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sweetromanova · 1 month ago

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More To Lose🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You thought your life with Steve Rogers was what love looked like. But love isn’t quiet disappointment or fading into the background. It’s soft hands when you’re breaking. It’s someone who sees you, even when you don’t see yourself. And just maybe, it’s Natasha Romanoff, waiting for you to see her too.

Warnings: implied/referenced IVF, emotional neglect, divorce, post-partum depression themes, hurt comfort, angst.

A/N: hiii, it’s been like five years since i’ve posted any kind of writing and i’ve never shared any of my marvel x natasha romanoff stuff (i have so many random fics in my drafts) so please be kind!🤍

Chapters: Two, Three, Four, Five, Epilogue

Chapter One

You had never been invisible.

You knew how to command a room when you needed to. You knew the power of silence, of letting people underestimate you until it was too late. Fluent in five languages, head of communications and diplomatic strategy for the Avengers’ and had personally shut down four international conflicts that would have declared wars before they even reached TMZ.

You made your living turning chaos into strategy.

You weren’t one of the Avengers, not technically anyway but you were the person they listened to when the stakes were too high to guess. While Captain America and Iron Man debated field ethics in the conference room, while Wanda’s eyes glowed red as Clint’s phone floated in the air just out of reach, while Natasha Romanoff sat in silence and watched the rest of the world spin, you was often the one feeding quiet intel into comms, smoothing over diplomatic flare-ups or feeding misinformation to the right parties with a well curated smile.

Tony once described your job like a joke. “S.H.I.E.L.D. without the stick up their ass.”

You’d replied. “Billionaire without the emotional growth.”

He’d snorted his coffee and called you in on nearly every operation after that. Everything that he sat at the table for, there was a seat waiting next to him for you.

You didn’t fly, punch through wars, bend reality or strangle people with your thighs but you were never invisible.

Not until you fell in love with Steve Rogers.

⋆⋆⋆

It started slow. Almost soft.

He met you after a failed mission in Berlin. You were there to run interference with the German Government. He was there to apologise for smashing through a military checkpoint.

You remember how he looked. Too tall, too perfect, his presence so strong but mind completely unaware of how much space he took up in the world. You remember him blinking at you and saying. “You’re the intel liaison?”

And without making eye contact, still scrolling through satellite data, you had replied. “Disappointed?”

His grin had been annoyingly boyish. “Just surprised. Thought you’d be taller.”

“And I thought you’d be punctual.”

Tony had laughed from the corner. Even Hill managed to crack a smile behind her paperwork.

Once you lifted his head and met his amused eyes, Steve smiled too.

⋆⋆⋆

You didn’t expect it to be more than a brief flirtation.

A conversation at an event, a few lingering glances, maybe a drink after. He asked you to dinner and you pretended it wasn’t a date. Told yourself it was just two people sharing a meal outside of the Tower walls.

But he picked a place with candles, cloth napkins and a view of the East River at dusk. He wore a suit that fit too well for someone who claimed to hate dressing up. Over the bread basket, he confessed that he hadn’t been this nervous for a meal since the ’40s.

You talked about history and politics. He let you challenge him. You told him his optimism was old-fashioned and dangerous. He just smiled and said. “It got me this far.”

He told you stories about Brooklyn that made you ache for a time you’d never lived through, for sidewalks that no longer existed and people long since gone. He spoke with a reverence that made you listen harder, as if hearing the names might summon them back.

He mentioned Peggy Carter in passing at first, a flicker in his voice like a skipped heartbeat. And Bucky. God, he talked about Bucky like the man still held his heart in one hand and never gave it back. You could hear the grief of missed years behind the fondness, the loyalty behind the loss. It should have scared you off but it didn’t.

It made you curious. It made you careful.

He kissed you in the rain a month later. It wasn’t a movie moment like you wanted. It was too cold, your shoes were soaked and his umbrella flipped inside out with the wind. But then his hand slid behind your neck, fingers warm and grounding and you leaned in like you’d been waiting years.

Maybe he had been.

It was easy, at first. Quiet. Stable in a way that felt like standing on solid ground after a lifetime of storms. He didn’t ask you to fix anything. He just made room for you. In the space he hadn’t realised was empty until you walked in.

You felt safe. Loved, maybe.

And slowly, you started to understand. Loving Steve Rogers meant walking alongside a man whose heart lived in three different centuries, but who somehow, was still learning how to hold yours in the present.

⋆⋆⋆

He asked you to move into the Tower six months in. Not in so many words but just a toothbrush at his sink, a drawer, a closet then suddenly all of your favourite mugs in the wrong cabinets.

Wanda became your confidante. Sam made you laugh when things got tense. Natasha didn’t say much, but she watched you like she understood more than she let on.

You weren’t part of the team but you weren’t outside it either.

Until the day you walked into the lab and found Steve already talking to Tony, Bruce, and Helen Cho. They were discussing DNA sequencing. You had almost carried on walking, wanting to mind your business about a conversation that had nothing to do with you. Until it did.

Your egg. Steve’s DNA.

You stood frozen in the doorway while they explained how IVF could work for him, for you. How it could be made safe, stable, viable, even with his serum-altered biology.

Steve looked so excited. “I wanted it to be a surprise!” He exclaimed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

It was a surprise, of course. “You already spoke to them?”

All four pairs of eyes suddenly seemed a lot more interested in anything but you. “Well I- I just wanted to know if it was possible before we got excited.”

“He thought you’d be happy.” Tony added, helping Steve out of the hole he’s dug.

“I did.” Steve said. “I thought I was doing this for us.” Tony winced, Bruce continued to fiddle with his tablet and Dr Cho was re-reading the notes scribbled on her tablet. Everybody was waiting so you finally smiled even though your stomach was sinking.

Because he wasn’t trying to be cruel, not really. He was trying to build a life with you. He just forgot to ask you first.

“I was just surprised.” You croaked. “I’m happy.”

⋆⋆⋆

IVF was brutal.

You never told him how bad it got. You downplayed the nausea, skipped over the dizziness, laughed off the mood swings. You didn’t mention the way you threw up from the hormone shifts or how you passed out in the medbay once because your blood sugar bottomed out and no one found you for twenty minutes.

He was with you for the first few appointments. He sat beside you, stiff with worry, his thumb brushing across your knuckles like he could will the bruises away before they formed. He asked questions. He read every pamphlet. He made you tea.

But then missions started calling. Bucky needed him. The world needed him.

So you gave yourself the last three weeks of injections alone. Most nights, it was in the shared bathroom next to the Avenger’s Common Room. You waited until everybody was in the middle of dinner when it was quiet, when the halls stopped humming with movement and they all socialised with the people they felt most comfortable with. You’d set the tiny syringe on the edge of the sink and steel yourself in the mirror. sleeves pushed up, jaw tight, stomach already blooming with pinprick bruises in yellow and purple.

You did it quickly. No hesitation. You couldn’t afford to hesitate anymore.

However the sting was sharp tonight, sharper than usual and something about it cracked your composure. Maybe it was the silence or the way your body felt like it belonged to science now, not to you.

You let out a breath that was almost a sob. And then another.

You pressed a fist to your mouth, trying to silence it. Eyes squeezed shut. Just a moment. Just a crack in the armour.

You wiped your face before standing. You looked in the mirror and whispered to yourself. You’re fine. You’re fine.

But when you turned, she was there, watching as usual. Natasha.

She stepped into the bathroom, soft as breath, her gaze landing on yours. Then drifting just briefly to the redness around your eyes. The streaks down your cheeks that you hadn’t quite managed to erase.

She didn’t comment. Just offered a quiet “Hey.” Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she hadn’t walked in on you falling apart.

You nodded quickly and stepped aside to let her in. You didn’t look back.

You moved to the sink, hands shaking slightly as you ran them under warm water. You focused on the sound, the water heating up to burn the tender skin of your fingers, the smell of the institutional soap. Anything but the knot in your throat.

Behind you, Natasha made no further mention of what she’d seen. She offered you silence like a kindness.

You wanted to thank her for it. But your voice would’ve cracked.

⋆⋆⋆

When the test came back positive, you told him at breakfast.

You slid the test across the kitchen table next to his coffee like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t pounding out of your chest.

He stared at it for a beat too long, eyes scanning then widening. Suddenly, he dropped his fork with a clatter, scooped you into his arms, and spun you around the kitchen while you laughed through tears.

It was the happiest you’d seen him in weeks. Maybe months.

He buried his face in your shoulder for a moment, just a second of stillness before he pulled back, breathless and eyes bright.

“You know…” He said, his voice thick with something he didn’t name. “Peggy used to talk about wanting kids. Back then. It was always a someday thing. I never got that far.”

He paused, smiling at you like you were the future he never thought he’d live to see.

“I think she’d be happy for me. For us.”

You nodded, throat tight.

He kissed you, your forehead first, then your lips, brief but tender. He set you down, a smile playing at his mouth, and reached for his phone to call Bucky. To share the news. To congratulate him on becoming an uncle.

You don’t remember being congratulated.

⋆⋆⋆

Margot was born early, by C-section. Steve almost missed it. He came running into the operating room just as they laid you down. He kissed your forehead, whispered how proud he was, how brave you were.

You were so tired that you couldn’t speak.

When the nurse asked for her name, Steve didn’t hesitate.

“Margaret.” He said, softly.

Your body stiffened. Still open on the table. Still bleeding.

“Huh?”

“I want to name her Margaret.” You wanted to fight it, you’d offered names up to him for months now and he hadn’t liked any. Maybe you should have guessed all along, of course it was going to be about her.

“Margot.” You said, not offered. “With an ‘o’.”

He looked at you, surprised but nodded. “It’s perfect. Different but still her.”

You closed your eyes suddenly wishing the anaesthesia would wear off, you’d prefer to feel the pain of your stomach being laid open on the table than to hear this.

You just needed something that was yours but even your own baby lived in the shadow of what once was.

⋆⋆⋆

Everyone came to see her. Sam. Bruce. Wanda. Bucky. Pepper. Even Tony, with a ridiculous stuffed tiger bigger than the baby. Steve carried Margot like she was made of glass, parading her through the Tower like a medal.

You followed behind him, one arm braced against the wall, stitches pulling with every step.

Your hair was unwashed. Your body shivering in pain. Your vision blurred at the edges.

No one noticed… except Natasha.

She slipped away from the group without a word. She came to your side, delicately took your elbow and eased you down on to the couch before you collapsed.

“You look like hell.” She murmured, quietly. “Like a truck hit you.”

You tried to laugh. “Try a super soldier and his super child.”

“Congratulations Mama.” She didn’t smile but her gaze softened. “Water?”

You nodded, letting your eyes slip closed briefly. “Please.”

She brought it and sat beside you, her hand coming to fall over yours. Her presence reassuring and comforting. She let everyone else fawn over the baby while she focused only on you.

“You’re the first person to say congratulations to me.” You whispered, your fingers twitching under hers.

Nat’s head tilted. “You’re the one who did the hard part.”

That was the first time you wanted to cry in front of someone.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve was a good father. That wasn’t the problem.

He changed diapers, he held her for hours, sang her lullabies from the 1930’s you’d never heard before. However when she slept, he slipped away.

To the gym. To conference rooms. To Bucky.

They trained together late into the night. Planned missions even when they weren’t needed. You heard them laughing through closed doors, soft and low sounds that made you feel like an outsider in your own life.

He talked about Peggy when he thought you were asleep. Or just when he thought you weren’t listening.

“Peggy would’ve known what to do.” He murmured once, holding Margot against his chest. You lay still beside him, breath caught in your throat. “She always knew what to do…”

And slowly, a truth settled over you like fog. You were living with a man whose heart still lived in two places, both unreachable.

⋆⋆⋆

You started disappearing.

You stopped wearing makeup. Stopped combing your hair. You forgot how to flirt, how to tease. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed without faking it.

Yelena dropped Fanny off before a mission and said. “She’s your dog now.”

You didn’t argue. It had become a tradition. Yelena’s fake lack of care for the pet she loved so much. Your fake lack of awareness that Fanny was the only companion you really had to confide in.

Walking her became the only thing that got you out of the Tower. It was never easy. The stroller was heavy and the path was uneven. You stumbled more than once and cursed under your breath more time than you could count.

One morning when Margot wouldn’t nap, Fanny was pulling on the leash, barking and you just felt your knees give out.

Natasha appeared without a word. She took the leash and took the stroller. Fanny immediately came to a halt, watching the redhead like she was the alpha in the pack. Still not acknowledging her presence, she simply walked beside you like it was routine.

“You don’t have to do this.” You murmured, eyes wet.

“No I don’t.” She glanced over. “But I want too.”

⋆⋆⋆

She started showing up more after that.

Not always with words. Sometimes it was just a meal left outside your door when you hadn’t made it to dinner. Sometimes folded laundry that she’d picked up for you or some of Margot’s clothes that seemingly made it’s way round the compound. A silent nod before a meeting, your favourite coffee order waiting in your usual spot.

One night, you broke down at 2am. Margot wouldn’t stop crying. Dr Cho claimed she was colic, nothing to do but wait it out. You’d been pacing the compound floors for hours, feeding her, rocking her. Your shirt was soaked, your body ached but then she appeared.

Natasha took Margot from your arms, held her like she’d done it a hundred times and whispered something in Russian that calmed her instantly.

You slid down the wall and cried into your hands.

Natasha didn’t say a word. She just sat beside you. Solid and still.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve never once noticed.

Not when you started sleeping on the edge of the bed. Not when you flinched beneath his touch. Not when you said “I’m fine” like it was muscle memory.

He was always chasing something. Bucky? Peace? The past?

But no one ever chased you.

Except her.

Natasha noticed, without making it known. She saw the distance growing between you before you ever admitted it to yourself. She saw it the day the silver locket appeared around Steve’s neck, small, worn and familiar. She didn’t ask about it but she noticed the way your eyes locked onto it like gravity. One side held Peggy, timeless, beautiful, unchanging. The other held Bucky, holding your daughter just hours after she was born, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world.

Not you. Not the woman who carried her. Just the memory and the man he never stopped chasing.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She never did. But she looked at you like she knew, like she saw the fracture lines forming before the break.

And for a moment, you felt real again.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t invisible.

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thesecondhandwoman · 7 months ago

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hi!! i’ve recently come across your account and i absolutely love your works. i was wondering if i would be able to request a caitlyn kiramman x female reader? perhaps when she’s commander, but i was thinking some angst where the two of you just aren’t good for each other? but you’re trying to hold on to each other because you only have each other and nobody else. but it could be when you both just start getting into arguments more frequently and there’s just a point where you both just break down to each other??

TETHERED HEARTS

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Your relationship with Caitlyn wasn’t always in the gutter up until she became a commander and you two struggled to love one another without complications. But after a while, it became too much.

Request: Anon 🤍

The knock at Caitlyn’s office door was curt, almost hesitant, but still sharp enough to draw her attention from the towering pile of paperwork on her desk. She didn’t glance up immediately.

