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boilingheart · 25 days

Text

Sate Me

Pre-Relationship Gale x Male Tav (Lucius Skorn) Takes place in Act 1. Magical artifacts stopped working for Gale a while ago, but to treat the pains of his arcane hunger, Gale has turned to the Ilmatari cleric Lucius for an alternative, holy power source. Only this ritual to sate that orb brings the two men closer in ways neither of them are ready for. Rated T Read on AO3 See: Arcane Hunger for Part 1! See: Skornweave Series for more Gale x Lucius!

“I told you not to wait until it got so bad!” Lucius scolds, dragging his bedroll and blankets towards the stone wall his tent attaches to. Carefully, he arranges the blankets for Gale’s comfort, folding them neatly before moving to retrieve the wizard by his arm. “It takes more power to sate it if you let too much time pass.”

Night had already fallen over the camp, and a couple of others had already retired to their tents. Gale intended to do the same, to simply shut his eyes and ignore the pain in his back from lack of a proper bed, and pray that sleep is enough to face whatever horror the next day has to offer.

But of course, there isn’t any peace for him.

“I know, I know, and I do apologize, Lucius!” Gale says, allowing the cleric to lead and push him to his seat on the blankets. “But! Know that this was not… intentional. It — It happened all at once. One moment, I was laying down, the next…”

Pain, all at once. He’d lurched out from his bedroll, slamming his hands on his chest in an effort to keep the magic from spilling out. It wracked him so suddenly, paralyzed him, his body tensed and coiled in on itself like a dying serpent. It took all of his strength to drag himself out of his tent and to Lucius, who, thank the gods, had not yet gone to sleep.

Lucius’ annoyed gaze softens, now shifting to concern. “Is… this not working anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Gale says, still pressing a palm to the Orb. “It’s taking less time for it to realize it’s not being fed properly, it would seem.”

He tries to laugh, ease the tension, but it only shifts to a groan. Lucius is on him immediately, shifting him by the shoulders and pressing him back fully until he’s resting against the stone wall.

“I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m really wishing I knew how to use the Weave right about now…” Lucius murmurs, and Gale can’t help but snicker. The cleric snaps his gaze back to him. “What?”

“You say it like learning the Weave is a curse.”

“It is! You’re an academic, wouldn’t you argue academia is a curse?” Gale opens his mouth, and Lucius waves him away. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. You’re a nerd and I’m gonna get the wrong answer out of you.”

Gale hums. “Well, it’s not for everyone, that’s for certain. But now, I can’t help but try to imagine you in such a setting.”

Lucius retrieves a long pillow from the side, propping it behind Gale. “Don’t do that. That’s horrible. Imagine me somewhere hotter, please.”

“How about as a professor?”

“Stop talking.”

Gale laughs, and the Orb gnaws at his bones and flesh in turn, forcing his body into another curl. Lucius catches him, gently easing him back up.

“Alright, shh, it’s okay,” Lucius murmurs, his voice soft. “I’ve got you. See what happens when you say stupid shit?”

“Correlation is not causation, my friend.”

“Causation is you saying stupid shit,” Lucius adjusts the pillows around him. “Are you comfortable like this? Orb aside.”

“I think you’re spoiling me just a touch, Lucius,” Gale says with a tease, as if the effort Lucius is putting forth isn’t making something inside his chest twist. “Really going all out this time around.”

“Well, I was thinking laying you down wasn’t the most efficient way of doing this. Bad for your back without a proper bed, and it doesn’t give me a lot of leverage.” He leans back on his haunches, giving another once over Gale. “Propped up though, I’m less likely to fall on top of you, and it’ll give me a better angle at letting go of the spell. Plus, I didn’t steal all of these pillows for nothing.”

“And I was just about to ask where you got all of these from.”

“Believe it or not, these are the most amount of pillows I’ve had in years.”

“Simple priest life, I take it?”

“Oh yes. Humble little life. Wasn’t any need to have anything more than a cot – ‘til now, of course.”

Lucius scoots closer, resting on his knees to get into position. Gale’s chest unexpectedly tightens in anticipation, watching him loom over him with a faint glow already blooming in his hand.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asks, his hand hovering over Gale’s collarbone.

Gale nods, ignoring the dryness in his throat. He could probably chalk up the sudden anxiety he feels to the nature of this spell, how it’s still under-researched and could have any unruly consequences, but with the intensity Lucius levels at him, he knows that that’s far from the real reason. “Ready and willing.”

Lucius nods, placing his large, warm hand against his chest, aligning his palm with the Orb etched into his skin. It’s a comfortable feeling, Gale realizes. In another life, perhaps he could indulge in such contact comfortably, perhaps even allow such to wander in other places — But that’s a thought that has to be purged in a time like this. Far too inappropriate.

Lucius slips his eyes closed, uttering a prayer under his breath. His voice resonates with power as his words call out to his god for aid, and just like last time, there is a long moment of silence before anything happens. Gale hadn’t thought much of it before, having been far too distracted with the overwhelming pain the Orb wrought upon him, gnawing on his insides, but now, with a slightly more focused mind, he can see the worry etched into the cleric’s face, dark brows furrowed and lips pulled tight, as if he himself isn’t sure the spell would work. Come to think of it, he may have had the same face the first time they’d done this as well.

There’s the urge, suddenly, to quietly reach out and cup his cheek to assuage his worry, to smooth out those brows and show him his faith in him, but Gale does well to leave that thought untouched, and to let the urge remain just that: an unwelcome urge.

Soon enough, Gale feels the telltale sign of magic in the cleric’s palm, and the power surges through him. In an instant, Gale is met with overwhelming pressure, holy magic channeling into his body, filling every nerve and vein with that stark, electric, golden warmth. He’s grateful for the pillow Lucius thought to tuck behind him because the second the magic floods, his head slams back against it, cushioned just enough to stay the pain from his skull as the rest of his body tenses and braces against the stone. It didn’t matter how much time passed living with this condition; he could endure this a hundred times more, and still, he would never be able to withstand the intensity of the Orb’s power, how it grips him from every bone, every inch of flesh and soul and drags him inwards, clawing and gnawing at his insides, hungry and desperate for something more to sate it.

And bridged to the Orb with his own magic, Lucius is no exception to its hunger. Like a magnet, the Orb violently yanks Lucius inward, his hand crushing Gale’s collarbone as he scrapes his knees to find balance again. The pressure all but hikes Gale up against the wall, and he digs his heels into the ground for any amount of leverage or relief, grinding his teeth in the exertion.

“Fuck!” Lucius hisses, catching his free hand on the ledge of the stone to keep himself steady. “Gods, I'm never ready for it.”

Gale wants to respond to him, offer an assurance or word of comfort or apology, but all he can manage is a strangled groan. It always takes a moment before the Orb starts to accept the magic as something it can consume. The golden power pours through him and cascades across his body, the tell tale tingle of divinity that vibrates through his nerves and brings its gentle touch through his muscles. It would be pleasant, perhaps, were it not for the turbulent waves of raw Netherese magic tearing at those same nerves and twists of flesh, like a stormy ocean whose violent waves crash and wipe away all in its wake.

There's that fear that sinks its cold fingers into the pit of his stomach. The fear that maybe this time, it won't work anymore. That this time, it will reject the magic, and they'll be back to square one, searching for any alternative to relieve the hunger. He knows Lucius worries all the same. Gale cannot possibly blink away the sight of his concern, the furrow in his brow and the hesitance upon summoning the power. It's a dangerous game to play, a gamble, an experiment —

Lucius rights himself, bracing one leg up for a better angle and utters a final incantation. Their eyes lock, and Gale witnesses the raw determination in those gentle brown eyes, and then watches them flare and fill with a fiery golden glow. The radiance coalesces, more controlled this time, pulling itself together and channeling steadily towards the Orb with purpose. The arcane twists and opens, tendrils of vitriolic magic unfurling its maw to siphon that golden glow.

The reaction is instant. Divinity floods into the cavity of his soul with both an ice cold burn and a fiery heat, punching a gasp out of Gale. His body moves of its own accord, his back arching and his feet digging in to push himself further into the cleric’s touch. The strain puts a pressure in his head, making coherent thoughts all the more difficult and sending him spiraling into a dizzy spell. The relief is difficult to describe. Hunger sated is an understatement. A thirst quenched is far from the intensity this feeling grants him. He hurtles towards the dark, drowning in the waves of magic before that radiant hand grips and wrenches him out, gasping for air, eyes blinded by the light of a kinder god, the gentle and fastidious touch of an unlikely cleric —

It feels like the magic might spill. Like this bottomless cup cannot catch the endless waterfall crashing upon him. He has to keep it inside, he has to keep it in, he has to seal this horrible maw lest it lash out and try to drink everything in between, he has to keep the threads together. He's going to unravel, it's going to pull him apart trying to consume it all, feel it all, he's going to fall apart, he's going to die.

Gale grips at Lucius’ hand with both of his, clinging to it for dear life. This lone tether as he dangles over the abyss, hurtling towards an endless chasm. One wrong move and he's lost forever — he presses the cleric's hand closer to his chest, as if to seal the edges where anything may leak, radiance or Netherese or otherwise. The blankets, though a kind touch, only keep his feet from finding proper purchase as he writhes and squirms.

He'd stop if he could. He'd hold still if he could. In the back of his mind, he can't help but find it all rather amusing, if a touch fascinating just what a primal response such a magic elicits. No mortal is meant to withstand such power, let alone carry it in their chests. How fascinating, the way he can't rein himself together. How just a fraction of this magic can bring him to ruin. How all he can do is cling to Lucius. How he feels like somehow, this broad hand on his chest will be enough.

Gale tries to steady his breathing, or rather, tries to remember how to breathe. He inhales sharply, a stutter to his breath as the Orb and divine power rock him against the stone. The distinct scent of the Netherese Orb is one he's all too intimately familiar with. Like the metallic tang of brass, like the scent of the first rain upon the stony streets after a dry spell, like ozone just before lightning strikes, like the smell of a freshly extinguished wick of a candle — it burns in his nose, and it never leaves him, always an echo of it everywhere he carries it. But up so close, with Lucius all but pressed against him, something else intertwines with it. Coffee, smoke, balsam, cedar and sweat — somehow, it makes him dizzy with it. It's pleasant, a welcome change amongst the hell he finds himself in, and as the Orb feeds on the radiant magic, ushering in waves of relief, all he can do is attach his scent, his presence, his warmth and his magic to one thing: safety.

“You're okay, Gale,” Lucius whispers, struggling to sound comforting with the evident strain in his voice. “I've got you. You're okay.”

Hot tears spill from his eyes suddenly before he can stop it, or even process that it was happening. This new twist in his chest is far beyond that of the Orb, but instead one more human. One more grounding. And yet, one he doesn't have the strength to give definition, only that it's unique to Lucius, and that such a feeling needs to be suffocated before it has the chance to hurt him. He squeezes Lucius’ hand in response. I know. I trust you. I trust you.

The Orb finally begins to settle, its twisting maw slowing as it has its fill for now. Gale holds still, tensed against the stone as the waves of power begin to calm. Lucius lets out a weak sound as his own magic wanes, and with Gale’s help, he detaches his hand from his chest, finally severing the connection. The glow dissipates from both the Orb and Lucius, drowning the tent in darkness, his ears buzzing with the sudden silence of the magical hums. Gale sags against the stone, tension melting out of his body and leaving him boneless, and Lucius follows suit, collapsing forward breathlessly, held up only by that hand on the stone. Heavy breaths fill the tent as both men endeavor to catch their breaths and collect themselves, weary to the bone with the exertion of the spell.

“Shit,” Lucius huffs, trying to drag himself to a more upright position. “That really… It never gets less intense, does it?”

Gale slowly slumps further down the stone, dragging the pillow behind him with him. He catches Lucius’ gaze, nearly losing his breath at the distinct sharpness in the other man's eyes. “Not quite, I'm afraid…” Then, he tries to offer an easy smile. “Though, I do feel like this one was a little smoother than last.”

Lucius huffs with amusement, dipping his head low. He settles back on his knees, his breath still on its way back before leveling a studious gaze at him. Gently, he raises a hand to Gale’s cheek, swiping a thumb at the tears that had spilled earlier with such a tenderness Gale didn't know he was capable of. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, Gale’s entire world stops. His heart pounds in his chest, every ounce of cognitive thought scrambled as his mind fixates on the warm hand on his cheek, his soul pinned to the stone by the softness in the elf's eyes. His breath catches. He should say something. He needs to say something. Far be it for Gale to be a man at a loss for words, scattered the way he is without a swift recovery in sight.

But instead of words, instead of telling him he's fine, instead of assuring him he's never been better and that he's not in any pain and that Lucius is a lovely, lovely healer who has done more than he could ever ask of him, Gale only reaches a hand out to clasp over the one on his cheek, holding it reverently. It's not the gesture he wanted to give. He understands that the moment here is a little too intimate, a little too delicate, and that he'd do better to dissipate it here and now before testing waters neither of them are ready to swim in.

But something changes in the cleric’s expression when he holds him. Every ragged breath fills him with Lucius’ warm scent, and at this angle, with Lucius looming over him, Gale catches a glimpse of his bare, tattooed chest from where the collar of his shirt dips with gravity. He can't trace the artwork that trails down in the dark, but curiosity gnaws in his chest along with a surge of fondness and affection. He knows so little about this man. He knows there's so, so much more to this Ilmatari cleric, he knows there's a plethora of stories buried deep within the centuries this man lauds. For a moment, Gale thinks, it would be nice to entertain something a little deeper with Lucius.

He knows they shouldn't. The Orb is far too delicate to risk anything too exciting, and truthfully, Gale still hasn't been able to tell just how genuine Lucius is with his own affection towards Gale.

But with how close Lucius is now, how gentle he is, with the kindness in eyes Gale only ever witnessed a dead, distant look in, he could believe.

Their breaths are still heavy. The air is warm between them. Gale still resonates with the divinity Lucius poured into him, and the darkness of the night within the tent caresses them both, holding them gently. Lucius’ eyes dart from his, down to his lips, and all Gale can think of is that image he conjured in his mind during their moment in the Weave together, how Lucius sought to kiss him and leave him breathless.

Perhaps he could believe the cleric is genuine.

He finds himself lifting his chin, inching just a fraction closer. Lucius follows the movement with half lidded eyes, lips parted as he cautiously moves closer. Their noses brush. Warm breaths tangle together, filling Gale with an unbelievably insatiable feeling of need. A desperation to get closer, to put his hands on him and crash together and tangle their legs and get lost, to just feel him in a way that truly matters.

They both hesitate. Gale wonders what brings Lucius so much pause. Is he not already a man of open physical intimacy? Does he not already boast a portfolio of mindless, physical conquests? Gale knows what stalls him, but Lucius? Why does he pause?

Gale’s lips part, and the thought is quelled. They move in unison, a moment of bravery closing the distance between them and sealing together with a featherlight, warm kiss. Lucius is soft against him, his lips slotting perfectly against Gale’s. Still hesitant, still experimental, still filled with so much unbridled, barely tethered desire. Their lips move together only once before Lucius pulls back, opening his eyes to look over Gale, who is far too stunned to move, too stupefied by the kiss to string together a clever collection of words.

He wants to kiss him again. He wants to pull him in and bring him back closer. And he almost does, but Lucius pulls away all too suddenly before he can be brought to action.

“Sorry,” He says quickly, scrambling back on his haunches a considerable distance away from him, leaving Gale cold. “I um. I got… I-I didn't mean…”

“Lucius —”

“You should go.”

Gale couldn't have possibly anticipated just how crushing a sentence like that would be. He sits up from the bedroll, and this time, it’s his own heart he worries that will spill from his chest.

“... Right. Right, of course.”

...

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Gale that night. Not that it’s easy to sleep any night out here, but this time it’s restless beyond having to camp in the middle of the wilderness. Tossing and turning, a coldness across his body that could not be alleviated by any amount of blankets, and the echo of the warmth upon his lips that Lucius left him with that would not leave. It’s a hurt in his chest beyond the Orb, and it’s a wonder he sleeps even a wink at all.

He lays on his bedroll for a moment longer in the off chance that he’ll manage to fall back asleep before he finally admits to himself that any effort is futile. There’s a weariness that seeps into his bones, making him feel heavy and every movement a great, overwhelming task. He just has to start the day. He just has to get through and start the day, and the rest will come easy.

After giving his hair a quick brush and slipping into his shoes, he steps out, blinded by the early morning sun, and immediately greeted by Wyll at his own tent beside him.

“Good morning, Gale!” He says brightly, closing his backpack after retrieving a couple of pears from it. “Nice to see you up so early.”

Gale rubs his face. “Ah. It is quite early, isn’t it?”

Wyll nods, and holds out a fruit. “Pear?”

Why not? Gale accepts it graciously, dipping his head in thanks before making his way to the center of the camp. It actually is quite nice being up early. There’s time to kill before they have to start the day’s adventures, and he has a chance to see everyone up and about without having to scramble to get his equipment together to get onto the road near moments after waking. The dog runs around happily, and briefly meets Gale with a courteous sniff and lick at his hands in greeting, and he passes by Lae’zel and Shadowheart as they hiss their somewhat hostile remarks at each other like a dance.

Gale tries not to act like he’s moving with purpose, but he can’t help it. His lips still remember that of Lucius, an imprint he can't shake from his mind. Worse yet, the look on his face when he scrambled back, how he seemed not to regret it, but to fear the action he'd just done. Gale didn't have a chance to tell him that it was fine, that it was oh so welcome, that he wanted nothing more than to indulge him and hold him and —

Gale closes his eyes. Dangerous thoughts. He knows he can’t indulge. Maybe that’s why Lucius backed away as he did. He already had to turn him away once during the party, so perhaps…

He takes a breath, and approaches that patchwork blue tent. “Lucius? Are you awake?”

His heart pounds. Is he nervous? And what for? A wizard of his caliber never trembles at the unknown, and yet, trepidation colors his every experience here in the now. A terrible feeling. He should stand tall. Whatever happened between them is fine. Nothing they can’t patch up like adults.

But there isn’t any response, and it makes Gale fear more. “Lucius?”

“Not there, soldier,” a different voice calls out behind him. Gale nearly jumps, and tries not to look like a sheepish, guilty dog as he turns around.

“Ah! You startled me,” he says, laughing lightly. “Morning, Karlach.”

“Mornin’!” Karlach waves at him cheerfully. “You’re up early!”

“That I am,” Gale says tiredly. “Peaceful sleep was, ironically, a distant dream away for me, it would seem. But I do like seeing everyone bustling about.”

“Nice, isn’t it?” She grins. “Anyway, whatcha doin’ lookin’ for Lucius? He’s been out all morning. Damn bastard owes me a good run.”

Gale feels something inside him twist. “All morning?”

Karlach’s eyes flick towards him, as if seeing something so obvious on his face. There’s that nervousness again — he hates it. A foreign feeling that crawls up his skin, but surely, Karlach can’t ascertain what’s just transpired between him and Lucius.

Karlach cocks her head to the side, a wicked grin splitting across her face as her eyes rake over Gale. “Oh man, did you two…?”

Well, she can’t ascertain it accurately at least.

“... What?”

“Yanno,” Karlach makes a rather obscene gesture with her hands, and Gale immediately scrambles to wave it away.

“Oh no! No no! Nothing like that!” He quickly corrects, laughing in a way he hopes sounds more casual than flustered.

“Really?” She almost sounds disappointed. “Was that light show you two always have not you and Lucy —”

“Certainly not, my dear friend,” Gale says, waving a hand in dismissal as he finds his bearings. “I’m a wizard of many talents and skills, and naturally, them being of the Weave, it means most of them will glow. Merely exchanging magical knowledge and demonstrations where there’s time, nothing more.”

Karlach purses her lips in amusement, leaning her weight on one leg and propping a hand on her hip. “Yanno, you don’t have to use innuendos, Gale! I’m not faint of heart, you can always tell Mama K anything,” she leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I can keep a secret.”

The sheer amount of sincerity Karlach exudes is enough to bring laughter to Gale, who shakes his head. “I was just looking to ask him about breakfast plans, that is all. But thank you for your solidarity. I hardly believe any of those activities would come to fruition with the friendship we have, but it’s nice to know we’d have an ally were it to ever.”

Karlach barks a laugh. “Gale! You make it sound so… so boring? No no, like, you make it sound all mechanical. Hells, with the way Lucy talks about you, I really thought you guys were already like…”

Gale’s heart skips a beat. “With the way he what? What does he say?”

Before Karlach can answer, Scratch and the owlbear cub are hooting and hollering at someone’s arrival, gathering their attention elsewhere. Gale turns to see Halsin and Lucius arriving back to camp, hauling freshly hunted game on their shoulders and baskets of fruit. They return with bright smiles on their faces, loudly exchanging something in Elvish that he can’t make out, and radiating an aura of victory.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Karlach says, flashing a grin at him. “Bastard owes me our morning run. Hold up, I gotta yell at him.”

She takes off running, meeting Lucius as he and Halsin begin to put things away. Food for the week by the looks of it. It’s not unusual for Lucius to go out and do something else in the morning, especially with how little sleep he needs, and it shouldn’t be too startling that he’d leave with Halsin, another fellow elf, but… he’s usually back at camp by the time everyone is awake. Karlach rushes him, shouting about the workout he skipped, and they proceed to air-box each other, careful not to let either of their fists actually make any contact with each other.

