#beyond my usual aches pains and exhaustion

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀(4)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Profanity, illness, fluff, mentions of blood, no curse AU, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒: 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇

A/N: ik i haven't posted in a while (in my defence, school is taking up too much of my time to focus on anything else) but I got an off day and this was a quick write up (actually not) jhjhjhs wc - 3.7k. Hope you enjoy <3

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑

It's not usual for Sukuna to fall ill.

However, when he does it’s like all the pathogens known to mankind have taken it upon themselves to infect him.

This time, it isn't so different after all.

Since the break of dawn Sukuna's been awake. Body twisted in an uncomfortable manner under the duvets, the dim flicker of the night lamp proves to be a companion in the otherwise solitary room.

"Fucking hell," He curses under his breath, shifting his position to ease the persistent ache that ripples through his body; his joints, for some reason, seems to have tightened itself to his bones. Slight movement proving to be difficult. While the air conditioner functions properly, a sheen of perspiration aglows his forehead—he swabs the moisture only to meet with another thin layer marring his skin, seconds later. He forces open an eye, trying to contemplate why your figure beside him does seems so fuzzy. No sooner, he can clear the mystery does a wave of shiver runs down his spine. "What the hell is this?"

The question leaves his lips, followed by strange churn of his stomach and on instinct he smacks his hand over his mouth.

The next minutes are blurred. Literally blurred for the brief time as if his body is set on auto-pilot, beckoning him to rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom.

As the expunging liquids leaves his throat and down the toilet does his distinct vision returns. Lips apart, he breaths in copious amount of air while the room seems to spin in a whirl. Once his senses have returned, he reached to flush down the contents only to halt.

Is that... blood?

.

"Temperature 101.6 °F and he threw up in the morning."

Sukuna would rather be anywhere but here.

Sitting in a doctor's cabin with you while the former wouldn't stop with his ridiculous questions. Inadvertently, he rests his scalp against the wall, a searing pain ripping from his chest every once in a while, causing him to jolt as if he's being electrocuted.

"Any other discomfort? Body ache or...?" Shinzo trails off, continuing with the physical examination of his patient.

In response, Sukuna shakes his head negatively. However, you take it upon yourself to be honest, "He does and he coughed through the whole drive."

"Not the whole—"

"Keep your mouth shut." Harshly you rebuke, shooting a scornful glare his way.

His lips curl down, on the verge to retaliate before the notion of it seems indolent. He's already been through a series of blood test and chest X rays since the last thirty minutes, exhausting him beyond relief; no need to add more to the list. Therefore, his mouth forms a thin line.

Shinzo hums, finishing with the check up as he returns to his seat across you. Scribbling down on the prescription, a knock sounds from the door and soon his assistant strides in with a number of reports. While the doctor reads through the files of his current patient, your hypertension manifests itself upon your being when your eyes find your boyfriend.

Awfully muted, his throat must have chipped while he threw up—reason to the unusual bleeding. Shoulders raised in a manner, tints of red stains his skin and the groans that escalates from him whenever he attempts to move just causes you to wince. You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with the fabric of your jacket as the momentary silence in the room stretches. For too long that this might be the loudest silence, you’ve been in.

"Does he need to be hospitalized?"

"No—"

"I am not talking to you."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, just taking a mental note to give you an earful once all of this shit is over. It's so fucking funny. Oh, for heavens... he is perfectly fine. Well yeah, maybe some coughing fit but he can work through that for the day. No way did you call Kenjaku and call in sick for him. And he allowed that? Allowed you to drag you here as well? Alright, maybe he is sick.

Shinzo sets the files down, "Stage I Pneumonia," He concludes, straightening his posture and continues with the prescription. "No need for hospitalization but I am prescribing an antiviral— Tamiflu. Thirty minutes after breakfast, lunch and dinner for three days. Ibuprofen remains whenever he gets high fever and for the cough..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, ripping the sheet before passing it to you. "There's the Honiitus syrup, he can have 10 ml now. Rest, you know."

You nod, scanning the sheet in your grasp, irises halting on the specific medications. Craning your neck upto him, you ask, "Thank you and anything else?"

"Adequate rest and homemade food and he's good to go."

.

"Don't be difficult now, drink it."

"No."

Sukuna scowls at you and you scowl back. His eyes shifts to the tin medicine cup-cap in your hand filled with the amber coloured liquid which is supposed to heal his sore throat.

Currently, confined inside the four walls of his room, this place is 100 times better than that doctor's cabin and any hospital bed. He is sure just a whole day of sleep will make him back on his feet but you just have to be so... persistent.

"I am not asking, drink it." You extend your hand, bringing the liquid to his lips, only for him to turn his face away.

"And I said no," He spits back, eye twitching as he disregards your terse call. "Get that shit out of my face."

"This is for your own good, Sukuna. Stop acting like a child."

Sukuna only huffs in response, muttering a string of curses under his breath. No way is he letting you win this plus that thing in your hand smells disgusting.

“Absolutely not.”

You heave out loudly, "I don't want to force you."

That draws an almost amused chuckle out of him, he tilts his head—eyes shutting down and mouth clamping with a sound as another wave of nausea overrides him. Once composed, he reopens his eyes, challenge swirling in the crimson hues, "You think you can force me?"

“I don’t think so,” A mirthless smile curves into your own mien, you regard his dare with one of your own. "I know so."

"Sure."

"So are you going to be a good boy and drink it or do I need to make you?"

He scoffs, "Go on and try."

You pause for a second, bringing the cup down, gaze settled on him and for reasons unknown, Sukuna senses trouble. "Remember, you asked for it."

He shuts his eyes, rolling the irises behind the lids. You are just so funny sometimes. To think you can force him? Really? Even in this state, he can easily overpower you without even trying. Pick you up and throw you on the bed without any effort. But just for the jokes and laughs, he will let you get a head start.

In the reverie, he is when your warm palm grazes his jaw.

Here it comes.

Until it doesn't.

There's no hint of strength, no force, nothing as you let your palm trail over his skin. He opens his eyes and good lord's... You are close. Too close for his liking. Not that he is complaining. Of course. You can be closer if you want but wait– he is infected, right?

So you shouldn't be near him.

But it's like some hypnotism that's in play as he gazes into your eyes. With the added bonus of your soothing touch on his jaw, the pad of your thumb running on his lower lip—you pull down the flesh. He can see you more clearly than ever, from the slight furrow of your brows to the twitch of your lips and the light reflecting on your eyes.

It's clear.

So, so clear.

A heat spreads through his cheeks, mingling with the blood flowing in his veins and in seconds, his heart rate amplifies. Was it one of the side effects of Pneumonia? Shinzo obviously didn’t mention this but- fuck! You are here and the proximity only hitches the breath in his throat. Your rhythmic exhalation of air fans his skin and he swallows a lump.

Fuck!

He is truly sick.

You draw him in, "Open your mouth."

Before he can make sense of the situation, his body complies. Lips parting and soon you are pouring the medicine down his throat. He gulps, eyes still trained on you and yours on his.

You sit back on the bed and Sukuna blinks.

Wait– what just happened?

"That wasn't too hard now, was it?" You chuckle, pouring some water on the cup and swirl it.

"You– you tricked me."

"Oh? Did I?" Feigning innocence, you laugh again. "And what if I did? ...Oh, and don't make that face now, it doesn't taste that bad.”

“Taste it yourself then speak.”

“I am not the one who’s sick, you are” You muse, cleaning the cap and fastening the lid. He mutters an incoherent curse under his breath and you stand up. Straightening the duvet, you beckon him to lay down.

Something he does without any protest. However, his eyes flickers to the door for a brief second and now only, he is met with the yellowish eyes of a feline.

He raises an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

Kuro passes him a languid stare, his whiskers tremor once almost like its scowling. Only serving for the former’s vexation, the man waves him off without a thought. A low squeal is erupted from him and he is on the verge of pouncing of him when step in.

Picking up the cat, you bring it up to your face, “See Kuro, your papa is sick. So no trespassing here for a week.”

He blinks and answers you as though he understands what you mean.

You’re pretty sure he will try to barge in the second you leave but hey! What’s the problem to hold a little hope? Setting the cat down, you usher him out. Turning towards your boyfriend, you shoot him a heads up. One which he returns with a dismissive gesture.

“Get some rest in the meantime. I will be in the living room, just call if you need something.”

The lights dim out, curtain pulled over – creating the perfect atmosphere for an hour or more nap. Chirping of birds and the revving engines of cars from outside fades into background as comfort envelopes Sukuna amidst the sheets.

Despite it all, hollowness unfurls into his being.

The notion of silence returning again while he the room cloaks itself in darkness strikes an anonymous melancholy though his chest. A garter wraps around his neck, tightening with each passing second. And just like that the calm veneer crumbles into dust.

He pries an eye open and although the blackened room vanishes everything, its difficult to amiss your retreating figure. The haze increases, mouth sealed shut – he can’t speak. So, he extends an arm.

Wait-

The door closes shut.

.

He is walking through a mirage.

Surely, he has strolled through this area before. Once. Twice. Thrice. This is the fourth instance he is met with the same beige tinted cottages with scarlet thatched roofs.

He walks through the secluded lane across them.

Where is he going? He doesn’t know that. Just he is walking all alone. On his own. Just cause he has to.

Sky obscured with thick clouds, every once in a while does the thunder cracks. Lightening over the whole region. Sound so prominent, so daunting that it shakes the whole neighbourhood. For reasons, Sukuna finds an undulating spark tightening over his frame as every step forward becomes a struggle on its own. Down pouring heavily, the droplets causes his clothes to stick to his skin. Dripping down his ink stained countenance, clouding his vision. Breaths filled with raggedness, he wipes the moisture off- it isn’t removed.

He tries again and again and again.

Doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

How can anything ever work when-

Only a singular step he has taken and its like he is pushed off from a building.

Falling down, he doesn’t know what awaits him.

However, when he returns to his feet, the whole scenery has changed.

Instead of the murky countryside stretching with grasslands till the horizon, he is met with the picturesque view of a beach. Sparkling waves rises with all its glory, flaunting its sheer power before crashing on the sandy soil. Seagulls fly over the water bodies, their voice being a distinct reminder of this serenity. Murmurs of human life accompanied by distant tune from seaside eateries greet him. The gentle wisp of the sea breeze ruffles his hair, wafting sand into his eyes and nostrils; he doesn’t flinch.

When he looks around, everyone vanishes.

From the footprints on the soil to the sea castles to all the tourists. No one’s here.

The seclusion stalls on him only a second later. That’s when he realizes, everything’s truly gone.

The scorching sun blazes in fury, momentarily blinding him. Humidity persists in the air, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The waves crash again and he walks towards it. For some unknown reason-this feels right.

What’s the point of continuing anymore?

The sand prickles under his feet as he staggers towards the water. Sky high waves flicker and dance, crashing onto him and even though the musky salt should cause him to recoil, the intensity should strike some agony – he feels nothing.

Paving his way through the water until the very liquid surrounds him. All of this, just seems so empty.

“Sukuna,”

As if broken out from a trance by the mere call of his name, he turns.

Once again the vast expanse of the world does everything shift.

“You’re holding yourself well,” Jin remarks, wiping some specks of soap water from a plate. “Better than I expected you to.”

Sukuna’s eyes drift to take in the surroundings; standing across the kitchen counter of his apartment. His brother indulges in cleaning some utensils, a forlorn lilt of his lips prompts the former to raise an eyebrow. The room remains quiet only broken by the usual cling of the cutlery. From his periphery, he could see his nephew crouched down before Kuro, the boy ruffles the feline’s hair and now the cat should retaliate. Until it doesn’t.

“Taking care of Kuro as well,” Jin stares down at the duo. “Give yourself some credit y’know.”

Wait- since when did his brother know about the cat? And since when did Yuji turn to silent?

Gazing out the window- his eyes widen.

When did his neighbourhood change so much?

Without any explanation, Sukuna marches out of the apartment.

Greeted by a hoard of stones situated all over the grassland. Each of different shapes, sizes and perhaps… something just might be written on it. He doesn’t wait to read. Why should he doesn’t have his reading glasses with him?

Feet squashing the lifeless grasses, the leaves don’t crunch under his boots. His steps are steady, turning round a corner or more whenever he so pleases. Maybe this is the way out of the labyrinth of stones.

However, he halts before a particular stone.

For reasons unknown, Sukuna feels life slipping out of his fingers.

.

Sukuna wakes up with a jolt.

Eyes wide open, he breaths in through his mouth. Fingers trembling with the surge of adrenaline as his shoulders rise and fall in a cadence. Think coat of sweat mars his whole body, vest clinging to him like a second skin and the duvets covering his form renders him panting fit.

What was that? The beach? His brother? Those stones?

What- what was happening?

The eerie maze where he walked? Ran?

Wait- what occurred?

The ceiling lights blinds him with all the intensity, he shuts his eyelids, grunting out like a wounded animal. Some external voice rings out, too loud, too disturbing that he’s forced to press his palm over his ears. Touches guide his skin from his cheek to shoulders and a burst of repulsion compels him to push the person away.

Who the hell was it to hold him like that?

He’s got a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. Get the hell away from him.

However, instead of leaving him alone they are inching closer. He is met with the same touch again but the noise starts to clear as well.

“…Just a dream, you’re fine...”

Albeit begrudgingly, Sukuna removes his hand from his ears.

“…You’re home, calm down…”

It’s a gamble but he manages to reopen his eyes.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

Sukuna blinks, stupefied for the second.

There you are, standing before him while cupping his face in your little palms. Thumb running circles over the tattoos on his face, irises pooling with sheer concern, your eyes are solely focused on a subject. That subject being him.

He looks around.

Notably, nothing has changed. He is still in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the comforter pooled around his hips. From the traces of light pouring from the ajar window, he can make out how the light fades to dark as twilight tints the skies in hues of violet and blue.

“Hey,” You tap his cheek, urging him to face you, “Why aren’t you speaking?”

He only responds with long stare.

“Sore throat? Should I bring honiitus again?”

“Don’t even think about it, woman.” He barks, lips curling down in utter disgust as the very prominent taste of the damn syrup lingers in the back of his mouth.

Without making a fuss about his sudden outburst, you place your backhand over his forehead. “Mhm… you don’t seem to have fever.” You nod, “No ibuprofen, then.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Don’t celebrate too early,” You snort, a mirthful smile creeping onto you, “Tamiflu after lunch, remember?”

“Well genius, I didn’t have lunch.”

You snap your fingers, “I know, and there it is,” You point to a tray stacked with a lidded container resting on top of the nightstand.

He stares at it for a second too long, “What’s that?”

“Boiled vegetables and… no–” You flick your index finger in the air, a clear negative sign. “No more tantrums, you’ll shut up and eat.”

“As if,” He scoffs, twisting his body away from the utensil, he faces the wall as if the blank canvas seems more interesting than the food you cooked.

You sigh, sitting down on the limited space provided for you on the bed across him, “Just because I call you baby doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

“I am not enacting–  no, just– fuck,”  He curses under his breath, fumbling with the words too many times before he reaches a conclusion. “I am not acting like a god damn child.”

“Sure.” His eyes narrows down while he regards you. You stretch your arms, the joints cracking under the evident tension, “I added a few pieces of meat for taste, just so you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, retorts accumulating in his mouth. Just a second away from being unleashed before his gaze lands on a bowl and a pack of damp towels. “What happened with that?”

“What?”

“That.”

You glance at the way he points, taking a moment to contemplate before you answer, “I called Dr. Shinzo again, he said applying cold water towels will help with the fever so…”

Sukuna doesn’t know why, but he stills. “You were doing that all this time?”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

You tilt your head, “Maybe cause you need it?” He blinks and you find your patience wearing thin. Dismissing the confusion clouding his visage, you reach for the tray and pick it up. The clattering of the utensils due to your unstable balance rings through the whole room. “See, this won’t be that bad. Besides, it’s only for a few days, you can manage, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Aw c’mon, now,” You unfasten the lid, dipping the spoon. “I will feed you as compensation. How does that sound?”

He still doesn’t answer but with the way he doesn’t protest your offer, he hopes to let you know his affirmation.

.

Sukuna refuses to let you know that the boiled vegetable soup isn’t as bad as he thought.

.

Two days later

.

Credits to his above average immunity or whatsever but Sukuna is almost back to complete health in just a span of few days.

Finally.

Done he is with all the ibuprofen and every other shit he has to endure.

Never again.

As a ritual, only does the lunchtime ends with the empty hot pot of boiled vegetables being lidded back does Sukuna notice the uncharacteristic clattering of the utensils as you try to hold them in place.

“Give me that.”

Before you can reply, the tray is already being grabbed by your boyfriend as he sets it down on the nightstand.

“That needs to be in the kitchen.”

 Instead of gracing you with a proper answer, you are met with his crimson hues filled with something you can’t quite put a finger on. He urges you to sit with him and you comply. Feeling the need to for some reason.

“What?” You ask. His eyes darts down, following his gaze, confusion clouds your head for he is looking at your hands. “Huh?”

No sooner does the word leave your mouth than he grasps both of your hands on his own. You gasp yet don’t try to pull away.

Sukuna traces his thumb over the ridge of your knuckles to the tips of your nails. Turning them around, he draws every single contour lines on your palm as if he’s etching them onto his memory. It’s not the first time, he is holding your hand but it’s the first time he is noticing all the details. Like how a tiny callous has formed beside the edge of your thumb or how the tiny scar runs down the side of your ring finger.

His grasp tightens over yours, nothing to make it hurt. He would never.

He brings them up, pressing his lips over each and every, societally deemed, imperfection. At last, he turns to your backhand. This time, keeping his gaze stilled on you, he kisses your knuckles.

Perhaps, he’d have kissed you too but he doesn’t want the infection to pass.

Perhaps, you’ll know someday that… he is grateful.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @sweetpo1son @malazloje @tadabzzzbee @o-ikawaii

[kingkat12]

Would you ever write some mean!dom!Roman? Maybe where the reader uses a safe word and his whole demeanour softens 🥹 would be so cute!

mean dom Roman... as in the plain old Roman we all know and love? ahahah hell to the YES??? thank u so much for ur request, I loved writing this sm!! hope u like it hihi

safe word (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, quite rough sex (gets better dw), foul language, humiliation kink ish?, cum-play, he's so mean oof

summary: sex with Roman can be pure heaven, but it can sometimes feel like he wants to put you through hell... has hell ever felt so good?

word count: 2,276

"I-- I can't keep going," I held Roman close to me, letting out a small yelp against his neck as my hips moved away from his, aching and overstimulated. 

Something was a little different about him today-- Roman usually gave me time to adjust to his length before completely ravaging me like this, but tonight was different. I had an inkling that it turned him on to hear me whimper beneath him like this, that he couldn't help but enjoy the way my walls fluttered around him in a mix of exhaustion and desperation. 

"Aw," Roman breathed, his hand in my hair tightening as he spoke against my ear; "Too bad. Don't care."

I let out a small cry, my nails digging into his broad back. I knew I had a habit of getting overstimulated rather quickly, but I swore that something was different, I was sure of it-- was it maybe the fact that we had a little fight this morning? Did Roman need to take his frustration out on me like this? There wasn't any time to think about it, but there was one thing I could be sure of; and that was that Roman loved pushing me beyond the point of tears, and loved the way my eyes glossed over as they met his, looking like a complete and utter mess.

I spotted his growing smirk before he leaned down to kiss my neck, and I couldn't help but whimper at the force he was slamming his hips into mine. My broken noises didn't get any softer when my warmth swallowed him completely, feeling his cock go deep to the hilt. "Rome--" I let my head roll back down against my pillow, my legs wrapping around him as he continued his harsh thrusts. I knew he was being too rough with me, but the feeling of being pounded like this nearly turned me mute.

And weirdly enough, a part of me enjoyed it. Knowing that Roman had this power over me, the ability to make me feel nothing but engulfed by him, somehow made the pain subside into a darker pleasure than I was used to. Something about it felt... satisfactory.

Roman gripped my waist, nipping at my jaw as he let out a laboured grunt. I squeezed my eyes shut, crying out at the multiple sensations coursing through my veins as he murmured pure filth against my skin. 

"Act like a brat and I'll treat you like a brat," Roman purred, biting down on my earlobe-- something told me he was enjoying himself a little extra tonight. 

"Am not," was all I managed to say, whimpering as he continuously drove himself deep into me. 

This was seemingly not the right thing to say-- Roman wasted no time roughly grabbing my cheeks in one hand, my lips parting as I stared up at him with eyes full of tears. "I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, an apparent sadistic smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

I knew I would be in big trouble if I didn't stop going against him. "Sorry," My legs gave in to a quiver, wrapping around him even tighter as he let go of my cheeks. "Rome, please--" I didn't have time to finish my plea, letting out a loud whimper as he brought his hand down to press his palm against my lower abdomen, feeling himself rut into me. Roman let out a low, sinister laugh, clearly in awe at the sensation; I wanted nothing more than to hit him. But still, like a slave to the pleasure, I dug my nails further into his back instead, earning a rather lewd moan from him which usually was a rarity.

Roman's arms wrapped around my waist, moving me against him; despite how harsh he was being with me, I could at least find comfort in the closeness. My hard nipples brushed up against his chest, his lips pressing heated kisses against my body and mouth. Oh, the way he was holding me with complete and utter need-- if he hadn't been so harsh, I would've been floating around on cloud nine. "Please, Rome-- I really can't," 

With a grunt, Roman pulled his cock out only till the tip was left. I let out a sigh of relief; I had hope that he would maybe pull out, maybe take it easy on me, pity me, but I should've known better. It didn't take long before Roman drove himself back into me, my walls clenching around him as I cried out, hearing him let out a satisfied moan against my ear which had me shivering.  "What was that?" he hummed, his grip around my waist tightening, almost as a warning. An ominous laugh escaped him, the green of his eyes practically engulfing me as he spoke; "Oh, baby, look at you... Are you crying? You asked for it, you know that, right?"

I could only whimper, a wave of oddly satisfactory defeat washing over me. Something about the way he was taunting me was making my stomach flutter. It felt as though I was completely submerged in everything Roman--  the dizzying scent of his cologne that I inhaled through my nose, his lips against my mouth and throat every so often, and his tongue against mine. It eventually became hard to breathe, and my eyes glossed over once more as Roman's thrusts grew rougher, taking more liberties than he would usually dare to. 

"Try that again," he said, urging me on. It was obvious that Roman knew what I was trying to say, but he was being particularly mean today.

"I can't--" My words came out along with another cry, gripping onto him the same way he was gripping onto me. It felt as though today's session served as a reminder more than anything else; that I was his, no matter what, and that he would do as he pleased with me. Roman's rough thrusts grounded me, wordlessly telling me I belonged to him, and it made me feel as though he was diminishing my self-worth with every pump of his cock. It was starting to feel too rough, too raw; "Shit, wait, Rome--" I barely managed to get anything out without a stutter, burying my face against the bare skin of his broad shoulders.

Roman let out a laugh; "Aw, is someone getting sore?" 

I could only whimper as he dug himself into me repeatedly, my whole body aching, my hips squirming away from him again-- Roman responded by grabbing me rather harshly, holding me down. I knew he wasn't going to let me go without a proper fight, without me saying the word, and that made more tears pool in my eyes.

"A-Aah--" My hands flew down to grab the ones he had on my waist, arching my back against the bed as my body started to reject his thrusts. I felt myself squirm, groaning in a mix of pleasure and pain-- I knew that I had to go for my last resort, despite never having had use for it before. "Red!" I cried out, my nails digging into his skin, a sob building in my chest.

In an instant, Roman froze up, his grip around my body lifting within a second. He propped himself up on his elbows as his widening eyes met mine-- it seemed he had only now registered what he was truly doing to me. "Sorry," he tried, reaching for my face with wary movements, shifting on the bed. "Too much?"

Sniffling, a single tear rolled down my face as I nodded, leaving behind a wet spot on my pillow.

"Fuck, look at you," Roman whispered, gently grabbing at my jaw, hoping to ground me. "Your heart is beating so fast... Should I pull out?"

I let out a shaky breath, holding back any other tears. I had never actually had to use the safeword before, and this whole experience was beyond dizzying. How could Roman go from being someone so mean, callous, rough, and then suddenly go back to normal?

"Hey, talk to me," Roman's thumb stroked my cheek, another attempt at bringing me back. "What can I do for you?" 

Amid my daze, I was made aware of his cock still being inside me when it jerked upwards, throbbing involuntarily against my fluttering walls. Roman hissed, clearly conflicted between the feeling of pleasure and embarrassment; "Shit, sorry... It has a life of its own," 

Something about that made me giggle through my tears, a breathy laugh building in my chest. Seeing Roman like this, clearly out of his rough and mean state, made me ease up. The feeling of arousal was still coursing through my veins, burning in the tips of my fingers, aching between my legs-- I wasn't quite ready to stop. "If you promise to be gentle... I'd like to continue,"

With a relieved sigh, Roman leaned forward to press a sweet kiss against my forehead. "Of course," he whispered, nudging his nose against mine, his breath hot against my lips. "Let me make it up to you, hm?"

"Sounds good," I breathed, meeting his lips in a soft and open kiss, coming together like missing pieces of a puzzle, completely different from the way we had been kissing a minute ago. This felt so much better-- we were connected as one.

Roman pulled out of me, making sure to be careful. He grabbed my tear-stained pillow, placing it beneath my hips as he sat himself up on his knees. "I'll go easy on you, kid," he murmured, his thumb moving down to my clit, gathering my slick so that he could rub small, tight circles around it. "Gonna make you feel real good, okay?"

I let out a soft moan, my chest fluttering with warmth at his gentle touches. My eyes rounded out, meeting his with a newfound satisfaction and love. 

Roman gripped himself with his free hand, rubbing his tip against my aching sex, a grunt slipping past his kiss-swollen lips as he slid back into me, the wet sound of our reunion making goosebumps appear along my skin. This time, he made sure not to go all the way into me, finally giving me time to adjust to his length. 

Roman's thumb was still circling my clit with a toe-curling pressure as he found a nice, steady rhythm to keep at. From this position, I could watch as his usually styled hair fell in front of his green eyes, kissing his forehead as his lips parted in pleasure-- it was impossible to take my eyes off of him. 

Roman's gaze was glued to the image before him, letting out a shaky groan as his fingers went up and down my stomach, taking in the view. During moments like these, I really felt like the most beautiful creature on earth; what other explanation could there be for how he was looking at me right now? 

It didn't take long before I started to feel close-- we had been going on for so long that the softness of his demeanour had me closer to my climax much quicker than usual. Luckily, Roman knew me well enough to see the signs, recognizing the way my back arched, the way my hands reached for his. He intertwined our fingers with his free hand; "I have half the mind to keep you on the edge," he purred, a smirk reappearing on his lips.

I let out a broken whimper; "Please,"

"Please what?"

"Be nice," 

Roman chuckled, nodding to himself as he retreated his teases. He let go of my fingers to grab my hips, letting out a groan as my walls tightened around him; "Shit-- Okay, okay,"

Oh, I was so crazy about him. So, so in awe of Roman and everything that followed. Love-drunk words slipped past his lips as his thrusts pressed up against that special spot inside me, simultaneously keeping the tight pressure around my swollen clit, making me mewl out in desperation; "Close, fuck!--"

Roman let out a soft laugh as my fingers gripped his arm, digging into his skin as I clamped around him, wordlessly begging for my release. My heart pounded in my ears as he gave a few final thrusts, fucking me right into my orgasm; I writhed beneath him, a moaning mess, feeling satiated and complete. I bucked up against his hand, the post-coital overstimulation hitting me like a hard wave, letting out a few broken whimpers and silent pleas. 

It didn't take a lot of begging for Roman's cock to twitch with his orgasm, and he pulled out with haste, letting out a string of soft grunts as ropes of cum decorated my stomach. 

As our heavy breathing and panting filled the room, I reached out for Roman, who in turn lied down next to me, pressing a kiss against my cheek. I let out a relieved giggle, turning to connect our lips in a lazy, sweet kiss that had my whole body fluttering with warmth. Watching as Roman closed his eyes, sighing in exhaustion, my attention turned to the mess he had made on my stomach. 

My hand dipped down into the pool of cum forming on my lower abdomen, coaxing my finger with a sly smirk; I brought it up to his lips, leaving a streak of the slick on his lip.

Normally, Roman would wipe it off with a grimace and eventually laugh it off. 

However, today was different-- I had known it from the start. Roman leaned forward with a cheeky smirk, lazily connecting our lips, the taste of his cum lingering on my tongue throughout the remainder of the night.

I was sure he'd never admit to finding that hot, but I knew it. I was more sure of that than anything else.

[444ngles]

You know you want me

synopsis: some variation of either you or your partner taking an aphrodisiac. content: fem reader, gojo, nanami, toji, geto, rough sex, angry sex, taking of aphrodisiac, work sex, masturbation, dirty talk, teasing, oral, penetration, praise, degradation, hair pulling, choking, mild exhibition, slapping, all big dicks duh

Gojo

Exhausted was an understatement. As you dragged yourself through the front door, the serene silence welcomed you with open arms. 

