#They were caught in a bloody ambush or something

[phospolipid-bilayer]

Been rotating this scene in my head for a while now. Tfw the girl who just died right next to you and whose blood you are drenched in is standing upright. Looking at you. Walking toward you.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

Part Two

[lowkeyerror]

Always There

Agatha Harkness x Vampire!Reader x Rio Vidal

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Non-major character death, depictions of violence, graphic violent content (blood, mob violence/torture, detailed wounds), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, small mention of suicial tendencies, italics=past

Summary: Vampire reader has had a casual relationship with Agatha and Rio, but eventually too many years pass since their last encounter, the vampire starts to wonder if they still cared for her.

An: Posting this immediately after I finished writing it. Hope you enjoy. Likes, replies, reblogs, and all of that are appreciated 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ Edit: Not me saying itallics and forgetting to actually put them lol

Masterlist

You’ve had a casual fling with Agatha and Rio for as long as you can recall. There’s a stereotype about witches coming and going as they please, and you find it to be frustratingly true.

It's easier to get ahold of Rio than Agatha, which is ironic considering that Rio is literally Death. With the title comes the job, so all you truly needed to get a glimpse of her was a body. Perhaps you could arrange the carcasses in a way that said ‘stay with me forever’.

As a vampire, you had time to wait. There was no rush, which is how you believe things got so casual. You could never forget how you met the pair.

At the time angry mobs were running rampant, looking for anyone to persecute. You were a known vampire living not to far from a village. They hunted you for sport. There were many of them that you killed, but eventually they were able to ambush you. When they did, they used wooden spikes to pin you to a large ‘X’ that they built. The scars from were they impaled your flesh still present today.

They tortured you; punching, spitting, stabbing, you had eventually lost track of time after a few hours. The need for blood weakening you enough to where breaking free was nearly impossible.

They’d come in shifts for the torture and leave only one person to watch you in the night. That was their only flaw. You didn’t expect anyone outside of the village to come across you, but someone did.

Your head was hung low, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. You raised it slightly, to see the guard that was supposed to be watching you, dead on the floor.

“You don’t look too well.”

It had been days since you had tried to speak, so your voice was hoarse, “I wouldn’t think so.”

“What are you? Only someone different, is worth all of this trouble,” a different voice spoke.

Your eyes look to where the voices are coming from, but you only see shadows. Your tongue is dry as it passes over your bloody chapped lips.

“Vampire,” you mumbled.

“Help me get her down.”

When they approached, you finally got a good look at them. You couldn’t help but stare at their features. Both youthful with rosy cheeks. Rio’s large brown eyes caught your attention immediately, warm yet hiding something. Agatha’s features were sharper, her cheekbones, her jawline, even her eyes.

“This will hurt,” Rio examined the wood embedded into your skin.

“I know,” you spoke weakly.

You expected them to pull the spikes out with their hands. Instead your eyebrows furrowed when purple and green tendrils of magic worked around the spikes. Instead of 4, painfully slow, agonizing moments, there was only one rough pull, before your body fell off of the ‘X’. Only your knees hit ground as Agatha and Rio held up the rest of your body.

Your full weight pushed against them as your head rested in between their shoulders, “Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

Your eyes glowed a dim red, “I could drain a village.”

“Bloodthirsty, even in this state?” Agatha teased.

“Especially in this state,” you corrected.

You could hardly move, but you attempted to stand on your unstable legs. You grunted in pain as you put one foot in front of the other. Your focus was on the dead guard. His heart was no longer beating, but blood still filled his veins. It was calling to you, it had been too long since you had fed.

Your fangs snack into the man’s neck viciously. You had no remorse for the corpse as his body began to lose color as you drank. He wasn’t a large man, which was unfortunate, but he sufficed for the moment.

Harsh breaths and clearing of your throat, were indicators of how much you needed that. You wiped the blood off of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Your wounds were slowly closing, but it was taking all of the energy you had just gained.

“I can heal you faster,” Rio said tentatively grabbing your forearm.

She extended it so that it’s flat, before quickly running her tongue over the spot. You looked at her as if she was crazy, but then back at your wrist. The hole from the stake was gone, in its place was only a scar.

If you had a pulse, you were sure that it would be beating wildly.

You glanced at Agatha, who watched on, “Do you do that too?”

She shook her head, “Earth witch specialty.”

“How long did they have you like that?” Rio’s eyes have examined your body, noticing the extensive damage. Her finger trailed one of the nastier slashes across your stomach.

“I don't recall,” you spoke honestly.

Rio was careful as she healed the larger wounds on your body, you told her not to worry about the less significant ones. Even when she was done you were still caked in dirt and mostly your own blood.

“Let me help you out doll,” Agatha waved her fingers swiftly, and soon you were clean as a whistle.

Your tattered clothes replaced as if they were new, dirt and blood alike removed from your body. Ugly scars, now covered except for the few that littered your face.

“Why help me? We are only strangers, I don’t even know your names.”

“Abominations to humanity must stick together lest we want them to wipe every one of us out . You can call me Rio.”

“Agatha Harkness, pleasure to save you beautiful.”

One of your eyebrows raised, “Witch killer, Agatha Harkness?”

The woman chuckled, “I see my reputation supersedes my community. Does my aura scare you…”

“Y/n, and it does not. There are no rules when it comes to preservation of self. I’ve killed my own kind for good reasons and some not so good reasons. Bodies just seem to pile up when I’m around.”

“That why they nail you up like that?” Rio questioned.

You shrugged, “I suppose, a mixture of that and fear.”

“People fear death,” she spoke.

You shook your head as you corrected her, “Mortals fear death. I know people who are thousands of years old, who run from ailments of morality. They are foolish, death cannot be outran. Though it may take longer for her to come, she will eventually get all of us.”

“You aren’t afraid to die?” Agatha questioned you.

“No, there’s no point. She’ll come for me when it’s my time, but until then what is there to fear besides a wasted life.”

Rio had a small smile on her face, “Quite the philosophy you’ve fostered. Just one question, if you feel that way, then why kill anyone in the first place?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “If someone was meant to live, they simply would. I’m not stealing life, simply gifting death to those who have decided that it is their time.”

“How do you know that they’ve decided?” Agatha counters.

“Well you see, many people are weary of vampires and they should be. They let their guard down, they get comfortable, they play with their food instead of finishing the job. Those actions have consequences and I like to deal with those consequences personally. So I suppose when they choose to wrong me, they’ve chosen to die.”

“And the villagers who did this to you?” Rio pondered aloud.

You eyed her cautiously, “Do you stand to stop me?”

Rio shook her head, “I keep a witch killer in my company, you think I’m above a rightfully earned massacre?”

“Well you spoke of solidarity amongst-”

“Think of it this way, we can do what we want amongst each other, as it is our business. The humans have no right, to do what we do.”

You nod, “I agree.”

“So, you’re going to destroy the village?” Agatha questioned.

“My goal is to drain every last one.”

After that first encounter you were drunk on the thought alone of Agatha and Rio. Finding out Rio's true identity only made you lust for her even more. You knew that both had bonded with each other in ways you hadn’t understood, but that didn't stop your feelings from developing.

It didn't take long for them to fold you into their relationship, at least partially. They weren’t always around, but when they were everything seemed to fall back into place.

However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn't been getting restless these last few years. It was feeling like you saw less of them, especially Agatha. It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Somehow you had ended up chasing after them.

Tonight you walk the streets bored, part of you looking for trouble. Rumblings of new age vampire hunters in the area had piqued your interest. So you’d have a chance to have some fun or at minimum find your next meal.

Your fingers play with the rings they had gifted you, centuries ago. In the past you could feel both of them signaling you through the jewelry. It was a faint buzz, something like a hum, through the ring. A feeling that you hadn’t felt in ages. You longed to feel it again, to feel them.

Alleyways didn’t scare you, hardly anything scared you these days. Yet as you take a step into this alley, you sense something immediately. You feel eyes on you, as you walk.

“Has anyone ever told you to be mindful of where you settle demon?”

You continue walking, the empty threat meant nothing to you.

“I know what you are, I can smell it on you,” the voice echoes against the walls.

Your ears twitch, and soon you’re holding a frail man against one of the concrete walls in the alley.

“If you know what I am, you should be more mindful of how you approach me,” your strength speaks for itself.

You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your fangs or glowing red eyes.

“Ah, you’re one of the older ones. This will be quite fun,” he says gleefully.

“What are you-" the question dies on your lips as you feel a needle being jabbed into your neck.

Your hand instinctively shoots over the spot, and your growl in frustration. You drop the man against the wall, turning your attention to the person who stuck you from behind with the needle.

This man was much bigger than the other. He was about twice your size, but it did not matter. You bare your fangs, hissing at the muscular man.

“Why isn’t she dropping?” He yells, fear laced through his voice.

You take the moment to pounce on him. Your teeth wasting no time, sinking into his neck. The man convulses under you, but you’re stronger than him. Even when he grabs your neck you don’t relent.

“Impossible,” the frail man, whispers from his spot against the wall.

“Nice try, but-”

The sensation hits you like a truck. You feel your vision get blurry and your muscles weaken. You blink a few times trying to will yourself against the late acting sedative.

The frail man nods excessively as you begin to lose consciousness, “Slower than usual, but captured nonetheless.”

You’re jolted back into consciousness when you feel the stake being driven into your skin. You attempt to shoot out of whatever position you are in, but it only causes you a familiar pain. Unlike the first time you were nailed to something, this time it was straight up rather than ‘X’ formation. Your arms hung up straight above your head and your feet were slightly spread underneath.

One spike was used to pierce both of your hands in place while you had one for each foot. Your breathing only quickens even more upon noticing you are in a forest. This couldn’t be happening.

“Glad you could finally join us,” the frail man from earlier want alone this time. He had a group of people with him.

“Let me go, and I’ll consider sparing you one I'm free,” you say, yet no one moves.

“You hold no power here, demon,” the man walks around you. “I am doctor Helsing, you may be familiar with my ancestors.”

Your jaw twitches, “ Van Helsing.”

He chuckles, “What a smart creature you are?”

“What do you want from me?”

His chuckle turns into a boisterous laughter, “ You can't offer me anything that I don't have the ability to take.”

You glare at the people in front of you, eyes turning a vicious shade of red, “The last group of people that tried something like this, paid for their sins with their lives. I hope you’re prepared to do the same.”

“They did quite a number on you, I can tell by your markings. Their only mistake was letting such a beautiful thing like you go,” Helsing says, his hand sliding across the scar on your abdomen.

“They didn’t let me go. I got out.”

His eyes had a glint as he leaned in, “And then you killed them all, how sad.”

He stabs you in the scar. Carving harder and deeper than the previous person. You grunt, but try to steel yourself under the knife. Yet you squirm finding the sensation to be more unpleasant than you had recalled.

“Silver cuts a little different doesn’t it?” He says watching the cut pour blood.

“You’re going to regret this.”

He turns his attention to the people, “Empty threats mean nothing when a beast is tied up. Would anyone else like a turn?”

People in his crowd begin to circle around you. Some with weapons, others cracking their knuckles. You're being attacked from all sides. The pain makes you tear up, but you avoid crying.

Instead you left out a bitter laugh, “That’s all you’ve got. Come on if you're gong to torture me at least put some passion behind it.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started. I want to hear you beg for your life, I want to see you broken, beaten, defeated. I want you to ask for death and then I'll award it to you.”

You spit at Helsing, “I’m not scared of death.”

He wipes your spit off of his face, a scowl now present, “For centuries my family has been driving your species to extinction. The failures may eclipse the successes, but don't think that we were never successful. You will fall at the hands of Van Helsing, creature.”

He has a device in his hand, he shoves it into your mouth. It forces your mouth open and your fangs out. He stares at them in awe. You try to clamp your mouth shut or retract your fangs, but you are unable to. You start to panic.

“Just like a snake, de-fang the vampire and a lot of that fear is gone,” his smile is sadistic.

You feel your adrenaline sky rocket as you shake violently. Your eyes wide in terror. The wood stake ripping your skin, but the pain was nothing akin to the fright.

You don’t remember the last time you were truly this scared.

He laughs and some of the crowd laugh along with him, “Are you afraid now, demon?”

Tears fall from your eyes and he coos. You flinch at his hand touching your face. His fingers were rough and callused against the swollen skin. You move your head as if to attack him and he stumbles back.

He grabs your jaw roughly, “This is the power of man.”

“Looks like someone is having a party and forgot to invite us.”

You know that voice. It makes you close your eyes in relief. The panic you felt in the moment begins to dissipate.

Everyone looks to the sky following the sound of the voice. It’s there that they see Agatha and Rio floating in the sky. Most of the crowd has their mouths agape, not believing what they are seeing.

“Should we offer them mercy, Agatha? Maybe our invites got lost in the mail?”

“This matter does not concern you foul wenches, be gone,” Helsing says, his voice trembles a bit at the end.

It’s Agatha that cackles looking down at the man, “See that’s where your wrong because…”

Rio appears behind the man, her skeletal form on her face, “If it concerns her, then it concerns us.”

Her dagger lays on his neck and he looses his composure.

“Anyone want to be brave?” Agatha questions the crowd, who screams when she shoots her magic at a nearby tree exploding it.

“What happened? A second ago you were lining up to torture her, but now you’re scared,” Rio adds pressure to her dagger.

“Don’t get shy now, doctor. Nothing to say?” Agatha gets closer to him.

The group tries to scatter but she traps them in a circle full of fire. They’re forced to gather close to each other. Their screams make you smile.

Agatha pulls the device out of your mouth carefully. Her hand caresses your face gently. You lean into her touch.

“We have to stop meeting like this doll,” Agatha mumbles only for you to hear.

“We wouldn’t have to meet again if you stopped leaving,” you shoot back.

Agatha casts her gaze away from you and over to Helsing. She and Rio switch places. The Green Witch, uses her vines to pull the spikes out of your body. It’s a feeling that never gets easier to experience.

You land on your feet ignoring the burning sensation. With your back tall you walk over to Helsing. You crouch in front of him, despite your own agony.

You hold his eyes, “Funny, I recall you telling me I’d beg for death. Well now she’s here for me, just not in the way you expected is it?”

Rio wiggles her fingers at the doctor, “I loved dragging the souls of your family to eternal damnation, can’t wait to reunite you with them.”

“Humans are all the same, always playing with food that’s not yours,” you stand towering over the man.

“Hey I like to play with my food,” Agatha pouts.

You smile, “When you have power you can do what you want.”

You open your hand and Rio drops her dagger into your grasp. The crowd watches in panic behind the flames as you approach the man.

“However, I’ve never been one to play with my food,” in a swift motion you slit his throat.

The gasps and screams of his followers sounds like music to your ears. He gargles his own blood reaching for his neck.

“Your blood isn’t worth drinking,” you watch as he collapses. You turn to address the crowd, “None of you have worthy blood. Cowards, followers, miscreants, I hope it was worth it. The price is your life, now burn.”

Agatha waves her hand dismissively and the crowd of people are quickly evaporated. Ash and burnt grass the only remnants of the aggressors.

Upon their destruction you crumble to the floor. Your body screaming at you for the abuse you endured.

Rio starts with the wound on your stomach before healing the spiked points. Your body still aches when she’s finished, but it’s substantially less than before.

“Déjà vu isn’t it bunny?” Agatha opens the floor for conversation.

“Now isn’t the time Agatha,” Rio scolds the woman, who raises her hands in defense.

“I was just reminiscing, is that a crime?”

You stand, “Well, good seeing you. Same time… in the next few centuries or…”

“You’re hurt,” Rio argues.

“You healed me enough,” you shrug.

Agatha rolls her eyes, “What’s with the attitude princess?”

You place a hand on your hip, “When was the last time we saw each other, Agatha? Rio, you only come when I leave bodies in my wake. So sorry if I’m not thrilled it takes me being captured and tortured to get some time together.”

“It’s always been this way,” Agatha argues back.

Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically soft tone, “I know and I’m tired. I don’t want whatever this is. I need something more, something tangible. It’s fine if you don't want to give that to me, but I can't keep waiting.”

You try to keep calm as you pull the rings off of your fingers, hand out stretched to give them back to their original owners.

“Y/n…”

“Take them… please. Free me, from whatever this is. I’m grateful that you saved me on our first day and maybe the same thing happening again is fate telling me that this is our last day,” you get the courage to look at them with teary eyes.

“You don't even believe in fate,” Agatha tries to reason with you.

“How would you know, you haven't been around. Things change, people change,” you tell her.

Agatha looks to Rio for help, but The Green Witch, just keeps her eyes on you.

“That’s bullshit! If change is so real, how’d we end up right back where we started hmm? Poor little hung up bat, in need of saving and here we are like always,” Agatha’s theatrics peak through her words.

“Like always?” You repeat, in disbelief.

“Look sweetheart, I know that-"

You ball your fists at your side, “What could you possibly know Agatha? Tell me, I’m interested in hearing. Did you know I spend all my time waiting for either of you to tell me if you want me or not? I don’t sleep, I just think and think and think about finding a way to end it all without having to see either of you. Hard to kill yourself with Death keeping tabs on you, even without a heartbeat. I knew this guy was tracking me, I knew what he wanted to do, and I said fuck it. I don’t care, what’s there to live for anyway?”

“You can't be serious?” Rio doesn’t want to believe what you’re saying.

“Of course I’m serious, part of me thought that after all these years humans would be over torture, but that was foolish of me. Why would I think that you'd come to save me? I still don’t understand why you did.”

“Because we love you, you fucking idiot!” Agatha shouts at you.

You scoff, “Do you really? I couldn’t tell by the hundreds of years apart.”

“We were protecting you,” Agatha gets in your space.

“What could have possibly been protecting me? Oh no, a loving and caring environment? How ever could I have managed such domestic delights and pleasures,” your voice drips sarcasm.

“You do realize that Rio is Death, right? Her job is literally to reap souls, you aren’t the only one that doesn’t get to see her often. And me… I’m all trouble, doll. There’s not a pleasant bone in my body.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, “Did you forget who I am? Have you had a head trauma recently, or maybe you need a refresher? I’m not the greatest either, cupcake. I just slit a man’s throat and had his followers executed.”

“By me,” Agatha points out.

“Ok and you want credit for the villages I killed too? The vampires I murdered? The people I lied to? The whores I fucked? I’m not some sweet innocent thing you picked up off of the side of the road. My ledger has had blood on it since before you killed your original coven.”

Your eyes are red as they stare into her blue ones.

“We were scared,” Rio interrupts the rising tensions between you and Agatha.

“Scared of what?” You glance at her.

“Of committing to you. Hell, Agatha and I can’t even fully commit to each other. This game of cat and mouse, it’s all we know. You’re right, you deserve more, so much more, but we don’t know how to give it. We don’t know what a domestic life looks like, we aren’t domestic people. I didn't think there would be any doubt in your head that we loved you, and maybe that just shows how fucked up we really are,” Rio monologues.

Her words hit you harshly. They make you want to start crying all over again. You cast your gaze to the floor.

“I guess that brings us back to the original point then, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s better if we just, end it here,” you can’t look at them.

“If that’s what you want?” Rio nods solemnly.

Agatha looks between the two of you, “Are you two stupid or something? You have to be if you think I’m just going to agree to this.”

“Agatha-”

“Don’t. I love you, both of you. I don’t want this to end and if that means changing the way things operate, then I guess things just have to change,” Agatha speaks seriously.

“What are yo-”

You startle when Agatha grabs your hands in both of hers. Her eyes locking fiercely onto yours. She doesn’t blink as she speaks, “Move in with me.”

“What?”

“You want time together, we can have time together. We’ve basically been together for centuries, come live with me.”

“Agatha, I think you've lost the plot,” Rio says, cautiously.

“You too Dr. Green Thumb. Let’s all move in together,” Agatha nods her head.

“That doesn’t fix everything,” you focus on her hands over yours.

She doesn’t hesitate to raise her hands to cup your face, “There’s obviously a lot to fix, but you can’t tell me this isn’t a step in the right direction. Y/n, I don’t want to- I can’t lose you. I’m not willing to let you go without a fight.”

Your face heats in her hands. Her eyes are ablaze with passion as they keep contact with yours.

You sigh and rest your forehead against hers, “I don’t know Agatha.”

Rio joins the moment, carefully wrapping her arms around your torso, “I don’t think any of us really know, but I think we’re supposed to find out together.”

“Please,” Agatha’s breath hits your lips. “Just a chance to make up for lost time. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but please don’t give up on us yet.”

Hearing Agatha beg like this tugs at your heart. You don’t want to give in this easily, but you’ve already wasted so much time.

“Ok.”

As the word falls from your lips, Agatha surges forward. You can recall the last time her lips were on yours. The warmth that they were able to send through your body. How firm she was in her kiss, not scared or uncertain as your lips moved together. She knew what she wanted and it was hard to picture a world in which she’d kiss someone she wasn’t interested in the way she was kissing you. You were the one she wanted.