Gale doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Lucius looks up and catches his gaze, and Gale watches in real time as his smile falters.

Ah. Perhaps Gale could have convinced himself this was all just a whim Lucius decided on, but his suspicions that this behavior is linked directly to the night before only garners more and more evidence in support. Damn near confirmation. Lucius says something to Karlach and slaps a pat onto Halsin’s back, dismissing himself to jog his way over to Gale, messy black hair swaying in the wind.

“Morning Gale!” Lucius greets, an easy smile on his face, as if it hadn’t cracked a second ago. “You’re —”

“Up early, yes,” Gale finishes, nodding sagely. “And you’re back late! Not often I see you leave camp for a while.”

“That’s because you normally sleep in.”

“Ah! A fair counterpoint. Perhaps I’ll allow you that victory.”

Lucius gives a small huff of a laugh through his nose. “Good to see you up and running like normal. Hate to see my wizard lagging behind in pain like that.”

My wizard?

Lucius must realize the phrase just as Gale heard it. “Our wizard. Resident wizard. Gale.”

“That is me, yes.”

“Look,” Lucius starts, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “I um, I wanted to uh… apologize for what I did last night.”

“Oh, Lucius —”

“What I did was completely out of line and wildly inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have done that. Not in a moment like that. Not to a good friend I really respect. That wasn’t the time nor place, and I should’ve caught myself better before I made an impulse decision like that.”

Gale swallows hard. Something delicate inside of him cracks, and he’s not sure what. Something extravagant and fragile, something wonderful and made of glass that brought him warmth fractures, and he feels the shards scatter somewhere inside him, lost forever, embedding themselves into soft, vulnerable flesh.

“I can’t say I blame you. It’s fine, though, Lucius, I didn’t —”

“It’s not fine,” Lucius interrupts. “Look, Gale, you’re… you’re a very handsome man, sometimes even distracting, but that’s no excuse. I got caught up in the moment, I let the physical intimacy get to my head and I stopped thinking. That’s not good. That’s some terrible impulse control and I don’t want you to condone it. I don’t want to lose your respect, and I most certainly don’t want to disrespect you.”

“Oh, my dear friend, Lucius, you didn’t — Lucius, it’s alright, I do mean that! Well, this is — This is a very kind apology, and I do respect the tact of which you’re handling it, but…”

But… what? What’s Gale to do? Admit that his heart skips a beat every time Lucius comes near? Admit that he wanted to tangle himself in the cleric and lose himself in those lips? Admit that were it not for this blasted orb, he may have indulged him far, far sooner? Admit that something inside him hurts at being called a friend?

No… no, he can’t do any of that. It would be cruel, after all. Self indulgent, to take in Lucius when he can’t give himself wholly, body and soul. Not with the Orb gnawing at his insides like a teething displacer at all times, a constant, looming threat and a reminder of how his previous affections for someone else ended. Cruelty, it’d be, to even dare entertain the idea of being close to Lucius. He cannot give himself. He cannot allow himself to try.

Lucius looks at him with soft, vulnerable brown eyes. He’s slouched, shied away somewhat, sheepish; had Gale never seen him drenched in blood after taking out an entire gaggle of adversaries, Gale would almost believe the delicate priestly aura he manages to exude now. It almost makes him laugh, just how apologetic Lucius looks now, and it twists something in his chest. Affection, perhaps.

He has to resist the urge to cup Lucius’ cheek.

“I forgive you, Lucius,” Gale settles on saying, because it’s what Lucius needs to hear the most. “I’ll admit, you had me lost in the impulse as well, but we can be mature adults about this. Physicality does not rule us, and I do appreciate your words. I think I’d be worse off if you just… stopped speaking to me altogether, so I’m glad to hear this instead.”

Lucius brightens now, looking a little more himself. He nods along with his words, relief flooding his features. “Oh good. Oh good oh good. Yes. Certainly. I um. Didn’t want to do that.”

Gale brings together a smile with the pieces he still has left, and holds out a hand. “No harm done.”

Lucius looks down, and takes his hand firmly. His hand is broad and calloused, encompassing Gale’s in full. “No harm done.”

They shake once, and like a spell, the warmth that had lingered still on Gale’s lips turns cold, leaving him for good. He tries not to let it show as they part, trying to listen to Lucius as the man claps his hands together and moves onto the next subject. Something about food, something about a big great breakfast. A roast, he suggests. One that may just take too long, or cut it close enough before their adventure.

By that point, Gale isn’t listening anymore. The lack of sleep has caught up with him, tugging at his eyes. He’s not sure he’ll make it to the roast at this rate. There’s a chill to the wind that his sleep clothes do little to ward against — perhaps it’s simply better for him to get back to bed, or at the very least cozy up with a book for some semblance of company.

As Gale drags himself back to his tent, he catches Astarion’s gaze, staring at him with a knowing smirk from his own tent. Gale can’t get a word in — Astarion claps his book closed and disappears into his tent, undoubtedly carrying with him the exchange he just witnessed.

Just what Gale needs right now.

He marches into his tent and tucks himself in, staring up at the ceiling of blue fabric, but now that he’s settled, his eyes remain wide open. The sleep that tugged him still floats high enough in consciousness that it won’t have the weight it needs to drag him down to slumber.

He sighs, turning onto his side and wraps a hand around the one that held Lucius a moment ago in a handshake. The warmth still lingers, but nothing like the kiss did. It’s far too… too… Chaste. Platonic. Mechanical. Distant.

Formal.

He understands the notion of it. What the handshake meant at that moment. He knows it was necessary. Their friendship is mended, the status quo restored.

Slowly, he brings that hand to where the Orb marks him, eyes fluttering shut. Stasis is better than the chaos of the unknown and unventured, but now, his chest thrums with not just the hunger of the Orb, but with the unfulfilled desire of want.

#bheart writes #bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 writing #Gale Dekarios #Gale of Waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #my ocs #skornweave #Lucius Skorn #bg3 gale

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warpaiint · 1 year

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⌜ @misfits-of-zaun ⌟ ―― C a i t l y n . & . E k k o ❝ Ekko set his jaw, staring the enforcer down for a long moment. Searching her expression as he stewed on the uncomfortable choice before him, and his conflicting feelings about what to do.

Vi had vouched for her. Vi trusted her - and he'd trusted Vi enough to extend a little tentative trust to Caitlyn, by proxy.

And it had blown up in his face as soon as they'd walked onto the damn bridge.

The only consolation in the wake of it all was that it had clearly been as much of a trap for Caitlyn - she had been just as taken by surprise as him, and in just as much danger. The fact that her own fellow enforcers - her own commanding officer - had been willing to shoot her down with the trencher trash was a pretty clear indication that Caitlyn was who Vi believed she was. Because of course a good enforcer would be gunned down by her corrupt colleagues the second she started sniffing too close to the truth.

The problem was that Caitlyn hadn't recognised the danger until there was a gun pointed in their faces. The problem was that she had believed the Sheriff and the mob of armed enforcers at his back would listen to her, and it had been a shock for her when talking hadn't worked.

Who else did she believe they could talk things out with? Was her friend on the Council really someone they could trust? What if Caitlyn was wrong?

...What alternative was there?

They'd come this far. If he walked away now, all this would have been for nothing, and the bridge full of dead enforcers would be another atrocity to pin on his people - another excuse to hunt them down in the streets.

"...I believe you." The Firelight leader conceded grudgingly at last, after a tense pause.

"If you're still so sure this Council friend of yours can be trusted, then fine - but we're not just strolling in through the front door. The streets will be crawling with your colleagues after that explosion, and we don't know who's in Silco's pocket; shit's too risky. We do this my way."

He slanted his head meaningfully over at the drainage pipe snaking up the side of the nearest building. The rooftops would be their safest bet; he knew from extensive experience. ❞

They didn't have time for this. Caitlyn propped herself up against the ledge of the bridge, as she pressed her hand up against her thigh. The pain ripped against her thigh, sheering like fire as she looked over toward Vi. She wanted to run over to her, grab her and get her to safety but Ekko stood there. Jinx was unconscious, the bomb enough to knock her out (if she was even alive). But the biggest issue was convincing Ekko to come with her, to help Vi and in turn hopefully get all this sorted. Enforcers would be here in ten minutes top, and each second was another moment that ticked away. After a few ten seconds, she finally got an answer.

"thank you," Caitlyn said, as she pushed herself up, trying to ignore the blood seeping from her wound, staining against her purple cloth. "I'll explain why after we get off this bridge. More enforcers are coming and it's better if we get off the streets like you said. My house isn't that far away, we can lay low there," She looked over toward the drainage pipe and gave a quick nod.

She hoped there wasn't too much climbing or movement. Her leg would not handle it well, she'd be limping for the most part while still trying to drag Vi. Grit and willpower were enough to get her up as she reached over to grab Vi's arm and pulled her deadweight upward til she had her arm against her shoulder. Once Ekko had the other side, it lessen the load and she moved with as much speed as she had in her feet. Alarms were already going off, as she followed him down toward the pipe. The gemstone pouch rested over her other shoulder, as she leaned up against the stone and pushed her head back.

"Vi, this would be easier if you woke up," She whispered, though she wasn't about to leave her behind to be framed for this incident.

#misfitsofzaun #[muse] caitlyn — interactions.#[wolf speaks] — tracker.

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butterflies-and-blades · 9 months

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Session 26: Into the Basement

Dad was in the living room, walking towards the front door when we came through. He stopped mid stride.

I curiously tilted my head. "Where did you go?"

"I was setting up something," he said without further detail. I nodded like I understood, but I wasn't certain what he had meant.

Talo commented that he missed quite the fight outside. "You might want to check on whatever protective measures you have around the cabin to keep things out."

Unfazed, Dad said, "I am the protective measures."

"Right..." they trailed off.

I asked Dad if we had any tents or basic camping supplies tucked away somewhere around the house that we would be able to have, and--as suspected--we did. Dad raised a curious eyebrow at the question, though. "Ours burned down," I explained.

"What happened?"

"The tent was struck by lightning."

His second eyebrow joined the first. Dad repeated his question. Talo described the series of thunder bursts they had heard during their watch. Like in my dream, the first few hadn't been ushered in by the usual flash of lighting across the sky.

"Verca's theory is that Da's shield was specifically struck," I added.

Verca raised finger. "I stand by that."

Without going into too much detail, I explained what happened during my dream after Da left--including the gruff-sounding entity that that had disapproved of my inquiries about the Allseer before changing the color of the stone in the shield. Talo frowned the way they do when they're thinking particularly hard about something.

They asked if the shield was different.

I looked down at the unscratched metal still fastened to my left arm. When training with Da, I had assumed the pristine surface--despite the countless blows it had absorbed--was the result of how well he cared for it. Now, I wondered if the natural resiliency of magic items had more to do with it. Even if it wasn't true, I liked to think both were responsible.

"It felt the same during the fight," I said.

Their face remained scrunched in thought. "May I Identify it?"

I took the shield off and handed it to them. Ten minutes later, they looked dissatisfied. "I expected at least its name to have changed, but no. Nothing," Talo said. Dad commented that magical items weren't quite that simple. They weren't content with that explanation, either.

Before doing anything else with the rest of the day, we took some time to recuperate and regather ourselves. We were all achy and tired from the fight. I plopped onto the couch, and Verca sat beside me. Meanwhile, Talo set up their alchemy supplies to brew a potion.

After enough time doing nothing and sitting in silence, Kaemon was bored. Siting on my lap, he tapped and pecked at Verca's arm until he earned his attention.

"Why are you pecking me?" Verca asked.

I apologized, gently wrapping two hands around his body to pick him up. "He gets antsy sometimes. Maybe try petting him?" I held Kaemon out, and Verca ran a few fingers over the top of his head. Appeased, Kaemon relaxed. I returned him to his perch on my shoulder.

As a group, we tried to discuss what to do next--especially now that we had faced whatever had been sent after us. We couldn't come to a consensus, however.

I didn't know if anyone had anything they were particularly interested in, but to fill time, I offered the plethora of books around the house. Most of the walls around the cabin were lined with shelves that Dad had filled to the brim. Talo perked at the idea. Most of the books were in Dad's office; I glanced around the room for Dad to ask if they could look around, but he wasn't in the room anymore. None of us had seen him leave.

I looked at the rug in the center of the living room.

Before saying anything, I walked down the hall and knocked on Dad's door. No answer. I knocked outside his office. Nothing. I even checked the guest room before coming back to Talo and Verca.

"Are we going into the basement?" Talo asked, grinning as I crouched and threw back the rug to reveal the trap door. This time it was closed.

I half expected the door to be locked, but it opened without resistance. Peering down the chute that housed the ladder, I didn't see any traps below; however, I did find a bell and string fastened to the edge of the opened door. It was surprising that we hadn't heard the bell jingle.

Talo panicked after I pointed it out. "We need to go. Now." They stepped towards the door, ready to bolt. "That was an Alarm spell."

I was not familiar with the spell by name, but it felt self-explanatory. We were already there, though. And Dad had to know that this would have been on our radar. If he hadn't been out of the cabin, I would have been doing this in the middle of the night--possibly alone--, and that probably would have been a much worse situation if he was randomly notified when everyone should have been asleep.

I went down.

Verca was right behind me. And despite their distress, Talo followed, too.

When we gathered in a small group at the bottom of the ladder, I had anticipated needing to create a source of light for Talo, but in another difference compared to my dream, the basement was illuminated by a series of lights that ran along each wall.

Standing amongst the covered shapes that came in all sizes, the room was more crowded than last night; I felt small in comparison.

I stepped up to the closest shape and pulled back the sheet. There was a table underneath. Atop the table sat a large stack of boxes arranged like a pyramid. The sheet was thick and heavy--more like a tarp than the bedsheets I initially expected; with how tall the stack of boxes was, I didn't trust my ability to replace the sheet if I took it off. Instead, moved to one of the smaller shapes on the other side of the room.

Again, I found a stack of boxes, but this one was much smaller and easier to navigate. Careful not to tip the stack, I pulled off the sheet and set it on the ground.

Pulling back the flaps of the topmost box, I wasn’t sure what I anticipated finding, but it wasn't a series of art pieces. Mostly pencil sketches, but a few were delicate paintings--all of them portraits. The people in them reminded me of Dad, albeit more feminine.

Talo curiously looked into the box with me. "Who are they? Family?"

"I don't know," I said, still staring at the foreignly familiar faces and wondering what their importance was to Dad. They were near hypnotizing. "He's never talked about any family."

As a group, we spread out to check the other boxes in reach; they were all filled with portraits--each one similar but distinct. I was confident they were all different people.

I turned a sketch over, wondering if there might be any information written on the back.

Mara, 15.

"What does the fifteen mean?" Talo asked.

"Her age, probably," I said.

Talo put out the theory that these were records of different generations across the history of Dad's family.

With all of the boxes near the floor coming up with the same contents, I looked back to the pyramid on the table. We'd probably be out of time soon; there was a tug in my chest that had to see if there was anything else down here.

Talo offered to try something they thought might help move the heavy sheet. Wisps like the ones that rose when they spoke gathered around their hand, which they lifted like a puppeteer. An invisible force ahead of them tugged at the sheet, but it stayed in place.

Dad likely already knew we were down here. Putting the sheet perfectly back in place when we were done probably shouldn't have been our highest priority. I called for Verca's help, remembering his strength. Together, we flung the sheet off the pyramid.

Pulling a box from the bottom felt like it would guarantee everything above it would fall to the ground. I lifted a leg to stand on the table so I could reach the top; before I could pull myself up, though, hands--warm, Verca--were on my waist, lifting.

The hands pulled away, and my weight shifted back into my feet atop the table.

Creaking. Then cracking. Wood split and splintered, and--with one final crunchy snap--the table broke into pieces beneath the added pressure. Like the boxes that fell around me, I crashed to the ground onto a pile of angular debris. I hoped nothing packed away had been fragile.

Without bothering to get up, I reached for the nearest box and pulled it onto my lap. I pushed the flaps apart, peering inside. No portraits. Journals--the edges of some more visibly worn or discolored than others, although they all looked old--of different sizes were neatly organized in horizontal stacks.

Something buzzed near my ear. I shook my head, trying to shoo away whatever fly or bug had gotten too close. In doing so, I looked to the side and saw Dad standing at the edge of the mess I had made on the floor. So not a fly, I thought to myself, guessing that he had probably been with us the entire time.

Dad reached down and took the box from me.

"I'm guessing you disappeared to give us an opportunity to come down here?" I asked.

"I had."

A renewed sense of guilt pooled in my stomach for having broken his table and making a mess of his things.

I studied the box as he set it down at his feet, wondering what I might have found in those notes if I'd had the chance to open even one booklet. "Are the journals yours or someone else's?"

"That box was mine, I believe," he said.

"I'm guessing I'm not going to get the chance to read any of them."

Dad shook his head. "Those are private. Not even your mother got to read them."

Silence, thick like swamp water, filled the gap in conversation. I don't think any of us truly knew what to say. Coming down here, we had anticipated some level of scolding for our snooping, but now there was just a sensation of unspoken sadness--not necessarily at what we had done but from the memories of what we had been allowed to find. There were questions that wanted to be asked but felt wrong to voice, which only amplified the difficult-to-name feeling that hung in the air.

"I saw a name," I said, remembering the portraits. "I'm not sure if you saw from wherever you were."

Dad's eyes didn't meet mine. He kept his gaze low, visibly running through his own thoughts and memories. "Mara's the oldest."

"Oldest of who?" Talo asked. "Nieces? Siblings? Children?"

"Good question," he said. His voice was soft but firm. Between his words, he drew a line with a warning not to cross.

Careful of the chaos strewn across the floor, I started to get up. Dad held out a hand and helped me step over everything. "Thank you for letting us down here," I said, "and I am sorry for prying. I don't know why my dream last night had me meet Da down here."

"I don't know either," said Dad. "Maybe something wanted you to know this was down here."

Still struggling to find the right words, I hugged him.

Before we went upstairs, I learned that Dad had apparently made the portraits we found, which surprised me. He had helped paint my first shield, but I didn't know his interest in art went any further than simple projects and crafts. The sketches we'd found had been detailed and precise--made by the steady hand of a dedicated artist.

Dad stayed behind as the rest of us moved toward the ladder. "I love you, Maeve," he said.

"I love you, Dad," I said.

Verca, Talo, and I climbed up to the living room. For a second time, we tried to plot out what our next moves should be, but we still couldn't agree. During that conversation, though, Talo and Verca found themselves in an unexpected debate about whether or not I looked like a corpse. It started after Verca commented that he did not know if he had died before--as well as the fact that he would not be surprised if he had, which I found alarming. Neither he nor Talo had ever registered to me as undead though, so I doubted either of them had had the unfortunate experience of dying.

During the debate that arose afterwards, Verca's insistence that I looked like a corpse drew out a feeling inside my chest that I had limited experience with. It was a relatively new feeling that I had felt for the first time after learning Sala had turned me and surged whenever I thought about what else that happened with her. Or whenever I succumbed to the hunger she introduced into my life.

The feeling made my bones itch--too deep under my skin to scratch--and exchanged the air with something too thin to breathe. It made me want to hide.

I had never thought I looked like a corpse before; in books, corpses were classically disgusting, bloated and reeking of rot. They oozed at the seams as they drifted farther out of the reach of life's distant memory. Their flesh slipped from their bones into discarded piles of slop.

The confidence Dad and Da had taught me to have in my body faltered. If I looked as if I had been touched by decay like a corpse, then I couldn't help but worry that I'd repulse Verca sooner or later--if I hadn't already.

"I saw an attractive woman and thought, 'hm, she looks kinda corpse-like,'" he said to Talo.

His use of "attractive" in the same sentence as "corpse-like" confused me. "Does that mean you thought I was a corpse when we first met?" I asked.

"I had my suspicions."

I shared how I was struggling to reconcile his previous words.

Verca was quick to shake his head. "I assure you, I am not grossed out by you at all."

The itching along my ribcage subsided, but aspects of my confusion persisted. Somehow, from there, the matter of paleness within Talo and Verca's debate took them to Sala.

"Unless she's very well-fed," Talo started to say.

"She is," I interrupted somewhat bitterly.

"Speaking of," Verca said, staring pointedly at me.

"I'm fine," I said.

He folded his arms together in front of his chest.

"It's only been two days; it was five before that."

"That does not help your argument," said Verca, who insisted I needed to feed.

I shook my head. "I'm okay. And I don't want to hurt you."

Like any other time I had said that, he was quick to counter. "You won't." Verca stepped forward, taking one of my hands in his. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of my knuckles--just as he had last night before his watch. "I belong to you."

I wasn't cold, but a shiver ran down my arms and back anyways, taking my breath with it. I just looked at him, torn. There was a warm insistence in his eyes; I doubted I would ever find the right words to dissuade him--only because he could see right through me.

With his other hand, Verca ran a finger across his neck, leaving a thin cut in its wake. "Verca--" I said, worried about him, but stopped. I hadn't felt the hated hunger when this conversation started, but there was that insistent tug. It was almost as difficult to resist as the day my entire body had hurt from the strain of starvation.

Talo stepped towards the edge of the room. "I think I'm going to wait in the guest room," they said, already walking away.

That was Da's room, I thought but couldn't turn my focus long enough to say it.