“Come in,” she called, her voice tight with fatigue.

The door creaked open, and there you stood, cradling two mugs of tea in trembling hands. The sight of you—your posture stiff, your eyes clouded with weariness—was enough to make her heart clench. It always did.

“I thought you might need this,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thank you,” she said, though the gratitude lacked its usual warmth.

You stepped closer, setting one mug down on her desk before hesitating. You lingered, your eyes scanning her face for any trace of softness, any invitation to stay. But Caitlyn’s gaze remained glued to the papers in front of her.

“Long day?” you asked quietly.

Her laugh was hollow. “Aren’t they all?”

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. Finally, you forced a smile and turned to leave, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You turned back, hopeful. She looked up at you then, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, you thought she might say something meaningful, something that could bridge the growing distance between you. But all she said was, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Your heart sank. You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak, and left her office without another word.

The fights started small. They always do.

It was about forgotten plans at first—a dinner Caitlyn had promised to make time for but missed because of a last-minute meeting, a rare afternoon off you’d planned for the two of you that ended with her asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even eat. You told yourself it wasn’t her fault. She was trying. You both were.

But the arguments grew sharper, heavier, like stones piling up in the river of your relationship until the current couldn’t flow freely anymore.

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” Caitlyn snapped one night, pacing the small apartment you shared. Her uniform jacket hung off her shoulders, the crisp fabric wrinkled and stained with the grime of another long day in Piltover’s streets.

“And you think I don’t care?” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Do you have any idea how it feels to sit here every night wondering if today’s the day you don’t come home?”

Caitlyn froze, her back to you. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but no less cutting. “I didn’t ask for this job to be easy. And I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You blinked back tears, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Is that what you think this is? Some obligation? I’m here because I love you, Caitlyn, not because I have to be.”

She turned to face you then, her expression a mix of anger and something softer—regret, maybe, or doubt. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing you every time I walk through that door?”

“Because you won’t let me in!” you cried, your voice trembling. “You shut me out, Caitlyn. I’m here, and I’m trying, but you, ” Your voice broke. “You make me feel like I’m just another thing on your to-do list.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Caitlyn looked at you, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“I can’t do this right now,” she muttered, brushing past you and disappearing into the bedroom.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin.

The breaking point came on a rainy night, weeks later. The fights had become a constant background noise in your life, like static on a radio you couldn’t turn off. And yet, you both held on, clinging to the fragile hope that things could get better, that the love you shared was enough to weather the storm.

But love alone was never enough.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Caitlyn said, her voice shaking as she stood in the middle of the living room, her hands trembling at her sides. Her uniform was gone, replaced by the soft sweater you’d bought her for her birthday, but it did nothing to soften the sharpness of her words.

You stared at her, your own hands clutching the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you come home every night looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Feeling like I’m just—just in the way?”

“You’re not in the way,” Caitlyn said, but her voice lacked conviction. “You’re not. I just… I don’t know how to balance this. I don’t know how to be enough for you when I can barely keep myself together.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. “And I don’t know how to keep fighting for us when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Caitlyn flinched, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re not the only one. I’m trying, too, but maybe—maybe we’re just not good for each other.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “Don’t say that,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to,” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking. “But what are we doing to each other? We’re holding on so tightly, but all we’re doing is hurting.”

You took a shaky step forward, reaching for her. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t reach back, either. “We can fix this,” you said desperately. “We have to. You’re all I have, Caitlyn. I don’t know who I am without you.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And you’re all I have,” she whispered. “But maybe that’s the problem. We’re clinging to each other because we’re afraid to be alone, not because this is working.”

The truth of her words hit you like a tidal wave. You sank to your knees, sobs wracking your body as you buried your face in your hands. Caitlyn knelt beside you, her arms wrapping around you even as she cried, too.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your tears mingling as the rain poured down outside.

Hours later, you sat together on the couch, the space between you both painfully close and impossibly far. Caitlyn held your hand in hers, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from crying.

“You won’t,” you said, though the words felt hollow. “We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Your words lingered in the air for a few more as the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, but Caitlyn’s hand in yours kept you tethered. Neither of you moved to break it, not yet at least. Words felt too clumsy, too sharp for the vulnerability hanging in the air.

Instead, Caitlyn shifted closer, her hand never leaving yours. She brought your entwined fingers to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, the gesture so soft it nearly broke you all over again.

“Stay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Just stay here with me tonight.”

You blinked at her, startled by the plea in her voice after everything that happened only hours ago. “I wasn’t going to leave,” you murmured. “I don’t think I could.”

Caitlyn exhaled shakily and nodded, but she didn’t let go of your hand. Her other hand reached up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear tracks there. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “For everything. For shutting you out, for hurting you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You shook your head quickly, leaning into her touch. “Don’t apologize for feeling overwhelmed, Caitlyn. I know you’re trying. I see how much you carry, and I hate that I’ve made it heavier.”

She closed her eyes, her forehead falling gently against yours. “You didn’t make it heavier. You made it bearable. I’m the one who made you feel alone when all you’ve ever done is love me.”

Your chest ached at her words, but you couldn’t stop yourself from brushing your lips against hers in the lightest of kisses. It wasn’t hungry or desperate, but full of something deeper—a shared longing for comfort, for reassurance.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said again, your voice barely a whisper. “We can figure this out. We have to.”

She nodded, her breath mingling with yours. “We will,” she promised softly. “Together.”

Caitlyn pulled you into her lap then, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she could hold you together with the strength of her embrace alone. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, her scent, mixed of lavender and rain, grounding you.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her skin. “Of fighting with you. Of feeling like we’re breaking apart.”

“I know,” Caitlyn whispered, her fingers threading through your hair. “Me too. But I don’t want to give up on us. I’ll do better. I’ll make time, let you in. I just—I need you to remind me it’s okay to lean on you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your arms tightening around her waist. “Always,” you said softly. “We’re a team, Caitlyn. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She exhaled shakily, her hands roaming up and down your back in soothing strokes. “And you don’t have to feel like you’re just waiting for me to come home. I want us to be more than that. I need us to be.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your apartment forgotten. Eventually, Caitlyn shifted slightly, her hands cupping your face as she pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been carrying so much, and I’ve been too blind to see it.”

Your lip quivered, but you nodded. “Okay.”

She guided you to your shared bed, her touch tender and unhurried. She helped you out of your day clothes, replacing them with one of her soft sweaters, the fabric still warm from the dryer. Then she disappeared briefly, returning with a damp cloth to wipe away the tearstains from your face. Her movements were so gentle, so precise, that it made your chest tighten.

“Lie down,” she murmured, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. You did as she asked, watching as she climbed into bed beside you.

Caitlyn curled around you, her arms wrapping protectively around your waist. “You’re everything to me,” she whispered into your hair. “Even when I’m terrible at showing it. Especially then.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning in her arms so you could press a soft kiss to her temple. “And you’re everything to me. No matter how hard it gets.”

She held you closer, her fingers lacing with yours once more. “We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. “One day at a time.”

You nodded, your tears soaking into her sweater as exhaustion finally pulled you under. And as you drifted off to sleep in her arms, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that love—flawed and messy as it was—might still be enough.

A/N: I wrote this at 2 in the morning so it is not even close to proofread, but I hope it’s okay either way (I’ll read it later when I have the strength to not possibly cringe).

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sweetpascal · 1 year ago

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— 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫

pairing: general marcus acacius x fem!reader

summary: unsure of whether or not your husband is alive leading his army's invasion, the only method of tranquility is by reaching into your past memories as a necessary distraction.

warnings: MINORS DNI, wife!reader and husband!marcus, mentions of TW: miscarriages, (probably incorrect) roman history, mentions of TW: blood and death, making love, sweet nicknames (carissima/me - dearest, dulcissima/me - sweetest, meum cor - my heart, melculum - my little honey), marcus has a big dick, creampies, tender softness, probably ooc marcus ??

wc: 4.4k

notes: oh booyyyyyyy. so we all collectively agree that general marcus is scrum-diddly-umptious ?? all the pics, videos, and gifs dropping does not ease my obsession. so.. i turned my obsession into a work of art for all of you to read ^.^ idk squat about the roman times, but i did do my best to research !! divider from @saradika-graphics 🤍

main masterlist

follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.

It seems like the days have been mixing in with each other the more time has passed. Unsure of which day started and which day ended, you lost track of time. It had been one month, maybe two at this point. The sun rose and set, the moon and stars following in tandem. It was almost like a dance. It was amusing, to say the least. It reminded you of your relationship with your husband. With the light color dress wraps and delicate gold jewelry you'd wear around your neck compared to his permanent scowl, it's clear to civilization who's the sun and who's the moon. But you both complement each other in more ways than one.

You're able to calm him down with a simple touch on his arm, causing his boisterous voice to quiet down and his heart to steady its pace. Marcus' presence looming behind you around others, everyone already knows how dangerous he can become if someone even looks at his wife the wrong way.

Now, without his presence and his voice and his touch, nothing feels real. Pacing around in the dining hall of your home, you rubbed your hands tenderly over your barely-there baby bump over your soft blue wrap dress that Marcus surprised you with the last time he had come home from a previous battle for more land. He had won, of course, because General Marcus Acacius never loses. The mere thought of him losing a battle led by him with his army in tow is one of your greatest fears as his wife.

Staying inside your home and wallowing in your fears was no good for you and your unborn child. You couldn't go through the stress of worrying after your husband and deal with another heartbreaking loss alone. The night that Marcus had come back, you had broken down in front of him, shakily telling him through your thick tears that you had lost your son.

"A son?" He had quietly asked you, his eyes wide and heartbreaking.

"The teller that settles by the river," you told him with a broken voice. "She had confirmed it with her readings."

You remember it clearly as day; the look on his face equivalent to that of a broken man. You had choked on your tears, begging for his forgiveness for not being more careful, for not being a dutiful mother that was supposed to protect their child. You had knelt down in front of him, grabbing his knees and pleading to him and the gods for forgiveness and punishment, your hands pressed together in a prayer.

"Carissima," he had whispered quietly to you, slowly getting down onto his knees to remove your tight hold on his dirtied pteruges. His hands, trembling and unsteady, tenderly hold your cheeks to look into your heartbroken eyes. "I shall never strike a hand upon you, need you deserve it or not. I shall never lay blame on something the gods have brutally stolen from us. Oh, my dearest wife." His last whisper had you gripping onto his arms and crying your heart out into his shoulder. He said nothing more, nothing else. On the ground that day, all he did was hold you, and that was more than what you needed.

Breaking out of that distressing memory, you busied yourself with around-the-house distractions. In your hands was a handmade wicker basket you had purchased at one of the markets. The owner was a sweet, older woman that knew of your reputation amongst the others. She always treated you with kindness and looked at you with excitement every time you came by and not fear. She also gifted you a handmade blanket sewn with intricate patterns of the moon and sun.

"I gift this to you as a thank you for your kindness," she had said, pushing the blanket further into your hands when you had protested. She lay a wrinkly finger against her lips and drooped her eye to a wink.

Stepping outside with the wicker basket in your arms, you traveled a short distance to a small pond with many bushes, trees, and delicate flowers all around. This was your happy place. And this was also where you and Marcus had made love for the first time so long ago. The tree, the rock, the patch of grass. All of it held a distinct memory of your first time. Thinking back to it brings a smile to your lips.

"Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop right now and I shall go back to where I rest and I will not pursue you any longer," Marcus had told you breathlessly against your jaw. He had you laid on the soft grass underneath the moon, the light shining against the pond in a way that makes the gentle movements look like glitter. Your dress was hiked up around your hips as he rested heavily between your trembling thighs, your hands squeezing on his strong biceps that flexed in response to your sizzling touch.

"Marcus," you sighed prettily in his ear, and it sounded like the sweetest song he has honor of ever hearing. "My need for you has not gone away. It will not go away unless you take me right here, under the moon and stars, until I'm singing for you in pleasure."

The look in his eyes was that of desperate hunger and wanton need. When he had slid himself into your cunt for the first time, all of your prayers to the gods have been finally answered. Marcus was made to be yours. And you were made to be his. Hushed moans and frantic thrusts, Marcus fucked like how others perceived himself – like a barbarian. Some women would disagree and find it appalling and dirty, but it was perfection. He wasn't scared to touch you. He touched you as though if he were to let go you would float away, for he would no longer be able to taste you on his tongue or feel your tight warmth wrapped around his thick cock.

A touch to your shoulder had you gasping and dropping the basket onto the ground. You spun around and laid a hand on your chest and one on your bump, staring at the poor maid that scared you accidentally.

"I deeply apologize for frightening you, miss," she stares at you with her hands up in defense as though she was staring at a frightening animal backed into a corner. "General Marcus has arrived and he asks for your presence in your bedroom."

"No, no, it's quite alright, dear. My head was in the clouds again," you offer her a gentle smile and a brief laugh, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder to ease her worries. "And Marcus, is he...?"

The young maid recognized your worry and shook her head as an answer to your unspoken question. You hand her the wicker basket of plucked fruits from the bushes and politely tell her to wash and ready them, and to bring them to your bedroom when the task is done. She nodded and hurried off immediately.

You carefully, but also hurriedly, made your way into your home. Nodding and giving polite smiles to the people inside, you walk up the spiral marble stairs. When you reached the top, there stood a statue of yourself sitting atop a stone with a statue of hour husband on his knees and his lips pressed to your knees. There were intricate details in the statue, like of Marcus' fingers gripping your thighs or the soft rolls of your body. Your husband preferred a large home such as this for his growing family. You preferred something quainter and more personal, but what your husband says, goes. You recognized his large, dirty footprints leading to your bedroom, another young maid already on her knees scrubbing the stains.

"Aureia, there's no need for that," you tut softly at the young girl, and she looks up at you with wide eyes. "Leave that alone for now, alright? As for this moment, will you please gather the others and bring pails of hot water for a bath?"

"Right away," she nodded and hurried off. It brings a smile to your face at how eager the young maids are to please. Unlike the other men and women that have maids in their homes, you treated yours like people. They respect you and in return, you respect them. Marcus used to disagree until he remembered how you grew up when it was just you and your widowed mother, along with the reputation of being poor. Realizing that you see yourself in these young maids, your husband made it a point to allow you to be in charge of them and do whatever you see fit. Having that much power can be overwhelming, only because of the fear of having your kind heart be taken advantage of. But those that work for and with you know to never cross you, for they'll have to deal with the consequences your husband has waiting for them.

When you entered your private bedroom, there he sat, still dressed from head to toe in his armor. He sits with his back facing the door, his sights focused on the large window that overlooks the garden which circles around the empty thermae. You slowly move around the bed and finally stand before him, essentially blocking his view of the window. Marcus doesn't look up at you just yet. So, you stay silent and let him do what he needs to, let him think what he needs to think.