Your legs grow weak, but Rio holds you steady. Her shifting grip, makes you turn to face her. Unlike Agatha she hesitates. She takes a moment to admire your features, she wasn’t in a rush. Neither were you. Rio’s kiss is softer than Agatha’s, her plush lips, move experimentally against yours. It’s not like she’s forgotten, more like she’s re-exploring. She's playful, as her teeth nibble on your bottom lip. You laugh at the sensation.

Rio rests her head on your shoulder. She extends her hands, motioning for the other witch to get closer. Agatha wraps her arms around the both of you. Her front to your back while her hands rest on Rio’s back. You’re encased by them, a feeling that is welcomed yet foreign to you.

“Promise that you'll keep me close” you say to both of them.

“Until the road ends, my love,” Agatha kisses the top of your head.

“I’ll hold you even after the road ends,” Rio kisses the base of your neck.

“Do you always have to one up me?” Agatha says to Rio.

Rio chuckles, “Sounds like a skill issue sweetheart.”

“Oh, we’ll see who has a skill issue later, when you’re begging me for help because my fingers are longer than yours,” Agatha says smugly.

Rio pulls back from you to glare at Agatha, “If you don’t want to ‘help’ me, I’ll just ask Y/n. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You blush at the innuendo.

“Nuh uh, bunny. I think I recall you liking my treats better, because someone has a skill issue,” Agatha sticks her tongue at Rio.

You turn an even deeper shade of red.

“You can never let an emotional moment be,” Rio says.

“Well you’re always trying to out ‘emotional’ me,” Agatha replies.

“It’s not my fault you’re not as smooth as me, mi vida,” Rio counters again.

Agatha throws her hands up, “I know Spanish and Latin too, you’re not special Vidal.”

Rio raises an eyebrow, “And who taught you?”

The back and forth makes you laugh, “Are you sure you don’t do domestic, because you bicker like an old married couple?”

They both huff at your statement.

“We’ll continue this at home,” Agatha points at Rio.

The brown eyed woman puts her hand over her heart in faux-fear, “Oooo, I’m terrified.”

Agatha opens a portal to her house and both women step through. Not stopping their bickering for a second. You smile as you watch them, feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“The portal isn’t going to stay open forever, bunny, come on,” Agatha reaches her hand to pull you through.

You take it, stepping into your new beginning.

[miniwheat77]

Watch it burn. (Ghost x Reader.)

!this is pure smut, you've been warned. absolutely no minors. age gap, sex pollen, unprotected p in v sex, violence!

Ghost was hard headed and everyone knew that.

He didn't always communicate too well and sometimes he kept things to himself until it was unhealthy but that's who he was. He was a damaged person. He had walls up like fort knox. That was just Ghost. Not many knew about his past, but when you came along. Things started changing in weird ways that everyone on base never really seen coming.

Ghost seemed irritated by you at first. You were still pretty new to everything and needed some training but Laswell and Captain Price had both taken a liking to you and decided pretty quickly that you'd be a great addition to the team. It was an easy decision.

When you officially started on base, everyone fell in love with you immediately. Aside from Ghost obviously. You were still a little immature and Ghost didn't like that. The military wasn't meant for people like you and that caused a rift between you in the beginning. Slowly though, you started to prove yourself to him. When he was training you followed him around like a lost puppy asking him for tips and asking him to show you the best ways to stay in shape.

When he was in charge of you on missions, you always buckled down and followed everything he said to a T. You didn't act out or try to make light of any situations. You were mature when you needed to be and maybe that's where he started to grow soft for you. Ghost was always alone. He liked to work alone.

But once he'd gotten used to you being by his side all of the time, he almost hated it.

You followed him all over base. You ate each meal with him, even had a watch shift with him. You stuck by his side so often people started referring to you as his shadow.

At first, he didn't like it at all. Had even blown up on you for following him around so much which in turn got a taste of a side of you he had never seen.

"Why can't you just leave me alone? You're so bloody annoying. I'm not your fucking dad. Go away." He growled. You stopped in your tracks. Eyes narrowing.

"Is that an order, Lieutenant?" You had asked, which in turn made him roll his eyes at you.

"You're being ridiculous."

"No. I don't think so. Because unless you're giving me orders, you don't talk to me like that."

The hair on his body rose and he swore he'd never been so angry. But even as he stepped closer to you, you stood your ground. "Excuse me?" He asks. "You heard me. I'm not a kid, and you sure as shit aren't going to talk to me like that. I'm keeping you company and maybe I'm not doing that for you. Maybe I'm doing it for me." You step closer to him, his nose nearly touching yours. "And I know you're not my dad. But unless you're trying to meet him, lower your voice when you talk to me."

Your voice was quiet, but steady. Letting him know that you were not playing around.

He found out through Price the next day that your dad had passed away at some point in your childhood.

He'd never run to apologize to someone faster in his life.

From that point on, he'd gone easier on you.

---

It was a mistake.

A simple mistake that he knew he shouldn't have made as a Lieutenant.

You were the first to be infected.

Captain Price had sent the both of you on a mission. Meant to be a simple one of course. He sent his best he said.

You'd gotten a gash on you, but something was on the knife. Your veins started to glow. Pink almost as Ghost had described, which resulted in your eyes to roll back. He barely caught you as you passed out.

He quickly found a room and barricaded you inside. He needed answers.

After ambushing a man and dragging him inside with you, he started asking questions. "What was on the knife?"

"Was it poison?"

"How long does she have?"

But only seemed to get laughs from the man who he had tied up.

"It's not poison." He grits his teeth. Ghost is sure the knife in his leg is what's making him talk at this point.

"It's a drug."

Ghost grits his teeth. "What is it?" He slams him back into the wall. "So help me god if you don't start talking." He growls. Grasping the knife that's still in his leg, going to pull it out. "WAIT!" He yells, stopping Ghost. "It's..." He pauses. Looking down. "It's a reproductive drug."

Ghost looks at him confused. "What?"

"It's meant to increase your sex drive. Your body goes into overdrive." He hisses. "Reproductive organs work twice as hard and the hormones in the drug help induce pregnancy. It's.. still in the works." Ghost looks back at you. Still unconscious.

"What do you mean it's still in the works?" He asks.

"It's deadly in higher doses. It started out as a drug but it made it into the wrong hands and now it's a weapon." He breathes. "So.. she's going to die?" Ghost asks.

"Well.. Technically yes." He sighs. "Unless." He trails off. "Unless what?"

"How long ago was she infected."

Ghost looks down at his watch. "37 minutes ago." He looks at the man. "So.. In about.. 10 minutes. She'll wake up. Her body will feel hot and she'll probably be more aroused than she's ever been. And if you can stimulate her enough.. Her body might come down from it."

"If you can survive that long." The man laughs.

"We're gonna be just fine."

Ghost grabs hold of the knife and draws it back, where he had stabbed into the mans femoral artery starts to spurt blood out and in seconds the man is no longer alive. Ghost knows he needs to clear out the rest of the compound and come back for you.

He sets a timer on his watch and starts possibly the most stressful mission he's ever been on.

He's moving quietly but quickly, taking everyone he crosses by surprise.

But unfortunately, he gets infected.

Knife wound to the arm, just like you. He watches his veins change and knows he doesn't have long.

He doesn't know what to do yet and Ghost hates himself. You shouldn't be here. You're too new.

When everything is clear and he's sure of it. He's rushing back to you.

He pushes the desk away from the door and gets back inside, barricading it from the inside. "Ghost? What's going on?" You ask. He feels sick to his stomach. He sighs as he turns around, nervous to face you again. "I... I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes. "What?"

"Your wound.. It's infected with a drug."

"Please tell me you aren't gonna say sex drug?" You breathe. Making him narrow your eyes. "I must've heard him in my sleep." You nod to the man who's leaning over now. Ghost kneels down next to you. "I'm sorry Y/N. I never should've let you come here with me." He sighs.

"That wasn't your decision Ghost. It's not your fault."

He shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do."

"Are you infected too?" You ask.

He nods his head. You sit up. "I think you know what we have to do Ghost." You look at him. Your face is deathly still. Letting him know just how serious you are.

"No. Absolutely not Y/N." He shakes his head. Standing up. He starts to pace the room. He's scared. "You'd rather die?" You ask. "No. No of course not. I just... Y/N. I can't do that to you." He shakes his head.

Ghost knows that you trust him. He trusts you too. You even opened up to him about how you were still a virgin because you'd only been in one serious relationship.

That one person who abused you and hurt you in ways that Ghost could kill for. Ghost never looked at you like this and he hates that this is his only choice. "I can't do that to you. I'm not gonna hurt you like you've been hurt. You deserve way better than this Y/N." Ghost feels like he's got an open wound in his chest at the thought of forcing you into something like this. He hates himself for allowing Captain Price to send you along on this mission with him. He didn't want to take you down with him like this. Before he realizes it, you're standing right in front of him. His racing heart steadies in his chest as you reach for his hand.

"Ghost. If we don't..." You trail off, looking down at the ground before taking a deep breath and raising your eyes up to look at him. "If we don't do something, we're going to die. You heard what he said. You and I both saw it. Saw the paperwork, the smoke bombs. This... it'll kill us if we don't." You look up at him. "And.. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die like this." You laugh.

"I can't do this to you Y/N." He hisses, clenching his eyes closed. "Come on, lets go somewhere without. You know." You glance toward the man slumped over at the other side of the room. Grasping his hand and dragging him into another room down the hall, conveniently, one with a bed. He sighs. "Sit down." You force him back onto the edge of the made bed. Luckily this was an upkept building. You take his hands in yours, moving between his legs, feeling him stiffen up immediately. "I trust you, Ghost."

He goes to speak up, but you stop him.

"You are honestly my best friend, and I know you probably don't see it the same way I do. But I trust you. You've shown me so much. Taught me so much. You protect me and you always put me first. I trust you to do this Ghost."

He clenches his eyes closed again. "I am your friend Y/N, of course I am. But.. I'm so much older than you. I thought you looked at me like a father figure, not like this."

A hiss leaves your lips, and Ghost can Physically see your veins turning pink under your skin. It seems unreal. Like something out of a movie. He knows if anything is going to happen, it has to happen now.

"Are you okay?" He asks. "Yeah, yes." You take in a deep breath. Knees feeling weak. "It's... Intense." You breathe. He grasps your hips, sitting you down next to him. "Fuck.. Lay back okay? It's gonna be alright." He breathes. "He.. He said stimulate. He didn't say sex." He breathes. Seeing you nod your head.

He helps you remove your cargo pants. Pushing you further up the bed. He swallows hard. He wants to curse himself, feeling himself get more aroused at the sight of you. It's just he drugs, yeah.

Just the drugs.

He lowers himself into you. Wrapping his arms around your thighs. "I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes.

His tongue dipping into you has you gasping out, clutching at the sheets. His eyes feel heavy as you react to him. You taste sweet and he wants to savor it. He wants to ask for forgiveness and take even more. It's just he drugs. It's just the drugs.

Your back arches and you cry out. Tears streaming down your face. It's just not enough.

"Ghost." You sob, making him look up at you.

"It's not enough."

Any of your veins that were visible under your skin are no longer blue in color, but pink. Your skin is beat red and hot. He grits his teeth as he reaches for his waistband. Once he'd gotten himself free, pants down at his mid thigh, there's no going back now.

He moves himself over you, taking a deep breath. He presses his forehead to yours. "I'm so sorry."

Feeling him penetrate you, piercing into you. You can't help but cry out. He grits his teeth, eyes clenched shut tight. He loves this and he hates this. This isn't how he would've wanted this to happen. He rocks his hips into you, body swallowing him up so perfectly. He forces you to look at him, pushing your hair out of your face. You're sweaty and it's sticking to you. "Are you okay?" He asks. You nod your head. "Yes, yes." You whine. You're out of breath. "I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks. "No, please." You claw at him. "Don't stop." You're nearly sobbing when you say it.

"Harder." You whine. "Y/N.. I'm gonna hurt you."

"Ghost." You grasp his face, forcing his mask off. You're surprised when he lets you. "You're not going to hurt me. I don't want you to be sorry." You breathe. "I want this, I've wanted this. And it's not the goddamn drugs talking." You breathe, staring him in the eyes as you say it. It's like a pin dropping in a silent room when those words leave your lips.

"What?" He asks.

"I've felt this way for a long time. Thought about it all the time. How you treat me so well and protect me. How you always come to my defense, you care about me."

"I do, I do care about you Y/N. But I'm no good for you." He grits his teeth, eyes filling with tears as he rocks into you harder. "That's bullshit and you know it." You claw at the sheets, tilting your head back as he drives himself into you harder. "I wanted you to. Wanted you to be the one to take it- I was going to ask when this mission was over."

You're choked up.

"I love you, Simon."

He loses it, chest tight. Tears stream from his eyes and he doesn't want you to see. Burying his face into the crook of your neck. You using his name, his real name. It's raw.

"Goddamnit I love you too." He sobs, drawing his hips back and burying himself inside of you again. Biting down on your neck. You look up at the ceiling, feeling his weight on you. Everything finally starts to sink in. Tears spill over the corners of your eyes as he works you to a high you're sure you'll never come down from. You clench your eyes closed once more, allowing yourself to feel everything. His pants and sobs in your ear, knowing that he feels this way too. They're getting unsteady and you know by how sloppy his thrusts are getting that he's getting close.

Feeling him, every inch of him. Sliding inside of you, drawing you closer and closer to the brink of pure bliss.

You're gone when he mumbles into your ear.

"I love you Y/N."

You cry out, the sounds leave your lips uncontrollably. He lowers his hand, rubbing circles over your clit. Pushing you through your high. The first time you've ever cum at the hands of someone else. He groans out, drawing away. He stares down at you. His eyes are bloodshot and his eyes are still watery. "I love you Simon, I trust you." You cup his cheeks with your hands again. "Give yourself to me." His body shakes as he reaches his high. Groaning out. He rests his forehead on your chest, trying to calm himself down. Relishing in the pleasure he feels. He knows he needs to calm down now, he's too worked up still. His heart pounds in his chest, but as he relaxes into you, it settles. He stays like that for a while. Calming himself down. When he finally pulls away, sliding out of you. He lies next to you. Pulling you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you. It's silent for a while, but he finally breaks the silence. "I'm so sorry Y/N." He breathes. Hearing you laugh lightly. "Simon..." you trail off. "Why do you keep saying that? What do you have to be sorry for?" You look up at him, eyes piercing his. "Because you deserved so much better than this." He breathes. "Yeah? Like what? An uncomfortable barracks bed?" Your lips raise in a smile and he laughs. "You're such a brat." His chest shakes as he laughs. "It's my best quality, thank you very much." You sit up, climbing over him. Straddling his hips. "I wouldn't have wanted this to go any different. Listen." You tilt your head back. "Hm?" He asks. "Nothing but silence." Your eyes flutter closed and he breathes out, resting his hands on your thighs. Thumb gliding up the inside. "Did I hurt you?" He asks. You shake your head. "No. Not even a little." You breathe, laying your head on his chest. He covers you with a blanket. Wrapping his arms around you and holding you right. "Simon?" You mumble. "Yeah darling?" He asks, pushing your hair out of your face.

"I want to be with you."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm serious. I want everything with you. I want the good days. The bad ones too. I want a life with you, and it's okay if you don't want that with me. But I think you should know." You sigh, relaxing into him. You're completely relaxed. You're always relaxed even in dangerous situations with him. He keeps you safe. "We'll talk more about it when we're out of here.. okay?" He trails off. You nod your head against him.

—

The fire reflects in your eyes, they're glossy. Simon stands next to you. Arms crossed over his chest. His mask is on again, but pulled down around his neck.

The building is nothing but burning flames now. Everything that happened inside is a memory now. It's gone. "It's pretty huh?" You turn to look at him. He laughs. "Yeah, it is." He smiles. "You think it'll be all gone? The drug and everything inside?" You ask. He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you into him. "I'd like to hope so. But.. I don't think this is our last time crossing paths with this." He looks back at the flames. The warmth on your skin feels nice. "Let's get to exfil, yeah?" He looks down at you. "Wait-" you stop him as he goes to walk off. "Simon?" You ask. He turns his head to you. Taking him off guard by pressing your lips to his. He's frozen for a second, but relaxes into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You cup his face again.

When you pull away, you grasp his balaclava. Raising it over his nose once more. "Let's get out of here." You smile. He grasps your hand, pulling you along with him. Picking up all of your gear and returning it to where it belongs.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

The sounds around him were different from what he was used to—no gunfire or heavy footsteps, no shoutings from Price about night ambushes, no Johnny’s loud snoring. Simon peered through heavy eyelids, finding out it’s just the bloody annoying birds chirping outside. Groaning, he turned his aching body and reached his arms out.

Only to find the other side of the bed empty of his wife’s presence. Simon furrowed his brows, frowning. God, he’s such a grumpy old bastard, isn’t he?

Simon jerked upright, alerted by the clattering sound coming from outside the bedroom—the old dog instincts in him kicked in, only to be quickly quelled by his more recently acquired instincts shaped by the realities of the last seven years. He got up from the bed, trying not to be too agitated, making his way to investigate.

Upon entering the kitchen, his shoulders sagged with relief as he laid his eyes on the sole culprit—crouching on the floor, attempting to tidy up a mess of spilled milk and cereal with a torn kitchen towel. No doubt the source of the noise.

Walking over slowly so as not to scare her, he then asked, “What’s goin’ on ‘ere then?”

Gianna whipped around in a flash like a criminal caught in the act, her big brown eyes gleaming with a touch of guilt but not a trace of fear. "I dropped my cereal," she confessed succinctly, mirroring a trait she had unquestionably inherited from her father.

He crouched down next to her. “’Ere, let me help you with that,” then reached out, taking the paper towel from her tiny hands and started cleaning up.

Gianna just watched him until she finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“’S alright, darlin’. Accidents ‘appen.” Simon stated, rising to his feet and tossing the used tissues into the trash can. He then turned his attention back to his daughter. “But you could’ve woke me up. I’d ‘ave helped you clean it up straight away.”

“I know, but you were sleeping. An’ mum says you sleep like a… like a… clog?”

At that, he couldn't help but chuckle. “I think you mean a log, love.” He corrected.

“Oh right!” The little girl exclaims, nodding her head. “Tha’s the word. You sleep like a log.”

“Yeah, alright, whatever yer mum says.” He glanced at the box of cereal still sitting on the kitchen counter, then decided to keep himself and his daughter away from it. “So cereal is no option then. What d’you want for breakfast instead?”

Without missing a beat, Gianna chirps, “Ice cream!”

Simon snorts, shaking his head. “Can’t ‘ave ice cream for breakfast, darlin’.”

Gianna tilts her head to the side, eyes looking up at him questioningly. "Why not?" she asked. “Mummy 'as coffee for breakfast, alllll the time!” she spreads her arms out for dramatic effect—he chuckles at that. Definitely got it from mommy.

“Yeah, don’t be like yer mum, alright?”

The girl frowns slightly. “But why not? Mummy’s pretty, an’ she cooks good food.”

Something he couldn’t disagree with. He nodded, reaching out to ruffle her blonde hair. “That she does, darlin’. But we still don’t want you havin’ coffee or ice cream for breakfast, alright?”

"Okay, then can we go to Uncle John's house?" she asked.

“An’ why’s that?”

Gianna bounced on her toes, her arms swinging. “I miss Buddy an’ Daisy!”

Simon groaned inwardly. Should’ve known she’d bring that up. Ever since that one time he brought her to Price’s place and she met his dogs, Gianna has been begging to go back. Every time after school—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” Every weekend—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” And the thing is, the bloody mutts aren’t even there anymore, not since Price and his missus divorced.

“The dogs ain't there anymore, love.” He watched her face fall.

"Why not?" she asked, eyes wide in confusion.

Simon shrugged. “Cause,” he trailed off, not really wanting to explain the whole messy divorce situation to a five-year-old. “Nevermind that. What d’you want for breakfast?”

Instead of answering, Gianna crossed her arms while frowning. “I don’t want breakfast. I want Buddy an’ Daisy!

A sigh escaped Simon as the results of his parenting bit him in the ass. Bloody hell, he had to stop surrendering to her big eyes and pouting lips—just like her mum. She had learned from the best, hadn’t she? Got him wrapped around her tiny finger. There was only one trick up his sleeve to get her to cooperate.

“If you don’t eat breakfast, then then we won’t be able to go an’ watch yer mum later.”

And sure enough, Gianna’s whole expression lit up, renewed. She gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth in an exaggerated gesture. Seems like he got himself a drama queen.

“We’re gonna watch Mum?!” she asked, full of hope.

Simon nodded, trying to maintain a serious expression but always failing because of her antics. “As long as you behave an’ eat breakfast.”

The five-year-old was cheering, jumping, and doing her little dances in unbridled energy—just like her mum. He guessed it was true what Garrick said that day the lads visited the two of you at the hospital after Gianna was born—“She’s a perfect blend of the both of you.”

“Pancakes! I want pancakes!” Gianna squeals, scampering to the cabinet where the flour is stored. “Come on, Daddy! Let's eat breakfast so we can go an' watch Mummy!"

When the evening draws near, Gianna is already in the bathroom. Lately, she's been insisting on bathing herself, saying she's a “big girl” now. But he guessed it's more because she wants to play with her Barbie doll in the water, using up all the soap in the process.