There was a beat, and we were alone in the living room. The trap door beneath the folded-over rug was still open. I sighed. "At the very least, not out here. Dad could come up at any moment." I grabbed Verca's hand and dragged him to my room, quickly shutting the door behind us and pressing my head against it as I tried to prepare myself mentally.

Verca's hand touched my shoulder and turned me around to face him. In the same fluid motion, he pressed my back against the door. I had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I am," he said without pausing to think it over.

My gaze dropped. "I don't want to be like her..."

"You're not. She didn't ask permission. She took by force." Verca paused. "I'm sorry if my reaction is reminiscent of Sala's, though."

I looked back up at him, confused. For the first time since he had started making sure I was feeding, he looked bashful. Verca explained that he anticipated pulling me close and promised he had no intention of anything untoward. I remembered how Sala had grabbed on to me and appreciated the warning.

One final time, I asked if he was sure. Again, he said he was.

I took a deep breath. Leaning in--standing slightly on my tiptoes to reach him--, I whispered, "I'm sorry," as I opened my mouth.

At the same time, almost as if in reaction to what I said, his arm around my back pulled me closer as I bit down. It wasn't as sharp of a feeling as when Sala had held me against her whenever she bit me. I still hated the memory of how I had liked the feeling. The pressure of being enveloped between Verca's chest and his arms--both a solid, warm presence against me--was firm in a way that became comforting, making it easy to relax as I fed.

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dedkake · 2 years

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no one there | gen, .6k, t

october days 19-24 whumptober + fictober: five times john was alone and one time he wished he were

The clearing in front of the shrine is empty, and John’s stomach drops. He’s really on his own here, not that he’d expected anything different.

**here’s a little warning for an ambiguous ending

read it below or on ao3

“I’m not saying I’ll be at the gym six hours a day,” John says, his foot slipping on the wet stones of the river. “Not like Ronon—no offense, buddy. Just that I’ll put in a little more time. I’ll even bring McKay—” His knees give out, though, his lungs seizing up as he hits the icy water.

“Shit,” he says, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“Just—” he tries, sucking in as much air as he can—“quit playing games and get back here already. Do we have a deal, or what?”

There’s no one there to answer.

- -

John blinks when they pull the bag off his head, his eyes stinging at sudden brightness.

“It seems Mr. Woolsey’s got as much of a backbone as you said,” Dhen says, fingering his gun.

The clearing in front of the shrine is empty, and John’s stomach drops. He’s really on his own here, not that he’d expected anything different. Woolsey was never going to trade the Aqol ambassador for John. Their tentative alliance with the Aqol is too important to jeopardize.

Dhen steps closer. “Well,” he says, the muzzle of his gun pressed to John’s thigh. “Since there’s only us.”

- - -

The door to John’s cell creaks, setting John’s teeth on edge before the guard even enters.

Not that there’s much hope for him at this point. He wipes at the blood on his hands, can taste it on his lips. The coughing that had started last night hasn’t let up, not after the beating he’d endured yesterday.

“Your friends sure are talkative,” the guard says, and John’s world goes gray at the edges.

“You said they’d be safe,” he says, his voice distant, his chest tight. He’d been sure, that’s why he’d volunteered.

The guard laughs. “I never said that.”

- - - -

The light from the isolation room ceiling is too bright and no one will fucking shut it off. They don’t even have the decency to let John turn the damn thing off himself—they’ve just left him here, strapped to the bed.

“Who said this was a good idea?” he asks, but distantly, he thinks that it might’ve been him. Something about the enzyme, which he’s been able to avoid until now, now when he can feel its grip on him loosening, leaving him drifting away into nothing, leaving him to die.

And there’s no one there to stop it.

- - - - -

“Thought you could escape?” John can’t see the man who’s shot him, just scrambles to get away. “Not on my watch.”

“Hold him down,” the man says. There are hands on his arms, his pressing into his back, his legs, keeping him down, the pain in his side skyrocketing at the pressure. If he can keep their attention on him, though, maybe the team will get away.

“Ten against one,” John says, lungs burning. “I’d take those odds too.”

There are boots in front of him, someone crouching down. John sees the Wraith tracking device before he hears it beeping.

“Is this safe?” Teyla asks, shining her light around the cave. That should’ve been their first clue to get the hell out.

Just one visitor, the village elders had said. It was supposed to be John alone. It’s too late now. They’re cut off from the entrance and the creatures under the mountain are relentless.

John flexes his fingers, wincing at the stretch in his bleeding knuckles. He’d run out of ammo long ago, his knife and fists all he has left.

“Sheppard,” Ronon says, his hands covered in Rodney’s blood as he struggles with a clean bandage.

“They’re back.”

also on ao3

#stargate atlantis #my fic #whumptober2022 #fictober22 #team fam #all that good shepwhump #it was sad to have him separated #from everyone #for so much of this #alas #i set myself the task #uhh #warning for ambiguous ending there

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 2 years

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Restless Reveries

Please for the love of Ghostbur reblog this if you enjoy it. Liking it doesn’t do much, okay? You gotta reblog :’)

Link to A03

@whumptober-archive

~~~

“Ranboo and Tubbo got in a fight today,” Ghostbur states, rolling the moss-covered stone he’d found earlier in his hands. “It was about flowers, of all things. Ranboo wanted pink flowers by the windows, but Tubbo insisted that yellow flowers were better. Eventually, Michael picked some blue flowers and got really excited about them, so of course they settled on those. It's really hard to say no to Michael; he's adorable!"

Ghostbur giggles, remembering how the tiny piglin had tugged on Ghostbur's sleeves until he'd handed over some Blue to the toddler. Ranboo hadn't been happy with the sloppy mess he'd left behind, even as Michael squealed with laughter.

"Have you ever met Michael?" Ghostbur asks, turning his head to blink curiously at his friend, who's sitting beside him, arms wrapped around his chest. Tommy doesn't move. He doesn't do anything, actually. He just sits there, half-open eyes gazing at nothing.

Ghostbur clears his throat. "Maybe you were exiled before you could meet Michael. Hm."

Ghostbur sets down his rock just outside the tent. The raindrops splatter on it's mossy surface, causing it to sheen. "That's okay, though! I'm sure he'll love you when you do get to meet him; he'll probably ask you to color. He loves coloring. Oh!"

Ghostbur straightens, face brightening into a big smile. "He drew a picture of Friend today! Here, I can show you if you want..."

Ghostbur rummages in his satchel, digging until his hands close around folded paper. Grinning, he pulls it out, unfolding it as gently as possible—he doesn't want to tear it. This picture is irreplaceable.

"See? Look, Tommy! Look at what Michael drew!"

Tommy's eyes flick to the paper, which Ghostbur is holding in front of his face. He blinks slowly, but otherwise has no reaction.

"See all the curls in his wool? And the chip in his left hoof? And his smile?" Ghostbur lets out a happy squeak, pulling the paper close and hugging it to his chest. "I will never, ever give this picture away! Not for all the Blue in the world!"

Ghostbur glances at Tommy, expecting the boy to chuckle and make fun of Ghostbur's excitement over a piece of paper. He expects him to roll his eyes, with no real annoyance behind them. He expects him to smile, at the very least; smile in that way of his that said, I am happy. I am content. I like being in this moment.

But Tommy does not chuckle. He does not roll his eyes.

And he does not smile.

He only takes a deep breath—a deep and shaky breath, rattling his entire small body—and lets it out, pressing his head further into his knees.

Ghostbur's smile falls away. Tommy's not happy. He's not happy at all.

"How has exile been?" Ghostbur asks carefully. And then he adds, "How have you been?" because that seems to be the sort of thing he should ask.

Tommy takes another shaky breath, turning his head to look back out at the rainstorm outside. A distant flash of lightning illuminates his face for a moment, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, and a thin red scratch above his eyebrow that Ghostbur hadn't noticed before.

Tommy doesn't answer the question. Ghostbur waits, and waits, and waits, but Tommy does not answer. The only sounds between them are the crashing thunder and the pouring rain, hitting the roof of the tent and causing quite a ruckus.

Ghostbur pulls his legs closer to himself, fighting off a shiver. "How has Dream been? Have you two gone on any more adventures together? He's quite the adventurous person, I think. Ooh, maybe you two have built more in Logstedshire? Perhaps a library? I love libraries!"

Tommy goes very still. Perhaps he's thinking?

Ghostbur squints. It almost appears that Tommy isn't even breathing...

"Tommy?"

The boy starts, eyes flashing before they land on Ghostbur, wide and... afraid?

Ghostbur gazes back at him, trying to piece together this puzzle. What could Tommy be scared of? The storm? Or maybe Dream? Ghostbur had just mentioned him.

Hmm. Perhaps Tommy and Dream had gotten into a fight. Perhaps that's what's upsetting Tommy so much.

"Did you and Dream get into a fight?"

Tommy opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. His eyes swim with turmoil, chaotic and confusing and contradicting.

Now that Tommy's looking at him more closely, Ghostbur notices that Tommy's eyes, which used to be a deep sea-blue, seem much more dull now. Almost grey—but not grey like the clouds before a summer rain, or mountains that jut out in the far distance. No, Tommy's eyes are the grey that could be found in a river's murky floor, or the sky on a dreary, overcast day. There were still hints and reminders of blue, but it was overtaken by the dirtiness, the wrongness, of it all.

It wasn't right.

"Are you okay, Tommy?"

The question is out of Ghostbur's mouth before he realizes he's spoken it aloud, but he doesn't feel regretful. He truly wants to know. He has to know. He has to know why Tommy looks so sad, and why he has a scratch on his face, and why his eyes are so dull.

For a moment—a moment so quick, Ghostbur wonders if he'd imagined it—Tommy's eyes grow shiny, catching every single light inside and making them wobble.

And then that moment is over, and Tommy opens his mouth, speaking in a raspy voice.

"I'm gonna go to bed."

"Oh," Ghostbur forces out, trying to keep the disappointment and worry out of his tone. "That's- that's alright! You go to bed, then; I'll stay here until the storm passes."

Tommy nods vaguely, crawling to the back of the tent and burrowing into his blankets. He doesn't look very comfortable, but he falls asleep within seconds, closing his eyes and evening out his breaths. Ghostbur watches him for a few minutes, before turning to look back at the storm.

It's raining hard. Small trails of water race down the slope, emptying into the ocean. Ghostbur hopes that the tent won't be washed away; there's not many warm places to sleep in exile, and Tommy's already cold enough as it is.

As if on cue, Ghostbur hears rustling behind him. Upon turning around, he finds that Tommy is shifting, tangling himself in the blankets. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, and occasional whimpers escape his mouth.

He must be cold, Ghostbur realizes, face crumpling. Or he's having a nightmare.

Ghostbur bites his lip. He doesn't have any blankets with him, nor any of Friend's wool. But maybe...

Brightening, Ghostbur pulls his satchel close, digging through it's contents until he feels his fingers press against smooth, warm fabric.

Hesitating only a moment, Ghostbur pulls the coat out of the satchel, holding it up to the faint light of the moon. It's old and tattered, with odd bits of patchwork scattered across various areas. Bits of dust and dirt drift into the air, the remaining clumps clinging to the coat like leeches. It's old and it's worn and it's dirty.

It's Alivebur's.

Ghostbur's breath catches in his throat, because he can almost feel the weight of the coat on his shoulders, the long tail drifting in the breeze as he walks. He can almost remember how it feels to wear it; rolling up the sleeves on summer nights, buttoning up the front during winter storms. Washing out stains that range from food spills to crimson blood, stubborn and clingy.

Almost. He can almost remember. But not quite.

Blinking himself out of his reverie, Ghostbur gives himself a small shake of his head (now isn't the time to think about Alivebur) and crawls to the back of the tent, where Tommy sleeps restlessly.

Ghostbur takes a moment to untangle his friend from the blankets, gently lifting up his head and setting it on a pillow. Tommy doesn't wake up, but he doesn't look any less upset, either. He keeps his eyes screwed tightly shut, mouth pressed into a thin line that only opens to let out a fearful whimper.

"Here you go, Tommy," Ghostbur whispers, laying the coat across Tommy's body. "I might not be able to help with the bad dreams, but maybe this can help with the cold."

After making sure the coat is tucked snugly around Tommy, Ghostbur pulls away—he doesn't leave, though. He sits himself right by Tommy's side, to make sure that he doesn't continue tossing and turning.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Tommy's tense and uncomfortable expression relaxes into a much calmer one. His entire expression shifts as he sighs quietly, facial features softening and mouth quirking up in an almost-smile.

Ghostbur almost-smiles back, even though he knows that Tommy can't see him. It's nice to see Tommy looking peaceful, for once.

"Goodnight, Tommy," Ghostbur says softly, turning his head to gaze once more at the storm outside.

He stays there the entire night.

And Tommy sleeps well.

~~~

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@ladysongmaster @biathediamond @photogirl894

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

Reassurance

masterlist

part one

Summary: Spencer feels insecure, and Reader puts his worries to rest.

A/N: I got several requests to write a follow-up to Avoidance , and after writing almost the whole entire thing, only to scrap it all because it was literal trash, here we are! I initially planned to go a different route with this, but it didn’t flow right and I ended up changing the entire plot line somewhere along the way. I really like how this turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy it, too!

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom!Reader

Content warnings: cursing, Spencer being insecure, hand job, oral sex (male receiving), anal fingering, pegging, light degradation, Spencer experiencing sub-drop

Word Count: 6k

Spencer’s lips drag against mine at a slow, deliberate pace as I sit perched on his lap, my hands tugging lightly at where his hair curls at the nape of his neck. One particularly harsh tug has Spencer gasping into my mouth and tightening his grip on my hips, pulling me down until I’m fully sat on his lap. The bulge tenting his slacks comes in full contact with my clothed core and I hum appreciatively against his lips.

“Getting excited there, baby?”

Spencer lets out a whine of protest when I pull away, leaning forward in an attempt to reunite our lips. I press my hand flat against his chest and push him back until he rests against the couch cushions.

“I thought you wanted to watch a movie tonight?” I ask him, my lips curled up into a knowing smile. Spencer’s thumbs begin to rub soothing circles into my hips as he fixes me with a shy smile.

“Maybe later,” he replies, sheepish. He looks breathtaking - bathed in the soft glow of the lamp light, shadows dancing across every perfectly chiseled inch of his face. Faint purple bruises dot the underside of his jaw line, remnants of the last time we had been afforded enough time to get tangled up under the bedsheets. I press my thumb to one of them, applying just enough pressure to cause Spencer’s breath to hitch. In another day or two, the purple and yellow discoloration would be gone, leaving no trace of our time together.

I release my hold on his jaw and make a mental note to see to it that he has another set of pretty marks before the weekend is over.

“Later?” I lift the hand that was splayed across his chest until I’m able to fiddle with the top button on his dress shirt. “You talk as if you have something else you’d like to do first. Care to share?” Spencer squirms underneath my gaze, eyes flitting between my lips and where I’m pressed firmly against his erection. I watch him flounder to come up with a response before deciding to forgo words completely and rut himself against me, eyelids fluttering closed as he lets out a low whine.

I click my tongue at him and raise up until my center hovers over him, torturously close but not quite close enough to touch.

“What’s the matter, Doctor? It’s not like you to be at a loss for words,” I taunt as I pop open the last three buttons of his shirt. Now that the milky white skin of his chest is on full display, I waste no time in dragging my fingernails from his collarbone down to his navel, light and teasing. The action elicits a shiver from Spencer, who looks up at me with glossy eyes and blown pupils.

“P-Please,” he stutters out.

“Please, what?” I prod, cocking my head to the side. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Spencer’s tongue pokes out to run across his bottom lip.

“I want you,” he breathes out, low and sultry. “Now. Don’t wanna wait.”

I let out a pleased sigh as I lean forward to capture Spencer’s lips in a heated kiss. Spencer’s quick to reciprocate, eagerly licking into my mouth as soon as my lips brush against his.

It’s not long until I feel the hands on my waist begin to tug me back down onto his lap, eliciting a giggle from me.

“Such a needy little thing,” I murmur against his lips.

Usually, a comment like this would be met by some sort of mumbled affirmation. But this time, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel Spencer’s whole body tense up beneath me.

“Does… Does that bother you?”

I pull away and give Spencer an inquisitive look.

“Does what bother me?”

Spencer averts his eyes, “That I’m so submissive.” He spits the word out like it burns his mouth – like it’s something to be ashamed of – and I can’t suppress my frown.

“Why would that ever bother me?”

Spencer gives a feeble shrug of his shoulders, still refusing to pull his gaze from where it rests on the floor.

“I read an article in Psychology Today that discussed a survey in which 172 German adults completed a personality questionnaire and then measured their own preference for a dominant partner. Not only was the general consensus that both genders prefer dominant partners, the participants also agreed with statements like ‘a very nice partner is often boring’ and ‘I feel attracted to assertive partners.’ So, it’s only natural that you might get tired of me always being such a pushover and search for a more exciting partner than can keep you stimulated-”

I clamp my hand down on Spencer’s mouth, effectively ending his self-deprecating rant and forcing him to look up from where his eyes were burning a hole into the floor. When I know he isn’t going to try and continue down that particularly awful train of thought, I remove my hand.

“First of all, you are not a pushover. Insinuating that you are a pushover would also be insinuating that I’m taking advantage of you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?” Spencer’s eyes grow wide and he frantically shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. I… I love what you do to me – with me. What we do together. I-I just want to be sure that you like it to. That you’re not just humoring me until someone who can actually give you what you want comes around.”

I feel my mouth fall open from shock somewhere during the middle of his spiel. He can’t actually be so oblivious to the fact that I enjoy the hell out of our sex life, can he?

Apparently, he can and he is, because Spencer takes my silence as affirmation.

“I could try? To d-dom you, that is. I’ve been reading up on it and-”

“Spencer, where on earth did this come from?”

Spencer blinks hard, “I told you – I read it in Psychology Today.”

I shake my head at him and slip off of his lap and onto the couch cushion beside him.

“No, that’s not what I meant. What made you think that I’m not happy with our sex life?”

“N-Nothing in particular,” Spencer stammers. “I just know that I’m not exactly the most masculine guy, and I want to make sure that you’re, you know… happy. With me.”

And there it is.

I reach for Spencer’s hand and link our fingers together.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that comment Derek made this morning, would it?” Spencer doesn’t answer, but the way his eyes drop to his lap tells me everything I need to know. I tighten my grip on his hand. “You know he was just messing with you, right? As out of line as it was, he was just being… Derek.”

“He wasn’t wrong, though. I am extremely docile – along with a litany of other very passive traits. I’m not strong or assertive or confident like Derek; I’m basically the complete opposite of the ideal male partner. All I’m good for is spouting out information that’s only sometimes useful. No wonder you don’t want to-” Spencer clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks burn red. “Forget it. C-Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

“No wonder I don’t want to what?” I prod, brows furrowed in confusion. But still, Spencer refuses to meet my eyes. “And as far as all the other stuff goes, it doesn’t matter if you’re assertive or strong. I prefer my sweet, gentle boy over guys like Derek Morgan, any day. My ideal male partner just so happens to be pretty boys with curly brown hair and massive IQs, not aggressive alpha males with overinflated egos.” I bring Spencer’s hand up to my lips and place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I’m being serious, Spence. There’s a lot to love about you.”

Spencer’s next words are hushed, so quiet that I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Then why haven’t you told anyone about us yet?”

In the two months since our first time together, neither of us had been brave enough to broach the subject of what exactly we were doing. With neither of us quite sure how to go about defining the relationship, we’d fallen into a sort of routine. Whenever it came time to pair off for the night and retreat to our hotel rooms, Spencer and I always made sure that we were paired together. Hotch never seemed to care – he was just happy that we weren’t walking on eggshells around each other anymore - and the others were kind enough to keep their suspicions to themselves. On the weekends, or really any time that we weren’t working a case, time off was spent in each other’s company, be it at Spencer’s place or mine. Days full of impromptu adventures to farmer’s markets and niche antique shops devolved into passionate nights spent learning every inch of each other’s skin until no stone was left unturned. It was the perfect arrangement.

Or at least it would’ve been, if Spencer and I hadn’t managed to fall half way in love somewhere along the way. It was glaringly obvious early on that it was way more than just sexual chemistry that kept us both coming back for more, but owning up to that fact was a whole other issue that neither of us was ready to deal with.

Until now, apparently.

“I-I mean, we haven’t talked about what exactly this is, so I wasn’t quite sure how to go about that,” I stammer. “But now that you’ve brought it up…”

Spencer finally looks up and his eyes are filled to the brim with equal parts fear and hope.

“I-I really want there to be an us,” he whispers. “I kind of thought that much was obvious.”

“And I thought the fact that I have absolutely zero complaints in the bedroom was obvious, but here we are,” I tease, and Spencer lets out an involuntary giggle when I poke at his side. “I want there to be an us, too. And for what it’s worth, I like you just the way you are, Spencer Reid - just so we’re clear.”

“Really?” Spencer persists. From anyone else, it would seem like they were fishing for compliments, but from Spencer? I knew my sweet, darling boy just needed some reassurance.

I lean forward and capture his lips in a long, languid kiss.

“Really really,” I mumble when I pull away. “Have I done a thorough enough job drilling that into your head, or do you need some more convincing?”

“More convincing,” Spencer replies as he ducks in for another kiss. “Lots and lots of convincing.”