His hands, still caked with dirt, grime, and dried blood, move up to your stomach. Your bump is within his line of sight. Both of his hands rest on either side, feeling the firmness and shape of the bump. You watch as his eyes shut and his jaw clenches. His face was also caked with dirt, grime, and dried blood. The ends of his hair are curled with sweat from the heat of his long journey back home to his family. Marcus says nothing when you stroke his jaw silently. Neither of you register the door opening and four maids coming in one by one to empty two pails each of hot water into the tub that sits in the corner of the room. They know better than to interrupt.

When the door shuts, Marcus moves to rest his head against your bump. His ear is pressed into your soft flesh through the dress adorning your body. He can faintly hear the thumping of your heart and that brings him back down to earth, back home to you. Your hands, warm and gentle, card through his messy, graying curls. Damp with dirt and sweat, you don't care. Feeling him right here, right now, was all that mattered.

"It's over," he finally speaks, his voice rough and low. His hands move down to find a home on your wide hips, fingers just barely digging into the shape. "The war is over. I made sure of it." And he leaves it at that.

Your eyes shut and you let out a sigh of mixed relief and heartache. You couldn't imagine what your husband had to go through, as a leader, to make sure that he and his army of men make it out alive. You couldn't imagine the number of bodies that are lying out there, hundreds of miles away, torn apart and bled out, mangled flesh and bone. You couldn't imagine your husband possibly being one of them. Bending down as best as you could, you tenderly wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and kissed the back of his head. You briefly sniffed his hair and pulled back.

"Let's get you inside the bath, hm?" You whispered softly, hands lovingly scratching at his scruffy jaw as you pulled his head up to look into your eyes.

When he stands, you almost forgot how imposing he was. His height was a strong factor. The bloodied armor he wears makes him look much broader and more dangerous. The exhausted look on his face makes him look much more mean – evil, even. But he's neither of those things, at least not to you. He stands as still as a tree as you begin to unclip and pull off his armor one by one. From the thick leather chest plate bound with protective metal underneath, all the way down to the thick leather arm-wear covering his forearms. Unsheathing his sword from its belt, you unclip that from around his waist as well. Having done this a million times, it's muscle memory.

He stands before you, naked, dirty, and exhausted. You reach behind your neck and slowly untie your dress wrap. It pools at your feet, your naked body now on display for him to see after months apart. Marcus' eyes take in every detail. The delicacy of your collarbones, your perky breasts, the curve of your growing belly, the soft curls of your pubic hair, those thighs that Marcus loves being in between, all the way down to the dangling anklet he gifted you.

"Come on," you whisper softly and take his hand to lead him to the filled tub. Steam sits above the water and Marcus' aching muscles scream out to it.

He enters first, hissing at first from the heat but then moaning gruffly once he sinks further into the hot water. Almost immediately, his sore muscles begin to relax. He could fall asleep right this instant. He feels a gentle push on his shoulder. He scoots forward and allows you to enter behind him.

"What are you doing, dear wife?" He doesn't hear an answer to his question. He's about to turn his body, but then he feels your hands massaging his tender scalp and washing his dirty hair. His eyes shut almost instantly, and he groans huskily with parted lips.

You wanted to laugh at his reaction but decided against it. Marcus never had time to relax and wind down. He was always on his feet, always discussing the next steps of battle, always readying his army men with hardcore training. It pained you to see him like this, especially at a distance. He never wanted you around to witness his leadership. Not wanting to induce stress onto you early on in your pregnancy, not wanting a repeat of your last pregnancy, he had given you strict instructions to let him handle everything.

"Meum cor, you do so good with taking care of your husband," Marcus quietly tells him, his entire body shuddering when your nails tenderly scrape the sensitive parts of his scalp. "I know the other men are envious of the treatment I receive from such a divine woman."

"Mm, I know, my love," softly laughing at his goading. You reached over the side of the tub to grab a small wooden bowl. Using that to pour water onto his soapy curls, you gently tipped his head back and did just that. You kissed the side of his head and gently cleaned away the dirt and grime on his beautifully tan skin. You paid extra attention by lovingly kissing the scar on his right cheek.

For the next hour, you put all your focus into washing his body. No longer was he a filthy barbarian. No, he was now your clean, fresh smelling husband. His damp hair curled elegantly behind his ears and neck. You had maneuvered onto his lap to focus on his front. There were more prominent bruises on his chest and arms, as well as some cuts that have begun its healing process. You gave him a small pout, to which he tuts and lovingly cups your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I could ride into the sun and still come back to you in one piece, meum cor," he tells you quietly, moving his face much closer and shifting you to sit comfortably on his lap. "No man, no sword, no army could ever strike me down and take me from you."

Holding onto his scruffy jaw and peering into those dark chocolate eyes of his, he looks at you with such tenderness that no stranger will ever witness. Your bump is resting against his own stomach, and he feels every breath you exhale. Heads lean closer, his aquiline nose resting on the side of yours, lips just a hair away. There's distant chatter outside in the gardens, the curtains swaying gently from the warm breeze coming through the open windows. The water in the tub is still warm and steaming, the clearness of it was now murky from the dirt you cleaned from his aching body. You have half a mind to drain the tub and call out for more pails of fresh hot water, but you're so comfortable and safe in the arms of your husband.

"Do you recall the night I took you underneath the stars?" Marcus asks you huskily, both hands gripping your hips, strong fingers digging into your plushy flesh. He forces your hips closer to his, thick thighs tensing underneath your own. "The way you begged me to keep going, even when it began to rain down upon us."

Your lips parted to elicit a soft gasp when you felt his hardness on your thigh, thickening and rising with each second that passed. You do remember that night like it was yesterday. The soft rain pattering on your naked, writhing bodies. Your nails had dug deep into his skin to keep him from moving away. You had cried out to the gods for more, more, more.

"I do believe I may have scars from those nails of yours," Marcus joked lightly against your jaw, pressing a kiss to the bone with his plush lips.

Giggling quietly in his ear, you held his head close to your chest as his kisses traveled south. "I do believe you're creating tales, carissime."

He hums disapprovingly, holding you tighter on his lap when you shift. The steam from the water made his skin feel sticky and warm. You tasted salt on your tongue when you kissed below his ear. It was intoxicating, to say the least. Tasting him, trailing your tongue all over his molten hot skin, licking over his scars and freckles. There was a quiet minute when you both looked into each other's eyes again. Marcus can see the light hasn't died. He can see the adoration you have for him in the way your pupils dilate, and breathing quicken. And you can feel the love Marcus has for you in the way his eyes get slightly wide as he takes in your features, most likely mapping out which ones he hopes your unborn child takes from the both of you.

"Take us to bed, meum cor," you beg him. No longer able to keep looking at your handsome husband and not do anything about it, you leave it all up to him.

Without another word, Marcus stands with a hoarse grunt. With one strong arm wrapped tight (but not too tight) around your waist and his other hand under your thigh to keep you up and against his body, he steps over the tub and makes his way over to the bed. Neither of you care if your wet bodies are soaking the sheets. As he lays you down and rests on top of you, nothing else matters at this moment.

"Melculum, you look like a goddess with the sunlight kissing your naked skin," he whispers to you, lowering his head to kiss at your breasts and collarbones. You gasped and arched your back, further pressing your breasts into his mouth, to which he sucks a sensitive nipple between those lips.

Marcus rests on his forearms on either side of your head with his big hands tenderly cupping the crown. Your feet teasingly trail up and down the backs of his thighs, and you feel his hardness twitch between your bodies. Whispering his name in a needy voice, he looks up at you and catches the look in your half-lidded eyes. The flush on your skin makes your skin glow. He would never disrespect his gods and goddesses, but Aphrodite does have a competition on her hands.

Feeling too eager, you take charge and yank his neck down to finally kiss him. After months of not feeling his body, hands, and lips on yours, you powered all your emotions in this kiss. It was messy and desperate and hard. Tongue, teeth, garbled whimpers and heavy breaths. Marcus suckled at your bottom lip, letting it snap back against your teeth to then suck and bite at your neck. Your hips were shifting to slot his hard cock between the silky lips of your wet cunt. Grinding up and down, the thick vein that rests on his hardness glides easily against your swelling clit.

"Marcus," you weep quietly in his ear. "Oh, my husband. I need you more than life itself. Oh, you're the bravest, strongest soldier known to man. You're so... powerful, so dangerous. You keep your family and your people safe, my love." Saying this all while you're grinding your sweet cunt up and down the length of his hardness has Marcus growing erratic by the second.

He looks down between your bodies. Your cunt lips open like the blooming petals of the sweetest flower. The soft dark curls of your pubic hair rubbing against his own. Your small belly bump that keeps your unborn child safe and sound. Marcus uses his thumb to guide himself inside your cunt, breathing shallowly when the warm tightness sucks him in, inch by inch. Your mouth falls open to let out quiet, needy moans.

"There we go, melculum," Marcus grunts lowly in your ear, lowering his hips further down into yours and his thick cock slides deeper inside your leaking hole. The heat, wetness, and tightness of your cunt has him spiraling already. The knot in the pit of his stomach further unraveling the deeper he gets. "You were made for me," he breathes deeply, the heat of his breath fanning over your sensitive neck.

When he starts fucking into you, he was mindful to not rest his entire weight on your belly. He repositioned himself in a way that had his back curving to drive his hips deeper, faster, and harder into your own. The action had you arching and gasping. Your soft breasts and feet bounced gently from the movements. Marcus lovingly strokes down your temples with his thumbs and kisses you hard once again. Your fingers curl into his hair, now drying and curling beautifully. He looks like a god. It makes you want to cry. But then, his cock starts punching against the one spot that makes you scream.

"Oh! Marcus!" You yelped, eyebrows furrowed and lifted up as your mouth fell open and moans started pouring out. "Right there! Right... there. Ri-ight the-ere!"

He slows his thrusts until he's grinding so deep and so slow. Your moans turned into whimpers. He was able to hear the sloppy noises of your cunt soaking around his hardness. He grins down at you, his dimple deepening when you twitch and writhe.

"So beautiful," he whispers against your jaw. "So ethereal underneath me, writhing and begging for my cock." Marcus sharply drives his cock into your cunt unexpectedly. You let out a long, wanton wail that has his grin widening. He does it again, and again, and again. It was driving you absolutely crazy.

Your slick is most likely dripping out of your hole and onto Marcus' balls which slap against you. You can practically feel the weight of them, so heavy and full of two months' worth of cum. He drags his cock in and out of you slowly now, allowing you to feel every vein and every inch. Your thighs spread wide for him, eager for more. He answered your silent pleas and fucked you at a quicker pace again.

"Wrap your arms around me, Marcus. Oh, please, please, please!" You sobbed quietly, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. He follows immediately. His strong arms wrap under your back and he rests some of his weight onto your front. Your thighs widen to accommodate his size, allowing his cock to nudge deeper in a way that steals your breath. "Just... like... that," you whimpered after each thrust Marcus gives.

He feels dizzy and overwhelmed in a good way. The smell of the homemade soap on your skin, the softness and warmth of your naked skin against his, your sweet moans like a pretty song in his ears, the slick tightness of your cunt sucking him in repeatedly. Feeling, smelling, and hearing all of these at once was enough to finally let him spill out his moans without holding back. His chest vibrates against your bare breasts with each grunt that passes his kissed-raw lips. The vibrations on your sensitive nipples tickled you erotically.

"You are intoxicating," he moans heavily against your sticky skin, his scruff scraping deliciously and his lips and teeth leaving little love bites. "Non possum satis de te." I cannot get enough of you.

With your eyes rolling back and your thighs trembling around his wide hips, you simply cannot control what your body does. Marcus catches you off guard by messily kissing you, his tongue intertwining with your own, tasting each other's saliva. The taste of him had you whining into his mouth. There was a faintness of wine on his tongue. Although you obviously couldn't drink while you bear his child, the lingering taste of it on your husband's tongue was enough to drive you wild. Your hands, originally placed on his shoulder blades, trail down to his tapered waist and finally cling onto his perky bottom. You squeeze the tender flesh and briefly dig your nails into the skin, feeling the muscles clench and unclench with every roll of his hips and cock driving into your cunt.

"Tu parum desperatus es, huh?" Marcus' voice sounded cocky and the grin on his face didn't help. You're a desperate little thing, huh?

One of the things that made your husband a respected leader was his arrogance was never wrongfully directed. He loved to gloat, about anything and everything. But when it came to you, his wife, his ego inflates to the point of popping.

That's when you felt it. The coil in the pit of your stomach gets tighter and tighter, forcing your gooey walls to twitch around Marcus' thickness. He moans lowly at the feeling of it. He hooks one of your thighs over his arm, bracing your knee into your chest to fuck you deeply. The position change had you shuddering, more slick leaking out and staining the sheets below your bodies.

"I'm... I'm... fuuuck!" With one final cry out to the gods, you scratched down Marcus' skin and braced yourself for impact.

Your orgasm washed over you like one of the strongest ocean waves known to man. Your body wouldn't stop twitching and writhing underneath his massive body. The squeezing tightness of your cunt wouldn't let your husband fuck you any longer. He drops down and lets out a final rough grunt before spilling inside of you. He has a entire body shiver as his cock twitches repeatedly, his thick cum spilling out every few seconds. It finally stopped after a whole minute; yes, you were counting. The tickle of his cum hitting you deep inside had you giggling drowsily.

"You should be thanking your husband for giving you a well-needed release, not laughing at him," he hums against your skin, the vibrations of his voice and bristles of his scruff tickling you further, causing you to laugh louder. He feels your belly jumping from your shaking body and he can't help but to smile.

Being in the arms of his wife after a long journey of war and death, there really is no place like home.

#general marcus acacius #general marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius x fem!reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x fem!reader #general marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius smut #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

Hi Nova!

Oberyn Martell x Stark!reader x Ellaria Sand

Reader escape the Red wedding with her direwolf and she has a cut in her cheek. She take a ship without knowing it go to sunspear. The guards see them and take them to the Martell family. 🤍 You can choose how it ends!

I really love your stories and i was wondering if i could join your Oberyn Martell taglist? 👀

No One Left but Us

- Summary: After escaping the Red Wedding, your journey brings you to two people that have thirst for the same kind of vengeance you crave.

- Pairing: Oberyn Martell/stark!reader (x Ellaria Sand)

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (violence, blood, gore)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: You will be added to the tag list for Oberyn. 🫶

The wind howled through the trees as if the gods themselves were wailing, a warning carried too late. You rode hard, your fingers white where they clenched the reins, the pounding of hooves beneath you nearly drowned by the thudding in your chest. Your cloak streamed behind you like a banner, dark as a raven’s wing, and your direwolf, Harrow, loped silently beside you—shadow and fang. You’d meant only to arrive late, to avoid the noise and spectacle of the feast at the Twins, to enter with quiet dignity after Robb’s bannermen had gorged themselves and settled. But the smell on the wind had turned your blood to ice long before the Twins came into view—smoke, iron, and blood. The stench of betrayal.

