#covered in mud from lying on the ground

[arulens-least-horny-jongleur]

i’ve been hiding in trees and bushes to avoid people for almost my entire life, and i have the instinctual reaction to freeze, and stay completely still (excluding breathing). i can do this for upwards of 20 minutes without struggle if i know someone’s nearby and looking for me.

with this knowledge, i can say, with certainty, that the ranger method of “just stay still” is incredibly effective in almost every situation. not necessarily to the point they play it up to in the books, but it genuinely does work.

just curl up, wear clothes that don’t clash with the environment, don’t be where they expect, and

don’t.

fucking.

move.

avoid being at eye height if you can, but i once made direct eye contact with someone who was looking for me in the forest and they skipped straight past me anyways because they were looking for a moving, breathing, person, not a statue.

[stxrvel]

the cliff (1)

hi guys! this is the first azriel fic i post here. i mainly do marvel but i just couln't stop thinking about this so i decided to take it forward. i hope you guys like this! see u next time <;33

summary: you never thought that the road to your mate could bring so much suffering… pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +4k warnings: briefly descriptions of torture, bad words, descriptions of sorrow¿?, angst but a happy ending, i think. also, English is not my first language and i actually read acotar in another language, so sorry for any mistakes! and also!! i haven't read a court of silver flames, so probably the facts around cassian and nesta's bond and feyre's pregnancy aren't accurate, sorry for that!

part 2: the house

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

You were sure that the decisions you had made shouldn't have led you to that place. With your limp legs dragging against the grass, the wet feel of the mud drying coldly on your skin with each gale, increasing the chills that ran through your body, not only because of the dread and fear you had for your life, but because of the scorching frost on the top of that cliff.

There was something magical about wishing upon a shooting star. You knew it, your parents were living proof that it worked. They had met just after your mother had wished upon a dying star. Mates. And they promised you it would be the same for you. You hoped it would be the same for you when, encouraged by your same parents, you wandered Prythian in search of meeting the other end of the bond that you knew connected you to someone beyond, in search of a connection greater than you could ever understand.

You firmly believed in that magic one night, in the midst of the lonely and almost desolate journey from end to end, when lying watching the night sky you saw it pass by. A helpless shooting star.

You made your wish with your heart in your hand, closing your eyes and whispering as if it were a prayer. Maybe it was. You didn't know if that was what had gone wrong.

All you knew was that, the next day, your journey was over.

You hadn't finished waking up when you found yourself being dragged across the ground of the Day Court, right at the border it shared with the Night Court, from the hands of Ilyrian soldiers who wouldn't listen to your shouted words. Or simply preferred to ignore them.

You weren't sure how much you had screamed at them, even as they took you in the most savage way possible and furrowed you through the wind, the cold gusts of the Nightmare Court piercing your skin. But it had to have been a good while, because the next time you were above ground your throat was so dry you could barely breathe.

You didn't know what was going on, not even when days later, after feeding yourself with only mush and water, you met the first person willing to tell you something and not turn his face away from you. It was a man, Ilyrian too, with gigantic black wings that covered almost all the light in the small room where you were held captive. His constant presence invoked darkness.

He never introduced himself. He would only ask “who sent you?”, waiting for a sane answer from you, one that you couldn't give because every time you tried to say something that was not remotely like what he wanted to hear, he would move two fingers of his left hand and two more soldiers would enter the room and grab you roughly by the arms, pulling you closer to a barrel with water that was in the corner of the room. That was the water you usually drank, and it was never as cold as when they entered the room.

Needless to say, after a couple of days, you couldn't even go near the water anymore.

It could've been a couple of days, weeks or months… you weren't sure anymore. Time had become an insignificant concept compared to your desire for freedom. You had explained countless times to the Ilyrian the reasons why they had found you wandering near the Court, but that wasn't enough. Not even when you told him that they could confirm it with your family in the Summer Court. No excuse was good enough, the Ilyrian seemed to simply want to find a culprit, whatever he had to do, whoever he had to point the finger at.

And then, one day, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Another lone shooting star, which you barely caught through the bars the room had for windows. The memory of your parents flooded your memory, a dark cloud settling over you and drowning out any sense of calm you were able to collect after the ilyrians left. Through tears and sobs you begged the star for a way out, hoping its magic was powerful enough to fight the savage soldiers.

The next day more ilyrians than usual appeared, but they did not enter the room. Not after the High Lord of the Night Court did so first.

And you thought the star had heard you.

“She didn't say anything?”

His dismissive, indifferent tone almost made you shudder on the icy floor, but you didn't let that take away your hope, kneeling in front of him with dried tears and dirt on your face. With your hands clasped in front of you, as if he were a deity personified, you begged him to listen to you, but you had to watch him send you a disinterested glance before he turned in the direction of the entrance.

“Take her away.”

You didn't know why you had expected the high lord to intercede on your behalf, knowing the stories that brimmed through the Courts in Prythian. Your parents had warned you. They encouraged you to pursue the bond on your chest, but begged you to go no further than Court Day if the bond demanded it. They made you promise to return, and that they would then seek a way to find your mate if he or she was beyond the Night Court. You should've heeded, of course you did. When you saw the cold, emotionless eyes of the high lord's face, you regretted every decision you had made.