I smile against his lips, “That’s good to hear, because I sorta had a little something special planned for you.”

“Something special?”

I slide my hand from its place on his knee until my fingers glide across the tip of his clothed cock.

“Remember that thing we talked about last week?”

I can feel the way Spencer’s cock twitches under my hand and I have to bite back a smile.

“Y-Yeah?”

I give his bulge a light squeeze that has Spencer moaning low in his throat.

“Only if you want to. There’s no pressure at all. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’d be perfectly fine if you just wanna watch that movie and cuddle a bit - you know that right?”

“Yes, but I still want to,” Spencer chokes out. “Very, very much.” And then he’s bringing a hand up to cup my face before slotting our lips together again.

The kiss is sloppy, seeing as we’re both much too excited to worry about being precise. Spencer spends time exploring my body with his free hand, starting at my hips and then dipping underneath my t-shirt. Spencer’s hand is just shy of skimming over my bra when I pull back and he lets out a frustrated whine when I pull his hands off of me.

“I wanna ask you a few things before we do this, okay, baby?” Spencer flushes a deep crimson as he nods. “Have you ever experimented with any sort of anal play before?”

“N-No, I haven’t. Is that okay?”

Spencer Reid, you are going to be the death of me.

“That’s perfectly fine, sweet boy,” I coo. “I’m just trying to get a feel for what’s going to be the most comfortable for you. We’ll start small and work our way up, okay?” Spencer nods, prompting me to tack on an, “Assuming that you want to, that is. This is all on your terms, and I need to make sure that you know that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t expressly consent to first.”

Spencer’s lips pull up into a sweet smile.

“I know, and I trust you,” he says. “And I consent to it. To all of it.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that,” I chuckle. “What exactly are you consenting to?”

Spencer shifts in his seat, “Y-You know.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it, baby.”

Spencer gulps hard, “I-I want you to fuck me. Please.”

I let out a satisfied hum and remove my hand from Spencer’s lap.

“I want you to go to the bedroom and take off all your clothes. Then I want you to lie in the center of the bed and if I walk in and see you touching yourself, I’ll walk right back out and I won’t touch you for a month. Are we clear?”

“Y-Yes, Miss.”

I spend much longer than necessary in the living room, sitting on the couch and scrolling through my phone for nearly ten minutes before getting up and making my way to the bedroom. The anticipation is half of the fun, in my opinion, and I take great pleasure in imagining Spencer squirming against the sheets, desperate for me to walk through that door.

I rid myself of my skirt and blouse as I make my way down the hallway, leaving me in only my panties and bralette. I can hear Spencer’s heavy breathing before I even reach the bedroom, and it makes my stomach flip excitedly as I push open the door.

Spencer lays in the middle of the bed, hands grabbing at the sheets as he rolls his hips in vain. His cock stands painfully hard, leaking precum and bobbing up and down with every motion of his hips. Spencer doesn’t see or hear me when I come in – his eyes are closed tight and his bottom lip is nestled between his teeth, blissfully oblivious as he ruts up into nothing.

“It seems like my poor, needy boy has worked himself up into quite a state.”

The sound of my voice startles him and he immediately halts the movement of his hips. Spencer’s eyes watch on and I walk over to the night stand, taking my time as I remove a bottle of lube, my harness, and the newly purchased dildo bought especially for my sweet boy.

Spencer’s eyes linger on the silicone member, wide and curious as I set the items on the bed and crawl in between his legs. He spreads his legs without being prompted, leaving him completely exposed to me, and the action makes my heart swell with pride. My good boy has learned so much in the past two months.

“M’gonna suck that pretty cock of yours now, and I want you to keep your hips still. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Spencer nods frantically, “Y-Yes, Miss. Please – I need your mouth. I’ll be still, I promise.”

I let out a pleased hum as I take him into my hand, dragging my fist up and down, spreading precum across the entirety of his length.

“I know you will, baby. You’re always so good for me. So eager to please.”

I lean down and begin placing kisses to the sensitive skin of his thighs, all while continuing to work my hand against him. I nip lightly at the skin above his right hip and Spencer sucks in a ragged breath when I suck a pretty purple bruise in the very same spot. It contrasts starkly with his porcelain skin, and I enjoy the way it looks so much that I continue until a plethora of love bites litter his inner thighs. When I finally sit back and admire my work, Spencer’s writhing so pitifully against the mattress that I decide to put him out of his misery.

Spencer devolves into a whimpering mess the moment I take his tip into my mouth, his head thrashing wildly against the mattress when I swirl my tongue around him. I take my time with him, not at all rushing my descent onto his cock, choosing instead to tease him with a slow, steady pace. If Spencer minded my slower than usual pace, he didn’t say so. He was too busy choking out an unrelenting string of the most wanton moans I’d ever heard as he watched himself disappear into my mouth.

I decide now is as good a time as any to up the ante and I pull my mouth away from him.

“W-Why did you stop?” Spencer stutters, chest heaving up and down.

I raise an eyebrow at him, “Are you being ungrateful, Doctor? Because if you are, I could always just leave you here like this - cock hard and leaky with no way to get off other than your own hand. That wouldn’t be nearly as fun as having me fuck that pretty little ass of yours.”

“No, please! I’m so sorry,” Spencer mewls. “I’ll be good, just please don’t leave!”

I loosely grasp Spencer’s cock in my hand and run my thumb across his slit.

“You sound so pretty when you beg, baby. I can’t wait to hear how pretty you are when you’re begging for me to fuck you harder.”

Spencer’s eyes roll back into his head and his mouth hangs open, panting hard.

“I want it so bad. Please, please, please, Miss.”

I use my free hand to reach up and push two fingers into Spencer’s mouth, “Suck. I want them real nice and wet so that I can use them to get you ready for me.”

Spencer moans around my fingers, laving his tongue around the them as he hollows his cheeks. When I retract my fingers from his mouth they’re practically dripping and I reward his effort by tightening my grip on his cock.

“Good job, baby. Are you ready for me to finger that tight little hole of yours?” I ask him as I release his cock and grab the bottle of lube. I drizzle a healthy amount onto my fingers before dragging one across his puckered hole, eliciting a high-pitched cry from Spencer.

“Yes!” Spencer gasps as he attempts to wiggle closer. “So ready for you, Miss. Use your f-fingers on me, please!”

I start by slowly pressing one in, so as not to overwhelm him, and to my endless delight, it glides in almost effortlessly.

“Already so ready for my fingers, Doctor. You sure you haven’t touched yourself here before?” I ask as I begin to work my finger in and out in slow thrusts.

“N-Never. O-Only you,” Spencer stutters out between moans. “C-Can you add another, Miss?”

I pull my finger out, only to add another and resume my efforts at a slightly faster pace. Spencer’s back arches up off the bed when my fingers brush against his prostate and he lets out a half startled, half delighted yelp.

“Oh fuck!” Spencer moans as he grinds down onto my fingers. “Again, please, Miss!”

I comply, and with every press of my fingers against the fleshy bundle of tissue, Spencer’s body jolts from the sensation.

“S’that feel good, baby? Do you like how my fingers feel?”

“Oh, God, yes! F-Feels so good. Never felt like this b-before,” Spencer sobs. “I-I’m getting close, Miss.”

“I didn’t say that you can cum, baby. I wanna save that for when I’ve got my cock buried inside you. How’s that sound?”

“Y-Yes, Iwantitsobad,” Spencer slurs, his words running together as he draws nearer and near to the end. “Want you to fuck me, Miss! Please, I’ll do anything-”

I take pity on him and withdraw my fingers, which makes Spencer keen in protest.

“Calm down, greedy boy. Just gotta get ready so I can give you what you want.”

I crawl off of the bed and step into the harness, fastening it in place and making sure that the dildo is secure before I crawl in between his legs. Spencer watches on with rapt fascination as I pour lube into my palm and work it over the silicone cock until every inch of it glistens.

“What’s your color, baby?” I ask as rub the tip of the cock over his hole.

Spencer’s breath catches in his throat and his whole-body tenses with anticipation.

“So green, Miss. So fucking green,” Spencer whimpers.

I raise a hand up to his hip and begin to rub soothing circles into the skin there.

“Gonna need you to relax for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?” Spencer bites his lip and nods his head. I watch as the tension begins to melt away, and when I see him relax back into the mattress, I bring up my hand to stroke his cock. I keep my touch light, barely applying pressure – I knew if I applied too much, Spencer wouldn’t be able to hold out longer than a few thrusts. He was already teetering on the edge as it was.

Mine and Spencer’s eyes meet and he smiles up at me, dopey and drunk from pleasure, and it’s all the permission I need. I press into him slowly, and I’m left in awe as I watch Spencer Reid completely unravel beneath me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Spencer curses, head flying back and hitting the pillows. It never ceases to amaze me at how fucking responsive he is, and tonight is no exception. It’s like his body is a live wire, trembling beautifully as I press in further and further and further. I stop just shy of being fully sheathed inside him, trying to allow him a moment to adjust, but Spencer seems to have other plans.

“Keep going, Miss, don’t stop, please! I want all of it, please give it to me! I can take it, please let me show you!”

He looks up at me and those beautiful brown eyes are so wild, so positively feral that I can’t even entertain the idea of denying him any longer.

Spencer looks positively ruined by the time I bottom out inside him. His hair sticks to the sheen of sweat that gathers on his forehead, and his lips look positively abused from the way he’s been biting down on them. His eyelids flutter closed every few seconds, and every time he blinks them back open, I’m able to see that his pupils are so blown that his eyes look almost black.

I pull back until all that’s left inside him is the very tip of the cock, and just as he opens that bratty little mouth to beg for more, I give particularly harsh thrust of my hips until I’m fully sheathed inside him. Spencer lets out a surprised cry as I set an unforgiving pace, all the while still loosely jerking him off as I bury myself inside him again and again and again.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Spencer chants loudly, face contorted beautifully in an expression of pure ecstasy. I spare a brief thought to Spencer’s poor neighbors and make mental note to invest in a ball gag.

“S’that feel good, baby? You look so pretty taking my cock like the good boy you are. My pretty little cock slut. Such a shame nobody’s fucked you like this before,” I hum as I focus my attention on the head of his cock, thumbing lightly at where he leaks for me.

“D-Don’t want anyone else, just wanna be good for y-you. Wanna m-make you proud,” Spencer whines, tripping over his words as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. The sentiment sends a jolt of heat down to my already soaking core, but I do my best to ignore the slickness running down my thighs for the time being. Right now, my only focus is the boy chanting my name, praying for a type of salvation that only I can give him.

I smile down at him and my hand drifts lower to where I’m steadily thrusting in and out of him. Spencer’s body jolts as the pad of my thumb brushes against the sensitive skin of his hole.

“Of course, I’m proud of you. Look at how well you’re taking me, baby. It’s like you were made to take my cock,” I praise him.

My words, mixed with the way I’m working both Spencer’s cock and his tight little ass, seem to be getting the better of him, because Spencer doesn’t even try to formulate a response. He just continues to let out strangled moans that almost sound like sobs as his hands grasp at the sheets until his knuckles turn white.

It doesn’t take long until I feel the muscles in Spencer’s stomach and thighs begin to tense, and when his cock twitches in my hand I can tell Spencer won’t last much longer.

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” I ask him as I grind my hips against his, and Spencer’s reply comes in the form of an incoherent, garbled moan.

“What’s the matter, baby? Have I fucked you so stupid that you can’t answer me anymore?” I taunt him. I use the leverage I have from the hand placed on his hip to propel myself deeper. “Is my poor dumb baby incapable of replying?”

Spencer makes a feeble attempt at a reply, “P-Please let me – f-fuck – cum! Oh, God, m’socloseMiss. Harder, please!”

I take a minute to bask in the way he’s completely fallen apart at my hands - relishing in the way his eyes are glossy and dark with lust, in the way that his chest is flushed a deep red, and in the way that precum beads at the tip of his cock, aching for a release. He looks beautiful like this, whining and squirming, hips grinding down in search of more, more, more. I’d never imagined in a million years that I’d be so lucky as to see the illustrious Spencer Reid fucked absolutely senseless, but here he was, waiting for my permission to throw himself off the edge and into the best kind of oblivion.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” I say in the softest voice imaginable. “Show me how good you are.”

The tension that had been steadily building since the first press of my lips against his snaps in an instant, and copious amounts of cum spurt out from his cock, painting his chest in thick, white ropes. Spencer chants out muddled thank yous as I fuck him through his release, pushing in and out of him in shallow strokes as slowly comes back down from the high.

When his breathing slows down to a normal rate, I pull out of him, quickly freeing myself from the harness and tossing it aside to be dealt with later. I crawl up until I’m at eye level and begin pressing soft, sweet kisses to Spencer’s face.

“You did so well, Spence,” I murmur against his skin. “You’re amazing, baby. Thank you so much for trusting me to be with you like that.”

Spencer lifts a shaky hand to my hair and pulls me down into a heated kiss. I indulge him and pour every ounce of passion I have into my efforts, hoping to express my gratitude with every swipe of my lips against his. And when I pull away, my pretty boy smiles up at me, sated and full of adoration, and it’s beautiful.

“D’you think you can handle taking a shower with me?” I ask as I pull away, and Spencer gives a shy nod in response. He sits up in the bed and swings his legs until his feet hit the floor. I’m just about to stand when his hand comes down on my wrist to stop me.

“What about you? You didn’t . . .”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Tonight was all about you.”

I move off of the bed and help him to his feet, holding him steady when his legs begin to shake. “Might be a little sore for a while, but it should go away within a day or so.”

I help him to the bathroom and turn on the shower, and when it’s warm enough I rid myself of my bra and panties and motion for him to join me. I urge Spencer to step under the spray first, but his arms snake around me and pull me with him.

Spencer nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck and he lets out a deep sigh.

“You okay, bubs?” I ask him as I tangle my arms around his torso and begin to rub soothing circles into his back.

“I just feel a little… down? I-Is this a sub drop? I read a little bit about them, but I don’t k-know…” he trails off, sniffling pitifully against my neck. “I-I just know that I want to hold you. Is that o-okay?”

My heart lurches painfully in my chest as his voice wavers, and I pull back just enough that I can look into his weary eyes.

“Baby, that’s more than okay. Sub drops are a perfectly normal thing to experience, and I’ll be right here to hold you for as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Spencer’s eyes fill with tears and he makes no attempt to hold them back, choosing to let them fall freely and mix in with the water pouring from the shower head.

“T-Tell me you want me,” Spencer begs, lip wobbling pitifully. “I-I just feel like I’m not good enough for you, and I know it’s all in my head, and I know how you feel about me, but I just think it would help if you just… s-said it. Please?”

I feel my heart break for the man that stood before me. The implication his words carry - that this wonderful, kind-hearted, extraordinarily gifted man could ever think so little of himself – was enough to bring tears to my own eyes. I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat and, with all the sincerity I can possibly muster, I reply.

“I want you, Spencer Reid. I don’t want anyone else – only you,” I tell him, never once breaking eye contact. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

Spencer chokes out a weak laugh, “And if I want you forever?”

I nudge his nose with my own, and the act feels almost more intimate than everything that preceded it.

“Then forever, it is,” I murmur. I press a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away and reaching for the shampoo. “Now, turn around, pretty boy. Let me pamper you.”

“Y/N!” Penelope calls out, sauntering over to me in a flash of hot pink taffeta. I’m in the middle of throwing my satchel over my shoulder when she runs up to me, excited smile on her face. “Me, you, JJ, Elle, and a bottle of tequila. You in?”

On a normal day, the answer would have been a resounding hell yes. But today? I let my eyes wander over to where Spencer lingers near the glass doors, trying to look like he isn’t listening in. Very subtle.

“I’m gonna have to pass on this one, Penelope.”

Penelope’s smile transforms into a pout.

“This is the third weekend in a row you’ve ditched us!” she whines, stomping her kitten heeled foot like a petulant child. “Either you’re avoiding us or you’ve got some secret lover we don’t know about. And if that’s the case, then we have a whole other problem, because that’s the kind of thing I expect to be told about immediately.”

The giddy smile that stretches across my face gives me away before I even have the chance to open my mouth, sending Penelope into an absolute frenzy.

“Oh my God, I cannot believe this. We’ll talk about how angry I am about being kept in the dark later because right now, I need details,” Penelope gushes. “Who is he? Where did you two meet? Is he hot?” Penelope barely gets the words out before she’s shaking her head. “Wait, that’s a dumb question. Of course, he’s hot - just look at you. Do I know him? When do I get to meet him?”

I can’t help but laugh at Penelope’s enthusiasm.

“Slow down, Pen,” I chuckle. “I didn’t tell you about it because it’s still relatively new, and it wasn’t until this past weekend that we finally decided to put a label on it.”

“A label? Does that mean this guy is your boyfriend? Oh my God, I thought this day would never come,” Penelope sighs dreamily. But the far-away look in her eye quickly fades and Penelope begins to grill me with renewed fervor. “Y/N, you have to tell me who it is. It��s like, practically a crime that I’m only just now hearing about this, so you owe me this much. And I’ll be needing his first and last name, along with a DOB so that I can run a full back ground check ASAP. Don’t even try to talk me out of it – we deal with enough freakiness during our day jobs, and I insist on making sure the freakiness ends there.”

I can feel a flush spread over my cheeks and I fiddle with the strap of my bag.

“I, uh, don’t think a background check is going to be necessary. You know this guy pretty well already.”

If Penelope had been worked up before, she was practically vibrating with excitement now.

“I know him? Oh my God, this is so huge. Is it Brendon from down in sex crimes? Or maybe James from counter-terrorism?” Penelope muses aloud, before her eyes go almost comically wide. “Holy hell, it’s Anderson, isn’t it?”

“It definitely isn’t Anderson, or any of the others, for that matter,” I laugh. “Do you want a hint?”

“What I really want is for you to just tell me, but if you insist on dragging this out then yes, I would very much like a hint!”

I cut my eyes over to where Spencer stands, and it’s impossible to miss the giddy grin on his face. So much for trying to remain subtle, Doctor Reid.

I fake like I’m looking around for anyone within earshot before motioning for Penelope to lean in. She’s quick to comply, and I do one last exaggerated sweep of the room.

“Alright then, here’s your hint,” I whisper into her ear. “He’s got an IQ of 187, and he’s a pretty kickass magician.”

I lean back and adjust the strap of my bag, sparing one last, parting glance at Penelope, whose jaw is practically on the floor.

“See you on Monday, Pen.”

“W-Wait, are you serious?” Penelope calls out after me. “Reid is your mystery man?! Y/N, get back here right now and explain yourself! Derek, did you hear that?!”

By the time I reach Spencer, Penelope’s voice fades into background noise as I focus all my attention on the way he smiles down at me. I link my hand with his and I’m vaguely aware of an increase in volume coming from Penelope’s direction, but I ignore in favor of smiling back at him.

“You ready to get out of here, boyfriend?”

Spencer squeezes my hand in his and he nods.

“Ready when you are, girlfriend.”

taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #sub!spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #smut #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #mgg #spencer reid imagine

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 10

Summary: Haunted by her own mind, Y/N isn’t sure what to do with the information she uncovered. On the other hand, the Darkling felt a growing distance between them, allowing himself to admit something he never thought he’d say.

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff, sexual innuendos

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine

=================================

A long time ago lived a young boy with the power of saints. He held the darkness at the tip of his fingers, capable of forcing the day into an eternal night. Back then, he made all the wrong choices for all the right reasons. To protect the ones he loves, he allowed the shadows to consume him. Cursed with immortality, he walked the earth ever since. Forever alone, hurt and betrayed, the Darkling's heart no longer beat as it turned to stone. No longer did he suffer, no longer did he feel pain or anything at all.

Until now.

There was no escape from emotions when he looked at her. Even in the darkness, she had the ability to set his world on fire.

A single badly made decision in a moment where everything feels more important than love can make your entire life feel like a failure. He would never make the same mistake again.

This lifetime he gives to her – wholeheartedly.

When they stopped for the night, he had felt uneasy as Y/N conversed freely with everyone but him. It seemed like she’s on edge and not knowing why gnawed at him. Once night came and they settled in their tent, the Darkling couldn’t contain himself.

"I sense some...hostility."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes, "Oh, how observant of you."

"What happened?” He asked, “Did someone at the Palace do something to you? Was it Genya?"

"And what if she did?” Tilting her head ever so slightly, she neared him. “What would you do?"

Without thinking, he answered, "I'd protect you."

Inhaling sharply, she raised an eyebrow. "And what if it was you?"

Pausing, his eyebrows furrowed as he unclenched his jaw. "Is it me?"

"If it was you who upset me, would that bother you?" Y/N pushed further, genuinely wondering if he cares for her as much as she thinks. After all, who’d believe the Darkling has a heart? She was still trying to convince herself it’s real when he kisses her temple when he thinks she’s fast asleep.

"Immensely."

With her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. "So, how would you protect me from yourself?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Aleksander ran his hand through his hair. "I'd let you decide."

Closing her eyes in frustration, her lower lip curled inwards as her front teeth sunk into the flesh. A part of her wanted to ask him about being the creator of the fold, but it was an advantage that would be unwise to let go of.

"Why are you being so agreeable? Is it because I spread my legs for you now?"

"I've never known you to be so crude." The muscles in his jaw tighten as he squints at her and it’s taking everything in her not to smile because she absolutely loved when he’d look at her like that. It felt more natural than the soft, wistful looks he’d send her way.