You crested the hill and saw it all at once. The red flames licking the night, screaming horses, the sounds of steel on steel, and worse—of flesh torn open, of children crying, of men dying with your family’s name on their lips. Stark. You could hardly breathe. The banners of House Frey flapped in the smoky air, joined by the golden lion of the Lannisters. Freys and Lannisters. Blood and ash. You knew then, with a clarity that shattered your heart into jagged pieces, that this was no battle. It was slaughter.

“No,” you whispered, too softly for anyone but Harrow to hear. He snarled, ears pinned back, his muzzle wet with the mist clinging to the riverbanks. “We’re too late…”

And then the first arrow hissed through the air.

You ducked instinctively, the shaft grazing your cheek and searing fire into your skin. Blood splattered your collar, warm and immediate. Harrow roared—yes, roared, not barked—and launched himself into the woods as more arrows thudded into trees and mud, some striking dangerously close. You kicked your horse’s flanks and bolted after him, your heart crashing like a war drum. A voice shouted behind you—"Stark! That one’s a Stark!"—but it was lost to the wind.

You didn’t know how long you rode. Minutes? Hours? Your limbs burned, your breath came in sobs. Harrow guided you more than you guided him. Eventually, the trees thinned and the shoreline opened before you, the river dark as pitch, wide and endless. A ship stood docked, sails unfurled, rocking gently. Lanterns swung from her bow. A voice called, rough and accented: “We set sail now! If you're not on, you're left behind!”

You didn’t think. There was no time to think. You spurred your horse forward and leapt from the saddle before the ship’s crew could turn you away, landing hard on the deck as Harrow bounded after you. The sailors reeled back at the sight of him—black-furred, eyes pale as ice, his mouth dripping froth and fury—but you rose to your feet and grabbed the nearest man by the sleeve.

“Please,” you rasped. Your voice cracked from smoke and screaming. “Please, just go. Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask my name. Just go.”

The man looked you over—saw your fine dress, now smeared with mud and ash, saw the cut on your cheek, still bleeding, saw the direwolf that stood pressed against your legs like a silent sentinel. Whatever he saw in your eyes, it made him nod.

“Aye, girl. You're not the first ghost to come aboard bleeding.” He gestured with two fingers. “Hoist anchor! Let the Twins burn.”

You collapsed against the railing as the ship lurched away from shore, the gentle splash of water against the hull a grim contrast to the chaos you’d left behind. The flames still burned in the distance, and you watched until they blurred, until you no longer knew if it was the fire that stung your eyes or the tears. Harrow pressed his nose to your hand and whined, low and soft. You buried your fingers in his thick fur, your body shaking.

“They’re gone,” you whispered. “Mother, Robb… even Grey Wind. They’re all gone.”

Your voice cracked on your brother’s name. Harrow whined again and laid his head on your lap. Somewhere behind you, a gull cried. The river widened, then became the sea. You didn’t know where the ship was headed, and you didn’t care. You only knew you couldn’t look back.

But still, you did.

And the fire still burned.

The voyage had been long, but the sea had offered you a strange kind of peace—cold, constant, and vast, like the grief that lived in your bones. The crew of The Sand Serpent had become your shield and solace in those drifting days, rough men and weather-worn women who had grown used to the silent girl cloaked in black, with hollow eyes and a direwolf that paced the deck like a guardian spirit. Harrow had terrified them at first. Now, they tossed him scraps from their meals and offered gruff greetings as they passed, always keeping a respectful distance. They never asked your name. They didn’t need to. They knew loss when they saw it. And you knew that even if you’d arrived on their deck bloodied and broken, you were safe among them.

The call of gulls and the scent of sun-warmed citrus greeted you as the ship glided into the harbor. Sunspear rose before you like a mirage—red sandstone towers rising in elegant coils from the bronze dunes, domed roofs glinting beneath the brutal Dornish sun. The breeze that swept across the port was dry but fragrant, carrying the smells of spiced wine, lavender oil, and roasted goat. It was nothing like the North, and the moment your boots touched the stone pier, the heat wrapped around you like a living thing, coaxing sweat from your skin beneath your heavy Northern furs.

“Gods, you’ll roast in that,” one of the sailors chuckled, nodding at your layered cloak. He hefted a barrel of olives onto his shoulder and winked at Harrow. “Though your beast don’t seem to mind.”

You glanced down. Harrow was already panting, tongue lolling from his mouth, but his tail twitched at your side as if he were trying not to look too impressed with the land of endless sun. You murmured, “We’ll find shade soon,” and scratched behind his ears, your voice quiet from disuse. He pressed against your legs in reply, watchful as ever.

The crew disembarked to unload their cargo, and you walked among the market stalls that clustered along the sun-baked streets near the docks. Everything shimmered in golds and reds, brilliant silks hanging from awnings like banners, the air thick with the perfume of crushed dates, mint, and exotic resins burning low in clay bowls. The vendors called out in a cacophony of tongues—Valyrian, the other various guttural tounges of Essos, and the singsong lilt of Dornish. You ran your fingers over baskets of ripe pomegranates, glazed amphorae, and blades curved like the crescent moon.

People stared at you, but not with cruelty. Your Northern face stood out among their tan skin and black curls, your pale cloak marking you as foreign as surely as your quiet posture did. Still, they didn’t look with suspicion—only curiosity. But one pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest.

“You walk like someone with ghosts at her heels,” came a voice—smooth as silk and sharp as a dagger. You turned, slowly, and found him standing beside a fig seller’s stall, leaning lazily against a pillar of sun-warmed stone.

Prince Oberyn Martell was unmistakable. He wore no armor, only a light, ochre tunic that left much of his chest bare, the fabric clinging to his lithe frame. His skin was sun-kissed, his lips curved into a knowing smile. A woman stood beside him, her arm looped easily through his. She was stunning in a way that left the air feeling too thick to breathe—long-limbed, wild-eyed, a vision in crimson silk with curls cascading down her back like a dark waterfall.

Ellaria Sand tilted her head, studying you. “You’re far from the snows of the North,” she said softly. Her gaze fell to Harrow, who stood rigid beside you, his fur bristling. “And not just a traveler. That beast… only one house raises wolves.”

You froze, every instinct screaming to flee. But your feet stayed rooted. You had nothing left to run to.

“I know you,” Oberyn murmured, stepping closer. “You were not at the feast, but your face—your eyes. You're a Stark.”

Your voice came out hoarse. “And if I am?”

“Then we mourn the same death,” Ellaria said. Her voice held sorrow, yes, but also fire. “The Red Wedding was not just your family's funeral. It was an insult to all who value honor. A dagger in the back of the world.”

Oberyn’s eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion. In understanding. “They butchered your kin at a feast. Slaughtered your brother beneath guest right, murdered your mother while she begged. And still you live. That is no accident.”

You blinked, mouth dry. “I was late.”

“Then perhaps the gods spared you for a reason,” he said. “Come with us.”

You shook your head instinctively. “I don’t even know where to go.”

Ellaria stepped forward, her fingers light as feathers when she touched your arm. “Stay with us. At the palace. You will have protection, comfort… and something more.”

You blinked. “More?”

“A chance to fight back,” Oberyn said. “A chance for justice. For vengeance. The Lannisters have touched my family with betrayal and blood before. They will do it again. But not if we burn them first.”

Ellaria smiled, slow and warm. “And you’re beautiful. Tragic. Fierce. Stay, and you won’t need to be alone with your sorrow. You can share our bed, our fight, our future.”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught. The market faded around you—the calls of merchants, the buzz of heat and sun—and all that remained were their eyes. His, bright with promise and passion. Hers, gentle and wild, like an oasis in the sand.

Harrow nudged your thigh and sat beside you. Silent approval.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you let out a breath. Not quite trust. But something close to hope.

“…Take me with you,” you whispered.

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softliebgott · 5 months ago

Text

– where there is despair...

asked for by @s-u-t 🤍 I swear I’ll make up for the angst

warnings: gn!reader, mentions of blood, a drop of gore, trauma, hurt/comfort, angst

note: it’s been great diving back into writing for BoB 🤍

1944 Bois Jacques

Silence, an odd predator, dared the men to make a sound. Dead branches beneath the snow made for traps, and the impulse to speak, a tightness in the throat, was hard to swallow down.

As for Eugene, he became fluent in quiet. No words crossed the river running through his mind, where images of the dead and wounded floated. He saw one man with a ravaged chest, the rib cage a gate rusted shut around a defeated heart. Another man had wrappings around his head, bloodied where it covered one eye while the other stared with the blankness of a taxidermied animal.

The blood of these men reached out in grasping rivulets, coloring the river of Eugene’s mind. He carried their hurt as much as he carried the need to heal them.

A cough behind him hauled him from his thoughts. He exhaled, his breath like a puff of cigar smoke in the chilly air. Blinking a few times to ease his dry eyes, he turned around in his foxhole and saw you.

You leisurely moved about, tracing the outline of your foxhole to keep your blood flowing. Arms folded against your chest, your chapped lips parted in exasperated breaths. The common cold gripped you, but at least the light fever was warm. A strange relief, but it was so goddamn freezing.

Eugene got up in his foxhole, and with rigid legs he left it to approach you, powdery snow crunching underfoot. “How’s the fever?” he asked.

“Eh,” you grunted, turning to him. Your nose tucked beneath your coat, your voice was muffled. “Feels like North Africa up there.”

Eugene pressed his lips together in a thin line, giving a nod of understanding. “I’m sorry I can’t do much for ya.”

“Don’t be sorry, Gene,” you said. You kicked up your heels every now and then, refusing to get trench foot. “Everyone’s doin’ their best.” Your gaze lingered on him as he quieted. He had been increasingly losing his words. You had wondered when he’d become afflicted with what you called, “the sight”. Neither a sickness or a wound, it was a festering reality.

“How about you?” you asked, a gentle pry. “How are you, Gene?”

He looked at you, and your heart palpitated. He had the tenderness of wounds in his eyes, the pallor of a corpse. He didn’t need his words to express his quiet anguish, just like none of the other men did.

You sighed and stepped toward him, intending to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s hard,” he said, stopping you in your tracks. He didn’t look away this time, as if he knew he could safely drain the abscess of his mind in you. Understanding wasn’t hard to come by. It could be found in knowing eyes and in stretched silence. Talking about what was understood was the hardest. A lot of men were more comfortable muzzling themselves. Why, to each his own reason.

You stayed where you were, looking at Eugene and listening.

“I see us gettin’ hurt every day. Dyin’,” he said. He pressed his lips together, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked down, his hand girded with the chain of a cross that dangled. Some soldiers like Toye would rather a pair of brass knuckles, but others armed themselves with their faith. “I’m giving all that I can of myself to help.”

You glanced at the cross. Swallowing, you closed the distance and took his hand. You squeezed hard enough so that the cross’s ridges could be felt through both of your thin gloves. “You got a big heart, Gene,” you said, searching his eyes, noting the pop of a muscle at the edge of his jaw. “Hell, we all see it on that armband. We got you as much as you got us, doc.”

You let silence swell before you tapped into the prayer you heard him recite before. “Where there is despair…”

Eugene’s nostrils flared, his chest ballooning with an intake of determination. He squeezed your hand in return, the full shape of the cross felt on your palms. “Hope.”

#band of brothers #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #doc roe #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfiction

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potatoplace · 9 months ago

Text

So Long, London

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

the 1 (part 1) | betty (part 2)| next part

the 1 masterlist (alt endings) | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: An illness spreads through Velaris, primarily impacting new mothers and their young, and you and your child are not spared. Azriel continues to make questionable choices, even as your life lays in the balance.

Warnings: suicide attempt mentions, illness leading to disability, infidelity, Azriel is as expected for this series...

Words: ~5.6k

Author's Note: So I reaaally wanted to get this out in one part, but I have cute fluffy plans for Reader's future in the Day Court. This should be the last of the full on angst in this ending of 'the 1,' after this installment it should be primarily happy times! Also... Can I just say how sorry I am to Azriel? Because in this series I cannot seem to give him one redeeming quality. He's just a total piece of shit the entire time. Aaaanways. I hope you guys enjoy this part!

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🤍💙

It was nearly eight months since Nova’s birth when a mysterious illness ravaged Velaris, primarily effecting young children and their mothers.

And you and your precious baby girl were no exception.

Nova had stopped sleeping for longer than an hour, and refusing all solid foods. She was barely taking the milk you tried to ply her with, her tiny mouth refusing to suckle on the bottle you offered her.

You weren’t feeling much better, and by the time you managed to struggle your way to Madja’s clinic, you were on the verge of passing out.

Your mate was nowhere to be found, and no amount of you tugging on the frail bond summoned him to your side, brought him to comfort you and help care for your baby.

You just barely made it inside the door, Madja’s worried face greeting you as she took in your weakened state, the crying babe in your arms, the lack of your mate by your side. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and just before you fell to the floor Madja was able to take Nova from your arms.

When you woke later, your head felt stuffed with cotton, your lungs and throat burning in pain.

It almost felt like the bond was broken again.

“Oh, thank the mother Y/N, you’re awake,” Feyre’s worried voice said, a cool hand running across your forehead.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting at the light above you.

You were back in your room in the River House.

“Nova, is she-” you started to ask, attempting to sit up, but Feyre shushed you and gently pushed you back into the bed.

“Nova is fine, she’s recovering well so far, and she’s even taking soft foods again. You got her here in time,” Feyre said softly, and you let out a relieved breath. Nova is safe. “Madja managed to make a medicine to combat the illness, though it appears to be more effective in children. I was more worried for you, if I’m being honest…”

Feyre’s eyes were watery as she looked down at you, and the situation was so similar to after you had attempted to take your life, the only change being that your other two sisters were missing.

Not for long, though, as your sisters entered the room in the next minute, Nova in their arms.

She looked to be doing so much better than before, her cheeks their normal rosy red and her cute little lips curved up into a smile, which only widened once she saw you, her beautiful hazel eyes growing larger. Her tiny hands reached out for you, wings fluttering as she tried to leave Elain’s arms.

“Can I- is it safe for me to hold her?” You asked, hoping more than ever before that you would be able to. The last time you had held her, she had been so sick, you needed to feel her healthy in your arms again. You pushed yourself up to lay against the headboard, surprised at how tired you were from that action alone. Your lungs and throat felt like they were on fire with each breath, and Feyre quickly gave you a sip of cold water to soothe it.

“I don’t see why not, she won’t be able to get sick again with the medicine still being administered,” Madja’s strong voice said as she entered the room behind your sisters, making her way to your side. Feyre scooted back to give her space to examine you, and Elain quickly placed your precious little girl in your arms.

And everything felt right again, her adorable face staring up at you, hands grabbing at your face. Even as your arms ached from the weight of her, you welcomed it as long as you had her.

Your sweet, guiding light. Your reason for being, ever since you had fallen pregnant.

“Do you know where Azriel is?” You asked quietly as Madja waved her hands over you, examining you with her magic.

You could practically feel the anger radiating off of Nesta at the question, and she snarled, “No. In the night and day that you’ve been unconscious, the stupid bat hasn’t managed to show his face here once. You would think that his mate and child being sick would warrant an appearance from whatever bullshit he’s busy with.”

