deep and regular, the warm puffs of air hitting his arm with each exhale. For a few moments, he remains still, listening to the sound of your breathing, feeling the rise and fall of your chest… trying to figure out if you’re still conscious, but your soft even breaths confirm to him you’ve finally fallen asleep.
He glances down at your serene expression, eyes closed and lips parted. Even in the shadows, he can see the light drool trickling from the corner of your lips. You’re completely knocked out.
John takes a few deep shaky breaths, his fingers digging into your hip. He allows himself a few more thrusts, taking care not to disturb your sleep. It’s not long before he falls apart, dumping his load inside your undies and muffling his moan with your hair.
He takes a few moments to regain his bearings, breathing deeply, getting drunk on the scent of you and him mixing together. Then, with great care, he fixes your clothes on your unconscious body, as well as his own pants, and wraps your form in his muscular arms, pressing every inch of you against him, until you're completely enveloped in his embrace.
He can’t help but notice how right it feels to hold you like this, to have you nestled against his chest, protected and secure in his arms.
A content sigh escapes his lips.
Closing his eyes, he knows this time no nightmare will jolt him awake. Not with you, warm, soft, and alive, sleeping soundly in his arms. Not with the steady drumming beat of your heart drowning out the demons in his mind.
With one more kiss brushed upon your bare shoulder, he whispers, "Sleep tight, sweetheart." before succumbing to his own exhaustion.
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hellwantfuckme · 10 months ago
Text
her warmth
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summary: Azriel returns injured from a mission, he could have visited Madja, who would make quick work of healing his wounds, he prefers to stay with her, even if it will hurt a little more, as long as the solitary wound lodged in his chest also heals.
warnings: injuries, blood
author's note: Azriel has my heart.
Eclipse's face twisted into a minuscule expression of disgust as she looked at the brutal wound, fifteen centimeters long on Azriel's muscular back, just below his shoulder, a generous space between the gash and his shoulder blades where his wings began. The expression on her face increased, her eyebrows furrowing into a frown.
"Do you still insist on not going to a healer?" Eclipse asked, her voice weak as she saw the blood. A small knot lodged in her throat.
She had had wounds like that on her body a thousand times, and had treated them on her own, miraculously, only one or two had become infected. Eclipse was thankful that Azriel was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking forward, unable to see the slight disgust on her face. She was on her knees just behind him, keeping a reckless distance from his wings. The left wing comfortably stretched across the length of her bed, the other, somewhat more uncomfortable, reaching the headboard. But both were down, relaxed, perhaps. Or maybe he was just so tired that keeping them firm, as he normally did, was heavy. Eclipse had seen him sprawled out on a sofa, totally drunk, and still his wings didn't touch the ground. She had seen him sit on his bed other times, with his wings well tucked against his back.
Eclipse didn't know how to process that information. What it meant. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind. That was something for another time, to think about his body language and analyze it until reaching a thousand conclusions, she would do it later, when the Illyrian was not sitting on her bed. When there were only remnants of his scent left.
"Is it really bad?" Azriel asked, his hoarse voice sending a shiver through her spine and making her heart race. He remained downcast, bone-tired.
She hated seeing him like this, her frown only deepened. She didn't want to acknowledge that the feeling that ran through her veins was raw concern. Eclipse looked at the wound again.
"W-well, yes, it looks pretty bad. When did you get it? A day ago, two?" Eclipse inquired, although by the way the wound looked, it was clear to her that it had been more than 24 hours. She spoke without letting Azriel answer. "From Windhaven to here is two hours, flown two hours and it still hasn't healed on its own, it will need stitches. It looks deep," Eclipse said, voicing what had been going through her mind since Azriel had taken off the leathers covering the upper part of his body and sat on the bed.
The blue-gray light from the faelights gave her perfect illumination, the wing membranes appearing more of a light pink than the usual red.
Azriel stiffened, nerves attacking her, and she tried to keep them buried, push them down. She couldn't help but overanalyze every gesture, every change, to a conclusion that had as many opportunities to be correct as to be miles away from reality.
"Or so I think, I have no idea how Illyrians heal," Eclipse muttered doubtfully. She was no healer, just a twenty-two-year-old girl who had had to heal this kind of wounds more than once. "I don't even know how Faeries... do it. But from the times that..."
"No," Azriel interrupted. "It's... you're right. If it hasn't healed yet, it won't heal on its own."
"You said you've sewn wounds on yourself more than once, right?"
A conversation they had had months ago, Eclipse blinked, the only sign of surprise. She hadn't really thought he would remember it, it had been something she had only mentioned once, less than a minute.
"I could help you with the wound, it's not too late tho, we can still call Madja and..." Her doubts about herself grew denser.
"Can you do it?" Azriel interrupted again, his shoulders rigid.
Eclipse felt the tortured way the words came out of his lips, tense as well.
Eclipse sighed, not thinking too much about the fact that he was indirectly asking her to take care of his wounds, had a kind of meaning. The kind of meaning that Eclipse would spend hours thinking about, hours tossing and turning in her bed repeating every tiny interaction over and over again.
Her hand rested on Azriel's other shoulder, a mere sign of seeking balance as she got out of her bed and headed to the bathroom attached to her room. She didn't stop to think about the much-exposed skin she was showing with that barely thigh-length blue silk nightgown, or the discrete way his eyes roamed the length of her legs, to her exposed collarbones.
She entered and left the bathroom without taking too long, gathering everything she needed.
The House had provided her with a bowl of hot water and a clean cloth, as well as a sterilized needle and thread. And also, herbs that Eclipse knew very well. Yarrow leaves that would prevent bacteria in the wound, marigold flowers that would help with inflammation, and lavender, for the pain. She had prepared this mixture a thousand times, the smell of everything reminding her of all the times she had gotten into street fights, or bar fights, and especially, the scar along her forearm itched with the memory.
She banished the mental image of all the blood and panic she had felt back then. Now she knew what to do, although the fact that she would be treating someone who wasn't herself still sparked a slight panic in her chest. Eclipse filled her lungs with air for six seconds, held it for four, and released it for another six seconds.
«Calm down.»
She carefully left everything on her nightstand, with Azriel's gaze fixed on her, his usually stoic expression interrupted by a slight frown and a very slight pink shade on his cheeks. Eclipse must have imagined it.
She dipped the cloth tip in the hot water, then submerged the fabric a little more until half of it was wet and withdrew it, wringing it to remove the excess water.
Their eyes met for just a second while Eclipse stood up, there was a glimmer in his eyes that she could not decipher. It was incredible how, even without trying to hide his emotions, it was difficult to read him.
Eclipse turned the bed around, got on it, positioning herself just behind him. Her warm, somewhat wet hand from the cloth, touched his shoulder again to recompose properly. Eclipse felt him bristle. She didn't know if it was because of the contact or because she was too close to his wings, either way she backed off a little. Still close enough to easily reach his wound but maintaining a distance between her and his wings.
She cleared her throat.
"It might hurt a little," she said.
"I've dealt with worse," Azriel told her, his voice almost guttural and tense. Eclipse stopped for a second.
Was it the pain? Or perhaps, had he changed his mind about this and wanted to leave? Maybe he had seen her nerves. Maybe the pain clouded his judgment and he hadn't thought it through.
Eclipse heard a sigh escape his nose, and she looked at the wound again, unsure of how to proceed. The idea of reminding him that he could leave if he wasn't comfortable, that they could still call Madja, was a quick order to her vocal cords, and when she was about to speak, Azriel beat her to it.
"How did you learn to heal wounds like this?" he inquired. His voice notably less tense.
Eclipse took it as an invitation and gently placed the cloth over the beginning of his smooth, firm skin break.
"I used to get into fights," Eclipse murmured as the cloth gently crossed the wound, cleaning impurities.
The smell of blood reached her, the blood and the cedar and exhaustion. Eclipse still wasn't used to the fact that emotions gave off a smell, even though she had been Fae for three years, with countless years ahead of her.
"The friends I had were all from extremely questionable security neighborhoods. They solved everything with violence, the slightest offense, the smallest debt…"
Eclipse sighed.
"I've broken my thumb twice punching wrong, and I have thousands of small scars from learning to use a dagger properly. And I've had wounds like this more times than I care to remember," she explained.
She finished cleaning the wound without giving any further explanations, and Azriel didn't speak or make any sounds of pain, he just clenched his jaw so hard she thought a tooth would break. Eclipse remembered how she had screamed, they had made her bite a belt, the first time she had gotten a wound like this and they had simply cleaned it. Although there was also the fact that she had been infinitely gentler cleaning Azriel's wound than her friends had been cleaning hers.
Eclipse got out of bed, leaving the cloth on the nightstand.
The house conjured up another wooden bowl, right next to the herbs. She put each of the herbs in the bowl, poured some hot water over them, and crushed them as best as she could. It took her longer than she would have liked, Azriel's gaze, once again, fixed on her.
"You've broken your thumb twice?" Azriel asked, raising an eyebrow. She saw curiosity and a bit of fun on his face and snorted.
"At least you know how to throw a punch," she joked, halfheartedly.
"If I haven't, are you going to push me into the ring with Cassian and have him yell orders at me?" Eclipse joked.
"Cassian would be too soft for someone who has broken their thumb twice giving a punch, and done it wrong."
"I was fifteen!" Eclipse excused herself, her voice rising only slightly. The corners of his lips curved into a tiny smile. "But I do know how to throw a punch."
"I'd like to see that," Eclipse rolled her eyes; his smile grew slightly broader.
When the ointment was ready, Eclipse positioned herself behind him again. Every time Eclipse saw the wound it seemed to get larger, bloodier.
She applied the ointment carefully on the wound, Azriel let out a small groan of pain, almost imperceptible. Eclipse grimaced and swallowed.
"Sorry," she murmured. When she finished, she looked at the needle. "Could you pass me the needle?"
Azriel handed it over without objection.
"I imagine I don't need to tell you it's going to hurt," she murmured again.
Azriel closed his eyes when the needle pierced his skin, his fists tightened the sheets beneath him.
Eclipse sewed the wound with expert hands, a process that took long minutes until it was closed. Azriel let out a sigh, and she, as gently as she could, bandaged the wound.
"Go see Madja tomorrow morning, Azriel," she practically ordered. He just nodded. Eclipse got off the bed, then, standing in front of him. He straightened up, even when a grimace of pain settled on his face at doing so, just to be able to look at her better. For the first time, he had to lift his chin to look her in the eyes.
Eclipse noticed a few drops of blood staining his face, and her muscles moved without thinking. Azriel spread his knees wide enough to make room for Eclipse between them, while her hand cradled his face, her thumb tracing the dried drop of blood on his cheek.
Azriel inevitably closed his eyes, tilting his face to the incredibly soft touch of her hand.
Her chest filled with warmth.
"You have to rest, Az," she murmured, not breaking the chocolate gaze of the man who seemed so... vulnerable. "My bed is yours if you want it."
He opened his eyes, as if wanting to confirm that she had just said that. That he wasn't imagining it. He blinked.
"Where will you sleep?" he asked, barely more than a whisper.
Eclipse nodded towards the sofa in front of the windows, it was actually large enough for her to sleep well, although she knew she wouldn't. In reality, she didn't know why she had offered it. But she didn't have time to regret it.
"No, I..."
"If you want to stay, you will stay in bed," Eclipse said, her voice firm. Azriel blinked again, surprise disappearing as quickly as it appeared.
Azriel knew it would be tremendously selfish to let the kind woman who had healed him, and who was looking after him right now, sleep on a sofa. But he couldn't leave her warmth, her scent around him. He couldn't bear to return to his room, alone. Just as he had been for five hundred years, because he had discovered that she filled a heavy void in his chest. That there wasn't a corner that felt uncomfortable with her, he couldn't find a flaw in her. Not one.
So he simply nodded. And let himself be taken care of.
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lasnevadaslaborunion · 9 months ago
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I've been drifting away from both Tumblr and MCYT for a while now. This was the nail in the coffin.