‘Finally, some peace and quiet’ you thought, kicking your shoes aside and dropping onto the plush of your couch. 

Although…It shouldn’t have been this quiet. Where was Gojo? Your boyfriend had texted you that he was on his way home over an hour ago. What had he gotten up to? Maybe he’d taken a nap?

Feeling the urge to check, you stumbled your way to the slightly ajar bedroom door, peeping through the gap. Careful not to wake him, you hold your breath, straining to make out his form in the dusk of your room. The bedside lamp was shone, on its dimmest setting, and the curtains were drawn shut. It took longer than usual for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, you couldn’t help but wish they hadn’t

Shocked, you freeze, finally able to make out his hunched posture, one hand covering his mouth the other rapidly jerking beneath the sheets. 

Subtle groans and grunts slipped from his muffled lips, eyebrows shrewd together as he fucked into his fist. Mesmerised, you couldn’t help but watch as his toned abs flexed and relaxed, his hips thrusting upwards, even his arms seemed tense, veins pulsing against his milky skin. 

“O-oh f-fuck, yes. Yes!” Suddenly, head thrown back, Gojo pistoned into his tight grip faster and harder, so much so that the covers fell from atop of him, revealing his furiously red tip, shooting rope after rope of thick, white cum. His orgasm painted your sheets, his hand gripping his mouth so hard you could see his skin turning a painful red. 

Over and over he pumped his length, but still, even after his orgasm ended he seemed to remain impossibly hard. 

Relaxing his grip, Gojo fell slack against your headboard, hands falling to his side. His frustration was evident…something about it was arousing. Then, as if he felt your presence, he looked straight at the door, crystal-coloured eyes meeting yours. “Finally! You’re home… help me, please?” 

Never had you known Gojo to whine like he did then, sounding like a wounded puppy as he brought his hands together, begging for your assistance. Almost pitying him, you can’t help the faux pout as you climb on the bed, ruffling his soft white tufts of hair. “What’s wrong my love?”

“My dick…it hurts, so bad!” Eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, you can’t even begin to imagine how long he’d been going at it. 

“Let me kiss it better…” Lowering yourself to his lap, laying on your stomach between his thighs, you bring your plush lips to his glossy tip. From just the one kiss, Gojo shuddered, gripping the sheets at his side. Sure enough, he must have been beyond overstimulated at this point. “Does that feel good?” 

Nodding desperately, Gojo reaches to sink his fingers into your hair, softly gripping at your scalp. “M-more, please.”  Biting down harshly on his bottom lip, he braces himself for the contact, as if even the slightest touch could make him bust. 

“Yes sir…as you wish.” Kiss after kiss, his grip on your head tightened, a sign of growing arousal. Then, sticking your tongue out, you swirl it around the underside of his tip, before licking your way to his slit. 

“Nghh that’s it, don’t st-top.” With heavy breaths, Gojo’s thighs tensed and relaxed either side of your head, feeling his balls clench as you left warm stripes of saliva across every inch of his painfully hard cock. From his base, up his shaft and to his leaky tip, you left no inch untouched. Just what he needed to soothe his unbearable ache. 

Tantalising fingers wrapped around him, feeling how his cock twitched and throbbed for joy. “Needed me that bad hmm? How had you coped?” Cooing at this new and submissive side to your otherwise smart-mouthed and quick-witted boyfriend, you couldn’t resist the urge to make the most of it. 

Lips parted, you bring them to his throbbing head, sinking your head onto his length slowly, only stopping when his tip hit the back of your throat. Your hands, meanwhile, worked on his base and balls. Unable to withstand your blatant teasing any longer,his hips shot up, grip on your scalp holding you in place as he fucked himself deep into your throat. Truthfully, he’d been working on his erection for over an hour, to no avail it just wouldn’t go down. While watching you think you were dominating him was hot, he simply couldn’t wait anymore. 

Shrieking and gasping, you slap at his thigh, begging him to stop. “Sa-Satoru sto-stop!” Muffled by his cock filling your mouth, repeatedly abusing the back of your throat, he barely noticed your panic. As blood rushed to his ears, pulse so strong he thought his veins might burst, your gurgles and gags took a backseat in his mind. Gojo just needed to cum, and now. 

“ ‘M so sorry, my gorgeous g-girl…” Teeth clamped together, he muttered praise after praise, watching in utter bliss as fat tears rolled down your cheeks, sinfully glossing those dollish eyes that he loved so much. 

“I’m so close, f-fuck…” With each thrust, Gojo felt his balls clenching, tighter and tighter as your mouth sucked him in, constricting around his fat head as you gasped for air. 

When the shock wore off, you found yourself entranced by how rough he was being, so drunk on the way his cock mercilessly abused your throat, you felt your cunt begin to throb. Desperate to see your boyfriend’s fucked out expression, you looked up through glossy eyes, blown out pupils and slack jaw a testament to his pleasure. Feeling his need to release, you hollow out your cheeks, sucking his cock sinfully down your throat, making it harder to thrust in and out. 

“Mngh…that’s it, that’s it baby, so good!” Grunts heavier now, Gojo’s pace became sloppier, barely pulling out before he was back down your throat again. Struggling to take his throbbing tip, chocking and gagging around him, Gojo shuddered at the feeling of your throat tightening. “F-fuck, I’m going to c-cum.” 

Almost whiney, you can’t help but moan in return, so turned on by the sight before you, you thought you might cum too. Soon enough, his eyes were clenching shut, head rolling back and jaw dropping open, as his thighs trembled beside you. Finally, hot ropes shot down your throat, Gojo’s thrusts ceasing as he pumped you full of his cum, making you swallow every drop. Only when you tapped his thigh, clearly desperate for air, did he pull out. 

Coughing and heaving, you roll onto your back, throat soar and coarse, you could only hope you’d be able to speak tomorrow. Shutting your eyes, you fight to catch your breath, relaxing into the plush of the sheets beneath you. It’s  when you hear the rustling of a wrapper that you finally open them, looking up at Gojo. 

“Want to go again?” Cheeky smile painting his face, you can’t help but gape your mouth in shock. Sucking at the sweet he’d just popped into his mouth, he extends his hand to pass you the empty wrapper.

“You’re joking?” Sitting up right, you grab it from him.

“Nope…read it.” Nodding to imply he meant the wrapper, he watched in anticipation as you digested the cause for his untamable erection. 

“W-what…why have you just had another?”

“It was a gift. Now take those panties off.” 

Nanami 

As Nanami’s personal assistant, it was your job to photocopy, type up his notes and most importantly, make his tea. For some reason, your boss was really picky about his daily brew, almost snobbish in his criticism. “Why is it cold?” “You took the tea bag out too early!” “This tastes like dishwater…did you add sugar?” 

How hard could it be to make a simple cup of green tea, in the same simple mug? Still, he found ways to complain, forcing you to remake them over and over with no remorse. Other than this, Nanami was a fair employer, always understanding and happy to turn a mistake into a teaching moment - not when it came to his beloved beverage, however. 

Today, like any other, you were in the kitchenette, boiling the water and ripping open the paper wrapper. You hadn’t thought to question the new packaging, with the usual plain green being replaced with an almost effervescent pink. Who were you to doubt the tea change, he ordered them, it was simply your job to make it! 

“Hurry up! How long does it take to make a drink?”

 Pulling a mocking face you repeat his words in a soured voice, stirring the water into the cup more aggressively than usual. If he rejected this, you just might have lost your mind. 

Bringing it to his side, and placing it on his coaster, you sighed as he ignored you, too busy writing to even acknowledge you. “Your tea, sir.” 

Nodding, he takes it in his hands, polite pinky held in the air as he brings the mug to his lips, taking a prolonged sip. “You know what…this might be the best one you’ve made yet!?” Surprised, you might have even caught a glimpse of a smile! Something Nanami rarely offered you the pleasure of. 

“It’s probably those new tea bags you ordered! They looked quite nice.” Chatting casually, you barely noticed his confused expression. 

“Sorry, new tea bags?” 

“Yeah…the pink ones.” 

The room fell silent, if you hadn’t known better you might have tried to lighten the mood, but you knew it was best you silently returned to your desk, opposite his and did something productive. Despite his initial shock to find out his beloved tea had been replaced, he continued taking sip after another, almost buzzing for joy as the warm liquid slipped down his throat - he hadn’t tasted anything remotely close to this. The velvety feel was almost luxurious, bitter and subtly fruity, he just had to check out these teabags before he went home. 

Apprehensively, you looked from your desk to his, waiting for his next command, but for what felt like hours, he was silently working through his paper, even getting up once to make copies of his own. You only hoped you could give him tea like this again, you’d never had an easier day at work in your life. However, with an hour to go before the work day ended, the air in the office suddenly seemed to thicken, so stuffy you thought you could suffocate. At first you weren’t sure why, although it all made sense when Nanami finally called your name.

Hoarse voice croaking in his throat, you almost worried he sounded sick as he summoned you. “C-can you, bring me one of those tea bags…please?” Not only was your boss stuttering, but saying his please and thank yous? What had gotten into him. 

Nodding obediently, you scuttled to the kitchenette, grabbing what you needed and returning the side of his desk, placing the tiny package into his huge, calloused hand. Staring down at him and awaiting his next request, you can’t help when your eyes dropped down to his lap, which was turned to face you. 

Normally, you boss wasn’t one show any sign of vulnerability, or even humanity for that matter, but when you caught a glimpse of his throbbing bulge, his strange behaviour suddenly made sense. 

Rolling the pack back and forth between his fingers, Nanami brings a hand to his forehead, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“What the fuck have you fed me?” Flipping the packet to face you, you read the bold red writing, almost too large to miss. If you hadn’t been so flustered, you would’ve pointed out that this was the first time he’d cursed in front of you. 

‘Love tea: aphrodesiac (one cup a day)’ 

You almost choke, struggling to stifle your laughter at the ridiculousness of this situation. 

“What are you laughing at?” Nanami barks, dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. Normally, his abrasive tone would’ve shut you up, but the way his cheeks flushed a delicate rose, and his eyes dejected to the floor in humiliation was honestly entertaining. 

“Where did you get these from, sir?” subtly giggling, you loose your balance slightly, leaning on the corner of his desk to keep you up right. 

“Me? This was clearly your doing. Trying to play some sick joke on me, right?” Now, more confused than ever, you can’t believe he was accusing you of this. Exaggerating your offence, you take a step back. 

“Even if I did, not much I can do to help you now.” Raising your hands either side of your head, you back away, attempting to return to your desk. 

Before you can he’s reaching for your waist, pulling you into his lap. “Where d’you think you’re going?” Firm grip holding you in place, you can’t help but squirm against him, pushing against his chest to get away. 

Realistically, this was almost a dream come true for you. As much as you found his audacity and self entitlement overbearing, there was something about the way he loosened his tie every time he relaxed in his chair, right opposite yours. Or the way he ran those veiny hands through his perfect blonde hair, biceps bulging through the shirt, fighting to contain his toned physique. God, if not for how morally wrong this power dynamic was, you would’ve begged him to fuck you long ago. 

“S-sir we can’t.” Whispering pathetically, you can’t help but feel disappointed at how small your voice sounded. If only you were strong enough to resist the urge, you were sure you could’ve broken free by now. But it was clear to the two of you that deep down, you needed this just as much as he did - shown by the way your legs subtly wrapped around his waist, pulling the two of you closer, arms draped delicately around his neck. 

“I make the rules right? I’m the boss…” Hot breath whispered against the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine, straight to your throbbing cunt. 

Nanami couldn’t help but notice how your skirt had ridden up your thighs, the delicate curves of your ass on display, just for him. “Wow…a thong for an office job, now I really believe you did this.” 

“If that’s what you want to believe sir…” Smirking subtly, you pull away, looking deep into his eyes, admiring his blown out pupils, clearly desperate to release his pent-up stress on you.  

“Well…I’d like to believe you want me as much as I want you…” Whispering so sensually, Nanami began to guide your hips, pushing your gushing folds against his clothed erection, whimpering as he throbbed beneath you. “And I think I’m right…”

“H-hurrry.” Almost begging, Nanami can’t help but chuckle. Considering he was the one being chemically simulated, you were certainly the one who seemed more desperate. 

“Okay baby…so impatient.” Tutting, he pushes you towards his thighs, skillfully removing his belt and undoing his pants all with one hand - honestly, you expected nothing less of him. What you weren’t expecting, was how thick his cock was, as it flopped out his boxers, it stood tall and proud, a brutal size compared to any you’d seen before. 

“Shut that pretty mouth, or I won’t know what to do with myself.” Just knowing he was as crazy for you as you for him made your walls flutter, anticipating how he’d ruin you, here in his office. “Think you can take me?”

If not for your daze, you would’ve retorted at his cockiness, but you couldn’t even deny how wet you were for him. Lifting you back atop him, you help him in moving your panties aside, arousal stringing from the fabric. “F-fuck, so pretty…” Sucking in a sharp breath, Nanami aligned his tip with your sloppy entrance, watching your expression intently as he split you open with his mean girth. 

“O-o-oh my god, N-nanami!” Gasping and clutching at his wrists, you watch where the two of you meet, a ring of arousal forming around his base as he finally bottoms out inside you. “ ‘S too much, too much.” Struggling to contain your moans, your thighs shake either side of his waist, feeling so full. 

“You can take it, darling, I’ll help you…” Trying to help you losen up, his lips crashed onto yours, slow and sensual as his tongue prodded at your bottom lip, demanding an entrance. Simultaneously, his hands reached for the buttons of your shirt, undoing the top few so that your breasts were freed, clad in mesmerising black lace. If not for the fact that you were at work, he would’ve torn all the clothes from your skin, leaving them a pile by his feet. Instead, he grazed your nipples gently through the thin fabric, grunting in satisfaction when your walls tightened around him, clearly loving the contact. 

“Think you’re ready now?” In a softer voice than usual, Nanami, rocks your hips slightly, placing soft kisses along your collarbones and down your cleavage. “Y-yes, sir…” The sensation was intoxicating, the position he held you at letting your clit rub against his pelvis. 

Amused, he raised you for your seat on his lap, an inch at a time, waiting for the ‘pop’ sound as his tip slipped out, before slamming you back down. Almost violently, he abused your messy cunt, pistoning into your tight walls and drowning in the sea of moans and whines that spewed from your lips as a result. He used you like he would a fleshlight, for now you were his personal fuck toy, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of that didn’t excite you. 

“Fffuckk Nanami…” Leaving crescent-shaped claw marks around his wrist, you struggled to contain yourself, trying your best not to scream the walls down, but with how precisely he was hitting that spongey sensitive spot you thought you wouldn’t be able to take much more. 

“T-this is what you wanted when you made that tea right?” Fucking harder into you, you could’ve sworn he was almost getting impossibly harder. “You wanted to ride my cock like this.. Isn’t that right?”

Too fucked out to respond, you simply moan louder, jaw forming little ‘o’s in the air. You wish you could protest having any involvement in the mix-up, but if anything you were grateful for the mistake. When you did find out who was responsible, you might just have to thank them. 

Soon enough the warmth in your stomach began to pool, tightening and twisting with every thrust. “N-nanami, ‘m so…close.” Hitched breaths almost prevented you from forming coherent sentences.

“Cum for me…that’s it, good girl.”

With every other thrust, Nanami’s grip on your waist tightened, holding you in a vice grip, until he felt his own orgasm begin to approach. The closer he got, the weaker his thrusts, sloppier and less targetted. “Fuck…so tight…” As your walls tightened around him when your orgasm washed over you, so did his, holding you down on his length, feeling the way the both of you shook, enjoying the best highs of your lives. 

Once he had shot you full of his cum, he lifted you up, watching the mix of his and your fluids pour out from your fluttering hole and into his lap. Too your shock, even as you had caught your breath, Nanami’s cock was still furiously hard, throbbing in anticipation. 

“Get on my desk.” Rushing to meet his command, you swept the papers to the side, making space for yourself when you finally caught sight of the neon sticky note. 

‘Enjoy, the tea should help you loosen up - Gojo ;)’ 

“Uhmm… I think you want to see this.” 

Toji 

Currently, you were being dragged to the nearest taxi stand by your boyfriend and you knew you were in trouble. 

For the first time in months, Toji had offered to take you out to dinner, something he rarely did. To spice things up, you thought you’d offer to share some whiskey before you left, something you knew he could never resist - little did he know it was laced with an aphrodisiac. The two of you often played devious pranks on each other, tonight you were getting back at him for making you walk around, stuffed with a vibrator while having a picnic with some friends. 

You couldn’t wait to watch him shift in his seat, getting more and more worked up without knowing why. Just the thought of his flushed skin, pursed lips and slightly unkempt hair as he tried to conceal his arousal made your skin crawl with anticipation. 

However, you never got the chance to unveil your evil plan, with your insightful significant other being able to figure it out way too soon. The moment you had sat at your table, he knew something was off. The way your thighs were squeezed together, the way your lips were parted and pupils blown. While it was almost way too normal for him to have a hard-on, you were usually far too self-conscious to be so blatant with your desire. He didn’t even need to ask you what had happened when he remembered you sharing the drink with him - suddenly, he remembered how much you hated whiskey. 

“You’re such a bitch, you know that? Can’t even have a nice dinner without you wanting to hop on my cock.” 

Giggly, due to your intoxication, you couldn’t even argue with him. He was so right and who could blame you? You always wondered how you were able to bag the hunk of muscle that was Toji. Everything about him was just so huge and so overwhelming, how could he expect you to resist? 

“Shut up, I swear to god.” Jaw clenched, he struggled to flag down a car, yanking you into the first one that stopped. 

The moment you were back at your apartment, Toji had you pinned to the wall, vice grip on your neck so brutal you thought you might pass out. It wasn’t until you were seeing stars that Toji loosened his grip. “Such a filthy whore…” 

Toji was always mean, but at that moment he was almost violent, but with the chemicals flowing through your brain, each touch of his calloused skin, kind or not, went straight to your throbbing cunt. Noticing this, also affected by the drink, he spun you around, pressing your face to the wall, and pulling your ass against him, slotting a knee between your plush thighs. “Was this what you wanted?” 

Nodding, shamelessly, you find yourself rubbing against his thigh seeking any form of contact. 

You can hear him scoff as he lands a sharp slap to your ass, even the fabric of your dress couldn’t protect you from the sting. “P-please…”

“Please what? Speak up slut.” Landing another spank, your back arches into the wall, shrinking away from his touch. 

“Fuck me…please.” 

Toji couldn’t deny how much he needed you too, if not for his anger, he would’ve taken you there and then, but he had to put you in your place, even a little bit. “Hmmm…not sure you deserve it, baby.” 

“Please, T-toji, I need you to fill me up, so b-bad.” At this point, you weren’t sure whether it was the whiskey or just you talking, but as his hands slipped up your dress, you could barely contain yourself. Teasingly, his fingers looped around the hips of your panties, pulling and pinging them back against your skin, leaving painful marks in their wake. “Please…please, To-ji!” Begging desperately, you reach back for his wrists, but fail when he grabs them, pinning them against your lower back.

Toji wasn’t even speaking, usually, he couldn’t help but run his filthy mouth, describing what nasty things he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to ruin you. But now, he was silent, only the occasional grunt slipping from his lips. This made you feel uneasy, unable to predict his next move like you usually could. 

The hand that wasn’t holding your wrists rubbed the flesh of your ass, soothing the pain from before. Slowly he brought his hand under the fabric of your dress, letting it ride up until only your upper half was covered. “You’re fucking soaked.” Toji hissed, looking at the pool of arousal staining your white panties. 

Clearly unable to resist his urges any longer, you listen as he undoes his zipper, slacks falling to the floor before you feel his tip prodding at your clothed entrance. Shuddering at the sensation, you try to pull your hands away, but Toji’s grip tightens. “I’m going to fuck you so deep…so hard, you’ll be so fucking sorry.” 

There he was…the Toji you knew. 

Smiling in relief, you fuck back onto his weeping tip, letting it rub against your sensitive clit. “P-please do…” 

“That’s my girl…begging to be destroyed.” Smirking, he finally pulls your panties down, just enough to be able to slip his dick in. Without any warning, he’s splitting you apart on his massive length. He knew far too well just how big he was, and just how small you were in comparison. Still, he couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy at the sight of your tight cunt struggling to stretch around him. “This is what you wanted…pretty fucking pussy.” 

Each word slipped straight past your ears and into your cunt, even as you tried to adjust to his size, your walls fluttered around him, sucking him sinfully in. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve taken that as a sign to bottom out, but he knew you weren’t ready yet - as angry as he was, he didn’t want to hurt you. 

Once you’d adjusted, Toji pulled out, all the way, tip teasing your entrance before it pummeled back in, now in its entirety, kissing your cervix. “F-fuck, s’too m-much Toji…” Breathless, you felt a tight knot in your throat, struggling to voice just how full you felt. This alone had your eyes rolling back, each thrust feeling more euphoric. 

Toji’s grunts and curses tickled the shell of your ear as he leant into you, face beside yours, the warmth of his body against yours engulfing you. Despite his mean thrusts, bruising your the sensitive spot inside you over and over again, his presence was still soft and loving, making you want to melt into him.

Cock drunk, you found yourself focusing on how the network of veins that decorated his erection dragged against your wall, feeling him so disgracefully inside you, you couldn’t possibly think of anything else. 

Reaching for your hair, Toji pulls to get you to be face to face with him, cheek still pressed harshly against the wall. He almost cums there and then when he catches a glimpse of your fucked out face, eyes so large and glossed with tears he couldn’t resist the need to kiss you. “My…perfect…pretty…girl…” With each kiss, he muttered words of praise, the only sign of his rage being how he bullied your sopping cunt, so hard and fast that your fluids dripped onto his thighs, painting his abdomen with your arousal. 

“I-I’m clo-se.” Barely managing to catch your breath, you mutter against his lips, moans and whines being swallowed by his hungry kisses.

“Cum on my cock…show me how good I make you feel…” Grunting desperately now, you can feel how he throbbed against your walls, constricting and milking him for all he had. Toji’s mindless babbles and continued rough pace brought you closer, but it wasn’t until hand released your hand, reached down to massage your clit that you were tipped over the edge. 

Toji groans, watching how your thighs shook against him, soft moans turning into screams and cries as your orgasm washed over your gorgeous face, contorting in uncontrollable. If not for his hold on you, you were sure you would’ve dropped to the floor. His manipulation of your clit was unrelenting, thrusting into your glistening cunt just as fast, completely unwavering. 

“T-toji s-s-top!” Gasping and whimpering, the sting of overstimulation almost paralysed you, tensing beneath him with no where to escape to.

“Shut up bitch, I haven’t cum yet…” 

Geto

‘Which one, which one?’ Eyes darting from one sake bottle, to another almost identical one, you couldn’t remember which one Geto had bought for this specific dinner. 

As a celebration for the opening of Geto’s new company, he had invited a few employees over. The three of them sat in the room over, loudly laughing and chattering as you helplessly read the labels of all the drinks in your husband’s collection. “Alcoholic asshole…” You curse, taking a light sip of the one that most matched the one Geto had described, while sniffing another. 

“Who’s an alcoholic asshole?” Snapping your head to face the door, you eye the man of the hour, clad in the most enticing black slacks and waist coat, sleeves rolled up so tastefully you thought you might bite them. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to tell these apart?” You sigh, slumping in despair, surrounded by the intimidating bottles.

Chuckling, he kneels down beside you, instantly grabbing the one he’d requested without much more than a second glance. Leaning over you, the woody scent of his cologne plugs your nostrils, the ends of his ebony hair tickling your wrists. Was he always this sexy? 

Despite being married for almost three years now, you felt like you’d only just noticed how beautiful Geto was, sharp eyes so intently reading over the bottle, powerful looking grip making you squirm. “This is it…see?” Turning the label to face you, you can’t even bring yourself to read it, eyes still drawn to him, sat on his heels before you, looking so fuckable. 

What was wrong with you? 

This was so out of character you almost couldn’t believe these were your thoughts. 

Geto laughs at your seemingly embarrassed expression, assuming it was about the alcohol. “Don’t worry baby…I know it-” As he reached to grab the open bottle, still in your hand, he freezes. It doesn’t take him a second to realise what had happened. “A-are you...feeling okay?” Anxious smile painted on his face, he tries to pull the aphrodesiac sake away from you, fixing the lid before putting it away. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Feighning your innocence, you still didn’t quite understand what had shook him so much, not until you finally read the label of the bottle, as you watched him lean to put it away. “O-oh…” Suddenly your thoughts made sense, you had noticed how warm you core had suddenly felt, but attributed that to being tipsy rather than horny.

“Why do you even have this?” Shocked expression, you barely care to hear his excuse. How could he send you in here knowing this was a possibility.

Sheepishly, Geto scratches at the back of his neck, “I was saving it for our anniversary…” 

Speechless, you simply shake your head, you’d just have to put up with it, there were guests in the other room. “Come on…I don’t want them getting any weird ideas.” With a slight wobble, you leave the room, Geto following closely behind you.

As wrong as it was, Geto secretly found this rather amusing, he’d never tried anything of the sort and couldn’t wait to see the affect it had on you - even if that was at the dinner table. 

“What took so long?” Gojo, Geto’s business partner called the moment he watched the two of you walk in. 

“Someone couldn’t find the wine.” Nudging your shoulder, he places the bottle onto the table, along with the cups you had collected earlier. You can’t help but roll your eyes whilst you take your seat, directly opposite your long time friend Shoko. The four of you had been close since highschool - it was a dream for all of you to work together, so having this dinner was honestly overdue. So for this to be ruined by one cup of laced sake pissed you off to say the least. 

Even as you sat, completely untouched, you couldn’t ignore how violently your cunt throbbed. Trying to ease your pain, you pressed your thighs together, barely hearing the conversation around you as the sudden friction sent a buzz of pleasure up your spine. Only when a cup of sake was thrust into your vision, did you return to the dinner, “Are you alright my love?” 

Looking at Geto, you wanted nothing more to smack that stupid smile off his face, the mischievous glint in his eyes missed by everyone but you. “Yeah, sorry…” Reaching for the cup, your fingers graze his. An otherwise normal interaction was anything but normal to you. Just the contact made the heat between your thighs intensify, arousal practically seeping through your skin. 

Geto pursed his lips, stifling laughter as he turns back to the others at the table, faux ignorance plastered ontop of his deceitful expression. By his face, you wouldn’t have been able to predict his intentions, however, when his hands slipped onto your knee, you almost couldn’t contain yourself. Still, Geto held an unbothered exterior, conversing as if it were nothing, but to you it was everything - thoughts consumed with him. Obsessed with his scent, his pretty face, those long fingers tracing your inner thigh and that fucking suit.

“Wan’t to come with me while I smoke?” Suddenly, Shoko’s hand is rubbing on yours, eyebrows thread together in concern. You were sure to her your arousal could’ve been mistaken for sickness or upset. As much as it was probably the right idea to get some fresh (Geto-free) air, your messy cunt spoke for you.

“No thats alright, don’t worry.” Flashing a comforting smile, she nods, pulling away from the table and heading outside. 

Now it was the three of you, Gojo, if anyone, was overly alert, and you couldn’t help but worry that he would notice. The soft circles Geto traced against your skin burned rings of fire in their place, you could barely stay up right, head dizzy with desire. 

“What about you? This company was your idea anyways.” Gojo’s voice startled you, making you realise just how little you’d been paying attention. 

“Sorry, what are we talking about?” Sheepishly you look between the two of them, hoping they’d catch you up. 

“Just talking about how sereal it all is, we planned this shit since we were 16! I mean…” You were doing so well, listening intently to every word that left Gojo’s mouth. Until, your attention was drawn away when Geto’s fingers slipped between your thighs, pushing your panties aside and running a slow finger between your folds, collecting your arousal.

“I-I’m so proud of us…honestly never thought we’d finally get to this point.” Despite keeping your answer short and sweet, you can’t help the shiver that interrupts you, unable to ignore the way his finger so casually grazed your clit. 

Luckily, Shoko had returned, drawing the attention from you and back to her - you could almost cry you were so grateful. Finally, Geto bothered to look at you, head resting in his hand as he watched you, fighting your instinct to squirm under his touch. Luckily, the other two were so preoccupied that they didn’t notice the way you twitched, or Geto’s sly smirk. 

If not for your guests, you knew you would’ve lept on your husband ages ago, having to wait only made your desire grow. 

‘I’m- going-to-make-you-cum’ Geto mouthed, so clearly it couldn’t have been mistaken for anything else. 

Before you could even retort, he’d turned away from you again. As he did, his finger finally settled on your clit, rubbing perfect circles on the sensitive bud. Your hands clenched into fists, grasping at the table cloth as Geto attempted to elicit a moan from you. No way could you let that happen, you wouldn’t dare embarrass yourself infornt of your friends and your husband knew that. 