You sighed, but nodded your head. “It’s alright, I’m sure it’s something important. Nova is the most important thing to him in the world.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and scoffed, but Elain placed a gentle hand on your leg.

“I’m sure you’re right, Y/N. And I’m just so happy that you and Nova are doing better, we were so worried for you,” she said softly, tears in her eyes. “I can’t stand the idea of losing either of you.”

You smiled at Elain. The two of you had gotten nearly as close as you and Feyre in the past two years since… Everything happened, and you were delighted to be her confidant as she pursued the bond with Lucien, loving to hear about how much they actually had in common, including their love for nature.

It was so nice to hear about a happy courtship for you sister, one that you had nothing to be jealous about.

Except… Maybe the way that Lucien looked at her, like she was the sun that his world revolved around.

Azriel had never looked at you like that, not even during the mating frenzy…

You looked back at Nova, her hands now tangled in your hair and a beaming smile on her face, chubby cheeks nearly covering her eyes.

Nova was your sun, that was certain.

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to advise that you stay on bedrest for the next few weeks, I want you to fully recover from this. Your lungs have been damaged by the illness, and I want to prevent any more form happening,” Madja said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

“Damage?” Feyre asked before you could.

Madja sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid there will be long-lasting damage to your lungs, Y/N. You may no longer be able to run, or walk for long distances. You should be able to carry on with most of your everyday tasks,” she added, as if to console you.

“But… I may never be able to run after my daughter?” You pondered quietly, the thought breaking your heart as you looked at her.

“I’m afraid that might be the case. But, once you’re fully recovered from the illness itself, we can start building your stamina up again. I do hope that you’ll be able to play with Nova however you want,” Madja answered, giving a soft smile to your cooing child.

You nodded your head, attempting to process the information. “Will Nova have the same problems?”

“No, the medicine was effective enough to stop any damage from occurring, and you got her here before she was truly in trouble. You did an amazing job of taking care of her, Y/N.”

Tears pricked your eyes at her kind words.

You had kept her safe.

But as you clutched Nova to your chest, your arms started to tire, shaking slightly.

Feyre, eyes tracking your every movement, noticed. “Can I hold my sweet niece?” She asked, and you reluctantly passed her over, though you were grateful for Feyre giving you an out.

“I’ll have you take this medicine once every four hours, and Feyre can charm the clock to ring for you so you can rest as much as you need,” Madja said as she placed a bottle on your nightstand, next to your water glass.

“That won’t be necessary, at least one of us will be with her at all times,” Nesta said, a hand squeezing one of yours. You turned to look at her, and you were surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face as she looked at you.

“Thank you, Nes,” you whispered. “So I just… Lay here?”

“You’re welcome to do anything that doesn’t require you leaving the bed, so anything like reading, knitting, or sewing would be fine, I suppose. Just make sure you get plenty of sleep, alright?” You nodded your head, and Madja gave you a warm smile in return. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair for now, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you again."

And then you were left with your sisters and Nova, who was currently playing with Feyre’s necklace, sticking it in her mouth and sucking on the edge of the moon shaped pendant.

“Feyre, has Rhys had any luck finding Azriel?” Elain asked after a few minutes of all of you staring at Nova, each minute more adorable than the last, in your opinion.

“No, Rhys said his mental walls are still impenetrable without hurting him, but he’s doing his best to track him down,” Feyre said quietly.

You knew where he was.

Or, at least, you had a good idea.

Your mate, your husband had a… Habit… Of spending the night at other female’s homes.

Especially since Nova was born.

It had never lasted past the morning, though.

“It’s fine, he’ll show up at some point,” you said with a sad smile, locking your eyes onto Nova. “Could you get in bed with me FeyFey? That way we can cuddle Nova together.”

“Of course, sissy. Nova missed you, even just overnight. She’s such a momma’s girl,” Feyre cooed as she crawled under the covers with you, laying Nova across her chest so she was looking at you. “I hope my little one is as attached to me when they grow up.”

“Oh, you know that will happen FeyFey. There’s no way that little baby won’t absolutely adore you from birth, with how wonderful you are with Nova,” you assured her, bringing a hand up to caress Nova’s face.

“I agree with you, Y/N, you and Rhys will be such perfect parents. Just look at how the both of you are handling your pregnancy so far!” Elain said excitedly, crawling onto the foot of the bed. “And I can only hope that if Lucien and I have children, that I can be as amazing a mother as you are, Y/N. You make it look so easy, and Nova is so perfect.”

You blushed, though it was hardly noticeable with how warm your cheeks already were. “Thank you, ‘Lainey. I know you’ll be a great mother, you always seemed to have the most motherly instincts.”

Elain blushed lightly and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, it will all start with Lucien and I agreeing to get married and mated fully. But that seems like it’s just around the corner, and I really hope it is. I just know he would be a wonderful father,” she said dreamily.

“Cassian would be good father, I think. Though I’m… Not sure that I would be a suitable mother,” Nesta admitted quietly, crawling under the covers on your other side.

“Oh, nonsense Nes. You’ll be a great mother, too. I didn’t think that I would be the best mother, either, but all it really takes is seeing their face that first time. The first little blink, seeing their eye color, getting to smell that sweet baby smell… Every little moment is so special, you never want it to end. You don’t think you’ll be good at it, Nes, but you will be wonderful. I know you will.”

Nesta leaned into you, her face against your shoulder. You could feel her smile, even as she tried to hide it. “Thank you, munchkin.”

“‘Lainey, get up here. It’s not the same without you snuggled up with us,” you demanded, patting the space next to Feyre.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she said, rolling her eyes as she got under the covers next to Feyre.

Within a few minutes, after taking your medicine and surrounded by your sisters and your sweet Nova next to you, you fell into a deep sleep.

💙🤍💙🤍💙

“Where were you?!”

“I was busy-”

“Oh? With what? What could be more important than your mate and child being sick?! What could be so important you couldn’t answer your High Lord and Lady within an hour?! Let alone twenty four?!”

“They’re sick?!”

“Yes, you fucking imbecile! Why do you think we were constantly trying to reach you?! Why your mate was unconscious?!”

“I don’t know, sometimes she shuts me out-”

“Oh, don’t try that, Azriel. We all know that Y/N is the one who actually cares about the bond, you just saunter around acting like you do while you’re in front of us.”

“Where do you get off talking to me like that?!”

“Where do YOU get off treating our sister like trash?! If you didn’t want the fucking bond, why-”

“Enough! That is enough from the both of you. Y/N can hear you,” Rhys hissed, and the yelling quieted.

“Where were you, Azriel?” Feyre’s voice.

“I got caught up with some surveillance-”

“Oh, don’t bullshit us Az. We all know that you weren’t assigned anything last night, or this morning.” Cassian.

Silence.

“You- oh Cauldron, Azriel. I cannot believe you,” Rhys said, disgust dripping from his words. “Go in there and tell her. Or I will.”

“What?” Nesta asked. You could almost picture her looking between the two of them, a thunderous expression on her face. She always did hate being left in the dark.

You, though… You were in broad daylight, already knowing what Azriel had to tell you.

This would be the first true confirmation you had of his infidelity, though.

The door opened, the soft sound of the knob turning, and the gentle way he shut it behind him.

“Y/N, I…”

“Don’t, Azriel. I know.”

Footsteps, so quiet you could barely hear it. “You… You do?”

You sighed, rubbing at your chest to alleviate the pain that came with breathing. “Of course I do. Do you really think that your subtle? That your Spymaster abilities transfer over to your personal life? Because they never have.”

“Why did you stay?”

Another painful sigh. “Nova. She deserves two parents.” And I’ve held onto the foolish hope that you would one day love me for me.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N. Really, you have no idea how sorry I am. I have been a horrible, awful mate to you, but I will do better. I will do right by you, I swear.”

You looked away from his hazel eyes, those hazel eyes that you love so much.

Because you love him. You do.

“Okay. Go get Nova and come to bed.”

Azriel blinked at you. “Okay.”

And that was that. Azriel got Nova from Elain in the other room, who had taken her away at the first sign of arguing. He peeled off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then came under the sheets, snuggling up next to you with Nova on his chest, already fast asleep.

💙🤍💙🤍💙

The next month was spent entirely on bed rest, and still in your room at the River House.

Madja has told you it was fine for you to go back to your and Azriel’s home, but… You felt safer, knowing that your sisters were likely to be around, Feyre especially.

Your twin sister had been… Angered, to say the least, at Azriel’s treatment of you, though you’d calmed her to the point that she was mainly only being passive aggressive to your husband.

But once you were able to walk short distances, and manage a few stairs, you felt you had overstayed your welcome at the River House long enough.

Azriel had carried you home, followed closely by Feyre, carrying Nova in a sling across her chest.

You ached to be able to do that again, to be able to confidently hold your child even while standing.

The one good thing about bedrest? It gave you plenty of time to improve your knitting, sewing, and embroidery skills. Nova now had plenty of clothes for the next three months of growth, all fitted to work around her wings while keeping her as covered as possible.

You had already started on a large chest of clothes for Feyre’s expected child, wanting somehow to repay her for all the grief you had put her through over the past two years. And, it was nice to create something and see all of the joyful possibilities that could come with it.

Not that making clothes for Nova didn’t fulfill that for you too, but… It was more the lack of future that you continued to see with Azriel.

You want Nova to have her father in her life, that was true. Azriel was a wonderful father when he wasn’t busy with work or… Other obligations.

But as a mate…? You were left wanting, and hurt.

He did help you with your recovery, making sure that you got enough movement in every day and pushed yourself just enough to keep making progress.

But three months into you being home…

Azriel didn’t make it back in time for bed.

And you knew that you needed to leave.

Elain had come over the next morning, initially to say goodbye. She and Lucien were officially moving to the Day Court that evening, more than ready to start their life together in the court that Lucien would one day rule.

And so, you came up with your plan. Elain went to fetch Feyre and Nesta quickly, knowing that they would need to be told to make the plan a success.

You were on your bed, Nova in your arms when they arrived, bursting through the door frantically.

“You’re leaving?!” Nesta asked in disbelief.

You just nodded your head, running a soothing hand over Nova’s back.

“What prompted this, sissy?” Feyre asked as she sat down next to you.

You knew that they already knew. Or at least heavily suspected.

“Azriel didn’t come home last night… And I can’t do it anymore. Elain said that Lucien already asked Helion if I could join them when they move back when I first got sick and things were… Up in the air a bit.”

Nesta’s change in demeanor was instantaneous, going from disbelieving to thunderous anger, already prepared to burn your mate alive.

Feyre hugged you tightly and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry, sissy. But if this is what you want, I’ll do anything I can to make it happen. Just promise me you’ll come visit at some point? And of course we’ll come visit you and Nova as much as we can manage.”

“Of course, FeyFey, I wouldn’t dream of staying away forever… Just, if Azriel could… Not be over while I am, that would be appreciated.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll be having a talk with Rhys about possibly banning him from Velaris for all but court duties. I cannot believe that he would do this to you again.”

“Well, we should get packing up the things Azriel won’t notice, Y/N. Just in case he does come home tonight.”

You scoffed quietly. “Unlikely…”

Your sisters helped you pack up most of your and Nova’s clothing, along with all of your crafting supplies. When it became apparent that your mate was out again, tarnishing the bond between you, the four of you quickly finished up, grabbing all of Nova’s favorite things, including the baby blanket that Azriel had painstakingly made for her while you were pregnant.

Nesta stayed behind, having agreed to wait at the town house for Azriel to return, whenever that may be. As disappointed and betrayed as you were by Azriel, you still made her promise to not physically harm him more than a punch to the jaw. Or a kick to the groin.

Feyre winnowed your things first, then Elain, and finally you and Nova, held tightly in your arms as you sped through the fabric of the world for the first time in over two years.

And hopefully the last time, as you had to quickly pass Nova off to Feyre, your lungs on fire from the pressure of winnowing, a long coughing fit overtaking you.

Once you had recovered yourself, you finally had a chance to take in your surroundings.

The hall you had landed in was grand and bright, made of shining marble that reflected the sun's rays beautifully.

In front of you was a male you didn't recognize, but the power rolling off of him in waves and the shine to his skin told you all you needed to know.

Helion, High Lord of Day.

"And you must be Y/N, Elain's sister. Welcome to the Day Court," Helion said warmly as he turned his eyes to you. "And this must be little Nova, Lucien has told me so much about this cutie!"

"Yes, it's lovely to meet you, High Lord. And thank you, truly, for what you've done for us. I... I don't know what I would have done, if not for your generosity."

"Oh, call me Helion, love. And it is no trouble at all, any family of Elain's is family of mine now. Plus... I heard some of what happened, and no person deserves to be treated as you were. I am happy to open my home to you and your little one for as long as you need."

Tears pricked at your eyes against your wishes. "Thank you, Helion."

"Yes Helion, thank you so much for helping our sister out. I am deeply saddened by the fact that I could not provide her with a home where she would be left alone by Azriel," Feyre said, clasping Helion's hands in hers. "And... I know it's a lot to ask, but would you be willing to ban Azriel from your court? I know that as soon as he knows they've left, he'll be out searching for them."

"It would be my pleasure!" Helion replied happily, a bright grin covering his face, radiating happiness like the sun. "I absolutely despise those who do not cherish their loved ones, and if I'm being honest... It would be fun to send him back to the Night Court by the scruff of his neck."

You couldn't help the quiet giggle that left your lips at the mental image you had produced. Nova looked up at you at the sound, her own lips curling up at the edges.

"Well, we should get the three of you settled into your rooms. Feyre, you're welcome to accompany us if you'd like," Helion offered.

Feyre shook her head. "I should be getting back, I still need to explain everything to Rhys. But if it's acceptable, I will visit in the morning and see how the three of you are settling in. Especially you, little Nova," she cooed at your child, who extended her hands to her aunt.

"That would be lovely, Feyre. Send a note ahead of your arrival and I'll make sure there is breakfast waiting for you, or tea if you come a bit later in the morning. Safe travels, High Lady," Helion said. "Oh, and congratulations on your pregnancy! I'll try to keep the news to myself."

Feyre narrowed her eyes playfully at him. "You'd better, High Lord." She turned her eyes to you and Elain, and gave both of you big hugs, and a soft kiss on Nova's forehead. "I'll see the three of you in the morning, alright?"

"We'll see you then, Fey. Winnow safely, okay?" Elain said.

"Oh, I will. Sleep well, and give lots of goodnight kisses to little Nova for me!"

And then she was gone, leaving you in the entrance hall with Helion and Elain.

"Lets get the three of you to your room, hmm? It's been a long night, I'm sure," Helion said softly, and began leading you to your new home for the foreseeable future.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

Nesta was sat in the darkness of the town house, your former home, stewing in her rage.

How- how had Azriel done this to you again?!

First, you nearly died after he rejected the bond from the overwhelming pain it caused you. And yes, your choice to jump was your own.