I have another blog for art, and a third for other fandoms, but I doubt I will use either as often as I used LNLU. There's never been a community I've connected with quite so deeply as this one. Your creativity, passion, and kindness carried me through awful times far more than any individual creator could. It was not all rainbows and unicorns. It ripped open some old wounds, and left some new ones as well. But I want to carry forward the good things. I'm in touch with most of my friends on other platforms. If I've missed you, feel free to message and ask for my Discord.
A few final words, though.
We can never fully know what these creators are like when they're off-screen. What we see is a carefully curated picture of who they are, with flaws either scrubbed away or humorously exaggerated to the point of dismissal. Being aware of this does not mean assuming the worst. It means being realistic. When the people who truly know them become vulnerable by sharing the truth, believe them.
Be cautious of stereotypes. Anyone can be a victim or a perpetrator. If abusers could all be easily recognized at a cursory glance, if the signs were only a simple checklist of traits and deeds, if they were all so obviously monstrous that only a fool could have ever admired them - then far fewer of these people would get away with doing what they do.
They might be charming, attractive, thoughtful, intelligent, or funny.
They might only commit "minor" abuses, the kind that by themselves seem not to count but when taken together will wear you down.
They might blame you for what they do, claiming that you gave them no choice, or using your own symptoms and mistakes against you.
They might not realize that their behavior is abusive, or they might attribute it to other issues they may deal with.
They might apologize profusely and promise to be the sweetest person in the world for you, never to genuinely change.
They might degrade themselves, saying it's "just the type of person they are," and expect you - the one they hurt - to relieve them of their guilt.
They might be victims of something or someone else, too. They might truly be suffering.
But none of that makes your suffering acceptable.
If someone belittles, insults, pressures, screams at, willfully crosses boundaries, lies to, guilt-trips, or mentally, physically, or sexually harms you or someone you care about, there is never any obligation to accept that treatment. No matter what real or imagined position over you they might have, no matter what's going on in their life or in their brain, no one has the right to abuse their power like that. They are wrong.
Anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong, too.
And to other survivors of abuse: it wasn't your fault, you deserve better, you are stronger than you know, your worth never depended on them, and you will heal with time.
Goodbye from LNLU. I love you all.
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heerinnie · 8 months ago
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𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬
𝐏.𝐉𝐒
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SYNOPSIS: Long term lovers, long term friends. Nothing and no one could come in between you and Jay other than your fear of intimacy.
WARNINGS: tooth-rotting fluff and smut, bf!jay x inexperienced fem!reader, reader has a fear of intimacy, implied s/a (not graphic), soft!Jay (he’s so sweet in this I cried a little when writing, making out, dry humping, mentions of oral (f!), Jay’s experienced but his body count’s like 2, blasphemy, written with the song Training Wheels by Melanie Martinez in mind
A/N: This is very very self-indulgent, writing is a way i cope with my experience in these situations so I feel like I healed a little part of me by acknowledging it happened and it wasn’t my fault, instead I’m turning it into something comforting. This works for me and for some others however i recognise that it may be triggering for others even if there aren’t any graphic mentions of s/a only the aftermath, please only read this if you’re in the right headspace. Any disrespectful comment will be deleted and blocked from my account 🤍
WC: 1274
^^ NSFW UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI (not proofread)
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It all happened so quickly and yet you were still stuck here, still scarred 2 almost 3 years in the past. Time doesn’t heal wounds, physical ones? Yes but this feeling you could never shake off even if you tried your hardest, you couldn’t heal especially not alone.
You weren’t the an overly religious person, definitely not after your trust was broken. If there was a god well they’re a dick, if god was real why did you get hurt? You didn’t do anything wrong you were so kind…so bright until a shadow blew your flame away and forced you to live in a chamber of your own inner darkness. It was not your fault, you didn’t do anything you were just there...
That flame grew smaller and smaller until it suddenly disappeared and all that was left was a trail of smoke showing that at some point in time you were burning and warming everyone’s hearts whilst yours was barley flickering trying so hard to stay alight.
So many things changed with Jay's re-entry into your life, everything seemed to change directions and you felt like there was a purpose for your existence. Despite the lingering pain and heartache thats been consuming you, his presence felt like a much needed breath of fresh air. It was as if he had come to you as a guardian angel pulling you out of the misery you were dwelling in. He gave you the comfort that you didn't even know you needed until he appeared. The one which eased the damages of your heart.
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“I think I'm ready” You've told him this so many times that you're starting to feel guilty for giving him this false hope. You know you've pulled back on your words before, so you understand why he may be sceptical. However, this time is different. You've taken the time to reflect on your feelings and you're sure that you're finally ready. You want to show Jay that you're committed and prepared to take the next step in your intimacy and you're willing to put in the effort to make it happen.
He obviously had some doubts however, he took the time to affirm that you were genuinely ready and that you wouldn't have any regrets. He's always so patient and understanding which is not surprising considering that he has always been your best friend before he even had the privilege of calling himself your boyfriend. Someone who understands you better than anyone else, your soulmate in all and every way.
Your relationship with him is built on trust, understanding and respect and it was so scary, you've never been treated so well before Jay and it showed but he was patient with the time it took time to get used him.
“I’m 100% sure” you got up and sat on his lap. You were fine and it felt right, this time you were in control of the situation and you weren’t uncomfortable with the feeling of sitting crotch to crotch with your boyfriend.
It felt like there was a force pulling your lips toward his as you leaned in to connect with each other and in an instant, you felt a rush of intense emotions overwhelm you. Your pupils dilated and your heartbeat quickened as it was trying to catch up with the sudden flood of feelings. It was a moment of pure realization- this was what true love felt like, and now you knew it with absolute confidence.
You weren't Jay’s first but at this moment he felt like you were, he had like two quick fucks with past short term girlfriends but this time it felt different. His heart was running laps and it was like all the air in his lungs disappeared as soon as your plush lips met his. He mentally cursed himself for growing hard already but in his defence, he had the most beautiful girl on his lap making out with him and as much as it made him nervous he couldn't help but get aroused when you started slowly grinding on his bulge to set the mood.
Your lungs were beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen as the room was filled with loud and wet noises of lips smacking, what started off as a passionate slow kiss quickly turned into a deeply heated make out session. Tongues dancing in an animalistic rhythm, hands travelling anywhere they could- you finally unlocked another level of intimacy with your boyfriend.
As you reflect on the situation you're in right now you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude. You think back to all the moments you've shared together, from the first time you met to the night you opened up to him about your trauma. The thought that someone like Jay could choose to be with you fills you with so much happiness and you can't help but break into a fit of giggles at the sheer joy of it all. It's a feeling that's difficult to describe, but you know that you're grateful for every moment you get to spend with him.
Your hips moved faster as a result of the friction you felt, you moaned when it sent shocks of pleasure straight to your core and down your spine. When you adjusted to a better angle jays grip on your hips tightened, he let out a soft moan that sounded like music to your ears. You felt his soft palm touch your cheek signalling to look at him and once your eyes met he couldn’t control his body as he started thrusting in his hips into you.
Nearing closer and closer to your climax your head starting spinning when Jay let out moans and groans whereas you couldn’t keep even the smallest noises of pleasure within yourself, you noticed a tiny bead of sweat forming at the top of his sun-kissed skin. It was already a hot day but the way he was thrusting and you were grinding felt like the heating went up covering you in sweat. As you watched his face contort with pleasure you couldn't help but think that you had never seen a man this beautiful, both inside and out. His broad shoulders flexed to keep up with the movement of his hips and placement of his hands on your stuttering body, his chiseled features were accentuated by the dimmed living room light highlighting the sweat that trickled down his face. Despite the heat, he remained focused, determined to give you the best he could at the moment trying to leaving a lasting impression to say that sex isn’t as scary when it’s with the love of your life and you couldn't help but admire him for wanting to give you it all.
With all that work you finally felt your orgasm hit with jay’s quickly following after. You stayed laying on him ignoring the uncomfortable wetness on your panties as your blown out pupils stared off onto the empty space on the couch next to where you two rested,
“That felt amazing” you hummed agreeing with your boyfriend, “but if you’re up for it I can show you how good it can really feel” he purred, you felt his cock hardening again with the way you were spread out on him. In a span of seconds you two ran towards your shared bedroom preparing for a long night of what pleasure with your loved one really feels like starting off strong with jay devouring your pussy for the first time as an apology for the lack of dirty talk and foreplay he didn’t do before.
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A/N: I’m not really happy with the ‘smut’ I rushed it and I think you can tell 😭 I haven’t posted in forever so this is a little filler for my hee fic that’s like 3/4 done (currently like 4K words idk 🤷🏽‍♀️) but I hope you guys enjoyed this little treat <3
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weirdsht · 2 months ago
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Disillusioned 16 . Heterogeneity
a/n: 80 pages, 20k+ words and these mfers still haven't realised their feelings... even I'm getting frustrated lol
double update this week as my sorry for being late huhu
tags: war, injuries, blood, self-doubt, anxiety, depression, atp just name every negative feeling there is, reader is rosalyn's walking headache, feelings in progress
English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors
Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission
Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome
Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)
Buy Me Dessert
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Battles pile up and they win every single one. It should make _____ proud. Should make them happy. They should be celebrating and not feeling insecure.
If others are asked, they’ll say how great of a support _____ has been. Not only did they heal and support the core players of the war, but they were also in charge of differentiating the enemies. Especially during Operation Ghost.
In a way, they were like a vice commander but were more focused on locating and knowing the enemy.
However, _____ did not see it that way. Could not appreciate the efforts they had been pouring in during this war.
They are towing a line towards a dangerous mindset and they could see nothing wrong with it.
It doesn’t help that _____ grew up repressing and hiding their emotions.
Because now that they really want to, no one could tell just how hurt the healer is. Not when Cale is too busy running around everywhere and Rosalyn is not with them. _____ made sure that no one could tell just how injured they were. Just how many layers of bandages they have wrapped around their body from absorbing too many wounds.How some of those wounds have reopened so many times because they kept pushing themself. 
How deep inside they were a mess. 
Not just physically, but also mentally. They tried really hard but there’s still turmoil left from the news of their family being human traffickers. Guilt still eats away their conscience every waking day. 
Frustrations about their ability are still growing bigger and bigger.
_____ hid all of that.
If ever asked why they would argue that it was needed. This time is a time of war. Cale can’t even eat properly, so what gave them the luxury to expatiate on these useless feelings and injuries?
In addition to that, aside from the wounds that reopened here and there, they were feeling fine. The healer had taken this chance to slowly experiment reverse healing. It’s hard, in fact, 99% of the time it’s the reason why their wounds reopen. Harming people is more difficult than healing them.
It’s hard but not impossible.
But it’s still not enough to make _____ feel better. They must get stronger. Must control it better. They have to help everyone fight off the enemy.
But then…
Pop!
Like a bubble, that pressure _____ had been piling on themself burst.
It’s a very natural thing to happen. _____ is only human after all, humans are bound to explode when there’s too much pressure tightly sealed.
For _____ that pressure burst in the form of acting rashly.
No one knew what their last straw was as there were so many variables that could have added to it.
It could have been because of how the church of the Sun God spewed nonsense in front of Mary.
Could have been when Raon and Cale heard them ponder whether they could transfer dead mana to themself using their ability. (This made Cale stick the healer closer to him and Choi Han.)
Maybe it was because of those priests who acted all high and mighty but couldn’t do anything in the end.
Perhaps it was how the empire’s forces had been strutting around, acting all good when in fact they were dirty bastards.
No one can accurately pinpoint which one it is. All they knew was that _____’s bubble suddenly burst and the unfortunate victim was the dragon half-blood.
_____ who was doing their best to support and heal Choi Han while physically supporting Cale saw Raon's light attacking the Dragon half-blood. While it looked powerful, the healer knew it would not be enough, they knew that the Dragon half-blood would be able to escape.
That’s why _____ thought that if that bastard was going to escape, might as well double his suffering.
"I thought that hooded person was just your baggage but what is this..."