“Don't take too long, alright? We've gotta be out the door by five.” He says.

"Okay!" Gianna chirps back, not really listening to him, too busy splashing around and chatting to her plastic friend.

Keeping the door open to ensure her safety, Simon stepped out to attend to his own tasks. Seems like it was yesterday when she was just a little baby, lying in the bath support, her tiny legs kicking every time you would rinse the soap off her soft skin. Time indeed flies so fast; one moment, she is just a baby who struggles to stand on her wobbly legs, and the next, she insists on doing everything independently.

Simon let out a heavy sigh, turning to your shared bedroom to pull on a fresh button up. As he’s closing the dresser drawer, the sound of his phone ringing caught his attention. He read the caller ID before accepting it and lifting it to his ear.

“’Ello?”

“Hey, are you on your way yet?” Your familiar voice comes through the line.

Glancing over to the half-open bathroom door, where he could hear the faint sounds of Gianna splashing and talking to herself, he then said, “The kid's in the bath.”

“Okay, okay,” You said, he could hear some shifting on the other side. “Make sure you bring her coat—the brown one. It's so cold today, I don't want her to get—”

“I got it, love.” He cuts you off gently, assuring you easily. “Just focus on yer ballet. I'll make sure she's all bundled up, alright?”

A chuckle from you—one that brought a smile to his own lips. Always the overthinker, his wife. He walked over to grab Gianna's towel and placed it atop a small chair near the bathtub, then held up five fingers, communicating the remaining time she had left before she had to get out.

“I’m on a break right now,” you tell him, voice soft, whispering. “I… I miss you, and Gianna too.”

He can’t help the smile spreading at that. “That so?”

“Yes,” you admit, he imagines you clutching the phone tightly against your ear like he’s seen you do so often. “Being here, rehearsing for the show, you two are all I can think about. I want to get this over with and go home.”

“Think she misses you too,” he murmurs.

“Really?”

“Yeah, she's been jumpin’ about when I mentioned we're gonna watch you.”

“That’s nice,” he could hear the smile in your voice. Then, a small pause between you before you asked again, “Um, do you�� Do you miss me too?”

A low, amused chuckle escaped him at your shy question, and he compares it to a schoolgirl trying to gauge her chances with her crush. This is your husband you are talking to. He couldn't help but find the conversation amusing—and yet, he couldn't deny the warmth that rose to color his cheeks.

“What you actin’ all shy an’ coy for, eh?” he teased, “We’ve been married for seven bloody years now, ain’t we? Course I miss you, sweetheart.”

Simon could hear you take a deep breath. “Well, I just… Well, you just got home from deployment, and we haven't really had time together before I got to do rehearsals, so I feel kind of…”

“Ah, I see,” Simon murmurs, voice dropping to a low, rumbling tone. He glanced to the bathroom to make sure Gianna was still out of earshot before continuing, “Feelin' a bit starved for attention, are we, love? Maybe we should call up Johnny, see if 'e can come 'n babysit the mite for a night. Give us a chance to… reconnect, eh?”

You suck in a sharp breath at his words, heat rising to your cheeks and somewhere else from his implication. For a moment, you are silent; another minute passes, and Simon almost thinks the call has been cut off until your soft, discreet whisper finally cuts through.

“… Do you think the phone company records calls like this?”

At that, he laughed. “Why? You plannin' on sayin' somethin' naughty?”

“No! No, not at all!” You stammered; he can almost feel your embarrassment through the phone. “I-I was just… curious, that's all.”

It was amusing. How easily he could make you all worked up and flustered, even after nearly ten years of being together—dating, marriage, and even a kid thrown in the mix. He heard you take another deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Don't forget the special pass, okay? They won't let you in the theater without it.” You reminded him.

“I’ll find another way in if I ‘ave to.”

“Simon, I'm serious,” you say, voice firm. “You can't just sneak in. They'll never let you—"

You pause for a moment; Simon assumes you're focused on whatever's going on in the background. He catches the sound of a voice calling your name, saying something about returning to the stage. Then, you sigh into the phone.

“I gotta go. Stage check,” you explain, almost apologetically. “But don't forget the coat and the pass, okay? I need you there, Simon. Both of you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Love ya. See you soon.”

“I love you too.”

With that, Simon ended the call. He pivoted back to the bathroom; the gentle sound of splashing water reached his ears. “Alright, darlin’, time's up," he called out. "Let's get you dried off an' ready to go.”

“Okay!”

A short while later, the two Rileys found themselves inside Gianna's pistachio-colored room—the little girl still wrapped up in her towel like a burrito—both standing in front of the dresser. The sound of her damp feet tapping the floor filled the air as Simon swept his eyes over the colorful options in the closet.

“Alright, then,” he said, looking down at her. “What do you want to wear today?”

Gianna scrunches up her face in deep concentration, brows furrowed, lips pouting in consideration before finally pointing to a rather… mismatched combo of clothes. A bright pink tutu, a neon green t-shirt, and a pair of polka-dot stockings.

“That one!” she declared, looking up at him with a proud grin.

Wrinkles formed on his forehead as Simon gave a look of disapproval. "That?" He questions, tone laced with doubt. “You sure about that? I don't think that's gonna look very good.”

Gianna’s smile faltered, and Simon immediately felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Bloody hell. Clearing his throat, he quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s a bit… unique, isn’t it?” he said, trying to sound more encouraging—as if he hadn't just said it would look ugly. “But if that’s what you wanna wear, then tha’s what we’ll do.”

“Yay!” she squeals, bouncing, clapping her hands as her lips stretch into a toothy grin.

Reaching into the dresser, he pulls out the bright pink tutu, the neon green t-shirt, and the polka-dot stockings and lays them on her bed.

“You can do it by yourself, right?”

Gianna nods eagerly. “Yep!” she chirps, already reaching for the shirt.

“Alright, then. Daddy’ll be waitin’ downstairs, a’ight?”

“Okay!”

With one last glance, he turns and heads out of her room, making his way downstairs to ensure he has all the important things. Wipes, tissues, a few snacks, and a spare set of clothes just in case. He shoved it all into the bag that you usually bring whenever you're out with Gianna.

Zipping the bag, he then reached into his jeans pocket to feel for his wallet. He takes it out, flicks it open, and verifies that the special pass is safely tucked inside. His gaze drifts to the brown coat you had specified, draped over the arms of the couch—another item checked off his mental list.

Glancing up at the grandfather clock, he lets out a soft curse under his breath. Shouldering the bag and grabbing the coat, he walks into the living room and calls out Gianna’s name.

The car ride is a bit of a quiet affair, save for the sound of raindrops pattering against the windscreen. Simon glances at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Gianna in her car seat. She’s kicking her legs back and forth, a slightly bored expression on her face as she stares out the window—at least she’s not uncomfortable. He turns his attention back to the road.

The red light turned green; the car engine hummed as Simon accelerated. Suddenly, a small voice came from the backseat.

“Daddy, I want my song,” Gianna said.

Not understanding what she meant, Simon furrows his brows, shooting a puzzled glance at her reflection in the mirror. “Your song?” he asks, confused. “What song’s that, then?"

A dramatic sigh escapes her. The girl rolls her eyes in a way that is almost comically exaggerated for a five-year-old. “My song!” she exclaims, as if it were common knowledge. “The wheels on the bus, Daddy! The wheels on the bus go round and round!”

“Right, right,” he said, one finger reaching out to fiddle with nearly every button on the radio. “The wheels on the bus. Should’ve known that, shouldn’t I?”

Soon enough, the radio sprung to life, starting the tune of her favorite song. Gianna’s face lit up, and she began happily singing along. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round… Bloody hell, this is worse than the songs you'd had on repeat for a week. But he held his tongue from protesting, observing his little princess doing her small dance instead.

The torture was cut short when the car came to a stop at their destination. The grand neoclassical building of the Metropolitan Opera loomed before them, its mighty and majestic pillars illuminated by the lights. He closed the door, rounding the vehicle to get to Gianna’s side.

Reaching in, he unbuckled the car seat, the girl waiting patiently as he did so.

“Are we gonna see Mum?” she asked, brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Soon, princess.”

Gently, Simon pulled her out of the car seat, setting her down on the ground. Locking the car, he took her tiny hand in his before the two of them made their way to the entrance, where a steady stream of well-dressed onlookers was beginning to file into the building.

Panic began to kick in when Gianna’s tiny hand slipped from his. Before he could protest, however, she pointed in a direction. “Look! That’s Mum!”

Following where her little finger pointed, his brown eyes landed on the large billboard on the side of the opera house. There, illuminated by the warm glow of a spotlight, was you, posed elegantly in your ballet attire, with the bold letters of “The Nutcracker” plastered above you. He couldn’t help the proud smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

The sound of Gianna's hurried footsteps pulled him back to the present, her small form already darting towards the huge display. Quickly, he pulled out his updated mobile (the only reason he bought it was so he could take pictures of you and Gianna) and snapped a quick picture of his daughter standing next to the billboard.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he then strides over to Gianna. “C’mon, don’t wanna be late for Mum, do we?” he says, reaching down to scoop her into his arms. Simon tucks Gianna’s head under his chin.

Fishing out the special pass out of his wallet, he hands it to the person in charge of ticketing. They wave him through, and he steps into the foyer. Footsteps and chatter echo around him as he climbs the steps and through the towering doors of the grand opera hall.

After finding their seats, Simon leaned back comfortably in the velvet chair. But Gianna? The girl sat on the edge of her seat, her blonde head turning from side to side as she took in the sights of people filling their designated spots. She darted her eyes from one end of the room to the other, like she was searching for something—or rather, someone.

“Where’s Mum?” She asked, turning to him with a slight frown.

Simon was still leaning back in his chair. “She’ll be out soon, love,” he assured her.

“When?” she pressed, growing impatient.

Reaching over, he gently pinched her chubby cheek, eliciting a small giggle from Gianna. “Soon, princess,” he repeated, this time really hoping it will soothe her little heart. “Just sit back and relax, alright?”

“Okay, but are we gonna watch Mummy?”

“’Course, that’s why we’re here, right?”

Finally convinced, Gianna leans back, her tiny body relaxing as the lights begin to dim. The orchestra conductor ascends the podium, lifting his baton high. Gradually, the music comes to life. Simon glances over at Gianna to find her swaying her head to the melodies.

“Look, Daddy! Snow!” she exclaims, pointing at the delicate flakes of ‘snow’ falling as the opening scene of the Nutcracker unfolds.

It was easy enough to make Gianna enamored. She was mesmerized by the ‘snow’ coming down from above, letting out a soft gasp of awe when she saw the towering Christmas tree on stage. When the audience applauded, she joined in excitedly, trying to clap even louder.

But nothing, nothing compares to the moment she spots her mum.

The second you glide onto the stage, Gianna lets out a loud gasp, launching off the chair. She glues her gaze to your every step, jaw hanging open as her eyes radiate pure adoration. With her tiny index finger pointed, she jumps up and down.

“That’s Mummy, Daddy! That’s Mummy!”

His heart had never been this full. He chuckled, reaching out to gently tug her back down into her seat. “Aye, that's her, love.” He said, following where she pointed, to his wife.

“Tha’s Mummy, Daddy! Woah, woah! She’s so pretty!”

And she’s right—you’re absolutely enchanting, every movement imbued with elegance and poise. The fluid extension of your legs, the exquisite way the spotlight caresses your form. He watches you dance with your co-star in perfect synchronization, flawlessly executing those ballerina moves he can never recall the names of but loves all the same.

“She’s the best, Daddy! Look at ‘er go! Woaahh!”

“Aye, bloody brilliant, she is.”

Gianna nods in agreement. “Yeah, bloody brilliant!”

Simon snorts when she steals his lines, echoing like a loyal follower. As you continue your performance, Gianna’s oohs and awws fill the air around them. She makes little cheers, more praises, more clapping. “Didja see that jump?!” here, “She’s sooo pretty!” there.

Miraculously, Gianna still had a tank of energy even after the show was over. The second the girl saw you, she ran over and threw her arms around you. You quickly leaned down, sweeping Gianna into your arms. She giggled as you peppered her cheeks, nose, and forehead with kisses.

“Here’s my pretty girl!” you said, giving her chubby cheeks another peck.

Swelling with pride, Simon smiled at the sight of his two favorite people together. Walking over to his girls, he held out the bouquet of flowers he had just taken from the trunk of his car, offering them to you.

“Well done, love.”

You accept the flowers as Simon takes Gianna from you. “Oh, babe, they’re beautiful.” You breathe, lips curving into a radiant smile.

Without a second thought, you rise onto your tiptoes, bridging the height difference between you, before pressing your lips to his in a slow, prolonged kiss. Gianna makes a disgusted sound—Simon can feel the corners of your mouth curving into a smile. You can feel the warmth of his body as he pulls you close; the familiar scent of his cologne and something of him intoxicating you.

But the moment is interrupted when Gianna tugs on Simon's cheek.

“That’s gross, Daddy! Get off Mum!”

Simon pressed one last, gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away completely. “She’s my wife too, kid.” He reminded his daughter.

You giggle at Gianna's reaction. Reaching up, you cup Simon's stubbled jaw, your thumb gently caressing the short, prickly hair over his chin. Then, turning back to your pouting daughter, you lean closer to place a soft, affectionate kiss upon her cheek.

“I need to go change, and then we can all go home, okay?”

Soon enough, the three of you were in the car, with the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of “The Wheels on the Bus” playing on the radio. In the back seat, Gianna was still full of energy, even more enthusiastic after the ballet show.

As Simon makes another turn, Gianna suddenly pipes up. “I want to be like Mummy when I grow up!” she declared.

You twist your body in the passenger seat to face her. “Really? You wanna be a ballerina like me?”

Watching Gianna in the rearview mirror, Simon joined in the conversation with his question. “Yeah? What happened to wanting to be a soldier?”

It's not like he would actually allow her if it ended up being more than a silly childhood dream. The mere idea of Gianna putting herself in danger, surrounded by self-entitled men in their star-encrusted uniforms, facing the same horrors he had seen, filled his stomach with unease. If any of her aspirations were to see fruition, he would much rather she shine in the spotlight, where she could display her poise and elegance, just like you.

But Gianna took her time in answering, as if she was considering it carefully. “‘Course I want that too! I'll just be a ballerina an’ a soldier!”

Both you and Simon laughed at that. Always gotta have it all, your little girl.

[s0apmactav1sh]

Traitor AU! 141 x male reader.

TW: Violence. Mentions of a knife? Reader going through physical torture. Youve been warned

Theres so real mention of pronouns but reader is a male. Minors, fem alligned do not interact. My works are purely for 18 + and are male centered. Thank you.

- Price who gives the order after a tip off directing them in your direction. For what? For giving out info on the recent mission that got them ambushed. You who wakes up in an interrogation room by freezing cold water being splashed over you.

- Ghost who carries out the first part of the punishments they deemed reasonable for your betrayal. Choosing which bones to break that would cause the most pain and injury to you. Starting with bashing in your knees to make sure you wouldnt be walking out of there. Next deciding on breaking a few ribs. To hell you be damned. Each bone broken had you writhing in pain and pleading with him that it wasnt you.

- Ghost who leaves you with several broken bones all over. None of them even caring to question you. Its not like he comes back either. No he stays away after that being unable to look at your face without seeing a traitor. He had half a mind to go back in to break your jaw or give you a black eye but that was to be left up to soap or gaz.

- Soap. Who wasnt usually quick to anger but this? Was unforgivable and you deserved it right? Each time he took the knife to add another cut somewhere a small voice was telling them there was something wrong. But he shook it off taking out his frustration on you cutting you up. Swapping out different blades depending on how angry he was feeling in the minute.

- Gaz who doesnt even go when its his turn instead ignoring your pleas for them to listen. Just watching you through the two way mirror as other soldiers go in and take there revenge for you betraying them. Watching how they beat you bloody, broke bones like ghost had done, cut you up like soap had done and spread the word like price had done.

- You who gave up fighting against it all after 3 days of the constant beatings and torment you were going through. You tried convincing yourself that they were only angry because they thought it was you. Theyd surely come rescue out of there as soon as they came to their senses. Right? Right??

- You who gave up the hope after two weeks. None of them had returned leaving it up to the other soldiers to torture and do what the wanted to you. Your body had numbed most of the pain. Even when a soldier took a pilars to your teeth. Ripping some of them out. When said solider then broke your jaw with the same pilars leaving your mouth a bloody mess.

- Price who was going mad at not finding anything that he could properly pin the betrayal on you. All he had was the tip off but even then was it true? No. It wasnt. Ghost had caught the proper mole. The one who was selling information. The one who had framed you.

- Price who demanded all torture towards you stop. But it wasnt quick enough. Most of the wounds left were infected from being left untreated in a damp room. Even medics were sure you'd heal properly because they werent allowed in to asses your injuries until now.

- Ghost who felt guilty but didnt show it. He was disgusted with how easily they all believed it, how quick they were to resort to torture. Soap who couldnt believe the little voice in the back of his head that he had been ignoring was telling the truth. After seeing you in the hospital covered in bandages and casts for the broken bones he knew he shouldve listened to it but he was blinded by his anger.

- Gaz who had refused to visit you, almost like he had refused to torture you. It didnt mean he wasnt as bad as the rest of them. No he had let others do his piece for him which made him just as bad. Now all he cpuld do was watch you through the mirror to your hospital room hoping you'd heal.

- Price who was in denial over what he had done. Refusing to accept he had given the order. He had been to visit seeing you hook up to the machines the fact that you would have to take leave for who knows how long. And the possible chance that you would never be the same. Torture did things to people, altered their mindsets and he was worried that would happem to you.

- You would didnt properly wake up until a month later, medics having to sedate you when you did wake up since the pain was clearly unbearable from the way you thrashed and squirmed in the bed. You who had to be strapped down so you didnt fall and worsen the injuries that were struggling to heal already.

- You who couldnt even look at any of them when they finally came to visit. Just staring up at the ceiling. Deep in thought remembering the harsh words they screamed at you the way they tortured you in that room for 17 days straight. They tried their best to talk to you or get you to look at them but you couldnt. Nor would you. You didnt feel safe around them. A chill piercing you each time they even touched you.

-now came the question was what would you do when you healed?

Pt 2???

[earthlybeam]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your writing. Especially the way you write Elrond! So good. You've very quickly become one of my favorite tumblr posters :) I don't know if anyone has asked this yet, but if not, how would Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad react to the reader rescuing them from being captured by orcs/bandits? Thanks!

Thank you so much for your kind words! It truly means the world to me to hear that you enjoy my writing. 🥹❤️‍🔥🫶✨

As for your question, I actually wrote something similar to this idea before the title called “Elves reacting their you saving their life’s” it’s on my Masterlist pinned at top of my page you’ll find it in their, though I haven’t explored a scenario with orcs or bandits specifically—so I’d be more than happy to write it for you. It’s such a fun and dynamic setup, and I love the idea of exploring how Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-galad would react in that kind of situation. Thank you for the inspiration! 🥺🤌

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond, Gil-Galad Círdan Version below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The ancient woods of Eregion were silent, the kind of silence that came when predators were near. The golden light of dusk bled through the canopy, staining the forest floor in hues of amber and crimson. The wind barely stirred, as if the trees themselves held their breath. Somewhere within this tranquil facade, chaos brewed. Elrond Half-elven had been captured. The orcs had struck swiftly and without mercy, ambushing him and his small party as they returned from a reconnaissance mission. His guards had fought valiantly but were quickly overwhelmed. Now, bound and bloodied, Elrond knelt in a rough clearing, surrounded by the jeers of his captors. His silver-threaded tunic was torn, his dark hair matted with dirt and blood. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, his eyes shone like steel—cold, calculating, and unyielding.

The orcs had made a mistake. They had underestimated him. But even Elrond, for all his cunning, could not see a clear path to freedom. His hands were tightly bound behind him, the ropes cutting into his skin, a reminder of his helplessness. His weapons were gone, and though his mind raced with strategies, every scenario ended the same: with his blood soaking the earth. His pride and experience told him to fight, but in the quiet dark of the clearing, with the weight of captivity pressing down on him, Elrond knew he was out of options. For a fleeting moment, something close to frustration stirred within him—but he quickly pushed it aside. Anger wouldn’t free him, nor would it serve him here. He needed to think, needed to wait, but time was a luxury he no longer had.

The orcs were already bickering over their prize. One particularly large brute brandished a jagged blade and snarled something in their guttural tongue. Elrond didn’t flinch. He met the orc’s gaze with cold detachment, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of his fear. He had seen this before—death in various forms, and in many guises. If this was to be his end, he would meet it with dignity. But even as he steeled himself, he could feel the weight of his impending fate, the very real possibility of this moment being his last. And then, a sound—a faint rustle in the underbrush. The orcs didn’t notice, too consumed by their squabble, but Elrond’s keen ears caught it. His sharp gaze flickered toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing, where the fading light painted shifting patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, his mind raced. Was it a stray animal? A larger threat? No. The movement was too deliberate, too precise, to be mere chance.