But he had promised to you that he would be a good mate. That he would be worthy of you.

Then, you nearly died again while he was nowhere to be found, your child together also gravely ill until Madja had managed to create an effective medicine. And you were permanently harmed by it, barely able to navigate a set of stairs on your own.

And all because he had been out, fucking some other female while he left his mate and child at home during a wave of illness attacking that very population.

To think, you could have been given the help you needed hours earlier, and could possibly have avoided the disability following you now.

And after all that, you had still forgiven him.

You, her sweetest and most caring sister, the one who had never turned her back on any of you. On her.

Nesta knew that she had been an awful person to you, growing up in that rundown shack. And she had ignored you after turning fae, too concerned with her own changed body to bother to apologize to you.

In the time since your fall, Nesta had done her best to do right by you, to be the elder sister that you needed. While she wasn’t the best at comforting others, she was a good listener. She had payed careful attention to you ever since, doing her best to catch any concerning behaviors.

And when you were pregnant with Nova, Nesta had been nearly as protective of you as Azriel, taking the time to walk you to your favorite shops and make sure that you were eating properly.

That should have been her sign that something was wrong.

She should have done something, confronted your bastard of a mate. But there was no changing the past, only the future.

And Nesta would do her damned best at keeping you safe from harm, even a court’s distance away.

And that would start with ripping the Shadowsinger to shreds.

Verbally. You had made her promise to not actually hurt Azriel, beyond a punch to the jaw.

Nesta thought that a punch to the throat would be much more effective. And maybe a knee to the groin.

Just a little something to give him a taste of the pain that you existed in because of his mistakes- if you could even call them that at this point.

No, they seemed to be thought out decisions to betray your trust, to tarnish the bond that he had rejected and forced back to life.

Silver flames threatened to spill from her fingers, ready to burn the male alive, if only she would loose them on him.

Feyre had appeared in the town house about ten minutes after taking you, Elain, and Nova to the Day Court, a soft smile on her face.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, Helion already seems obsessed with Nova, and he was very welcoming to her and Y/N. I think it will be a good change for them. And he agreed to ban Azriel from his court, which solves the possible problem of him tracking them down and trying to force Y/N to come back. I know… I know that she’s serious about this, but she still loves him, even now. I was worried that she might take him back, if he begged enough.”

Nesta scoffed. “Unlikely. The fact that she left without even a note makes me think that she’s done with him, no matter what honeyed words he could try to pour in her ears. The main reasons she stayed after getting sick was to let Nova know her father.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Feyre sighed. “I need to go talk to Rhys, let him know what happened. And honestly, I want to see if he’ll allow me to ban Azriel from Velaris except for his court duties.”

Nesta shook her head, not believing that Rhys would cave to her request. “Good luck with that, Fey.”

“Thanks, Nes. Let me know when the asshole shows up, but I’ll come over as soon as I’m done talking to Rhys.”

“I will.”

Feyre left the house quietly, and Nesta was alone in the darkness once more, rage building a burning fire in her body as she contemplated just what she was going to yell at him.

Five hours later, when the sun had just began to creep over the horizon, the front door opened.

Azriel came into the sitting room, but upon seeing Nesta sitting in the darkness, he stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

“I think the better question is where were you?” Nesta hissed, satisfied when a flash of fear crossed the Shadowsinger’s face.

Feyre, he’s here.

I’ll be over in a few minutes.

“I was out in Illyria, making sure there were no wing clippings happening.”

“Liar.”

“Oh? And how would you know, Nesta? Are you might High Lord or Lady? Do you assign me my duties?”

“No. But Feyre had already informed me that you had no work tonight, that you were supposed to spend the week leading up to Nova’s first birthday entirely at home. So. Where were you?”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, and he turned his attention to looking for something.

He didn’t find it.

“Where…?” He started, panic flooding his scent. “Where are my mate and child?!” He roared, stomping over to Nesta, who had stood from her place on the couch.

“Somewhere you will never see them again.”

And then Nesta struck, first a knee to his groin, followed up by a satisfying fist to his throat. She relished in the pained noises coming from him, summoning her flames once he had recovered.

“You are lucky that Y/N made me promise not to hurt you more,” Nesta seethed as she backed him into a corner. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Y/N was too kind to take you back, when all you do is hurt her! You never deserved her, you never deserved a mate at ALL! And Nova is lucky to not be raised by such a disgusting person, by someone who only lies and cheats and hurts others.”

Azriel was silent, his head hung low, even as Nesta could scent his rage.

“Azriel.” Rhys’s voice, filled with the authority of a High Lord. “You need to leave. You are no longer welcome in Velaris, except when explicitly allowed.”

Azriel’s head whipped to the front door, where Rhys and Feyre were standing, matching angered expressions on their faces.

“But I-”

“No. You have been given chance after chance to change how you act, how you treat members of this family. And I will not stand for you continuing to live here, even with Y/N and Nova gone,” Feyre snarled. “You can live in the Court of Nightmares or Illyria. But Velaris is no longer your home.”

Azriel’s eyes were wide as he looked between Feyre and Rhys, in disbelief at the situation. “Rhys, you can’t be serious-”

“Deadly. And this is an order from your High Lord and Lady: do not attempt to search for them. Y/N does not want you in her or Nova’s life, and you will respect that. Do you understand?” Rhys asked, but there was only one answer that Azriel could give.

“Yes.” His voice was angry as he gave in to his High Lord’s demand. “Will you at least tell me where they are?” He growled as he glared at the three of them.

“No. You do not get to have any information about them, unless Y/N permits it. You do not deserve to know where they are, what health they are in, anything. Azriel, you disgust me. Y/N has given you so many chances to redeem yourself, but you have disappointed her every time.” Feyre’s voice was deadly calm, but her hatred was bubbling beneath the surface. “My twin has been a saint to you, and you have done nothing but hurt her. The one good thing you have done is give her Nova. And if you ever hurt her again, I will kill you myself.”

Azriel gaped at her, and looked at Rhys.

“You should go. Pack what you want, but by the end of today, you are no longer welcome in Velaris,” Rhys said coldly.

The three of them stayed in the living room as Azriel went upstairs, their ears perking up at the gasp he let out when he saw your shared bedroom, emptied of your effects.

You were gone.

You were really gone.

All of your fabrics and threads, the thimble set that Nesta had gifted you, custom designed just for your birthday last year, the baby blanket that he had made for Nova, all of your clothes- they were all gone.

You had left him!

Surely, you weren’t serious. This was just a ploy to get his attention, to make him take the bond seriously again. His family downstairs must be in on it, just trying to go along with your wishes.

So he packed his bags, taking everything that was vital to him. He went into Nova’s room, where she rarely stayed, but her things were kept, and the pain hit him.

Seeing her room with none of her clothes or toys strewn about, none of the life in it, hurt. It hurt more than seeing that you had left.

He would find you. And he would bring you home.

You and Nova belong with him.

And he would show you that.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

the 1 Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @historygeekqueen @angelbunny222 @mellowmusings @romantasyreader28

#so long london #betty #the 1 #azriel x archeron!reader #azriel x reader #az x reader #azriel x reader angst #az x reader angst #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #archeron!reader #angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #tato writes

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months ago

Note

Heyyy🤍 I hope you are doing well.

I personally don't know where to start, I recently started following you and I'm a writer myself. I read something you wrote for nanami and personally everything you write for him is so exquisite and domestic I love it so much :') in general your writing is such a breath of fresh air.

Which is why I was wondering (only if you take requests) that it's possible if you can write something about reader, having exams :') and how the reader might be pushing herself too hard at times and sometimes have no motivation to study, and struggle to find the confidence that they could go to university or something or just that they lack confidence, with Nanami / Gojo. I have exams in three weeks and to tell you the truth I'm so nervous, haven't been eating well (lost weight), and all these things come whenever it's that times so... if you could write me a comforting thing like this :') it would mean so much. I hope this ask finds you well and thank you so much for your writing it's great to find writers a like you 🤍

Ps:if you could add the profession the reader wants to go into, definitely medicine or law :')

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 ݁ ˖☁︎ ⚡︎

☁︎ nanami kento x gn!reader. words 2.8k

☁︎cw: fluff, angst w comfort, insecurity, difficulty eating, scarred!post shibuya nanami, established relationship.

☁︎ a/n: thank you for these sweet words nonnie! it means the world to me!! 💞 you're too kind. i wish you the best of luck with your exams. you CAN do it! 💞 my heart goes out to you and to anyone else suffering from the joys of finals rn. i went with Kento and med school if that's okay with you. 💞 Hope you enjoy!! 🥰 dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

You wished you hadn't forgotten your umbrella today. The streets of Tokyo gloss over in a river of afternoon rain. The sky sets off a latent rumble that echoes between the ashen clouds that the sun has all but disappeared behind.

"Storm sounds serious." You muse to yourself, relieved to be free from the shackles of your morning classes and that your next destination was the blankets and pillows that awaited you at home.

The rain was a welcome distraction from all the stress that bogged you with the looming onset of finals, particularly your vascular systems test, and the imposter syndrome that chased you like a plague. It felt like a to do list with no clear ending.

Despite summiting the daunting task of being accepted into your dream school, you felt pressure like you needed to prove yourself week after week, narrowly dodging the ever lurking shadows of failure. You were a burnout being asked to run on an empty gas tank.

You put your earbuds in as you board the train, mind transporting itself elsewhere. Even in his absence, your lover's calm and steady voice echoes assurance in your eardrums and you lay your head back as the song begins, watching the mossy dark turquoise world of outside layered in cloud cover rush by your windows.

---

You fumble with your tote bag for that pain-in-the-ass key that loved to tumble to the very bottom and open the door to your apartment.

Already it's so much warmer, not thanks to the familiarity of your home, but the person in it.

Kento looks up at you from where he's sitting at your small table with stacks of haphazard papers, coupons for restaurants you'll probably forget and never use, utility bills, and folders with sticky notes where you normally sit in scattered chaos. It was a rather hilarious contrast to the bareness of his side, an agglomeration of your two worlds that was uniquely endearing, opposites in origin that were ultimately better together.

He has a worn novel in hand that he's pausing with the Totoro bookmark you got him for Christmas, subtle indentions along the spine marking the several times he had opened it- suggesting a story well-loved. Next to him is a mug on a cactus coaster and a half eaten bacon egg and cheese on the other.

"Home early, sweetheart? Wasn't expecting you so soon."You smile at him and hang up your coat, shedding your shoes as you walk up to greet him.

"Well, Masamichi gave me the option to leave early." He closes the book with a hum.

The hidden sun behind the rain clouds outside it seems had been plucked away and found residence right in front of you, all the sunshine in his gaze whose adoration could not be obscured by the plain black eyepatch on his left side.

He gives you that handsome close-lipped smile, subtle with the sprinkle of crows feet on either side of his face, still wearing his navy dress shirt and slacks, a pair of fleece slippers on his feet.

It was that adorably frustrating propriety he never seemed to shed, but the presence of slippers suggested he was slowing giving into casualness, cracking just a little under your cozy influence.

"I had hoped to see you after your classes. And I'm glad I did."

He sweeps you into a hug, not minding the remnants of chill on your crewneck sweater and his heartbeat swallows you slowly.

Kento was not like the intense rays from direct sunlight, rather the patches of warmth that live along a windowsill in between pockets of shade where a small cat would lull to sleep. The kind that spells the promise of comfort admist a world drowned in cold, much like outside, whose sunlight graduated to its own form bottled and personified in the soul of this beautiful man you loved so much.

"Hungry?"

He takes note of the slight wilt in your eyes, the tension in your shoulders that had not unraveled, the weariness he sensed that weighed at the back of your mind he had picked up in the time he spent loving you.

"You should eat, love. There's coffee." He suggests carefully if a sandwich seemed too formidable in the moment, taking your hands in his with a gesture towards the kitchen.

"Mkay....coffee."

He smiles as he wins you over, one mug at a time. He crosses to the cupboard, finding your second favorite since the one you loved the most was characteristically dirty, possibly still living next to your keyboard in your office as it so often did.

The dark elixir trickles into the mug with a thin plume of steam, hands graceful as he endeavored in preparing the brew just the way you like.

He's pleased with himself as he watches you take it with the ends of your sweater pulled over your palms like hot pads, before you retreat under the sanctuary of a blanket on the couch.

He drinks you in one last time before the sandwich station commands his full attention.

If he was the sun, then you must be the rain in his meteorological equation. The dissonance of raindrops you bring to his life are not enough to clash over the persistence of warmth he delivered, but instead result into something pleasant, a summertime shower of rain like the ones in the evening that invite respite and suggest closeness after spryness and the energy of constant daylight.

You to him were a period of refreshment that flourished the endless gardens he watched over. Both souls enriched from wandering in each other's paths despite the unlikely way you came to be.

He joins you on the couch with a turkey avocado sandwich on a plate with both your legs outstretched on the ottoman until they tangle in each other, giggling as you afforded him room under the blanket that was just a hair too small before he surrenders and leaves to get one more from the closet.

He rejoins you again, allowing you to settle into the familiar left side of his body that you all but created a home in. His scent, subtly citrus, with a bite of ocean, slightly weakened by the rain and the hours he had been at work. The sandwich goes down much more easily after the coffee and with the steadiness of Kento next to you, turning on a rerun of your favorite show.

Your chests rise and fall in slow synchrony, anchoring faithfully to the present when even a million things that called your attention could not break through the peaceful barrier you built together in a fortress of warmth, blankets, coffee, sandwiches, and episodes you've seen a million times.

"How are you?" He asks softly when a commercial comes on, his index finger and thumb lingering at your nape, grazing the dainty chain of your necklace in gentle preoccupation.

"I could be better." You shyly admit as his fingers travel in a subtle dance down your arms.

A shadow of dissatisfaction casts over his expression, his gaze searching for the source of your discomfort.

"Do you feel better than since you got home, at least?"

"Yeah." You nod, managing a smile, a little piece of lettuce stuck to your lip.

"Good." He echoes your grin, gently removing the lettuce with a swipe of his thumb.

"It's just these exams. I'm exhausted. Feels like I'm being asked to remember a million things with no way to recall them. And no pauses in between. Like....like sweeping a floor with a matchstick while somebody's dumping a trashcan of dust onto it every five minutes."

He pauses, eye widening and nodding slowly at the remarkable brilliance of the metaphor and the stickiness of the situation. "That's a...very specific and accurate way of putting it."

"Baby, I don't know if I'm cut out for this."

"Why do you say that, darling?" His voice cuts to worry, disapproval apparent as he clicks his teeth.

"It's kicking my ass. Feels like the concepts just come easier to everyone else. The wave of knowledge is literally hitting everyone but me."

"That's normal, my love." He hums, continuing his soft ministrations on the back of your neck, your arms, keeping your hair at bay as you slowly eat. "The material will become clear in due time."

"What if it doesn't?"

"It will. You're just being hard on yourself." He remarks, as his middle finger slides up and down your nape.