If Cale didn't pay attention to that half-blood's comment about the Dragon blood, he certainly paid attention to that last comment. How could he not when the half-blood suddenly had a wound near his heart that was neither from Choi Han nor Raon?
No one had stabbed him or anything. The wound literally just manifested out of nowhere. Cale has no idea where it could have come from. 
Wait, manifest out of nowhere? That's almost like…
At that moment Cale noticed that _____ was not supporting his body anymore. Before he could turn around to check on them, he heard Raon's panicked voice ringing in his head.
“B-blood..! Human, kind _____ is bleeding!”
When Cale turned around he saw nothing at first. This was because _____ made sure to not get blood on their clothes, well at least the outer layer that everyone could see. However, Cale soon saw the blood on the black bone wyvern as well as the bloody dagger on their hand.
"Just what-"
"It's fine Commander, I'm fine. Please reassure the people first, I can manage. But it would have been better if I managed to snag some of that half-dragon’s vitality…”
There’s no way anyone would believe the healer was fine. Not with the copious amount of blood dripping down on the wyvern’s bones.
“Raon please hide my dagger in your dimensional pocket for a while. I don't want anyone to see it."
_____'s voice was extremely weak as they spoke. Cale who became even more frustrated after hearing this seriously thought about ditching everyone on the ground then and there.
"You- haaaa. Choi Han make sure to support _____ when we get down."
While Choi Han was supporting _____, he made sure to pour the highest-grade potions on the healer. It might not be able to heal all their wounds as their condition is too severe, but it will help stabilize them for the time being.
Soon, Choi Han saw an opportunity to bandage _____'s wounds while Cale was talking to Cage. He would've asked for the knight healer and the mage but he knows _____ is only comfortable with their family and the Henituse servants assessing their body. 
Till this point, he didn't know the full extent of their wounds yet. He just thought the injuries they had were from healing.
However, Choi Han did not recall anyone having a stab wound so close to the heart.
At least not anyone from their forces.
"_____ just what-"
"So you see, I discovered this really funny thing I can do. I'll tell you later."
The healer weakly chuckled as if they found the situation funny. Choi Han could now understand Cale's frustration. _____'s bandages and inner layer of clothes are soaked with blood. The black robe they were currently wearing was also starting to get soaked. 
"Choi Han-nim get bandaged up already, I'm fine. I didn't work hard to heal you out there just for you to not get full treatment. I would finish the job but as you can see…"
Choi Han held back a sigh. Instead, he looked at _____ with a gaze that seemed to be asking if they were fine. The now bandaged-up healer just shooed him with their hands. The swordmaster was still reluctant to leave them alone, luckily Mary arrived. 
"Mary please look after _____ for a while."
Mary agreed and only then was Choi Han able to walk away with peace of mind.
At first _____ thought that they would not get proper treatment until they went back to the Super Rock Villa. That was why they opted to sleep on the couch in Cale's room. Luckily, Eruhaben arrived along with Pendrick. Before Cale could even get a word out about _____'s condition the Ancient Dragon was already asking the Healer Elf to heal them.
The heavily injured _____ slept through all of that.
Evening had passed and the sun was out the next time they woke up. The healer didn’t know what to expect when they woke up, but it certainly wasn’t a barrage of embarrassment.
First thing they noticed was how they had been moved from the couch to Cale’s bed. Second thing was how there’s a communication device open on the bedside table.
“Glad to see my dongsaeng is awake. There’s a lot of things we must catch up on, yes?”
_____ didn’t know whether to be embarrassed that they kept Rosalyn waiting, or be scared at the way she’s smiling…
“If you’re looking for everyone they all have several agendas to attend to. Some of them are healing soldiers while some are talking to officials.”
The previously embarrassed _____ composed themself and properly sat up on the bed.
“...I’m sorry.”
Both of them already know what the apology is for.
“I know what I did was rash. I had acted recklessly and illogical and it may have hindered some of our plans.”
The mage on the other side of the communication orb only sighed.
“Haaa, that’s not the problem. My main issue is how you got injured. Everyone cares for you and is upset about how you don’t seem to hold yourself in the same regard. We’re worried about you.”
Rosalyn could feel the headache coming when she saw the confused expression on _____’s face.
“But unnie[1], doesn’t Cale do the same thing? Like him, I’m also fine. I heal faster than average and it’s not like these wounds will leave scars.”
Forget a headache, this is a migraine.
“Dongsaeng, you do know how we feel whenever Cale coughs blood or faints right?”
“Huh? Yeah, everyone gets worried and becomes scary… oh…”
Oh indeed
“Exactly, we worry about Cale. We worry about you too. I heard Eruhaben had been sighing the whole night. That's why you better tell this unnie of yours why you did such a thing.”
“Well…”
_____ trailed off as they drank a glass of water that had been conveniently left for them.
“I don’t know honestly… But these past few days I felt as though I wasn’t doing enough. Cale is on the front lines of the war and I’m at the back and can barely do anything. It was frustrating to see the Empire try to play us around like that. Then I also feel irritated that Cale can’t even eat properly because everyone is putting pressure on him. Mary-nim being targeted by the church when she’s risking her life to help defend the kingdom is also not helping. I also think Cale's bleeding during the Henituse battle also riled me up… Unnie I’m not sure what’s happening to me… I think my emotions are getting the best of me.”
Rosalyn can see a growing pattern here…
“Did you know that you seem to mention the young master-nim every other sentence?”
As the big sister, it’s Rosalyn’s job to guide her sweet, but unaware dongsaeng.
“Huh did I? Hans told me once that we seem to be close. That must be why.”
“Is that so? Tell this unnie more about how you feel, that might help us figure out what’s happening to you.”
Rosalyn’s scary smile is gone and has been replaced with the warm smile _____ is used to.
“There were a few times when there was something warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest. It also feels odd when I’m not with Cale. Uhm like when you guys went to the Paerun Kingdom. I feel frustrated and sad whenever Cale doesn’t take care of himself but I think that’s normal… Unnie, honestly I’ve never felt this way. Is this how it feels to have friends? You know I’ve never had one before you guys.”
Laughter echoed throughout the room at the question. Rosalyn couldn’t help herself but started to feel bad when she saw the confusion on the healer’s face.
“_____, do you feel the same way towards us?”
That made _____ think for a few seconds.
“Well I also worry and love everyone else in our group but I guess not to the extent I feel towards Cale? I also don’t get that warm and fuzzy feeling from anyone else. Oh no unnie, is this how playing favourites start? I don’t want to play favourites.”
“Ahahaha! No, no don’t worry, you aren’t playing favourites. But I can’t say that what you feel for the young master is friendship.”
The confused _____ became even more confused.
“Not friendship? What could it be then?”
“That, my dongsaeng, is something you must answer yourself. But I’ll give you a clue since you’re smart. You and young master Cale read books together right?”
_____ started reminiscing all the novels they’ve read with Cale.
“We read different genres. There’s action, mystery, comedy, fantasy, drama, romance…”
Oh
Oh
_____ isn’t sure if they like where this is going.
“I knew my dongsaeng was smart!”
The mage clasped her hands to show how proud she was. Not that the healer can appreciate it since they’re currently in turmoil.
_____ started thinking about the narratives they have read in romance books. Started comparing them to how they felt about Cale.
And holy shit it fits.
It fits like a goddamn missing puzzle.
The healer doesn’t know what to do with this information.
“_____, my dongsaeng _____. It’s perfectly normal to feel that way. You’re in that perfect age where you should experience romance in your life.”
Rosalyn comforted the currently distraught _____.
“What you do with your feelings is up to you. You can act on it, you can let it pass, you can try to get over it. It’s up to you. Whatever you do, I'll support you.”
“Unnie… Thank you… Not only for this but for everything else as well.”
“Anything for my dongsaeng.”
Rosalyn smiled one last time and with that, their conversation ended.
_____ got up from the bed as soon as the communication device turned off. They then started freshening up themself by doing their usual morning routine.
A few minutes later, _____ is ready to go help Pendrick heal the soldiers. They’re even wearing their usual priest robe because they know that Cale must want to scam- uhm “spread” the word of the Sun God Church.
However not even 10 steps outside the room, Cale is there with Choi Han and Eruhaben forcing the still-injured healer back inside the bedroom.
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[1] chose unnie because it sounds cuter in my opinion lol. again why can't there be a gender-neutral honorific
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xoxoavenger · 11 months ago
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Try Me
pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader
summary: Y/N has powers that can heal any illness or wound through her cooking, which comes in handy when Matt gets hurt.
word count: 2279
warnings: small mention of wounds but not graphic
part 2
12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist
"Matt, oh my God." Y/N said as she walked into the office to see Matt all bruised, a cut above his eye. "What happened?" She asked, walking closer to see it closer. He looked away, but she was already sitting on his desk, moving his glasses away.
"I, uh, I fell down the stairs." He told her, but she just shook her head and clucked her tongue. She reached into her bag to grab the pastry she packed that day. She always packed one everyday just in case, but she didn't think she would have to use it this early.
"Did you eat breakfast?" She asked, trying to keep herself from running a hand through his hair. Because of course she had to fall for him, her coworker.
"No, but I-"
"Come on, Matt." She smiled as she got off the desk, pulling her skirt down. "I can practically hear your stomach growling from here." With that she walked to her own front desk, Karen's old one. Y/N had taken over the blonde's position of secretary, and she was good at it.
"Good morning you beautiful people!" Foggy practically yelled as he walked through the door. The man had way too much energy for eight thirty in the morning. "Y/N, here's your coffee." He grabbed a cup out of the cup holder and placed it on her desk before winking at her.
"And here's your breakfast." She handed him a pastry, because she always gave one to him even though she knew it wouldn't do anything.
The truth was, Y/N had a power. It wasn't one she flaunted, hell, she hardly ever used it, but she practiced it just incase. She could heal people with her food; how, she wasn't sure, and she had only found it out ten years prior, when she made food for her friend. A couple minutes later, the small cat scratch on her friend's cheek was miraculously gone. After that, she continued to test her theory until there was no doubt in her mind that she had powers.
Just like the Avengers.
But she didn't want fame. She didn't want to be in an elite team of super heroes. She wanted the life she had, working with Foggy and Matt and Karen when she was in the office. It was a fine life.
Plus, she was totally in love with Matt Murdock.
"You're telling me I'm not the only one you make breakfast for?" Matt asked, causing Y/N to smile. She looked over to see Matt eating, which made her happy. She was glad he would be healing, and her heart was hurting slightly at the fact that Matt had to live all alone. Obviously he could take care of himself, but she wanted to be able to take care of him, to heal him when he did things like fall down the stairs.
"Fine, from now on, I'll make breakfast for both of you." She smiled as she looked between the two boys.
"That isn't fair! I bring you coffee, which means Matt has to bring you something too. You cannot just give your baking talents out like that!" Foggy complained, making Y/N roll her eyes.
"I'm sure I'll think of something. Until I do, just keep track." Matt smiled at her before going to his work, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on. Y/N stared for a few seconds before going to work filing and sorting.
~
"Matt," Y/N said in surprise when she walked in the next day. It wasn't surprise of his presence, he had often been in the office first now. Foggy told Y/N that he used to never come in, that Nelson and Murdock had once been done for because Matt never showed up, but he was obviously over it now. No, she was gasping because she was so in shock at his state. He didn't look any better from her pastry - in fact, he almost looked like he'd fallen again.
"Y/N," Matt smiled, but she could tell it was strained.
"Matthew, what did you do this time?" She sat on his desk once more, giving him the pastry. She took his glasses off before he could protest, and looked at his wounds.
"What do you mean?" He chuckled, shying slightly away from her. "I fell down the stairs."
"Twice?" She wiped her finger over some of the dried blood off his face.
"No, I fell the night before yesterday." He told her, wincing as she touched a fresh cut.
"No," She fought back, frowning. "That's fresh blood." She wanted to say that she knew it was new because the pastry should have accelerated his healing enough that he shouldn't be bruising this bad.