A slight shift in the air, a tension, drew his attention fully. He felt a strange spark of hope—a quick, unfamiliar surge, like a breath after being submerged too long. And then, his senses sharpened, pulling his attention entirely to the darkness beyond. Something—or someone—was coming. Someone was there. Someone you. You had tracked the orcs for hours, following the trail of broken branches and spilled blood. When you’d come upon the scene—Elrond bound and surrounded—you hadn’t hesitated. There wasn’t time to formulate a grand plan or to consider the consequences. All that mattered was saving him.

From the shadows, you moved with practiced stealth, each step as quiet as the fall of a leaf. Your hand tightened around the hilt of your blade as you assessed the situation. The orcs were many—more than you’d expected—but their focus on Elrond gave you the element of surprise. It would have to be enough. Your attack was swift. The first orc didn’t even have time to scream before your blade slid across its throat. The second fell just as quickly, your dagger finding its mark in the gap between its armor. By the time the others realized what was happening, you were already upon them, a whirlwind of steel and determination.

Elrond’s head snapped up at the commotion, his sharp gaze locking onto your form as you cut through his captors like a storm. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by something else—something akin to awe. You moved with a grace that rivaled even the elves, your every strike precise, your every motion purposeful. The orcs snarled and lunged at you, but you were relentless. The clearing erupted into chaos as you danced between them, your blade gleaming in the fading light. One by one, the orcs fell, their cries echoing through the trees. Still, more kept coming, their brute strength and numbers threatening to overwhelm you.

Elrond, though bound and weaponless, wasn’t idle. He twisted his wrists against the ropes, his sharp mind analyzing every detail of the fight. When one orc charged toward you from behind, he shouted, “Behind you!” His voice, commanding even in captivity, gave you just enough warning to sidestep the attack and deliver a killing blow. Finally, the last orc fell, its body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The clearing was eerily quiet once more, the air thick with the stench of blood. You turned to Elrond, your chest heaving as you hurried to his side.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice breathless but steady. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he replied, his tone calm despite the ordeal. His eyes, however, betrayed the storm of emotions roiling beneath his composed exterior—relief, gratitude, and perhaps a touch of disbelief. You knelt behind him, cutting through the ropes with quick, efficient movements. As the bindings fell away, Elrond flexed his hands, wincing slightly at the raw skin beneath. He rose to his feet with the grace of one who had endured far worse, his imposing presence undiminished by his injuries. “You should not have come for me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It was reckless.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I wasn’t about to leave you to them.” For a moment, Elrond said nothing, his piercing gray eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Foolish,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But brave.” Together, you moved through the forest, leaving the carnage behind. Elrond insisted he was fine, though you couldn’t help but notice the way he favored one leg as he walked. When you offered to slow down, he waved you off with a faint smirk. “I am not as fragile as I look.” As night fell, the two of you stopped to rest in a small, sheltered glade. Elrond sat with his back against a tree, his eyes fixed on the stars above. You sat beside him, the silence between you comfortable but charged with unspoken words. Finally, Elrond broke the silence. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice soft. “I do not say this lightly, but I am in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you replied. “I did what anyone would do.” “No,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Not anyone. Few would risk their lives for another, let alone against such odds. You have my gratitude—and my respect.” There was a sincerity in his tone that left no room for doubt. For all his wisdom and strength, Elrond was not one to offer his trust easily. Yet, in this moment, he looked at you not as a subordinate or even a savior, but as an equal. As the night deepened and the stars shone brighter, you realized that this moment—shared in the aftermath of danger—was the beginning of something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-Galad might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The night air was cold, and the sky overhead was shrouded in a blanket of clouds. The dark, twisted trees of Middle-earth seemed to close in, casting ominous shadows across the forest floor. In the heart of the woods, Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, stood tall—his regal bearing unshaken, even in the face of danger. The faintest shimmer of starlight glanced off his golden armor as he and his companions prepared for an ambush. His keen silver grey eyes scanned the surroundings, always vigilant, always prepared for what came next. But even the most vigilant of Elven kings could be caught off guard. The attack was swift. Orcs, crawling from the dark crevices of the forest, came at them like a tide. The clash of metal on metal rang out as Gil-galad led his warriors with strength and precision, a beacon of light in the chaos. His movements were fluid, his strikes calculated, but even he was not immune to the overwhelming number of attackers.

In the midst of the fray, one of the Orcs, taller and stronger than the others, launched itself at Gil-galad with terrifying speed. It knocked the King off balance, sending him crashing to the forest floor with a heavy thud. His sword fell from his hand, skidding away into the underbrush. For a fleeting moment, Gil-galad’s breath was knocked from his lungs, his vision blurred from the sudden impact. The sting of the fall reached deep into his ribs, and the sharpness of the pain reminded him that even a King was not invincible. The Orcs closed in, snarling, their eyes gleaming with malice. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his pulse quickening as he struggled to regain his bearings. Gil-galad’s gaze sharpened despite the fog of disorientation, his mind already calculating his next move. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade aimed at his heart. He reached for his sword, but it was too far away. There was a fleeting moment, a brief weakness—something unfamiliar—that passed through him. A flash of helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. It was swiftly buried beneath layers of command and duty, but it lingered just a little longer than he would have liked. Just as the Orcs began to close in, something unexpected happened.

A rush of movement swept through the trees. In a blink, you appeared—your form silhouetted by the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. Without hesitation, you leapt into the fray, your blade flashing like a streak of lightning in the darkness. The battle paused for a brief second as Gil-galad, still on the ground, turned his head in your direction. His heart skipped a beat—not from fear or shock, but from an overwhelming sense of awe. With swift precision, you cut through the nearest Orc, your movements an elegant dance of strength and agility. The creatures fell back, surprised by the sudden turn of events, their snarls turning to fearful hisses. But it wasn’t the Orcs that held Gil-galad’s attention. It was you. Your movements were effortless, your focus unwavering. You cut through their ranks, protecting the King as though you were born for this very moment. Gil-galad’s thoughts raced. He knew his warriors were skilled, but there was something about you—something about the way you moved, the way you fought with such certainty and grace—that left him speechless. A profound sense of gratitude and admiration swelled in his chest.

His breath was still ragged from the fall, but he forced himself to push off the ground, his hand gripping the earth for support. His eyes locked on yours as you cleared the final Orcs with a grace that could only come from an elf with purpose. The moment you turned toward him, your gaze filled with concern, his lips parted to speak, but no words came. For the first time in many long years, the weight of the battle felt distant compared to the relief that flooded him at your presence. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it was tempered by an undeniable surge of gratitude. You had been there when he faltered—when the weight of the crown, the history of his people, and the perils of the battle had threatened to pull him down. You stepped toward him, your voice calm and steady as you spoke. “Are you injured, my king?” Gil-galad, still shaken but steadying himself, nodded. “I am unharmed, thanks to you.” His voice was low, but the words carried a sincerity that he could not conceal. There was no formality in his words, no regal distance between you. Only an unspoken appreciation. He would have never admitted it aloud, but in that fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar vulnerability, one he did not know how to shield himself from.

You bent down to help him, extending your hand. He took it, and as you helped him rise to his feet, a look of quiet admiration crossed his face. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze softening as he took in the full depth of your actions. A flicker of something more stirred within him—a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. But it was the steadiness of your touch, the way you stood by him without hesitation, that left him in awe. The king, ever the leader, found his heart racing not with the weight of his title, but with something far simpler: a respect, perhaps something even deeper, for the one who had stood by him in the face of danger. “You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, his tone rich with meaning. “Without your intervention, I may not have made it out of this alive.” There was a weight in his words—an acknowledgement that, in this chaotic world of shifting alliances and countless battles, your presence had changed everything. He had long borne the weight of his kingdom, the responsibility of leadership, but tonight, that burden had been eased by you.

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world around them faded. The sounds of battle, the crashing of blades, the cries of the fallen—all of it melted away as Gil-galad’s gaze softened. “Your bravery… it does not go unnoticed,” he added, his voice low and earnest. “I will not forget this.” As you stood by him, your hands still holding his, he felt the weight of the moment settle between you both. The connection was undeniable. He had seen countless lives lost in the wars of Middle-earth, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, but in this fleeting moment, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—trust. Perhaps, even something more. The night was still, the threat of the Orcs momentarily forgotten, as the two of you shared a brief but significant moment. It was then that Gil-galad realized the depths of your loyalty—not just as a warrior, but as someone who had saved him not for glory, but for the simple love of what was right. And as he returned to the fight, standing side by side with you, the King’s heart swelled with something he hadn’t expected—hope.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Círdan might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The salt-laden air of the Grey Havens stung the skin as the distant waves crashed relentlessly against the shore, their rhythm a cruel backdrop to the chaos unfolding on the docks. The normally serene harbor had become a battlefield, its once tranquil shores stained with the blood of the brave and the wicked alike. Orcs had struck swiftly, their guttural cries mingling with the clang of steel and the roar of flames licking the sky. A boat had been set ablaze, its wreckage casting an eerie glow on the water as smoke swirled into the darkening sky. Círdan, his silver hair flowing behind him like a banner, stood as an unyielding sentinel amidst the chaos. His movements were fluid, a dance of deadly elegance as he cut down the attackers one by one. Despite the ferocity of his strikes, his age was beginning to show. His breath, though steady, came with more effort now, and his movements were slower, less sharp than they had once been. The weight of centuries rested on his shoulders, and though his resolve was unbroken, fatigue crept into his limbs.

The orcs were relentless, and soon he was surrounded. A heavy cleaver struck his sword with a resounding clash, forcing him back against the stone wall of the harbor. The ground beneath his feet was slick, and for a brief moment, Círdan felt the full weight of age and weariness. His heart pounded in his chest, but still he raised his sword, determined to protect his people, to fend off the dark tide. Then, the sound—a rustle in the trees above, so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. But not to Círdan. His sharp eyes flickered toward the movement, his heart quickening with hope. He knew what it meant. You were here. You had been tracking the orc band for days, following their trail with patience and precision. But when you had seen the smoke rising from the docks, when you had realized that the mighty Shipwright himself was in peril, there was no hesitation. You burst from the shadows, a whirlwind of action and determination. Your blade was already in your hand as you descended from the ridge above the harbor, landing with the grace of a predator.

The first orc never knew what hit it. You moved like lightning, your strike clean and efficient, the orc’s blood spilling across the stones before it even had time to scream. The second orc fared no better, falling at your feet with a single, well-placed blow. Círdan’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you, the flicker of disbelief in his gaze quickly replaced by something far deeper—recognition, relief, and perhaps even a touch of awe. You had come for him, risking everything to pull him from the jaws of death. “Stay behind me!” you shouted as you moved toward him, your voice firm and unyielding amidst the chaos of battle. For a moment, Círdan hesitated. He had always been the protector, the one to stand between others and danger. But as he saw you cut through the orcs with such deadly precision, the decision was made for him. He gritted his teeth, his sword rising once more to meet the next foe. Together, you formed an unstoppable force, a seamless unity that struck terror into the hearts of the orcs.

The battle raged on, but your combined strength was a force of nature. At one point, a brutish orc captain, wielding a massive axe, charged at you. Círdan saw it coming before you did. Without hesitation, he stepped into the line of fire, his sword parrying the deadly blow that would have otherwise struck you down. The force of the strike rattled him, but his gaze remained as steady as the sea. “You risk much for an old shipwright,” he said, his voice calm even in the midst of the battle. “I’m not leaving you here!” you replied fiercely, spinning to meet another attacker. “Not after all you’ve done for Middle-earth.” For a fleeting moment, Círdan’s expression softened, and his eyes lingered on you with a new respect. Few understood the sacrifices he had made over the centuries, the countless battles fought in the shadows, the weight of leadership that bore down on him. But you—here you were, putting everything on the line for him. And somehow, it stirred something deep within him.

With renewed purpose, you fought side by side, driving the orcs back, step by step, until their resolve shattered. The last of the attackers fell with a guttural cry, their bodies littering the stones of the harbor like discarded refuse. The once-bloody battlefield fell silent. The air was thick with the scent of salt and blood, but the clamor of battle had ceased. Only the gentle lap of the waves against the shore and the distant cries of gulls broke the stillness. Círdan stood beside you, his breath coming in measured, steady bursts. He was still strong, but the toll of the fight had left its mark on him. His cheek was bloodied, a thin cut running across his face, but his posture was unyielding. He looked at you with gratitude and something deeper—an understanding that had not existed between you before.

“You have my thanks,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion. His blue eyes held yours, and for the first time in your presence, he spoke not as a leader, but as a fellow soul who had witnessed your bravery firsthand. “Few would have risked their lives for me. Fewer still would have succeeded.” You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve spent centuries helping others, Círdan. It’s about time someone returned the favor.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but filled with warmth. “Then I am fortunate it was you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the harbor, you and Círdan stood side by side, looking out over the water. The battle had been long and fierce, but the bond forged between you in the heat of conflict was even stronger. There was no need for words now. The understanding between you was clear.

Círdan placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip gentle but strong—a silent gesture of respect. “You have the heart of a mariner,” he said softly, his voice carrying the cadence of the sea. “Fearless, steadfast, and loyal. I will not forget this.” And as the light of the new day broke over the Grey Havens, you knew that, in your heart, you had not only saved a life—you had earned the trust and respect of one of Middle-earth’s greatest figures.

[armpirate]

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 1

MASTERLIST Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 20 minutes

Chapter warnings: Violence, shooting, mentions of blood and drugs

The night had gone according to plan: the cabs were on time, the guests started arriving -with a significant amount of people showing up for the event-, the cloudy sky only showed its black tone with some shining starts standing out -at least, what the city of Detroit allowed-, which meant the cocktail would be held on the outside as planned.

Everything was going according to plan… until it didn't.

Y/n's fingers trailed absently over the clipboard, eyes scanning the banquet hall for any last-minute hiccups. The small awards ceremony had flowed as smoothly as she'd envisioned -perfectly timed speeches, lights dimming at all the right moments, and not a single technical glitch. The guests were enjoying the short colloquiums, the awards were safe and taken well care of before handing them to their owners.

She had everything under control… until the cocktail hour came.

The shift to the cocktail reception felt like a descent into chaos.

Y/n's gaze darted to the far end of the adjacent room, where a tall, chubby woman -one of the night's winners- was animatedly arguing with a waiter. A simple mix-up over her drink order had somehow spiraled out of control. The brunette was waving her arms, her voice rising over the soft chatter of the crowd, her complaints turning heads. Y/n felt the knot tighten in her stomach as she hurried over, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Those situations always made her nervous, but it wasn't something she hadn't seen before or something she wasn't able to find a solution to.

—Look at what you've done —the woman snapped, her frustration palpable—. Do you have an idea of how much this dress costs?

It was a trivial mistake, one that could have been handled discreetly, but that ended up having the attention of half the room.

—I'm sorry, miss. I'm sure it was an accident, she was trying to get through… —Y/n said in her calmest voice, attempting to calm down the situation— Let me help you clean you up.

—Are you blaming me now?

—No, no —she quickly shook her head—. I meant that she didn't do it on purpose, these things happen. There's a trick to clean wine up.

—I don't need your boorish tricks —the woman pushed her away before Y/n could even attempt to help her—. Shit, this dress cost eight hundred dollars. Are you going to pay for it?

Y/n's body tensed after hearing the price. That woman paid for her dress the same amount Y/n paid for her rent, which she thought was expensive just a few hours back, while discussing with one of the hostesses back in the hall.

That woman was making a big fuss, when she knew s\well he had no problem buying another one if she wanted to. Hell, she probably had that same dress in different colors back home.

—Miss, again, the waitress was trying to get through, but you were in the middle of the way. I'm afraid the company can't pay for the dress, but…

—Not only do you ruin my dress, but also call me fat?

—What? No, of course not. I never meant it that way.

Y/n was trying everything in her hand to calm the woman down and keep her from making a scene, but it was too late. All eyes were already on them as Celia Curry kept ranting about her dress, ignoring all her attempts on making damage control. Some guests whispered behind their hands, and others simply watched, relishing the drama of someone else's accident.

The situation kept scalating out of her control, feeling like every word she said only helped to make things worse.

It didn't take long for Y/n's boss, Darnell, to appear beside her, his towering frame and stern expression making her stomach clench.

Darnell was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his tone carried weight. His skin was as dark as the fitted suit he wore, his eyes sharp behind his glasses as he fixed her with a disapproving look, before he took control of the situation that she wasn't able to, moving away with the problematic lady.

Eventually, the situation was handled, but the damage was done. The smooth control Y/n had so carefully maintained all night was shattered.

Darnell was chatting with the few guests left, while the only people left were those working for the catering company -and who were picking up all the tables spread all over the room-, and the three hostesses that were chatting between them.

She hoped that conversation would last forever, because she knew what would come next for her wouldn't be good news.

—Y/n —he said, his voice serious—, you need to handle situations like that better. You're supposed to put out the fire, not to make it worse.

Her stomach twisted. She was convinced it wasn't that bad, but she guessed wrong.

—I know what you're trying to say, but she only calmed down because it was you who spoke to her —she tried to explain.

—I have to pay eight hundred dollars of my own money, just so she'd stop making a scene. You've been working in the industry for long enough to know that it's always better to just nod and let them rant than say something else that could get us in trouble.

—It was an accident. The waitress didn't want to ruin her dress. What did she expect us to do? To call out someone who was doing her job? It was her fault for being on the way…

—I don't want excuses —he cut her off, his tone sharp—. Celia was going to hire us for one of the parties she hosts, and we almost lost that opportunity because you still don't know what are the right words to say in situations like these. I won't let it pass another time.

With that, he walked away, leaving her standing alone in the now quiet venue, her confidence shaken.

Y/n stayed behind, even when everyone that formed the staff left, needing the time to process and, more than anything, catch her breath.

The venue was eerily quiet now, the earlier noise replaced with the echo of distant footsteps and the soft hum of the lights. She glanced at the bar, where leftover glasses and discarded napkins remained.

She sighed, sinking into one of the chairs in the now-empty hall. It was supposed to have been her night. A flawless event to prove she could handle anything. Instead, she was left picking up the pieces of a mistake that never should have happened.

Alone with her thoughts, Y/n's mind wandered. Little did she know, her night was just getting started.

San stood at the edge of the abandoned ceramics establishment that once belonged to his family, the dim light from a single hanging bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of dust and humidity filled the room. It was a place where deals were made in silence and sealed with blood.

That night was supposed to be no different.

He had chosen that place himself -an isolated part of the docks, far from prying eyes and the ears of law enforcement. No one in that part of the city spoke about what they saw, even less if he was involved.

His black suit clung to his form with a precision that matched his meticulous nature. Everything was always under control.

Behind him stood Mingi and Jongho, his most trusted men. Mingi's height alone made him intimidating, his broad shoulders like steel doors guarding a vault. Jongho, quieter but lethal, had eyes that missed nothing. The two were formidable, their presence an unspoken warning: Do not cross us.

San's gaze was fixed on the men standing opposite him. Four of them, each dressed in leather jackets and cheap denim, their eyes darting nervously between him and his men. They had the look of street thugs -greedy, reckless, but not entirely stupid. Their leader, a man named Lucas, had swaggered in as if he owned the place, a false confidence that grated on San's nerves.

It had been an important deal, one San had personally overseen. This wasn't just another routine drug exchange; it was one that could tighten his grip on the city's underworld, push his operations to new heights. But from the moment the other group had walked in, San had sensed something was off.

The bags of money and drugs were in place, stacked neatly on a table in the center of the room. The terms were clear: a large shipment of high-grade product for an equally large sum of cash. But the other men -they were stalling.

San narrowed his eyes, his fingers lightly tapping the handle of the gun hidden beneath his jacket. He didn't like delays, and he liked hesitation even less.

—What's up, Lucas —San's voice was calm, but it carried an edge that made people pause.

He didn't need to shout to be threatening. Power, he had learned long ago, was in restraint. When you had it, you didn't need to flaunt it.

Lucas glanced at his men, shifting on his feet. His cocky demeanor faltered.

—We just… we need to make sure the product's pure, you know? No offense, San.

San's jaw clenched. He didn't like repeating himself. The product had already been tested, vetted, and verified. These kinds of second guesses were a slap in the face, especially after the reputation he had built. But Lucas' behavior wasn't just about caution. It was something more.

—You're wasting my time —San said, stepping forward. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous warning—. It was already tested. Are you implying I'm trying to fool you?

—It's not about trust, but I guess you already know that.

Lucas fumbled, gesturing to one of his men to check the drugs despite the first rejection, but San's focus wasn't on the drugs anymore. It was in their hands. Fidgeting. Twitching. Lucas' right hand, tapping rhythmically against his thigh. The unmistakable sign of a man on edge -one waiting for something.

It clicked in San's mind: This isn't just nerves. They're uneasy for a reason.

His instincts, honed by years in the streets, screamed danger. Without a word, San's eyes flicked to Mingi and Jongho. The two moved imperceptibly, hands ready on their weapons, their muscles coiled like springs, waiting for his signal.

—There's the money —Lucas insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled a gun from his waistband, waving it casually like a prop.

A bad attempt to look tougher than he was, while trying to distract the man in front of him.