"And I never realized you could be so easily tamed”, she remarks, her voice louder than before.

Chuckling in disbelief, the Darkling shrugs off his kefta without breaking eye contact. "You believe that you've tamed me?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shut her eyes. Her face is flushed, her head spinning and she has nothing concrete to tell him. She can’t make sense of anything anymore, the image of him in her head changing with every passing minute.

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

In two strides, Aleksander found himself before her. Cupping her cheeks, he tilts her head up to face him and when she opens her eyes, she’s lost in the universe that’s captured in his eyes. She loved the night sky littered with stars, but she never truly knew what it means to stargaze until she met him.

“I’ve discovered I love you.”

Raising her eyebrows, her jaw slacked. “When have you discovered that?” Her voice is high, tone defensive, but his smile grows because it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t fight him even when he’s trying to admit to something he long forgot exists.

“When all my decisions started to revolve around keeping you safe.”

Shaking, her eyes widened. “That’s impossible! You hate me!”

Placing a hand over her mouth, he used his other to press his index finger to his lips. “Shh”, he chuckles, “You’ll wake the others.”

Rolling her eyes, she licked his hand.

“Really? I’ve touched you in a way that made you scream long into the night”, he deadpans, “Your tongue can’t possibly disgust me.” Smirking, he leans in, “On the contrary.”

Slapping his hand away, she turned away from him. Grabbing her head, she sat down with her thoughts running so fast, too fast for her to pick one out to decide what she thinks, feels, wants.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back flush against his chest. “I know you hate me now, but I’m a patient man. I won’t give up on you.”

He held her for a while, too long for either of them to realize the night had slowly trickled away from them and given way to dawn. Their journey wasn’t quite as long anymore. Soon enough, they’ll be at the fold and Y/N didn’t know what to do.

Should she tell him? Ask him for an explanation?

Would he kill her even if he said he loves her?

She still felt his kisses as he laid her down beside him. For the first time since they made love, they didn’t initiate any physical intimacy. Instead, they simply stared at one another.

She’s not for feeble minded people, there’s no doubt about it in his mind and if anything, Aleksander was more determined to love her because of it. She tested him in every way possible and while she was incredibly frustrating to argue with, Aleksander refused to give up on her. She’s difficult to understand to ordinary minds, but he isn’t ordinary.

His love will conquer in the end, he truly believed that. He could have continued on like nothing changed between them, but he could not be silent any longer. After all the time he’s spent in vein, all the years he wasted and lives he’s lived, Aleksander never found someone who gave him a reason to believe. Not until he met Y/N.

While she remained silent, stunned by his admission, he spoke of the day he first met Ivan and Fedyor. He spoke of their adventures, of their silly mistakes and she found herself smiling at first. Soon, she was laughing with him, and though she had no courage to admit it yet, she fell asleep thinking about him. Their knees were touching and her heart was racing, but the world never felt so right as it did when she was next to him.

Once on the road, she took the reins once again.

Kirigan ignored the whispers about her riding his horse, choosing to glare them into silence. No one dared to speak of it after.

Stopping a few miles short of their destination, Y/N drew a shuddered breath. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, a nightmare come alive. Swallowing thickly, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as they furrowed.

How could Aleksander be the Black Heretic? How is it possible for him to live so long?

“I’m here”, he whispers in her ear.

Goosebumps rise across the back of her neck as his warm breath dances across her skin. And there he is again, with her when she’s looking for solitude, offering his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on even when she least expects it. The worst thing is that she’s actually becoming dependent on his help and that scares her most of all, because what is she supposed to do when he decides he never did love her and all of it was simply an obsession fueled by her rejection.

She’s still a novelty to him, that will wear off eventually.

“I’m not afraid”, she remarks, “I’m-“, she pauses in an attempt to find a better word, “Admiring it.”

“Admiring”, he repeats in surprise. “Most people find it absolutely terrifying.”

She wondered if it frightened him. What would happen if he went in?

Turning her head to the side, she caught a glimpse of his parted lips. She felt ashamed how it caused her heartbeat to quicken, how it ached for a taste.

“I’m not most people”, she reminded him. And he knew that well. The Darkling would never fall for an ordinary woman.

“What I want to know is what went through his mind”, she grips the reigns tighter.

“Of the black heretic?”

Feeling his hands tighten around her waist, she nods. “I wish I knew what led to the creation of the fold. Why did he do it?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t help himself”, Aleksander’s voice is strained, “Maybe he’s just pure evil.”

Leaning the back of her head on his shoulder, she looked up at him. She longed for him, for an earnest conversation with their souls laid bare, but would she live long if she unveiled what her mind’s been tormented by?

“I don’t believe that”, she says softly.

Their eyes meet in an instant, the closeness forcing them both to hold their breath and look at each other silently. Looking at her, he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Why give him the benefit of doubt?”

Aleksander’s free hand gently moves along her arm, finding its rightful place at the side of her neck, touching her skin so tenderly she felt blissful and it reminded her of that night where he unraveled her, made her scream in pleasure she never found before.

There was no denying it, Y/N had a weakness for his hand on her neck and his words in her heart, neither of which she had any willpower to refuse, especially not when she couldn’t breathe when he looked at her with such longing, shameful lust and indisputable passion and understanding.

It took everything in her to find the strength to speak again without her voice cracking under the pressure of her own emotions.

“Because darkness doesn’t equate evil, just as light doesn’t equate good.”

Without a warning, he kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her raw. She didn’t move away, she didn’t make a sound. All she did was close her eyes and part her lips and in that fraction of a second, she allowed herself to get lost in the beauty of a lover’s touch for when his lips claimed hers, nothing mattered anymore.

When he broke away, she was breathless and undeniably his.

“What was that for?” She raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smile forming on her bruised lips.

She shuddered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip ruthlessly as Aleksander’s breath caressed her skin. It felt so right, too right to resist his advances. She lived for those long nights in their bed, those thick with lust and romance and naked kisses.

Aleksander shrugs, “I wanted to.”

Lips parted, she didn’t know what to do with that. He told her he loves her, that he’d wait for her to love him back and most women would fall at his feet. Something inside her refused to do so. To admit her feelings out loud would be the end of her.

If she allows herself to love him fully, how could she possibly be the cause of his downfall?

What would be left of her if she took his love and used it against him in the most cruel way possible?

She’s losing who she is around him, but it hurt so much more to reject his love. Hating him, pretending her heart isn’t a feeble muscle where he resides is exhausting.

Truth is, he doesn't make her feel safe or comfortable as she once believed a man should. He makes her feel like she's teetering at the edge of a cliff and she's getting addicted to that feeling. She’s getting addicted to him – his scent, his touch, his handsome smile and devilish smirk and most of all to the way his darkness drives away her demons.

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wreaks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss - abyss he created.

She used to fear the dark, but now she found herself running into it.

In that moment, she smiled.

Perhaps the darkness is not so bad if he’ll be there, holding her hand.

=============================

A/N - So, I literally wrote this in about two hours and I’m about to pass out. I wanna thank you for Eid Mubarak responses and especially for the feedback, I was just reading through them and they made my day so much better. I’m seeing some interesting theories too, some paragraphs you loved or just thoughts about the characters and IT GIVES ME LIFE. I’m so, so grateful for it all.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl

PART 11

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadown and bone

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elriell · 3 years

Text

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her." Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acosf #acowar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #elriel mates #elriel theories #elriel metas #anti elucien #tb safe and all that #dont want it falling in the wrong tag #c

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mviswidow · 4 years

Text

i can’t feel it

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2,727

Warnings: wandavision spoilers!! i recommend catching up before reading this if you haven’t already. also, i cursed like, twice.

A/N: this was literally edited while i was falling asleep, so if there are mistakes, that’s why. Please pm or reply, telling me and I'll go back and fix it.

Prompt: hi!! what about a wanda x reader where r has similar powers to wanda & enters the hex to talk her into letting everyone in westview go & coming home with r? :)

Summary: R has to convince Wanda to let everyone in Westview go.

part two

“Are you sure you remember everything?” Jimmy asked you, concerned about how fast you were being thrown into everything.

You nodded confidently, you were nervous, kind of scared, but ready. After getting a call from Monica, you knew whatever was going on was important, and you made your way to the outskirts of Westview, New Jersey before she even had to tell you what was going on. “Wanda’s robot boyfriend-”

“-Synthezoid,” Jimmy corrected before seeing the look Darcy gave him. “Sorry.”

“Synthezoid boyfriend died because Thanos pulled the mind stone out of his head, she had to watch him die twice and freaked out, stole his body from S.W.O.R.D., and created a fake sitcom reality where she goes through decades because she’s a grieving 30 year old with an odd obsession with tv shows. Oh, and she’s mind controlling a whole town and I’m supposed to convince her to let them go. Almost forgot that one,” You said, pointedly making the lighthearted joke because of Jimmy’s evident stress, chuckling softly.

“Just be careful,” Darcy cut in, “Wanda doesn’t seem to want to leave and we won't know if things go wrong because she chooses what goes in her show and what doesn’t.”

“I’ll be just fine. Let’s go,” You sighed and the four of you started to head out the door, but Hayward pulled you aside before you could leave the building. You told them to go ahead and you would meet them by the car.

“Ms (Y/L/N),” Hayward nodded, and you nodded back to him. Warm greeting, you thought. “Director Hayward.”

“If you cannot get Wanda to submit and release the people of Westview, I want you to fight her. Do whatever you have to, I need the Vision’s body back in S.W.O.R.D. custody and the citizens of Westview to be freed.”

Your brow furrowed, “My assignment is to try to persuade Ms Maximoff. I’m not fighting her, Sir. She’s grieving. I just got here and I can tell. She seems like she just wants to be happy.”

He scoffed at you and shook his head, “Her happiness means nothing to me. Ms Maximoff has thousands held captive. So, I think you’re misunderstanding me, Ms (Y/L/N), I am ordering you to kill her if needed. We need her to bring that barrier down.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Director. I’m just here to try to work things out, not to fight anyone,” You retorted.

“So you would let her continue to mind control the people of Westview? To continue controlling a sentient weapon made of vibranium?” Hayward asked pointedly, but you weren’t having any of it.

“With all due respect, you seem awfully concerned about the Vision when there are ‘thousands held captive’. And regardless, do you have any idea what would happen if Wanda died while all those people were in there?” You paused for a moment, giving him a chance to answer. “I didn’t think so.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and huffed, quickly making your way to the car that was waiting to take you to the border of the hex, Darcy, Monica, and Jimmy sat inside of it.

“What did he want?” Jimmy asked.

You sighed and started playing with the sleeve of your long sleeved shirt, “He wants me to kill Wanda if she doesn’t stop mind controlling Westview.”

Darcy’s eyes widened, “Sorry, what?”

You looked up at her and saw her concerned expression, “Oh, I’m not going to.” You said quickly, not wanting any of them to get the wrong impression. “He isn’t in charge of me. Wanda doesn’t seem to want to hurt anyone in Westview, and besides, it would be foolish when we know nothing about what would happen inside the barrier if she died.”

Darcy nodded as Monica parked the car and the four of you got out of it.

“Thank you for doing this, (Y/n),” Monica smiled softly as you reached the hex.

“You know I’m always willing to help you when you need me,” You smiled and looked towards the barrier.

You knew the trio was watching you intently, with the other agents standing outside, waiting for you to go in, but your heart was racing and you had to take a few deep breaths before bringing your hands up, moving your fingers in a way that they recognized to be similar to the way Wanda did, and you stepped closer, the blue light from your powers flowing forward and hitting the hex.

It kind of looked like when food coloring is dropped into water, and the color spreads, except your powers were the food coloring, and the hex was the water.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you pulled your hands further apart and groaned as you slowly but surely pulled apart a section of the barrier that was big enough for you to fit through before walking right through it.

As soon as you were through, you looked behind you and saw nothing. None of the S.W.O.R.D. tents or buildings or cars, Darcy, Monica, Jimmy, and all the other agents who were outside were gone. It was just a plain old normal street.

You looked down at your clothes and chuckled, the 80s. If Wanda had anything, it was a fashion sense, whether it was conscious of it or not. You were dressed in a fitted white shirt, and an electric blue skirt and cropped blazer set. Was it a bit tacky? Sort of, but you couldn’t help but love it. However, you were very pleased that the white boots you were wearing didn’t have too high of a heel.

You sighed and knew you needed to go quickly. Vision had just left for work and this was the best chance you were going to get to talk to Wanda. You doubted she would let you convince her to let everyone go if Vision was there with her.

You extended your arms to the ground below you and used your powers to lift yourself up into the air, waiting until you saw the house you recognized to be Wanda’s to fly down to a street that had no one on it that was close enough for you to arrive quickly.

Your hand trembled as it reached up to knock on the door, but before you could overthink any longer, you tapped your knuckles against the wood three times and waited, playing with your fingers.

Wanda opened the door and smiled, though she wore a confused expression on her face, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met before, or have we?”

You offered a smile and shook your head, “We haven’t, I’m (Y/n).”

“Wanda,” she said, with a lilt in her voice.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, if you aren’t busy? It’s important.”

She gazed at you curiously before nodding and stepping out of the way, “Come inside.”

You walked inside her home, the feeling you got was weird. You’d seen it on Darcy’s tv, but it was different to actually be in the room.

Wanda noticed the way your eyes flicked around her living room, looking at the couch, the photos hanging, the random decorations, and the few toys on the floor.

“Do you want something to drink?” She asked politely, before noticing you staring at one of the toys Tommy happened to favor. “My boys are upstairs.”

You smiled politely and shook your head, “I’m alright, Wanda, thank you. I need to talk to you about what you’re doing.” You started, not very strongly, but it wasn’t like you could just blurt out what you needed to say. This was a difficult situation.

“I’m sorry?” She tilted her head, not catching on, but she looked worried.

“I know about your powers, you’re controlling everyone in Westview, and Vision is starting to-”

“Leave,” Wanda extended her hands and tried to levitate you out, but you put your hands at your side and grounded yourself, blue mist surrounding your feet.

Wanda faltered and her eyes widened at the sight of your powers, “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n. I was sent here to convince you to let everyone in Westview go. I promise I don’t mean you any harm, I just want things to go smoothly so no one else gets hurt.”

Wanda shook her head, “I can't just let go of this, I finally have everything I want.”

You sighed and nodded, “I understand how you feel, I have lost family too, but the people of Westview, they have their own lives and families. They’re in pain, Wanda. I can feel it. Can’t you?”

Her eyes snapped up and met yours, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill. She shook her head, “I can’t feel it.”

You stood for a moment, the two of you just looking at each other, before taking a breath and letting the blue mist that was keeping you grounded fade away. Cautiously, you walked closer to her and let out a breath of relief when she wasn’t backing away or looking like she was going to attack you.

“You can look into minds, can’t you?” You asked, knowing that showing her the pain she was unknowingly putting these people through was the best chance you had at convincing her to do the right thing.

Wanda nodded without saying anything and understood what you wanted her to do. Shakily, she lifted her hand and bit her lip, she looked scared.

You blinked a few times, thought, fuck it, and gently held her wrist, bringing her hand up to your temple. You watched her eyes glow red before closing your eyes, allowing Wanda to see inside your mind.

All Wanda could feel was an unbearable amount of agony, she heard thousands of voices overlapping each other, panicked screams and crying. It was too much. Everyone sounded so scared. She did this.

The feeling was excruciating and let out a strangled sob, which made your eyes open on instinct.

Tears were flowing freely down Wanda’s face and she slowly sank to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

You got down on the floor in front of her and held one of her hands, using your other one to tilt her chin up towards you, “It’s okay, Wanda.”

She shook her head furiously and squeezed your hand, leaning forward, into you.

You wrapped your arm around her and let her cry into your shoulder. Your stomach felt twisted and you couldn’t believe Hayward had asked you to kill Wanda if she refused to comply, not when she was reacting like this.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” She managed to get out between deep breaths and whimpers. “I just - I wanted Vis back.”

Tears pricked at your own eyes, but you ignored them, knowing that you had to focus on Wanda, “I know, it’s okay. Everything will be okay. You just have to put down the barriers around Westview and stop mind controlling everyone.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, but she nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” You asked. Surprised at how you managed to get her to listen to you.

“I’ll do it now,” She sniffled and wiped her tears, standing up slowly.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Well, hold on, don’t you want to see Vision first? Or call the twins down here?”

Her lips pressed together as another tear slipped down her cheek and she shook her head, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I allow myself to see them again,” She said quietly.

You nodded and stepped back, letting her go about this whatever way she wanted.

You watched her work, even though the two of you were inside, you could see out the window that the sky had turned red and it was gradually getting more blue, looking like she was chipping off pieces of the sky, if the sky was red, away from the inside out.

Before you knew it, the house the two of you were standing in had been reduced to the foundation of a home, just concrete laying on the floor in the shape of the house Wanda had been living in.

She was wearing a burgundy shirt, a jacket, and jeans instead of the big jeans and plaid shirt she’d had on before, and you were back to wearing your comfortable grey long sleeved shirt and jeans.

Her bottom lip started to tremble and she turned towards you before her breath started to quicken.

You wore a pained expression and stepped towards her, holding your arms out. You thought she was going to deny the embrace you were offering her, but she walked forward and buried her head in your neck, letting you wrap your arms around her, “I’m really proud of you, Wanda. It takes a lot to be able to give up something that important to you.”

She nodded, but said nothing. You stood there for about two more minutes before her breathing had calmed and she’d stopped crying. “Thank you, (Y/n).”

You nodded and smiled sadly at her before you both looked towards the red buick that was now sitting in her driveway, “I think I’m going to have to take you back out of Westview with me. I’ll get in trouble if I just let you leave, I think.”

“It’s fine, I’ll go,” She fished the keys to her car out of her pocket and played with the keyring. “Do you think you can drive us? I kind of want to look around before we leave.”

You took her keys and she let out a breath before quietly thanking you and walking to the passenger seat of her car.

Before you pulled out of the driveway, you spoke, “How did you do all of this?” You asked curiously. Sure, you had magic yourself, but there was no way you could even dream about pulling off anything like this.

“I’m not sure. All I remember is feeling so completely alone and sad, and I went to S.W.O.R.D. to see Vis for the last time before coming here, because Hayward wouldn’t let me take his body to give him a funeral or anything, so I guess I made a version of him here. I really don’t know how I managed though, because -”

“Sorry,” You interrupted, turning to look at her with your brows knitted together. “You said the Vision stayed in S.W.O.R.D.?”

“Yes?” She nodded. “What is it?”

You huffed and started the engine of the car, pulling out of the driveway, “The lying bastard. Hayward edited security camera footage to make it look like you stole the Vision’s body and used it here.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know better than to make myself a criminal again. Well, I mean-”

“It’s fine Wanda. You didn’t mean to,” You continued driving, enjoying the neighborhood.

When you were getting close to the edge of town, she spoke again. “Am I going to jail?”

“I won’t let them put you in jail,” You said simply.

“What, why?” Wanda asked, and it was clear that she was asking because she thought she deserved it and she was expecting it to happen.

“You don’t deserve it,” You shrugged. You didn’t want her to suffer alone, again. She already tried that, and look where that got everyone.

Wanda shook her head, “You know that isn’t true.”

“I believe it is. I know that your actions were wrong, but Hayward was wrong for denying you when you asked for Vision’s body to bury. It wasn’t his to have. All he cares about is money and power and the Vision would cost a lot of money and would give him a lot of power. I mean, realistically, he’s kind of the cause for this. But that’s not the point. The point is that it was never your intention to hurt these people and it’s not fair to you that he set you up like this.”

“And what will you do if they try to put me in jail?” Wanda asked curiously, her voice low.

You sighed as you started to be able to make out Jimmy, Monica, and Darcy from far away. “I dunno, maybe we can run away together or something.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff oneshot #wlw imagine #sapphic #wandavision #wandavision imagine #wandavision oneshot #fanfic

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bloodycassian · 3 years

Text

Azriel x Reader - Trying.

TW- DEPRESSION//sadness - Thank you anon for this request. I have struggled with Dysthymia for almost my whole life. It felt good to write this little piece of representation.

Nothing but a ghost. Like the two wraiths that waited to serve you at your command. The wraiths that had nothing to do. Granted, they had tried pushing food on you, or books or paints or whatever other form of entertainment or sustenance but you ignored them. Knowing that if you had put up the fight to say anything you may lose your control completely and break down. You could let the time pass, numbly without a care. It was better than having to deal with the reality of not being alive at all.

Rhysand had set you up in a beautiful room in the house of wind after the village attack. You could see the entire city below and the ocean beyond. It did nothing for you. If he was hoping for some kind of gratitude he didn't show it. He simply explained the house would provide if needed and that he would check in weekly. You were surprised he wasnt asking for more - that he wasnt going to try to get any information from you about Hybern's forces on the continent. After months of war you had become numb to the idea of peace. It never seemed like an option anymore. Perhaps the two generals he had brought with him to save your village had gotten all the information they needed.

Weeks of sleeping later and you felt your eyes getting heavy again while looking out to the Sidra. The bright city below seemed buzzing with excitement about the upcoming summer solstice. You couldn't wait until you could go to bed. The tower of books on the table beside you casted a shadow over your feet, then your legs, up to your arms. Until finally, it was dark on the balcony, the stars above twinkling like the white caps on the ocean. Dread twisted in your gut, and you slowly got up, letting your body adjust to the change. Dark spots edged in around your vision.