"Must've reopened a cut." Matt shrugged, but he made no move to move her hand. She rubbed her fingers over his bruises, hoping the pastry she brought today was enough to help him.
"I'm fine, Y/N. Don't worry about me." He waved her off and she stood, not wanting to annoy him.
"Have you figured out a way to repay me for the pastries every morning?" She asked, trying to find a topic he'd be comfortable talking about.
"Not yet. But, I promise I will." He looked in her general direction, eyes unfocused. She stared, not out of confusion or disgust, but out of wonder. Why would he hide his eyes? They expressed so much emotion, and they were beautiful. He must have sensed her staring, because he quickly felt around for glasses before putting them back on.
"Well, keep me updated." She said as she went to her desk.
"Morning!" Foggy was opening the door a couple seconds later, which put Y/N back in a good mood.
"Good morning, you beautiful person!" She said, referring to his greeting the day before.
"The usual, my fair lady." He said in a strange accent, and she tipped her imaginary hat to him.
"Thank you, kind sir. Whatever would I do without you?" She smiled as he went to his own desk.
"So, Matt figure out what to pay you with?" Foggy asked, bringing out his computer out of his bag.
"Not yet." Y/N shook her head, looking through the company emails.
"I know what he could pay you with." Foggy looked up and smirked at Matt, who began to talk at the same time of Y/N.
"What?"
"Shut it, Fog." Matt had temporarily paused his work, but he got back to it when the conversation dropped. Y/N looked between the two, but Foggy only smirked at her before going to do his own thing.
"Did you forget my pastry?" He asked, making her eyes widen. She had forgotten, and she felt slightly guilty. She reached into her bag to get Foggy's pastry, standing and bringing it to his desk.
"So sorry, sir." She joked, bowing and going back to her work. She couldn't help but sneak glances at Matt all day however, watching his bruise start to fade.
She smiled to herself when she left and his cut was almost fully healed.
~
She still made Matt pastries every morning, however he hadn't come in with any injuries that she could see.
Until he didn't come in a week later.
The door wasn't open, and even after she tried knocking she didn't hear any movement. So she tried calling him.
No answer.
"Hey Matt, I'm at the office and apparently you're not here, because you didn't answer the door, so if you could just let me know if this is a holiday or something?" She chuckled at the end, but her heart was beginning to pound. She called Foggy next.
"The time hasn't magically warped forward, has it?" He joked as he answered the phone.
"Where's Matt?" She felt bad but she needed to get down to business.
"He's not there?" Foggy began to get worried now as well.
"No, and he's not answering his phone." She told Foggy quickly. "Ya know what, I'm just going to check on him." She said, walking back out of the hallway and going down the stairs.
"Don't worry about it! I'm almost there anyway." He rushed out, but Y/N shook her head.
"I'm coming too." She wanted to help if she could, wanted to be there incase he happened to be injured. Foggy was quiet for a moment.
"Fine. I'll meet you there. He may be sick."
"He's not sick." She said. He had been eating her pastries every day, and she knew that was all someone needed of her cooking and baking to keep away from the common cold or viruses.
"He could be." Foggy pointed out, but Y/N shook her head as she walked down the street. Matt didn't live super far away, so it didn't take long for her to make it. Luckily, Foggy was also pretty close.
"I'll be there soon. Wait outside - the doorman is a stickler. He won't let you in alone." He told her, so Y/N confirmed and hung up. Foggy was there a minute later, and the two walked into the building together, hearts racing.
"He does this all the time." Foggy assured her, but she could tell he was freaking out, even if it was slightly less than her. "He probably just overslept." His voice seemed to give away more than his actual words.
"Right." She nodded as they began to climb the stairs. They got to Matt's floor and walked quickly to his apartment, Y/N banging on the door as soon as she could.
"Matt?" Foggy called out from her side, both of them going quiet to try and listen to what was going on.
"Matt, are you okay?" Y/N yelled, heart getting lodged in her throat as she couldn't hear anything.
"That's it," Foggy reached into his pocket to grab his keys, picking through them to find a key that Y/N assumed was Matt's. She stood back to let him open the door, and the two walked in, their worries for their friend outweighing the fact that they had just actually broken into Matt's apartment.
"Matt? Matt are you alright?" Y/N yelled, following Foggy in. She heard a groan from the living room and rushed with Foggy through the small hallway to see Matt on the couch, only in his underwear. She was about to look away when she noticed that he was covered in cuts and bruises, the blood wet around the cuts but drying down his body. There were at least four thick, deep cuts and dark, almost black bruises.
"Shit," Foggy muttered. He thought that Matt would be bruised from his after work activities, but he was hoping it wasn't this bad. He didn't want Y/N to come with him, but he couldn't exactly tell her no.
"Oh my God," Y/N made her way to his side, assessing the damage.
"I was hoping you'd find me." He muttered as he opened his eyes slightly. "I need your help." He grabbed her hand, shifting with a groan.
"With what? I can't stitch you up! I don't know the first thing about medical aid." She muttered, instinctively reaching up to push his hair out of his face.
"Maybe not," Matt chuckled but then ended up coughing, causing Y/N and Foggy to wince. "But you do know a thing or two about healing." Y/N froze, her heart stuttering. How did he know?
"What?" She whispered, but Matt squeezed her hand. "How did this happen? This is worse than falling down the stairs." She tried to change the subject, but Matt moved in pain again.
"I notice things." He said, as if that would explain everything. Before Y/N could answer, he was speaking again. "Could you make something while Foggy helps me clean up?" All she could do was nod and look in her bag, taking the two pastries she always brought for the boys out.
"If you can get these down, it'll help, but I'll make some soup." She smiled at him and got up, squeezing his hand before letting it go.
"What is going on?" Foggy whispered to Matt, making him chuckle slightly.
"Let's just say Y/N's soup is special." Matt closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain while Y/N works. Foggy looks between them quickly.
"What the fuck does that mean?" He cries, making Y/N chuckle.
"It's alright, Foggy." Matt has a tired smile, one that worries his friend.
"You need medical attention." Foggy tries to convince Matt, who just shakes his head.
"Try to eat the pastries!" Y/N calls from the kitchen.
"What the fuck are pastries gonna do?" Foggy screams, wanting to rip out his own hair.
"Foggy, how many times have you gotten sick in the past six months?" Matt asks softly.
"That has absolutely nothing to do with you dying on the couch." Foggy gets up to grab a cloth to wipe at the blood on his face.
"I am not dying." Matt mutters with the roll of his eyes. Foggy returns and gets him to shut up by wiping at his mouth.
"The soup just has to heat up." Y/N comes out of the kitchen and kneels next to Matt. "Foggy, can you run to the store to grab some bandages?" She asks, taking the cloth.
"When I get back, you guys are telling me what I'm missing." He says very seriously before he walks out the door.
"How did you figure it out?" Y/N whispers, wiping his blood away with one hand and his hair out of his face with the other. "How did this happen?" She changes her question while shaking her head.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He muttered, causing Y/N to scoff.
"The food I make can heal people. Try me." She smiles.
"Well, you know Daredevil?" 
//
tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @punzoquack @mcueveryday @icequeen1371
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cenorii · 5 months ago
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Leaks from 2021 and the truth
So, today we're going to talk about the leaks that happened in 2021 (D.C. Douglas showed Wesker's concept for an unknown game, and also shared details of the script\audition). Here I have tried to collect all the available information at the moment. I will tell you what is true and what is disinformation and fake. Spoiler: no fakes.
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We will go in order from the most famous to the incredibly mysterious and rare.
Let's start with a simple one – Wesker's concept. I have already written here that I suspect that this concept was planned for another game, but was eventually added to re4r due to an information leak. When this concept was leaked in 2021, many thought it was fake, but in 2023 everyone found out that exactly the same Wesker design is used in re4r, which makes this concept true and official, but for some reason it has not yet been officially disclosed.
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Now let's talk about the dialogue that Douglas also shared in 2021. If it is inconvenient for you to read this, then below I will tell you about what is written here, analyzing this text along the way.
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(taken from the @\BewareCreepyVAs from Twitter )
There are trio involved in this dialogue: Yuri (some young guy? maybe a Russian name?), Michael Baxter and Scorpio (some kind of mature woman?). The note says that Michael = Wesker. I suspect it's his nickname, or Wesker changed his name after what happened in re5.
It says here that Wesker was severely injured and his wounds were healed by Yuri, who works for Scorpio. The action takes place in some kind of empty dance hall, which is shrouded in a thick fog (a smoke machine that is used in nightclubs?), and music is playing from an empty stage. Wesker (Michael) and Yuri enter this room to meet with Yuri's boss, a woman nicknamed Scorpio. However, instead of a warm greeting, two goons come out to them, who point their weapons at Wesker. Wesker reacts by instantly moving to one of the goons (Wesker not lose his abilities after re5?) and grabs him by the neck, lifting him into the air. The second goon presses the rifle to Wesker's neck, which tenses him to frown and is already preparing to react, but…
He is interrupted by Scorpio, who, with the words "enough!" stops both Wesker and her guards. She says that Michael (Wesker) is her guest, who should be respected, otherwise she will use her blade. Wesker lets go of the goon, and the other lowers his weapon. Scorpio examines Wesker, analyzing his condition. She calls him a "legend" and says he looks well.
Wesker tells her that he looks so good thanks to the help of Yuri, who patched up Wesker. In response, Yuri perks up and declares that Wesker was such a mess, that he needed five shots of adrenaline. Scorpio raises his finger and asks Yuri to be quiet, stating: "Let the grownuts talk." Scorpio then confesses to Wesker that she wasn't sure if he would be delivered to her safely. Wesker jokingly asks if she was worried about his safety or Yuri's safety? To which Scorpio states that she was worried about Wesker and doubted Yuri's safety.
Yuri declares that he has done a lot, to which Wesker now raises his finger and jokingly says, without taking his eyes off Scorpio, "grownuts are talking." Yuri is sulking, and the two goons are holding back their laughter. Wesker suggests that Scorpio continue their dialogue alone in her office, to which the woman agrees and takes the man backstage. Wesker notices that there is a lot of pink in the interior, mentioning the name of a certain Ralph.
Meanwhile, Yuri was left alone with the goons, he decided to scold them for attacking Wesker at the very beginning. Yuri declares that they are lucky that they didn't get their windpipes broken or "worse," also stating, "you should have seen some of the shit he pulled back there," alluding to Wesker's abilities in the past. End.
Nothing is known about Scorpio, as well as about Yuri, but Douglas told something:
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(taken from the @\BewareCreepyVAs from Twitter )
Douglas says that Yuri is a humorous character who resembles a gay and/or androgynous person. Yuri nursed Wesker to health, as I said earlier.
In 2023, in the demo version, as well as in the re4r release version, you can find a model of an unknown character who does not appear in the game. It is signed as "Yuri", which refers us to the dialogues from 2021. I was able to find this model using Noesis, REtool and Blender.
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Let's take a closer look at him. According to Douglas, Yuri is an androgynous young man who is supposedly gay. In his appearance, we can observe an earring in his ear and many rings on his fingers, as well as feminine facial features, as well as the name Yuri. Once again, the information told by Douglas turned out to be reliable.
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So, at the moment, re4r simultaneously contains several things that were leaked in 2021: Wesker's concept, Yuri's appearance, as well as Wesker's wounded arm, which was not used in the game, but the files with it are present.
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Kempy161 posted his mod on the nexus, where he restored the appearance of this hand.
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I also want to add that the jacket that Yuri is wearing has been reused for Leon (casual). It has been slightly modified, but the basic design remains the same.
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Result: everything that was leaked in 2021 eventually turned out to be true. So you need to take into account the fact that Douglas warned that the game is constantly being rewritten and the dialogues that he showed could have already changed significantly. It is not known which game this material was going to, it could be rev3, or maybe re9. If you believe my theory (read here), this is some kind of game that is currently in development, and it is so important that any information about it is securely hidden and confused.