"It will come. You're diligent, and hard working. I've seen you make it happen. But with that also comes rest." His tone becomes a tad more serious, but there is nothing but love intended behind his words. "You don't need to struggle on your own."

"I feel like I need to, though."

His brow furrows. "That's a foolish thing to put yourself through. There's no award for struggling the hardest."

"Well my brain says I gotta." You state blandly as you take another bite, eyes fixated in a robotic stare at the television.

Kento leans back at your rebellion, still not satisfied with your tone. "That so? Well, I won't let you."

"Really?" You turn to him, keeping your face straight as you take another bite, a dot of mayo on your nose.

"Yes." He answers, solidifying his point as he dabs the mayo with a napkin.

"Controlling mister."

"A caring mister. More for yourself than my own." He corrects as he folds up the dirty napkin. "I only interfere when it's becoming clear you're doing damage to yourself."

The irony of it all is a little too uncanny. Perhaps now Kento knew how you felt almost every single day with his own self-sacrificial tendencies.

"You know, You need to take your own advice." You tease, burden a little more light with more sandwich in you. "Usually it's me telling you to rest."

He huffs a short puff of air from his nose, a sigh in surrender as he knows you're right, but pulling you closer all the same.

"You're right. But, this isn't about me. We're focused on you right now."

"Hmm. It's why you fell in love with me, isn't it?"

"Haha, a reason among thousands, darling." His voice and his expression seems to glisten as the words leave his mouth.

"But yes, it is one of them." He muses, happy as you continue to take small bites of the sandwich, the savory taste combined with the coffee settling in your belly with the calming flash of the television, and the stalwart command in his presence slowly fulfilled you the longer you stayed side by side.

"You still should've fell in love with a genius instead."

He looks over and glares at you, eyebrow curling with his displeasure at your remark.

"That's uncalled for."

"Why? Then you wouldn't need to baby me so much with my studies." You pout, leaning into his arm.

"It's not babying. It's called being a partner." He hums. "Stop that negative talk. You're wonderful and intelligent and I wish you knew that all the time."

He places your empty plate on the coffee table and holds you. As much as he disliked hearing your self-critiques, he knew underneath it was a silent plea for his affection. You knew better than to trouble yourself with begging for what he always gave you so easily just like oxygen. But in times like the present, sometimes you needed just a little bit more.

"Why are you so good to me, Ken?"

The innocence of the question begs the very faint semblance of a smile on his lips, and he relents his sterness a little with a sigh.

"Because that's my job. That's the duty of loving." His fingers brush at your collar, the warmth of his hand leaving the surface of the skin where he found it to be reduced to a cloud.

"To be strong where you feel you can't. To shoulder the burden when it gets to be too heavy. That's partnership." He reminds you, looking at you, praying his words sink in. "I'm not doing my part if I see you suffer."

"I'm tired, Ken."

"Then rest, darling." He replies simply, cradling your face. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But I need to study."

"You can." He hums, pad of his thumb flicking your bottom lip. "But you're trying to pour from an empty cup right now, my love. You need to rest."

"But-"

"No buts." He says firmly. "Just rest."

You close your eyes and relent under his insistence. He exhales, happy with the reunion of your head against his chest, fingers lingering in that familiar dance up and down your arm.

You cuddle there in silence, the calm of the afternoon washing over you with the incessant trickle of raindrops and the dialogue of the TV. The silence giving light to the tender dynamic of your relationship that always called him back to the beginning where it all started.

It was little things like the serenity of right now that affirmed that his decision to visit his mother and pick up her ring that now lived in the back of your closet was the best he had made in such a long time.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Can't sleep."

"Hm." He looks you over, heart tightening slightly at the anxiety still obvious in your disposition and how it remained despite the moments of silence, wishing he could dash it all at once. "Let's go to bed?"

"I'm too cozy to move."

He chokes out a laugh, taking note of your limbs wound tightly in your blanket burrito and how cute you are when you're in your snuggly element. "Well, then let's stay here."

"But I can't sleep."

"Just relax and close your eyes.""

"Ohhh, you don't say?"

"Don't be facetious, darling." Kento scolds. He rubs your shoulder, slow and methodical. "Should I start counting sheep?"

"Mmm...no, thank you. That's boring. Rather just keep talking to you..."

You trace over his scars, your favorite trail to blaze in its familiar pattern of a forest among the earth of his exterior.

"Having fun?" He raises a brow, that tenderness clawing at his firm heartstrings that always made it impossible to stay stern.

"I'm having a freakin blast."

"Good." He turns his attention back to the TV for a long while, not minding your ongoing exploration, doing his best not to succumb to sleep before you did, knowing you'd sneak back to your studies when you weren't allowed.

After a long while, he asks,

"Sleepy yet?"

"Not really..." You yawn. "I should really study."

"You should really sleep." He murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

"But I cannnnn't." You pout and Kento's heartbeat does that subtle throb in his chest when you were being unintentionally adorable.

He tsks again and takes one of your hands in his, fingertips tracing over the embedded lines of your open palm, tickling your knuckles as he gets an idea.

"Very well. How about a pop quiz?"

He runs his pinky from the top of your hand to the bottom.

"What is the name of the vein that runs along here?" He asks, allowing it to linger in a circle as he awaits your answer.

You yawn again,"That's easy. The cephalic vein, part of the dorsal venous network."

"Mhmm. And what about here?" He pauses at your wrist, pad of his index finger paused over the vitality that thrummed in the vein underneath.

"That's the radial...." You answer, your tone a little more heavy this time. Kento smiles to himself as sleep begins to slowly tug at you.

"Mhmm..and this...?" His finger trails to the crook of your forearm.

"Um..." You blink slowly. It's becoming more difficult to keep your eyes open, but you jerk your head, in denial about the gradual hold your fatigue was having on you. "It's uh...the uhm...median cubital."

"Good." Kento says more softly this time as your head hits the plane of his chest, not noticing the kiss he leaves in your hair as he tucks the blanket over your shoulder.

"And...this?" He whispers, stoking your cheek.

There is no answer from you this time, just pounding of raindrops on the roof, the cozy smell of coffee and his cologne along your cheek that made you melt deeper into him, not minding the background noise of the ads from the TV.

The sound of his heart thrummed in your eardrums like a metronome tethering your body to him on Earth while your mind slipped into the river of dreams under his loving watch and the tender, sleepy echo of his voice.

He holds you even tighter to him, assured in the curve of your spine, the flutter of your lashes as you enter the deepest realm of sleep, the way slumber rises in your chest and rolls off your shoulders.

You. Beautiful, alive, breathing, asleep, at peace.

He'd give his life to always see you this way.

"I love you."

Those three little words are uttered in adoring succession in kisses on your forehead. But, he can't escape the lull of the rainstorm lullaby either. His breaths quickly follow the snuggly pace yours set into the intimate melody of afternoon slumber, tangled up in you.

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bellawoso · 1 year ago

Text

Delicate

Aitana Bonmati x fem!reader

kinda short, and a one time take on angst as i conclude i should stick to writing fluff 🤍🥲

With everything that had recently happened in Aitana’s life; the ballon d’or, champions league and the World Cup, you couldn’t blame her teammates and captain for wanting to try reduce the stress in her life.

Stress being relationships. Most players knew that if you were as popular as Aitana, balancing a relationship on top of all of the media and press you have to do, is not the best idea.

Even though Aitana is now 26, many of her teammates still view her as one of the children on the team, possibly due to her sweet and loving nature, but also her lack of relationships had left the midfielder a bit naive, many of her older teammates wanted to protect her in a way.

So when they heard about you, after Aitana let it slip she had a girlfriend, her teammates were quick to interrogate her about you.

They learnt that you were a paramedic, who had moved from London, but that at team bonding nights you had never crossed paths with her teammates as you had coincidentally had a sudden call, her teammates learnt these sudden calls happened quite a lot.

And although Aitana spoke about you with love and devotion, her teammates failed to notice this as they were blinded with the information suggesting you were added stress for Aitana, constantly leaving, and then coming back late during the night, sometimes you didn’t return at all and went back to your own apartment.

They didn’t realise that Aitana didn’t mind this, as the Spaniard herself was also usually not home once or twice a week for away matches.

———————————————————————

At the next team bonding night, Aitana asked everyone if she could bring you, the Spaniard mainly asked to be polite, but in her mind she couldn’t imagine any of her teammates saying no, she thought they would be excited to meet you as she often spoke now about how serious the two of yours relationship was.

However, the brunette was immediately met with awkward glances and half hearted, silly excuses of why it would be better for you to not come.

The ballon d’or winner was hurt, she noticed her teammate’s unjust dislike for you, which left her conflicted, this combined with her previous fatigued and stressed state, made her patience run thin.

Therefore when she returned home, and you excitedly asked her how her day was, she was quick to snap “fine” at you.

You immediately knew something was wrong with your usually very affectionate girlfriend, who had a habit of smothering you in kisses the moment she stepped through the door.

“Tana? Is everything okay, what happened?” You questioned her, whilst resting a hand on her arm, rubbing small comforting circles on her forearm with your thumb.

When Aitana suddenly shrugged your hand off and pushed past you whilst muttering “Just leave me alone, do not bother me anymore.” you knew that it was really upsetting her if she didn’t even want to talk to you about it.

You and the midfielder hadn’t had an argument yet, so this hurt you as you knew you hadn’t done anything to deserve Aitana’s cold demeanour, which should be used on whoever upset her.

———————————————————————

You didn’t see Aitana after that, she left the house without a goodbye when you got in the shower.

Until at around 5pm, you suddenly get a call to head to the bridge over the river where a car accident had taken place. Most of the paramedics in your area had been sent to a warehouse fire where many workers were injured, leaving not many to attend other scenes, hence why you and your partner, Carlos had been called in.

You were ready and at the station by 5:30, and quickly got in the drivers seat, with Carlos in the passenger seat, as you made your way there you ranted to him about Aitana’s rudeness, and he was quick to back you up, but also try ease your worries witch an explanation of the Spaniard just being stressed.

When you got to the car crash on the bridge, and saw the upside down car about to fall off the bridge, you quickly ran over and cut the man’s seatbelt, allowing Carlos to tug him out.

However as the car began to slip, you were unluckily unable to climb out of the car in time, leaving you in the car as it plummeted into the river.

You must have hit your head, knocking you unconscious, as soon your awake gasping for air at the side of the river, Carlos had been quick to jump in after you and pull you out of the water.

Blood tricked down the side of your head, as you reached up to touch it, a sharp pain came from the cut making you wince and look down at your hand to see blood coating your fingers.

Your breathing still hasn’t returned to normal, and it turned out Carlos had called another paramedic to take care of the man, as he supported you back to the ambulance on the road.

“You terrified me there Y/N, you were under there for 4 minutes, I thought I lost you” Carlos said, as he strapped you onto the bed in the back of the ambulance.

“I’m sorry” you could only whisper, your voice hoarse from your frantic breathing earlier.

“Don’t be sorry, it was no one’s fault, can I call her?”

Her being Aitana, and truthfully you didn’t want to go to hospital, you just wanted to go home and crawl into your girlfriends arms, but you couldn’t as yet again she had gone to another team bonding night that she promised you could go to, but instead never brought up again.

You were annoyed with her, you wanted to get to know her teammates, they were like a second family to her, and you wanted to be apart off your girlfriends personal life, not kept separate all of the time.

When you arrived at the hospital, they were quick to stitch up the cut above your eyebrow, and hooked you up to many machines measuring your heart rate and oxygen levels.

You told Carlos not to ring Aitana, her previous words of “Do not bother me” were still fresh in the back of your mind.

At first Carlos listened, but seeing how anxious and distressed you looked on the hospital bed, made him question your words, and secretly called the Spaniard.

———————————————————————

When Aitana arrived at team bonding, she had gone to sit down and enjoy the movie in peace, except the quiet didn’t relax her, instead it gave her time to think and reflect on the harsh things she said to you.

She knew she needed to apologise straight away, so she quickly excused herself to call you, as you should be still awake.

On her 4th attempt at ringing you, with no luck as it went straight to voicemail again, she was worried, even when in the job, you always answered your phone.

When she returned back to the living room to sit down, the team noticed her nervous state, with her leg bouncing up and down, while she twisted the rings covering her fingers.

“Aita? What’s wrong?” Alexia asked softly.

“Y/N, she’s not answering any of my calls, I was awful to her before I left, I just want to apologise, but now I’m worried about her.”

“Aita, is she really the right one for you? She is probably ignoring you out of spite! So that you leave us and go to her instead.” Alexia added.

“What are you talking about? She would never do that, I know my girlfriend, you’ve never even met her” Aitana glared at her captain.

“I don’t think we want to, with everything we’ve heard, she seems too stressful, always leaving for her work” Patri argued.

With a scowl, Aitana’s protective side shone through, an urge to defend you from the rude words of her teammates, who were completely misjudging you.

“No, that is only once every few weeks, I leave her more often for away games than she leaves me, and she helps me with my stress! Honestly, I don’t see why you all hate her, I thought you would like her after seeing everything she does for me-”

Aitana’s rant was cut off my her phone ringing, her eyes lit up with relief thinking it would be you ringing her back.

The worry was soon to return after seeing the caller id: Carlos.

She knew something was wrong if your partner who she had only met a few times was calling her.

As soon as he told her what had happened, Aitana’s breathing was quick to become irregular, worrying her surrounding teammates.

When she hung up the phone, she immediately asked Ingrid, the only person who hadn’t judged you, to take her to the hospital. Ingrid and Mapi had picked up Aitana, who would have normally asked you to drop her off, except she didn’t want to see your happy face at the time, whilst harbouring the knowledge that none of her teammates were as eager to meet you as you were to meet them.

“Hey, Aitana can you tell me what’s happened first?” Ingrid softly asked her.

“It’s Y/N, she was called to a car crash, but the car fell in the river with her still inside, and she was under for 4 minutes, she’s at the hospital now” Aitana said whilst rushing to the door.

Knowing this, and seeing Aitana’s reaction, the team suddenly realised just how much Aitana cared for you, and were quick to internally scold themselves for hating someone who made Aitana so happy.

Ingrid led Aitana to her car, with Alexia and Mapi rushing in too, insisting they wanted to meet you as soon as possible, much to Aitana’s disapproval, knowing you would likely be tired and want to go home.

When they arrived at the hospital, Aitana ran to the front desk, letting the nurse lead them to your room, but as soon as the brunette laid eyes on you, bile rose to her mouth.

You had fallen asleep, not knowing Aitana was coming, you were so pale and vulnerable, at seeing all of the wires and needles hooking you to the many machines monitoring you, Aitana panicked.

Alexia noticed this and led the midfielder to the seat next to your bed, however this was a bad choice as it gave Aitana a clear view of the large cut across the side of your head, she reached over to softly trace the cut, but was awoken from her daze as your eyes fluttered open, and winced upon feeling her fingers softly running over the cut.

“Amor? How are you feeling? I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier” Aitana whispered softly, whilst running her fingers through your hair.