You could feel the chasm open inside you. The pit of loneliness - the empty void of demons waiting to take you as soon as you dropped your guard. The head rush from getting up made you want to vomit. The acid in your stomach churned, burning up to your throat. Fasting for so long would make Rhysand force your hand to eat, you knew. But you couldn't bring yourself to even try. You felt weighted, like there was a tired blanket over your being and you couldn't get it off no matter how hard you tried. The demons pulled at you.

The pain was good though, a solid reminder of why you would not eat. Why you could not eat. You did not deserve such a pleasure. You doubted you could stomach anything more than crackers anyway after weeks of fasting. Rhysand was not subtle with his advances of trying to get you to try food when he visited. The smell of some of the treats he brought made you gag at times. Your stomach howled at you now though.

The knock on the door didnt surprise you. It was time for the high lord's weekly visit where you would tell him everything was fine and you didnt need anything. And he would try to get through your shields, and there would be a flash of disappointment on his face at the obsidian stone you would slam down on him. Then he would leave. And you could let the sting of that disappointment burn you alive until you were on the bed sobbing.

"Enter, your highness." You smiled to yourself slightly, knowing the title would bother him. The voice that came once the door opened made you whip around. Not Rhys. "Actually..." The spymaster. The general that had guarded your village while the other barreled through the enemy lines. "Rhys was busy. He sent me instead." He stood in the doorway, tentatively.

"Oh.." You felt your cheeks go red at the embarrassment of him seeing you like this. From the defender of your village to..what? A tired being that craved nothing more than to simply not exist anymore? "What is he doing?" You asked out of courtesy only. You were used to the high lord seeing your mess of a room, but Azriel was.. different for some reason. You walked over to the bed and kicked the sheets under the frame. Attempting to tidy up even slightly. The rest of the room was a mess of clothes and empty containers, drink cups. Nerves made your heart race.

"Nightmares?" He asked, stepping inside and closing the oak door behind him. He leaned on it, arms crossed over his chest. His simple tunic seemed to eat the light in the room, not reflecting a thing.

Your face burned. You felt your eyes sting. Clearing your throat you nodded, folding your arms over your middle. Your ribs seemed to jut out more now that he was watching you. You watched him, as his shadows snaked around his shoulders and curled around his ear. They searched the room. You sighed, going to the closet beside him -ignoring the mirror mounted there- and pulling out a folding chair. You placed it next to your own, facing out to the starry sky. You sat in the familiar padded chair, leaning on the arm rest. The half cup of cold tea next to the book tower rattled slightly on its plate as he approached. A bubble of tranquil quiet seemed to encapsulate the area. A feeling you recognized as relief flowed through your bones. You felt the tension in your body fade slightly. You breathed a bit easier, like he was taking a weight off your chest.

He sat next to you for a long while before he spoke. "I used to hate night time." His voice was level. You tore your eyes away from the most interesting spot on the floor where you were thinking of nothing to look at him.

He kept his eyes out to the balcony, a cool wind gusting through. His wings were folded in tight behind him, the shadows coiling over everything in the room. The trees below sighed at the caress of the breeze. The night seemed to finally speak as he spoke. He brought his hands together in front of him, rubbing over the scarred texture there. "I would hear absolutely everything in that basement. I could tell when night fell, even without windows. I could hear the beasts hunting outside, or my bastard father getting drunk and-" His hands clenched, and you thought you heard his teeth grind together. "He was a cruel male. To everyone, even my half brothers."

A shudder rippled through you. You wondered what he had done to Azriel, if his father was cruel to his more beloved children. They had forced him into that basement, even when they knew first hand how Illyrians craved the sky. He knew of total darkness and silence - of pain that seemed to stretch on without end. He knew loneliness, he was locked up with it for the first part of his life. His shadows circled around your ankles like a cat, like they recognized you. Your voice was little more than a whisper as you spoke. "I dont even know whats wrong with me." You were relieved your tears didnt spill over. They pricked your eyes but you blinked them away.

He was quiet, taking in the information. "I didnt either until I found out what a shadow singer is." He paused, glancing at you as you tucked your legs up under yourself. "It dosent mean anything is wrong, it just means you need help sometimes. To figure out exactly what you need." He stood from the chair and flexed his wings, the shadows collecting around him like a puddle.

He held a hand out to you, patient even while you considered. Getting out of the chair seemed like so much work with such a tired body. Tired soul, tired spirit. Anything beyond existence seemed like a complete burden. But his hand there, waiting, unwavering. Challenging. it made you sigh and finally, stiffly get out of the chair that housed you. The chair that had sucked you in, prisoned you for months.

His smile was stunning. His dark eyes seemed to light up. He led you on to the balcony and leaned over the railing. The pines far below rustled with the breeze. You swore you could hear the Sidra as well, bubbling with the current over the rocks. "How did you get out?" You asked, your eyes locking into his. He looked at you without sorrow, no fear or judgement lurked there. Just that half smile that had stayed since you stood from that chair.

"I was.. released by my father, but I still had to battle the darkness that I had learned. It wasn't until I met Rhysand and his mother that I began to... cope." He contemplated for a moment, his wings moving slightly with the wind that came through. "I'm familiar with what you're feeling. I ask that you try. I can come back again if you'd like." He left it as an open ended question, not as a demand or promise.

"Just try? You're not gonna make a checklist for me?" You mocked, he just shook his head. "I think I would like that." You answered. At least he wouldnt pester you as much as the high lord did. At least he could bring this feeling of relief to your bones. He nodded, and the shadows seemed to spike, receding from the room and joining him, wrapping around his body and melding him with the night. "I'll be back tomorrow, then." He said simply, raising himself on to the balcony railing with ease.

You nodded, wringing your hands with nerves as you watched him flare his wings, preparing to fly. "Dont let the bed eat you, Rhys wouldn't be happy if I had to break more of his furniture." He said over his shoulder with a wink. You felt a fleeting smile come to your lips as he jumped, wings catching him as he glided on the wind. You made a note to yourself to ask what other furniture he had ruined.

He disappeared quickly, the shadows and the comfy bubble of silence gone. When you closed the door to the balcony and turned back to your chair, there was a plate of crackers and fruit waiting there. Your stomach rolled at the thought. Instead, you went to the closet, putting his chair away. You made a mental note to get a different seating option for him, to accommodate the wings. Knowing he was coming back, you saved yourself the future embarrassment and began picking up your clothes, putting them into the corner bin where they disappeared. You didnt pause long enough to check to see if the clothes were reappearing clean in the closet, you just kept cleaning. Trusting the house to understand you were in fact, trying. You dared not pause, knowing if you stopped there wouldn't be a beginning again.

You went as far as requesting a mop and bucket from the Wraiths. They were wide eyes with shock at your room, at your abruptness. But they said nothing about it, just bringing you the items you requested and then some. Naula snuck in a plate of meat and cheese, leaving it next to the crackers on the end table now that there was more room with the book pile cleaned up.

You requested the extra chair. They promised it would be in the room by morning. You made your bed, and once you were satisfied with the shining floors you stood back to admire your work. It looked like a different space, clutter gone and the books organized again. You had given the cups the Cerridwen before they left, thanking them both.

You went to your chair, hesitant to sit. The wear marks on the arm rests and the seat were apparent. Instead, picked up the plate of fruit and crackers and took it to the bench at the end of the bed, picking at the more neutral fruit as you went. A spark of something bloomed in your chest at the thought of Azriel coming back. Of what his reaction would be at the clean look of your room. You dared to hope that he would notice at all. Something told you though that he would consider this trying. He made it sound so easy.

The bed welcomed you, clean sheets caressing your legs as you fell into the most peaceful sleep you had in a long while.

#acotar fic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar insert #acotar reader insert

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

You Burned So Brightly (Simeon x Reader)

Simeon has fallen, and he left his memories in the Realm that cast him down. They sent him straight back to you, but nothing is ever that easy.

ao3 link: here!

With a single, brilliant streak of light across the Devildom sky, the battles that were on the brink of becoming a second war came to a halt. Smoke curled up in the distance, light and airy like nothing you've ever seen before. The demons near the impact seemed to itch, the holy energy burning off into the air burning their skin. In the middle of a small crater, barely bigger in diameter than the fallen angel was in height, Simeon struggled to bring himself to his knees. As you stood before the impact site, Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Lucifer near your side, you did your best to avoid cringing at Simeon's groans of pain.

Diavolo called for his attention, his authoritative voice only engaged for the sake of the surrounding, curious citizens. After a moment, Simeon forced his head up, clear blue eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes fell to you last, and though he held his gaze for a long time, recognition never flashed within him.

Simeon had fallen, and he left his memories in the Celestial Realm.

---

Barbatos led you to the room where Simeon was staying, informing you of any progress he and Diavolo had made and updating you on their search for a suitable place for him to live. Vaguely, you heard Barbatos ask if you agreed that a nice, cozy area on the outskirts of town would be nice, preferably something with enough yard space for a small garden. You hummed in agreement, and even though the both of you knew you had no say in the matter, Barbatos still gave you a displeased glance. He knew you weren't listening.

He stopped outside the door, hand faltering before the doorknob when you called out to him. Green eyes as impassive as always, he turned towards you fully and let his hand fall to his side. Before speaking, you glanced at his eyebrows and nearly sighed in relief to see his eyebrows weren't furrowed in the slightest. Despite the side-eyes and rather tense atmosphere, he wasn't truly mad at you.

Keeping your voice low, you asked, "Does he remember any of the exchange program?"

Barbatis kept his expression flat, but he did jut his chin just a hint, the closest thing you would get to a frown. "Bits and pieces. Nothing new."

"Why does he still only remember things in fragments?"

There was a pause. This was information you were permitted to know; but just because Barbatos was allowed to tell you did not mean he should. Still, you were notorious for snooping around and getting what you wanted anyway. "We believe he had too much sensitive information about the Celestial Realm, but the job was done in haste to bring the battles to a close."

"Oh." You didn't have any expectations set for his response, but you still felt a heavy stone, similar to disappointment, settle in your stomach. Perhaps dread was more appropriate - though anymore, your gut was always tied in knots and your emotions were just as jumbled. "Does it hurt him?"

"Physically? No," Barbatos answered, reaching for the doorknob again. You opened your mouth to ask for more details, but Barbatos gave you a look that said, clearly, you'll see. Shutting your mouth, you squared your shoulders and allowed him to open the door.

The room, grand yet somehow seeming plain for a palace's guest room, looked the same as it had all the times before. None of the chairs moved from their expertly-placed positions in the room, having been unoccupied for the entirety of Simeon's stay. Each book was nestled into its place in its case, and not a single gap ruined the uniform, brick-like image of the surrounding bookshelves. Even the bedsheets, still perfectly tucked beneath the mattress, looked unused, the only crinkles in the sheets coming from directly beneath the occupant.

Simeon sat in the middle of the bed, knees drawn to his chest and arms resting atop them. You could see his blue eyes surveying the room, a change from the past days but not exactly an improvement. The aura surrounding him was menacing, and if you strained your ears you could almost hear a low growl. Despite sitting in one spot for days like a scared animal, Simeon never felt more like a predator.

"Hello, Simeon," You said. You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but Barbatos' hand on your shoulder stopped you. When you turned to look at him, he was already shaking his head. This was as close to Simeon as you would be allowed to get.

"You're back," Simeon noted, his voice devoid of any fondness. It was still the same pitch as before, but it no longer sounded like a delicate tune carried on the warm summer breeze. Instead, it felt more like a warning shot, sharp and threatening yet drawing no blood. He sounded dangerous.

"I am. I was hoping you might remember something new, but...it seems that's not the case."

Simeon looked you up and down before scoffing. "What makes you think you're so memorable?"

Not wanting to anger him, you chuckled in response, hoping it didn't sound as awkward as it felt. Simeon's eyes never left your form, and you missed the way his pupils widened, almost like a cat's.

You could hear him murmur under his breath, "Perhaps I could recognize you by the way you taste…" It was a poor attempt at intimidation, but it was intimidation nonetheless. When you looked up at Simeon, his pupils were blown wide, making his eyes almost entirely black. Instinctively you stepped back, watching as Simeon unfolded himself for the first time in days.

Barbatos' grip on your shoulder tightened right as Simeon pounced, pushing you behind him as he chanted some spell you'd never heard before. Though the attack seemed to move in slow motion, he ushered you out all too quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it physically before casting another spell. Right as he finished speaking, something solid slammed against the door, and you could hear Simeon snarling on the other side.

"He's reconciling," Barbatos explained vaguely. "He's not used to craving human souls, or to the shifting energies inside him. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come with me. We'll have to report what happened."

Though you didn't want to, you followed Barbatos again down the hall, this time taking care to trail a bit behind in your own petty act of defiance.

You knew, at least for a while, that you would not be seeing Simeon again.

---

When you were permitted to visit him again, you were relieved. Whatever rehabilitation efforts Diavolo and Barbatos were working on took longer than you thought, and days stretched into weeks until you were wondering if they were losing hope in his recovery as you were. Of course, the pair had more information than you did, but in a situation that seemed as dire as this, your worry was warranted.

The hallway you walked countless times before was the same as always, yet you found yourself surveying the walls. Barbatos was not relaying any information to you this time, which was strange; clearly, if you were allowed to see Simeon again, progress had been made and there was information to give. But you were eager to get in the room, so you didn’t waste time with questions that would be answered firsthand and allowed Barbatos to open the door for you anyway.

Stepping into the guest room, it finally looked more lived in than the last time. The desk on the opposite wall, surrounded by bookcases, had a few papers and pens scattered around it, something like an outline lying face-up in the middle. A few books had been removed from the shelves, their neighbors slumping over in the void they left. Simeon was in one of the plush armchairs in the room, a book in his hands with his eyebrows furrowed. His posture was slumped, nothing like the practiced perfection he had as an angel.

You took a few steps into the room, noticing how Simeon stiffened yet did not take his eyes away from the book in his hands. Barbatos stepped into the room, the door shutting with a click. He made no effort to be within arm’s reach of you, but you could still feel his protective presence over your shoulder.

Barbatos cleared his throat, and Simeon begrudgingly put his book down, eyes falling immediately to you. “Simeon, as I’m sure you can see, MC has arrived to see you again.”

Simeon looked blatantly unamused. “So you have,” He murmured, pushing on the arms of the chair to straighten his posture. You sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, eyeing the space between the two of you.

You could feel the lapse in his memories as if it was a palpable tension in the air. The way Simeon held you in his gaze, distrusting, wondering why a human was so interested in him and why you were not a welcome meal was enough to send shivers down your spine. Fighting the urge, you turned to take in the room, hoping for something interesting to comment on. “I see you’re outlining something. Could you have remembered something for the next installment of TSL?”

“Those books…” Simeon was eyeing the outline on the desk, but he trailed off and darted his eyes back to you distrustfully before he could continue. You felt something left unsaid, but had no idea what it could be.

“We’ve tried using them to jog his memory,” Barbatos explained. “It didn’t work.”

Though Simeon masterfully used clear inspirations from real life, such caricatures of the brothers and their lives must have been a difficult idea to unlearn. Briefly, you wondered if you had been made into a character in the series yet. Part of you hoped you weren’t. It would probably be better if you built your relationship with him from the ground up - no matter how long it may take or how painful it may be.

For once, Simeon appeared bashful, averting his gaze again. “I do remember some of the plot points, though,” he murmured. “I just don’t know what they mean.”

Before anybody could stop you, you reached out and placed a hand on Simeon’s knee. His body was cold like the brothers’, enough to seep through his clothes and draw your attention. You missed the comforting warmth he used to carry. You missed when he would look at you and you didn’t feel like he hated you, too.

“Maybe they don’t mean anything anymore,” You offered, ignoring Barbatos’ piercing stare. Whether he was warning you to keep your hand away or keep your thoughts to yourself, you didn’t know, but you didn’t pay attention to either warning. “Maybe now they’re just stories, and life gets to be something else.”

When you contacted Diavolo about seeing Simeon again, he warned you the meeting would not be long. Still, the way Barbatos ushered you out felt as though he were cutting your time short as punishment for potentially risking their endeavors to restore Simeon’s memories. Before he shut the door on you, you looked back to see Simeon staring at his knee, thinking over what you said. No lecture came from Baratos, but if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

From that day on, Simeon started venturing out of his room.

You heard from Lucifer one night, having pestered him after another night of returning home late from the castle, that Simeon had taken to wandering the halls by himself. He never took anything, never seemed to intend to cause problems, and instead took his time taking in every painting. Every time one of the staff members went to check on him and found his room empty, the entire castle went on lockdown, yet when Simeon was made aware of this he merely seemed amused. You asked why nobody was locking the door, and Lucifer gave you an exasperated expression. Like a pet rat, Simeon kept finding ways to unlock the door so he could roam. Perhaps that was why Barbatos seemed to be having such a hard time recently.

With his newfound desire to adapt - and the trust that, in the backwards fashion you came to expect from the Devildom, came from him being alone in the castle without ruining something, even if his escape was counterintuitive to building trust in him - Little Ds were used to tend to him when higher-ranking demons were busy. The only time somebody checked in on him was to evaluate his mental state and to safeguard your visits. Those, too, were slowly becoming less formal, and soon you were going to the castle and simply being pointed in the direction to his room, rather than being led.

You knocked on his door, unsurprised to hear silence on the other end. However, this was the first time it happened and you were alone. Though you were trusted and respected (among the nobility, anyway) in the Devildom, wandering aimlessly around the castle didn’t seem like the smartest idea. A small pattering of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and you turned to see a Little D standing behind you. His horns were curled like Satan’s, his eyes burning green as if a fire was lit behind them. You smiled at him, and he only tilted his head - as much as he could, anyway.

“Have you seen Simeon?” You asked him, hoping he’d be one of the easy-going ones. After studying you for a moment, the Little D only nodded. Talkative, no, but you were right on him being relaxed. Following his lead, you soon found yourself in one of the smaller sections of the castle garden. The Little D floated over the twisting roots and vines underfoot, sparing you no time to step over and around the obstacles. By the time you found him again, he was waiting impatiently at an opening between a line of small trees, leading to a courtyard with an overgrown fountain in the middle. He left in the middle of your breathless thanks, which you finished in a sigh.

Simeon heard and turned towards you, his attention pulled from one of the broken busts on a pedestal. “Hello. If I had known I’d have a visitor today, I would have waited for you.”

His greetings were slowly becoming more friendly, you noticed. Smiling at him, you made your way over to him, thankful for the worn stone beneath your feet instead of the purposeful overgrowth behind you. “What are you doing out here?”

Simeon shrugged. “I’ve grown tired of the same hallways and that room.”

“Not willing to explore different hallways? I hear they get pretty exciting in the east wing.”

He smirked at that. “Even I know not to venture there. I have no interest in pushing my luck.”

Turning back to the bust, you watched him grip his chin thoughtfully. You wondered if that was a trait of all wrath demons, considering their lord, or if it was merely an impulse based on him being well-read. In this moment, he looked startlingly like Satan, a fact that both calmed you and worried you. Satan was a good influence for him, sure - but the more he influenced Simeon, the less like himself Simeon would turn out to be.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly over there,” Simeon said, and for a moment, you thought you heard that gentleness that you were used to. “Would you like to share your thoughts?”

“I was just thinking about how Satan has been helping your transition,” You answered in an obvious half-truth. “Has he lent you any good books?”

“All of his recommendations seemed a bit on the nose for my situation,” Simeon answered bluntly. You laughed, short and unexpected. He smiled. “But I do appreciate the help.”

“Do you need the books in the same way he does?” You asked. Simeon stiffened slightly, the only indication that he was uncomfortable. But, for you, he didn’t deny you an answer.

“I don’t remember much about who I was before. I know how angels were supposed to be, but none of it feels like me. The only thing that feels like me is this wrath, but even then, it isn’t as strong as his, I’m sure.”

You had nothing to say to that, instead turning to examine the bust. The features were worn down, much like the rest of the details. Instead, it was a vague person-shape, the head misshapen from what used to be the hair and arms missing since the beginning. Beside, Simeon murmured under his breath, “Even though I’m reconstructing where he was constructing, I can’t help but feel we might end up more similar than either of us expect.”

Simmering just beneath his words, you thought you could hear just a tinge of...something. Regret? Sorrow? Whatever it was, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling into the same line of thinking you often found Satan grappling with, wondering if a personality crafted as a wall was hardly a personality at all. You would assure Simeon as often as you assured Satan if he needed it, but you also knew that this was different. Simeon had you around before he decided who to become, and you knew the person he used to be. If it was what he wanted, you could - you would - help him down a similar path.

But you knew better than to say so. Instead, you stared at the faceless bust before you and gave him the space to figure it out for himself.

---

The memories taken from Simeon were officially gone, Diavolo and Barbatos decided, at least gone enough that they could not reach them without risking Simeon’s wellbeing. Though there was now an extra layer of animosity between them, they still considered him a friend (if not a former one) and had no desire to hurt him. Besides, the battles were over. There was no need to send a message of power via an ex-angel the Celestial Realm no longer cared about. With no need to keep him close in the castle, and a hesitant trust in his adjustment to the Devildom, Diavolo offered him a modest home on the outskirts with a small yard, just like he was considering before. It was close to the castle, though not close enough that the wealthier inhabitants would cause a fuss about favoritism. Even though the exterior was dark, you were pleased to see it resembled a cottage more than its neighbors. Beside you, Satan commented about how charming and quaint it was - you agreed without really hearing him.