It was interesting to look for information for this analysis. I have never seen Yuri's model examined in such detail or combined with that scenario. Thank you for paying attention to my theories. I'm looking forward to any of the future RE projects to see what else turns out to be true.
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1u11ablues · 6 months ago
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No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]
WC: Almost 3k
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.
Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!
Part 1
Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.
Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.
Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them. 
In a box, inside the closet.
For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.
But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.
Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms. 
The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-
You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?
How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?
It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.
“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”
And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.
“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”
“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”
And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.
***
It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.
So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.
He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?
Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.
But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.
As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.
This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-
He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go. 
He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone. 
He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.
That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.
One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-
Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.
Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat. 
He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.
***
When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.
Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.
Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.
Three classic knocks. No answer.
Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?
After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key. 
It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.
Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.
I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.
The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.
Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.
In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’
It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?
“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.
The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.
In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.
Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.
“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.
“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.
Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.
And the first words that had come out of your lips?
“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”
***
Again, the vision of him came to torment you. 
What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?
Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.
“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”
It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.
This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.
“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.
Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-
The touch on your face is warm. Textured.
You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?
How cruel, how evil?
With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”
The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight. 
When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.
Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.
“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”
Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.
You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-
His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.
Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.
“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”
***
He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.
It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission. 
Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.
“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”
The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.
“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”
He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.
Has he gone and ruined it?
“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-
Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen. 
Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.
Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.
His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.
“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.
“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.
“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“
“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”
You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.
Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.
His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-
He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down. 
Most importantly, he’s home.
“My dear, what have they done to you?”
He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.
“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.” 
He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last. 
But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.
The torture was visions of you being in his place.
“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”
“What question?” 
You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more. 
Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.
Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now. 
“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”
You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.
“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“
“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him. 
Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.
When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence. 
But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.
You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath. 
“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.
Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.
Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.
“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”
Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.
After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.
“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”
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highlordofkrypton · 8 days ago
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SUMMARY: Before he was a terrifying eldritch god, Nyx was a child. He died and was brought back, and was ultimately lost in the sorrows of the circumstances of his birth. Lucien Vanserra is the father he always needed, and Nesta is the mother he'd never known. Together, they navigate the difficulties of having a strange child, and heal their own wounds.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A short prequel to cosmogeny, I was inspired by @lucienweekofficial's prompt for Day 5: Home to flesh out the relationship between Nyx, Lucien and Nesta as a found family.
Thank you so much, @thrumbolt for being my wonderful beta for this fic! And for @yaralulu, @matrixsss and @watcherintheweyr for your continued support in holding my hand whenever I doubt myself!
READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3.
Homes are hard to find.
Twice displaced, Lucien has abandoned all thought of belonging. Spring has come and gone, into winter’s long Night, but even there, he had been a passing guest. The clothes and the titles passed onto him were ill-fitting. The bond slipped into his mind, a curse. Pain follows him where he goes, parts of him sacrificed in the name of others.
For a friend, he gives up an eye.
For a would-be lover, he carves out his heart.
But for a boy who cannot see the world, and who longs for love, Lucien is willing to try again.
“How’s your arm?” He squeezes the little hand in his. “Not irritated from the journey?”
A bandage wraps around the child’s chest, securing the still healing wound of his lost arm. It’s visible under the ornate tailored jacket, black with deep blue threading to match his eyes. Lucien struggles to move past how much he looks like his father—how his unsmiling expression, though boyish, reminds him of Rhysand’s cunning. He knows that Nyx isn’t plotting anything, but he wishes—
Oh, he wishes he knew how to make him smile at least once.
Nyx shakes his head, quiet as ever. He speaks with all but his voice, and Lucien is one of the only few who understand him. It must have been lonely, navigating a world so full of others, but forced to remain on the outskirts by virtue of being different. Always a little too something. For Nyx, he is too little and too strange. Too difficult, if his father is to be believed. For Lucien, he had been too clingy and too soft, so his father had tried to beat it out of him.
Tried.
The young Illyrian flaps his wings for Lucien’s attention, and pulls on their joined hands gently. He motions to his clothes, asking to change before they leave the forest. Lucien had taken care to winnow them as close as possible, save for crossing the wall. Their clothes are pristine, but he kneels by him and dusts his shoulders off anyway.
“I think you look quite fine. Dashing, even. If anyone should freshen up, it’s me,” he says with a smile.
Exhaustion weighs on him; dark circles line his eyes, and he feels like he has aged five more centuries. His own wounds are invisible, hidden beneath layers of flesh and bone. The Day Court’s spellcleavers had told him to rest, but when has Lucien ever listened to reasonable advice? He’s more than happy to give it, but he’s spent too much time with irrationality that it’s passed onto him. He can rest once he’s made a home for this boy. One last time. He has to try one last time.
“Come, I’ll carry you so your boots don’t get muddy.”
Lucien scoops Nyx into his arms. Ever since the boy was born, he’d made a point to listen to him—his likes and his dislikes, they’re important. The others had made sure to keep Lucien at bay—they’d made sure to remind him that he was not one of them, no matter how much he tried to earn his place, if only to be around his former mate. Nyx had been his only company, a child that did not speak or look anyone in the eyes, but he listened in his own little way.
He makes sure to hold Nyx on his left hip, so that he can wrap his remaining arm around Lucien’s neck. For his age, he appears much younger. Affliction upon affliction, the goddess has not been kind to him. 
You’re safe, he wants to promise, but no tension between himself and Nyx’s parents would allow him to speak ill of them. They’re… trying in their own way. Learning. Charm upon charm had been weaved into Rhysand’s ear to convince him to give Lucien time. He’ll work with Nyx and help him open up. One day, the boy will return and finish his training, but before then, he needs to want to live. Feyre had nothing to say, her stare as distant as her son’s. Lucien promised to write frequent letters.
They walk through the forests of the human lands towards the nearest village. Their destination is an easy one to find. Nyx spots it long before Lucien asks, staring curiously at the largest manor in the area. He pulls Nyx’s hood up, hiding the traitorous point of his ears, and keeps his own auburn hair untucked. A glamour shields his too-small wings from curious human eyes.
“Nervous?”
Nyx nods once, serious as ever. 
The gates are open when they arrive, and the walk up to the main door is eternal. Lucien doesn’t know how she’ll react. It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other, and their story is not a good one. 
(He wonders if there’s any happiness left in this world. If he can’t find it, he’ll have to make it.)
“Do you want to knock?”
Nyx nods again, and Lucien sets him on the ground carefully. Nyx winds up his arm, knocking as hard as his little body can manage. He looks rattled by the attempt, as if the vibrations had bounced back right into him. He offers a small hiss, the feeling irritating the raw nerve of his injury. Lucien steadies him with a single hand.
Lucien breathes in, and then out, listening for the measured click of heels against marbled floors. The door swings open, and he stops breathing. 
In ten years, Nesta has become more… refined. While the rest of them withered, she looks healthier. She looks good. Not that he expected anything less of her, but the way they parted was painful. Her face has narrowed, turning what was once beauty into something more striking—something more regal. The way she carries herself only adds to her magnetic presence. Even after all this time, she still wears the same reserved hairstyle. The familiarity makes him smile.
“Nesta,” he nods, and then bows. “Or perhaps, I should call you Lady Archeron.”
Nyx copies the gesture, bending at the waist. “Hello, Auntie.” His voice is barely a whisper, a polite (and shy) croak. They’d talked about how to address her during their long journey together. ‘ Nesta’ felt too familiar, but ‘ Lady Archeron ’ was too cold. Too distant. In the end, ‘ Auntie ’ felt just right. That’s what she is to him, after all.
Nesta regards Lucien like a hawk, assessing him after all this time. Her gaze is so sharp, the emissary suddenly feels self-conscious. He’s still wearing Night clothing, and they feel so, so wrong. “Nesta is fine,” is all she says, before flicking her attention to the little gentlefae before her.
She kneels.
“Hello, Nyx. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” Nesta offers her hand to shake, but Nyx takes it and kisses the back of it, like he was taught to. “My,” Nesta laughs softly. “You’ve become a very charming youngling. Do you want to come inside?”
Nyx looks up at Lucien for permission, and Lucien nods. Of course, that’s what they’re here for. Nyx is reluctant to go anywhere new without Lucien, understandably so. The last time Nyx was left somewhere, it was a terrifying and violent place. He shouldn’t have been alone, but Cassian—
Ah, better not to think of these things here.
“Do you want to explore your new home? I’ll race you!” Nesta grins; Lucien has never seen her smile like that before. She takes Nyx’s hand, and Nyx joins her in her excitement. He’d never known she was good with children, or perhaps she’s making an effort for her nephew. Either way, she naturally entertains and encourages the boy. She matches his smaller strides, and gives him time to look around.
Lucien hangs back, letting them have their moment. The quicker Nyx acclimates to his aunt, the sooner he can leave them be. What happened all those years ago wasn’t her fault; she’d saved him, however she can, and Lucien finds that he cannot resent her for it. He loves Nyx for all that boy is, oddities and all.
He tries to leave to wait in the parlor, but Nyx always looks for him.
Nyx’s room is half the size of his room in Velaris, but it’s full of colour. The toys here are different, and the books have many pictures. Nyx is fascinated by the concept of fairy tales; his aunt Elain had mentioned them during her visits, but the selection is much bigger here. He goes straight for the books, sitting on his new bed to flip through the pages and run his fingers over the drawings.
“Thank you for bringing him,” Nesta joins Lucien at the threshold, leaning against the wall. They both look at him. “You should stay.”
“He just needs to know he’s safe. I’ll help you understand him, then I’ll be on my way.”
Nesta folds her arms, giving him a look. “You think I need help understanding him? You make it sound like he’s that different from other children.” From what she sees now, he’s not. He’s just like the other children she sees in the square, just… shy.
“Then, I’ll stay until he starts looking for you instead of me.” Though his smile is polite, a part of Lucien hopes that he’d be asked to stay. For as long as possible.
“I did this,” Nesta says suddenly. “If I hadn’t—”
“Don’t do that. It’s no one’s fault.”
“But his—”
“But he’s in a better place now.”
It’s not lost on him that Nyx has had to listen to his parent’s guilt, and carry the weight of the failures of every adult around him, including Lucien’s. He makes a point to avoid bringing up Nyx’s pain in front of him; he knows what it’s like to see pity in all those who look at him. If not for the eye, then for his homelessness. Nyx is home now. They just need to help him feel like it.
“If it really bothers you, you can make it up to him.”
“How? Is there anything he likes?”
“Well, that’s the best part. You get to discover all of that with him.”
The first nights are difficult. Nyx’s nightmares turn to terror more often than not. He doesn’t always scream, but Lucien can feel the way the shadows in the manor tremble. More often than not, Nesta is there first, having selected a room closest to hers. In her time here, she hadn’t taken a partner, nor did she have children. Lucien notices that the staff is kept sparse too, only when needed, such as mealtimes or peak hours, but no one lives here in permanence. He doesn’t know if it’s due to Nyx’s arrival, or her choice to remain private—a faerie living with humans.
Tonight, Nyx sleeps softly between them. They’d moved his bed against a wall, which Nesta currently leans against. She has a storybook in one hand, and her fingers in Nyx’s dark hair. Lucien had promised to stay on the other edge of the bed, making sure that no ghosts snatch him away.
“He’s so small for his age.”
“He makes up for it in cleverness. You should see him with puzzles.” Lucien smiles.
He catches the way she stares at Nyx’s missing arm; the way she steels herself whenever she helps him change his bandages. The wound has closed, but the area is still sensitive. Nesta cares for him dutifully.
She would have —
She is a good mother.
Guilt makes itself known in his heart; Nyx has a mother and he has no right to think otherwise.
“Have you ever seen them? The monsters he talks about?”
Lucien shakes his head. “But they’re real to him.” 
The topic is heavy, and neither knows what to say. How do they even begin to rationalize or accept a child severing his own arm to feed the demons of his mind. Nyx had fought despite his blood loss not to have it reattached, kicking and screaming about the rot. Faeries had started to whisper about the High Lord’s death-touched son, and Lucien resents these full grown nobles entertaining themselves at a child’s expense. Rhysand blamed Nesta, but Nesta hadn’t killed Nyx. She brought him back.