San didn't flinch. He never did.

—Test the fucking coke —he said coolly, nodding toward the product—. Do the job you came for. Unlike you, I know you don't have the balls to trick me.

Lucas hesitated. His men shifted, their gazes bouncing between each other. It was a subtle tell, but enough for San to know what was coming.

They've already decided.

San's eyes hardened. His blood surged with the cold realization. He didn't wait for the first move -he made it.

In one fluid motion, San drew his gun, his aim deadly accurate as he fired at Lucas' man who reached for the drugs. The shot rang out, the deafening crack of the gun a declaration of war. The man crumpled to the floor before he could draw his own weapon.

Gunfire erupted from all sides. Lucas' crew had been waiting for that -ready to steal both the drugs and the money. Bullets ricocheted off the metal beams, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room as chaos took over.

San moved with precision, his body a blur as he fired off two more shots, dropping another of Lucas' men. But in the frenzy, Lucas and the remaining two scrambled for the table, grabbing the bags and making a break for the exit.

Blood pulsed from a sudden, sharp pain in San's side. He looked down, seeing the dark stain spreading across his shirt. He'd been hit.

He stumbled backward, bracing himself against a pillar. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay standing. He could hear Mingi and Jongho taking down more of the traitors, but it wasn't enough. Lucas had slipped through their fingers, dragging the stolen goods with him.

—Boss! —Jongho was beside him in an instant, eyes wide with concern—. You're hit!

San waved him off, anger fueling him more than the pain.

—Go after them. Now.

—We can't leave you here —Mingi insisted.

—I said go! —San's voice was steel, leaving no room for argument.

He wasn't going to bleed out there while his enemies walked free with what was his. He could still feel Lucas' smirk in the air, and that thought alone sent a fresh surge of fury through him.

Mingi and Jongho hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. They bolted after the escaping men, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared into the night.

San stood alone in the now-silent establishment, breathing heavily, his hand pressed hard against the wound. He could feel the warm blood spilling out between his fingers. Soon the police sirens reached his ear, making him curse in between her teeth, before he chose to escape through the back door.

He needed to get out, find somewhere safe, but the pain made each step harder.

Dragging himself through the alleys, he pushed forward, determined to stay conscious. After what felt like an eternity, the dim glow of a nearby venue caught his eye. He didn't know what it was -a bar, a club- but the lights were still on. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could stop the bleeding, and somewhere where he wouldn't be found, because the police wouldn't look for him there.

Without another option, he stumbled toward the door, pushing it open with what little strength he had left.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/n jumped, startled by the sudden crash of the door slamming against the wall. A man stumbled inside, his tall figure nearly crumpling as he lurched forward. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, eyes widening in shock.

He wore a gray suit, or what was left of it. The jacket was torn, stained with something dark -blood. A long, black coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders, but his sharp features were marred by the ghostly pale complexion of someone who had lost too much blood.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the room, his lips pressed into a tight line of pain. The man was hurt, badly.

Too much blood.

Her hands trembled as she shot to her feet. Instinct screamed at her to help, but fear paralyzed her for a moment. Her mind raced, panicked, as she saw the crimson seeping through the fabric of his suit, the gaping hole in his side.

—Oh god —she breathed, stepping back, her eyes glued to the growing red stain.

The man's knees buckled, and he stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby table for support. His gaze locked onto hers, sharp despite the pain.

—Help me —he rasped, his voice deep and commanding, a raw edge to it.

Her first instinct was to reach for her phone, call an ambulance so he'd get the help he needed, but he stopped her before she could get her purse.

—Don't call anyone.

—What? —Y/n blinked, not fully understanding— But you're bleeding…

—I said don't call anyone —he repeated, this time stronger, more forceful.

His words cut through her panic, grounding her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned her in place. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

—Please… —his tone softened, just slightly, almost pleading, but the command remained. He leaned harder against the table, fighting to stay upright.

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She moved toward him cautiously, instinct taking over despite the fear gnawing at her insides. He was a stranger -dangerous-looking, clearly involved in something violent- but something in his voice, his gaze, pulled her closer. She couldn't just leave him there.

—I… I don't know what to do —she stammered, glancing at the blood soaking his side. Her mind screamed at her to run, to call for help, but instead, her hands hovered over his coat—. You need a doctor.

—No doctor. So I guess the only thing I need right now is you.

—But… —Y/n hesitated, eyes wide.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, making her gasp. His fingers were cold, but his grip was firm, insistent.

—Check my back —he ordered, his voice rough but steady—. Is there a hole?

Her stomach turned at the request, but she nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat as she slowly stepped behind him. Her trembling fingers lifted the edge of his black coat, revealing more blood. It was everywhere. She winced as she saw the tear in the back of his suit -another bullet wound.

Oh God, there's another one.

Her knees nearly buckled at the sight of it, her breath catching in her throat.

—There's… there's another wound —she whispered, panic rising in her voice.

—Good. That'll make it easy —he mumbled—. Just… clean it. Stop the bleeding —he ordered again, his voice hoarse but laced with the same cold authority.

Y/n nodded, her movements stiff and robotic as she grabbed a towel from one of the tables. She didn't know what else to do -there was no medical kit, no real supplies to help someone who had been shot. But San moved first, clenching his jaw to omit a whine when he attempted to take off his shirt. She could hear the tremor in her own breathing as she pressed the towel to his back, feeling the warmth of his blood soak through the fabric.

He winced but said nothing, his jaw clenched as he leaned against the table, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

—You're losing too much blood —she whispered, pressing harder to stem the flow—. I don't think I can…

—You can —he interrupted, his voice low but firm—. I'll tell you what to do. Just… focus.

Y/n bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe, to calm down. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her under his wet bangs, even as she worked to stop the bleeding. He was staring at her -his expression unreadable but intense, almost like he was sizing her up, gauging her resolve.

—Who are you? —she asked quietly, glancing up at him through her lashes as she pressed the towel harder against his back— What happened?

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes darkened, his face tightening with pain as he leaned more heavily against the table.

—That's not important right now.

Y/n swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the situation sink deeper into her bones. That man, whoever he was, wasn't just hurt. He was dangerous. The way he commanded her, the way he dismissed his injuries, like this was just another day -it wasn't normal.

And yet, there was something about him, something magnetic, that kept her rooted in place. Even through the fear and confusion, she couldn't look away.

—Please —he said again, softer this time. His voice cut through her racing thoughts like a blade—. Help me.

Y/n pressed the towel harder against his back, her hands shaking as she tried to stop the bleeding. The man's breathing had become shallower, each breath coming in ragged, painful bursts, but he still didn't let up. He gave her instructions with a calm authority that unnerved her.

—Press harder —San murmured, his deep voice steady, though strained with pain. His dark eyes flicked between the wound and her face—. You're doing fine.

—I doubt you're doing fine though —she swallowed back the panic clawing at her throat, focusing on his words. Her fingers trembled as she tore strips from the tablecloth, fashioning them into makeshift bandages—. I'm not a doctor—. she whispered, her voice shaky—. I don't know if this is enough.

—It's enough —he said with a certainty that silenced any protest.

His hand rested against the table, steadying himself, while his gaze lingered on her face. His sharp eyes softened just for a moment as he noticed her red, puffy eyes -evidence of the tears she'd been shedding before he barged in.

San's brow furrowed slightly, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest. He wasn't used to caring about anyone else's emotions, let alone a stranger's.

—You were crying —he said, the statement coming out more like an observation than a question.

Y/n froze, blinking rapidly. She hadn't expected him to notice -he was the one bleeding out in front of her, after all.

—I… it's nothing. Just a bad day.

—A bad day? —his voice held a hint of something she couldn't quite place… curiosity? Amusement? His gaze darkened as he watched her work, her delicate fingers moving swiftly despite the fear in her eyes.

He was used to seeing fear. He'd seen it in countless faces before, but it was different. Her fear wasn't for him -it was for herself, for something else entirely, like she was scared of hurting him more.

—What kind of bad day makes someone cry alone in an empty venue?

Y/n bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to return. This wasn't the time to break down again. Not in front of him.

—Work —she muttered—. It's… complicated.

His eyes narrowed as if weighing whether to push further, but then a wave of pain hit him, and he gritted his teeth, letting out a low groan.

Y/n's heart pounded as she moved in front of him, her hands trembling as she pressed the makeshift bandages against the wound in his side. She could feel the heat of his body when directly touching his torso, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, everything seemed to still.

His gaze was locked on hers, unblinking, as if he could see straight through her. Those dark, intense eyes sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself unable to look away.

—Thank you —he murmured, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist. The touch was subtle, yet it sent a surge of warmth up her arm, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

—You didn't have to help me.

She blinked, her pulse racing. Why does his touch feel like this?, she thought. She couldn't understand why that stranger -that dangerous, bleeding man- was making her feel so vulnerable, so exposed.

—It's not like I had a choice —she whispered, though she wasn't sure if that was entirely true.

She could have run, called for help, but something about him -something about the way he looked at her- had kept her there, as if she were drawn to him by an invisible force.

San's fingers lingered on her wrist for a second longer before he pulled away, his eyes still locked on hers. The tension between them thickened, and she could feel the air grow heavier. She had saved his life, but in doing so, she had become entangled in something much larger than herself.

—Your name —he said suddenly, his voice a low rasp—. What's your name?

Y/n hesitated for a split second, then answered softly:

—Y/n.

—Y/n… —he rolled her name over his tongue, as if tasting it, memorizing it. It sent a strange thrill through her, one she couldn't explain.

He took a deep breath, wincing slightly from the pain, but his gaze never left hers.

—I won't forget it —and he was so damn sure he meant it—. It's a beautiful name.

Something about the way he said it made her heart skip a beat. She wasn't sure if it was a promise or a warning, but she could feel it -a connection, sharp and undeniable, forming between them in that moment. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in the dimly lit room.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

—I owe you one.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing as his words sent a shiver down her spine. His closeness, the heat of his body, the intensity of his gaze -it was all overwhelming. She should have felt afraid, but instead, she felt something else entirely.

Before she could respond, his hand gently cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. His touch was both gentle and possessive, as if he were claiming a piece of her in that moment.

—Don't cry for them —he murmured, his voice low and dangerous—. They don't deserve your tears.

Her breath hitched, and before she could process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against hers. The kiss was brief, just a brush of warmth, but it ignited something deep inside her. A spark. A hunger she hadn't known existed.

When he pulled back, their eyes locked, both of them breathing heavily. In that moment, Y/n knew that she was no longer just a bystander in his world -she was a part of it now.

San's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if memorizing every detail of her face. Then, with a grunt of pain, he straightened up, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his coat, his hand pressing against the wound one last time.

—I'll find you —he said quietly, his voice full of an unspoken promise. And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had been so lost in his aura, that she hadn't been aware of the car parked outside, and that San had called while she was in the bathroom making the napkins wet.

As the door closed behind him, Y/n stood frozen, her fingers brushing her lips where his had been. She should have been terrified, but all she could think about was the way he had looked at her -the intensity in his eyes, the way his touch had made her feel alive.

She didn't know his name. She didn't know what kind of danger he had just brought into her life. But one thing was certain:

She needed to see him again.

[biblical-chronicles]

Back to us

________________________________________________

where Anaïs manages to get Noel and the reader to address their past feelings during a chance meeting

________________________________________________

Noel sat at a small, sunlit table outside a café in London, his daughter Anaïs across from him. He was in a rare good mood, sipping his coffee with a look of amusement as Anaïs recounted some ridiculous story about her latest work project.

The clink of plates and hum of conversation filled the air around them. It was the kind of normal day Noel appreciated more and more these days—low on drama, high on comfort. That was until a familiar voice reached his ears, cutting through the noise like a sudden memory.

“Noel?”

He looked up, and for a moment, he thought he was imagining things. There you were, standing a few feet away, framed by the afternoon sun. His breath caught. It had been years—too many—but you looked so much the same it hurt.

Your expression mirrored his, a mix of surprise and disbelief, before it softened into a bright smile. “Bloody hell, it really is you.”

Noel scrambled to stand, his chair scraping loudly against the pavement. “No way,” he said, staring at you like you were some kind of apparition. “What’re the odds, eh? Gettin’ ambushed by ghosts in the middle of me lunch.”

Anaïs raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and her dad. “Friend of yours?” she asked, her curiosity already piqued.

“Friend?” Noel huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Nah, this one’s not just a friend. She’s—well, she’s…” He trailed off, clearly at a loss for words, which was a rare sight for him.

“Old partner in crime,” you supplied, trying to ignore the way your pulse raced under his gaze. “Haven’t seen each other in, what, ten years?”

“Fifteen, more like,” Noel corrected, his voice softening. “Too bloody long, that’s for sure. Anyway, you’re not just leggin’ it now, are ya? Come sit with us.”

You hesitated, glancing at Anaïs, who gave you a warm smile and gestured to the empty chair. “Yeah, join us. I’m Anaïs, by the way.”

“Noel’s daughter?” you guessed, earning a nod from her. You sat down, your mind still reeling as Noel flagged a waiter to bring another coffee.

“You look well,” he said, leaning forward slightly. He studied you the way he used to back in the day, with an intensity that made you feel like the only person in the room—or café, in this case.

“So do you,” you replied honestly. He’d aged, sure, but he still had that charm, that sharp edge softened by something gentler now.

Anaïs leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and a smirk spreading across her face as she glanced between the two of you. “So,” she said, drawing out the word in that mock-serious tone, “how exactly do you two know each other?”

Noel let out a chuckle, shaking his head like he didn’t even know where to begin. “Oh, God. Where do I even start?”

“Start with the time we had to drag Liam out of a lake,” you cut in, grinning at him as the memory came rushing back, vivid as ever.

Noel’s eyes lit up, a mix of disbelief and amusement flickering across his face. “Oh, that’s where we’re going, is it?” He sat back, coffee cup in hand, and pointed at you like he was about to call you out for starting trouble. “Right, so. We were up north—middle of bloody nowhere, freezing our arses off. Liam was bein’—what else—a pain in the arse. Proper gobbin’ off, shoutin’ at anyone who’d listen, you know how he gets. She—” he gestured at you, still grinning, “—this genius over here, decides to dare him to jump in the lake just to shut him up.”

You burst out laughing, already hearing the splash in your head. “Okay, to be fair, I didn’t think he’d actually do it!”

“But he did, didn’t he?” Noel said, shaking his head as if Liam’s stupidity still amazed him after all these years. “Stripped off, belly-flopped in like a bloody idiot. And then—what was it—five minutes later, he’s screamin’ blue murder about how cold it was.”

“Coldest water I’ve ever felt,” you added, still laughing. “I thought he was gonna turn blue.”

Noel raised his eyebrows, clearly relishing the story now. “And then we had to drag his sorry arse out before he caught hypothermia. Didn’t stop him from moanin’ about it for the next week, though. You’d think he was dying—every cough, every sniffle, ‘Oh, I’m not gonna make it, lads,’” he mimicked in a dramatic, nasally whine, making Anaïs absolutely giggle.

“No way,” she managed between fits of laughter. “You dared him?”

“To be fair,” you said, throwing your hands up in mock surrender, “he was annoying everyone. I was just doing what had to be done.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Noel said, giving you a side-eye that practically glowed with mischief. “She’s as much trouble as him. You should’ve seen the time we pretended to get engaged for a free meal.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” you groaned, covering your face. “Noel. No.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, leaning forward ready to spill every last detail. “She’s gotta hear this one. So, we’d been out all night—got a bit, uh, elevated—and realized neither of us brought our wallets. No cash, no cards, absolutely nothing. And then this one—” he pointed at you with a gleam in his eye, “—comes up with the brilliant idea to fake an engagement.”

Anaïs gasped, her hands flying to her face. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, we did,” Noel said, smirking. “Walked into this fancy little place, sat ourselves down, and made a whole bloody show of it. Told the staff we’d just gotten engaged. The whole restaurant clapped for us. It was ridiculous.”

“They brought us champagne,” you added, barely able to keep a straight face. “And then this cake—an actual cake, with ‘Congratulations’ written on it in frosting.”

“And the best part,” Noel continued, holding up a finger like he was saving the punchline, “we legged it before they could figure out we were full of shit.”

Anaïs was in stitches, clutching her sides as she laughed. “That is insane! You two are worse than Liam.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Noel said, though his expression was pure affection. “She’ll have us out robbin’ banks next.”

“Only if you bring Liam,” you shot back, grinning. “He’d be the perfect decoy.”

“Perfect decoy?” Noel said, his grin turning sharp. “Yeah, just wind him up, send him out there talkin’ bollocks—he’d have the coppers beggin’ to arrest him just to shut him up.”

Anaïs shook her head, her eyes darting between you and her dad as a smirk played on her lips. “You two,” she began, her tone teasing yet deliberate, “sound like you used to be in love or summat.” She let the words hang in the air, her gaze sharp and playful as she watched your reactions.

Your laugh came out awkward and a little too loud, your cheeks burning as you avoided looking directly at Noel. Across the table, you could feel his sudden stillness, like he’d been caught off guard. “Oh, don’t be daft,” you said quickly, your voice higher than you meant it to be.

But Anaïs wasn’t done. She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “And honestly,” she added, leaning back with a knowing air, “it kinda looks like you still are, you’re like an old married couple.”

The words hit the table with a weight that neither of you seemed ready for. Noel shifted in his seat, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. “Yeah, alright, Anaïs,” he muttered, his voice gruff and just a little too quiet. “No need to start writin’ rom-coms now.”

But his tone lacked its usual bite, and his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of moments before looking away again. The tension hung thick, like a chord left unresolved.

Anaïs grinned mischievously, clearly delighted by the effect of her little bombshell. She stood, smoothing her jacket with a deliberate slowness that only made the silence more unbearable. “Well,” she said breezily, “I’ll leave you two to figure it out. Gonna hit the loo.”

And with that, she sauntered off, leaving you and Noel alone at the table, the air between you charged with things neither of you had the courage to say. You caught his eye for a fleeting second, and for once, Noel Gallagher looked like a man with no clever quip, no sharp comeback—just someone who might’ve been thinking the same thing you were.

“Kids these days,” Noel muttered, running a hand over his face. “Think they’ve got it all figured out, don’t they?”

You let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “She’s got a knack for stirring the pot, that’s for sure.”

“Wonder where she gets that from,” Noel said dryly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you.

For a moment, you just looked at each other, the years and distance melting away. There was something in his gaze, something raw and unspoken that made your chest tighten.

“Noel,” you said softly, unsure where to even begin. “About what she said—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice low but steady. “Don’t brush it off, alright? ‘Cause she’s not wrong.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his fingers fiddling with the handle of his coffee cup. “I mean… she’s right. I never really stopped thinkin’ about you, y’know? Even when everything went to shit, and I was busy bein’ a miserable git, you were always there, in the back of me mind.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Noel…”

“Look, I know we’ve both had our lives, gone our separate ways,” he continued, his voice softening. “But back then, it felt like… I dunno, like I’d found me person. And I was too much of a bloody idiot to hold onto it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly. “You’re not an idiot, Noel.”

“Oh, I am,” he said with a wry laugh. “But maybe I can make up for it now. If you’ll let me.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice, the way his usual confidence gave way to something so genuine it made your heart ache. “You mean that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Every word,” he said, holding your gaze like he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached across the table and took his hand in yours. His fingers were warm, a little calloused, and they curled around yours instinctively. “I’ve missed you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “More than I can even say.”

Noel’s lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. “Missed you too, love. Every bloody day.”

And then, without thinking, he leaned in. You met him halfway, your free hand coming up to cradle his face as your lips pressed together in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was soft at first, tentative, but the years of longing soon spilled over, and the kiss deepened. His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he pulled you closer.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Took us long enough.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low and laced with affection. “But worth the wait.”

Before you could say anything else, Anaïs reappeared, her timing almost suspiciously perfect. She strolled back to the table with an air of someone who knew they were walking into something interesting. Her eyes flicked between you and Noel, taking in the charged silence, the slightly flustered looks on both of your faces. Then her eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread across her face like she’d just uncovered the best gossip of the year.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, dragging out each word for maximum effect. “Uncle Liam is gonna love this.”

Noel let out a groan so deep it sounded like it came from his soul, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, Anaïs,” he muttered, his voice sharp but tinged with exasperation. “Don’t you bloody dare tell that little rat.”

Anaïs leaned against her chair, her grin widening as she clearly delighted in the chaos she’d just brewed. “No promises,” she sang, holding her hands up innocently even as mischief sparkled in her eyes.

________________________________________________

oh how cute was that to write, request creds to the one and only godlike @shes-thunderstormssss hope you like it love xx

and hope all you lot like it actually, I'm back to me usual normal state after that fever (as normal as I can get) and so let it be known that tomorrow you all will be waking up next to Liam after marrying him in Vegas, just saying get excited. love you all !! xx

[oldangryslytherin]

fanfic request: Tom asks Harry out for Valentine's via one of lockharts dwarfs and Harry beats the shit out of the dwarf bc it startled him or smth. Or maybe he beats up Tom. Or both! I just really want Harry beating people up recently.

Thx and have a nice day!