Still, his pace increased, before he replaced his finger with his thumb, instead pushing the digit into your fluttering walls. If not for the loud chatter, you were sure they would hear how wet you were. Over and over he fucked into you, so hard and fast it was a shock that no one had noticed, or how he was able to remain so calm and controlled. Desperate to let out a moan, you turned your head to the side, covering your contorted expression.

Only when the tension in your stomach grew unbearable did you reach to grab his wrist, squeezing it to try and get him to stop. You knew if he didn’t you were about to reach your orgasm, right infront of your husband and two closest friend. But, to no avail it was to late, and your high washed over you with such intensity you barely managed to remain silent, thighs squeezing shut so intensely that Geto couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Caught of guard, a little whine slips out, forcing you to cover it up with a fake coughing fit. 

“Awe are you feeling unwell?” Cooin, Geto finally turns to look at you once more.”Maybe we should call it a day, get some rest?” Looking at the guests at the table, the nodded in agreement.

“She has been…off.” Shoko sighed,  a soft smile on her lips as she got up from her seat.

As they did, Geto leaned into your ear, whispering seductively about his plans for you tonight.

“I won’t stop until you’re begging me.”

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 5

Warnings: She/her pronouns, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, grief, loss, depression, suicidal ideation, pining, fighting, yearning.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Words Count: 9k oops

Notes: Hello my angels, it's me again, your resident yearner. Thanks again for all your kind words, I'm so glad you're all enjoying this! <3

The energy in the cottage had changed. Shifted into something thicker, more palpable. And although Aemond hadn’t stopped his snarky comments, they had become fewer and farther between. He no longer snapped at her when she checked his dressings, or handed him food. It was almost as if he had grown accustomed to their new and strange routine, and Gods was she thankful for it.

It was exhausting to constantly be on guard around him, be ready for his sharp words and narrowed eye. Add to this that she still slept on the floor and tended to those coming to her, her resolve was growing so thin that she genuinely considered slipping him milk of the poppy to quiet and subdue him. But she had ruled that it would be more hassle than it’s worth. 

The cottage was small, but no longer suffocating. Aemond had long since grown used to the tight space, the walls no longer feeling like they were closing in on him. It made him bitter to think of his ease and compliance to his situation, but begrudgingly had to admit that it was much better than being dead. 

Sometimes. 

The home was built of sturdy wood and stone, the scent of earth and dried herbs clinging to the air. It smelled of damp soil after the rain, of pine and firewood, of bitter medicine and dried fish and freshly cut cloth. Aemond had learnt its sounds—the soft creak of the door, the steady bubbling of a simmering pot, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees just outside the door, and the ever constant grind of her mortar and pestle. Over and over again.

He hated it.

Hated the way time slowed in this place, the way his limbs ached uselessly beneath the weight of his own body. Hated the quiet routine of his days, the endless monotony of waking, eating, and watching her move about her work.

And he hated her most of all.

Or at least that’s what he continued to tell himself. 

The healer had made it clear from the beginning that she did not fear him. At first, he had tried to tear through her with words, with biting threats and promises of vengeance. Had even attempted to take her life with his sword, but he could barely stand on his own. Could barely bathe himself, could only just feed himself and could barely stand up unassisted.

He knew that the only way to divert his attention from his failures was to focus on hers.

He had lashed out at her again as she tried to give him a herbal tea to help with his pain, but in a lazier drawl than usual, as though his insults were becoming tiresome to even him.

And they were.

She had only blinked at him, unimpressed, holding the tea out to him to take.

He had knocked the cup from her grasp. The tea, boiling hot, had spilled across the floor, and to his surprised worry, her hand. She had hissed and drawn her hand back away from him, shaking it quickly to flick the hot liquid from her skin. 

It was the first time he had felt true guilt for his actions. 

Aemond had to physically stop himself from leaning forward and grabbing her to see the injury, to grasp her hand and inspect her in the way she had done to him many times before, but the look she had given him was scathing. Worse than any other time she had ever looked at him before, and it made him shrink back into the furs, averting his gaze elsewhere as if bored.

He wouldn’t admit it, but that look made him nervous. 

It was familiar, and it was not. 

It was familiar in the way his mother had looked at him. The way his half-sister had looked at him. His sister.

It was a look of anger, disappointment, and hate. 

It was a look he had never seen from her. And it was a look he never wished to see again. 

The wound on his side healed slowly, a cruel reminder of how far he had fallen. His leg however, would always be wrong. Aemond was used to pain, had lived with it for many years, but this was something else entirely.

This was helplessness.

But even despite the burn on her hand, despite the way he treated her, she still helped him each day to stand. Fed him that evening despite what he had done. Helped pull him from the bed, no matter how exhausted she seemed to be after nights of caring for people or days of toil, and held his weight up to help him gain his strength. It was agony, but each day, each time he stood, it got easier, just as she said it would 

But it didn’t change the real issue.

The world had moved on without him.

And now, he was here. Trapped in this small, suffocating life, reduced to nothing more than a broken man in a stranger’s home. He hated it. Hated her. Told himself he did every day like a mantra.

And yet…

He could not stop watching her.

Not because he had softened, not because he had lost the fire in his blood—but because it was exhausting. His anger, his threats, his endless attempts to assert himself in this wretched place… they had no effect. She would not break. He didn’t think she even had a breaking point.

So instead, he watched.

He watched her as she gathered herbs from the small wooden shelves, grinding them down with practiced ease. He watched as she greeted the villagers who came to her door—no longer bothering to hide him away, having some sort of unspoken agreement with them all—old women with aching joints, hunters with deep gashes, mothers with sick children.

She took what coin they could offer. More often than not, she took nothing at all or the goods they could offer. Clothes, or food, or cloth, or bowl. They came to her and she would do what she did best, and they would give the best that they could back.

One morning, after watching a hunched old man shuffle away with a bundle of herbs he had not paid for, Aemond exhaled sharply.

“You’re too giving." He muttered from his place on the bed.

The healer only laughed, the sound light but knowing, “I’m a woman."

"You ask for nothing. Take nothing. Have nothing.” He always voiced this, as though her generosity grieved him, offended him, ”Do you truly have no sense? Do you know how much gold would you have if you took your dues?" Aemond looked around her home in disgust.

“I don’t need anything but this.” There was something softer in her voice this time, something that unsettled him. 

She always unsettled him.

Said and did things that had no rhyme or reason to him. That made no sense to him. Had no logic. It was not weakness—no, he had seen her sharpened edges too many times to mistake it for that. 

It was something else.

And Aemond Targaryen did not understand it.

-

The water was cold, and she reflected on how strange it was to be in the same place she had been when she first found Aemond again. The net was slowly dragged back into shore towards her, her dress rolled up as much as possible, sleeves pulled up her arms to stave away the cold chill. 

What would have happened if she never went fishing that day? Would she have found his corpse instead? Would someone else have found him? 

There was so many ‘what ifs’ that it made her head spin. In some ways she wished that she hadn’t found him. So far he had been much more hassle than what he was worth, but she could empathise with him. He had lost everything, including his ability to care for himself. Yet despite this, she didn’t want to think too hard about what would happen when he healed, where he would go. What he would do. The havoc he may reap. She only hoped that no innocents would be affected by him. That they would not face the anger she pushed him to daily. 

The blame could quite easily then be shifted towards her.

She returned just before dusk, her boots and dress damp with water and a net slung over her shoulder. The scent of fresh fish clung to her clothes, mingling with the crisp evening air as she pushed open the cottage door.

Aemond barely spared her a glance at first. He had been sleeping—or pretending to—but the second the unmistakable sound of fish slapping against wood reached his ears, his eye flicked up sharply.

His stomach twisted in immediate, visceral irritation.

"Fish again.”

She ignored him, untying the net with practiced ease before dumping her catch onto the worn wooden table. Silver scales gleamed under the candlelight, the fish still slick with water. She reached for a knife, humming under her breath as she began to gut them, utterly unconcerned by Aemond’s growing displeasure.

He watched her, expression tight with irritation, "Do you ever get tired of eating the same thing over and over?”

She didn’t pause, quick as a whip, ”Do you ever get tired of complaining?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, "It reeks, no matter how well you cook it.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, “Reeks, you say?”

“Like the fish mongers and whores at docks." He wrinkled his nose, "It’s unbearable. The monotony of it. Picking through the bones, chewing it, swallowing.”

She snorted, “That’s usually how people eat food.”

He shot back, “Don’t be obtuse.”

"I’m sure you had fish in the Red Keep." She lifted an eyebrow at him before gutting the next fish with a swift, practiced movement. 

Aemond didn’t answer, because he had. 

Of course he had.

She continued, ”If you’d prefer to not eat, I’m amenable to that. Saves me the trouble. Unless of course you'd like to start hunting for yourself?”

Aemond exhaled sharply, looking away. He knew she had him cornered.

She smirked at his silence, "I’ll get you a bow and some arrows and you can kill us a nice, large deer. I don’t mind venison, though it’s more tedious to prepare than fish. Fish are small, easy to clean.” She cut the head off of one for show, “Have you ever tried to prepare a whole deer? Skin it, gut it, clean it.”

After a long pause, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, "I’ve been on hunts.”

Unspoken words lingered in the air.

I’ve killed men too.

“Sure. But have you prepped them? Cooked them? Stored what was left?”

Aemond blinked, then quickly, “Why don’t you just buy the meat? Surely you can afford it. Definitely could if you took payment.”

The healer hummed noncommittally, "Good meats hard to come by these days, too expensive for what little there is. So until then, you’ll eat what I put in front of you.”

Aemond scowled, watching as she continued cleaning the fish. “Surely your traps can collect more rabbits, a badger even. Or at least do something to make it taste like food instead of Flea Bottom slop.”

Her voice became higher, "Would you like me to roast it over the fire, m’lord? Is spiced wine from Dorne with your meal tonight good, m’lord? Oh, please, m’lord, I live to serve you and only you.”

Aemond sighed, glancing at the fish again with poorly concealed distaste, "You truly enjoy this, don’t you?”

She shrugged, a small smirk on her lips, “It is a pleasure to watch you suffer, forcing you to eat Flea Bottom slop and all other things you’ve accused me of.”

He sneered, “I’m surprised I haven’t been poisoned by it.”

“I’m still deliberating on that.” She smiled.

Aemond’s eye narrowed.

She shrugged, "Cook your own meals then.”

With a reluctant sigh, he muttered, almost relived for the grace she had permitted him, "Like it's hard. I’ll learn.”

She grinned, victorious, "Now that, I'd like to see.”

His eye flicked up to her, the soft glow of the fire catching the curve of her smirk, the teasing glint in her eye. It sent something hot curling in his gut, something he didn’t want to name.

He looked away, jaw tightening.

He had spoken without thinking. 

He had let himself slip—had let her glimpse something he had no right to feel. The unspoken thought that he would still be here, long after he had healed. That he would choose to stay.

The realisation made his stomach twist, and suddenly, the warmth of their exchange soured into something bitter.

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee.

"I won't be here forever." He said sharply, the words coming out harsher than he intended, "Don't get used to this.”

She stilled for a fraction of a second, her knife poised over the fish, before she resumed her work, cold mask slipping into place.

"I never do."

Her voice was unreadable, but something in it made his irritation flare hotter.

He didn’t know what he wanted from her. A retort, a fight, some sharp-edged remark to push him further into the anger that felt safer than whatever had passed between them just moments ago. 

But she gave him nothing.

Just the steady, rhythmic sound of her knife scraping away scales and intestines, as if his words meant nothing at all.

And Aemond hated that most of all.

-

The pounding of hooves shattered the evenings quiet.

The healer had been asleep on her makeshift cot in front of the fire when she heard it—hoofbeats and the shrill call of her name, fast and urgent, tearing through the trees like a storm. Her eyes blinked away the sleep rapidly as she sat up, looking over to Aemond who too began to wake. She had worried for a brief moment that he had been the one to call for her.

She could tell just from the sound that whoever was coming was desperate.

Outside the cottage the hooves scuffed at the forest floor and a horse whinnied. The voice called out her name again, over and over as it came closer, metal jangling and footsteps racing towards her home.

She was already rising when the rider bashed against her door rapidly, fist beating against it as her heart raced in her chest, the wood thunking and rattling at its joints. The man outside called her name in a panic again, and as she swiftly moved towards the door in her chemise she glanced over to Aemond. 

to her utter surprise, Aemond looked ready to rise. Ready to act. Ready to protect her from whatever danger he perceived lurking at the door.

But she recognised the voice. Had known it for many years.

Erik. 

One of the farmers' sons from the village.

The door swung open as she brushed her long unbraided hair away from her cheeks. His face was pale, sweat beading at his temple. She let her eyes drift lower, looking him over for sign of injury. Upon his clothes, large dark patches of blood.

"You have to come. Now." His voice was raw, breathless, eyes glancing behind her to look at the man who now stood beside her bed, furs clutched against his waist.

Aemond was poised and ready. For what, he did not know.

Her heart kicked against her ribs, "What happened?”

"Ana," He gasped, "She was attacked.”

Her heart clenched.

Ana.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Help me.” She ordered, rushing to snatch her supplies as she threw them into a soft leather pouch hidden by the door. 

Erik stepped inside, wary of Aemond who watched him with a narrowed eye, and began to help her collect her things. She didn’t even spare Aemond a second glance as she raced out the door, pulling on a cloak atop her chemise, hurling herself atop the horse as she waited for Erik to mount behind her. The large chestnut shuffled impatiently as she swayed atop it, securing the leather pouch against her chest for the ride, reins already in hand.

Erik slammed the door shut, and Aemond’s view of the healer and the man was ended. Hooves pounded outside, and Aemond listened to the sound of it until it slowly faded from existence. He was still standing when the cottage became silent again, the longest he had stood by himself so far, furs tightly clutched against him, heart racing in his chest.

It was eerily quiet without her.

He didn’t even have a chance to see if she was going to be safe.

-

The ride into town was brutal. The saddle was hard beneath her hips, Erik pressed tightly against her back, trying to fill her in on what had happened as they went. The wind bit at her face as the horse tore down the narrow forest path, its hooves drumming against the frozen ground, puffs of breath dissipating from before her. 

The trees blurred, branches whipping past, but all she could think about was Ana—bleeding, unconscious, slipping away with every passing second. This was a woman she had known for years. Had helped through her first and second births. 

A friend. 

Her mind was already racing ahead, cataloging what she had in her satchel, what she might need when she arrived. Hot water. More cloth. Dried fish skin. 

By the time they reached the village, a small crowd had gathered, their faces drawn and anxious. Three men stood by the cottage, all sporting small wounds that were being tended to by the people around them. Hands wiping away blood and inspecting the damage. 

They parted quickly as she slid down from the horse, barely catching her breath before pushing through the door of the house.

The moment she saw Ana, her stomach clenched.

She raced to her side.The young woman lay on the bed, her dress soaked through with blood. Her skin had an ashen tint to it that the healer had never seen on her, not even during her two births, lips slightly parted as she took in slow, ragged breaths.

“Ana," The healer whispered, pulling off the satchel as she looked over her, “I’m here.”

Ana’s mother, an older woman with grey hair stood nearby, wringing her hands, "She’s barely awake since we found her. Please. Please. Fix her.”

The healer didn’t waste time responding.

She moved quickly, pulling her satchel open and looking down at Ana’s body. Along her stomach and base of her hip blood bloomed beneath the sun bleached lilac dress. She could feel Erik’s presence behind her and looked sideways at him, “Help me undress her.”

Erik faltered, and behind him the shuffling of curious towns people watched on by the door. 

“Get them away.”

Pulling a blade from the satchel as she slipped it down the centre of Ana’s dress ripping it apart, revealing the two deep wounds that continued to bleed profusely. From behind her came the bark of Ana’s brother, and the slam of the door, leaving her inside with Erik, her mother, and Ana’s older brother, who sported an injury of his own to his upper arm. 

“I need water.” Her hands moved to grab some strips of clean linen from her satchel to one of the wounds, and then the other, gradually stuffing them with her fingertips inside to staunch the bleeding. 

Ana moaned weakly, which to the healer was a good sign. 

She was still alive.

But then she looked at the damage, over Ana’s bare torso, shredded dress pushed to the sides and felt fear rise inside of her. The gash was deep, stretching across Ana’s stomach. 

Too deep.

“Erik, the water.” She snapped, and finally he sprung into action behind her, gathering the pail from beside the fireplace.

It wasn’t boiled, but she didn’t have time.

She dipped her hands inside and scrubbed viciously at her fingers, head turning towards Ana’s brother, “D'you have ale?”

The bloodied man nodded, and rummaged by the bench, coming over to uncork a flagon. She took it from him and poured it over her hands, and then atop the wounds. 

Ana screamed, eyes shooting open as she looked up at the healer.

“Shh, it will be over soon.” The healer tried to console her, wiping the back of her hand across the top of Ana’s scalp, trying to soothe the woman. 

“You’re here.” Ana breathed, voice quiet and broken, the edges of her lips tinged red with her own blood. 

“I am.”

“I’m going to die, aren’t I? Like your father.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a small hum of a laugh passing through her nose as she smiled dreamily.

The healer blanched, blinking at Ana. Her skin was so grey that she already looked dead, dark circles beneath her eyes and the tell tale sign of delirium sinking in that came with too much blood loss. When the body was at the end of its tether and began to slip.

She grasped strips of clean cloth and leant over her body, pressing them down into the wounds to staunch the bleeding. 

Ana cried out in pain.

“No. You’re going to live.” She tried to assure her friend, but it felt hollow. 

Felt emptier still as she began to press the cloth into the open wounds tightly, stuffing it inside, trying to stem the bleeding. Ana wailed and cringed as the healers fingers pushed more and more cloth into the wound trying to stem the bleeding. It slowed, but not enough, the cloths immediately soaking through.

“Stop.” The woman wheezed, hands trying to push away the healers.

“Be brave f'me. Let me do what I do best.”

Hands in her satchel again she rummaged until she found the needle and thread, her hands shaking as she tried to thread it to begin. Erik stood beside her watching as Ana’s mother and brother stood at the end of the bed, the mothers eyes full of tears as the brother held her. 

Each time she tried to thread the thread through the needle, it wouldn’t go, slipping just to the side avoiding it.

“Give it t'me.” Erik held his hand out. 

Frustration boiled over her, “I can do it.” The healer snapped, she tried thrice more until finally she was able to thread it, hands covered in blood, leaning forward towards Ana, “Hold her.” 

The farmers son jerked forth and pressed two gentle hands against Ana’s shoulders, one covered in blood briefly coming up to brush the hair away from her face. 

“Where are the children?” Ana wheezed, blinking languidly up at her partner.

Erik cleared his throat, as his hands moved to her shoulders again, stroking gently back and forth with his calloused fingers, watching in his periphery as the healer moved towards the larger of the wounds, “With Myra. They’ll come see you when you’re cleaned up.”

Her tongue brushed against her bottom lip again, smearing fresh blood against it, “Good.” She said weakly, “Don’t let 'em see. They shouldn’t see.”

The healer swallowed the panic that continued to rise steadily in her throat, willing a cool calm to wash over her. She looked up at Erik and whispered a ‘ready?’ at him, watching his worried nod, and with swift and almost uncaring hands, she pulled the cloth from within the largest wound, fresh blood spilling over her hands making it hard for her to see what she was doing. 

Ana cried out beneath her writhing, her head thrown back as the healer tried to squeeze the wound together, held down only by Erik who cooed at her to stay still, and that it would be over soon. 

Her hands were so wet with the blood that continued to ooze that she could scarcely hold the needle steady in her grip, it slipped and shifted unsteadily in her hand as she made the first stitch. And then the second, closing the wound in her friend as quickly as she could, looking at the way Ana’s diaphragm weakened as she went. 

But the wound was too big.

She knew it was too big.

She worked in silence, listening as Erik continued to talk to Ana, tried to reassure her and comfort her the best that he could, the mothers soft sobs being equally consoled by her son.

The healer pushed it all away, her hands becoming steadier even as her chest tightened. 

But the bleeding wouldn’t stop. It was so deep, so much deeper than a flesh wound. It had hurt her organs. Important organs. And as she worked she tried to press the cloth down to stop the bleeding of the other wound with her arm, making it harder to work as she went, and knowing that someone else would only get in the way. But no matter how much she pressed down atop it, no matter how tightly she stitched her body, it just kept seeping through.

“Ana, stay awake.” Erik’s voice wavered, “Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

The healer didn’t have the strength to look up, to watch what was happening. Didn’t think that she would be able to hold her resolve if she could. But she could tell it was happening. 

It was happening right before their eyes and there was nothing she could do.

Nothing they could do.

Nothing.

Ana’s chest barely rose anymore, stunted, weak and inconsistent breaths beneath her as the healer hurriedly worked to save her friend. But it was never ending, happening so quickly yet so agonisingly slow that it felt that it would never be done. Her hands were soaked with blood and she could scarcely see or discern a thing anymore, her hands constantly trying to wipe away the blood as it came to see what she was doing. To see what needed to be done.

“We’re almost there.” She urged regardless, her voice quiet, "Just a little longer, Ana.”

“Good.” Was all that Ana could say.

She knew it was coming. 

She could feel it.

She had seen it before.

Felt it before.

Had seen it with her father.

Felt it with her father.

The way that Ana’s body cooled beneath her hands. The way her breath came slower. Shallower. Her light eyes kept fluttering shut, the hand that had been weakly holding Erik’s loosened, and the telltale rattle of her lungs signalled the end. 

Erik’s reassuring words became more and more panicked. More and more desperate as he watched his wife slowly slip away. So she tried to worked faster, her heart hammering, her movements almost frantic now, her work was not as precise. She was working to get it closed. To stop the bleeding. 

She had saved people from worse. 

She had seen men survive wounds that should have killed them.

She could save her still.

She had to.

The healer swallowed, her throat tight.

The first wound was finally sewn shut, and she moved to the second, blood soaked rags lost to the floor beneath her and the sheets that Ana lay upon.

Erik whispered Ana’s name in question from beside her.

The healer didn’t look up, didn’t register what was happening as she continued. 

The gasping sob of Ana’s mother was ignored, the sorrowful whispers of Ana’s name that came from Erik growing louder beside her, and yet she didn’t stop. Her hands kept moving, the blood no longer pulsing beneath her. 

She kept on.

And on.

And on.

Her hands beginning to shake again as the world crashed atop her, the needle slipping more than once into her own skin, though she couldn’t feel it. She ignored the hollowed cry of the older woman as she collapsed beside the bed, beside where the healer continued, her hands grasping her daughter tightly as she wept.

She didn’t stop.

Couldn't.

Wouldn’t. 

She would save her.

She would live.

She would-

The healers name was whispered beside her, two large hands reaching to grasp her own hands. She shook them off, needle still poised as she moved to the next stitch. 

Her name was spoken again, this time, her shoulders were grasped and pulled back, and she struggled against it, stitch being pulled free.

“Stop. I need to-“

“Enough.” The voice was deep, crackled with exhaustion, “She’s gone.”

The sounds that followed were unbearable.

The healer sat back slowly, her bloodstained hands falling to her lap. As she finally let herself gaze upon her friend. She felt the weight of it press down on her—failure, grief, exhaustion. Ana’s mother let out another choked sob, as Erik sunk to his knees beside Ana, bloodied hands brushing against her hair as he looked down at her. 

Her eyes were open. 

She did not blink.

Did not breathe. 

She was gone.

The healer stared, hands shaking slightly as she wiped them against her skirts. The blood was thick, clinging to her skin. It made her feel sick. Made her want to claw at her skin. To tear it away violently with a blade. She had seen death before. She had watched men gasp their last breath, had pressed her hands to open wounds she could not close, had listened to the quiet, rattling end of those too sick to save.

But Ana’s death—this felt different.

She had known her. Been with her before. Shared smiles and wine with her. Meals.

But it hadn’t been enough.

It was too late.

She had been too late.

And then the wailing started.

It was the kind of sound that cracked through bone, that settled into the skin like frostbite, that would haunt the healer for days to come.

The mother had reached for Ana’s body again, pulling her closer as if she could shake her back to life. Eriks hands kept brushing against Ana's face, eyes wide with shock, face streaked with silent tears.

And the healer could do nothing.

Say nothing.

She knelt there, blood soaking her hands, her skirts, her arms, her chest—her own breath coming in shallow gasps. The smell was suffocating, the irony stench that lingered upon skin like fish. Her fingers trembled. She wanted to say something. Anything.

But there were no words.

Nothing could fix this.

She felt the brothers gaze on her then. When she finally lifted her eyes away from Ana, his expression was hollow, empty in a way she had seen before.

“Go." He said, voice flat, distant.

She hated it.

She had failed.

She didn’t move.

“Go.” He gruffed, “Take the horse, he knows his way home.”

So she did.

She stood, and she moved, and she took her satchel with her. She took the blood covering her with her.

The grief with her.

The loss with her.

The sorrow.

The failure. 

The ride home was slow, the exit from the home unbearable as she emerged to find the townsfolk waiting, watching as she exited covered in blood, the wails and sobs of grief behind her. She said nothing as they watched her. Said nothing as she mounted their horse and guided it away from the home.

The horse’s hooves crunched against the forest floor, she did not trot, did not canter, she simply trailed towards her home, deeper and further away from everyone. Back into solitude. The solitude that she knew and loved, and lived and breathed. The cold bit at her blood-soaked clothes, but she barely felt it. Didn’t want to let herself feel.

Didn’t want to come to terms with what had just happened.

With Ana.

Ana.

Her fingers ached from gripping the reins too tightly, the blood beginning to dry against her skin. Grief settled deep in her gut, an unrelenting weight. She had lost people before. She had told  herself she would lose them again. Had known that she would.

But this time—this time it had been someone she knew. Someone she cared for. 

A friend.

And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if she could bear it.

-

It had been hours since she had left, and Aemond had sat rod straight at the side of the bed, watching the door, listening for the sound of hooves, the sound of anything that wasn’t the howling wind outside. He waited, and waited, and waited for her, a million thoughts racing through his head. He wondered what had happened. He wondered if she was in danger.

He wondered if she would come back.

And for the first time in a long time, Aemond Targaryen let himself care.

-

The wind whipped through the trees as she approached the cottage, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her breath visible in the cold night air. Snow would come soon. It flowered before her lips, briefly warming her face before the cold would nip at her again. Ana’s blood had dried in thick, stiff patches across her clothes and body, crusting beneath her fingernails, streaking up her arms where she had pushed so hard, pressed so desperately, tried so hopelessly to hold life inside a body that could no longer contain it.

She stumbled as she dismounted the horse, legs numb beneath her feet. She let the reins go, and turned away from the horse, leaving it where it was. Her fingers barely worked as she fumbled with the door, the weight of it unfamiliar, as though she had forgotten how to move through her own home. When she stepped inside, the warmth of the fire did nothing to touch the ice lodged beneath her skin.

She did not look at Aemond.

Did not acknowledge his presence where he sat, his head lifting to attention the moment she entered.

She felt his eye on her, sharp and searching as she moved towards the washbasin in the corner of the room. Her hands shook as she poured the water, dark red swirling and staining the surface. She unclasped her cloak and placed it upon a hook. 

There was so much of it. 

So much blood. 

She began to scrub.

And Aemond watched silently.

She scrubbed harder.

And harder.

But the blood would not leave.

Would not wash away from her skin.

The rag in her grip was soaked, and still, she scrubbed, the motion mechanical, hollow. She could not feel the temperature of the water, could not register the rawness of her skin beneath it.

Aemond uttered her name.

She had lost people before.

He called her name again.

She had held the dying before.

So why—why did it feel like this?

The bed creaked behind her. A soft, uneven step followed.

Why was the blood not coming off?

Why was it so thick?

The water in the basin was so dark with it, it looked like it had been filled with it. The thick acrid smelling life force that she had seen so often. That she had touched so often. But it was too much.

Why was there so much of it?

Surely there hasn’t been this much.

Behind her, her name again, and the uneven steps of an injured man, followed by a shifting of a chair by the table, like weight had been leant against it.

But why wasn’t it coming off? 

She would need to go down to the lake, to collect some more water. 

Perhaps she could dive beneath the murky depths and bathe in its iciness. Let the numb of the cold take over from the numbness of grief that she felt now.

More shuffling behind her, more utterance of her name, more concerned questions. But she didn’t register it. Didn’t answer it.

Didn’t turn towards him despite knowing that he was up.

She did not want to see him.

Did not want to see pity.

Or anger. Or disgust. Or a sneer. 

Did not want to see the look of disappointment at her failure. 

How had she been able to save him, but not Ana?

How was he still living?

His limp was more pronounced now, but she could hear him moving closer. She did not stop washing her hands. Over and over she scrubbed, becoming more erratic with the cloth that merely smeared the red across her skin.

“Stop.” His voice was low, rough, edged with something unnameable.

She didn’t.

She kept scrubbing.

His hand came to her wrist—not forceful, not cruel, just enough to still her. The healer’s breath hitched at the contact. It was the first time in so long that someone had touched her, not out of desperation, not out of grief or sickness, but simply to stop her from falling apart.