“You gave him a chance. He’s really wonderful, once you get to know him.”
“I already know he’s wonderful,” Nesta corrects. She has never needed anyone to tell her anything, and Lucien is happy to see that hasn’t changed. “You gave him a chance by bringing him here. You gave both of us a chance.”
Lucien nods, but he doesn’t tell her that the reasons he’s here are entirely selfish. Nyx means the world to him, yes, but he’s so tired. In this place, he sees a chance to rest his head, if only for a moment.
The package finds them across the wall, mysteriously left at their doorstep. It’s wrapped up in beautiful bronze fabric with ribbons, and a note. A gift for the Prince of the Night. Thesan needn’t sign his name; the High Lord had gone out of his way to assist Lucien in his request, putting his most brilliant tinkerers on the job. He’d offered to send one down to help Lucien attach it, but Nyx loathes strangers touching him, so a set of instructions would have to do.
He knocks on Nesta’s door, and softly tells her that Nyx’s gift has arrived. Lucien waits outside Nyx’s door for Nesta who quickly puts on a dressing gown.
“Is that it?”
Lucien grins, and nods. He puts a finger to his lips and creeps into Nyx’s room. The two of them gently wake him. Nyx sits up, rubbing his eyes, one at a time. His raven hair sticks up wildly, and Nesta instinctively helps fix it.
“It’s here,” Lucien places the box on the bed.
When he’d lost his eye, Lucien had hidden behind the shield of an eyepatch. It was a terrible disguise, drawing more attention to it than he was ready for. The prosthetic eye had meant the world to him, it made him feel whole once more. Some people stare, but he takes pride in how dashing it makes him seem. He likes to think Nyx will feel the same comfort. 
Nyx kicks off his covers, his face still as serious as ever as he reads the note and unties the bow. The wrapping is pushed aside, and beneath lies a metal case. Opening it reveals the greatest gift of all: Nyx’s smile. (It’s beautiful, it’s so beautiful.) A myriad of emotions crosses his young face, all of which Lucien has never seen so vividly. It clenches his heart, and makes him melt.
Nyx bounces over the case, wings flapping as he leaps into Lucien’s arms for a tight hug. 
“Thank you! Thank you,” he says, the second one more muted.
“You need help putting it on?”
“No,” Nyx says with the utmost confidence and hops back over to dig inside the box for instructions. 
Nesta squeezes Lucien’s shoulder appreciatively before leaning over to read the instructions with Nyx. It requires a bit of magic, but before long, both Nesta and Lucien are tilting their heads and watching a mad genius at work. Lucien had severely underestimated Nyx’s brilliance.
The last thing either of them expected was for the ten year old to lock himself in his room for days on end, taking the arm apart. Nesta herded him to and from the dinner table, but once he finished the bland human food (which he has not complained once about), he’d dash right back upstairs.
“Are you sure he’ll be fine alone?” Lucien asks, looking towards the staircase.
“You’re welcome to stay. Are you sure it’s healthy for him to be taking apart Thesan’s gift?” Nesta cocks a brow. She’s wearing a cloak with a fur-lined hood. On her arm, a simple weaved basket. Most of their food is delivered to them, and taken care of by discreet staff. When she goes to the market, it’s for her. 
The house is nice, but Lucien would very much like to stretch his legs and keep her company. If Nesta says the manor is safe, then it’s safe.
“Nyx, we’re going out! Do you want anything?”
“Auntie Nes has my list.” Nyx’s voice is as serious as ever. If not for Lucien’s faerie hearing, he wouldn’t have heard a thing.
“The important thing is that he’s happy, right?”
“Right,” Nesta smiles.
Even after the war, the humans have not learned to accept the existence of faeries. The wall exists, no longer a myth, but a welcome barrier between two worlds. Faeries are treated as monsters—as great omens of danger—this far South. He doesn’t trust the humans and their fears and based on the way Nesta pulls up her cloak, neither does she.
Lucien watches as she speaks to the merchants. Her smile is kind, but her words are sharp. She bargains like a queen, focused on her goal and undeterred by any pleas made by her fellow villagers. She is a wonder, finding everything Nyx needs in a single spot for less than a copper.
“If it’s money you need, I’m more than happy to transfer you some, my Lady,” Lucien teases.
“I have money, that does not mean I intend to squander it.” To make up for her hard bargains, every winter, she makes sure to send a gift basket to the families that have extended her their kinship. Without her sisters, her father, her nephew or her mate, Nesta only has this forgettable town and its little people. She will outlive them; Lucien sympathizes with her on that very thought.
“Let me,” Lucien offers, taking the basket from her. 
Nesta regards him for a moment, more than capable of carrying her own things (and Nyx’s), but she relents, handing it over to him and carrying on his way. She pauses at a small table with handcrafted jewels, a little girl sits behind it and smiles eagerly. She tells Nesta all about how she and her mother made them. Her crafts are the beaded bracelets, and her mother made the pretty necklaces. 
“Let me,” Lucien repeats, grinning, and buys three bracelets along with a simple silver necklace.
“You don’t have to soften me up, Lucien. I was never going to ask you to leave. You can stay as long as you like. No need to play nice.”
“Who says I’m playing?” He pauses, waiting until they move out of earshot of the humans. “The way you left—”
“I was banished, Lucien. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“It never sat right with me,” he continues anyway. “I think if you had stayed, it would have helped.”
“How so? You recall what they said about me. Death-touched.”
“That’s what they said about him, too.” Lucien says softly. 
They pause at the fountain, and Lucien holds up the necklace. Nesta bows her head, and he carefully places it on her without jostling her hood too much.
“Has he spoken about them with you? The ghosts?”
Nesta’s silver-blue eyes regard the emissary carefully, as if unwilling to divulge this secret. “He doesn’t see them when he’s with me.”
Lucien is very rarely incorrect in his assessments. He gives her a look because saying that he’s right would be… rude and he was not raised to be anything but a polite and noble faerie. He asks for her hand and wraps a bracelet around her slender wrist. His touch, featherlight on her skin.
“Why did you buy three?”
“I thought we could match. The blue one is for Nyx.”
“He’ll complain it’s not black.”
The two of them laugh softly. Nyx rarely wants to talk about his parents, especially his father, but he is so much like Rhysand. If not in demeanour, then in appearance, only wanting to wear the colours of the Night. They continue walking, stopping at whatever little stands interest them. 
Upon their return, Nyx has not moved from his relentless focus on his new arm. Pieces are scattered around the room, and they know not to disturb his perfectly chaotic organisation.
“I have your things,” Nesta informs.
“But first, a bath. You stink,” Lucien tells his nephew.
“No, no, I’ve almost got it perfect.”
Nyx has been saying that for days now. Lucien had even offered to have Thesan send someone, but Nyx had rolled his eyes, informing Lucien that he knows how to put the arm on, he’s just making it better. Lucien has no idea what that means, but it does not excuse him from bathing.
The Autumn faerie swoops in, picking up Nyx and hauling him over his shoulder. Nyx yells, but erupts in muted giggles. Nesta steps aside, smiling at them both. Lucien glances at her and grins. Happiness is a wonderful contagion.
After Nyx’s bath, Lucien rewards him with a bracelet which the little Illyrian ties to his new arm that he will eventually start wearing.
Lucien and Nesta are given strict instructions. Sit in the parlor. Wait. The two of them keep exchanging glances, curious as to what their child has in store for them. Nyx has been hiding in his room for months, but his demeanor has been focused and happy. He accepts the thought of homeschooling from both Nesta and Lucien, but he must have his tinkering time. It is of the utmost importance.
Their knees touch, and Lucien mumbles a soft apology, which only makes Nesta knock her knee more fiercely against him in a bold tease. There’s no need for such politeness after all this time. They’ve seen each other in less, bursting into their child’s room, looking for monsters to defeat.
“Uncle, Aunt,” Nyx says formally, walking into the room.
He’s eleven now, and slowly, but surely filling out more. He’s still smaller than most faeries his age, which was why the Illyrian warriors were content in using him as a training dummy. The little ones must earn their place, High Lord’s son or not.
Nyx’s hands are tucked behind his back, but Lucien can see the peak of a black shoulder. He’s finally put the damned thing on.
“Behold!” Nyx throws his arm into the air, striking a pose with his legs spread and chin tipped up. “I have completed my modifications.”
Nesta and Lucien clap. Lucien goes as far as sticking his fingers in his mouth and whistling his excitement. This moment has been long awaited. The gift was meant to be used a year ago, but if it makes his boy happy, then so be it.
“Please, uncle. Calm yourself.”
“My apologies,” Lucien says, unable to hide his smile. Nesta elbows him.
Nyx looks at each of them, and snaps with his metal hand. Over each finger, a kernel of magic reveals themselves—a tiny star for night, a flame for autumn, a bloom for spring, a swirl of water for summer, and a snowflake for winter. There are more Courts than fingers on his hand, but Lucien understands the point. He sits on the edge of his seat, looking at Nyx in awe.
“You did this?”
Nyx nods.
For months, they’ve been trying to hone his magical ability to help make up for what he lacks in physicality. No tricks, tips or attempts have worked. Lucien is no spellweaver, but Nyx’s magic felt like… like a tangle. Everything that’s been packed into that small body was ill-fitting, and yet, Lucien can see the change. Not only in ability, but in the way Nyx interacts with the world.
He encourages Nyx as the child puts on a show for him and Nesta, showing him what the power of a real High Lord looks like. Playful, wondrous and truly magical. He watches as Nyx makes the plants inside the house dance with him, and Lucien has to excuse himself. 
Compose yourself, Lucien, he reprimands, gripping the washroom sink. He can hear Nyx’s voice all over again. Calm yourself, uncle.
Lucien thought he wouldn’t live to see the day; he thought he would have left long before it happened. Nyx used to cling to him, whispering thoughts of death and quivering from ghosts he couldn’t see. Just an infant who’d grasped his handful of words, he’d managed to craft the most haunting confessions. If he wasn’t already dead, then he was going to die. To say that it was not difficult would be a lie. He knows, he knows how terrifying it must have been for Rhysand and Feyre. He feels it too, perhaps to a lesser extent. 
He splashes water on his face, trying to hide the relief spilling from his eyes.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and ends up folded over the running water, laughing alone.
They’re all safe, alive and happy.
Lucien returns to them once he has calmed himself, smiling at Nyx who has taken to sparring with Nesta in the living room with makeshift swords. Nyx, the serious, unsmiling and seemingly un feeling boy is having fun. He flops on a nearby couch, commentating on the display of skill before him.
The excitement tires Nyx out sooner rather than later who sprawls across their laps. Lucien’s arm is extended behind her, across the back of the couch. Nesta toys with Nyx’s hair.
“It feels like a dream,” Nesta says, looking down at the sleeping child. He doesn’t look comfortable at all.
“Unbelievable.”
She hums, shifting her attention to look at him. “Thank you for trusting me, and bringing him here.”
“You deserve to be in his life more than I do. You saved it.”
“Some would say I cursed it.”
“And they would have the misfortune of being wrong. Look at him.”
Nesta leans back, she leans against his arm. Lucien cups her cheek, caressing her gently. 
Their life is imperfect; they are the oddities and the spare parts of their families. She will never be queen, and he will never be a High Lord. The nights are still difficult for Nyx, and he won’t entertain the thought of school, if only to learn how to speak to others.
“Lucien,” she whispers and he swears, he swears he hears her unspoken request.
“Lady Nesta,” he answers, a damn clever fox.
“Shall we put Nyx to bed?”
“Of course,” Lucien smiles politely, too used to rejection. 
He picks Nyx up and takes him to his room, Nesta in tow. They tuck him in with a kiss from each of them. They close his door with great care.
When he turns, Nesta is standing too close, looking up at him. She smells like vanilla from her earlier attempts to bake. Unsuccessful, but another good memory slotted into the annals of his mind.