“Please don’t apologise love, it was no one’s fault.” You echoed Carlos’ words from earlier.

“If your feeling better, would you please come to our next movie night, bebe?” Aitana asked, which brought a smile to your face, which made Aitana’s heart swell but also ache at the same time, by seeing you so excited for her doing the minimum by letting you meet her friends.

“I would like that Tana, thankyou”

“Please don’t thank me, it’s the least I can do for you amor, I’m just so happy your okay, I was so worried”

“Hey Tana it’s okay honestly, your stressed and I understand that, the media expects a lot from you amor”

At this Aitana kisses your forehead and asks “can I tell the world of us?”

You smiled and nodded your head, happy that your relationship was now no longer a secret from the world.

———————————————————————

aitanabonmati

liked by yourinstagram, janafernandez3, and 78,609 others

the last few months with you have been amazing mi amor, i have treasured every second ❤️

tagged @yourusername

- - -

@yourusername: not carlos photobombing us in the last photo 😭, love you baby ❤️

@alexiaputellas: guapaaa 🤍

@ingridengen: cutest couple!!

@user1: HARD LAUNCH?!

@user2: THEY ARE SO CUTE WTF

@user3: do they do double dates with Mapi and Ingrid? 🫠

#Spotify #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #aitana bonmati #mapi leon #mapi león #ona batlle #alexia putellas #aitana bonmati x reader #ingrid engen #patri guijarro

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riversongweek · 2 months ago

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River Song Appreciation Week

📅 May 25-31, 2025 (and every year thereafter!)

River Song Appreciation Week is back—an annual celebration of our favorite time-travelling archaeologist, space-queen, and Luna U's infamous darling professor. After several past editions (most recently in 2023), this fan-favorite returns on May 25-31 and will now be an annual celebration hosted by @expectiations. We’re bringing RSAW back to life with even more ways to celebrate!

✨ How to Join In

Like and/or Reblog this post

Create & Post anything inspired by River based on a prompt—gifs, graphics, caps, fanfic, vids, metas, fanmixes… you name it!

Caption your content with the following: @riversongweek | river song appreciation week: day # - prompt title (e.g. day 1 - favorite scene/episode)

Use one (or all!) hashtags within your first five tags:

#riversongweek

#riversongappreciationweek

#RSAW25

Reblogs & Shares: Reblog, retweet, or repost your favorites—comments and ❤s count just as much if you can’t create something new.

Unblock & Engage: Make sure you haven’t blocked our host's tumblr, so we can see and reblog your creations!

📜 Week-Long Schedule

Day 1 | May 25: Favorite Scene(s)/Episode(s)

Day 2 | May 26: Favorite Quote

Day 3 | May 27: Favorite Regeneration

Day 4 | May 28: Favorite Trait

Day 5 | May 29: Favorite Theme

Day 6 | May 30: Favorite Dynamic

Day 7 | May 31: Free Day

🎉 Community Vote

We’ll be running various River-centric polls across platforms (Twitter polls, IG Stories, Discord channel polls, etc.)—keep an eye out for opportunities to vote!

💡 Creative “Igniters”

Feeling stuck? Pick one quote that captures River’s essence and riff on it however you like:

• “For time may be a river, but the mind is a tide. They say the river can’t be turned, yet the tide can shift and slide.” ― Nishant Prakash, Falling In & Out • “Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.” ― The Wonder Years • “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” ― Helen Keller • “Forever is composed of nows.” ― Emily Dickinson • “The thing with heat is, no matter how cold you are, no matter how much you need warmth, it always, eventually, becomes too much.” ― Victoria Aveyard, Glass Sword • “It’s very painful to start loving someone when holding on to the idea of hating them keeps you safe.” ― Fern Brady, Strong Female Character • “Time isn’t the only thing that can surprise you.”

Use these as optional prompts—no pressure, just sparks for your imagination.

🎨 Optional Fan Challenge

Quote-Inspired Fan-mix: Pick a quote and build a playlist around it.

No separate tags needed—just include our standard hashtags!

📜 Quick Rules & Reminders

Keep River front and center. Other characters are welcome, but she’s the star.

Be kind and respectful. No discrimination, shaming, or ship-bashing.

No AI-generated content.

Tag mature content (NSFW, triggers) clearly.

💬 Where to Hang Out

Discord: Join our server and find polls in the #river-song-appreciation-week channel!

Tumblr Ask Box: Questions? Inspiration? Drop us a line anytime.

Let’s light up the days leading up to May 31 with gifs, fanfic, art, and musings worthy of River Song herself. Time to show our space-queen how much she means to us once more—geronimo! 🚂✨

🤍 divider used by @cafekitsune

#RSAW25 #riversongappreciationweek #riversongweek #river song #doctor who #melody pond #mels zucker

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sugaryplum · 3 months ago

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🪷 tidy up

regulus black with traumatic past (& present) learning to be reassuring x overthinking, possibly annoying, (ocd/BIG people pleasing problems) reader.

summary: your mind is as messy as your sheets, a quick river of endless what if’s. and the boy next to you is just trying to relax.

here’s my masterlist (navigation post is pinned!). this was a self indulgent (in a way) product of my scary ocd worries <3 more reader focused. written with a romantic thing in mind but it could also be interpreted platonically! AND IT’s NOT TOO ANGSTY! literally just a fluffy hurt/comfort-ish short thing, i don’t know why im writing all this. probably ocd too. stay happy & not worried you guys 🤍! especially if you can somehow relate to this small thing.

“you’re really tired.” almost impressed, you put down the magazine you were just reading to crawl closer to the boy who just laid down next to you. he closed his eyes with a small sigh, but no words. you grab his cold hand and with your other arm you reach to get his hair out of his face. you look at him, try to notice any signs of discomfort.

“mm, i didn’t sleep too well last night” regulus keeps his eyes closed, slowly intertwining your fingers with a soft hum.

“yeah?” you murmur, getting more quiet to accommodate the sleepy boy. “was everything okay? because you could’ve told me, i could–“

you get worried about him, sometimes. actually, almost always, definitely more than you’d like to admit, even as a self proclaimed open book.

what if he got nightmares? what if some tragic memory caused by the scary family you barely know anything about came back to him in the middle of the night? the boy doesn’t express it too often but there are things trying to haunt him, you know it. you don’t care if they’re just thoughts, you don’t care that in hogwarts he’s okay and he says he can manage his family business later.

the realness of the situation doesn’t matter to you as long as his feelings are real.

he shakes his head gently, opening his eyes now. he looks at you sleepily, his eyes tracing your features, from your lips to your cheeks to your eyes, before gently squeezing your hand. “it was fine, i just couldn’t sleep”

you ever so slightly breathe out, you don’t think he notices, and you nod.

“are you fine?” it fills your chest and face with some warmth, the fact that he notices and asks. you smile and not again with a hum. you lay your head on his stomach and try to let yourself rest.

but what if his smile is just trying to reassure you? what if he doesn’t feel good at all? you can’t have him forced to deal with his feelings by himself, what if he’s just scared to ask? your breath gets more shallow just thinking of that.

“you’ll tell me if you’re ever not fine though?” you can’t help the words coming out of your mouth.

“i will, i’m fine”, said more firmly.

he’s not cold, doesn’t seem like that to you, but what if he wants to be? what if the intention behind the firmness of his voice was to make you leave him be? he deserves to be left be, you think. you try to focus on his hand still affectionately playing with yours, but you just have to let him know.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. there’s no reason.”

“well, i’m sorry for being sorry.” you chuckle but you’re still uncertain, the joke is somewhat an actual apology.

he closes his eyes again and before your thoughts begin to spiral and mess up like the messy sheets beneath you…

“i still like you.” it’s said with a small smile, you both know your worry is silly, but he’s sincere in the reassurance.

…he makes the bed in your mind, tidies you up.

#lenka's fics⋆. 𐙚 ̊#i hope its not too silly #and i hope you dont hate the reader!!!#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x reader fluff #regulus black x reader angst #regulus black x ocd reader #platonic!regulus black #regulus black fluff #regulus black angst #regulus black hurt/comfort

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royal-chandler · 22 days ago

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a gift fic for @dragonflylady77, who requested idiots in love/getting together 🤍

the grammar is sketchy but i do hope you enjoy it! ✨

oh! canon divergent. they’re besties but no nye kiss.

Later, Alex will determine that he wouldn’t have been so careless if not for the buzzy cocktail of spicy mezcal margaritas and Austin sunshine—if Henry hadn’t been his usual thoughtful self with his distracting and forever-endearing smile.

“Do you want me to take one on yours, too?” Henry offers after handing Nora back her phone.

And without a second thought, Alex gives away his unlocked phone. He then sets up bunny ears behind Nora, goofs off and grins through the series of pictures that Henry takes.

“What’s the verdict? Sex appeal at a ten?” Alex asks when Henry gives a thumbs up.

“Broke the meter, no doubt,” Henry says, spectacularly dry. He shades his eyes with one hand and swipes at the screen with the other. His expression shifts from mocking to one of serious consideration. “Um yeah, they turned out great. You both look good. They’re good.”

“Alright, let’s switch it up.” Alex claps his hands together, suggests, “Group photo?”

After the squad of them do several poses in front of a timed camera and a lengthy dip into the lake, Alex crashes out on the dock with Henry—an agreed-up and wordless decision to leave Pez and Nora to their flirtations and shared river tube.

“You having trouble piecing together the mystery, Henry?” Alex asks into the stretch of silence between them, basking with red-orange smudges on the back of his eyelids.

“What?” Sitting in the deckchair to Alex’s left, Henry sounds weirdly scandalized. “What are you talking about?”

“Chill, Your Majesty. I haven’t heard you turn a page of that book in a minute,” Alex comments, shimming on the towel underneath him. “That’s all.”

There’s a grind in Henry’s throat before, in a candid tone that brings Alex back to fine whiskey and a crush of buttercream, he corrects, “It’s a historical fiction romance actually.”

“Yada yada yada, actually,” Alex haughtily repeats. Down bad and greedy for any time Henry’s skin meets his, Alex can’t suppress his smile when the expected shove to his shoulder comes.

Another stillness follows. It’s very short-lived.

“Alex.”

“That’s me.”

“I need to speak with you.”

Alex opens his eyes to find a hazily-haloed Henry studying him, the space between his brows scrunched in a way Alex is getting more familiar with, more fond of. The entirety of his attention is caught. “I’m listening.”

“Well not here,” Henry stresses like this should be obvious, standing in his turtle swimtrunks and sheer with SPF-volcano sunscreen. “Is there someplace private we could go?”

“Uhh.” Here Alex apparently takes too long to answer, is fucking audacious for being heartbeat-hesitant in getting up from his loose recline because Henry deliciously bites:

“My deepest apologies, Alex, are you too busy doing nothing else?”

Alex bursts into laughter. He loves it when Henry gets bitchy and tells him just that. He’s not as forthcoming with the fact that it’s just one love amongst a mountain of many.

“That’s a happy coincidence then. Since with you, it comes as naturally as breathing,” Henry replies. He points to Alex’s phone that’s resting on his chair. “Bring that with you.”

“I thought we were past the point of needing emergency services on standby for a conversation but okay,” Alex agrees, snatching up his phone. He waves to Nora and Pez out on the water, signaling that he and Henry will be back in a minute. He assumes anyway.

Alex leads them a little past the treeline, where the only possible disturbance is birdsong. He leans back against a sunwarmed trunk and considers Henry. “So what’s up?”

It’s a brand new image, Henry working up the nerve to speak to him—his mouth tight as he clearly writes and rewrites what he wants to say before deciding on the final edit.

“Earlier when I took those photos of you and Nora? I accidentally swiped too far back when I was looking over them. By one slide,” Henry shares, his hazel eyes intent on Alex and not letting anything past them.

For a moment, Alex’s mind is blissfully blank.

The realization then floods in sudden and sobering.

“Shit.”

Upended with his insides littered on the ground, Alex desperately wishes for a miracle he knows isn’t coming. He opens his phone, willing his past self to have taken a selfie or screenshot a meme, to have saved a stupid gif. However, all glimmering hope tarnishes. There in the camera roll, plain as day, the last thumbnail from the previous night is a solo image of Henry.

Which isn’t particularly unusual—a shit ton of pictures were taken during their downtown barhopping—except that in this specific frame Henry is curled up on Alex’s bed, asleep and trusting and unknowing of his friend's camera fixed on him.

Henry had nodded off in the middle of a movie the two of them had been watching and Alex didn't have the heart to move him. All he’d meant to do was drape an afghan over him.

“I’m not a creep, I swear,” Alex says.

Henry gives Alex’s wrist a little tug from where it’s tucked under an arm, moves lower until he’s holding Alex’s hand. He smiles softly at their touch and then at Alex. “I don’t think that you are. I’m just curious about why you took it.”

“I liked how right it looked, you there on my bed. How right you looked. You were so damn sweet and perfect and you were fucking snoring—”

“I do not snore.”

“Oh but you do, out of your button nose, and it’s the best thing ever. I love it.” Lacing their fingers together—milk and honey, milk and honey— and his heart set in motion, Alex continues, “Henry, I love you. I love you in every possible way there is to love you. I took that picture of you because at that second, I missed that version of you. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to see it again.”

Alex doesn’t expect the kiss but when gets his first taste of Henry, he takes a deep drag. He sucks on the warm give of Henry’s lips and breathes him in—aloe and coconut, earth and citrus. Henry. Alex licenses his hands to Henry’s back and the nape of his neck, pressing in half-moons while providing Henry his thigh to ride a bit. He swallows the moan that melts from Henry’s mouth.

When Alex and Henry part, they linger brow to brow.

“Do you remember the first night we ever spoke on the phone?” Henry asks, low and nuzzling close.

Alex ducks and hurries a soft, laughing kiss to Henry’s freckled face, not quite his lips but close enough. “Uh yeah. I’m not gonna forget having a live turkey in my room any time soon.”

“So bloody ridiculous. That night I told you that I don’t sleep,” Henry says, fingers buried in Alex’s hair. “Nine times out of ten, I truly cannot. But in that photo, I’m dead to the world. Christ, I’m wrapped up in you. Your shirt, your sheets, your blanket. You tucked me in your bed. It’s no wonder, I was snoring.”

“Ah, he admits it,” Alex grins.

“I felt safe enough to do it,” Henry insists. His pretty eyes crinkle and shine like crescents. “You make me feel so safe, Alex.”

“Baby,” Alex exhales. He tightens his hold on Henry, hugging him as if they might mold together. He whispers in Henry’s ear, “Baby, I always want you to feel that way.”

“I know. It’s why I love you, too,” Henry says, again like Alex is a bellend and it’s obvious. Alex can hear the smile around the declaration.

He could devour Henry with all the affection eating him up but settles for biting on Henry’s ear and delighting in his yelp—getting to kiss and kiss him until he’s forgiven and then some.

Everything changes and yet nothing does.

#firstprince #rwrb #alex x henry #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue fanfic #my fic #my writing

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