Her fists tightened beneath his grip, hand still clutching the cloth as she stared down at the water.

His eye flickered over her, lingering on the blood, the way it had seeped through the fabric of her sleeves, dark and clotted and the front of her chemise. How it streaked up her arms and was smeared on her face. 

Could feel how the muscles in her hands tightened, coiled, ready to move again, to continue the incessant scrubbing which didn’t work. His own responded by tightening just slightly around her wrist, as if he could tether her back to herself. To signal that he could feel her. Predict her. 

Knew her.

“What happened?” His voice was quieter now, careful.

Had never been so careful.

She did not speak, eyes still trained to the water. With a jerky move, she attempted to pull her hand away from his, but his grip was unrelenting.

“Are you hurt?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat, “She’s dead.”

Aemond’s gaze did not waver, nor did his grip. He did not offer her empty condolences. Did not tell her she had done all she could.

Instead, he asked, “Who was she?”

Her throat tightened, “A friend.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched.

She had never looked so small before.

She had always been a force—unyielding in her stubbornness, sharp-tongued, quick-witted, infuriatingly kind despite his cruelty. But now… now she looked lost.

And Aemond hated it.

He shifted his grip, his thumb pressing just slightly against the inside of her wrist. Not a comfort. Not really. But an anchor. A piece of pressure she could focus on.

The healer closed her eyes, forcing her breath to steady. Her exhaustion clawed at her, dragging her downward, threatening to pull her beneath the weight of everything she could not fix.

“Sit.” Aemond said, quieter now, but insistent.

It was ironic really.

The pain in his side and leg had begun to creep into his senses, and he should really sit with her, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

She shook her head, finally looking at him, “I—”

“You’ll collapse if you don’t.”

A pause. 

Such a long pause.

It seemed to stretch on forever.

Then, with a broken kind of reluctance, she let him guide her to the chair by the fire. It was a slow guidance, and he couldn’t help but notice as her eyes roamed over him, inspecting him for injury, watching as he struggled. But she did not argue. Did not resist. Did not do anything but sit herself down as Aemond still held her, limping by her side. Pushing through the agony. The furs that he had wrapped around his body tucked in tightly.

Aemond watched as she sank down, her body curling inward as if she could fold herself away from the grief.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he could do. But he felt an urge to do something. To repay her in some way. He wasn’t like the others that came to her home. He wouldn’t take, and take, and take from her without giving back. He would repay her. 

He would. 

He just didn’t know how.

Once he was certain she wouldn’t move, he limped back to the wash basin. It took him some time, hand seeking out furniture for support—the chairs, the bed, the table, the edges of the cabin as he shuffled forward, pausing to catch his breath. It took him more time than he would care to admit to empty the basin out the window and refill it with clean water from a bucket. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked, pale and agonised as he moved towards her, his balance impeded by his now lack of hands.

By the time he made it back to her, tears had begun to fall from her eyes as she stared into the flames. She didn’t look up at him as he came to her side, not even when he slowly dragged the other chair beside her.

The fire crackled softly, filling the heavy silence between them. She sat slumped, her body rigid with exhaustion, her hands curled in her lap as if she no longer knew what to do with them. Her skin was cold beneath the dried blood, dark circles shadowing her eyes, but still—still, she tried to hold herself together.

Aemond could see it, the way she clenched her jaw, the way her fingers twitched as though she might force herself to stand and keep moving, as if sheer willpower alone could push away the weight of her grief.

“Go back to bed.” She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “You need to rest.”

Aemond scoffed, shifting his weight onto his uninjured leg. His body ached with the effort, but he refused to let himself falter, refused to let her push him away the way he had done to her.

“I think you forget,” He said dryly, “That I am not so weak anymore.”

“You’ll only injure yourself—”

“I am perfectly capable of standing in this moment.” He cut in, stepping closer, “Besides, a healer told me that I should stand to gain my strength.”

Her eyes lifted to his, sharp despite her exhaustion.

Aemond’s lips curled into something between amusement and frustration, “You are covered in blood.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

She looked away, and back into the fire, “It isn’t mine.”

“As if that makes a difference.”

“It makes all the difference.”

Aemond exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning toward the washbasin he had placed on the chair. He picked up a clean cloth, dipping it into the cool water before grasping her hand from her lap. She protested at first, attempted to grasp the cloth from his hands, pulling away from him.

“I can do it.” She murmured, “Go to bed.”

His eye narrowed.

“I’m not a child.”

She was watching him now, tired but wary.

“Let me.” He said, as cooly as she had once spoken to him a she tended to his side.

“I can wash myself.”

His jaw tightened. Was this how she felt when she tended to him?

“Quiet.”

Aemond sighed, and then grunted, the pulse of his blood through his leg making his teeth clench, and what little patience he had dwindled. He lowered himself onto the seat beside her, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, washbasin in his lap. He lifted the cloth, reaching for her hand again.

This time, she did not stop him.

His fingers brushed against her wrist, gentle despite their roughness. He pressed the damp cloth against her skin, wiping away the dried streaks of blood, revealing the flesh beneath, watching as the liquid darkened with the remnants of her failed attempt to scrub herself clean.

The silence between them shifted—not tense, not uncomfortable, just… something different.

Something unfamiliar.

It had been building for days. Weeks.

She watched him carefully as he worked, his movements steady, methodical. Aemond had always been methodical. Always been calculative and precise. He did not speak, did not offer any words to fill the quiet. He simply cleaned her hands, her arms, her face, wiping away the remnants of a battle she could not win with detached coolness. 

Methodical.

By the time he was finished, the cloth was stained deep red. Aemond set it aside, his gaze flicking over her, taking in the way her shoulders had finally begun to droop, the exhaustion settling heavier now that she had allowed herself to stop. Let someone else take care of her the way that she tirelessly took care of others.

It was the first time Aemond had witnessed her stop. The first time Aemond had witness her be still. 

He leaned back slightly, his eye grazing over her. She was still covered in blood, her clothes having dried with it. Her unbraided hair needed to be brushed, knotted and tangled from the wind, but he doubted she would allow him to do that, let alone herself. She looked so empty, so hollow that he worried she may collapse then and there. 

Aemond’s chest tightened.

He had never seen her like this.

She was always sharp, always biting, always moving with purpose—whether it was to tend to him, to fetch herbs, to argue with him. But now… now she was something else entirely. Something fractured.

He hated it.

Hated that he did not know what to do to fix it.

Aemond grit his teeth.

Why did he care?

She was nothing to him.

Nothing.

And yet, when he dropped the cloth he had been holding, when her breath hitched as though she might shatter, he found himself moving without thought, pushing himself up again despite the pain in his ribs and leg, moving the wash basin to the seat.

“You need to rest.” He said, his voice lower than he intended, rough with something he did not understand.

“You did your best. Now you must rest.”

She looked up into his gaze.

And Aemond wished she hadn’t.

Because her eyes—gods, her eyes—were filled with something he could not bear to see.

Grief.

Failure.

A hollowness that made his stomach twist, made his pulse quicken with something close to panic.

He had not thought her capable of breaking.

And yet, here she was—cracked open before him, bleeding out in a way that had nothing to do with wounds or war.

Aemond swallowed hard, his fingers reaching and flexing around her wrist again. He did not know what to say, did not know how to drag her back from whatever abyss she was teetering on the edge of.

And that infuriated him.

He should not care.

He should not care.

And yet, the thought of her fading into that emptiness, of her never coming back to the infuriating, sharp-witted woman who had forced him to live when all he had wanted was to die—he could not stand it.

His jaw clenched. His grip did not loosen.

She was not allowed to fall apart.

Not like this.

Not in front of him.

“Sleep.” He tried to pull her hand towards him, to get her to stand, but even with this new found strength his wound would not allow it.

She blinked at him, as if he had just spoken a language she did not understand.

“I will.” She muttered, glancing toward the mound of blankets and fur on the floor beside the fireplace, though they both knew it was a poor excuse for a place to rest.

Aemond’s expression darkened, “You are not sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“No.”

There was something final in the way he said it, something that left little room for argument.

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a moment, she simply stared at him, tired and frayed, but still stubborn.

Aemond clenched his jaw, leaning forward slightly, “You saved my life,” He said, voice quiet but firm, “Let me return the favour, if only for one night.”

Something in her gaze wavered.

For a long moment, she did not move.

“I’m not going to die.”

He ignored her, voice gruff, “Get up.”

She blinked again up at him, emotion flickering across her eyes. But he could tell she was tired. 

Gods she was so so tired. She just wanted to sleep. To forget what had happened. To not be present in that moment. 

Aemond spoke her name, and in a strange way it grounded her. It was rough, and commanding, and demanding in its tone. It was every inch the man she had known these past weeks. Stubborn, sharp, quick-witted. But this time it wasn’t to poke and prod at her. 

This time was different, and she found she didn’t have the energy to argue.

Slowly—reluctantly—she stood.

She moved toward the bed as though unsure of her own steps, pausing just before it, her back to him. 

Aemond watched as she numbly pulled the bloodied chemise over her head and onto the floor, leaving herself bare before him. 

Aemond blanched.

Not once in his time here had he seen her in the way she had seen him. His eye roamed over her body, even though he knew that it shouldn’t. Aemond knew that he shouldn’t gaze upon her now at her most vulnerable. At her most broken. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t tear his eye away from the soft slope of her hips of the curve of her breasts from the side. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from the roundness of her ass, or the soft skin of her back and legs. 

She didn’t seem to notice his gaze, or didn’t care as she pulled back the furs of the bed and crawled inside, sliding to the opposite side, her back facing him as she pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. 

If Aemond was anything like his brother he would have sought this moment to take advantage of her. To hurt her. It was a naked woman, in a bed he would be sharing. But instead of any urge to roll her onto her back or stomach, he felt a nervousness he hadn’t felt before. A nervousness to be around her that he had never felt.

His heart raced in his chest as he looked at her, gazed at her with a new intrigue,

She was beautiful.

She was perfect. 

She was—her.

So very her.

The bed was small. Too small.

He limped and shifted and struggled to lay back down but managed it all the same, the bed dipping beneath him. It took him some time to get his broken leg beneath the furs comfortably as he lay on his back. She was close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her body, but far enough that she might as well have been a world away.

Aemond stared at the ceiling, his eye adjusting to the dim flicker of firelight. He had not thought this through. Had not considered what it would mean to share a bed with her. Not just the physical proximity, but the weight of it—of allowing her into his space, of stepping into hers. 

Of her within his.

It was different from when she had tended to him, different from when she had pressed cool hands against fevered skin, from when she had helped him stand, from when she had argued with him over fish.

This was something else entirely.

She was fragile now. And he hated it.

He hated so many things, but most of all, he hated this.

He hated the way it made something inside him tighten uncomfortably, the way it made his chest ache. He was not meant to feel this way. Not for her. Not for anyone.

And yet, she had looked so small when she finally climbed into the bed. So lost.

He exhaled slowly, willing the unfamiliar sensation away.

She did not speak.

And neither did he.

For a long time, there was only silence, punctuated by the occasional flicker of the fire and the slow, unsteady rhythm of her breath.

She smelled like the thick scent of iron and something uniquely her. He wondered if the scent of blood was just in his mind or if it still lingered on her skin, or perhaps it was on his now. He had tried to scrub it away with a cloth, had watched as the water in the basin turned red. But some things did not wash off so easily.

He, more than anyone, knew that.

She shifted slightly, the movement small, hesitant. He felt the way her muscles tensed, as if she were fighting the instinct to move closer. Trying to escape the ever haunting feeling that crashed over her.

Aemond knew what it was to be haunted.

He knew what it was to lie awake with ghosts pressed into his skin, to feel the weight of failure like chains around his throat. He had felt it after losing his eye. After the war. After his fall. His time spent in this very bed.

But he had not expected to recognise it in her.

He had not expected to care.

And yet, as he lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing, feeling the slight tremor in her limbs, something dark and unbidden curled inside him.

He turned his head slightly, his eye tracing the outline of her in the dim light. Over the slope of her shoulder, her tangled hair that lay messily upon the pillow. The curves of her body beneath the furs.

“Sleep.” He murmured, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

She did not answer right away. But when she did, her voice was raw, as if she had spent all of it on grief.

“I can’t.”

Aemond hesitated. He was not good at comfort. He was good at pain, at rage, at control. He was good at killing, and fighting, and burning. At threatening those around him when needed. At the training yard with his sword. At politics, and history and philosophy. He was good at war. He was good at taking. But this was something else.

This he did not know how to do.

Still, before he could stop himself, his hand moved—slow, deliberate—until his fingers brushed against her shoulder. Just barely. Just enough to remind her that she was not alone. She tensed beneath his touch at first, stiffening as she held her breath, but as the warmth of his hand seeped into her skin, she relaxed.

Did not pull away.

And neither did he.

He did not sleep that night.

Not because of pain.

Not because of nightmares.

But because of her.

He would not say it aloud, but he knew.

Tonight, she needed this.

And for some reason he could not quite name—so did he.

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[honeydippedfiction]

Joe x Angel #23 hurt/comfort

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#23. "I'm so tired. I've been tired for awhile."

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

By December, the cold had settled into Cincinnati like a second skin.

Not the crisp kind that stings your cheeks and makes you feel alive. This was the type that crept into your bones, settled in your joints, and made everything feel slower, heavier—like winter wasn’t just a season anymore, but a weight.

Outside Paycor Stadium, the wind cut harder than usual, swirling snow like whispers of exhaustion. It didn’t just chill the skin—it pressed into the chest, as if the city itself was bracing for something more than weather. Inside, the post-game locker room carried that same tension. The Bengals had beaten Cleveland, but the win felt like borrowed time. 23–20. Every digit earned with bruises.

Joe Burrow sat quietly in front of his locker, surrounded by the clang of cleats being removed, the low murmur of trainers, and the occasional celebratory shout that didn’t reach his ears. He’d been sacked seven times. Hurried twelve more. His ribs ached with every breath. His knees throbbed beneath the ice packs strapped tight around them. There was a win in the column, yes—but it felt hollow in his chest.

The media would talk grit. The fans would roar toughness. Talk radio would echo the word “resilient” on loop until Sunday. But as Joe stood in the shower, head bowed under scalding water, he didn’t feel like a quarterback. He felt like a body that kept getting up simply because it didn’t know how to stop.

It was close to 1 a.m. when the garage door finally groaned open.

The house was quiet—eerily so. The kind of quiet that amplifies every sound: the metallic tick of a cooling engine, the creak of the door unlocking, the soft shuffle of sneakers over hardwood. The fridge hummed. The heater kicked on. But none of it reached past the tension humming in Joe’s limbs.

He moved through the dark like a ghost, leaving the lights off, letting muscle memory guide him. The weight of the game—of the season—clung to him like a soaked jersey. He wasn’t limping, exactly, but each step looked borrowed, like it came from some reserve he hadn’t replenished in weeks.

Upstairs, their bedroom glowed faintly from the bathroom light left on down the hall. Lavender and detergent met him like an old memory—something soft, something human.

Angel was awake.

She didn’t need to call out. He could feel it—her presence, like gravity. Even before he saw the soft curve of her form beneath the covers, he knew she was watching. Waiting. Her patience wasn’t passive. It was fierce in its own way, a kind of love that stood guard.

Joe slipped off his hoodie, slow, deliberate, as though it hurt to move. His shoes landed on the floor with dull thuds. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t showered at the stadium. His skin still smelled faintly of turf and adrenaline and antiseptic. He didn’t feel ready to be touched.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick and rough, barely carrying.

“Hey,” Angel said softly.

The word was a hand on his back.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, elbows on his knees, lacing and unlacing his fingers like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Angel pushed herself upright, careful not to rush. She knew his silences. She had learned the rhythms of his pain the way some people learn another language.

“How’s the leg?” she asked gently.

He gave a soft snort, not quite laughter. “Sore.”

“You get it looked at?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on some point beyond the wall. “Bruised. Not torn. Just…hurts.”

Angel didn’t rush to fill the quiet. She just watched him—the way his shoulders stayed curled forward, like something was sitting on them. How his fingers twitched with the tension of things unsaid.

“You eat?”

“Not hungry.”

Another beat of silence.

“Joe,” she said finally, her voice like a warm cloth, “look at me.”

For a moment, he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. But something in her tone—something gentle and unyielding—made him turn.

The light caught his face and made him look older. His eyes were rimmed red, not from crying, but from the wear of everything he hadn’t let himself feel. There were bruises beneath his skin that no camera caught.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly, automatically.

She tilted her head, just slightly. “No, you’re not.”

He dropped his gaze again.

Angel moved closer, her knees brushing his back. “You’ve been coming home like this for weeks,” she said. “You don’t talk. You don’t eat. You sit in the dark like it’s safer there. You stare at the ceiling like it’s gonna answer something.”

Joe said nothing. Just inhaled sharply, like he might respond, but the words got caught somewhere in the back of his throat.

“I’m just tired,” he said finally.

“I know you are,” Angel replied. “That’s why I’m scared.”

He closed his eyes. The weight of her words pierced deeper than any hit he’d taken on the field.

“I have to push,” he muttered. “We’re in it. We’re right there. I can’t pull back now.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to his back.

“You think it all falls apart without you.”

“Because it does,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, pulling him tighter. “It just feels that way because you’ve forgotten what it means to rest.”

He turned toward her slowly, like he wasn’t sure the motion was allowed. His face crumpled—something subtle, but unmistakable. A wince of the soul.

“I don’t know how,” he said.

Angel kissed the corner of his mouth, her voice barely more than breath. “Then I’ll teach you. But first, you have to stop pretending you’re not breaking.”

“I’m not breaking,” he said too fast, too sharp.

But the words betrayed him. His voice cracked. His body leaned into hers with that same automatic desperation as a drowning man reaching for anything that floats.

And then he was breaking.

It wasn’t dramatic. No shouting. No heaving sobs.

Just a trembling inhale.

A long exhale that shuddered through his chest.

His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and he let go—finally, painfully. Sobs shook him in silence, the kind of grief that didn’t come from one moment, but from a thousand silent ones stacked on top of each other, day after day. Hits absorbed. Expectations carried. Smiles faked.

Angel didn’t try to fix it. She didn’t say a word. She just held him, her fingers curling into his hair, her breath warm against his temple. She became the stillness he had forgotten existed.

Eventually, his sobs faded into uneven breaths. He remained in her arms, smaller somehow, like a boy who had spent too long pretending to be invincible.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, voice raw. “I’ve been tired for awhile.”

Angel nodded. “I know.”

He looked up, tears still streaking his face. “I thought if we kept winning, I’d feel better. That maybe… if I just gave more, everything would balance out. But it’s not. And I’m still tired.”

“You gave them everything, Joe. You gave you. But you never gave anything back to yourself.”

​​“I don’t know how to be anything but this,” he said into the cotton of her t-shirt. “How do I let go when I’ve never let go?”

“You start here,” she whispered, brushing the hair from his face. “With me.”

Her fingers traced slow, steady lines up his spine.

“I don’t need the version of you that wins awards or gives postgame interviews. I need you. Just you.”

His breath hitched. “What if that’s not enough?”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, hers shining now too. “It’s always been enough.”

Minutes passed. The silence no longer felt heavy—it felt held. Forgiving.

He finally let go, his body heavy with exhaustion, and lay down—not beside her, but against her, his head resting on her chest, one arm draped over her waist like a child seeking comfort. Angel shifted slightly, adjusting to cradle him, her arms wrapping around his back, one hand stroking slowly through his hair.

She guided him gently onto the bed, pulling him down beside her—not as a quarterback, not as a leader, but as a man. A man with cracked ribs, tired eyes, and a heart that had carried more than it should have.

His breath was still uneven, catching now and then in his throat, but it was slowing. Softening. The tension in his shoulders eased, piece by piece, as if the weight he’d been carrying for months had finally found a place to land.

She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to.

She just held him—her husband, her quarterback, her love—as he finally allowed himself to simply be held.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, Joe Burrow didn’t feel like a quarterback or a symbol.

He felt like a man.

Broken open, but not alone.

And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t resist.

He let himself be held.

And in the quiet hum of their bedroom, as snow dusted the windows and the world slept, he let that be enough.

Outside the frost clung to the window panes. The city slept. But inside that room, Joe Burrow finally allowed himself to be still—not as a quarterback, not as a savior, but as a man reckoning with his own humanity.

In that quiet room, Joe Burrow finally exhaled.

He didn’t need to fix the world tonight.

He just needed to remember he wasn’t alone in it.

He didn’t have to carry everything tonight.

Not with her next to him. 

[trashland-llamas]

Unpaid Intern

Ao3 link | x gn! reader

Reader who's in chronic pain all the time consistently pushing themselves beyond their pain threshold, actively making it worse because of how much they compare themselves to Viktor. Seeing how despite his disability, he's still able to get his work in the lab done. Day in and day out like clockwork. Still buzzing with new innovative ideas that expand upon the existing hexcore.

But Viktor's been dealing with his disability since he was a kid while Reader obtained theirs during the tail end of their teenage years. Thus still learning to accept it and not try to appear able bodied. Some days would be worse than others. And on those days, they should take it easy. Entirely unaware as to how Viktor was fighting against his own body as it began to fail him.

And at a certain point Jayce finds out, instilled with the inkling that Reader was hiding something. His inkling confirmed correct when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Reader's not in their usual spot. Kissing Viktor's forehead as he goes out to search for them, knowing they couldn't have gone far.

After spending hours tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position, Reader had moved to the living room couch. The television turned on with the volume muted as to not wake them up. Agonizingly propped up against the arm of the couch, curled around a warm drink. Their mistake was forgetting how light a sleeper Jayce was. All he does is wrap his arms around their waist, pulling them onto his lap.

'What's wrong?' those two words from Jayce, paired with the bone-aching exhaustion miraculously coaxes Reader to spill their guts to him. 'My back, it's really bad. Not a sharp, shooting pain. More of a dull ache, like someone dropped a hammer on my back,' they began.

Further revealing that they had been hiding the severity of their scoliosis with baggy clothes and a brace. Which explains to Jayce the random mobility aids popping up around their shared space. Reader's back brace having gotten accidentally mixed in with Viktor's stuff during one wash cycle. 'Can I touch your back?' Jayce asks. Getting the okay from Reader, he begins to rub tight circles into the tense muscle.

'You shouldn't compare yourself to Viktor, and you should definitely not copy his work ethic. Could've told you that you'd run yourself into the ground if I had known,' Jayce croons. Smiling at the relieved groan they let out.

Jayce had seen multiple times how Viktor would pull all nighters. Only staying awake via outlets of caffeine. Believing that Viktor used work to distract himself from the pain. A concept that obviously didn't work for Reader. 'I know that I'm not Viktor. But when it comes down to it, I feel like I'm just complaining. Or that I'm being a fussy child who shouldn't be fussing.'

'You're not. Deserve to rest, especially when your body needs it. That's the only way your body can heal.' When Reader finally manages to fall asleep, slumped on his chest, Jayce carries him back to bed.

Viktor's rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Reader is placed back into his assigned spot. 'What happened?' Viktor questions as he turns to face Reader. Seeing how worn out they looked, even while asleep. Jayce catches him up, saying how they'd have another conversation in the morning.

[itshellfire]

Authors note: Heyyy :3, okay listen. I’ve literally never posted on tumblr in my life so please bare with me as I figure out how this works! Gentle constructive criticism is appreciated!! ♡ My bestie @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery convinced me to post this short story I wrote :,) shoutout. Anyways, without any further ado…

Warnings: none, just fluff :,) <3

Summary: You and Dean end up falling asleep in a motel after a long and painful Wendigo case, none the wiser to the storm thumping outside. What happens when the thunder wakes you up and you’re terrified? Do you wake up Dean?

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿

I think I like when it rains.

Loud. It was incredibly loud. The wind blew relentlessly and shook the flimsy motel walls, the curtains blowing and fighting against the wind. It was midsummer so it was pretty warm and on nights like this, Dean usually always left the window halfway open. And normally that would’ve been fine, unfortunately this was one of those times where it wasn’t okay.

The air was thick, sticky and humid. The sky crackling and darkening as the storm worsened, veins of lightning sprawled out across the void above. You and Dean had fallen asleep hours ago, you’d faced the strongest, most pain in your ass, wendigo either of you had ever seen in your entire lives. So, of course, you were both beyond exhausted and made the last minute decision to stay at a motel for the night instead of immediately getting back on the road, which turned out to be pretty good considering you two got to be in bed when you two could’ve been stuck on the road in that god-awful storm.

Dean laid sprawled out on the bed, his arm draped carelessly over you as you stayed curled up beside him, tangled in the covers. So still that the steady rise and fall of your breathing was the only indication you were both alive.

Unfortunately, you were not a heavy sleeper by any means. Even the slightest shift in the bed woke you up, so when the storm kicked up and the wind blew stronger through the cracked open windows, you’d wake up. The strong breeze shook the trees and rattles the screen in the window, soon after a bright flash of lightning ran through the sky like an electric shock. Followed by a loud crack, a boom that rumbled through the grounds, disturbed the roots, and ached in your bones.

You almost immediately jolted up in bed from your sleep, your heart pounding in your ears as you gasped and gripped onto the blanket, trying to adjust your eyes after being blinded by the lightning.

“What the fuck??!” The sound that woke you up was so sudden, so jarring, that it sent a shock of fear right through you. You’d cry out softly, genuinely scared and not only because of the storm but also because of how abruptly you were woken up. The storm raged outside, the wind howling like a beast and the rain slamming against the windows with an almost violent fury.

Another thunderclap followed, louder this time, shaking the cabin to its very core. Your breath quickened, and your body tensed, your mind was overflowing with thoughts of peril. You sat with the blankets clutched up against your chest, eyes darting around the dingy motel room as though the storm could somehow find a way inside.

Dean stirred beside you after a few minutes, a grunt escaping his dry lips as his eyes fluttered open, blinking into the darkness. He immediately sensed the change in you—the way your body was suddenly rigid instead of relaxed and fluid, the fear that now glazed over your eyes.

"Woah, hey, sweetheart, it’s okay..” he murmured, his voice raspy, still thick with sleep but laced with concern. He slowly reached out, not moving too fast so he wouldn’t scare you, his hand finding yours in the dark, unclenching your fingers from the blankets.

As soon as you heard Dean’s voice you broke down, head swinging to look at him before you started crying softly as the storm boomed outside. His heart tightened. Dean was never the “emotional support” kind of boyfriend, he didn’t really understand it and honestly it made him uncomfortable, but this was different. You were important to him. And if there was one thing Dean was damn good at and proud of, it was his ability to protect the people he cared about. Even if he had to go a bit out of his comfort zone.

Dean inhaled a sharp breath before he sat up and gently pulled her into his arms, the warmth radiating from his body provided an almost immediate sense of comfort. "It’s just a storm, doll face ," he said with an oddly comforting smirk, his voice soothing as he ran a hand through your hair. "It’s not gonna hurt you. Nothin’ is. I’m here, okay?”

Another thunderclap sounded, louder than the last, and she winced, burying her face against his chest, trying to steady her breathing.

Dean gently lifted your chin and you met his gaze, finding comfort in the strength he seemed to wear like armor, even in some of the darkest moments. His eyes softened as his hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Th-thank you, Dean, I love you..” you whispered softly, stuttering, voice shaky and nearly inaudible.

“I know, baby, c’mere. Sleep.” Dean replied, voice raspy yet the most calming thing you’d ever heard in your entire life. He wanted to say he loved you too, that he always had and he always would-he just didn’t know how to yet. He was afraid.

Your eyelids suddenly felt heavy as you laid in Dean’s arms, curled up in his lap with your head resting against his chest. The storm in the background completely melted away when he spoke, when you felt his fingers thread through your hair as he lulled you to sleep.

And as you laid there, drifting off to sleep with a smile on your face because you knew you were loved and safe, comfortable in the arms of your lover, there was only one thought on your mind.

Maybe you actually did like when it rained.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿

A/N: Dear god I haven’t written a story in so long, I’m a little rusty but I hope you like it :,)

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 9

You can read previous chapters here

Summary: Y/n learns the truth about her powers. When Azriel is injured rescuing Elain, Y/n tends to his wounds.

Word count: 3.9 K.

When Y/n woke, Nesta and Elain were sitting by her side.

“What happened? Did we-”.

“We won. Barely” Nesta informed her, her voice low, her eyes flickering with the weight of recent events.

“What about the Shadowsinger and the General?” Y/n’s voice was shaky, tension creeping into her body as she leaned forward.

“Azriel is fine. Cas- Cassian is unconscious” Nesta replied, her expression hardening, though a shadow of sadness dulled her eyes.

It wasn’t like Y/n didn’t believe her sister, but she needed to see for herself. The fear gnawing at her chest wouldn’t relent until she knew Azriel had made it through.

“You should rest” Nesta suggested.

“I’ve rested enough” Y/n replied, her tone heavy with a deeper meaning that spanned far beyond this moment. Since her turning, resting had felt like a futile endeavor.