It had been a day of dodging, ducking, and weaving. Harry Potter had spent the better part of Valentine’s Day avoiding Lockhart’s blasted dwarves. He knew some of the girls in Huflepuffhad sent him cards and singing telegrams. The idea of being serenaded in the middle of the Great Hall was mortifying.

“They’re just trying to show you they care,” Hermione said as the trio made their way through the corridor after lunch.

“Yeah, well, I’d care more if they didn’t involve murderous dwarves in the process,” Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder for any signs of small, bearded ambushers.

Ron snorted. “They’re not murderous, mate.”

Harry was about to retort when it happened. From seemingly nowhere, a dwarf came hurtling down from a ledge above them, landing squarely in Harry’s path with a loud “thwa-thump!” Before Harry could process what was happening, the dwarf lunged toward him, clutching a scroll of parchment.

Instinct took over. With a startled yell, Harry’s fist shot out, connecting with the dwarf’s stout nose. The poor creature dropped like a sack of potatoes, the scroll slipping from its grasp as it crumpled to the floor.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Ron exclaimed, crouching to check on the unconscious dwarf.

“It jumped me!” Harry protested, his cheeks burning. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t attacking me?”

“It’s a dwarf, Harry! For delivering Valentine’s messages!” Hermione scolded, already conjuring a soft pillow to prop under the dwarf’s head.

Students had started to gather, drawn by the commotion. Harry’s embarrassment grew as he heard the murmurs and snickers spreading through the crowd.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Harry grumbled, bending down to retrieve the scroll. “But it shouldn’t have jumped out at me like that. I was—” He paused, unrolling the parchment and catching sight of the handwriting. It was elegant, looping, and… familiar.

The note read:

I’ve seen your soul, raw and untamed. It belongs to someone who can match its flame. Your green eyes, the last color I see before sleep, Haunt me, stirring dreams dark and deep. Let me show you a world you’ve never known, With you, Potter, I’ll build a kingdom for us.

Harry’s face went from pink to crimson. His hands clenched the parchment as his heart hammered in his chest. The words were so blatantly pretentious, so maddeningly confident, and yet… he couldn’t deny the flutter of something in his chest.

“What does it say?” Ron asked, craning his neck to peek at the note.

“Nothing,” Harry snapped, crumpling the parchment in his hand.

“Nothing? You’re blushing,” Hermione said, her tone accusatory. “Who sent it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry lied, though he had a sinking suspicion. The phrasing, the audacity—it could only be Tom Riddle. He’d caught the younger Slytherin watching him during practice more than once, a smirk playing on his lips like he knew something Harry didn’t.

“Whoever it is, they’ve got guts,” Ron said, grinning. “Asking you out through one of Lockhart’s dwarves? Bold move.”

“Yeah, well, next time they can send a bloody owl,” Harry muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. But even as he spoke, he couldn’t shake the heat rising to his cheeks or the way his stomach fluttered at the thought of Riddle’s intense gaze and self-assured smirk.

“Poor dwarf,” Hermione said, shaking her head as the creature stirred. “You really need to work on your anger issues, Harry.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he replied dryly, stuffing the crumpled note into his pocket.

------

Harry found Tom Riddle in the study hall. The Slytherin was seated at a table near the back, seemingly engrossed in a thick tome. His dark hair fell perfectly into place, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of control. As if he’d been expecting Harry, his gaze lifted the moment Harry stormed in, parchment in hand.

Harry slammed the crumpled scroll down onto the table, causing a few nearby students to look over in alarm. Tom didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a slow, infuriatingly charming smirk.

“Something on your mind, Potter?” he drawled, his voice smooth and unbothered.

“What the hell is this?” Harry demanded, jabbing a finger at the parchment. “If you wanted to ask me out, you could have done it like a normal person instead of sending—sending dwarves after me!”

Tom’s smirk widened as he stood, closing the distance between them with deliberate, unhurried steps. “And miss the opportunity to see you this flustered? Where would be the fun in that?”

Harry opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Tom’s confidence was maddening, and the way he was looking at him—like he was the only person in the room—was making his heart race.

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms. “What if I’d said no?”

“Oh, I was fairly certain you wouldn’t,” Tom replied, his tone light but his gaze piercing. “But I’ll admit, I did wonder how far I could push you before you snapped.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. “You’re a dick.”

Tom’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry stared at him, his resolve faltering under the intensity of Tom’s gaze. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. I’ll go out with you. Happy?”

Tom’s smile widened. “Ecstatic.” He reached out, gently taking Harry’s hand in his own. Before Harry could protest, Tom leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to his knuckles.

“I’ll pick you up from the Gryffindor Tower later,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet confidence. With that, he turned and strode out of the study hall, leaving Harry standing there, red-faced.

-

that was fun! now im going to bed it required all my braincells :3 ill post to ao3 in the morning

[oneforthemunny]

the struggles we face |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: based off of their first fight.

contains: 18+, mafia!Eddie, language, mentions of violence, blood, drugs, fighting, suggestive themes. angsty-ish with fluff at the end

Eddie leaned his head against the wooden door of your townhouse, bangs sweaty and matted against the skin of his forehead. He rapped his knuckles, bruised and bloodied, against the chipping white paint, waiting and hoping that you'd still be awake; that you'd open the door.

He gripped the bouquet in his hand hard, hard enough he was sure the stems would break, waiting a moment longer before he knocked again, a little louder this time.

Eddie could hear your footsteps, pounding little steps that got louder and louder as you got to the door. He heard the lock click and turn, perking up at the sound. It swung open to reveal you, in your little chemise night gown, silk and short. He knew you'd be wearing your matching silk panties underneath, mouth salivating at the thought. He'd bought you that very set, made you try it on when you got home. It was short and sweet, fit you perfectly and left him weak kneed at the sight of you. He longed to reach out and touch you, feel your fleshy skin underneath the smooth silk material, but the way your lips twisted, pursed in anger, hurt, he knew to keep his hands to himself.

"Hi, baby," Eddie muttered weakly, giving you a tiny smile.

He sounded tired, defeated, looked a little beat up. Normally, that would have you softening, relenting and pulling him inside so you could fuss over him. Not tonight.

"Don't," You snapped, not moving from your place in the doorway, manicured nail gripping the wood. "Don't you dare 'hi, baby' me when you were supposed to be here three hours ago!"

The shrill in your voice made his eyes pinch close, brows knitting together. His head was pounding, probably a result of the small cut over his eye.

It wasn't often he had to get involved in the dirty work, but with the more they brought in, the more people wanted it for their own. His guys had been ambushed during a drop, by a rival wanna be 'gang' who thought they were slick, thought they were tough until Eddie and his boys showed up. He'd give them credit, they didn't go down as easily as he thought. It had been a hard night, a lot of fighting and breaking to get their answers and supply back, but they did. At the expense of your date night.

Eddie sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I really am, I-I got caught up with some shit, baby, you know how it is." He looked at you, brown eyes rounding and pleading. He was never this soft with anyone else. "I had to take care of business."

"And you couldn't call?" You snapped, throwing your hand out.

Eddie blinked at you. "What? You wanted me to pick up the phone while I was beatin' the guy? C'mon, honey-"

"No," You huffed in annoyance. "You could've called me before you left. Or had someone call me, Eddie. I sat at the restaurant waiting for over an hour! I looked like an idiot!"

Eddie ran his free hand down his face, his rings reflecting in the glow of your porch light. You could see how his knuckles were split, dried blood that he'd tried to clean was still left around the swollen bone. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm really sorry, and-and I just... I had to take care of work things, alright? I'm sorry you sat there and wasted your time waiting for me."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes hard back into your head. You were fuming, irritated and hurt all in one. "I was so fuckin' scared, Eddie." You snapped. "I tried to call your house a million times-"

"-You did what?" Eddie's eyes snapped to yours harshly. "What have I told you? You don't call me, ever. If I don't call you, there's a reason. You calling my house could put you in danger, fuck-"

"-I was scared, Eddie." You snapped, eyes bulging at him. You leaned forward, past the threshold, hand still gripping the door angrily. "I thought something had happened to you. You didn't call me before, you left me there, no one's heard from you, and it was a long time. I was worried about you!" You threw your hands out.

Eddie swallowed hard, grinding his jaw lightly. "I'm fine." He quipped. "Don't be worryin' about me, alright?"

"That's fuckin' easy for you to say, when you're the one who's disappearing all the time. You're the one in danger." You snapped. "How would you feel if I just went MIA for a while? Didn't show up for a date, didn't answer your calls, just untraceable, huh? How would that feel?" You challenged.

Eddie's jaw clenched, fists balling by his sides. His heart squeezed and dropped at the thought, even the mention of it all made him feel sick, nauseous and head spinning.

"Stop." Eddie sneered. "Don't you fuckin' even think about it, or I'll-"

"-or what?" You spat, eyes narrowed. "How is that fair? You get to disappear all the time, and I don't get to know what you're doing? Maybe I should do the same to you. Give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Can you quit?" Eddie sighed, exasperated and on edge. The thoughts alone were making his head spin, but now, it was starting to feel to real. The familiar creeping of acid crept up his throat, making him swallow hard. His heart was hammering in his chest, uncomfortable hard and ringing in his ears.

"Just knock it off, alright? I told you I was taking care of business." Eddie huffed, eyes narrowed at you. "I had shit to handle. I'm very sorry I didn't get to come to date night."

Your lips twisted, pressing together in a tight line. "You don't get it." You sighed, shaking your head. "You just don't fucking get it."

"Get what?" Eddie's shoulders dropped, tired. Too tired for another fight. "Get what, baby? Just tell me."

"You never tell me anything!" You shrilled, throwing your hands out. "And I know, I know, it's dangerous or whatever, but I'm not asking for every little detail, Eddie. I just want to know that you're going to be late, or you're going to not be able to make it, that something came up, or-or that you're alive."

Your breath hitched in your throat, white knuckled grip on the door. Eddie felt his heart drop slightly at your hurt expression, wobbly lower lip and glassy eyes. "I need to know that you're ok." You whispered.

"Kitten, I didn't have the time to call-"

"No? But you had the time to get flowers?" You shot back, eyes flickering to the bouquet in his hands. "You had the time to clean yourself up? To switch cars, so that means you went home, and you still couldn't call me? Just to let me know that you're safe." 

Eddie swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in the pit of his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. Your lip quivered, biting down on it to keep yourself from crying. You had to be strong, tough, even if you didn't want to be. Even if you wanted to let him in, and have him smother you in affection, win you over with tender touches and sweet promises.

"I'm sorry." Eddie whispered, eyes locking with yours. "I really am sorry."

You shook your head, turning so he wouldn't see your face crumble. You stepped back inside, shutting the door on Eddie.

"Honey, wait, please-" Eddie begged, moving his face towards the crack of the door before it shut entirely. He heard the lock click, panic rising in his chest. "Please, I'm sorry! I-I'll do better, ok? Please, just open the door, baby? Please, let's talk it out!" Eddie begged. He never begged, not even in the face of danger and fear.

The porch light flicked off, leaving Eddie standing in the dark, alone on your front porch step. His shoulder's dropped, breath catching before he let out a shuddering sigh, deep and broken.

He cursed, throwing the flowers angrily at his car, fists balling in anger. Angry at himself, angry at the stupid fuckers that had to ambush his guys, angry that he was dense enough not to call, angry at everything, every choice he made that led him to this moment. Most of all, he was angry that he'd hurt you. He'd kill anyone who made you sad like that, who made your face crumble and cry like that. He wasn't sure what to do when he was the one causing it.

Eddie sat in his car, waiting for hours, knee bouncing, smoking through his entire pack in the cold night air. His heart hammered and twisted with anticipation, in the hopes that you might come back out. He saw the curtains move a little after two am, he knew she was looking to see if he was still there. He perked up hoping that maybe, maybe she'd let him back in. She didn't.

Eddie fell asleep in his car, parked out on the side of the road, car turned off and arms wrapped around himself. He wasn't leaving until he talked to you, he couldn't. He had every intention of waiting up for you, waiting until the morning when you opened the curtains and saw he was still there. Waiting to return back to the porch and wait and beg for you to open up, but the sleep overtook his body, exhausted from the fight before and the fight with you, completely drained.

The sharp knocking of the glass against his window awoke him with a startle. He was already reaching for his glock, ready to flick the safety off and empty a clip if he had to, but there stood you, through the dark tint of the car in the morning light.

You looked like you hadn't slept much either, bags under your puffy, red rimmed eyes. He felt his stomach plunge again at your face, knowing that he was the reason you'd been crying.

Eddie opened the door slowly, scampering to stand in front of you. Your arms were crossed over your torso, wrapping around yourself like a shield, protective of yourself. "Are you going to stay out here all day? Seriously?" You huffed.

"I will." Eddie nodded, shutting his car door. "I'll stay out here as long as I need to, until you're ready to talk to me."

You rolled your eyes, heart squeezing at the admission. You knew he would, truly, too love struck and stubborn to not. You sighed heavily, shivering in the cold of the morning. "Just-Just come inside." Your shoulders dropped. "We can talk."

Eddie nodded, following you inside. Sitting at your little kitchen table across from you. You already had a cup of coffee for him, for yourself. You'd planned this. He didn't comment on that.

"I-I really am sorry-" Eddie started, but you held your hand up, silencing him.

"You've said that." You bit, eyes cold and fierce. There's a pause, the air between the two of you tight with tension. In any other scenario, Eddie would be the dominating, intimidating force of the conversation, looking down the slope of his nose towards his prey in front of him. Here, sitting at your little table, he felt weak, small, at your mercy entirely.

Eddie tapped his fingers nervously against the wood of the table. "I don't know what else you want me to say." He said truthfully, brown eyes rising to meet yours.

"I don't want you to say anything." You admitted with a small sigh. "I want you to listen, to hear me." Your eyes were rounded, pleading with him silently.

Eddie nodded slowly, spine straightening in his chair. You took a deep, cleansing, steadying breath. "Eddie, I know you can't always talk about work and what you do with me. I know you want to keep me safe and away from all of that, I do." You started slowly. "But, baby, I'm in this with you. I know what you do, Eddie. I know it's dangerous, and-and when you don't call me? That scares the shit out of me."

Eddie felt his heart twist and squeeze in his chest, the same guilty feeling pooling back, deep into the pit of his stomach. You looked down at your own hands.

"I'm not asking you to tell me all the details, or stop everything to call me and tell me every time you leave the house, but," You sighed heavily. "On nights where you know you might be late, or you are late, can you just call me? Let me know. I was embarrassed sitting at the restaurant, yes, but I was more worried about you. Thinking something happened or-or, fuck, I don't know... I was scared."

Your bottom lip quivered, tears pooling back into your eyes and you tried to blink them away. Eddie swallowed hard, the burn of his own tears in his throat. He never wanted to make you scared, never wanted to make you cry.

"I'm sorry," Eddie whispered, brown eyes soft and vulnerable when they met yours. "I know I've said it, but I mean it. I'm not used to having someone look out for me. I always do the looking out, and it's taken some getting used to." He admitted, twirling the rings on his fingers.

You nodded slowly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. "'S alright." You muttered. "I know you didn't mean to. I didn't mean to lose my shit on you like that last night, I just-"

"-No, you should have." Eddie nodded. "Sometimes you need to lose your shit on me. Keep me in my place, kitten." Eddie grinned up at you.

You gave him a sweet smile back, pink blush dusting over your own cheeks. Eddie stood, hands on either side of your face, his nose nearly touching yours. You could see the cut on his eye, and it made your stomach flip again.

"I'll do better, I promise." Eddie whispered, his lips brushing over yours. "I'll try my best not to scare you anymore, and not to miss anymore date nights."

"You better." You whispered back, smiling against his gaze, warming you from the inside out.

"I'll make it up to you." Eddie moved his lips, bruised knuckles under your chin, tipping your head forward. "I promise, kitten."

You let him kiss you, sweet and slow, pillowy lips moving against yours, hands sliding up the silk of your gown, gripping onto your hips. You let him push you down the hall, towards your own tiny bedroom where he got on his knees between you to really make it up to you.

Eddie insisted on taking you out, later. A makeup dinner complete with a shopping trip beforehand. You told him he didn't have to buy you anything, that you'd be content with pizza and beer at home, but he wanted to. He lived to spoil you, to have you pressed up into the booth at the restaurant, kissing down your neck, lips trailing lightly down the chain of the new necklace he'd just bought you.

[thelov3lybookworm]

AZ x yn where reader is a Serial Killer and az takes her to the dungeons to introgate her only to find out that she only kills the pedophiles and abusers and let's her go but now helps her in these murders😈🔪

Sloppy Killer

@azrielappreciationweek

Day 7: free day

Summary: Y/n gets an unexpected trainer.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: anon thank you so much for this idea ��� I had so much fun writing it 😏

•○🌑○•

Y/n hurried through the alleyways in the camp, hoping to slip back into her house before her brother and father noticed her absence.

The spaces between the houses couldn't really be called alleys, but that was not really the point.

She had just discarded her bloody clothes and gloves in her cave before rushing out of there. It was not near the camp, and it was hidden fairly well, so she didn't have to worry about someone finding her things.

She was just worried about getting caught by the higher ranking officials of the camp.

Not that there were many left. Thanks to no one but herself.

The night was silent, dawn not too far away if the changing colour of the skies near the horizon were any indication.

It was that little slip of time where it was guaranteed that no one would be awake. Hence the lack of noise. All that could be heard was the quiet chirps of the birds, the croaks of frogs in the distance, the sounds of animals in the nearby forest and her own breathing.

Y/n was so busy in thinking about how she needed to hurry her steps before her family woke up that she didn't notice the change in the air. Or maybe she was so used to being the only one awake around this time and her experience in navigating the place all alone in the dark that she had dropped her guard.

Whatever the reason was, she didn't notice the uncanny quiet that fell around her until it was too late. When she did, the hair on the back of her neck stood, and she froze in her steps.

Something was not right. She knew it.

Someone was stalking her.

She decided that stopping and facing whatever or whoever she thought was watching her would not be the best choice, so she began walking again.

She pretended she didn't feel the change, pretended she was not preparing to defend herself if the need arose as she tugged on the hood of her cloak nervously, making sure that her face was covered. Because someone or something was definitely following her.

She didn't have fae hearing by any means, but her hearing was still better than that of mortals.

But again, she was no trained warrior, and everything she knew, she was taught by herself or her brother.

She couldn't hear any footsteps, but she knew the creature was still following her.

That was not at all a good thing, because she didn't know how close her follower was.

Fucking inconvenient, honestly.

A light breeze brushed against the skin of Y/n's neck half a moment before an arm went around her waist, trapping her favoured hand between her body and the strong arm banded around her, and, panicked, she swung up her hand, the one holding a small but sharp knife towards where she estimated her captors shoulder or face was.

Of course, she missed spectacularly, and, her captor then caught her wrist, his hand encircling her wrist tightly. She squirmed against his hold, trying to dislodge his hold on her to no avail.

He was a male, bigger than her in size. He probably had years or even centuries of training, while all she knew was how to chop vegetables. He also had a lot of strength, more than she had. It was obvious he would overpower her.

She tried to stomp on his foot, and was rewarded with a grunted dammit.

His hold on her wrist loosened the slightest bit, and she tugged it out of his grasp completely. She was about to drive her elbow into his abdomen when she felt a hand on her neck, and before she could panic about it, everything went dark.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

The cloaked and hooded male went limp in his arms, and Azriel sighed.

Finally, after weeks of planning the ambush, Azriel had found the serial killer who had been on a killing spree recently. And, being the spymaster of night court, he was assigned to look into these murders.

Immediately, Azriel had noticed a pattern in these killings.

The attacker always attacked in the dead of the night, he always left before dawn. As far as the people in the camp and the lord knew, it was no one from the camp, because, according to them, no one from the camp would murder someone so sloppily. Apparently, they'd either make it a whole bloodbath, or be clean in these murders.

Azriel always wanted to roll his eyes whenever he recalled the way the camp lord had bragged, as if it was something to be proud of.

But, no matter how sloppy these kills were, they piqued Azriel's interest immensely. All he had been thinking about the past few weeks was this male and his sloppy kills.

Azriel decided staying in the camp longer than necessary would be a waste of time, and so, he bent down to lift the male into his arms.

He damn near lost his balance when the male turned out to be lighter than Azriel thought. That's when the doubt started creeping in. Was this really a male?

Before he could ponder much about this mysterious figure in his arms, Azriel felt a scratch on his mental shields, and he lowered a part of those majestic walls to speak to his brother.

Any leads on that killer, brother?

Yes. I'm holding him right now.

A surprised laugh came from the other side of the mental bridge between Azriel and his brother. Woah, that is amazing. Bring him to Velaris so we can interrogate him.

Azriel sent back a word of affirmation, then pulled the walls back up as he readied to fly.

Once in the air, Azriel realised that the figure in his arms had gone extremely stiff, and that could only mean one thing.

He was awake.

Just a moment after Azriel realised that, the body in his arms started squirming, kicking their tiny feet and pushing against Azriel's body. Azriel grunted, trying his best not to drop the male, but it seemed like he wanted to be dropped.