“Good night,” he says softly, part of their routine.
“Emissary Vanserra,” Nesta says calmly, touching the lapel of his blouse. “If you do not kiss me after a day like today, I will ask you to leave.”
“Of course,” he grins, and presses his lips against hers. 
Home is a manor in the human lands, filled by three faeries that do not belong—neither here, nor there.
Home is a tiny madfae who tears apart every piece of machinery that ticks to understand it, then makes it better.
Home is an unlikely partner with harsh edges and a soft, soft lips.
Lucien is finally home.
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emeritusemeritus · 1 year ago
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Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]
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Part 5
Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
Title: Vulnera Sanentur
Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}
Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.
Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.
Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.
Clearly I’m in my angst era 🖤
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Three days had passed since George had lost his ear in the mission to get Harry back to the Burrow safely and each day George's wound seemed to improve dramatically; it was almost completely healed now, no longer leaking or swollen and only a little sore. His overall mood however, seemed to be deteriorating with each passing day as the reality sunk in, the insecurities and sensitivities bubbling up inside of him, despite your honest and repeated confirmation that he was still your George and still gorgeous. With each day he'd withdrawn a little more, showing less affection and had even taken to sleeping on his own in the single bed. Around the others, he laughed and joked just like normal but in private he was cold and distant with you. Fred had noticed and had pulled him up on it once or twice, delicately questioning what was going off with him, what you'd done wrong, but each time George would deflect the question and find a way to avoid answering entirely. You'd hardly interacted at all the previous day, finding it too hard to be rejected and denied by the man you loved and he had even gone as far as to get Molly to change his bandage so that he wouldn't have to be alone with you. You understood, to a point. You knew he'd be feeling insecure about it and he had a lot to process in terms of adjusting to his new normal, mourning his lost ear and no doubt processing the trauma from the attack, but you still couldn't help but feel devastated that he was outwardly rejecting you, pushing you away, especially after you'd tried everything to help him.
You'd thrown yourself into research, hiding away in Charlie's old, vacant bedroom which you were using as a makeshift work space for potion brewing and research. You'd brewed a myriad of helpful, healing potions, ensuring the order would always have a full supply of whatever they should need, as far as your abilities stretched at least. Text books and old potion books were littered around you as you frantically searched for any hope that you could regenerate or replace George's ear but so far there was nothing. Cursed limbs could not be replaced. You'd been taught that over and over by both Lupin and Snape in your school years but you couldn't stop yourself from trying anyway.
You were scribbling down notes from an old copy of Moste Potente Potions, having found an interesting article about Linfred of Stitchcombe and his medicinal advancements when a knock at the door shocked you. Before you'd even had the chance to call out, the door opened and Fred stuck his head in, his eyes flicking over the mess all around you.
"Mum says tea's nearly ready," he says, casting a sideways glance at you and then returning his gaze to the mess of books and parchment that seemed to consume you.
"Thanks but I need to finish this, can't step away from it yet," you said, gesturing towards the cauldron in the back of the room that was currently brewing calming draught, in the hopes that you could use it on George to rid his shock and trauma, at least temporarily. To accentuate your point, you lifted a finger and with a quick flick, the ladle inside the cauldron stirred the blue-hued liquid, the peppermint scent filling the room even more as it stirred and mixed together.
You heard Fred let out a sigh and you caught sight of him just in time to see his shoulders droop just a little in defeat.
"He'll come around you know," Fred says quietly after a few moments of silence which you'd worked through, flicking through pages of a book you'd searched over and over. You knew he was right, but you were a ball of frustration and pain, desperately trying to keep yourself together and keep yourself from hurting anyone else around you.
"I know," you replied, your tone even. You didn't want to think about it anymore, or keep talking about it and so you gestured for the cauldron to stir once again and went back to thumbing through the book you'd pulled.
When you heard the door shut, you immediately sank into yourself and cast the book aside aggressively, tears falling from your eyes before you could stop them. Only days ago you'd woken up in your bed beside the two men you loved most in the world, completely unaware of what would happen, though of course you knew it was dangerous. Even after, you'd woken up in George's arms and everything seemed manageable, like you could navigate through it together and be there for him, only he didn't want you to. He pulled away and you felt lost, robbed and guilty for pulling away from Fred to give George some space from you, hoping he'd come around soon.
You never made it to dinner that night, nor breakfast the next morning as you agonised over your notes, feeling like there was something missing. Neither George nor Fred had been up since then and you'd worked through the night, stopping only briefly for a few hours sleep as you crawled into the bed out of sheer exhaustion, your eyes not able to comprehensively read anything anymore.
You aggressively sighed when a knock at the door stopped your obsessive reading but when Hermione's voice called out from beyond the door, you put down your book and frowned, curious as to why she would need you. You called out for her to enter and tried to smooth back your hair, particularly the strands you'd pulled out of your haphazard braid in sheer frustration.
She stepped through the door holding a glass of pumpkin juice and a plate of toast, seemingly unfazed by your crazed lair of books.
"Molly sent this," she said, placing down the crockery on the table beside you before moving to sit down on the floor in front of you, crossing her legs.
"Thanks," you said in reply, looking at her with questioning eyes, waiting for the mini lecture to come.
"Have you had much luck?" She asks, gazing at your notes briefly, "Fred said you had been brewing non-stop. Calming Brew is notoriously difficult, I've never been able to."
"Hermione," you said firmly but gently, stopping her kind but unappreciated small talk. "Why are you really here?" You walked the line between firm and rude, hoping that you were falling somewhere on the lighter side but in your exhaustion and overstimulated state, it was hard to tell. Her hands fall to her lap as she plays with them, taking a deep breath as if she's gathering courage.
"Dumbledore gave Harry a task before he died, something which we're sure is crucial to defeating you-know-who, but it's hard to know where to even start, where we need to go and what we might need," she says, not making eye contact. Even in your sleep deprived state, you can tell she's holding back information but right now you were loathe to care. "I'm trying to be prepared for every eventuality, I've been gathering things for months, knowing we might need to leave at any time but there's so much more we might need."
"And you want me to brew some potions for you?" You said, filling in the blanks. Only then does she look up at you with a slight frown, considering her next words carefully.
"Actually, we want you to join us."
You instinctively frown at her in reply, all words falling flat on your tongue as you consider her words.
"Me, why? You finally manage to ask, astounded by her request.
"Y/n," she says, a small, polite smile tugging at her lips, "you're a brilliant witch, a master of potions and the magic you produced to heal George was something I've only ever read about in history books. We hadn't asked you before because we knew you'd never leave Fred and George but it seems the three of us won't be able to do it alone, we had to ask."
You sat in silence as you processed her words, conflict building inside you as you considered your options. Truthfully, your current emotions and circumstances were guiding your decisions but you couldn't deny it was an intriguing proposal. You knew Hermione was serious from the crease in her brow that had only seemed to get more prominent with each passing day.
"I assume there's no time frame?" You ask, feeling your frantic mindset fading from you, a calmness overtaking you instead. She shook her head and averted her eyes down to the book which was laid out in front of her.
"And I can't tell anyone?" You assumed.
"I wiped my parents memory, they don't know I exist anymore," she said in a small voice, wringing her hands harder now, the skin of her palms turning pure white, "it was safer for them, and for me. The order don't know but Ron is telling Molly tonight. You can tell F-"
"Better not to, at least right now," you interject quickly, shooting down that line of thought. She nods in understanding and you let out a deep breathe you'd not realised you'd been holding, breathing restricted by the tension within you.
"Can I think about it?"
"Of course," she says with a smile, moving to stand as she wipes off her hands on the front of her jeans. She gives you a little smile and walks out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
You begin to clear up the books and notes, placing them in a mostly neat pile in the corner, focusing your attention on the batch of muffling draught, that had been requested by Madeye before he died for Order use.
You left it barely simmering and took a seat on the unmade bed you'd been sleeping in and let out a long and drawn out sigh. Thoughts were swirling in your brain of every possible option and path. Could you leave Fred and George? What if something happened whilst you were away? What if you never came back? Being away from them when they were transporting Harry was sheer torture, could you go through that again? Or rather, could you put them through that?
The possibility of helping bring down Voldemort was incredibly appealing, knowing that the cause and the Order was more important than personal lives now, the imminent threat of an outright war seeming more and more likely with each passing day. Harry was the best chance we had of defeating Voldemort and your role in the Order was to accomplish this by any means necessary, even if it meant great personal sacrifice.
You sat stewing on your thoughts for a while, making a virtual pros and cons list in your mind, trying to plan ahead but without knowing what needed to be done, it was impossible.
A movement from outside the house caught your eye and you moved over to the window to look out into the garden and surrounding fields, seeing the Weasley men outside erecting the large white marquee for the wedding tomorrow. Fred and George were off to one side whilst Ron and Arthur stood on the other, all of them brandishing their wands in an effort to raise and set up the large tent. Your gaze lingered on Fred before moving to George, who looked in good spirits as they joked between themselves. A flash of pain ran through you as you considered walking out and helping but realising that George would probably ignore you or make excuses to leave, rejecting you once again.
You were about to look away when you noticed a figure in the distance suddenly appear as if out of nowhere, walking stiffly with a large briefcase in his hand as he strode determinedly towards the Burrow. As he walked closer to the house, his facial features and appearance began to get clearer to you, his somewhat familiar, droopy face that seemed to be fixed into a neat permanent frown and shoulder length brown hair.
Rufus Scrimgeour. The new Minister for Magic.
You hurriedly ran down the staircase and rushed into Fred and George's room, quickly throwing a fresh shirt on and began walking out into the kitchen when you saw the minister walk into the house, guided by Arthur.
"I'll need Mr Potter, Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger and Miss y/n y/l/n," he says after shooting down any small talk formalities. Almost immediately, you feel two sets of eyes land on you, both from the 6ft 3 redheads who were hovering around the door. "We'll need somewhere private," he says, looking around at the multiple sets of eyes who are all looking between themselves in suspicion.
"And to Miss y/n y/l/n, I leave my lebetum, in the fond hope that you will never need this.”
The minister then handed the black object to you, a curious looking thing, something you’d never seen nor heard of before. It was similar to the deluminator in ways, looking like the first of its kind. It was long and cylindrical, ornate in design with a fragment of misted glass embedded onto the front. You turned it over in your hand and frowned, looking down at the curious object.
When the Minister left, you, Ron, Hermione and Harry sat in silence for a few moments, all of you processing what had just happened with Albus Dumbledore's will and the bequeathments. Why had Dumbledore chosen you? The golden trio made sense and you'd been close to Dumbledore of course but it was a big surprise to be included.
"It seems Dumbledore wants you onboard too," Harry says after a moment, taking your eyes flicker to his, the glare from his light reflecting glasses shielding his eyes from you.
"Yeah, have you thought about it?" Ron asks, his hand running along the seams of his corduroy trousers, a pair that you recognised Fred abs George to have worn a few years ago, a tiny splatter of ink still visible on the right knee.
You sighed, unsure.
"Still deciding, I want to but," you said, trailing off. You pulled the sleeves down over your hands, trying to give yourself a little regulatory comfort.
"You can't leave them behind," Hermione says softly, anticipating your answer. You nod gently, not meeting anyone's eyes as flashes of Fred and George play in your mind. The thought of leaving them makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, makes you want to sob at the very thought but there was a greater good that needed to be accomplished and you couldn't let fear nor personal feelings be the reason you rejected their proposal.
"But I can't be selfish, not now, if you need me then I'm with you," you say, looking up at Harry, "this task, will it work?"
"It's the best chance we have to defeat Voldemort."
"Then I'm in."
The minute Ron told Molly about their plans, you disappeared back upstairs, away from the conflict and back up to Charlie's old bedroom. Fleur's parents would be arriving this afternoon and you needed to clear away all your stuff from the bedroom to make room for more guests. You checked on your potion and were pleased with the result, bottling it up and cleaning the cauldron with a flourish of your wand. The books, quills and parchment you'd put to one side were all cleared up and collected off the floor as you cast a quick tidying spell, cleaning the sheets and resetting the room back to it's usual setting. You carried the huge and heavy pile of books down the staircase until you stood in front of Fred and George's closed bedroom door, feeling incredibly awkward as you considered knocking, feeling unwelcome for the first time in your relationship.