Outside the tent, Feyre had just returned, and Rhys was informing her of what had happened. Y/n was about to approach them when her eyes caught sight of the Shadowsinger. She unconsciously moved towards him, her heartbeat quickening.

Azriel’s gaze snapped to her, his face and hands smeared with blood, some dried, some still fresh. His usually composed demeanor faltered as he rushed toward her. “Are you alright? You should be resting” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she replied, frowning as she scanned him for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“When I carried you back…we thought you were dead. Your body was ice-cold. What you did back there-”.

“I saw that commander” she interrupted, not focusing on a word he said. Her eyes narrowing as she circled around him, checking his back. ”He was about to drive a sword through your chest”.

“He missed by a few inches” Azriel murmured, but the faint grimace tugging at his lips betrayed the pain he was hiding.

“You should get it checked” Y/n insisted, her brow furrowing. Her fingers hovered near the blood-soaked fabric at his back, hesitant but aching to touch, to confirm he was still whole.

“I will. Once the healer is done with Ca- Cassian” his voice dropped, a tinge of worry surfacing.

“Is he badly injured?” she asked, a knot tightening in her stomach. “Is he going to-”.

“He’ll be fine. We have the best healers” he said, though the tension in his posture didn’t ease. “Y/n, what you did back there, did you-”.

“What did I do?” her brows knitted together in confusion.

“You don’t remember?”.

Y/n shook her head, rubbing her temple as a wave of exhaustion hit her “I don’t know. Things are blurry”.

“It’s alright, we can talk later. Get some rest” Azriel placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch meant to reassure, though it only made her frustration bubble to the surface.

“I am done resting” she snapped, her patience thinning. The word itself grated on her nerves.

Before Azriel could respond, Rhys emerged from Cassian’s tent and strode toward them “Glad to see you’re awake. We could’ve used-”.

“She doesn’t remember what happened” Azriel interjected, his gaze steady on Rhys.

Rhys’ face softened, a hint of understanding crossing his features “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.

“The commander. He gutted your General, and your Shadowsinger rushed to his side, trying to hold his guts in place when another soldier came up behind him and was about to kill him. Then I felt something… leave my body, and the next thing I know, I woke up here” her eyes flickered between the two males “What happened?”.

“You unleashed a thunderstorm on Hybern” Rhys said her, watching her carefully.

“It was already raining. Why would you think I did it?” she argued, her eyes narrowing at Rhys before glancing at Azriel, waiting for him to deny it. But he didn’t.

“We all saw it coming from where you stood, and Nesta confirmed it” Rhys added.

Y/n shook her head, a hand drifting to her temple “Well, I can’t remember any of that”.

“What were you feeling before you passed out?” Azriel asked, his gaze searching hers.

“I- it wasn’t just one thing. It was a mix… maybe fear or helplessness. I don’t know” she admitted, frustration lacing her tone.

“Maybe the overload of emotions triggered it” Azriel suggested, glancing at Rhys, who only nodded thoughtfully.

—

Later that day, Amren arrived with a book in hand, ready to locate the Cauldron with Nesta. Rhys and Azriel were helping Cassian sit up when Y/n, Nesta, Feyre, and Amren entered the tent.

“Hey, Y/n?” Cassian’s voice, hoarse but strong, cut through the tension. Y/n braced herself for a sarcastic remark, but his eyes held something different. “Thank you for what you did. If it weren’t for you, Az and I would be dead”.

“I didn’t do anything... At least not consciously” she replied, her voice quiet as her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Nonetheless, you saved our lives”.

She gave a brief nod, before moving to stand beside her sister, who was ready to follow Amren’s lead.

Something went wrong while locating the Cauldron. Nesta’s eyes remained closed, her grip on the bones and stones tightening. Feyre reached out to her mind, her voice sharp and urgent “Open your fist, now” Feyre screamed, and Nesta eventually let go.

“What the hell happened?” Y/n demanded, her pulse racing as she knelt beside her sister.

“The Cauldron… it’s-” Nesta struggled to find the right words.

“The size of Hybern’s army is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and they’ve crossed into the human lands”.

—

At dinner, they were joined by Tarquin and Varian. The latter wasted no time pulling Amren into a passionate embrace before the two disappeared into the night. The rest of the group tried to keep the mood light, though tension hummed beneath the surface. Y/n, however, couldn’t relax. Her mind was a storm of thoughts, fears clawing at her insides.

One by one, everyone retired to their tents, except for Y/n. She was staring blankly at her untouched plate. Azriel decided to remain with her, noticing her unease and distantness throughout the evening.

“Y/n?” he called, his voice was soft as he approached, his eyes keenly observing her.

“Mm?” she murmured, still staring at the edge of the table, lost in her thoughts.

“I think the stone works. It protected me during the battle” he said, trying to distract her from whatever worries she had in mind.

Her gaze finally lifted to meet his “I don’t think so. You still almost died” she replied flatly, her expression was unreadable, almost devoid of all emotions.

“But I didn't“ he countered gently. “It was a close shot but I didn’t” he reassured her.

“Not yet”.

“It’s not the first time”.

“I know, and I sense it won’t be the last” she replied, her eyes flickering back to the table.

Azriel moved closer, his gaze steady “We will be alright” he tried to put her mind at rest.

Y/n’s lips thinned into a tight line “Will we? I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse”.

“Nothing will happen to you, I pr-”.

“Do not finish that sentence” she interrupted, her eyes snapping to his “And don’t make promises you can’t keep. The last time y-” she cut herself off, shaking her head as she looked away “just please don’t”.

Azriel’s face softened, a hint of guilt visible on it “I’m sorry”.

“It’s fine” she replied, though her voice lacked conviction.

They sat in silence, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on them. Then suddenly, Y/n stiffened, her senses prickling. His shadows seemed to react at the same time, curling tighter around him and stretching toward her.

“Something is wrong. The Cauldron-” she started, her voice tense.

“I know. I felt it too” he murmured, already on his feet, scanning the area. They went outside and were met with the rest of the team, who also felt its presence. It had an eerie voice that could only be heard by those made. Nonetheless, it made everyone feel uncomfortable.

Moments later, the eerie presence vanished, leaving them all on edge.

“Where’s Elain?” Y/n‘s heart leapt into her throat as she turned to Nesta, panic flashing in her eyes.

Nesta’s face paled and the three sisters ran to their tent, but it was empty. Elain was already gone.

“We have to get her back” Y/n demanded, her chest tightening with a fierce sense of urgency.

Nesta shook her head, her face grim “How? I’ve seen the size of that army and if Elain’s there, it’s impossible to get her out”.

“I’m getting her back” Azriel declared, his voice low but laced with iron determination.

“Then you will die” Nesta said, her voice cracking with both anger and fear.

Azriel turned to Y/n, his expression softer now “I’m getting her back. I give you my word”.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to believe him, but the terror gripping her heart was all too real “Y- you can’t. You’ll-”.

“Have a little faith in me” his eyes softened as they locked with hers, shadows still swirling around him.

“I’m coming with you” Feyre interrupted, as she glamoured herself to look like Tamlin’s priestess.

Azriel nodded, but Y/n’s eyes remained fixed on him “Just be careful” she said to both of them “bring them back safe” she pleased softly, her voice breaking slightly at the end.

He gave her a reassuring nod before turning to face Feyre, as they winnowed away.

Y/n was pacing relentlessly outside the tent, her thoughts spinning out of control. Every possible worst case scenario flashed through her mind, twisting her stomach into knots. She barely noticed Amren approaching until she was standing beside her, watching her with those sharp ancient eyes. “I heard what happened earlier” Amren said, her tone almost casual, though there was an edge to it. “Don’t you think you should try to at least harness your powers? You may very well need them soon”.

Y/n scoffed, rubbing her temples in frustration “Even if I wanted to, I don’t know where to start and there isn’t enough time”.

“Excuses” Amren shot back, her silver eyes narrowing slightly. “I can teach you. You can either wait here and let your anxiety eat you alive, or you can do something useful with your time”.

“Fine. Where do we start?” Y/n let out a heavy breath.

“First, I’d tell you to clear your mind, but I know better than to expect that from you right now” Amren replied, her lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. She gestured for Y/n to follow her into the dining tent. “We should go inside for the next steps”.

The two of them sat at the table, with Rhys and Cassian nearby, deep in discussion over war strategies. Nesta silently followed them, her gaze flickering between her sister and Amren, clearly intrigued by what was about to happen.

“Tell me exactly what you were feeling and thinking when you unleashed your powers” Amren commanded, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

Y/n sighed, feeling the weight of the question “I already told your High-”.

“Tell me again. In more detail” Amren pressed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/n hesitated, but then began recounting the mix of emotions that had overwhelmed her. She spoke of the fear, the desperation. She omitted one tiny detail that she didn’t think was significant and oh, was she wrong. She didn’t tell about the raw terror she felt just at the thought of losing Azriel, which would’ve probably made things much easier for Amren. She wasn’t ready to confront that yet, even if it might help. Still, she relayed everything else as best as she could.

“So, it’s clear that strong emotions are the key” Amren declared, more to herself than to Y/n.

“I felt strong emotions before, though. Rage, and a lot of it. And nothing happened back then” Y/n protested, her frustration mounting.

“Perhaps you weren’t under enough pressure, or the situation wasn’t life- threatening enough” Amren mused. “Stress and danger may be the trigger for your powers”.

“Great” Y/n muttered sarcastically. “So, to test that theory, I should just throw myself into dange? I wonder where we can find such a dangerous situation. Oh, wait, I can go face off against some of Hybern’s army”.

Amren shot her a pointed look. “Or perhaps it’s not just your life in danger. It could be the lives of those you care about that trigger it”.

“Elain is in danger right now, and nothing has happened” Y/n countered, her voice rising in frustration.

“Perhaps you need to see it with your own eyes” Amren suggested coolly.

“We’re not testing that theory” Y/n snapped back, anger flaring in her chest.

Amren raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed “I’m simply speculating about the possibilities. Close your eyes, try reaching for it”.

Y/n did as instructed but a few minutes later she complained “This isn’t working. I don’t feel anything. There’s nothing there”.

“Are you always this impatient?” Amren asked, her voice dry.

“This is me being patient” Y/n retorted, her frustration bubbling over.

Amren sighed, shaking her head. “Luckily, I don’t have time for patience lessons. Let’s try another approach”. She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing as she studied Y/n’s face. “You said you felt fear. Fear of what exactly? And if you could’ve done something in that moment, what would you have done?”.

Y/n’s discomfort grew under the weight of Amren’s questions, but she didn’t back down. “If I could, I would’ve fought beside your friends instead of watching from afar. I would’ve killed Hybern’s soldiers myself”.

“And what were you afraid of?” Amren pressed, her eyes never leaving Y/n’s face.

Y/n hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. “That we’d lose. That everyone on the battlefield would die”.

Amren’s expression was unreadable. “I thought you didn’t care about anyone on the battlefield” she reminded her, a subtle edge to her voice.

“I don’t” Y/n lied, her voice tight. “But if they died, it would leave me and my sisters defenseless against the King”.

“So you were thinking of your sisters?”.

Y/n’s jaw clenched “Not directly”.

Amren leaned in closer. “I need to know the exact thought and feeling you had before you unleashed your powers”.

“I don’t remember, alright?” Y/n snapped, her chest tightening under the pressure. The questions were too much, forcing her to confront things she wasn’t ready to face. “Is this how you’ve been training Nesta? Asking a million questions about her feelings”.

Amren’s eyes gleamed with irritation. “The two situations are different”. “Where do you think you’re going, girl?” She demanded as Y/n stood abruptly.

“To get some fresh air” Y/n muttered, storming out of the tent before Amren could say anything else.

The cool night air did little to calm her racing thoughts. She barely had time to breathe before she heard one of the soldiers shout “Healer!”.

Her heart dropped. A spark of electricity emerged from her hands, as she rushed toward the commotion. When she arrived, she found her sisters and Azriel all in one piece-almost. The small spark disappeared as soon as she reached them. Feyre was clutching her shoulder, wounded but standing. A human girl stood beside her, eyes wide with fear. Azriel was carrying Elain, who was covered in mud and scratched, but alive.

But Azriel… his wings were shredded, and his back was a mess of blood and torn flesh. Blood was dripping everywhere. He was barely standing, his magic the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

Y/n’s body went cold as she watched the scene unfold. Nesta ran past her to embrace Feyre, but Y/n stood frozen, her eyes fixed on Azriel.

“Elain isn’t hurt” Feyre’s voice whispered into Y/n’s mind, but still, Y/n didn’t move.

Rhys moved to take Elain from Azriel’s arms and placed her down with her sisters. Y/n finally broke from her trance and walked toward the Shadowsinger, her heart hammering in her chest.

“We need to get you to Thesan. Right now” Rhys ordered as Y/n opened her mouth to say something.

—-

The sight of his torn skin and bruised muscles made Y/n’s stomach twist with both anger and fear.

“We need to get this off you” the healer gestured to his Illyrian leather shirt. “You, help me. It seems his wounds are worse than usual. I need my other kit. Meanwhile, try to stop the bleeding” she instructed Y/n before leaving the two alone.

The thought of undressing him, not entirely, but enough to expose more of him than she’d ever seen, made her pulse quicken. She tried to push that thought aside, reminding herself this was about his injuries. About keeping him alive.

Her delicate fingers moved toward the buckles on his chest, where the straps of his Illyrian armor crisscrossed over his torso. She hesitated for a mere second, feeling the heat of his body against her ice cold hands, before she started to unbuckle the straps. As her fingers brushed against his skin, she noticed the way his breath hitched, the subtle shift in his posture. Azriel’s eyes never left her face as she finally loosened the last of the buckles. She carefully slid the chest straps off his shoulders, her hands brushing along the hard planes of his arms.

She moved to stand directly in front of him, their faces inches apart now. While his gaze was locked on her, she hadn’t dared to look up at him.

Gently, she tugged at the ruined leathers, her fingers slipping beneath the material. He raised his arms slightly, grimacing as he did, and she helped guide the leathers over his head, being as careful as possible not to disturb his wings or aggravate his wounds.

Y/n knelt beside him trying to keep her hands steady as she reached for the bandages. As she placed the bandages to his back, she tried not to think about the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. Each time she moved, their skin brushed. Even though her fingers were cold, as if she had touched ice before handling him, she felt really hot.

Y/n’s voice trembled with barely controlled anger as she finally broke the silence. “You’re reckless”.

Azriel winced as she pulled the bandage tighter “you’re angry” he murmured, his voice strained. His hazel eyes were watching her, following her every movement, watching the way her fingers fumbled with the bandages or the way they gently touched his skin. For a moment he forgot about the pain.

“Of course I’m angry! You could’ve died!” Her voice cracked, a mix of frustration and fear clawing at her throat.

“I promised I’d get your sisters back safely” he replied, his words quiet but firm, as if the pain of his wounds was nothing compared to the weight of the promise he made her.

“You should’ve been more careful. I’m not trading one life for another” her voice dropped as she wrapped the bandage around his torso, her hand brushing the hard ridges of his abdomen as she tightened it. “Lately, you’ve been injured way too often” she muttered, feeling every muscle, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She had to focus on her anger or she’d lose control.

“It’s part of the job” Azriel responded, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. His wings twitched slightly as her hands skimmed across the sensitive skin near the base of his wings, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let her work, as if her touch was both grounding and maddening at the same time.

“Your job sucks” Y/n spoke, her voice calmer now, but she was still mad at him.

“It keeps people safe and someone has to do it”.

“Well, if you must do it, then make sure you don’t get yourself killed” she muttered, her eyes sharp as she wrapped another bandage around him.

“I’m trying” he said, his smile growing slightly as he watched her fuss over him.

“Where were your shadows? Couldn’t they protect you?” she asked, her voice softening as concern seeped into her tone.

“It’s more complicated than that”.

“Well, tell them I’m pissed at them, too” a small smile pulled at her lips despite herself.

A soft chuckle escaped Azriel’s lips, the sound was warm and teasing.

“You think this is funny?” she shot him a glare.

“No” he replied, his tone light, “but the shadows do”.

“Tell them if I catch them, I’ll- I’ll shine a light on them or something” she grumbled.

“Alright, alright. No need for violence” he teased, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Fine, but only because you’re injured”.

“Thank you. I appreciate that”.

“I should be the one thanking you. You brought my sisters back to me, alive. Thank you, Shadowsinger” Y/n said gently, her voice barely more than a whisper. At her words, warmth flickered in Azriel’s shadowed gaze.

When she finished bandaging him, she hesitated, her eyes flickering over his injuries. She wanted to hug him, to reassure herself he was alright, but she was afraid of hurting him in the process. Instead, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warm and gentle, and as she pulled away, her heart skipped a beat.

Azriel froze at the contact, his breath catching as his gaze flicked back to hers. The sensation of her lips on his skin was startling, but more than that, it was the tenderness that undid him. She was usually cold, sharp-tongued, always quick to argue or throw up walls between herself and everyone else. He had come to know her as fierce and unyielding, her strength more often shown through defiance than gentleness. But this- this was different. He hadn’t realized she could touch him with such care, with a softness that made the cold distance between them feel like it had vanished. He hadn’t realized she was capable of such gentleness, especially not towards him.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them thick and electric. His lips parted as if to say something, but before he could, the door to the tent rustled, and Thesan entered, Rhys and the healer at his side.

Y/n quickly stepped back, her heart still racing in her chest, the memory of Azriel’s skin against her lips lingering like a ghost between them “Took you long enough” she blurted, taking out her frustration on the wrong person. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

“Play nice” Rhys ordered gently, though there was a smile in his eyes.

She muttered an apology to Thesan before stepping back to let him tend to Azriel.

“I’ll see you soon” Y/n turned and quietly left the tent.

When she returned to her tent, she found her three sisters fast asleep, curled up together, their faces peaceful despite everything that had happened. The sight tugged at something deep inside her, something warm, and painfully bittersweet.

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept like this. It felt like a distant memory, from a time long before wars, powers, and sacrifices. Not wanting to disturb them, Y/n settled into a chair across from them, watching their steady breaths.

For a moment, her mind quieted, the storm of thoughts fading to a gentle hum. She wanted to capture that moment, to engrave the image of their peaceful faces into her memory forever, hoping the memory of this calm would be enough to carry her through the chaos ahead.

And in the silence, sleep slowly claimed her.

Taglist: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic

[skywalkerssgirl]

can u write a scenario where anakin lays his head in the reader's lap, and they just get to play with his hair as he rants?

HERE U GO:

The evening breeze drifted softly through the open windows of our shared quarters on Coruscant, bringing with it the faint aroma of blossoms from the lavish gardens below. I settled onto the comfortable lounge, my mind heavy with thoughts of the usual affairs far beyond my control. Still, the quiet warmth of our room offered a rare sanctuary from the chaos throughout the galaxy.

Just as I began to get lost in my thoughts, the metal door to our quarters hissed open, revealing Anakin. His demeanor was off: tense shoulders, furrowed brow, frustration brewing like a storm in his ocean eyes. When a 6’ 2” Jedi trained to be a soldier in combat is this pissed off, it is usually not a good sign. A quiet sigh of relief left me when his gaze softened slightly upon meeting mine.

"Everything alright?" I questioned gently, already knowing the answer. He hesitated, emotions flickering like shooting stars across his features. Without a word, he crossed the room. I slowly got up from my seat, moving over to run my fingers through his long, curly hair in an attempt to soothe him. My heart ached to see him so burdened.

"Nothing ever goes as it should," Anakin whispered, exhaustion threaded deeply into his voice. I sat back down and let him place his head carefully onto my lap, his body releasing pent-up tension just from the contact.

A soft smile curved my lips when I felt him visibly relax against my thighs while my fingers instinctively reached for his unruly curls, gently threading through them. "Tell me what's troubling you," I murmured softly.

He sighed deeply, a shaky exhale carrying away some of his tension. "It's the Jedi Council again," he began, eyes locked on the distant ceiling, dark shadows dancing in the depths of blue. "They doubt me at every turn. Whatever I do will always be insufficient in their eyes."

His vivid blue eyes burned with something darker, something nearly unrecognizable, as they flicked up to mine. The frustration I’d seen before was still there, but now it carried an edge that chilled me, a desperation that seemed deeper than before.

“The Council…” he continued softly, his tone sharper and more urgent now, anger lacing each word, “they don’t see me for what I am. They don’t trust me. No matter what I do, they treat me like I’m still…I don’t know, that foolish boy from Tatooine.” His words dripped with venom. “Do you know what it’s like to feel chained by the very people who are supposed to guide you? To know you’re capable of so much more, but they refuse to let you prove it? I feel enslaved by the very institution that freed me.”

My heart broke as I listened to him. No child should ever have to go through this much hardship and be subjected to the same treatment. “They don’t deserve you, Ani,” I replied softly, stroking my thumb along his temple. “You’ve given everything to them. They don’t see you like I do.”

He scoffed, "No, they can't. None of them can. They're blind. They'll cling to their traditions until it destroys everything." He looked away from my face, his lips pressing into a tight line for a moment before muttering, "Sometimes I think they’re part of the problem.”

“Anakin…” My concerned voice wavered slightly as my fingers subconsciously tightened gently around his hair, unsure of where his thoughts were going. "What are you saying?"

“What if they hold back more than they protect? What if they… what if they’re the reason everything’s falling apart—this war, the galaxy, all of it? They doubt me, but they’re the ones who fear change. They fear power. They fear me.” His voice cracked slightly in sadness and pain, but the anger surged again, overtaking whatever vulnerability had surfaced only moments prior. “Every time I look at them, all I feel is their mistrust...their jealousy. I could help them—no, I could fix all of this, if they’d just let me."

I drew in a slow, steadying breath, not wanting to stoke the flames of his fury. I gently took his chin in my hand and turned his face to look at me as I spoke, his face softening as he gazed at me, “You don’t need their approval, Ani. You’ve already accomplished so much. You can’t let them take this much from you—”

“They haven't taken it from me," he interrupted, his voice rising as he pushed himself up abruptly from my lap. For one brief second, the surge of his emotions left me frozen. He ran both hands through his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal. "But they think they can," he spat under his breath. “They think they can control me, keep me under their thumb, make me bend to their will. They don’t realize what I’m capable of… what I could do if they just stopped holding me back.”

“That kind of power comes with consequences,” I said quietly, despite the dread that began stirring inside me. My voice was soft, but firm. “It’s not worth losing yourself, Ani. Please… stop letting them get under your skin like this. You’re better than they are. You’re better than this.”

He stepped closer, his hands finding mine, gripping them tightly, almost desperately. “I just want us to be safe. To be free of all of this. I’m so tired of feeling like I have to choose between you and my duty, between what’s right and what works. There has to be a better way.”

“That way doesn’t include the dark side,” I whispered carefully, holding his gaze. “You’re better than that. Please, Ani… don’t let them twist you.”

For a long moment, silence fell between us, his opposing thoughts trapped in the storm I could see raging through his eyes. At last, he let out a sharp breath, curling back up against me for comfort as he wrapped his arms around me.

"I’m so tired," he muttered into my hair, though the tension in his frame remained. "But I can’t stop. I can’t lose you. I won’t let them take any more from me.” He buried his face in my shoulder this time, his tears dampening the fabric of my dress, but I didn’t care. My hand returned to his hair, stroking it gently, trying to soothe away the storm brewing in his mind.

Anakin’s shoulders trembled faintly as I held him tight against me, his arms like a vice around my waist. He buried his face in my clothes, his breath uneven, ragged, like a dam about to break. For a moment, I simply held him, letting my hands smooth firmly down his back. He had so much anger, sadness, and pain, but beneath it there was that familiar vulnerability, that same need to be understood, loved, and to be enough.

Continuing my gentle strokes through his hair, I felt him relax under each comforting motion. "You're doing everything you possibly can," I reassured carefully, keeping my voice soothingly low.

Anakin shook his head slightly against my lap. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough for them. I feel trapped, like every move I make is scrutinized." His defiant voice grew softer, revealing hidden vulnerability beneath the strong exterior he tried so desperately to uphold. "All I’ve ever wanted is to protect the ones I love...to protect you."

I remained quiet, letting my gentle fingertips guide reassurance into each slow pass through his hair. "You already protect me, Ani. Every single day," I whispered firmly, needing him to understand he had nothing to worry about. A subtle smile softened the corners of his mouth for a brief moment, and warmth bloomed in my chest.

"I wish others could see things the way you do," he mumbled, finally letting the tension slip fully away, even if only for these precious moments we shared. Here, amidst the simple comfort of my touch, Anakin seemed far removed from the torments that plagued him.

Together we lingered like this, untouched by the growing storm outside our chamber. If only it could always be this easy—his head resting gently on my lap, my fingers tracing paths through his soft, curly hair, pulling us into our own private refuge. Even with the shadows of uncertainty lingering around us with the fate of the Republic hanging in the balance, I clung to these moments, savoring every second we had together not knowing if they would be our last.

[bitteraristocrat]

4am (SebaCiel drabble)

Inspired by @icantdothistodaybruh and this post <3

The devil knew he would regret not returning his master to his own bed chambers. It was a breach of aesthetic to allow his charge to sleep in his butler’s bed. But, Ciel looked too sweet cocooned in the bed linens that Sebastian rarely used, with only his nose peeking out from the duvet; his dusky fringe trussed and cascading over the modest, single pillow. Little, contented snores purred from him as he occasionally stirred in deep sleep. How could Sebastian disturb him? 

Perhaps more painful was leaving the boy and his sweet human warmth. A butler’s schedule stops at nothing, and there was work to be done in the darkest hours before dawn. 

The faint pattering of feet was evidence enough of Sebastian’s oversight. He turned from polishing the silver to find his drowsy young master at the threshold of the kitchen. 

“It is far too early for you to be awake, my lord,” Sebastian chided, sighing. The poor thing wobbled, legs still exhausted from their previous encounter, and looked endearingly more childlike than usual as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Mm,” Ciel leaned on the doorframe and stretched into a yawn. “Then you should make me a cup of tea.”

“Perhaps chamomile, to coax you back to bed,” Sebastian abandoned his work to approach his master. With a delicate hand, he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind the other’s ear–a gesture of endearment that most certainly would have been rejected had Ciel been more awake. It was only then that the demon’s eyes averted to what the boy was wearing: a starched white shirt that fell to his knees and was buttoned mismatched and sloppy. “Is this my shirt?” He was certain that Ciel was naked when he left his bedroom.

“Maybe,” Ciel muttered, a saccharine glint of mischief in his eyes, glassy and tired. “I wasn’t about to strut about the halls without having dressed myself.”

“Yes, I should have returned you to your own bed chamber and dressed you properly.” A twinge of pity befell the butler’s face. “How neglectful of me. My deepest apologies…You are going to catch a cold like this.”

“Not if you make me that tea.” To Sebastian’s surprise, the little imp leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek before strutting past, as if to entice the devil beyond retort. What a maddening creature his master was.

–

Having refused his butler’s insistence to take the chamomile in his room, Ciel held the cup in both hands and a heat spread all the way down to his bare toes; a herbaceous steam wafted up to his cheeks and made them glossy. Sebastian had resumed his work, although not without a concerned and disapproving arch permanently affixed to his brow. 

Between polishing each piece of silver, his gaze wandered back to Ciel. His legs were almost as pale as the shirt that drowned his petite form, peppered with gooseflesh and practically shimmering in the lamplight. His master’s attention was aloft in some lucid state, as his eyelashes fell heavy over his slow blinking eyes. Something in the demon’s cavernous chest ached to swallow that sweetness whole, douse its gentle flickering and smother the effect it had on his resolve. A sickly adoration wound itself inside the beast as he admired the fine slope of Ciel’s neck, and he contemplated dropping everything just to bury himself in its softness.

“Do you intend to stay with me throughout all of my morning tasks today?”

Ciel blinked at the sudden inquiry, roused at the sound of his butler’s voice cutting the silence. “I might. Would that irritate you terribly?”

“It would not irritate me,” Sebastian replied slowly, “but the detriment to your health it would cause would concern me a great deal.” 

“I’ll be fine, I can’t sleep most nights anyway.” The earl indulged in the last sip of his tea, and closed the distance between the two of them. He rested his head against the demon’s busy arm and allowed his eyes to fall closed once again.

“My master’s body betrays his stubbornness,” Sebastian chuckled, to which his counterpart groaned (he had heard those same words a few hours prior). “If you are so tired that you feel inclined to lean on me, then you ought to retire.” 

Ciel made a muffled noise of protest as he rubbed his face against his butler’s sleeve, much like a cat, Sebastian mused silently to himself. “Make me.” 

The command was alarmingly childish, even for Ciel, and Sebastian balked, hands paused mid-task. He sighed, once again abandoning the chore to collect the boy in his arms. Exasperated, the demon tutted. “What on Earth has you acting so lovely and vexing?” 

The boy shrunk at the blunt accusation, his tiredness wavering to a blushing glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He coiled around the other’s shoulders with a huff.