Azriel tightened his hold, his fingers digging into soft thighs instead of hard muscle.

In the struggle for dominance, the hood over the person in Azriel's hold slipped, and Azriel's wings stopped flying of their own accord.

This... this killer, was not a male.

The killer was a female.

Cauldron burn me.

Azriel stared at her for a long long time, watching as she struggled to rid his hold on her. When she damn near slipped out of his arms because he was so busy fucking ogling her-his own words- he tightened his hold on her.

She stopped squirming for a moment, looking up at him, her eyes widening as she realised her hood had slipped off.

She stared at him, and he stared at her.

Azriel knew the both of them had very different reasons for staring.

She was definitely trying to gauge his motives, what with the frantic way her eyes moved.

All his mind was thinking about was how beautiful she was.

How could someone like her murder someone? Surely, Azriel thought, I'm mistaken.

But he soon realised he was not, in fact, mistaken.

Her fist came hurtling towards his face, and his head snapped back from the unexpected force of the punch.

That was when he decided that this female was not interested in cooperating, and he couldn't take her to Velaris if she was trying her best to fall to her death.

Azriel grunted, diving and gliding towards an abandoned house he had found before this mission specifically for this purpose.

Found it so he could use it as a makeshift torture chamber to gain information from the killer in case he couldn't take them to Velaris or Hewn City.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

"So... you are telling me... you have been killing abusive males?"

"And males who prey on little children, yes." She didn't look up from her lap, where her fingers twisted around each other. But she knew he watched her as he sat in a chair opposite her.

He sighed, leaning back, and Y/n dared to look up.

He was staring at her in a way she couldn't decipher. All she knew was that it was certainly not the way males looked at females when they were about to take advantage of them. That gave her some relief.

Still, she prayed he would not take advantage of her. That he was not like other males.

He dragged a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes and his jaw as he seemed to contemplate something.

"How many have you killed by now?" He finally asked.

Y/n gave him a look. "I am pretty sure you know. Are you not the spymaster?"

A small, exasperated smile bloomed on those inviting lips, and Y/n had to force herself to meet his eyes and not stare at his lips.

As soon as he'd sat her down on a rickety chair, he'd asked her if she would throw a tantrum here too. When she had scowled at him, he'd simply stated that he would have to tie her down if she was uncooperative, and grumbling, she had agreed to talk.

After he'd situated himself in front of her, he had told her he was the high lord's spymaster and shadowsinger, and that had prompted Y/n into submitting to his questions.

"So basically what you are doing is killing assholes to keep women and children safe?"

Y/n nodded as worry started creeping in at the glint in the spymaster's eyes.

Was he going to punish Y/n? Was he going to kill her? Torture her?

Before Y/n's mind could come up with worse scenarios, Azriel stood.

Y/n held her breath, watching as Azriel stalked to her, then bent down at the waist to get to her eye level.

"You're doing good work, but you've been quite sloppy." A smirk curled those sensuous lips, and Y/n's lips parted as what he'd said settled in.

"Yeah well, I was not allowed proper training. That is why it is sloppy. But atleast I was doing something, instead of sitting on my ass all day and attending parties under the guise of ruling the court." Y/n all but snarled.

His smirk faded a little, his eyes hardening. "Do not talk about my high lord like that."

"Or what? Are you going to kill me if I don't kiss the ground he walks on? Then do it." She lifted her chin, hoping she looked braver than she felt.

The spymaster studied her for a moment. "When are you free?"

Y/n blinked. "What?"

"You do chores all day. When do you get free?"

"Why?"

He sighed. "Can you not answer a simple question?"

"Can you not be such a pain in my ass?"

Now it was his turn to blink. He stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back in laughter, his whole body shaking as he straigtened. After laughing for a moment, he wiped a stray tear in the corner of his eyes and grinned at her scowling face.

"I want to know so I can train you." At the look of shock on her face, he continued. "I have been thinking about teaching illyrian females to fight by myself because the bastards in the camp simply won't. I have to start somewhere. So tell me, lovely Y/n. When do you get free so I can sneak you out to train you?"

Y/n was very proud of herself for not paying attention to the word lovely. "Most of the females, including me, get done with our chores by dusk."

Azriel smiled. "And you set out on your murderous journey when the camp goes to sleep?"

That made Y/n blush. She simply nodded, and his smile grew.

"Be ready by dusk then. We are going to have a long night. Also, come prepared with your little murdering toys." He turned his back to her, and cauldron damn her, but she couldn't help but stop him.

"Why?"

He turned to her halfway, a half smile on his face as he regarded her.

"So I can teach you how to not be sloppy."

•○🌑○•

Azriel taglist: @darthdumbass @foreverrandomwritings

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

[charliemwrites]

I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

[ganertys]

Unexpected.

synopsis ➸ you, a new member of the Oni clan's combat unit, receive a mission alongside Mudano Naito, a legendary warrior. Amid the wreckage of a village devastated by Momos, a rare act of tenderness reveals an unexpected side of Mudano.

characters ➸ Mudano Naito (tougen anki) x reader.

cw ➸ mention of death, blood and dead bodies, but nothing graphic.

wc ➸ 2.2K

You recently joined the Oni clan's combat unit, and although you were relatively young compared to your other fighters, your strength on the battlefield was remarkable. Many Oni joined the fighting unit out of revenge, but this was not your case - you wanted peace, to try to somehow end all this senseless bloodshed between the Momos and the Oni.

Or die trying.

On this specific day, the sun shone sovereignly above you, indicating that another day had begun. Your eyes fell on the small birds that flew towards the horizon, forgetting for a second where you were, too absorbed in watching those birds act so naturally and, above all, free.

You envied them.

A small noise near your location was enough to scatter your thoughts, your body becoming erect at the sudden sound. However, upon seeing that it was just a stray insect, his body relaxed. Remaining alert and prepared for any situation was part of an Oni's daily life.

Letting out a small, nasal sigh, you finally turned your attention to the small village in front of you, now visible after a few hours of walking through a clearing. His lips pursed into a straight line at seeing it so deserted, when it had clearly been full of life less than a day ago.

Being relatively close to the location, you had been called to investigate an Oni village that had been attacked by Momos the night before. This would not be surprising if none other than Mudano Naito himself had not been assigned the same mission.

Any Oni worth their own horns had heard of him, and how he was unparalleled on the battlefield. Personally, you had never seen him in action before, but it wasn't hard to imagine how fierce a person who made it rain the blood of 100 Momos must be.

Which reminded her... he'd probably already arrived at the village before you, and Mudano didn't like delays at all.

Swallowing hard at that thought, you walked back towards the village, even more attentive to the sounds around you. Some Momos might be nearby, and you didn't want to risk being caught in an ambush. Besides, of course, your heart raced just thinking that you would be next to Mudano in a few minutes.

You can't say why, but something about him attracts you. Maybe it was the mysterious air or the way he keeps everyone at a distance, as if he was trying to protect something inside him. When you found out that you would go on a mission with him, you hoped that you could at least get to know him a little better, since admiring him from a distance wasn't enough.

The scene in front of you couldn't be worse: Destroyed houses, deserted streets and blood stains everywhere you looked. The strong smell of iron and something rotting made your stomach turn, but you held firm. The sight of what appeared to be a body buried under a house made you shudder, and you had to remind yourself that you had seen worse scenes.

It wasn't easy to keep your expression neutral, however, when you spotted a bloody rag doll lying next to a small tree. That doll belonged to someone, some child who had dreams, a loving family and the hope of a long and safe future ahead. Now, most likely nothing remained of his existence except for that dirty toy, possibly with his blood.

"There must be no survivors here." the voice sounded next to you, direct and emotionless. Your eyes widened in shock and you turned towards the voice, blinking in astonishment when you saw Mudano Naito standing next to you. He seemed unshakable amidst it all, his expression impenetrable as he firmly held his signature umbrella in his hands.

“It seems not,” you agreed, taking a deep breath to calm the wild beating of your heart. "But I'd like to take a look, anyway."

His onyx eyes fixed on yours, and you had to muster all your self-control not to tremble before his analytical gaze.

"Keep an eye out for clues," he said finally, turning away. You detected the small ghost of some emotion dancing in his usually apathetic eyes, but it left as quickly as it came. "And stay alert. We don't need any more trouble."

He completed in his low but firm voice. You nodded weakly as you tried to ignore the shiver running up your spine, mentally telling yourself to stay focused on the goal. The indifference in his voice made you wonder if he really cared with you, or if he just didn't want to deal with more work.

Finally, you took a deep breath, walking with soft steps in the opposite direction from Mudano. You knew that at this point it was impossible to find survivors, but you hoped to at least find out which Momo unit was responsible for doing all this. And hopefully prevent some other nearby village from suffering the same fate.

A few hours passed, and you had to bite your tongue to contain a moan of protest. Above you, the sun slowly set, casting shadows that danced with the wind, like ghosts of forgotten memories.

Like those of the Onis that are gone.

Closing your eyes briefly, you allowed yourself to mentally curse. You've already analyzed several houses and still haven't found any clues other than signs of a violent fight.

Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, you opened your eyes and walked down the street, determined to meet Mudano. His search had been a total failure, but at least he had a chance of finding something you had missed.

The cold wind that kissed your face in a gesture of greeting made you wet your lips, shivering slightly from the cold. You were starting to get mad at yourself for not bringing a coat when, as you turned the corner of a half-destroyed house, your eyes caught Mudano.

He was kneeling next to a small pile of debris, and something about the way he was acting piqued your curiosity. He must have noticed your presence, knowing what he was like, but he didn't act like you were there, seeming focused on something. It was then that you heard a low sound—a small whimper.

Underneath the rubble, a kitten struggled to move. Its small body was shaking with fear, and apparently its back leg was injured. Mudano extended his hand slowly, his careful and smooth action a perfect contrast to the way you hear him described in battle.

You watched him in silence, until he finally tilted his head towards you, showing that he knew you had been looking at him this entire time. You walk slowly towards him, his eyes fixed on yours. It was quick, but you could swear you saw a hint of discomfort in his onyx eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally as you stopped next to him, his voice a little dryer and more defensive than usual.

"I was just curious," you murmured, looking at the kitten with some affection. It was a black cat with dark, almost gray eyes, and somehow the little animal reminded him of Mudano himself. "I never imagined I'd find you saving a cat."

He says nothing in response, looking away as he returns to paying attention to the cub. You took the opportunity to kneel next to him, mentally swallowing hard at being so close to him.

"Let me help" you say softly, internally debating whether you should pat the kitten to try to make him feel more at ease with the presence of the two of you.

Mudano hesitates, but doesn't move away from you. Instead, he takes a small handkerchief from his pocket and carefully passes it over the animal's injured paw, his skilled hands surprisingly gentle.

"I never thought you were like this." you said a few seconds later in an attempt to break all the silence. From the corner of your eye, you could see Mudano's lower lip trembling weakly.

"Like this?" he asks finally, his eyes never leaving his own hands.

You shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Tending to something small. Something so... fragile."

He pauses his movements, his shoulders tensing and his apathetic eyes turning to you once again. "He didn't choose to be weak," he replied quietly, seriously. "He just needs help from someone who won't ignore him."

His unexpected sincerity caught you off guard, and you could feel your lips parting in surprise. If someone from Onikan told you that they saw Mudano rescuing an animal, you wouldn't believe it. Not because he was a bad person, but because it would seem like something... closer to what Kyouya would do instead, if we're being honest.

His sentence, however, made you see him from a new perspective. Mudano Naito, the fearless warrior everyone knew, had a side that few — or perhaps no one, knew.

You moved even closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his presence. “It shows that you’re more human than you’d like people to think, you know.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, it’s just a cat.” he retorts dryly, and despite all your efforts, you can't help the small laugh that escapes your lips.

Before you can respond with something witty, a distant noise catches the two of you's attention. Your eyes automatically narrow in the direction of the sound, and before you even thought about acting, Mudano was already standing there with the cat in his arms.

"Momos," he murmurs dryly, looking coldly at the source of the sound. You immediately stand next to him, mentally preparing yourself for the fight that would begin in seconds. Your heart raced at the anticipation of a fight and you took a deep breath, wondering how many there would be.

Mudano, however, had other plans for you.

"Take care of him," he cooed firmly, his eyes never leaving the front. "Don't argue."

You huffed softly, mentally cursing him for not even giving you the chance to argue.

"Are you going to be okay?" It was a stupid question, you knew, but it still needed to be asked. You cradled the small cat tightly to your chest, looking towards Mudano with some concern. He might be strong, but knowing what his opponent's abilities were was rare. You should always be ready for the worst possible scenarios.

"I don't need help." he says, impassive and firm, but you detect something in his voice that resembles a silent plea for you to trust him.

You wave weakly, muttering a weak take care of yourself before disappearing from there. Your agile body moved quickly through the debris, gaining as much safe distance as you could before the fight began.

You remained motionless next to a house, your hand roaming freely over the shaking head of the cat in your arms. He meowed faintly, like a foreshadowing, and soon afterwards the sound of a fierce battle filled the previously silent place.

It wasn't a very long fight, much to his relief. When everything went silent again, your eyes narrowed in anticipation, only to relax when you saw Mudano calmly walking towards you some time later. He was breathing a little heavily, but just as the rumors said, he had no apparent injuries.

He slides his gaze between you and the little kitten, who now lay sound asleep in his arms.

"Is he okay?," he asks nonchalantly, and you smile when you see that despite his best efforts, he can't hide the fact that deep down he cares for the little cat.

"Thanks to you." you respond playfully, trying to tease him. Mudano, however, doesn't respond immediately, but you can tell from his posture that he's more relaxed. You walk towards him, holding the cat out for him to take in your arms.

When he takes the animal back, his fingers brush yours for a few seconds. It's a light, subtle touch, but enough to make your heart race.

Back at base, your eyes look away from the report you were writing about the mission earlier when you hear footsteps approaching. It was Mudano, walking centered and carefree, with both hands in his pants pocket.

"I brought this for him," he said calmly, without any emotion, taking one hand out of his pocket and revealing a small package of cat treats.

Before you could control yourself, you were already on your feet, smiling at him. It was adorable how clumsy he was in showing that he cared about the cat, but he did it his way.

"Thank you. You're kinder than you want to admit, you know that?" you wink at him, receiving a frown in response. Once again you let out a low laugh, realizing how easy it was to feel light and relaxed around him.

He mumbles something inaudible, turning to leave. When he's about to walk through the door, you take a deep breath, preparing to speak.

“Mudano,” you say calmly, feeling a little anxious when he stops. "Thank you for trusting me today."

You don't know exactly where it came from, but it felt like the right thing to say at that moment.

Mudano said nothing for a few seconds, and just as you were starting to feel anxious, he shrugs.

"Don't get used to it." he says finally, before disappearing.

You remained still, smiling weakly to yourself, the treat still in your hands. Even though he would never admit it, it was somehow adorable the way he worried about the feline.

It made you think about how mad he would be if maybe, just maybe, he found out that you named the kitten Mudano.

[iamqueenpotato]

I Hate That I Love You - Part Eight

A/N- Hi Lovelies! It has been a little bit since I have posted and I apologize for the wait. I am finally getting into a better place mentally and I am excited to be writing again. This part is the longest one so far and I sort of edited it, and its very late where I’m at, so if there are some mistakes, I apologize. But I hope you guys enjoy! 

Word Count: 4.4k 

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of Torture, minor character death, talks of dying, angst

Part One

Azriel could not calm himself. He had never felt such terror in his life. Your voice echoed in his head, the pain and fear resonating in his body. He looked down at his hands and the uncontrollable tremble that overtook them. 

He had searched the entire camp, ravaging through each inch of Windhaven, with no sign of you. The men there probably assumed he had lost his mind. And perhaps he had. Until he could find you, his sanity was as good as gone. 

He cornered anybody he thought may know what has happened to you. And the constant lack of information was beginning to piss him off. 

Azriel made his way up to the cabin, and before it was even in his sight a rancid smell hit him like a strong gust of wind. One that was all too familiar. 

Blood. 

And lots of it. 

He flew closer to the ground as he approached the land around the cabin. And as he landed he took in the massacre that had occurred there. Bodies laid mutilated across the snow. Many of them were Illyrians, ones that Azriel had never seen before. He had counted fifteen bodies before he even reached the front door. His heart raced each time he flipped one of them over, hoping to not find your lifeless body hidden underneath. Azriel couldn’t fathom the thought of losing you, if he had to ever bury you, he wished to be dead alongside you. There was no life worth living without you in it. 

“Y/N!” He called out as he burst through the front door, but to no surprise there was no response. Which in turn only made his panic worsen. He had hoped to find you safe within the cabin walls, but with the scene outside, something else had happened entirely. He knew your handiwork when he saw it, and those men were each victims to your blade. But Azriel needed to know why, Were you in danger? Why had they come to ambush you?

He looked around the front room, the questions and worries filling his mind like rising water, each one building that fear of what may have possibly happened to you. There was no sign of you at all, until a puddle of thick liquid caught his attention, his shadows rushing down the hallway where the blood stained the floor. Azriel felt his face go pale, his blood rushing to his ears, the cabin and the air around him had gone silent, all except for his own heartbeat that pounded in his ears. 

If he was too late- 

He shook his mind of the thoughts as he followed the trail of blood that led him down the hallway. There was a significant amount of blood, and if this was from you alone, whatever wound you had was fatal. And Azriel did not know how to feel with that information. He observed the smears of bloody handprints along the walls, the marks from your hands gripping the door frame. Azriel’s fingers shook as he traced the shape of your handprints that led him into the bedroom, his heart sinking further down, deep into his darkness that you helped pull him from, but at the sight of your blood on every inch of this cabin, the light slipped further away from his grasp. He attempted to pull on that bond once more, but there was nothing, not even a hum, it was like it was never there in the first place. And it terrified him. 

“Find her.” He commanded his shadows and they slithered out into the wilderness, leaving Azriel to follow your trail of blood to an open window. When he peered over the window ledge, he saw another body laying in the snow. An Illyrian with a butter knife sticking out of the side of his skull. But his eyes followed the traces of blood and footprints running away into the trees behind the cabin. 

Azriel ran out of the cabin, following the bloodied footprints further into the woods, his body felt heavy, his feet dragging along the ground, his fear took over, making him feel far from himself. He wanted to find you, but he was horrified by the worst possible outcome. And when he reached the end of the trail, his shadows returned back to him, leading him to the small stream a few yards ahead. 

He followed their directions, when he stumbled across a collection of rocks, another dead Illyrian floating in the shallow water. But he didn’t care for the male, his attention was drawn to the blood that painted the rocks, and the torn female Illyrian leathers that rested against the ground. His shadows swarmed around him in a frenzy as he kneeled down to pick up the chest piece. He was certain it was yours, your scent was all over it. 

He heard Cassian land behind him. “Azriel, what happened?” There was concern in his tone and Azriel couldn’t tell if it was for him or for you. 

Azriel held on to the discarded Illyrian leathers that he gave you, the ones now covered in blood, that had confirmed his fears. He handed them to Cassian who cursed as he took in the scene. Azriel moved his gaze back at the blood on the rocks. “They took her Cassian. They have my mate.” 

You didn’t know how it happened. One moment you were walking around the camp in search of Madok and the next thing you knew, twenty Illyrian males ambushed you in front of the cabin. You knew you took down a decent amount of them, but if it weren't for the blade laced with faebane, you would have finished the rest of them off. It seemed Madok had got word of your search for him, and if your mind was not already so clouded, maybe you would have seen this attack coming. 

Now you were chained up in a dungeon of some sorts, your wound still oozing blood, and you could tell it was getting infected. The faebane was slowing down your healing, your body slowly giving out.

Your arms were chained tightly above your head, barely able to feel your fingertips. You couldn’t help but think of your friends and family, if they even knew you were in trouble. If they were worried at all. You felt like a fool to come here by yourself, but after hearing Azriel’s confession, you needed to get away, even though it meant Windhaven. You weren’t running away, it was time you needed to think, to understand the mix of feelings you had inside. But being attacked was the last thing you expected to happen. Now you are facing those consequences. 

You attempted to call down the bond, to warn Azriel, to call for help. But you heard or felt nothing in return, perhaps he had closed it off, and by the time you were knocked unconscious the bond felt weak, like it was dying, or more so that you were dying. But yet there was no telling if anyone would come and save you. You were alone in all of this. And there was nothing you could do. 

You kept your head down when you heard the door to your cell open. Sensing at least four men surrounding the area where you stood in the middle of the room. 

“You are quite hard to kill Y/N” Madok spoke next to your ear, but you did not move, keeping your head hung low, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Look at me when I am talking to you.” He seethed, but you refused. One of his men pulled your head back by your hair forcing your eyes to meet Madok’s. His eyes were wide, hungry for violence. Then his fist connected with the left side of your face, a noticeable crack as your head flung to the side. The taste of iron fell across your tongue, you spat up the blood onto the ground in front of Madok. “Now here is how this will work. I will ask you questions about the high lord, you answer, and I don’t kill you.” 

You looked up at him now, and laughed. His men stepped backward startled. But you laughed louder, the manic laugh you forced out, they could harm you all they wanted. You would not betray your family. “Fuck. Off.” You spit out, with a crazed grin across your face. 