You didn't knock but instead grabbed the handle and stepped in, struggling under the weight of the books as you set out to find the bag your enchanted with an extension charm.
George was lay on the bed reading when you walked in and for a brief moment you thought that everything could be normal again as he looked up at you, thinking he would open his arms for you to cuddle into, just as you always had. But that was not the case today. Instead, he shifted slightly on the bed so that his body was almost facing away from you whilst still being able to read and a fresh pang of sadness washed over you all over again. You willed yourself not to cry, at least not until you'd left the room and located your bag, placing the notes and books into the bag before moving to your other belongings.
You rummaged through your things, trying to stay quiet as to not antagonise George further before stopping and cursing, not finding the cardigan that you were looking for. You sighed and stood, walking to the set of drawers near the window and pulled out the second drawer, seeing an array of matching wool jumpers. You pulled a burgundy one out from the pile and unfolded it, seeing that it was emblazoned with the letter 'G'. In a move that upset you greatly, you folded the jumper back up and placed it back into the drawer, reaching instead for it's matching counterpart with the 'F' pattern. You closed the drawer and threw on the jumper, wanting to get out of the room immediately as the tension was much too strong and uncomfortable.
You cast a glance to George as you walk out, seeing him sprawled on the bed reading had always been one of your favourite sights, but though he of course looked handsome in the moment, you just felt empty and sad. His eyes slowly drag up to your exiting form but he says nothing and looks back to his book only moments later, apparently not feeling the need to address you at all. Anger began to simmer in you at his outward dismissal and without thought you began speaking.
"Your bandage needs changing," you say in a shockingly cold tone which sounds odd even to your own ears.
"Mum'll do it," he mumbles, barely even sparing you any attention. His words and tone only infuriate you more and you have to bite your tongue, and physically bite the inside of your cheek, to keep your composure, wanting nothing more in that moment than to scream at him. You'd seen him laughing and joking with Fred earlier, why was it just you he was so cold with? Irritation and resentment bubbled up inside of you and you had to be incredibly selective of your next words.
"I'll have to apply some potion to it tomorrow morning, help the scars," you say blankly, leaving no room for his comments as you walked out of the door, the harsh exterior falling from you the second you shut the door behind you, perhaps a little too aggressively in hindsight.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, Molly immediately recruited you to help out with wedding preparation, having you fluctuate between helping in the kitchen with her and setting up the table for the meal which would be eaten outside on account of the numerous guests staying.
After your chores were finished, you checked to see Fred and George still de-gnoming the garden with Harry and Ron, supposedly taking extra precautions to rid all of the pests from the lawn and surrounding area. Seeing that they were occupied, you took the opportunity to slip back upstairs and entered their room determinedly as you locked the door with a flick of your wand, sat at the desk and pulled out som parchment and ink.
You weren't sure what to write, not knowing the full extent of Dumbledore's task, but you knew it would be dangerous and potentially life threatening, meaning that this letter would be the last thing they had of you if you didn't make it back.
You began with Fred's letter, finding it much easier at present to tell him all the things you needed him to know. Tears slipped from your eyes a few times with the more emotional passages as you tried to explain why you'd gone and how much you loved him. You folded up the letter once you were happy with it and slipped it into a spare envelope that the twins kept in the desk drawer for their owl post orders.
You sat looking at the blank page for what seemed like hours, trying to think of what to say to George. It was hard because you were so hurt but you chose to push that aside, knowing that this might be the last time you'd ever write to him, plus you didn't know when you would be leaving and this may had all blown over by the time he reads this letter.
You placed George's into an envelope too and considered where you were going to store them until you needed them. You thought your bag at first or maybe under their pillows but both were too risky. Instead, you walked to the shelf in the nook of the room and pulled out a potions book that was left over from your teenage years in the room. In front of that was a pinned, magical photo of the three of you, no older than 15, making a snowman outside in the Hogwarts Courtyard, all with your arms around each other with goofy grins on your face. You slipped the letters into the book, not concealing them entirely but just enough, preparing your last clue that would lead them there if you left.
"Princess?" You heard from the other side of the door as someone, who you now knew to be Fred, jingled the door handle. You unlocked the door with your wand and Fred walked in with a concerned look on his face, moving to walk over to you.
"Why was the door locked? You okay?" He asks and you smile up at him, moving to stand in front of him before wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms immediately surround you as he pulls you in to his chest, cuddling you tightly.
"Better now," you mumble into his chest, feeling instantly comforted by his touch.
"Thought I'd lost you to your work," he says playfully and you pull away just a little to crane your neck upwards to look at him.
"Still here, still yours," you smile, reaching up onto your tiptoes for a kiss which he gives you without hesitation. It's short and sweet but meaningful as his left hand clutches your waist, seemingly needing this just as much as you. You smile at each other as you pull away, only to frown a moment later when George walks into the room calling out to Fred, stopping mid conversation as he realises you are there.
Your face drops and the happiness you felt only a few seconds before slips away from you as George makes no move to join you, no joke or tease and certainly no move to steal you away from his brother as they so often did.
"I'll just... see if your mum needs any help," you mumble awkwardly, stepping out of Fred's hold and walking over to the door in defeat.
"You stupid git," you hear Fred say harshly to George just as you close the door. You desperately want to stay and listen to what they are going to say but you decide not to, knowing that it will only upset you further. You can hear the muffled sound of raised voices and a telltale humming noise that alerts you to the fact that they had used a specific silencing charm and your gut twists once again, feeling like the root of the problem. You'd only reached the fourth step down when Fred bursts through the door, shaking his head until he spots you and all the anger falls from his face. He takes your hand as soon as you'd both stepped off the stairs and he leads you to the empty lounge, sitting down first before pulling you down onto the sofa so that you fall into his lap. His arms lock tightly around you and for the first time in days you feel familiarity and comfort. So much so, that you don't even realise your eyes closing as sleep overtakes you, wrapped securely in Fred's arms.
You wake up comfy, cozy and a little confused, still cuddled into Fred though you are no longer alone. George is sat beside you both on the sofa, in touching distance and you fight against your tired eyes as they threaten to close.
"Hey sleeping beauty," Fred smirks down at you, clearly having felt you shift in his lap. You shush him and cuddle into his shoulder a little more, hesitantly flicking your eyes over to George who is, rather surprisingly, looking at you.
"Nice sleep?" He asks, his tone lighter than you'd heard in days when he'd been addressing you. You simply nod in reply, suddenly sheepish at the concept of chatting with him, expecting him to say something hurtful or pull away again if you opened your mouth. His lips turn up at the edges to give you a soft smile but you don't focus on it for long, turning instead to look around you, checking of anyone else was there. You were all alone and under regular circumstances you'd relish in the time together, knowing how rare it was when you were at the Burrow but right now it just felt awkward and weird.
"I'm gonna get a drink," you say quietly as you attempt to climb off of Fred, feeling painfully thirsty after your nap.
"I'll join you," George says as you walk away and you don't even reply, just continue walking around the corner into the kitchen. Any hope that George was going to explain himself fell flat the second you walked into the kitchen and saw Molly whizzing about like her head was on fire, a couple of her children following behind her as she prepares for Fleur's family to arrive. Dinner than night was hosted outside with gorgeous twinkling lights in the trees and a lavish spread that had taken Molly all day to prepare. You sat beside the twins and though George was a little more cordial than before, you still felt distanced from him and wished more than ever that things would just go back to normal.
Later that night you lay in bed with Fred's arm protectively draped across your waist, your body pressed tightly to his front as he spooned you from behind whilst George lay on the other side, not even remotely touching you. You'd had to push the beds together to make room for the extra cot in the room, where Ron lay sleeping just for tonight, having been evicted from his own room as Bill and Charlie took his, Arthur and Molly took Charlie's and Monsieur and Madame Delacour took Molly and Arthur's room. 
Having George this close to you only seemed to make him feel further away and you cried yourself to sleep that night, tears silently streaming down your face and soaking your pillow until you eventually fell into a restless sleep.
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itsmyfandomandilikeit · 4 months ago
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Ok like independent of shipping. Independent of how we feel about Alicent and Rhaenyra. Look at them for who they are.
Alicent has spent the last two plus decades of her life in discontent and self-doubt. She turned to religion to cope with her situation around being queen and her misery turned half her kids rotten. She's not emotionally free. She tried to confess her sexual desire of Cole to her DAD for absolution.
Rhaenyra has had like three whole lives since then. She was married to Laenor, they were friends, she was in love with Harwin Strong and they had a pretty rock solid relationship while he was alive. Then Harwin died and she faked Laenor's death, she married Daemon, they had kids, her dad died, she went to war, Daemon left. Alicent is at least three major heartbreaks ago for her. Rhaenyra has loved strongly and truly, and lived as herself.
Alicent always refers to Rhaenyra as someone who needs to be remembered and respected, a force who can be reasoned with. Rhaenyra remembers that she and Alicent were friends as teenagers. It's a little more than that, sure, but what I'm getting at is that to Alicent, Rhaenyra is a gaping wound that never healed, and to Rhaenyra, Alicent is a girl she maybe loved once a long time ago, and there's still feelings there but she's created a full life since then.
I don't think Rhaenyra's connection with Mysaria is about Alicent. Rhaenyra is an intelligent and sensible woman who struggles chiefly with feeling alone, and Mysaria is an arguably even more intelligent and sensible woman who is also her loyal friend and counsel. They protect and care about each other. They're a good pair.
Now, I don't know what happens, but I do know this series is about Rhaenyra and Alicent. I'm guessing Mysaria has to be taken off the table pretty soon, and this whole deal will feed into the greater Rhaenyra/Alicent dynamic eventually. I just want to say that due to the different lives they've lead and the amount of peace they each have with themselves, at this point Mysaria is just who Rhaenyra would reasonably feel she wants and needs.
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xxsycamore · 8 months ago
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Happy Birthday to dear @annis-rodoria-93 !! I saw about your injuries and that you're gonna be busy on your bday and wanted to make something to hopefully make your day a bit better!! :( Love you a lot! ❤❤
CW: injuries
[🍰] 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚅𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 …
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Vincent:
"Hehe...It's your birthday today, so I feel a little bad for eating from your sweets... but if you insist..."
Vincent's thousand-sunshines-bright smile lights up the room more than the sun outside could ever hope to, as he digs into the sweet pastry on the plate... The way it's prepared, with a hard icing layer on top, Vincent can't fork a piece without making just a bit of a mess. You both chuckle at that, neither being the type to care too much about etiquette, especially not in each other's presence. Vincent loves that about you; he loves being messy, free, himself.
"It was delicious, thank you! Time to change your band-aids. Would you please give me your hand?"
Ever since Leonardo's cat Lumiere ended up scratching you in a rare show of hostility, Vincent has taken it as his role to be your professional caretaker for any and all difficulties you might face until your recovery. A part of it is changing your band-aids and applying medicine. Today's procedure is no different, and even if you should've gotten used to the affectionate and gentle gesture, you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat as he holds your hand delicately.
Once the medicine is applied, Vincent retrieves the fresh band-aids to put on your injuries... but these seem to be no ordinary band-aids.
You can see miniature flowers drawn on them; some completely covered in them while others sparse in order to make space for some written words. You can spot schatje, liefje, as well as a beterschap which you know from him means get well soon...
"I did those using non-toxic paint but still be careful if you take them off in my absence so that their upper side doesn't come in contact with your wounds! I thought... I could do this for you so you don't have to look at the boring plain band-aids... Do you like them?"
Vincent's cheeks are rosy as if there could be any reason to have doubts about this awfully endearing gesture - you have no choice but to hug him tight and let him know his sole existence could easily heal any wound of yours.
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∎ Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event | 💌 event masterlist
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