“And now, you are acting coy.” Sebastian turned his head to bestow a kiss upon the very same breadth of skin he had previously been drawn to and felt the baby hairs at the nape of his charge’s neck stand on edge at the jarring tenderness. “What am I to do with such a darling thing? I am unfamiliar with this side of my master.~”

“Shut up…”

[avensthetic]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇, 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

︴INFO : aventurine x reader, fluff, angst if you squint, churin is implied to do shady stuff for a living, the usage of doll and princess as an endearment

︴SYNOPSIS : in which aventurine is your friendly neighborhood spiderman, and your classmate...

aventurine hadn't just tangled with the interastral peace corporation tonight—he'd been dragged through the dirt by them. or at least, it felt that way. every inch of his body throbbed in testament to their relentless fighting. still, he held on to a smirk, as cocky as ever, as he stumbled towards his dingy apartment. 

then he crashed. not the graceful dive through his own window that he'd initially intended, but a full-body slam through a neighboring one. glass shattered, raining down like startled confetti and adding more cuts to his already battered body—not fun. 

"well, well, what do we have here?" he forced a grin, ignoring the way his muscles screamed. instead, his eyes landed on you, his startled classmate, now staring wide-eyed at the city's friendly neighborhood spiderman hanging upside-down from your ceiling. 

"don't even think about—" words caught in his throat. this was bad. he guarded his identity with more fervor than some guarded state secrets. carelessness like this could spell disaster. 

"i wouldn't dream of it!" you held your hands up, a mix of alarm warring on your face as he dripped blood on your clean bedroom floor. "um, are you okay though? because that looked incredibly unpleasant. and get off my ceiling please."

"just peachy, sweetheart." his usual flippancy was edged with a strain he hoped you wouldn't notice. "don't need your pity."

the mask of the carefree hero was a second skin, but beneath it, exhaustion threatened to drown him. you saw something, a flicker of pain in his eyes and the way his normally playful grin you’ve grown used to see in class had tightened. 

"hey, how about we get you out of those tights and take a look at those bruises?" your voice was soft, laced with a concern that made his chest tighten for reasons beyond the fight. 

before his usual defenses could kick in, he found himself sitting on your couch, ridiculously domestic for the guy who was known as a vigilante. the first-aid kit you brought seemed more like a child's tea party set compared to the injuries he sported, deisgned only for small cuts and burns. but your touch... it was careful, surprisingly tender for someone who, by all rights, should be freaking out right now. and you made work with what little first aid kit you have on hand, not for banged-up heroes.

"you get yourself into a lot of trouble, don't you?" your fingers tracing the edge of a nasty cut on his arm were light and ticklish, preventing him from succumbing to his body’s injuries.

"keeps life interesting," he deflected, the ever-present grin faltering slightly. the truth was far uglier –  the shady deals to keep his family afloat, the constant fear of exposure, the ache of loneliness that even saving the day couldn't quite erase.

that night became the start of something. your apartment became a sanctuary for aventurine after every fight. you, with your warm smiles and soft voice, lulled him into unfamiliar safety. his visits were stolen moments of peace amidst the chaos that is his life. you mended wounds, offered quiet company, and never pried too deeply into the secrets lurking behind his laughter.

then came your birthday. classmates showered you with attention, with gifts overflowing your desk. aventurine waltzed in late and messed up as usual, yet he was always the very picture of nonchalance with a hint of mischief in his grin. “morning, doll,” was all he said before he slumped to his seat.

 a pang of something like disappointment needled at you. you thought…well, you weren't even sure what you expected. a greeting. that was all you wanted, but aventurine merely went on with his day, teasing you like usual. he wasn’t obligated to, of course. but his greeting was the only thing that would’ve mattered and make your day.

in a blink of an eye, night came.

you looked at the clock…midnight is creeping in, and no text or even a call from aventurine. you let out one last disappointed sigh before ultimately settling on the bed in your pajamas. then, your notifications blared, with it came a familiar tap at your window. "ready for a birthday adventure, princess?" his voice held a teasing lilt that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

before you could reply, you were wrapped in his arms, the world tilting as he leapt skyward. wind whistled, laughter bubbled in your throat—he did remember! and for once, the city lights felt magical rather than lonesome. he landed atop a skyscraper with practiced ease, a dazzling grin still fixed on his face.

"happy birthday, doll." a flick of his wrist and the night sky erupted in color. fireworks painted fleeting constellations, just for you. spectacular, and yet… intimate.

"this is…" words seemed to vanish in the glittering night. 

"don't get too mushy on me, yeah?" he gave a cocky smirk, the teasing mask back in place, but you saw the faint flush to his cheeks, akin to embarrassment perhaps. aventurine, the boy who traded in bravado, who hid his vulnerability with extravagant gestures, had given you the most precious gift: a glimpse of kakavasha that aventurine so heavily guarded.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 !

[sevasey51]

A Weekend of Care

Summary: Connor cares for his wife, Y/N, as she struggles with a painful period and the flu. Despite her discomfort and POTS flare-up, Connor helps her shower, comforts her with a heating pad, and ensures she stays hydrated and rested, with her brothers kept informed due to them being really protective of her.

The chill of Chicago’s flu season had hit hard this year, and it wasn’t just the usual sniffles going around. Y/N found herself battling a fierce combination of her painful period, which always left her feeling drained, and the worst cold she’d had in a while. The flu had made her feel feverish, her throat sore, and her whole body achy. But it was the pain from her period that was the worst, leaving her curled up in bed, unable to do much more than turn over every once in a while.

Connor had been aware of how bad things could get for Y/N, especially when her POTS flared up. Her energy drained quickly, and she became even more clingy than usual. He was used to taking care of her, but this was different. Her usual strength was nowhere to be found, and the exhaustion on her face made his heart ache. She barely even looked at the food he brought her, too tired and sick to even muster the energy to eat. He knew she’d need more than just physical care—she’d need comfort. And that was something he could provide with ease.

It had been a rough morning. Y/N had only been able to get out of bed long enough to shuffle to the bathroom, and even then, she’d been pale and shaky. The combination of her period pain, the flu, and her POTS had left her body weak, and her temperature had been up and down. Connor had done what he could: made her tea, brought her medicine, and wrapped her in blankets. But he knew she needed more than that. He also knew she didn’t like when others saw her this vulnerable, so he decided to keep it between them, despite her brothers’ concern.

After texting Will and Jay just to let them know she was unwell, Connor had made a decision. He walked into the bedroom, finding her bundled up in blankets, her eyes barely open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Connor whispered, kneeling beside her. He placed his hand on her forehead, noting how hot she was. “How are you feeling?”

She let out a tired sigh, barely lifting her head from the pillow. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

“Yeah, you’re burning up,” Connor said softly. He leaned over to the side of the bed and grabbed the heating pad he had set up earlier, plugging it in and making sure it was warm enough. “I’m going to get you in a warm shower, okay? You’ll feel better, I promise. We’ll get you into some fresh pajamas after.”

Y/N groaned, clearly not in the mood for a shower. “I don’t think I can, Con. I’m too tired… I can’t even keep my eyes open.”

“I know, baby,” Connor said gently, sitting beside her on the bed and brushing her hair from her face. “But you’ll feel better if we get you clean and get you into fresh clothes. I’ll help you, I promise. You just have to let me.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes fluttering shut as if trying to ignore the idea of moving. Finally, she muttered, “Okay… but only because it’s you.”

Connor smiled softly. “That’s all I need to hear.” He helped her sit up slowly, his arms around her, supporting her when she swayed a little, a result of both her flu symptoms and her POTS. The dizziness was the worst, and he knew that, so he moved slowly, never pushing her beyond what she could handle.

After a few minutes, Connor got her into the bathroom and started the shower, making sure the water was warm but not too hot. He gently guided her into it, staying close to make sure she didn’t lose her balance. “Just let the warm water hit you, sweetheart,” he murmured as she stood under the stream, eyes closed. “I’m right here.”

She let the heat relax her stiff muscles, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Connor kept a steady presence beside her, helping her wash up without pushing her too hard. When it was time to step out of the shower, she was already looking a bit more awake, but her body still felt heavy.

Connor wrapped her in a soft towel, brushing her hair back again and taking extra care as he helped her into fresh pajamas. “I know you’re still not feeling great, but you’re doing so well, baby,” he said softly as he helped her back to bed.

She didn’t say anything, just gave him a tired smile and curled back into the blankets, the heating pad once again pressed to her abdomen. “Thanks, Con.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Anything for you.”

But Y/N’s struggle wasn’t just physical. She was emotionally drained too, her mind foggy from both the flu and the pain. “I just want to rest, but I don’t feel comfortable,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I feel… gross. I hate being like this.”

“You’re not gross,” Connor reassured her, climbing into bed beside her and pulling her close. “You’re strong, Y/N. I know this sucks, but you’ll feel better soon. I’ll take care of everything.”

Her eyes fluttered closed again, her body sinking into his warmth. Connor gently placed his hand on her stomach, offering comfort. She was barely awake enough to notice, but she reached for him instinctively, her fingers clutching his shirt. “Baby… stay?”

Connor wrapped his arms around her, offering the comfort she needed. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Always.”

He stayed with her for the rest of the day, bringing her water when she needed it, getting her to eat small bites of soup, and gently reminding her to take her meds when the cramps got too bad. Despite everything, she slowly began to improve, her fever breaking and the flu symptoms lessening as the day wore on. The tender care from Connor, combined with the presence of her brothers, would always make things better—even when they didn’t seem like they would.

Eventually, Y/N fell into a peaceful sleep, her body still aching but her mind at ease. Connor kissed the top of her head and promised himself he would always be there for her, no matter what. He watched over her, keeping his hand gently on her chest as she slept, content in the knowledge that, even in her most vulnerable moments, he would always be there to care for her.

I hope you guys enjoy this it’s a mix of Connor looking after wife! Whilst she’s on her period but been struck with the flu. Hope you love it 🫶🏻

[thehypnone]

Do Not Go Away

WC: 13k

Relationship: Rain/Dewdrop, Rain/Everyone, not rel. focused

Tags: Disability, Chronic Illness, EDS, POTS, Lots of Crying, Angst with a Happy Ending, Passing Out, Depressive Episode, Abandonment Issues, Self-Hatred, Marriage Proposal, Unreliable Narrator, Mild Suicidal Thoughts, Panic Attacks

"You finally did it, you pushed us all away.  Congratulations, Rain. You are free." Or how Rain's body finally gives up and he gives up with it.

Notes: This is me expanding on this post in a heartbreaking way. Also making my worst fears come true for Rain, sorry not sorry, but at least at the end of the day he's not alone, right? While it's not my best work it's the most important and personal to me, I hope you'll like it. It's multi chaptered on ao3 so it's easier to grab a hold of an read bit by bit.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Now with art from Nono and Felix

Nobody really knows what went wrong with Rain’s summoning. Nobody really knows if it  all originated from it, anyway. At least he’s not the only one, Zephyr is still there. What a thing to bond over, they have.

Rain was never doing good. Never good, just decent. He was tired all the time. And in pain.

“It is what it is,” he always said, shrugging. “It’s what comes with a faulty vessel.”

He was used to it already. Or was he?

He could deal with it, mostly. Sometimes it was better, sometimes it was worse, but in general he was okay. He had his pack, he had his music. He was okay.

Until he was not.

Until all he could do was lay and stare at the ceiling, without any power to move, with a lump in his throat, because everything hurt, the world was spinning and he was too exhausted to even cry. His phone was thrown somewhere next to him or on the bed, battery either already out or just right about to be. He could have grabbed it and sent a text—would his fingers manage? Hell, he could have even screamed—to someone, anyone, ask for…

For what, exactly?

Help? Help in what? There’s no helping him, is there? He’s broken and that’s it.

That is why he would just lay there, unable to move, unable to cry, unable to fall asleep, listening to his own shallow breathing and racing heart and feeling all the pain coursing through his damaged body.

Until it would be decent again.

Until the day when the decent would not come back.

This day was near, and Rain knew it.

The tour has never seemed so long. Maybe it never was, but Rain wasn’t bothered enough to actually check the dates and do the math. It’s not like it would change anything, would it?

He was a ghost. He was just there, barely present, just doing what he absolutely had to, and that was it. He was in pain, and despite the exhaustion he saw what it was doing to his packmates. They all had their own aches and they were equally tired, he hated that he was causing them distress just by… by existing.

Rain tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, he was summoned that way and most of the time he was careful as to not make it all worse. He knew his limits and usually did not go beyond them. Usually.

He hated that he was like that, broken, whether it was his fault or not. What did he do to deserve it? Most importantly, what did his packmates do to deserve to be burdened by his existence? What did Papa do?

The water ghoul tried his best to not be bigger of a bother than he already was. Swiss and Dewdrop usually called him a dumbass for that, told him that he was a bother only when sulking around with a frown on his pretty face. He always smiled at that, but when they looked away that frown always returned. No matter how much he appreciated the jokes, they weren’t fixing anything.

That was back home, in the Abbey.

Now, well into another tour, the rest didn’t even try the jokes. If they saw Rain needed them, they’d just quietly slip their hands into his and pull him away onto a couch or a bunk and hold him, sometimes letting him just cry it out. He used to feel better after that, just being with them, whoever it was. It was hard to believe that they still loved him, despite all, but some part of Rain’s brain knew it was the truth. It was what kept him alive.

He wanted to give them something in return, but he simply couldn’t. There was nothing but his body, the same one that caused all the problems in the first place. He didn’t have the energy for sex, not even the softest moments with one of his mates, not even if they’d do all the work. He knew they’d do anything for him, but he also knew he’d pass out the moment any of his blood went to his cock. The exhaustion and pain took away any potential need he might feel, anyway.

So Rain just was.

The only time he was something more, not just surviving but living, was when his aching fingers touched the sleek, shiny body of one of his basses. When his arms shook under its weight when he slung it over his shoulder. When he ran a finger over the thick strings. When he felt note after note vibrate through him.

It was what kept him sane.

He kept wondering for how much longer.

It was bad.

Three shows of the tour left. Rain didn’t think he’d make it. He was always doubtful, but this time it was the worst he’s ever been. He saw everyone around was worried, he wasn’t blind, even though they tried so very hard to not be obvious. They knew he wouldn’t listen or accept help, anyway.

He just had to focus, sleep as much as he could, eat well, stay hydrated, take painkillers and wear his braces and he’d be fine. He was a ghoul, for Satan’s sake, a literal demon, he wasn’t going to just– just fail. He was not failing anyone, even himself.

Rain didn’t help with unloading the gear or soundcheck this time. Not on purpose, he always helped, he was just asleep the whole day and no one woke him up. They did so just in time to eat something and get in costume for the show. The water ghoul would love to have helped, despite all, but his body was certainly grateful for just that little less work.

The show started out as usual, without much struggle, probably due to adrenaline, which—no matter how many times someone would play in front of thousands—never left. Rain started zoning out and trusting his muscle memory by the third song. Which one even was it?

He remembers tripping—nothing new—and maybe he even fell over once. Or twice?

Someone had to gently push the water ghoul in the general direction of his tech when the show ended and he didn’t notice. The bass was taken away from him and he was dragged around some more. He was so dizzy, he couldn’t really see, he realized then.

Rain couldn’t bend down for the bows, he’d pass right out. His back also wouldn’t like it much. He felt Cirrus and Papa gripping his hands for dear life but he couldn’t focus enough to squeeze them in return. He didn’t know if it was him swaying or if the stage was moving. Probably the former, he couldn’t see much and it wasn’t because of the mask. Maybe he was shaking, too? Most likely.

He nearly cried out when Papa and Cirrus let go of his hands. He knew he had to move, he couldn't just stay there standing in the middle of the stage like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rain tried, he directed all and any energy towards his legs and willed them to just work. He managed to take two impressively wobbly steps before someone—Swiss, his brain provided—wrapped an arm around his waist and took the majority of the water ghoul’s weight onto himself.

“I’ve got you,” Swiss whispered, and Rain tried his best to cling to his body as tightly as he clung to those words. He didn’t really register their way to the backstage area, having to focus on not collapsing. At least not yet. He nearly forgot about his back and hip and knee and ankle and–

“Can you stay here for a second? Just a second, I promise,” the multi ghoul asked him and he, somehow, nodded and Swiss let go of him before sprinting away, yelling something to someone. Rain could feel his eyes stinging and cold tears trailing down his cheeks and soaking into the balaclava. He tried to keep on his feet, he really did, Swiss promised he’d be back in a second, he could make it, but– he didn’t.

The water ghoul ran out of breath. He thought he saw Swiss running back in his direction but he couldn’t be sure, it was getting darker and darker all around. Was someone messing with the lights?

“Rain, shit– Phantom! Mountain! Move your asses someone!” Rain thought Swiss was yelling, but he couldn’t be, it was too quiet, muffled. When did he… when did he end up on the floor? Was Swiss holding him? His back hurt a lot now, legs too.

“I’ve got you, princess,” the multi ghoul muttered. Rain opened his mouth to reply, to tell him I know you do, but nothing came out.

He knew that was it, that was The Fail.

His eyes closed, and he floated away.

Rain was done.

Dewdrop got to them first, of course. He must’ve felt something was very wrong with Rain through their bond. “What the fuck happened!?”

“He just– he fucking passed out, I’ve no idea!” Swiss was panicking. Truly a rare thing for him but the way Rain looked, the way he felt, the way he lay there limp in his arms terrified the multi ghoul. Rain has had his fair share of fainting spells and multitude of accidents, but this was different, and both Swiss and Dewdrop could see it.

“Give him to me,” the fire ghoul growled, throwing himself onto his knees, but the anger in his voice was not directed at Swiss. He carefully moved Rain so the other could hold him. He knew Dewdrop needed it to not freak out himself. “Help me with the mask.”

The multi ghoul obliged, taking it off with shaky hands, as well as the balaclava. His lips curved in a frown when he saw how pale Rain’s face was, how sunken his cheeks were.

“Get Phantom,” Dewdrop ordered. “Or find a medic or something, I don’t know, just– just get help.”

Swiss turned on his heel, ready to bolt and get someone. As he did he could hear Dewdrop mumbling to himself, voice shaking, and the multi ghoul’s heart squeezed painfully. “I don’t– I don’t know what to do, Angelfish, fuck…”

Rain came back to reality slowly. First he registered the warmth all around him, but not the uncomfortable, overheating warmth. No, it was cozy and safe and it felt like–

“Dew?” he mumbled, trying to look around but his sight was, somehow, still not back fully. The warmth tightened around him—arms—and he felt and heard a purr from behind him.

“I’m here,” Dewdrop said, and indeed he was, laying with Rain between his legs, his back to the fire ghoul’s chest. Rain hummed and tried to twist so he could nuzzle into his partner, but the slight movement immediately caused a wave of pain to wash over his lower body and a whine to leave his lips. “Don’t move, shhh.”

“Wh– what happened?” the water ghoul asked quietly and tried not to wince as Dewdrop was the one to move and adjust so Rain could see him. 

“Well,” he sighed, “you were exhausted and sore well before tonight’s show. Then you fell over during the ritual. Twice. I guess that’s what made your legs and back so bad. At the end you passed out. For a few hours, it’s three in the morning now.”

“Fuck,” was all Rain could manage to choke out. Tears began gathering in his eyes, and Dewdrop, still carefully, scooted closer so the other could bury his face in his chest and hold onto him. “I– I’m sorry, we have two shows left, but I– I can’t, I hate it, I’m s– sorry.”

“Shhh, don’t apologize, don’t you dare,” Dewdrop cut him off and cupped the back of his head, bringing him closer.

“B– but the tour, Papa–”

“Papa is not angry. No one is,” the fire ghoul didn’t and wouldn’t let him babble about something everyone but Rain found absolute bullshit. “If anything, we’re all disappointed you haven’t said anything about how bad it was.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“We’re not disappointed that you don’t trust us enough, I know that’s not the case. We hate to see you in pain, that’s it.

“I’m so–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop spat, but there was no venom in it. Quite the opposite, his voice nearly cracked and Rain thought he felt his heart cracking with it. He should’ve told them, asked for help. Now he made his lover upset and he was just a fuck up, he should–

“Stop,” the fire ghoul repeated. Rain took a deep breath, trying so hard to not burst into tears like a child. It was his own fault, he had no right to complain or feel bad about it.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “Where even are we?”

“In the girls’ nest,” Dewdrop told him. “Back of the bus.”

“What about them?”

“You need it more now.” He shrugged and another wave of guilt washed over Rain. The ghoulettes always slept together and the bunks didn’t allow that, so they had the nest. He’s taken it away from them. “They offered, they don't mind.”

“What about the rituals?”

“Playback. We’ve got recordings for everything, you know that.” He did know it, but he also knew it was nothing like live playing. The fans would be disappointed, he knew they loved each and every one of them. He remembers what happened when Sunshine and Aether didn’t show up when everyone had expected them, when everyone was excited to see them among the rest. Now, after a few years without any changes, the fans expected all of them and Rain knew he might be a favorite for many of them. He’d disappoint thousands.

“Stop thinking, Angelfish,” Dewdrop said. His voice was stern but not angry. If anything, it had a wet tone to it, as if the fire ghoul was on the verge of tears, too.

It took a few moments of silence, interrupted only by Rain’s sniffles, Dewdrop’s purr and the bus’ rumble, for the water ghoul to compose himself a bit and speak again, “Everything hurts.”

“Oh… I know, love.” Dewdrop was sure he could hear his own heart breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t– I can’t even say what’s messed up, ‘cause it feels like… everything.”

“As far as I'm aware, after Phantom’s rough evaluation when you were passed out on the green room’s floor,” the fire ghoul sighed, “one of your hips is dislocated, I think one knee, too, and possibly an ankle, plus one wrist from you falling on it. You also most likely slipped a disc and something’s up with your ribs.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe it feel like everything because–”

“It is everything,” Rain sobbed. “I’m fucking done, completely broken, D– Dew, I– I can’t…”

“Shhh, Rain, breathe,” Dewdrop’s voice was shaking, for once he sounded out of place and Rain hated himself so much for it. He tried to do as he said, but it was so hard, everything hurt and he was suffocating under an avalanche of thoughts that he couldn’t stop. “Breathe, Angelfish, breathe with me.”

“D– Dew, I’m– I’m scared,” he cried out and he could feel Dewdrop’s own tears dripping down onto his face before the last word even left his mouth.

The last two shows of the tour Rain spent on the bus sleeping. He could’ve been backstage, but he didn’t think he’d be able to bear listening to everything and not… not being there. Alone on the bus he could’ve at least cried his eyes out in peace, until he’d gotten a headache so intense from it he’d passed out. Two days in a row. 

Then it ended, officially, and the next two days were a blur of traveling by bus, by plane and then by bus again, until the noise of wheels over a smooth asphalt turned into a crunch of them over the Abbey’s gravel. Rain pretended he was asleep, let Swiss believe he was waking him up when they got back home and let himself be carried away to his room. They carried him around a lot lately, most of it against his will. He refused to use crutches, so they started to just hoist him up like a child, not caring about his protests. He didn’t have the strength to physically fight it, so he ended up just limply hanging off of whoever pulled the shortest straw.

Now, the water ghoul was carried out to his room, where he spent the night alone, cold, in pain and miserable. He hasn't slept alone in ages.

Rain didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but it wasn’t particularly important anyway. It’s not like he had any plans and that made him angry.

He found himself not… scared, or sad, anymore. No, he felt so much rage, he felt like he was burning with it. He hated himself, he hated the world, the Clergy, Lucifer, his pack, Dewdrop. For what?

How could he?

The realization of how awful he was hit him like a freight train and bile rose in his throat. Rain closed his eyes again and hoped the sleep would return to him, so that he didn’t have to face the reality he’s found himself in just yet.

When he was roused from sleep again it was by a warm hand on his bare shoulder, making him gasp softly. “Rainy?”

“Mhm… Droplet? W’time is it?”

“Seven. In the evening,” Dewdrop mumbled, as if he wasn’t too proud of Rain’s achievement in sleeping for around twenty hours. Maybe it would be an achievement if he wouldn't be a water ghoul who can turn off his need to piss for when he sleeps. “Aren’t you hungry? Or dehydrated?”

“No,” Rain told him, simply, and yawned. He was annoyed.

“Still tired?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and snuggled further into his—somehow still cold—sheets. His eyes fluttered close and Rain hoped it would be a message clear enough for Dewdrop to leave him, but the fire ghoul seemed to have different plans. Rain heard him sigh and then felt the mattress next to him dip. He couldn’t have really prepared for the warm body suddenly glued to his side.

“What’r you doin’?” he barely held a growl back when Dewdrop started cuddling in even closer under his arm. Why did Rain feel like… like this? Dewdrop didn’t do anything wrong. Quite the opposite, he was doing his best to help, he didn’t deserve even a playful snarl to be thrown in his direction. If anything, it was Dewdrop who had the right to be bitter, aggressive and angry, not Rain. The fire ghoul went through things so much worse and he didn't act like a royal asshole about it. Not anymore, not towards his packmates. 

And Rain? He was bitching around for nothing.

Where did that sudden rage come from? He felt like he despised Dewdrop but… no– no, he loved him. When did he manage to lose that sense of himself?

“Sleeping,” the fire ghoul answered, and Rain didn’t dare open his mouth again, lest he hurt his lover worse than he already did, not even realizing it. He swallowed it down and this time his eyes had to be forced to close, his body had to be forced to relax and sleep had to be begged to take him. Rain didn’t sleep well that night.

In the morning he was the first to wake up, too. He spent the next five or fifty minutes staring down at the ghoul in his arms. That beautiful, kind, pure creature that didn’t deserve any hatred and maltreatment he experienced over the years. The man that Rain gave his heart and soul up for, and begged him to let him do so. The one the water ghoul loved more than anything, both Topside and in the Pits, in his immortal life.

And yet…

And yet Rain couldn’t wait for Dewdrop to wake up, get up and leave.

No, he didn’t want him to leave, that was… it was his worst nightmare. He never wanted to be alone, he was afraid of being alone, of being left behind and forgotten, of not being touched, of not being loved, what–

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Rain wasn’t sure how long it took for Dewdrop to wake up. Wasn’t sure how long he spent drowning in thoughts that weren’t his own. What would they be doing in his head, then?

The fire ghoul got up and left—finally, Rain’s mind provided—claiming it was going to be a busy day for him. Something about post-tour gear maintenance and paperwork related to it. Dewdrop proposed he’d find someone to keep Rain company, but the water ghoul insisted he was fine on his own. It was possibly the biggest lie that had ever escaped his mouth, but Dewdrop left it alone. Left Rain alone.

He promised he’d be back by the end of the day, that he’d come back to spend the night with Rain again. In his mind he both begged Dewdrop to fulfill that promise and to never come near him again.

He wanted to be alone, but the moment the fire ghoul closed the door behind him Rain whimpered and if he had at least a fraction of strength in him, he’d throw himself onto the floor and crawl after Dewdrop and beg him not to leave.

He didn’t, so there Rain was, submerging bit by bit in an ocean of thoughts that he desperately wanted to not be his, to not come true. Why couldn’t he swim?

Another day. 

Rain woke up alone and cold. Dewdrop didn’t come back.

His heart hurt, but he couldn’t blame him. He must’ve felt the negativity pouring off of Rain in waves, he must’ve known what was going through his head, he must’ve seen the change in how he held him.

The water ghoul didn’t know the time again. The curtains in his windows were shut, he couldn’t really estimate. It was probably more of an afternoon than a morning, but he didn’t care. He found himself not caring about a lot of things nowadays.

He opened his eyes with a sigh and tried his best to turn over onto his other side without causing himself any pain. He managed relatively well, only groaning a bit, but something set in the corner of his room, that wasn’t there before and wasn’t supposed to be there, caught his eye. A growl rose in his throat as Rain grabbed his phone and furiously found Swiss’ nickname in his contacts.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty, you need anything?” the multi ghoul’s disgustingly sweet voice sounded from the speaker after a few seconds.

“Come here,” Rain snarled and hung up.

He knew Swiss would burst through the door in seconds, scared he might need help. In the short meantime the water ghoul threw his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He padded over to that offending thing, and leaned against his desk next to it, glaring at it with gaze so fiery it could rival Dewdrop’s own.

“What’s wrong?” Swiss all but ran into the room, not being too careful about the door. He paused in the middle of it, taking in Rain’s fury.

“What the fuck is that?” he spat.

“It’s… uhm, it’s a wheelchair.”

“I can fucking see that!” the water ghoul shouted. Did Swiss think he was stupid? Did he think it was funny? “What is it doing here?”

“I brought it down from the infirmary.” He shrugged, brows furrowed at Rain’s raised voice. So he was right, it was his brilliant idea. “Can be useful.”

Silence fell for a moment, and Swiss thought Rain was thinking it through, that he was trying to be reasonable. But then he lifted his head and the multi ghoul felt like he was about to drown in the depth of anguish in Rain’s eyes. “Get it out.”

“What?”