As Satan knocked on the door, you drummed your fingers nervously on the vase in your hands. Barbatos mentioned something about Simeon liking to garden, but did he even remember? You knew he wouldn’t remember the time he first encountered the plant in your hands. It was a type of Tiny Venus Flytrap, one that needed to feed constantly on a microorganism in the air. It was constantly opening and closing its leaves, and Simeon spent at least half an hour cooing over one when he first saw it. You remembered the melodious chuckle that kept ringing through the greenhouse, and a sudden twinge of pain struck through you when you realized he wouldn’t.

As if on cue, Simeon opened the door, looking perturbed at the interruption but softening when he saw you and Satan in the doorway. “Oh, I forgot you were coming over today,” He said, stepping aside to let the two of you in. Though you didn’t think Simeon would lie about such a thing, the cleanliness of the house and the tea brewing in the kitchen planted a small seed of doubt in your mind.

“We thought we’d offer you a few housewarming gifts,” Satan responded. The smile he gave was easy, expertly hiding how just minutes before he had nearly knocked down a wall in the House of Lamentation and was more than willing to use the trip as an excuse to escape his brothers. Simeon chuckled, no doubt catching a hint of the hidden meanings behind his words. At least his perceptiveness wasn’t affected by his fall.

“Oh? Gifts?”

“Yeah. Your bookshelves look bare, so I thought you’d like a headstart on your collection.”

“Thank you,” Simeon answered, reaching for the box in Satan’s hands. You watched his entire body crumple for a moment, unsuspecting of the weight in his hands. He recovered quickly, but not before huffing out, “Oh, there’s quite a lot in here, huh?”

Satan didn’t seem bothered by his breathlessness - if anything, he looked amused. You almost reached out to help, but remembered your own human strength wouldn’t do much. Plus, you still had a fragile vase in your hands. Simeon placed the box on the ground, opening the flaps and peering inside. He wasn’t able to hide the beginning of a frown when he saw copies of his own books on top, and quickly moved those out of the way. He seemed much more pleased with the other options.

“Thank you. I suppose I won’t have to spend a long time finding my own additions to these shelves,” Adding a good-natured chuckle to the end of his sentence, Simeon turned towards you. “What do you have there?”

“Oh! It’s a Tiny Venus Flytrap. You-” Stopping short, you glanced at the copies of TSL on the floor and cleared your throat. “You don’t have to feed it much. Just put it in a window that gets a lot of moonlight and water once during each waxing gibbous.”

Curiously, Simeon reached for the plant and cradled it in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over the glazed vase, the blue so dark it nearly looked like black ink. Tentatively, he put his finger on one of the leaves and let out a boyish giggle as it closed around him. You laughed too, pleased to see history repeating itself.

“This is absolutely darling, MC. Thank you,” He didn’t meet your eyes, still entranced by the movement of the leaves. When you looked at Satan, he was giving you a mischievous look. On the way to the house, you told him about your plan to try and jog Simeon’s memories, and he had been hesitant to say that your plan would work. If it didn’t, you certainly succeeded in testing to see if part of the old Simeon was still around.

The tea kettle whistled in the kitchen, and Simeon finally snapped his head up from his new pet plant. “I’ll put this little guy in the kitchen window, seeing as it gets the most moonlight,” He explained, scurrying over with the same dainty walk he had before. You watched him carefully as he adjusted his plant, giving it an affectionate pat before tending to the tea. As he pulled out a budget tea set you’ve definitely seen in the bargain shop before, you tried to hide the guilt on your face. Back at the House of Lamentation, in a box beneath your bed, was Simeon’s old set, still in pristine condition in its white and gold glory. You were glad you decided against bringing that as a gift - looking around at your dark surroundings, it didn’t seem like it would fit in.

You could hold on to your little memories for a while longer, you thought. Simeon didn’t seem to be making use of anything regarding his past anyway.

---

When Simeon opened the door after summoning you to his house, you weren’t expecting his new outfit.

Diavolo had him fitted in some black, plain clothes - something to cover him without drawing too much attention to him. However, now that he had enough time to get used to his surroundings and accept his new life as a demon, he also had enough time to craft a new look for himself.

You weren’t expecting that to include a dark, cool-colored, patterned button down, tucked into black pants with most of the buttons undone.

Nearly choking on your own spit the moment he opened the door, you allowed him to usher you in and rub your back hesitantly. After he thought you had collected yourself - and yes, at that point you stopped choking, but you were still reeling at the image of his chest (did some part of him really need to be exposed at all times?) - he asked, “Do you not like my clothes?”

His voice sounded just as devastatingly sad as a demon. “N-no, they’re fine! I just…” You began gesturing towards his exposed chest and even his midriff before getting embarrassed and dropping your hand. “I wasn’t expecting all that.”

“Oh, here,” Simeone buttoned up three buttons, which did absolutely nothing, and opened the back door to his small yard. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, eyes still on his chest as you walked outside.

The Devildom was known for its warm temperatures, and as you helped him prepare the dirt you quickly found your school shirt uncomfortable as it stuck to your skin. Before long, you slipped it off, thankful for the tank top you decided to wear beneath it, and got back to work. The two of you engaged in an easy conversation, but every so often you’d realize Simeon’s eyes stayed on you for a moment too long. Normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself some irresistible temptation, but he was new to being a demon. Any time he’d reach towards you to help you or borrow a tool, you had to fight the urge to flinch. By the time he offered you a break, you had nearly jumped out of your skin too many times to count.

Spent from the labor, you stayed on the grass while he went to get a drink, coming back with a large glass of water that you graciously accepted. As you drank, he watched you intently - or, more specifically, he watched your left shoulder.

“Uh, are you okay?” You asked cautiously. “You’ve been staring a lot.”

He looked genuinely surprised to have been caught. “Have I? I apologize.” His eyes ran over your pact marks where they peeked out from beneath your shirt before falling on your shoulder again. “What’s that scar?”

“Hm?” Glancing down at your shoulder, you could barely make out the shape of an eye scarred on your skin. Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it before he brought it up. After all, the mark that had been there was purposely difficult to see when he made the vow of protection, so you hadn’t even noticed when it turned to scar tissue. Still, the thought saddened you, and you reach to cover it with your opposite hand. “Oh, that. You gave it to me.”

“I did?” His eyes widened, and he started to toy with one of the buttons attached to his shirt. “I’m- I’m so sorry, MC, I don’t remember-”

“No no no, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean-” He stood up abruptly, not allowing you to finish. His expression was dark, a cross between furious and devastated, and he turned to head back inside. You could imagine his footsteps searing the dry Devildom grass as he stalked away.

“Feel free to let yourself out. Thank you for your help.” He left you sitting in his yard, and you rubbed your scar aimlessly. Though it was just a phantom feeling, it seemed to throb in pain just from his reaction.

---

Simeon offered to walk you home after an RAD party after Diavolo asked all the brothers to stay back for student council business. After months of slowly building your relationship back up again, he was finally comfortable being around you, confident in his ability to reign in his wrath (or at least his speed so he could run far from you if he needed to.) He purposely shortened his strides, the walk taking a much longer time than it normally did. In his company, though, with his easy laughter and your banter, you didn’t mind one bit.

It wasn’t until you finally reached the gates to the house that he let his expression somber. “Hey, MC?” He asked tentatively, as if worried he was intruding. “I know you aren’t supposed to tell me much about my old life, but…” His eyes fell to your scar, which your outfit did nothing to hide.

“Simeon, it’s not like that. You didn’t carve it into me, or anything.”

“Then how did I scar you?”

You sighed. “It used to be an angelic pact. You would-” Did he know about his prophetic abilities as an angel? After clicking your tongue in thought, you corrected yourself. “You were just trying to protect me. We didn’t know this would happen.”

If Simeon cared about your hesitation and how obviously you were hiding information, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked, “Did it hurt, then? When it turned from a promise into a wound?”

Yes, you wanted to say. Just minutes before you heard that he fell, you felt the pain in your shoulder, but you were too busy tending the wounds of others to really pay attention to the pain. You had forgotten about it until Simeon noticed the scar all that time ago, and ever since you had convinced yourself that it throbbed, wanting to turn back into the vow it could never be.

Instead, you smiled at him. “No. I forgot about it until you said something, remember?”

But your smile was too thin, and it betrayed you.

---

You were not supposed to be doing this. However, you had turned your phone off, so the brothers couldn’t talk you out of something so stupid.

You and Simeon hunkered down in the Botanical Gardens long after close, figuring it was a random enough spot that nobody would find you for a while. Hunkered between your favorite type of flytraps, you let Simeon ask you the questions he’s been dying to find answers for since he fell. Each question you answered, telling him about the exchange program and his roommates and all of the memories you held in your heart, safekeeping for the day you could give them back to him.

After all, the way Luke’s face crumpled when he realized that Simeon truly didn’t remember him was something you wanted to avoid seeing again altogether.

There were parts you didn’t know the details of, bits of information that made Simeon’s expression darken, but he urged you to continue, desperate to learn about the voids inside of him he could never figure out how to fill. It wasn’t until you could hear people outside, too close to finding you for you to escape, that you stopped, and even by then your throat was dry and sore.

Before you left to give yourselves up, Simeon reached out and grabbed your hand. There was a serious look in his eyes, and you gulped. “Make a pact with me.”

“What?” You asked. “Simeon, you’re still-”

“I know. But we’re starting to cause trouble, and-” He looked to your arm, where one of the brothers’ marks slipped out from beneath your t-shirt sleeve. “I don’t want them to use their pacts over me. And I trust that you won’t use me just because I haven’t made a true pact before.”

Well, that last part was a given. Maybe it was the sound of Mammon’s voice getting closer, or maybe it was the intensity of his gaze - either way, you fell to your knees so you could be level with him again and nodded. There was an uncomfortable warmth on your shoulder, something that started off soothing but became too hot and prickled at your skin. Before you could look at the mark, Simeon reached for your face and pulled you in, kissing you with a heat he never had during the program and before his fall. Mammon and Leviathan chose this moment to burst in, their shouts falling at the image before them.

Leviathan was the first to speak, grumbling about gross normies in a tone that was clearly giving way to his sin. Mammon came to his senses a few moments later, yelling at Simeon about keeping his hands off. He reached for your arm, pulling you away roughly before shouting directly in your ear, “Hey! What’s the deal with this?”

He was pointing at your exposed left shoulder, where, over the scar, a dark pact mark sat. You were slightly unsettled at how foreboding it looked when you knew it was a twisted distortion of some angelic imagery, but one look at Simeon’s please cheshire grin eased your worries.

---

“So, about those battles…” Simeon trailed off. You were at his house, reading some books in his collection but really just using the trip as an excuse to lay with your head in Simeon’s lap. In one hand, he held a copy of his books, trying to regain some of his memories through their words again. The other was carding through your hair, distracting you from your own book - something random you had plucked off the shelves, eager to get to your spot on the couch.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you anything about that.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell me a lot of things, and yet…” He flicked your left shoulder. You sighed, resting your open book on your chest.

“What do you want to know?” He opened his mouth, but you interrupted him before he could get anything out. “Be specific. I can’t give you the full history of everything. I don’t even know if I know the full history of everything.”

Simeon smiled, tapping his fingers on you mindlessly. “Can you tell me about the battle I fell from?” He noticed how your smile faltered, and when you looked away, he reached to guide your eyes back to his. “Is something wrong?”

You unfurled his fingers and pressed his palm to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “It was over me.”

“Oh.” His voice got significantly smaller, and he asked, “What did you do…?”

“I wasn’t just me!” Playfully, you swatted at his arm, half hoping to dispel the awkwardness hovering in the air. Settling down, you clarified, “It was more...what we did.”

Simeon filled in some of the gaps himself. “I was in love with you.”

“I know, right? You have no taste.” He flicked your nose this time, and you stuck your tongue out at him. “Wait, was?!”

“Stay on topic, little lamb,” He urged gently. When you looked up at him, silently indicating for him to continue his questions, he asked, “So, what, did I lose? Was I condemned for fighting against the Celestial Realm?” That would be a noble fall, he decided. He could make peace with that.

But your face fell again, and your voice got serious. “Simeon...you were fighting against me. You were fighting for the Celestial Realm.”

“What?” Truly aghast, he placed his hand on your cheek again, applying no force but keeping your gaze on his as if you’d stop talking if you looked away. “Why?”

Part of you didn’t know, and that part would never know. Not if Simeon really never regained his memories, anyway. Dejectedly, you shrugged and answered, “I don’t know for sure. But I think you were trying to fight for the fate of my soul. You thought you were fighting for me.”

“How can you know?” You hated the way his voice shook, but didn’t draw any attention to it. “How can you know what I was thinking when I don’t even know?”

“Because I trust you, Simeon. I trusted you then and I trust you now.”

He nodded, but you could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t entirely convinced. Perhaps Diavolo and Baratos were on to something when they warned you not to indulge his questions. His hand went back to slowly messing with your hair, but there was a reluctance to it that told he was only trying to ease your own worries. You could guess what he was thinking - you were probably thinking the same thing, torn apart by a relationship that only seemed to exist to defy every rule that ever existed.

Wherever you went and whatever you did, if he was to follow you and love you, it felt like you would never know peace.

But if you already fought each other, fought for each other, what else was there that you couldn’t handle?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me simeon #swd simeon #simeon #simeon x reader #mine #obey me simeon x reader #swd simeon x reader

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southernlynxx · 2 years

Text

A Night to Reminisce

For the Safe Haven Easter Egg Hunt event - Congrats @foundynnel for finding that sneaky egg, and thank you for your patience while your overdue prize was written! Rating: Teen Status: Complete Fandom: RDR2 Characters: Sadie Adler, Hosea Matthews, John Marston (Mentioned) Canon/AU: Canon Compliant Summary: “Does it get easier?” She asks quietly, that one pressing question she both needs and fears the answer of. Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 1

It’s close to midnight when Sadie trudges back to camp, the air thick and humid against her skin; a persisting aggravation carried over from the swamp what stood a stone’s throw away.

Her body is still taut as a bowline and her eyes drawn to every twitch and quiver of the undergrowth; it's enough for her fingers to clench around the smooth, familiar barrel of the repeater no longer there. She mutters a quiet curse with Marston’s name not far behind it; recalls how the man had approached her tentatively in the darkness and reached for the rifle like a fool set on removing a red rag from a bullpen, assuring her a twelve hour guard shift was good and plenty.

She liked Marston well enough, so she’d let the rifle go with only the slightest resistance, but not without the low, almost-joking warning not to press his luck like that again too soon. Even though she’d been reluctant to give up the gun, the man’s disconcerted look had been a fair trade in her book.

The camp is quiet as she enters it, looping around Pearson’s wagon to slip a bottle of beer from the well-stocked crate to unwind before a night of restless, haunted sleep. Just as she lifts the neck of the bottle to her lips, a light catches her eye, bleeding around the thick trunk of the oak tree rooted in the centre of camp. With everyone supposedly sleeping and all the campfires banked low for the night, it’s curiosity what teases her slowly around the tree to locate the source of the light. She discovers a lamp and none other than Hosea sitting at the weathered wooden table - leaning back in his chair and chuckling away to himself with a bottle at his elbow.

It amuses her to think the old outlaw had outdone the younger men in drinking and thus been left to savour his victory alone, so with a quirk to the corner of her mouth she asks: “Bit late for a party, ain’t it?”

Hosea straightens with nothing short of surprise, yet the eyes that pin her down are shockingly clear and bright — perfectly sober — which surprises her in turn.

“Mrs Adler,” he greets, warm and unbothered by her interruption, “Never too late, in my books. Bessie and I were always up until the wee hours, talking about nothing.” He gestures to the table, to the framed portrait that Sadie had failed to notice before, of a fair, homely woman sitting alongside a young yet unmistakable image of Hosea. “It’s our anniversary… twenty-two years…”

Something in Sadie’s stomach drops, something painfully raw, but beneath it resonates a bone-deep sadness that feels like it could span years ahead of her. Briefly, ever so briefly, she wonders if Hosea had once felt so blighted by fate and spurned by life itself like she did these past hellish months, so torn from his happiness that even boundless sorrow could not fill the void.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says and makes to retreat, but Hosea holds out a hand as if to stall her.

“Wait— Mrs Adler, please, sit down… Bessie always did love company.”

Her refusal is imminent, weren’t nothing but cinders and bitterness she could bring to a moment she figured was meant to be tender and reminiscent, but Hosea’s beseeching look — etched with lines that soften what would have once been sharp, conniving features — indeed stalls her.

She ain’t had much of a chance to get to know Hosea Matthews, but figures she owes him at least some of her time for the handsome stallion he and Lenny had ridden into camp and matter of factly dispensed into Sadie’s care not two weeks ago. So, mindful of that unspoken debt, she draws back a chair and sits opposite Hosea with Bessie between them.

“Did Mrs Matthews approve of this life you’re leadin'?” She asks for want of anything better, the companionable silence too pressing with a need to be filled. Was always easiest to be the one with the reins of a topic, to keep from being asked those sad questions others posed and used to pry in the name of sympathy when she let them lead.

Hosea chuckles and takes a sip of his bottle which encourages Sadie to do the same. “I wouldn’t say approve,” he admits. “But… she understood. I’d lived this life many years, and this way of living… the people… they’re hard to leave behind. Not so sure I was proud of trying, for the record, but Bessie, bless her, she understood — came back with me.” He leans on the table, bottle cradled between his palms, and the silence that follows is heavy in a different way, tinged with loss and regret but a gentle, persisting fondness. Sadie rests her elbows on the table, finds her ever-erected shields suddenly too heavy to bear.

“Does it get easier?” She asks quietly, that one pressing question she both needs and fears the answer of.

Hosea lifts his head, pale eyes sharp and searching in the lamplight, and it takes a great deal of will for Sadie not to turn away.

“The rage… the resentment… it fades, slowly, over time. You start to forget the heat of it, the bitterness that you once feared, or perhaps wished, would consume you. The loss… well, that stays with you for a good long while, visits now and then like an old friend you can’t turn away. But the memories, good and bad, the joy they brought you… they never leave you.”

A warmth spreads over the back of her hand, and Sadie looks down to see droplets of moisture that’s soon overlaid by Hosea’s palm; he squeezes tight.

It’s the only tear Sadie allows herself to shed as they finish their drinks and reminisce late into the night, but it's the first to fall for the bittersweet hope that her Jake’s goodness may yet be stirred from the ashes of her memories, once she'd finished taking to task the bastards that took him from her too soon.

#rdr2 #rdr #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #Sadie Adler #Hosea Matthews #John Marston #foundyennl

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

Moonstruck

Chapter One (Here) // Chapter Two (Here)

Chapter Two

The wolf wasn't beneath the trees.

But his big feet make him easy to track, leading Claire and Caspian out of the wretched wood to a sea of wild hills that look like waves under the heavenly glow of the night sky. As they near two rolling mounds where the tracks drag against the earth, she sees a lonely crofter house nestled between them like a little boat, abandoned and shabby looking, but it's roof is still thatched and the stone walls still stand. Good enough really for a place to rest one's tired head.

Yet Claire wonders why a wolf would seek a place so out in the open.

Better yet why anyone would seek out a wolf.

"Because you're an absolute nutter, Beauchamp," says Claire to herself. " Or very possibly you're suffering a concussion."

Swinging a leg off Caspian, she tugs on his reins with a warning to stay put and gathers a deep fortifying breath before stepping into the shadow of the house where the door hangs open.

Inside, shafts of bright silvery light illuminate the room, seeping in through the only window. There are cobwebs and dead leaves strewn about the place, emptied of almost everything except for a wobbly looking table by the soot stained hearth and a stool that must've been made for a child tucked into the corner. . .

Opposite of the big red wolf, eyes bright as stars in the pale blue dark.

Claire's breath quickens and her pulse jumps at her throat but she manages to keep her voice steady. Somewhat.

"We still have that deal don't we? You restrain yourself from biting my head off and I don't shoot you between the eyes."

A miserable sound echoes from the wolf's maw and that's answer enough for Claire. The floorboards creak beneath her as she shuffles about the room, finding a bit of flint left behind from vagrants come and gone and makes a pleased and grateful sound when the sparse bits of wood in the hearth catch fire. She then kneels down in front of him, fist outstretched and shaking as she chants -

"Please don't bite me. Please don't bite me. . ."

It's only when Claire feels something hot and wet swipe against her knuckles does she realize her eyes have been shut and she recoils in surprise,flat on her arse with a shriek.

The wolf however snorts heartily.

“You're laughing at me aren't you?”

The corner of his long mouth quirks wryly as his bushy tail swings back and forth and Claire finds herself cracking a smile. The first of this very long and preposterous night.

"Well, a sense of humor must mean you have a heart after all. More so than Caspian anyways.”

And she hopes it means he isn't too badly injured.

Claire comes closer again and tentatively runs the back of her fingers against the wolf's broad crown, his dark copper fur soft against her skin, slanted eyes gone to slits. Encouraged now, she scratches behind his ears and the wolf makes a sound of pleasure from deep within his throat and drops his head onto her lap, sighing with heart filled contentment. She laughs softly with growing affection, her fingers finding their way underneath his great maw that makes his head upturn and tail to swish, swish.