Madok’s face was expressionless as he nodded to one of the males, suddenly you were pricked with a needle, followed by an uncomfortable sensation across your arm as they injected you with the mysterious fluid. Then the pain hit you, like a thousand knives scraping underneath your skin, it was like being carved from the inside out. A scream erupted from your throat as you thrashed against your restraints, your body began shaking, white spots filled your vision. 

Your breathing was ragged when Madok lifted your chin, his face was blurry but you could clearly see the smile on his face as he landed a few hits to your stomach, enhancing the torture you felt inside. But you bit back your scream. “I hope you enjoyed that. My own personal faebane mixture. Enough to prolong the effects, make the pain ever so sweeter for you to endure.”

“You’re psychotic.” You attempted to control your breathing as you spoke, but it felt as though the air was being snatched from your lungs.

“Tell me all that you know about the high lord and his family.” 

You laughed again, spitting more blood towards his direction. “Go fuck yourself. I won’t tell you anything.” Your head began spinning, forcing out those words took more effort than you could have ever imagined. It was a feeling you had never experienced before, and it terrified you. 

“Oh you will, everyone gives in eventually.” Madok spoke and before you could respond, he brought his fist to your ribs, jolting your body to the side, making it harder to catch your breath. Again and again he hit you, until you coughed up blood down the front of your already red stained shirt. Your entire body felt on fire, the pain growing past tolerable. “How do I get into Velaris?” Another punch to your side. You felt the room spin slightly, vision fading.

“Fuck. You.” You spat out, your mouth filling with blood, making your words muffled. “They will come for me, and you’ll be as good as dead.” You only could hope that your words would be true.

Madok laughed as he gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Is that why your precious highlord let you come here by yourself? That is why I doubt no one is coming to save you. You are worthless to them, just some lonely fae that thought she had found her family. When in reality it became more people for you to disappoint.” 

You launched at him, but the chains held you back. “Shut up.” 

“I will break you Y/N. And then I will kill your precious inner circle. Starting with the babe.” 

“I swear to the mother if you hurt him.” You seethed, attempting to launch at him again but Madok moved away, each of his men following his steps out of the cell. 

“You’re stuck here dear Y/N. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Madok smiled before he disappeared from your sight. 

And you screamed in anger, all the air leaving your lungs, desperate to be free from these chains.

A few more days had passed, each day filled with your daily injection of faebane. His goons had beaten you to a pulp each time, attempting to pull information from you. But you took each beating and each new wound without uttering a single word. You figured most of your bones were broken, the new wounds on your sides were exposed to the dirt and grime of the cell. You couldn’t tell if your fingers were broken, but you faintly remember two men laughing as they cracked each one. But you did not break, no matter the torture he had put you through, you remained silent about your family. 

You were shocked your body had held on this long, and when you heard the cell open, you prayed this would be the last one. After this, you would simply cease to exist. You had never truly wanted death, but your body did not feel like your own. You were floating in your own mind just to escape the pain, and you were prepared to embrace the reaper with open arms. If dying meant your family was safe, then it would be a death you would gladly accept. You were growing weaker, the will to heal and live fading each day.

Madok stepped through the cell door, dragging in someone with him. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust to see who it was but the blonde curls were all too familiar. 

“You know, I amend this male for trying to protect you, but he is just another fool that trusted the wrong fae.” Madok threw Surin at your feet. His face was bloodied and beaten, his green eyes were swollen and bruised.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, let him go.” You begged, your throat felt dry as you spoke. 

Madok leaned over Surin, lifting his head off the ground. “Our dear Y/N here only fucked you to make the shadowsinger jealous. You truly think she cared for you? Is she really worth saving?” 

“Leave him alone! Please!” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, even as one of his men slapped you across the face. “You are feeding him lies.” You choked out. Surin didn’t deserve this. “It is me you want, not him. So please just let him go.” 

Surin looked towards you, showing you a smile that broke your heart. “It’s okay Y/N,” He spoke as if he already accepted his fate. “I’ll be okay,” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Thank you for indulging me, even if it wasn't real.” You yanked at the chains that held you back, if you could just get to him, guard him, save him. But you knew there was nothing you could do. His green eyes stared at you, as if to assure you it wasn’t your fault, you wished that was all it took.

“It was real Surin, all of it. I promise you.” You cried, your eyes never leaving him. 

“I’m glad. Thank you Y/N. For giving me a taste of life outside of the camps.” He smiled wider, blood staining his teeth. “Do me a favor. Make this bastard pay for it.” 

“Pity.” Madok scoffed, slicing Surin’s throat, letting his lifeless body hit the ground. Leaving him to bleed at your feet. 

“No!” You screamed, you pulled harder at the chains, your tears blurring your eyes, you hated how weak you felt. The sobs shook you to your core. And your heart ached as you looked at Surin below you. It was your fault. All of it. 

Someone had to know you were gone. Someone had to care enough to notice. But you were all alone, only the sound of your own cries to drown out the silence. 

It had been a little over a week since Azriel had discovered you missing, and each minute he found no lead, no way of finding you, a piece of his heart felt as though it was being ripped out, consumed by the dark thoughts of losing you. Each person he had interrogated knew nothing, and he became so frustrated he killed each one, with no remorse as their blood spilled onto the ground. 

He found himself a couple days later, sitting back at the house of wind, listening to his brothers converse about mother knows what, they had not mentioned you or your situation and yet they haven’t done a single thing to look for you, it felt as though he was the only one worried. 

He had left his shadows at Windhaven, ordering not to come back unless they had found you. But every part of him wanted to be out there, searching those woods for you, yet Rhys had called him back here, and had not said a single word since he had arrived. 

Azriel tapped his forefinger against the wood table in front of him. Watching. Waiting. Their voices were infuriating and Azriel had enough. 

“Is there anything important that you need me for? Or can I go back to looking for Y/N?” He knew he had an attitude with his question, but if there was no reason for him to be here then he shouldn’t be. “Do you even care that she is in danger?” 

“Brother.” Cassian warned, placing himself between the two of them.

“My mate is out there somewhere Rhys. Probably cold, hurt.. She could be dying and you have me sitting here, while you two bicker like old hags.” Azriel stood from his seat, his wings tense behind him. “I cannot feel her, that part of me that I only had the pleasure to know for a short moment is gone and I am dying without her, it feels like the breath is being sucked out of my lungs. Please tell me you have been doing something other than talking.” 

“I know you are worried Azriel, but-” 

“There is no but Rhysand! I am more than worried, I am terrified. I cannot even comprehend the thought of what she is going through, she would go to the end of this world to protect this family, to protect you. Who knows what Madok has done, if she is even still alive..” Azriel choked on those last few words, the tears threatening to fall if he held onto that thought any longer. Cassian placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Azriel took a steadying breath. 

“I know the lengths she would go for us, that is why I have Mor and Amren and a few Illyrians I can trust out there right now looking for her, they picked up where you left off.” Rhys stood with a stoic expression, the way the High lord of the night court should behave but his violet eyes were filled with concern, for him and you. There was no hiding that. 

“Then why am I not out there with them?” 

“You have not slept since she has gone missing, and before you say it- I know you won’t rest until she is found but I need you to take a breath, you will drive yourself mad if you continue this path.” Azriel stared at his brother, he knew Rhys was right, he knew he had been draining himself, but he could not sleep, because each time he closed his eyes, he saw your lifeless body, your eyes that he adored, glossed over and empty. 

He would not know a peaceful rest until he had you back in his arms. “I appreciate your concern, but I promise I will be fine.” 

“Azriel-” Cassian started, but Azriel’s shadows rushed around him, whispering the one thing that he had been waiting to hear. 

“They found her.” Azriel’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, before disappearing into his shadows.

Azriel followed his shadows to the bottom of Ramiel, a cave entrance that was hidden by trees. One that Azriel had sworn he had passed a thousand times. He found Mor and Amren standing at the entrance, two Illyrian guards dead at their feet. “She was in there the entire time?” 

“Don’t blame yourself boy, they had warded the entrance to be hidden from anyone passing by, I even had a difficult time discovering it. Whoever set the wards was good, but still not good enough.” Amren moved aside, so Azriel could take the lead into the cave. 

Cassian, Rhys and Nesta appeared behind them, ready for whatever would greet them. “Azriel you focus on finding Y/N. We will take care of everyone else.” Rhysand stated and Azriel nodded in agreement. 

They all rushed in at once, the gloomy tunnel was barely lit, but he saw clear enough to take down two males that approached him. He followed the corridors, killing whoever crossed his path, the stone walls covered in their blood. Azriel reached a collection of cells but found them all to be empty, except for the bloodstains across the walls.

Azriel kept moving forward, you had to be in this hell somewhere. He ran through the halls and the agony that surrounded them. And when he turned that final corner he saw you.

Azriel’s stomach dropped as he took in the scene of you hanging from the chains, your wrists purple and swollen, blood covering almost every inch of your body, slashes across your arms and abdomen. He stepped closer, noticing the male dead at your feet, his hand shook as he reached to feel your pulse, silently praying there would be the slightest movement underneath his finger tips. 

He lifted your chin, taking in the dried blood and bruises across your face. His anger for Madok grew. He felt a light pulse as he tried to hold his emotions back, he needed to get you out of here first, then he could unleash his anger on the male who did this to you. 

You groaned in pain as Azriel rushed to free your arms from the chains, your body collapsing into his arms. He held you carefully, pulling you tight against him, hoping he wasn’t causing you any pain. 

You withered in his arms, and when he looked down at you, your swollen eyes were barely open, but you were awake, yet barely alive. In that moment he felt that bond reopen, but it was faint, quiet. Like a whisper in a storm. You were dying and he was running out of time. 

He stood quickly, following his path back out of the cave. His family is waiting for the two of you outside between the trees. Madok was tied in chains in front of them. And when they saw you, Azriel heard the collective gasp of horror. 

“Your little mate is hard to crack, so sad you won’t be able to save her.” Madok teased, Azriel was prepared to kill him, but when you moved once more in his arms he refrained himself. Instead, Cassian slammed the hilt of his sword to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. 

“Inform Madja I am on my way back.” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spoke, but he took off into the sky, flying as fast as his wings would take him.

You barely could open your eyes to see his face but you felt his arms wrap around you, the cool breeze of the mountain air brushing across your skin. He felt so warm, even as he launched the two of you into the snowy weather. You never thought you would have made it out, but he came for you. He was truly with you. Yet you didn’t exactly feel as if you were going to make it out of these mountains. 

“I’m scared. Azriel, why am I so scared?” Your voice was nothing but a whimper, your body was shaking, nothing felt in your control. You forced your eyes to open, memorizing his features. 

Was this death? Had Azriel come just in time to see you perish? There was so much more you wanted to do with him, you knew things were rocky, but you didn’t want to die leaving that wedge between you two, you wanted to fix it, to see what it would be like to be loved by him. But then again you always had been, the two of you were just too foolish to admit it. It was a mistake that you wouldn’t make again. Maybe in the next life you could be together. Maybe then you could have more time.

“Hey sweetheart, hold on for me. Please.” His voice was like a heavenly whisper in your mind. If you were to die in his arms, you would gladly accept it, the last sight would be of him and you would be okay with that. “Y/N, please we’re almost there, just don’t give up.” 

You smiled up at him, finding the strength to run a trembling hand across his cheek. Catching sight of the mangled state your hand was in. But it didn’t matter, you needed to make sure this was real, just in case. “Azriel if for some reason I don’t make it-”

“You will make it, darling please save your breath.” Azriel’s voice shook, and you could tell he was scared too. But if this was your last moment together, you wouldn’t spend it in silence.

“I am sorry for how things have been between us, you’re my best friend Az, and I was scared that I lost you when you got with Elain. I am sorry we didn’t have more time for us, but I promise I will look for you in my next life, and even the one after that. I will fight harder next time. I promise not to run. I won’t be afraid.” 

You looked into his hazel eyes, and the tears that fell down his face. You wanted to reach up but you found there was no strength left in you to move. “Y/N, we will have all the time in this life, we will have the life we deserve, please just-” His voice cracked and he took a trembling breath. “Stay with me. I’m sorry for it all. I hate that I didn’t tell you I loved you sooner. But please give me the chance to tell you for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled up at him, and you wished it could be true. But you could feel your body failing, you just wanted to close your eyes, rest for a little while. Gods you were so tired, your brain didn’t know what to do, but you knew what you wanted to say. 

“I don’t hate that I love you.” Your words wobbled, feeling an unknown warmth, you stopped fighting and Azriel’s screams were just a faint echo in the back of your mind as your eyes fell closed to the darkness.

Taglist(The ones crossed out I couldn’t tag): @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @holywolfsstuff @reiincarnatiion @valeridarkness @feiwelinchen @sv0430 @kennedy-brooke @emturtles @nightcourtwritings @zephyg-06 @chantalleke91 @katherinereid @loulou0101 @shadowsingersmate24 @tcris2020 @shadowsinger-654 @nobody00sthings @lucyysthings @turkishgirlslife @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @tobifeemo @kristeristerin @sinnful-darling @hannzoaks @zoe2 @strangersunghoon @bangtanbecks @juneangel21​ @hanatsuki-hime​ @acourtofmarvels @cmay25 @its-sam-allgood @a-frog-with-a-laptop @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @kazbrkker @sstanbarnes @j-pendragonx @naturakaashi @yakoxshadow @whorefortim @goradgirl @azriels-mate123 @cuethedepession 

[gravitytrips]

Cocky Bastard Part 2

The RED team woke up bright and early the day after Medic, Heavy, and Engineer had received the call from Scout’s captors. Medic had convinced them to get them up this early to set up their ambush without much hassle. After all, they were all practically seeing red when Engineer described what they had been told on the phone.

Sniper watched through his scope in the bell tower, barely keeping his seething anger from surfacing. Through his thumping hatred, Sniper could just make out the forms of all his teammates, save Medic, and obviously Scout, taking their positions. The Aussie saw Soldier tense up in his spot behind a stack of crates, and drew his scope back to the center of the park.

Medic stepped forward on the grass, the greenish-brown blades crumpling beneath his feet. The doctor’s composure nearly broke when he finally saw the face of the man that had imprisoned his teammate. The man smirked, making Medic want to strangle him on the spot. The two stepped forward.

Engineer watched the exchange from the balcony he was crouched on. Medic seemed to negotiate with Scout’s captor for a few moments before the man turned, waved his hand, and walked away. Engineer was so confused that he didn’t even hear the gangster swinging a bat at his head.

Sniper’s head snapped over to the balcony after he heard a very Texan yelp, trying to get a shot on whoever was attacking Engineer. Sniper focused in on his target, shouldered his weapon for a better grips, then…..his scope exploded. Sniper stumbled back, startled by the pain in his face from the shards of his scope, and also swinging his head around to look for his assailant. His eyes just barely caught a glint from a rooftop on his left. Bingo. Even without his scope, Sniper was still an excellent shot, the gangster fell from the rooftop, now sporting a new hole in his head. Sniper reloaded and took aim at the ground once more.

Heavy growled to himself as he watched a van blast down a street and out into the open field. Blood dripped from his knuckles and from the three dead gangsters behind him. The large Russian strode out into the field. The back doors of the van flew open, and Heavy raised his fist to lay out the first person who stepped out of the van. Those fists dropped with the large man’s jaw when what instead tumbled out of the still-moving van was the beaten and bloody body of Scout. Heavy dropped to the ground next the heap of barely breathing blood and flesh.

Scout could feel his face being pressed into the warm ground. He decided to take the opportunity to soak up every bit of warmth as he could before he would inevitably be thrust back into his cold cell. He breathed deeply, only to find himself inhaling dirt. The boy coughed violently, before becoming aware of other unpleasant sensations, like the prickly, itchy grass on his face, or something large compressing his chest, or a deep voice vibrating his entire body and setting fire to every cut, bruise, and laceration. Scout’s eyes closed.

Medic’s gaze was being ripped all over the battlefield as always, checking for injured teammates and hacking up attackers. Medic’s erratic path of vision came to a screeching halt when his eyes landed on Heavy, who was carrying an unconscious Scout in his arms. The boy looked like hell. His face was bruised and stained with drying blood, some of which seemed to be sealing his swollen eye shut. Medic grimaced and made his way to Heavy to assess the rest of the damage done to their youngest teammate.

Scout’s eyes slid open when he felt soft fingers running through his blood-matted hair. Those same soft hands gently examined the rest of him, moving over the leg he knew was badly broken. A finger poked the swollen limb, earning a soft cry from Scout. Suddenly, the hands were gone, then, hands of every size and texture were cradling his head, caressing his bruised chest, brushing through his hair, and wiping his tears. Jeremy weakly lifted his own hand to feel for whoever could possible have that many different hands, when soft, leather hands gripped his. Scout’s fingers twitched, trying to grasp the hands holding his. As the darkness started to drag Scout again, he became strangely aware that he was really hot. The heat throbbed through his system, drawing his eyes closed again. Before Jeremy knew it, the soothing touches and the heat dragged him under.

The very next thing Scout became aware of was the chill in the air. Scout’s heart sank as he realized this, knowing it meant he was back in his cell. This thought rolled around in Scout’s mind for a few moments before he realized that he wasn’t lying on concrete. He was just on a very, very hard mattress. When had he received a mattress? With this question in mind, Scout decided to brave it and open his eyes.

The room was dim, but not due to a lack of lights. Most of the lights were simply off. It was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock and an annoying beeping.

Beeping?

Scout’s eyes drifted to the source of the sound, seeing a heart monitor.

Scout slammed his eyes shut again. No. This wasn’t real. He was hallucinating. Dreaming. Maybe even dead. He clenched his fists, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. The soft sheets of the infirmary bed scrunched under his fingers, causing tears to jump to his eyes. Jeremy scolded himself for thinking this was real. It wasn’t possible. Don’t give yourself hope, Jeremy. But still, a part of his mind desperately begged him to dare to hope. Questions scratched at the back of his mind. Was he really back? Could this possibly be real? Was he really home? 

Medic looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. God, he was a mess. His hair was all out of whack, and he hadn’t changed shirts in nearly three days.

Medic splashed water on his face, and silently prayed to any god that would listen that Scout’s fever would break, and that he’d be ok.

The doctor then sighed, resigning himself to more work after an hour or so of rest. Had it been an hour? Or more? Medic thought to himself as he exited the infirmary restroom and glanced up at the clock. He froze. that ticking of the clock of joined by something else. Sniffing. Crying. Medic drew his gaze to the sounds and saw it through a crack in the curtains: movement.

Scout coughed through his tears, wheezing out a frightened yelp when the curtains were torn open. He braced himself for strict words, or even physical reprimanding for being dumb enough to get captured, but all the boy was met with was pure relief. Tears shone in Medic’s eyes as the man knelt beside Jeremy’s a bed.

“Doc….?” Came the cranky and rough voice of the boy Medic had been fighting death away for for weeks.

“Hallo, hase……are you with me….?” The doctor said as he placed a bare hand on Jeremy’s forehead. The German nearly sagged with relief when he didn’t feel a fever.

“Yeah….?” Jeremy was confused. Confused in what happened, how he got back, how long he was out, and most importantly, why Medic’s bare hand was painfully familiar. Jeremy closed his eyes, to gather his bearings, and a flash of a memory came to him. Lying in the itchy grass. Hands all over him, soothing, assuring, protecting.

“Scout? Is everything alright? Are you in any pain?” The sound of the doctor’s voice snapped Scout out of his memory. It took him a moment to process the words, then realized that no, for the first time in God knows how long, he wasn’t in any pain.

A whooshing sound came from his left, and Scout’s body automatically tensed.

“Ah, so he finally awakens.” Spy’s voice was soft. Soft like the leather-clad hands that held his so tightly, assuring him that he was not alone m, that he was going to be alright, that everything would turn out ok….

That same hand now draped over his forehead, mirroring Medic’s earlier motion.

“Are you up for visitors, mon lapin?” Spy asked gently.

“Yeah….yeah. I really wanna see the guys.” Scout answered, his voice slightly shaking.

It wasn’t two seconds after Medic opened the infirmary door that there were six more men upon him, asking questions, looking worried, and hugging him.

After Engineer pried Pyro off of Scout, the boy finally got a word in.

“You guys were seriously that worried?” The boy asked, subconsciously clasping Engineer’s hand.

The flurry of speaking returned, exasperated shouts of ‘yes’ and ‘of course’ and ‘why wouldn’t we?’. Spy stood to the side, holding an unlit cigarette and just watching. Satisfied that his smoking would no longer be an issue for Scout’s breathing, he lit the cigarette and took a drag.

As the smoke filled the man’s lungs, he watched the other mercenaries fuss over his son. He watched the way Scout smiled.

He was lucky. Lucky that he had been able to protect his son when it mattered. Lucky that his son had survived. He was lucky that he was on a team that weren’t only coworkers, but friends, not that he’d ever admit it. Most of all, he was lucky that those friends were able to fill the gaping, aching while he had left in his son’s life.

Spy took another drag on his cigarette and smiled. For now. For now, he was happy.