“Get it out!” he blew up, spit flying from his mouth and tears clinging to his lashes. Before Swiss could make a move to do as he said, Rain snarled and turned to kick the wheelchair. It turned over a few times before ending up on the other side of the room, the multi ghoul’s eyes following it, but his head snapped back to Rain when he heard a thud and a painful moan from him. He put too much weight onto his bad leg when kicking that damned thing and nearly folded in on himself as he went down to the floor.

“Raincloud, Lord Below…” Swiss gasped, coming closer to help the other, but another growl—this time obviously being supposed to be threatening—escaped Rain’s mouth, curved into a pained frown.

“Don’t!” he yelled again. “Don’t fucking touch me, just– just get out.”

“Rain, I don’t–” Swiss tried, reaching a hand out. It hurt him so much, seeing Rain in pain, seeing him so– so miserable and broken. He’d never wished anything in his life as bad as to be able to take it all away from the water ghoul.

“I SAID GET OUT!” Rain still tried to sound relatively collected, act like it was only rage that was consuming him, nothing else. It was a fool's errand, of course, especially in front of Swiss. He could see right through him.

“Do you want Dew?” the multi ghoul asked quietly, not looking at Rain anymore. He let out a pained whimper, as if Swiss had just put a knife through his heart. He took it as a no.

The multi ghoul didn’t see a point in upsetting Rain any further. He nodded—pity pouring off of him—and turned on his heel to leave, shutting the door behind him. Leaving the flipped over wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Only when Rain couldn’t hear Swiss’ footsteps in the distance anymore did he break, tears flowing down his cheeks like waterfalls as he choked on them sobbing, curled up on the floor.

He cried and cried, sickeningly reveling in the pain increasing and enveloping him and the anger swallowing him up, until all he could do was stare at the scratched and dirty hardwood and desperately gasp for breath like a fish pulled out of water. In a way he was, and he began daydreaming about sinking to the bottom of the lake and never coming up again.

He’d miss the music and his pack but… would they miss him?

Dewdrop was spending most of the week following their return from tour busying himself with chores, sleeping with anyone but Rain and crying. Usually into Swiss’ or Mountain’s shoulder.

He didn’t know what to do and he hated it. He hated seeing his partner in pain so much he stopped going to see him at all after two days. He just couldn’t bear it.

What he couldn’t bear even more, though, was the glint in Rain’s eyes and the tension in his body that told Dewdrop he hated him now. He tried so hard to not blame the water ghoul for it—for anything—to understand, to let him feel whatever it was that he was suffocating under in peace… but Dewdrop was always self-conscious, contrary to a popular belief.

He was terrified.

Terrified of Rain leaving him, of becoming a stranger to the man he loved above anything else in the universe. That’s what would kill Dewdrop.

Aether told him it would never happen, that it was physically impossible. He said he saw and felt the bond between Rain and Dewdrop and that it was something unbreakable, even if Lucifer Himself decided to try. He said the water ghoul would come around when his denial and anger would slowly turn to depression, then bargaining and finally to acceptance. Aether told Dewdrop that Rain loved and needed him, even if not right then.

“I need him, too, Aether,” the fire ghoul had said, and left. Aether seemed to not understand, even though he was supposed to be the one who understood everything. It all seemed… fake to Dewdrop.

He promised himself he’d never hate Rain. That no matter what he would do, what would happen, no matter how hard it would be, Dewdrop would be there. He would wait, even if it meant waiting till the damned end of the world. He would wait.

Another day—how many has it been?—of Dewdrop crawling into Swiss’ bed with his body, mind and heart all exhausted. The multi ghoul welcomed him with open arms again, crushing him to his chest, and let him whimper quietly.

“I miss him, Swiss.”

Even though Rain was right there, just behind a wall. Somehow that made it all worse. The fact that he was so close, yet never farther.

“I know, kitten,” Swiss sighed. “I do, too. But it’ll be alright.”

“I– I don’t know what to do.” Even though Dewdrop was saying those words over and over again, like a prayer, over the last few days, he couldn’t seem to get rid of his guilt. He was supposed to be there for Rain no matter what and what was he doing? Hiding in other’s arms because of his fragile feelings when his partner was in pain and alone.

“It’ll be alright,” the multi ghoul whispered, as every time before that. There was nothing else to say.

Then, as usual, after some time, some more whines and some tears Dewdrop fell asleep, Swiss following shortly. Dewdrop loved Swiss and Swiss loved him, they always slept well together, but those nights they both seemed to not get any real rest. Weighted down by the feeling of their lover, their friend, their family rotting.

When they woke up in the morning—Dewdrop first—they talked again. The fire ghoul always got ideas overnight, something he put all the remaining scraps of hope into, and shared them with Swiss, hoping for approval.

“You’re killing yourself over him, you know that?” he usually said instead.

And Dewdrop thought, what if this time it’s a good idea? This time he was sure, actually.

“Swiss, what if– I was planning something and maybe…” he trailed off, tracing his fingertips over the expanse of Swiss’ stomach, “maybe I should do it now, maybe it’d make him understand that I’m here. That I’m… you know, not going anywhere?”

“Let’s hear it,” the multi ghoul said, but there was a tinge of hesitation in his voice already.

“We’re together, technically, but what if… he always wanted to… to do something more human, you know? I planned it, but I’m a fucking coward and…”

Swiss floated away for a moment, not really listening to what Dewdrop was saying anymore. He knew what the plan was, it wasn’t the first time it was mentioned to him. He wasn’t sure it would work. Besides, how was anything supposed to work? What did that even mean? Maybe Dewdrop was right, maybe he should do it. Rain would cause—was causing—a lot of harm but there’s no way he would hurt Dewdrop that bad, if he… no, he wouldn’t, no matter what.

“...could go and–”

“Do it.”

“W– what?” the fire ghoul sputtered. “You like the idea?”

“I’m not sure,” Swiss sighed, nuzzling his face down into Dewdrop’s hair, “but I’m not sure about anything Rain-related right now, and this seems like something that could finally… snap him out of it.”

“Promise me you’re serious,” Dewdrop quietly begged into his neck. 

“I just– I just don’t think we can come up with anything better, kitten. We gotta get him back.”

“We gotta get him back,” the fire ghoul agreed. “We gotta get him back.”

Dewdrop didn’t think he had ever been as nervous as now. He wasn’t just nervous, it wasn’t anxiety, it wasn’t stage fright. He was terrified that it wouldn’t change anything. He was terrified that it wouldn’t fix anything.

Still, he was not giving up.

He wanted to do it immediately. The fire ghoul parted with Swiss and ran to his own bedroom to prepare. As much as possible, at least. It wasn’t something one could really prepare for.

Dewdrop took a shower—boiling hot—got dressed in something that wasn’t a stretched out or stolen band t-shirt and bent down by his wardrobe to fish the most important part out. His hands were shaking, and he cursed himself out under his breath.

The fire ghoul shoved it into his pocket and stormed out of his room. Before he blinked he was already by Rain’s and he suddenly lost all the remaining scraps of courage he had. 

It was a stupid idea, Rain didn’t need that now, he’d be annoyed, it wouldn’t work, it was a bad moment, he should just–

“I can hear you breathing over there,” the water ghoul’s muffled voice came from behind the door. Dewdrop flinched, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

“C– Can I come in?” he asked, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat, wiped his hands on his pants and grabbed the handle. Dewdrop slipped inside and nearly stumbled backwards as he got hit with a stench of… pain. Mental and physical anguish were hanging thick in the air and tears suddenly gathering in the fire ghoul’s eyes wasn’t just his body’s defensive response.

There was a mess on the floor, everything one could think of thrown all around the room. Curtains were half shut, barely letting any light inside. Rain was in his bed, sheets crumpled over the lower half of his body as he fidgeted with his own fingers and avoided looking at his partner.

“Rainy, do you–”

“It’s alright,” the water ghoul didn’t let him finish, glancing up briefly as he tried to muster up a reassuring smile. Dewdrop had never seen a thing so fake. “What did you need?”

He managed to forget what he came there for when he took in the ruin Rain was in. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The other wasn’t looking at him and Dewdrop felt as out of place as ever.

“Dew?” Rain said quietly again. The fire ghoul cleared his throat and squeezed his eyelids to banish away the tears of fear.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he whispered and put a hand back into his pocket, fingers wrapping around the item put away in there. “I have a… question for you.” Rain hummed in acknowledgement.

Dewdrop took a shaky step forward, kicking away a crumpled water bottle to make space, and took one last deep breath.

He lowered himself to the floor, kneeling.

Only then did Rain look at him again, “Droplet, what are you–”

“You always talked about how you love human traditions,” the fire ghoul’s voice was quiet but wobbly, as if he was to burst into tears any second. He just might, really. “That you think they’re cute and… and I know it’s not the same with ghouls, but–”

He paused. Rain was looking at him with his brows raised and his expression unreadable. It made Dewdrop even more terrified but he wouldn’t stop now. He pulled out the little box from his pocket. “Rain, I want to marry you. Like a human. Will you? Will you marry me? Will you be my mate?”

The water ghoul’s lips parted, mouth hanging open in shock. And something else. He stammered, eyes wide, “D– Dew, wh– what?”

“I know it’s stupid and cheesy, but I don’t care. Rain, I need you, I love you more than anything, you know that.” It was silent for a few moments and Dewdrop had never felt time go as slow as it did then. His face was burning and his heart was racing so fast he felt it shake his entire body.

Finally, Rain broke the silence, but with… with a scoff. “Really? You’re so desperate to cheer me up, or whatever, that you’re, what, proposing?”

Dewdrop’s ears started ringing, there was suddenly a crushing pressure on his chest and a sting in his eyes. Physical pain all over. He was sure the world was starting to crumble under him. “W– what? No– no, of course it's not like that, Rain–”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “You just suddenly got a dream of being mated to a cripple, sure.”

“Rainy, p– please, don’t–” the fire ghoul was crying now, fat and hot tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh, maybe it’s a charity kinda thing? That’d be fun.”

Dewdrop let out a choked out sob and scrambled to get up, dropping the ring under the bed in the process. Not like it would be needed now, would it?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, throwing himself at the door and pulling it open. He paused, just for a second before he ran out and slammed it shut. “I planned it for months.”

The silence that suddenly surrounded Rain again was soul crushing. 

What the fuck did he just do?

Rain had no idea what happened to Dewdrop after he… left. He couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything, nobody came to talk to him. About this or anything else. 

He dared to check his phone, this one time. All he found was a single text message from Swiss. Rain wasn’t hoping to find any words of consolation or assurance, he wasn’t that delusional. He found exactly what he expected.

man I know you’re in pain and all, but you fucked up

He knew he did. The worst he ever has, no doubt. He wished someone would come and yell at him—maybe beat him up, if he was lucky—but that would be mercy he didn’t deserve. What he was doing to himself was worse, anyway.

Rain didn’t think there was any coming back from this.

How could he? He didn’t mean any of it. He knew Dewdrop loved—used to love?—him, they talked about this months ago. He knew what the fire ghoul did was genuine, brought up by nothing but the sickening amounts of love he was harboring for Rain in his broken little heart.

If he knew all that… why did he do what he did?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Everything was the simplest answer. The truth.

There was nothing to be done about it apart from rotting in pain, the misery of loneliness he sentenced himself to on his own and the self hatred for doing so. 

It appeared Rain couldn’t cry anymore. He had neither the tears nor the energy. How low he must have fallen, how far away from who he was, that even his beloved water decided to turn her back on him.

So he lay there on the floor surrounded by thrash—he supposed he was fitting in—staring at the cracked ceiling with unseeing eyes, as if his empty gaze could fill the cracks in the ceiling and the hearts of his packmates at the same time.

It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been days. The physical pain was nothing anymore, compared to the self inflicted mental anguish. The dull and somehow simultaneously sharp ache that was spreading in waves through his broken body was rewarding, in a way. Punishing, Rain supposed. He deserved every bad thing that has ever happened to him and that would be to happen to him for just this one horrible mistake.

He didn’t deserve the respite of sleep. When he felt it finally taking him, all he could do was pray to Lucifer to not let him rest.

His prayers weren’t answered. Of course, why would Lucifer side with him? He hurt Dewdrop, the one He had protected so fiercely all his life, the favored one. Rightfully so. Dewdrop deserved the world and Rain did not deserve to be even a grain of sand under the fire ghoul’s feet in that world.

He woke up with a start and a splitting headache to a harsh knocking on his door. It wasn’t asking, it was– “I’m coming in.”

Rain let out a grunt, but made no effort to move from his spot on the dirty floor. Swiss’ scent hit him as the multi ghoul loomed over him. It was a mixture of sadness, anger and… grief, Rain thought. What would he be grieving?

“I brought snacks,” Swiss announced and Rain heard something being dropped onto his bedside table. “I don’t care what excuses you’re cooking up in that head of yours, I’m coming back tomorrow and I better find them eaten.”

With that he turned around on his heel and returned to the door. He paused, though, and the water ghoul heard a sigh.

“He’s not really angry at you, you know?” Swiss said. Silence answered him. “I think it’s physically impossible to be angry at you, he’s just… you know how hard vulnerability is for him. He was planning it for quite some time mostly because he was nervous, and then he finally managed to do it and, well… you know what happened. He just needs a little space. He’ll come back, and he’ll come back soon, because that dumbass can’t live without you. You better be ready when he does. I’ll kick your ass myself if you won’t.”

Rain stayed quiet, trying to not let his mind hang onto Swiss’ words. He failed.

He heard the door opening, but before it was shut the multi ghoul spoke again, “Now get yourself the fuck together.”

Rain expected a deafening silence once Swiss left. Instead all he could hear was the pounding of rain outside, the noise of it pattering against the window. Rain scoffed at the irony of his namesake falling down just as he was falling apart.

He thought maybe he should reunite with it, let it soak into his dehydrated skin and make him feel like himself again. Even if just for a moment.

Rain groaned with pain, sinking his claws into the hardwood floor and rolling around. He bent his arms under his body and pushed himself up. His heart raced, head spun, but soon he was standing.

Swiss was right. Dewdrop would come back, he was too stubborn not too, and the least Rain could do was not hurt him any more than he already did.

He limped to the door, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating mostly from his hip, but hesitated with his hand over the handle. Maybe he should… 

The water ghoul looked over his shoulder at his desk where a cane was laying, already covered in dust. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

Rain turned around.

“That’s an interesting choice of weather to finally go out,” Rain heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Well, uhm… a bit ironic, too,” the water ghoul muttered as he turned around, coming face to face with the other. He hasn't seen them in ages.

“You could say so,” Zephyr shrugged. “I’d say it can be symbolic.”

“I need it,” Rain sighed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He gripped his cane’s handle tighter, eyeing the other’s own.

“I understand. Good luck.” The air ghoul winked and took a step to the side, intending to go on about their day.

“Zephyr, how…” Rain took a deep breath. “How did you survive? How are you surviving?”

“I’ve got my pack,” they answered with a soft smile painted on their face. They looked happy. “When I really think about it, they’re all I truly need.”

Dewdrop felt his heart clench when he caught sight of Rain outside through the common room’s window. He wanted to smile and cry and scream, overwhelmed with all the emotions known to man. He couldn’t have known if Rain being out there, in the rain, meant anything, but he didn’t care. Limping through the garden with a cane clutched in one of his hands, Rain was out there.

Dewdrop stormed out of the den, running out into the downpour with no care in the world apart from his ghoul. He ran until he was just behind him, pausing with a heaving chest as the world rumbled all around. “Rainy?”

The fire ghoul could see the deep breath he took when he turned around. Dewdrop didn’t even get a chance to blink before Rain was on him, cold nose pressing into his neck, arms wrapped tightly all around the smaller ghoul.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“Don’t have to be,” Dewdrop sighed, bringing him even closer. “Don’t have to be.”

Rain truly wailed at that. His knees buckled but the fire ghoul held him up, and it meant more than a thousand words. He’d always hold him up, wouldn’t let him fall. They both knew that.

“F– forgive me… please.”

“I already did, Angelfish,” he said and there was no hesitation in his voice.

“Can– can I… with you… stay with you t– tonight?”

The fire ghoul’s heart clenched tightly. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rain’s head. “Of course you can. Always.”

“But not yet,” he whispered, barely heard over the noise of rain. “Need it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s stay here for a bit.”

So they did, clinging to each other and waiting for the sun to set as rain washed down over them.

When Rain started shivering Dewdrop carried him back inside and to his room, peppering kisses all over his wet face on the way, his heat kicked up to not risk the water ghoul catching a cold. He helped him dry himself and change. It was a quiet process, neither of them having words to spare. They didn’t need them anyway. Not yet, at least.

What they needed for now was each other, and they finally had it again. Rain didn’t protest when Dewdrop patted his bare chest in invitation once they were in his bed. The water ghoul scooted over and glued himself to the other, curling an arm around his waist. Tails and legs tangled together.

They both haven't slept as well as that night for what felt like ages.

A few days had passed since that evening in the rain. Dewdrop has not stepped away from Rain for a moment over those days, always by his side, touching. Support both mental and physical.

Not much changed, really. Barely anything. Rain was still hurting, plagued by the pain his body was subjected to and the one his hurt body caused his mind.

But he smiled again. He took care of himself more. Well, Dewdrop took care of him, mostly, but Rain let him. He wasn’t fighting anymore. It was a slight improval, but an improval nonetheless.

“What do you think about breakfast?” Dewdrop asked as they were laying in bed one morning, lounging lazily and drinking each other in. Rain had the fire ghoul tucked against his side, lithe fingers brushing softly through the golden strands. He was about to open his mouth to agree, but the other spoke again before he could, “With the others?”

While the two of them did come across one or a few of the others over the last couple of days, Rain still hasn’t really talked to anyone. He felt guilty and doubted he’d be able to handle them all at once. But maybe… with Dewdrop…

“I– I, uhm…” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” the fire ghoul quickly added. “Just a proposition. We can wait as long as you need to.”

“No, I…” Rain sighed and swallowed thickly. “I want to. I miss them.”

Dewdrop tilted his head, looking up at him with his brows furrowed. “Really? You sure? We don’t ha–”

“I’m sure,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the other’s forehead. “What time is it?”

The fire ghoul turned to take a look at his phone. “Nearly ten. I’ll text them we’ll be coming down, okay?”

“We should get going, then.” Rain started to gather himself up to crawl out of their nest. Once he did and the obligatory dizziness had passed, Dewdrop grabbed his hand, pulling him in between his legs where he sat at the edge of the bed.

“If you’ll feel overwhelmed or simply change your mind, just tell me and we’ll leave, okay? They’ll understand. I just don’t want you to stress out for no reason,” the fire ghoul said, drawing circles on Rain’s hand with his thumb.

“I’ll tell you,” he agreed and with a pull on his finger prompted Dewdrop to stand up and fall into his arms for a hug. He kissed the top of the smaller ghoul’s head before they parted to get dressed.

Soon, they were slowly walking down the corridor to the common room, hand in hand, and the closer they got the faster Rain’s heartbeat was. Still, Dewdrop held onto his hand with an iron grip and wasn’t planning on ever letting go.

“I love you,” he whispered into Rain’s ear as he got onto his tiptoes to kiss the water ghoul’s cheek.

“I love you, too,” he muttered back, just before they walked into the common room.

“Hi, Dew!” Phantom noticed them first, grinning as he realized Rain was there, too. “Hi, Rainy!”

At his, not very subtle, announcement, the rest of the ghouls turned their heads in the pair’s direction. Rain had his head hung and Dewdrop squeezed his hand reassuringly as they padded further into the room. Apart from the initial surprise—a positive one—on the pack’s faces, no fuss was created. They greeted Rain and Dewdrop normally and proceeded to go on about everything as if nothing had ever happened. The water ghoul was overwhelmed, but grateful for this small mercy of not being the center of attention.

Dewdrop kept a hand on his thigh at all times, additionally giving him a warm squeeze to his still aching hip or knee. Breakfast was uneventful, a true blessing. Everyone had their own quiet conversations going on with a giggle rising up over the voices from time to time. Rain kept quiet but he enjoyed the background noise of his pack. Of life.

At some point Phantom truly burst out laughing, nearly choking on his juice. Swiss patted him on the back as he grinned and tried to not laugh himself.

“What’s so funny?” Cumulus asked with her eyebrows raised and a soft smirk.

“Bug finally found the video,” Swiss sighed. A series of snorts sounded out around the table.

“What’s the video?” Aurora asked, the only one clueless as to what was so hilarious.

“The one where he–” Mountain started but Phantom cut him off with more booming laughter and wheezed out words.

“Where he falls off the fucking stage!” he all but yelled. “Like a fucking starfish!”

“Oh, I saw that one,” Aurora giggled.

“Everyone did,” Aether scoffed, returning to his food.

“I know it looked funny.” The multi ghoul folded his arms across his chest and pouted dramatically. “But it was very serious! I was bruised for two weeks!”

Rain felt something in his heart souring, but he focused on his toast and the comforting warmth radiating from Dewdrop.

“Oh, I bet.” Phantom put a hand over his heart, as dramatic as Swiss. “It must’ve been so scary!”

The water ghoul gritted his teeth as the rest of the table laughed at Phantom and Swiss’ little act. Rain tensed up, thousands of words slamming against his brain now. Why did it even set him off? It was nothing, it meant nothing, they were just joking it–

“You’re so brave, Swissy!” Phantom laughed and Rain snapped.

One moment the room was filled with laughter as he sat by the big table, the second it was dead silent as he limped away with a snarl on his lips and stinging tears in his eyes.

“Rain!” Dewdrop called after him. He was so stunned at the water ghoul’s outburst he didn’t follow him right away. “Angelfish, wait–”

He slammed his door shut and locked it as soon as he reached his room, right in Dewdrop’s face. He threw himself onto the bed and curled into a ball, hands pressing into his ears so hard it hurt, to not hear the fire ghoul’s muffled, hurt voice, pleading with him to open the door.

Not this time.

Dewdrop shuffled back to the common room after a few minutes, knowing that lingering at Rain’s door would do no good. He ran a hand down his face with a sigh. Back by the table Swiss was consoling a crying Phantom as the rest pointedly stared at their plates.

“It’s not your fault, Ant,” Dewdrop told him. It really wasn’t. “He’s in a fragile state now, but he knows it was just joking around and not even about him.”

“B– but I–” the quintessence ghoul sniffled.

Dewdrop forced himself to smile softly, reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled and let himself be pulled closer by Swiss as he wiped off his tears. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as the fire ghoul plopped down onto a couch. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Dewdrop dropped his face into his hands and tried so hard to not just… break. He took a few shaky deep breaths trying to compose himself. He felt the couch dip next to him, then, and Aether’s scent enveloped him as the bigger ghoul wrapped himself around him.

“It’s okay, firefly,” he whispered. “You’ll be alright. Both of you.”

Oh, how bad Dewdrop wanted to believe it.

Rain didn’t sleep well without Dewdrop again. He kept tossing and turning for hours, and even after he did finally manage to fall asleep, he still woke up frequently. That’s why he heard the suspiciously quiet knock on his door in the morning. “‘s open.”

The door squeaked and Cumulus’ fluffy hair came into Rain’s view. “Hi, pearl.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in greeting, pulling the covers higher up over himself.

“How are you feeling?” The ghoulette came closer and closer until she sat at the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“‘m fine,” Rain grumbled and shuffled away, not even trying to be discreet, when Cumulus’ hand hovered over his legs under the covers.

“Glad to hear,” she smiled, but the water ghoul wasn’t neither stupid nor blind. “Do you need anything? I can–”

“I said I’m fucking fine,” he growled, snapping his teeth. Cumulus flinched and quickly scrambled off of the bed. Rain could smell her scent souring in real time.

“Oh, uhm… I’m– I’m gonna go then… goodbye, Pearl,” she murmured and stumbled out of the door, still being careful and considerate enough to not slam it. Rain sighed, burying himself under the covers fully. She didn’t deserve it, there was really no reason for him to–

“No, you fucking don’t!” Cirrus yelled, out of nowhere. She, on the other hand, slammed the door so hard it was surprising the frame didn’t splinter. Before Rain could register what was happening the bedding was ripped off of him and it was his turn to flinch. “You’re either going to get yourself the fuck together or we’re going to leave you here to rot in your own misery.”

Her teeth were bared as she stood over him, fuming. “You’re in pain and depressed, we get it, but it’s not our fucking fault. It’s not yours either, but stop making it worse for yourself and us by being a little bitch.”

Cirrus was right, Rain knew she was. He was silent, but he hoped she’d rip him to shreds as she continued to growl and snarl. “Dewdrop didn’t do anything to deserve what you said to him, Phantom didn’t mean anything by what he said and you know it, Swiss was only trying to help because he cares for you.”

“Look at me,” she spat, kicking the bed frame. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, he was a filthy coward. “Cumulus was crying her eyes out feeling sorry for you at night and wanted to simply offer company in the morning. I understand everything, I really do, but that’s fucking enough, Rain.”

He felt like a child, being scolded as he fidgeted with his hands, no power to talk back. Cirrus was right, about everything. Rain hurt everyone, even though all they tried to do was help. He was a monster. He didn’t deserve to as much as live in the same building as his pack, those kind, caring and compassionate ghouls that were nothing like him, the miserable cripple poisoning everyone’s lives.

He’d do everyone a favor if he just… disappeared.

It could’ve been a day or a week again, as Rain continued his rotting. He didn’t have any will, energy or reason to do… anything, really. Once in a while he’d stumble to the bathroom to piss, but how often could that be happening if he didn’t drink anything? That was another thing, he was drying out, not only inside but outside, too. He was a water ghoul, for Satan’s sake.

Rain didn’t see a point anymore. He tried, he thought it was about to get better, he thought it was about to get fixed, he had Dewdrop again and he fucked it all up. Again. He didn’t deserve more chances.

Rain lost.

He flipped over on his bed, groaning at the pain shooting through his body at the movement after so long of being stuck in one position. The water ghouls stared at the ceiling, the moonlight dancing on the flat surface. He longed to feel the peace of it again.

It was cold when Rain woke up again. He didn’t think he had ever been so cold.

Something was wrong, he wasn’t– it wasn’t just cold in his room, he was freezing inside. Heart feeling like a block of ice.

His hands were shaking, his knees ached.

Rain noticed a bass laying next to him. How did it get there?

He tried to reach out for it with a whine, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t move. His body wasn’t listening to him. He was stuck.

“Please,” he whimpered, eyes stinging. He tried one more time.

His fingers twitched, then his wrist, but before he could grab the bass, it was gone. Vanished.

A shuddered sob left his throat and he brought his hand back to his chest, as if it got burned. Why did it… where did it go?

Rain got up, legs wobbly. Pain shot through his entire body, but he didn’t stop. He left his room, he wanted to find someone. He didn’t know why, he avoided them all, after all, but he suddenly needed them.

He walked slowly, holding onto the wall, wincing with every step, his jaw clenched. First door, Swiss’ bedroom. He knocked.

No answer.

Rain swallowed thickly and pressed down on the handle, opening the door with a squeak. He looked into the room but it… it was empty. Completely bare, no furniture, no belongings. No Swiss.

The water ghoul’s heart sank.

He closed the door and moved on to another one. Mountain.

The shaking of his hands was worse now, anxiety rising. Mountain’s room was empty, too. Rain’s heart was racing, fear engulfing him completely. Did they… leave him?

He limped from door to door, finding each and every bedroom in the same state of nakedness. The den has become a wasteland and Rain felt like he had slept right through it.

Tears were flowing down his face, his breathing was shallow and his head was pounding as he stumbled down to the common room. It was empty, too, but there was a piece of paper on the big dining table, covered in dust. Rain didn’t want to read it.

He did, though. He couldn’t not have.

You finally did it, you pushed us all away. 

Congratulations, Rain.

You are free.

Rain woke up with a cry on his lips, body covered in sweat.

Did he really wake up?

His body hurt all the same. He was alone all the same.

He supposed that was it. His nightmares finally came true and it was nothing he didn’t deserve. He truly did this to himself.

Rain lifted an arm to move his damp hair out of his face with a sigh. When he dropped it he hit something that was laying next to him on the bed. Something like paper. He grabbed it, brought to his face and tried to see what was on it, squinting in the half-dark room.

A pain sound left his mouth as his heart sank impossibly deeper when he made out the words in Papa’s clean handwriting.

Rain tumbled out of bed, his knees hitting the floor. He scrambled up and with tears adding to the wetness on his face ran out of his room with energy he wasn’t able to find in himself for the last… well, he still wasn’t sure how much time had really passed since the tour had ended.

But now he ran.

“Even you can’t convince him to give up touring,” Mountain sighed, running his fingers through Dewdrop’s hair where his head was resting on the other’s chest.

“I know, but Aether–” he sniffled.

“Aether wanted it, it was his idea,” the earth ghoul reminded him. This was the third—or thirteenth—time they were having this exact conversation. Mountain wasn’t annoyed or exasperated by it, no. He just wished he was able to tell Dewdrop something else. “Sunny, too. This is a very different situation, Fire Lily.”