"I don't care what you say you're a puppy and a sweet one too, aren't you?"

She then impulsively imparts a kiss atop his head and the wolf bumps his nose against her chin wanting another.

“Cheeky lad,” she murmurs warmly, but gives him another anyway.

However, she came here for a reason and that wasn't to cuddle a wolf.

Stroking her hand along his neck, that has him kicking out a long powerful hind leg, she says -

"I know I don't look it, but I know more than a thing or two about broken bones and gashes. Will you trust me to help you, even if it hurts?"

A beat passes before he licks at her wrist and she takes that as a show of trust and extricates herself from beneath the red wolf. Gently, she probes his back and ribs first and is amazed there's only a few marks from the bear, hardly deep at all. But then her hands pass over a crisscross of scars beneath his thick coat and her eyes meet his, searching.

“Someone's hunted you, haven't they?”

A frightful tremor crawls over him that grips at her heart and without thought she presses herself against him wishing she could ease whatever horror he was remembering.

“I hope you tore the bastard apart. Slowly. Bit by bit.”

His sides lightly shake and she knows it must be laughter.

Pushing her wayward curls behind her ear, Claire then touches him gingerly over his injured shoulder. The muscle is swollen and a part of her wonders if it's just a bad sprain. But she remembers that odd angle of his leg as he walked and how he nurses it close to himself now.

“If you were a man I'd set your shoulder and wrap it in a sling. I've done so before though it's no small feat. But I haven't so for an animal much less a bear-sized wolf . . .” She sighs. Upset with herself. Hand at her brow, the cut throbbing more so now. “There isn't much I can do without another pair of hands."

She looks helplessly at the wolf.

But there's no way for him to express to her that it's alright, he's suffered worse. And would gladly do so again and again if it meant keeping her from harm. This brown haired lass like no other woman he's ever seen before. Sae bonny and brave.

So he nuzzles her palm and mouths the soft skin like the puppy she says he is and feels his heart swell and the pain in his arm to cease when a smile softly graces her face lovelier than a moonbeam.

Aye, she was worth it.

Claire leaves him for a moment to settle Caspian for the night in the old byre behind the crofter house and comes back with blankets from the horse's saddleroll, a flask and a fold of her cloak full of bittie yarrow leaves she'd found growing between the stones.

The flask is filled with brandy (courtesy of her former betrothed) that she douses torn strips of her gown with to clean the wolf's wounds (murmuring sweet things as she does so knowing how sharply it stings) while the yarrow leaves are mashed between her teeth and applied carefully like a salve.

For his poor shoulder however, she says -

“I promise I'll figure out what to do in the morning. I owe it to you for saving me. Thank you by the way,” she softly adds, and scratches behind the wolf's ears as he likes until his eyes begin to droop and a long winded yawn escapes her mouth.

She's exhausted. Body bruised and aching from being tossed around like a ragdoll but she doesn't think she can sleep in a gown that's been slobbered and bloodied. So while the wolf is fast asleep, Claire undresses down to her chemise and stays and quickly wraps herself in one blanket while laying out the other for a makeshift bed, leaving her cloak to dry by the hearthfire.

Her ruined gown however she grasps in her hands.

No longer did it shine with promise.

No longer was she to be a bride.

At least not for him.

“The bloody two-faced fucking bastard,” Claire mutters angrily, tossing the damn garment across the floor to gather dust as a tear rolls down her chin. She then curls herself into a ball by the fire, shivering beneath the scratchy grey wool, and wrings her heart out of any lingering affection she's ever had for Frank Wolverton Randall by remembering the last moment she saw him.

That morning of their wedding behind the church. Swaying on his feet as he groped a woman she could've sworn was his cousin. And then keeled over, grasping his manhood right after she kneed him.

If only they hadn't been on sacred ground she would've kicked him too.

But just maybe he pissed himself.

Lost in that ever pleasing hopeful thought, Claire is startled to feel a deep huff of breath cloud down her neck like steam and looks up to see the red wolf looming above her.

"You absolute fool," she scolds, though it's spoken without bite as she sits up to cradle his face with both her hands. " You're only making things worse for that shoulder of yours."

The wolf doesn't care. He nuzzles her cheek where the brokenhearted tear had fallen, making a sad whimpering sound as he does so that endears him evermore to Claire's heart.

"No use arguing with a stubborn wolf is there?"

There isn't. He licks the side of her face making her softly giggle before plopping down beside her with a heavy thunk and Claire can do nothing more but sink down against him, his fur radiating a tender warmth that seeps into her tired bones.

Claire wakes with the morning light that floods the room and stings her eyes that immediately shutter close behind the back of her arm.

While embers have kept the room bearable, she knows the only reason she hasn't woken with a sniffle is because of the heavy, heated weight that engulfs her like a brushfire. Drowsily, she lets her hand wander to the furry head atop her chest that rises steadily with a deep inhale of smokey air and then strokes softly down until her palm oddly meets naked flesh. . .

Her eyes bolt open and through the sleepy blur she sees a stranger, big and naked draped across her, mumbling something hot-breathed and incoherent as he smothers his face between her breasts right before she screams.

#Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #jamie x claire #moonstruck

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band--psycho · 3 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader-I Miss You

Marvel Masterlist

Requested by my dear friend @xacatalepsyx: I know with your challenges and life in general you might be a bit busy, but I was wondering if you’ve got the time maybe you’d consider writing me a wee imagine for me…? 🥺🙏I’ve been in a marvel mood lately, and still can’t get over Nat’s death, (cause she was bloody amazing and I wont hear any less 😭), so I was hoping maybe you’d consider doing something with Nat and a reader/oc, whatever you’re up to do!I’d like it if it could be kept to the script, (I.e. Nat’s death), but the other details of the story are entirely up to you!

This is my first time writing for Natasha Romaoff so I hope you enjoy this

(Credit to the gif owner)

Third Person POV

“Hey sweetheart,” Natasha began, trying to work out what to say to the camera. It was Steve’s idea, Natasha refused to go to talk about the pain she was feeling about losing Y/n, but just like everyone else who lost someone to the snap, she was suffering. So this was Steve’s idea of helping, the only way he knew how. So he told her to make a video diary of sorts, for both her and Y/n. Part of her thought that this was a stupid idea, what was the point of her recording herself for Y/n when she’d never see it. But there was another part of her. A hopeful little spark in the assassins heart, that maybe, maybe one day Y/n would be able to see these videos. And if she didn’t, for now it was a form of therapy...for now at least.

“God I don’t even know what to say...a lot’s changed around here, I’m now working with some sort of space raccoon...that can talk,” a small chuckle laced her voice, but the sadness was buried deep in her eyes and she knew she couldn’t hide it. So she just continued to say everything that had been happening lately, how the world was adjusting to having half the population vanish, the meetings she’d had with al the leaders about it. Although she tried to stop her thoughts focusing on Y/n. Natasha had been on the run with Steve for two years, she didn’t think Y/n would want anything to do with her when she came back but as soon as they saw each other it was like nothing had changed. Y/n wasn’t mad. She didn’t shout. In fact the first thing Y/n did when she saw her, was hug her, so tight that Natasha thought she was gonna suffocate in the hug (not that she would’ve minded all that much). Natasha just wished she could’ve said goodbye before the snap happened. She was hoping the whole way back to the compound that she hadn’t been turned to dust, that she just had her phone on silent or something like that (Y/n was prone to doing things like that) but when the remaining avengers returned back to the compound, Natashas worst fear was confirmed. She just wished she could see Y/n again, even if it was for thirty seconds, just so that she could tell her how much she loved her, so she could smell the familiar vanilla scent of her perfume and hug her one last time...just one more time. But that wasn’t possible and Natasha knew that, though that didn’t stop the hopeful dreams of Y/ns return from flooding into her mind.

“I miss you, sweetheart, I really...really do,” Natasha breathed with a shaky breath, the tears now freely falling from her eyes. All she wanted to do was bring her back, even if it was just for a minute, just to tell Y/n how much she loved her. Just to hold her in her arms one more time, to hear her infectious laugh, to see her gorgeous eyes and her the smile that she fell in love with...she wanted to be able to say goodbye to Y/n but like everyone in the world who lost someone to the snap, she never got that chance.

~~~~~~

Natasha tried to hide the excitement on her face when she turned on the camera, setting it down infront of her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” She began, starting her video off the same way she’s started all the previous videos before. But this video was different than any of the other before. Natasha’s eyes looked brighter, more hopeful than any of the previous videos.

“If you ever tell Tony I said this, I will deny all knowledge but he’s a genius,” she said a chuckle lacing her voice at the end, as she continued to explain the plan they’d all come up with. A wide smile tugging at her lips as the words,“We’re gonna bring everyone back.”left her mouth.

“I’m gonna bring you back,” she whispered, her heart almost leaping out of her chest at the excitement of seeing Y/n again. For two years, Natasha had been on the run, never seeing Y/n until Thanos arrived and even then, the meeting between the pair was brief, no where near enough time for either of them to makeup for those lost year not with the war that was going on and Y/n understood that. She knew Natasha had a job to do, the plan was that once the war was over they’d make up for all the time that had been lost. The snap changed that all though but now, now the reality of getting Y/n back was starting to sink in and for the first time in five years Natasha found herself truly happy.

~~~~~~

Y/ns POV

I looked around the room, confusion racing through my brain, my eyes . I was back at the compound. I couldn’t believe it. I was back home. I never gave up hope, I knew everyone that was left behind would find a way to bring us back. I didn’t know how they were gonna do it, but they did. And now I was back. I bolted down the stairs of the compound only to be met with a mixture of confused and relieved looks.

“Y/n...?” Steve breathed, walking closer to me.

“I don’t know how you did it, but whatever you did, it worked,” I replied, before being pulled into a hug which I gladly reciprocated. I peered over his shoulder seeing all the familiar faces that I’d missed so much (and a few new faces) but the one face I longed to see, I couldn’t.

“Where’s Nat?” I asked, pulling away from the hug slightly. I saw a frown tug at the super soldiers face when I mentioned her name, and his eyes looked away from mine, purposely avoiding my gaze.

“Steve? Where’s Nat?” I asked again, the confusion and worry evident in my voice as my eyes landed on Clint who was already looking at me with a solemn look.

“Clint?” I asked as he made his way towards me. I felt the worry grow inside me when I saw his bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry...” He whispered as he pulled me into a tight hug, his head resting on the top of my head.

“I’m so sorry Y/n...” he whispered again; I pulled away slightly to see the tears running down his face.

“We needed to get all the stones from different times to...to attempt to bring everybody back,” Tony explained from behind us, causing my eyes to focus on him.

“But...the souls stone..it needed a sacrifice-“ Clint muttered, squeezing my shoulder softly. I didn’t need to him to finish the sentence, I knew what he was saying. His eyes said it all. And in that moment, I felt my heart break. I practically collapsed into Clint’s arms, breaking down completely at the truth that was now setting in. Natasha sacrificed herself to bring everyone back...to bring me back. She was gone, she wasn’t coming back...I was never going to see her again. I was never going to be able to tell her how much loved her..I’d got my life back but I’d lost her.

~~~~~~

I left the others downstairs so that they could discuss the next steps for their plan. I went up to the bedroom Nat and I had shared before she went on the run with Steve. I noticed a few of my old jumpers lying on the bed, I picked one up, and the aroma of Nat’s perfume filled my nose. I held it close to my chest, as I fell down to my knees, the tears streaming down my eyes, wishing that I could just bring her back.

A few moments passed and I heard a knock at the door, I didn’t answer, unable to find my voice in between the sobs. At my silence, the door opened and I saw Steve standing at the entrance.

“Steve, I’m really not in the mood-“ I began only to be cut of by the knowing look of Steve.

“To deal with people? I know, I’m not staying, I just thought I should give you this,” he explained with a sympathetic smile as he placed the camera down infront of me.

“Why?”I asked sending him a quizzical look as I lightly picked up the camera.

“Because it might help,” He said, squeezing my shoulder comfortingly before leaving the room. I looked at the camera for a few minutes, fighting myself on whether or not I should watch it or not. Tentatively I picked up the camera and clicked the play button.

I felt my heart swell as the tears spilled from eyes when I heard the voice I longed to hear say “Hey sweetheart.” She’d changed so much, yet not at all. I saw the sadness in her eyes and I wanted nothing more than to reach through the camera and hug her as tight as I possibly could.

“I miss you, sweetheart, I really...really do,” I heard her say and the words felt like a dagger to my heart.

“I miss you too, baby,” I sobbed as I pulled the camera into my chest listening to her words.

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

hi! may i request an alta scenario with zuko where the reader (female or non-binary, if that works) is an earth bender who was injured by the fire nation and is found by iroh and zuko in the woods, who helps them heal, and they begin to travel with iroh and zuko to ba sing se and zuko and the reader fall in love? i’m not being super specific so u can have creative freedom to do what u want, i can’t wait to see what you write :) thank you!

cute!!! their adventures through the earth kingdom always entertained me. esp Iroh and his need for tea

Zuko was growing more and more frustrated with his uncle’s complaisance. He just couldn’t understand it- they were royalty! Both he and Iroh had been raised as heirs to the throne of the Fire Lord, so if their current situation bothered Zuko, why didn’t it bother his uncle?

He took up the mask of the blue spirit once again to begin alleviating these troubles. They were getting food, they were regaining some of their luxury. Frequent firebending patrols, especially around villages, made things harder, but that had never stopped Zuko before. He left at night, when Iroh was fast asleep, and was usually back by midnight. Nothing could stop him- not firebending patrols, not walls, nothing.

Except when the ground moved under him and he lost his footing in the middle of the woods. That stopped him. He paused, and tried to get up, but felt the ground roll underneath him again. For a moment he resigned himself to the dirt, watching the dirt floor of the forest roll with the stones underneath as waves, radiating from one spot.

Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a small, pointed rock structure. He narrowed his eyes and crawled backwards to put distance between himself and it, and went back to the camp he’d left his uncle in.

“Uncle,” he said the next morning, “I think there’s something I want you to see.” Iroh nodded and allowed Zuko to lead him back to the spot in the forest where he’d fallen last night, and as soon as their footsteps approached, the ground began tremoring again. Zuko pointed to the rock structure, which now it was clear to see had been made by an earth bender. It was a tent-like shape, with two diagonal roof pieces and triangular sides sealed up, all with stone.

There were scorch marks covering the rock, and all the grass around it was scarred with fire.

“What do you think it is?” Zuko asked, and Iroh studied the ground a bit more before leveling his gaze toward the stones.

“I think it’s a very scared earth bender.”

“Hello in there!” He called, and the tremors in the earth stopped. “My name is Mushi, I’m a refugee from the war heading to Ba Sing Se with my nephew. Do you need any help?” For a moment only silence answered him, until one of the triangular sides of the rock tent slid back into the earth.

Inside the tent you were buried up to your neck in dirt, using the cool soil to soothe your burns. You’d received some fierce ones on your shoulder and ribcage after you dared fight back against a firebending patrol, and when you tried to escape the battle, they’d cornered you. Your tent had been an effort to escape the skirmish by waiting it out, and it had worked, after a while. But for hours you merely sat inside your stone tent while they blasted it with flames, heating it up and nearly cooking you, if it hadnt been for the cool soil you submerged yourself in. At the very least, it made your burns much worse. At the worst, you scorched your leg when the flesh brushed too close to the heated rock.

“Are there any firebenders around?” You asked, voice quiet, and not quite timid. Zuko and Iroh shared a look for a brief moment.

“No,” Iroh answered. “Can I come closer?” You nodded and took your arm over your chest, trying to keep any of your body from touching the burns that were all too warm. You sat up slowly from the soil, revealing burnt and tattered clothes barely covering your three major burns. Iroh’s eyes widened and he stepped closer.

“You need help for those burns,” Iroh said, “we’ve got a camp we can take you back to, and help. Can you stand?”

“No,” you said, “it’ll hurt too much.” Iroh looked over his shoulder at Zuko, who was standing in shock, looking at you.

He’d been burnt, and it had left a scar. But at least it was only the one- you’d been treated so cruelly, and if all of your burns scarred, it would cover near a third of your body. He couldn’t stop the adrenaline coursing through him. It would’ve been so painful, and he couldn’t comprehend who would’ve been so cruel enough to do to you what had been done.

“Can you carry them?” Iroh asked Zuko, and he swallowed hard to break himself from his stare. He nodded slightly, hesitantly, and Iroh looked back to you.

“Just take down your shelter, and we’ll help you.” You lifted your right arm, the one whose shoulder hadn’t been burnt, and used it for a quick motion that sent the stone back into the ground. Zuko walked closer, and was about to kneel down, but paused.

If he picked you up on your left side, it would press your burnt shoulder and ribs into him. But if he did so on your left, it was your leg burn that would get too warm.

“Which side do you want me to lift you on?” He asked, and you took a moment to consider.

“Left,” you said, and he nodded. It was somber, as he lifted you up underneath your knees and shoulders. Upon Iroh’s instruction your threaded your fingers together behind Zuko’s neck, and tried to keep your leg extended so that it wouldn’t brush against Zuko’s clothes.

“As I said, I’m Mushi,” Iroh said, trying to make conversation through your light, subconscious whimpering. “My nephew is Lee. What’s your name?” You gave him a small smile, to show that you appreciated his kindness, even as it was tinged by your pain. You couldn’t help it- it had been days of boiling, sweltering flesh that you couldn’t get a reprieve from.

“Y/N,” you told him, and his bright smile answered you.

“What a lovely name.”

Iroh found a plant or two in the wilderness that helped with the burn, and slowly you began to heal. You were kept awake, though, sometimes, and watched as Lee left with nothing and came back with something. You knew something fishy was going on, but you didn’t push it, because you didn’t feel it was your place.

“Are you awake, Y/N?” Zuko asked one night when he returned. You grunted and affirmation and he sat down in front of where you were laying.

“I got this for you,” he said, and handed you a small tin. When you opened it, you found within it an artisan burn suave, made in the nearby earth kingdom village by one or two of the wives of soldiers.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a smile in the dwindling firelight. He was a tough nut to crack, but you knew he cared for you- he showed his love through listening, and gifting. You noticed it first when he gave his uncle a teapot, and this gift to you only confirmed your suspicion.

Time went on, and they packed up camp to move closer to Ba Sing Se. You came with, holding tight to Zuko’s waist so that there was enough room for the three of you on the ostrich horse. You felt bad for the poor thing, carrying so much weight, but you were in pain and couldn’t walk for long periods of time. Even if you could, you likely wouldn’t have passed up and oppurtunity to hug Lee around the waist for hours while you travelled.

You knew that Mushi had figured you out- there was no way he hadn’t. You weren’t exactly very subtle as you tried to grab Lee’s attention with your laugh or a joke or an earthbending trick. He began doing his part to nudge Lee toward you, which you were appreciative of, especially since it worked.

Or so you thought.

Zuko had scooped you up one evening, when Iroh was already asleep. He hugged you tightly before setting you back down onto your feet, leaving you confused.

“What is it?” You asked, and he shook his head, brooding as always.

“Let me sleep beside you tonight?” He asked, and you were quick to accept, even if you were confused. You fell asleep that night with his arms wrapped around your waist and his nose pressed to the back of your head.

When you blinked your eyes open, you caught a glimpse of the ostrich horse riding away, Lee on its back.

“Mushi? What’s going on?” You asked, sitting up slowly.

“Lee’s got to find his own way. Come, help me pack. We’re going to move to the next village.”

Your alliance was to Mushi, but you did miss Lee. You wondered what he had been thinking that night, when he chose to lay with you before he left. The two of you had barely talked about romance or anything of the like, but he’d done this- how much had it meant to him?

“My nephew is a complicated man,” Mushi said, walking beside you. “Sometimes, his actions are quite peculiar. But he will find his destiny. And somehow, I believe it will lead him back to us.” You looked sideways at Mushi, and smiled.

“You think so?” He nod was all the affirmation you needed.

And he was right- Lee did come back. He came back to reveal himself as brother to the Fire Princess, which made him... the prince of the Fire Nation?

Now the whole ‘running from the fire nation at all costs’ thing made sense.

You didn’t really mind. You offered unconditional forgiveness to the prince, and showed the same medicinal care to Iroh’s wounds that he had once shown to yours.

Zuko was having a hard time, but you were fascinated in watching his training en route to Ba Sing Se. Just as Iroh wanted, the two of you learned from each other, and soon the style of earthbending you practiced looked similar in some aspects to firebending. He, through training with you, became more rooted, and his balance improved further.

But training aside, the two of you started talking. You sat under the stars and began to be honest with each other, now that he had nothing to hide. You shared what had happened to you in that forest for the first time, and he shared the story behind his scar.

Sleeping side by side became as common a practice as eating breakfast.

Iroh couldn’t have been happier, especially as you seemed to bring Zuko out of his shell. He smiled a slight bit more, and laughed a little easier. Even when the three of you made it to Ba Sing Se, Iroh could feel the difference in his nephew’s attitude.

You hated firebenders- they’d left you with course, scarred skin on the outside of your left calf, with dark scars under the skin of your shoulder and ribcage. You hated firebenders- all but two. One, who took you in, and the other, who you loved deeply.

Because someone who’d felt scar tissue for years wouldn’t hesitate to touch it when you wanted him to.

-🦌 Roe

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