“Fuck, I know, but I– I just can’t see him like this, but I know not playing will be equally bad, Mounty. If not worse. ”

“Yeah… yeah, it will,” he whispered. It was the truth, everyone knew it. Rain and his music was something… it was one. It couldn’t be separated, Rain without music was an empty shell, a ghost. He needed it to survive just as much as he needed water.

Silence that fell after that was soon interrupted by a single vibration of Mountain’s phone. He reached out for it and Dewdrop could hear and feel his heart speeding up under his ear.

“Oh… I– I don’t think any of us will have anything to say about it,” the earth ghoul said.

“What do you mean?” Dewdrop perked up, anxiety rising in him.

Mountain showed him his phone, the band’s group chat open. The single text message from Papa hanging over the bright background was like a knife piercing the skin of Dewdrop’s chest.

Good morning, my dear ghouls. I am sorry for not informing any of you in advance, but I thought it best, considering the… circumstances. I hope you can understand my decision. All of you, please come down to the summoning chamber as soon as you get this. We are about to summon a new ghoul.

“They’re about to summon a ghoul now?” a choked off whimper left Dewdrop’s throat. That would… it would kill Rain.

“Seems like Papa made a choice a while ago,” Mountain grumbled and pulled the shaking fire ghoul closer to his chest, neither of them ready to face the reality. They both hoped the messages that came soon in quick succession after the first wasn’t Papa hurrying them. It was worse.

dew 

my office

now

its rain

This made the fire ghoul scramble out of Mountain’s arms and throw himself out of the door without a word. The earth ghoul understood, he slowly climbed out himself and began to get ready. After all, the new ghoul would have to be welcomed no matter the state their pack was currently in.

Papa expected Rain to show signs of life as soon as he would wake up and see the note left on his bed. He knew it wasn’t likely for him to see the message on his phone. What the man didn’t quite expect was how he burst through his office’s door shaking and crying.

“Papa, please–” were his first words, let out in a breathless whine as the water ghoul stood in the door, clutching the handle for dear life. He looked like he was about to collapse. 

“I’m sorry, Rain,” Papa sighed, leaning back against the desk and trying to not make the pity show on his unpainted face. “I made my choice.”

“I’m fine, I just need to rest,” Rain pleaded, coming closer on wobbly legs. Papa reached out for him. “I can still tour, I won’t disappoint you any more.”

“You have never disappointed me, not once. I’m removing you from the project for your own good.”

A hurt noise left Rain’s mouth before his knees hit the ground. Before Papa could so much as blink the ghoul crawled over to him and wrapped himself around his legs, begging as if for his life. In a way he was.

“Please… Papa, don’t–” his voice was breaking, barely understandable, “don’t take this away from me.”

“I am sorry, my ghoul,” Papa said, meaning it. It was a hard decision for him, too, he knew how it would impact not only Rain himself but the entire pack, but he was the head of the church now. He was responsible for his ghouls. In the long run, this was the better choice. Lesser evil.

Papa lowered himself to the ground and wrapped his arms around Rain—still babbling out his pleas. He held on tight, letting the ghoul cry into his shoulder. Rain clung to the man as if he was a lifeline, the last remaining scraps of normality in his life.

Not letting his grip falter, Papa dug around for his phone. As clumsy as it was, he managed to send a few quick texts to the chat, hoping that the fire ghoul would be bothered enough to open them and come as soon as possible.

How could’ve he doubted him?

“Rain,” Papa whispered into his ear after what felt like hours. “Dewdrop’s here.”

The water ghoul’s head shot up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Through the tear-blurred vision he saw Dewdrop’s silhouette as he stood over the two of them.

“Angelfish,” he sighed and before anything else could leave his lips, Rain threw himself at his feet, wrapping weak arms around his calves and clinging hard as he cried into the fabric of his jeans. 

Dewdrop knelt—rather clumsily with how the other was holding him—and buried his fingers in Rain’s hair, bringing him close to his chest. He turned to Papa for a moment, gently asking him for space and the man left with a compassionate smile on his face, closing the door behind him.

“Rain… Rain, look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“You– you’ll go away, you’ll l– leave me,” Rain sobbed, clinging to Dewdrop’s shirt with white-knuckled grip, as if he’d really leave if he let go even for a split second.

“Angelfish, I won’t, ever,” the fire ghoul tried but Rain was so far away, spiraling so hard that nothing was getting through to him. Dewdrop was shaking now, too, Rain’s pain and sadness choking him like they’d be his own. Worse. “Please, Rainy, stay with me, I’m not going to leave, I’m not going anywhere.”

“D–  Droplet, I– I can’t–” his breathing was nothing but short, choked off gulps of air that he greedily swallowed but spat back out with another wave of tears after a second. Dewdrop frowned, the sound going straight to his bruised and cracked heart.

“Rainy, breathe. Please, breathe for me, please,” he begged him, on the verge of tears himself. He couldn’t cry, there was no point, he just had to– he just had to help Rain. “Please, baby.”

“I– I can’t… can’t D– Dew,” he wheezed out and it made panic flash through Dewdrop. It was too empty, he was… he sounded like he was suffocating and the fire ghoul could do nothing about it. “Dew, I– I’m s– scared.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay, it’ll be alright. Just breathe, please, Rainy.”

“Can’t…” Rain whispered without air, so quiet Dewdrop could barely hear it.

The water ghoul went limp in his arms, fingers letting go of his shirt, head thumping against his collarbone.

“Fuck, fuck, R– Rainy?” Dewdrop’s tears fell as panic rose in his throat like bile. “Rainy, please, wake up. H– hey, hey, Rainy, wake the fuck up, please, I’m begging you. Please…”

But Rain couldn’t hear him.

Rain came to surrounded by warmth. Nothing overwhelming and nothing… dry. He was in the water. He felt his limbs twitch, his chest slowly rise and fall.

“Hi, fish boy,” he heard a whisper and felt a breath on his ear. His brain was slowly catching on, registering his surroundings. Rain was in a bath. Dewdrop was with him, holding the water ghoul between his legs, against his chest. Chin hooked over his shoulder.

Rain tensed, breath hitching, but Dewdrop only tightened his arms around him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll look after you, it’s okay.”

No, no, he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t take it.

“Rain, stop,” the fire ghoul sighed as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. He must have had. “It’s not true. I love you, let me take care of you.”

“D– don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Rainy… you’re such an idiot,” Dewdrop chuckled. It threw Rain off so much he stopped squirming, mouth nearly agape.

“W– what?”

“Just… just stop fighting everything, okay? It’ll be alright, just stop fighting. Please.”

Rain didn’t know how to answer, but after all the hurt he had caused Dewdrop, the least he could do was to obey. So he did.

“That’s it,” the fire ghoul hummed. “I’ve got you. Relax.”

Rain took a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut, and tried to follow the simple instruction. He’d be able to if he’d just stop thinking. His thoughts were racing.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Dewdrop murmured, a wave of comforting warmth washing over Rain. He wasn’t sure if it was the fire ghoul’s warmth or just his words. They were like sedatives for him.

“Can you…” he cleared his throat, “please, Droplet, keep talking.”

“Of course, baby.” The water ghoul could hear the soft smile in his voice as Dewdrop traced his warm fingers over the skin of Rain’s stomach under the water. “My pretty, brave boy.”

“‘m not…”

“Hush. You asked me to talk, let me talk,” he scolded him. “You behaved like an ass but you are my pretty and brave boy.”

The fire ghoul nipped at his earlobe playfully. It nearly made Rain smile. “Tried so hard to get rid of me, didn’t ya? It’s not so easy, Angelfish, should’ve known that.”

Rain let his body go slack again, truly relaxing now that everything seemed normal for a moment. If he tried hard enough he’d be able to forget how he hurt, how hard he messed up and how bad he felt about it. Dewdrop continued talking, mumbling soft words into his ear, pressing kisses to his damp skin in between them. Some things were hard to believe, some made him feel warm, some made his heart clench painfully, but Dewdrop continued talking. That’s what mattered. Rain didn’t even realize how much he had missed his voice alone.

He could fall asleep in that bath, cradled in the fire ghoul’s arms. He nearly did, stopped only by Dewdrop shifting, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and a loofah. Rain panicked, heart suddenly in his throat as he grabbed the other’s arm tightly. “Hey, shhh, it’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving, Rainy.”

Dewdrop nudged him to sit up once his initial fear had passed. The tub was huge, they could not only fit in there comfortably together, but also maneuver all they needed to. The fire ghoul smoothed a hand down Rain’s back, soothing him as he wetted and lathered the loofah with gel.

“Can I?” he asked, making sure Rain was okay with what he wanted to do.

He nodded, muttering, “I’m a mess.”

“Well, you have a nose,” Dewdrop chuckled. “I’m not gonna be lying to you.”

He was right, of course. It was hard to not end up a mess without taking care of oneself for weeks and that’s exactly what Rain did.

He smiled, though. 

Barely a hint, the corner of his lips raised upwards by quarter of an inch, but it was a smile.

Dewdrop leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Rain’s spine before bringing the sponge to his skin, starting to gently wash him. The water ghoul closed his eyes again and relaxed, finally letting himself be taken care of, letting himself feel all the love the other had for him through his tender touches.

No matter how far Rain would come, one thing would never change and it would be the fact that Dewdrop was simply too good for him. Too good for this world.

“Droplet?” he whispered after some time, when the fire ghoul settled in between his legs to wash his chest.

He smiled up at him sweetly and Rain’s heart swelled. “Hm?”

“Would you…” he swallowed thickly and felt his cheeks heat up. “Is there still a chance for us to… you know?”

“What, Rainy?”

“Mate? Get married?”

There were a few moments of silence, but Dewdrop didn’t stop the light scrubbing. Rain hung his head, now burning with shame. How stupid it was to ask that. “You don't have to say anything, don't have to agree, I just… I need to know if you can still… consider it after all I've done. Just tell me if there's a chance.”

“There's more than a chance, Angelfish,” the fire ghoul looked up at him again. There was no lie in his glowing eyes when he spoke. There was only love.

“R– Really? You still want–”

“Of course I do, idiot,” Dewdrop scoffed. “I can't live without you. And you aren't that bad.”

“Fuck…” Rain felt like an impossible weight was just lifted off of him. His eyes were stinging but at the same time he couldn’t keep his lips from finally forming a full smile, something actually bright and real. “I love you so much, I can't live without you either, I'm so sorry, I was awful and–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop stopped him with a finger over his chapped lips. “It's behind us, it's okay.”

“I love you,” he repeated, breathless.

“I love you, too,” the fire ghoul shook his head with a grin. “Now are we calling the girls to help with the planning or…?”

Rain furrowed his brows in confusion. “W– what?”

“We're getting married aren't we?”

“You want– now?”

“Why wait?” Dewdrop shrugged and Rain could cry. He just might.

“Oh… oh, okay,” he mumbled instead, “yeah. Good point.”

The fire ghoul purred and pressed his lips to Rain’s own and it was another thing he hadn't realized he missed to a point of physical pain until he was given it again. Dewdrop pulled away way too soon, but Rain wouldn’t complain. Not yet, at least. “D’ya wanna get out? Go to bed and rest?”

“Soon,” the water ghoul sighed. The other nodded and rearranged himself in the bathtub, ending up with Rain against his chest again.

Dewdrop kicked up a purr and muttered into his ear, “You’re wearing a dress, right?”

“I am?”

“Are you not?”

Rain sighed with a smile, “I am.”

The tour ended two months ago.

It has been over a month since Rain started to get better. Not physically—nobody knew if that would come—but mentally. It is a road full of bumps and curves and turnarounds, but most of the tears and grief are left behind. Whatever will happen in the future, Rain has his pack. Enlarged now. He has Dewdrop.

And Dewdrop finally has Rain. All of him.

Whatever will happen, they will get through it.

“Hey, Bambi,” Swiss snaps Rain out of his thoughts. “You ready?”

“Nearly, I just–” he grunts, fumbling with the zipper on his side. “Can’t close this thing.”

“Lemme help,” the multi ghoul chuckles as he comes closer and swats Rain’s hands away from the offending zipper. He fixes it quickly and pats him on the shoulder, taking a few steps back to look him over. “Well, well…”

“What?” Rain scoffs with his eyebrows raised, ringed and manicured hands smoothing down the silky fabric of his dress.

“Nothing, I’m just proud of you,” Swiss mutters. “Now let’s go get your man."

End notes: Thank you so much for reading. Like I said at the beginning, this work is very important and special to me, I hope you liked it. I'd really appreciate feedback if you did, whether just a like/reblog or a whole ass essay. It wasn't easy to write and yeah, I'd really appreciate it <3

[teosrevenge]

Steady as the Sand Ch.5

Art from yazz!

Warnings: Argument

Word Count: 2000+

Summary: Lee pushes a little too hard and Gaara takes it too far

Read Ch. 4! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lee’s world was heavy, weighted down by a thick haze of exhaustion and pain. Consciousness clawed its way back to him in slow, disjointed pieces—flashes of memory mixing with the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

His body ached, but it was a dull, distant thing, as though his nerves had yet to fully wake up with him. He tried to shift, but his leg burned in protest, and the effort sent a wave of dizziness crashing over him.

That was when he heard it.

Raised voices. Muffled, just beyond the closed hospital room door, but sharp enough to cut through the fog in his mind.

“You should have let me handle it!” The voice was tense, clipped—Temari.

“And risk losing him?” Gaara’s voice was low and controlled but carried an edge Lee had never heard before.

Lee blinked slowly, his thoughts struggling to keep up. Who are they talking about? He frowned slightly, his hand gripping the sheets as he forced himself to focus.

“Oh, come on,” Temari shot back, frustration thick in her voice. “This was reckless, even for you, Gaara! You didn’t even hesitate! You dropped everything and—”

Silence. A beat too long.

Then, in a quieter voice, she added, “You never do that.”

Lee’s heart gave an odd, unsteady thump in his chest.

He tried to push himself up, but even shifting slightly made pain shoot through his leg, stealing his breath. He gritted his teeth, his fingers clutching weakly at the blanket as his body reminded him—he was still recovering.

Outside the room, the argument continued.

“It was my mission,” Gaara said, voice unreadable. “And my responsibility.”

Temari scoffed. “It was a joint operation! It wasn’t all on you.” A pause. “Look, I get it, okay? I do. But if it had been anyone else, would you have done the same?”

Silence again.

Lee swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing, but before he could even think of calling out, the voices stopped.

Footsteps.

Then—

The door creaks open.

Lee barely had time to close his eyes before the sound of someone stepping inside reached him. He wasn’t sure why he pretended to still be asleep, but something told him he wasn’t ready to face whatever just happened outside that door.

Not yet. --------------------------------------------------

Gaara wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Anger? Frustration? Something heavier, something he refused to name?

The moment he stepped away from Temari, the air in the hospital hallway felt suffocating. His skin prickled with something unfamiliar, something unsettling. He had controlled the situation, executed the mission—why, then, did he feel like everything was slipping out of his grasp?

He had been in control.

Right until he saw Lee bleeding into the sand.

Gaara clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides. His sand, usually still unless called upon, had been restless since they returned from the mission. It hovered faintly around his ankles, shifting, moving, like even it could sense the disarray in his thoughts.

He had moved too fast. He had acted too fast.

Temari was right. He never did that.

He should have been rational. He should have assessed the battlefield and ensured a proper retreat. But the moment Lee’s voice had cracked over the comms, weak and struggling, everything else had become secondary. Instinct had taken over.

And Gaara didn’t rely on instinct.

He exhaled slowly as if that would settle the unease sitting heavy in his chest.

With measured steps, he walked back toward Lee’s hospital room. The argument with Temari still echoed in his head. Would you have done the same if it were anyone else?

Gaara didn’t have an answer for that.

He reached the door and pushed it open without hesitation.

Lee was still.

For a moment, Gaara thought he was asleep. His face was relaxed, but his fingers were curled slightly in the blanket, too tense for true rest. His breathing was even but controlled—like he was forcing himself to remain steady.

Gaara narrowed his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

Lee flinched. It was slight, barely noticeable, but Gaara caught it. The tiny hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched. His cover was blown.

A silence stretched between them.

Gaara took a step forward. Lee's eyes finally opened, dark and sharp despite the lingering haze of pain in them. His gaze flickered with something unreadable, something cautious.

Gaara didn’t like it.

“Why were you pretending to sleep?” he asked bluntly.

Lee hesitated. Then, with an almost sheepish chuckle, he rubbed the back of his head. “Ah… well, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Gaara frowned. “Interrupt what?”

Lee’s expression faltered for just a second before he recovered. “Your conversation with Temari.”

Gaara’s stomach clenched, though his face remained impassive.

He studied Lee carefully. The bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, the stiffness in his posture, the way he was carefully not looking at Gaara directly.

“…How much did you hear?” Gaara finally asked.

Lee’s lips pressed together.

Then, with a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he answered, “Enough.”

Gaara didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply stared at Lee, trying to piece together what enough meant.

Enough to know Gaara had acted irrationally? Enough to know he had thrown all caution aside the moment Lee was in danger?

Lee’s usual enthusiasm was missing. His shoulders were tense beneath the thin hospital blanket, his expression carefully composed. He was trying to keep things light—trying to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Gaara’s fingers twitched.

“You shouldn’t have been awake to hear it,” he said, voice even.

Lee huffed a weak laugh. “I wasn’t really given a choice. You two weren’t exactly quiet.”

Gaara exhaled through his nose, his eyes narrowing slightly. Lee was deflecting.

There was a long pause.

Then Lee shifted slightly, wincing as he tried to sit up. Gaara’s sand moved before he could stop it, instinctively pressing against Lee’s back, steadying him before he could hurt himself further.

Lee froze.

Gaara did, too.

The sand lingered, hovering just behind Lee, a silent presence. Neither of them spoke for a moment, but Gaara could feel it—the quiet tension settling between them, unfamiliar and suffocating.

Lee swallowed. His hands clenched in the blanket, his brows furrowing as he finally met Gaara’s gaze head-on. His expression was… confused.

Not the kind of confusion that came from being disoriented or injured. No, this was something deeper, something Gaara recognized—because he felt it, too.

“Why?” Lee asked, voice quiet but steady.

Gaara’s breath stilled. “Why what?”

Lee’s jaw tightened. “Why did you—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “You acted differently back there. You never—”

He stopped again, searching for the right words. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Look, I know you take missions seriously, but… this wasn’t just duty, was it?”

Gaara stiffened.

Lee’s dark eyes searched his face, waiting for an answer Gaara wasn’t sure he could give.

He had faced death before. He had seen comrades fall and had made difficult decisions in battle. And yet, this—standing in front of Lee, being questioned like this—felt harder than anything he had encountered on the battlefield.

Gaara turned his head slightly, his voice low when he finally spoke.

“You were injured.”

Lee didn’t look convinced. “So were other people.”

Gaara’s fingers twitched again. His sand shifted restlessly at his feet.

The words came before he could stop them.

“It wasn’t the same.”

Silence.

Lee stared at him, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat.

Gaara wanted to take it back. To correct himself. To fix whatever had just cracked open between them.

But it was too late.

Lee’s gaze softened just a little. “Gaara…”

Gaara took a step back.

“This conversation is over,” he said, voice steady. Too steady.

Lee blinked, startled.

Gaara turned toward the door, but he barely took a step before—

“Wait.”

Lee’s voice wasn’t loud, but something about the way it cut through the air made Gaara stop. His back tensed, his fingers curling slightly at his sides.

Lee exhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter but firm. “You can’t just walk away.”

Gaara didn’t turn around. “This conversation is over,” He repeated as if to convince himself.

“No, it isn’t,” Lee snapped, frustration breaking through. “Not when you—when you say something like that and then just leave.”

Gaara’s fingers twitched. “It isn’t important.”

“It is important.”

Gaara finally turned, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

Lee pushed himself up slightly, wincing but determined. “Because you’re acting weird, Gaara! You’re colder than usual, but then—you didn’t hesitate back there. You ran to me.” He hesitated, searching Gaara’s face. “Why? What was I supposed to take from that?”

Gaara’s gaze darkened. “You’re overthinking.”

Lee huffed. “You say that because you don’t want to answer me.”

Gaara’s patience thinned. “Because there is no answer. You were injured. I ensured your safety. That is all.”

“That is not all,” Lee shot back. “You know it, I know it—why can’t you just say it?”

Gaara felt something coil tight inside him. His sand stirred at his feet, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Lee clenched his fists. “It’s not about owing me anything, Gaara! It’s about being honest!”

Gaara exhaled sharply, his patience fraying. “Honesty? You want honesty?” He took a step closer, voice sharp. “Fine. You are reckless. You are frustrating. You push yourself beyond reason and then expect people around you to pick up the pieces. You don’t think. You throw yourself into danger like you have something to prove.”

Lee flinched.

Gaara saw it. Knew he was going too far. But he couldn’t stop.

“And yet you act surprised when someone reacts accordingly,” Gaara continued, voice cold. “Why should I explain myself when you don’t even consider the consequences of your own actions?”

Lee’s face was unreadable now. That usual spark of optimism—the unwavering energy he always carried—was gone.

For the first time, Lee looked… tired.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“How did that feel?”

Gaara stiffens as Lee looks at him dead on.

“I get it,” he sighed. “You think I’m just some fool who doesn’t know when to stop.”

Gaara frowned. “That isn’t what I—”

Lee let out a humorless laugh. “No, I hear you loud and clear. I’m reckless. I’m frustrating. I’m burdensome.” He shook his head, his usual warmth completely absent. “Maybe you should’ve just let me handle things myself then.”

Something twisted deep in Gaara’s chest, but he shoved it down. His expression hardened. “Maybe I should have.”

Lee scoffed, the sound bitter. “That’s it, then? You don’t even care, do you?”

Gaara’s patience finally snapped. “Why should I?”

The words hit the air like a blade.

Lee’s breath caught, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Gaara’s voice was cold, sharp, and unforgiving. “You think you matter more than the mission? That your safety is somehow special?” His green eyes narrowed, filled with something dark, something he wasn’t used to feeling. “You’re just another soldier, Lee. You take risks, you get hurt, and people react accordingly. There’s nothing unique about it.”

Lee’s jaw tightened, his entire body stiffening. His usual bright, unwavering energy had been dimming throughout the conversation—but now it was gone completely, snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

He let out a slow, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You really think that, don’t you?”

Gaara didn’t answer.

Lee let out a breath, his expression carefully blank. “I always knew I wasn’t anything special to you.” His voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth. “I just didn’t think you’d say it out loud.”

Gaara’s stomach twisted, but his face remained unreadable.

Lee’s eyes met his, dark and unreadable. “You should go.”

Gaara wanted to say something—to fix whatever had just cracked between them—but the words wouldn’t come.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He turned and left.

And this time, Lee didn’t try to stop him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Read chapter 6!

[vlrspace]

nanami kento x reader

ABOUT - nanami meets you again

AN - here’s me trying to find comfort for losing a good man.

“kento?! kento what are you doing here?”

you look at him with wide eyes from the plushy blanket you’re seated on, before you stand up. your white dress is flowing around you as you slowly step into the warm sandy surface, shock evident on your face.

nanami already knows what he’s doing here, but he could care less about the reason why, when he feels warmth spreading across his body at the sight of you. nothing matters to nanami at this moment, he’s finally reunited with you. he doesn’t reply to your question right away, too mesmerised with the view in front of him, he begins to take steps towards you.

you are as pretty as the last time he saw you, your hair is flowing nicely behind you, pretty (e/c) gaze turning into adoration the closer he gets to you. there’s a different glow to you than last time, you’re calmer and more at peace and it makes nanami’s heart ache.

yes, you’re far different than last time and painful memories make it back into nanami’s mind, the ones he oh so desperately tried to get rid of, unsuccessfully.

nanami still vividly remembers the evil curses the two of you have been up against, the fallen debris around you and dark sky above. he’s still able to recall that faithful hit you took for him, sending you into the concrete walls. nanami rushed to you in an instant, frantically looking over your body, a quiet hiccup escaping his throat, you looked beyond saving. there was a huge gush on your chest, with a swiftly pooling blood underneath you, and your face, nanami couldn’t bare to look at you.

you looked so broken and fragile in that moment, a contrast to how you usually carried yourself, strong and bold. your much smaller hands held onto his, calling out his name, forcing him to keep eye contact with you. you constantly coughed blood while talking, reassuring him that everything will be okay and confessing your love for him. nanami watched life leaving your eyes, unable to prevent you from leaving him, regret and hatred filling up his being.

so he moved, fast and furious with his cursed energy, he finished off the enemy without feeling any remorse and as he walked back to your limp body, he lifted you up, with the promise of seeing you again, tears of sorrow flowing down on his cheeks.

he couldn’t tell you how he reciprocated your feelings of love.

and that was four exhausting years ago.

you still look like your 22 year old self, young and beautiful, while he aged a little, body more defined and sharp than it used to be, he looks older than you. it doesn’t matter though, not when he feels your delicate hands on his cheeks, wiping the few tears that escaped his eyes, with a gentle smile spreading across your lips.

nanami is more aware of his surroundings now, the quiet waves of the ocean, the warm breeze of air and the sunlight reflecting on your forms, he feels like he’s finally home. so nanami leans down, pressing his lips to yours lovingly, joy filling him up as feels you kissing him back, one hand on your waist to press you closer to him, the other one finding the soft apples of your cheeks as he leans his forehead against yours.

“i think it was my time to join you here, my love”

@vlrspace 2023

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Broken Pieces

Marshall had always been the type to keep things locked inside. The man had been through so much—pain, loss, heartbreak—and he’d learned to bury it all under a tough exterior. But you knew him better than anyone. You saw through the armor, through the cracks, and you knew when something was wrong.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You noticed the signs—his pacing, the distant look in his eyes, the way his shoulders were hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. He hadn’t said a word all evening, and you could tell he was in his head, lost somewhere deep in thought, fighting some battle that only he could see.

You’d learned not to push him too hard when he got like this, but tonight, you couldn’t just let it slide. You couldn’t watch him disappear into himself without doing something.

He was sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping on a drink, staring at the nothingness in front of him. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as if something was hanging on the verge of breaking.

You slowly walked up behind him, your hands gently touching his back, feeling the tightness in his muscles. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a long, deep breath. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, not looking at you.

You didn’t buy it. You never did.

“You’re not fine, Marshall,” you said softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his shoulder. “You’ve been like this all night. What’s going on?”

His head dropped, and he sighed, his voice strained. “I don’t know, [Y/N]. Just… everything’s fucking heavy. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending like everything’s okay. I’m tired, and I feel like I’m losing my grip on shit.”

You slid into the seat next to him, your heart aching as you watched the vulnerability crack through his usual tough exterior. It wasn’t often that he let himself be this raw, but when he did, it was like a floodgate opening.

“I get it,” you said softly, your voice steady as you reached out, cupping his face in your hands. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to keep it all inside.”

He met your gaze for the first time all night, his eyes filled with an exhaustion that went beyond physical tiredness. It was something deeper, something emotional. A pain that had accumulated over the years, stacked up until it became too much to carry alone.

“I don’t know how to ask for help,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one people lean on, the one who has all the answers. But sometimes, it just… it gets too fucking much.”

You felt your chest tighten with a mix of sympathy and love. You reached out and pulled him into you, your arms wrapping around his body, holding him close. You could feel his breath against your neck as he melted into your embrace, the tension in his body slowly beginning to ease.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, Marshall,” you murmured, your hand gently running through his hair. “I’m here. You don’t have to carry everything on your own. You can lean on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

He buried his face in your shoulder, his voice muffled but raw. “I just feel like I’m failing. Like I’m not enough. Like I can’t keep up with everything—music, life, being there for people. I feel like I’m always falling short.”

You shook your head, pulling him back slightly so you could look him in the eye. “You’re not failing, Marshall. You’re only human. And no matter what you think, you’re more than enough. For me. For the people who really matter. We all have our moments of doubt, our moments of weakness. But that doesn’t make us weak. It makes us real.”

He took in a shaky breath, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. He didn’t speak, but his eyes said everything. He was scared. Scared of not being enough, scared of disappointing the people he loved, scared of never finding peace.

“I’m here,” you whispered again, holding him even tighter. “I’m here, and I always will be. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

The words seemed to break something inside of him, and before you knew it, he was holding onto you as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath was shaky, and you could feel the tears starting to fall against your skin.

You didn’t say anything more. You didn’t need to. You simply held him as tightly as he was holding you, your heart aching for him. You let him cry, let him release all the hurt he had kept bottled up for so long.

Hours later, Marshall lay beside you on the couch, his head resting on your chest as you stroked his hair. The weight that had been pressing on his shoulders earlier had lightened, just a little. He was still quiet, but there was a peace about him now that wasn’t there before. Maybe it wasn’t a complete fix, but it was a step. A step toward healing, toward letting go of some of that pain.

He shifted slightly, his hand resting on your stomach, fingers lightly brushing against your skin. You could feel him awake, aware of your presence, his hand instinctively finding yours.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured, his voice still thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered back. “You’ll never have to.”