Even though you knew it shouldn't have been that way, because you had never done anything wrong. You had never tried to harm someone. Maybe that made it harder. Wondering every night why. Why did you deserve to go through that? What evil was it that you were paying for?

There was something magical about wishing on a shooting star, but that magic wasn't guarded for you.

-

Azriel had been spending sleepless nights for weeks now, without explanation. Things were quiet in Velaris, even in the Court of Nightmares. But when he entered the darkness of his room at night, when he tried to close his eyes with his wings spread across the bed, a knot stirred in his chest. Tears would well up behind his eyes and a sadness would engulf him from head to toe. It was so overwhelming that there were few nights when Azriel could contain the feelings and despair of his shadows.

He tried not to let that deficiency interrupt his work, but it was difficult when his eyes would close at the table during breakfast, or in the middle of the room when Rhys talked about the weekly goals. Several times his friends would start asking questions, but it was easy for Azriel to say he had trouble sleeping because that was never an uncommon occurrence over the course of his long life.

It was once Rhys told him that he had told Madja about his problem and she had sent him some herbs that it all started to get weirder.

Yes, Azriel was able to fall asleep. But every night he had strange dreams. Dreams of a life that was not his own. Memories of someone else he didn't even know. Another woman's life, somewhere Azriel could barely remember when he woke up, with more people who must have been close to her, but not to him, who shared her day to day life, who celebrated together with her, who were happy. Azriel didn't wake up much better in the mornings than when he spent the whole night without sleep.

Now he not only had to deal with the heaviness of lack of sleep, but with the questions. He could never think they were random dreams because he heard the same laughter every time, the same voice, the same place. He felt the same tranquility before waking up.

Azriel believed Madja would be his source of answers then.

“Your mate is looking for you,” the old woman answered him, one sunny day in Velaris when he chased her through her tent hoping she would answer his one question. That stopped him abruptly on his feet, his body from the abdomen upward leaning forward a bit from the suddenness of the movement.

“Mate?”

Madja barely hissed in response, a sound of affirmation that would haunt Azriel for several days afterward.

“How is that possible?”

“What?”

Madja was turning her back to him, her small body hunched over as she inspected the medicinal plants she kept for sale. Azriel watched them along with her, his mind moving through the threads of thoughts, between every memory of his dreams and every memory…of her.

“How can she do that?”

Azriel heard Madja sigh and the sound of metal followed as she dropped the gray watering can she had kept for years into place. Azriel could still remember the first time it had been seen, shiny and pompous in the Velaris sunlight. Madja's brown eyes roamed over his face and Azriel hadn't felt this way since the time when Rhys's mom had looked at him with loving motherly eyes.

“Don't ask me how the bond works, Shadowsinger. The Cauldron knows how it does things.”

Azriel could sleep less after that. Madja had left him with more questions than answers. And, on that note, Azriel began to fly over Velaris more often. For some reason, he felt she was close. The bond hadn't snapped into place yet, but he knew that the time was near when that would happen. He didn't even know if it had snapped for her yet, all he knew was that he had a mate over there, too far away from him, and too scared for him to stand idly by.

Eventually, Azriel had to talk to Rhysand. Rhys, his high lord, his best friend, his brother. Probably the only person in the Inner Circle who could fully understand how he felt at those moments. Because Azriel felt he was going to lose his mind if he didn't find his mate and end whatever suffering she was going through. The uncertainty was eating him alive and the hours of hopelessness and fear that were going on inside him, around that emptiness in his chest, did not ease things at all. If he felt this way from the comfort of his home, he didn't want to imagine what she was going through.

Rhysand agreed to allow him more outings to enlarge the perimeter of his search, but the passing days proved his effort fruitless.

“Everything okay, brother?”

Cassian had met his mate. Nesta, Feyre's sister. Azriel was very happy for him, very happy that his brothers had found their life mates and that he could realize the good they brought into their lives. But there was a huge shadow that haunted him, beyond the darkness he carried with him, and it had much to do with the guilt of not being able to find and deliver his mate from suffering. He no longer knew how much time had passed. His shadows stirred restlessly every day, with every memory, with every gale.

Azriel sighed when he felt Cassian's hand on his left shoulder, as they both stood watching Velaris from the top of a mountain.

“I don't know what to do anymore, Cassian,” Azriel let out, his shoulders slumping under the pressure and stress.

He usually didn't talk about the subject of his mate with his brothers, not as often as someone would think to be so close. It was something Azriel held close to his heart and wanted to resolve on his own, but so many failures were beginning to weigh him down.

Cassian patted his shoulder and then gave it a squeeze, trying to silently comfort him, though he knew that would do little to soothe the clamor in his soul. Because, though the bond hadn't snapped for Azriel, he could well believe that he had had it tugging at his chest in an unfamiliar direction for months now. Even if he didn't feel the bond, the mere acknowledgement of its existence was agony, especially when it didn't help him find his mate.

Cassian sighed beside him, letting a few seconds pass in silence before speaking again, his gaze fixed on Velaris' expanse and his heart shrinking at the visible suffering on his brother's face.

“Rhysand is traveling to the camp, will you accompany us?”

Azriel lately had little desire for anything other than touring Velaris and the surrounding area of the Court of Nightmares looking for his mate, but this time he decided to accept. For some reason, Azriel decided to accompany them.

The Night had been feuding with the Summer for a couple of years. Tarquin and Rhysand… were not on the best of terms. The last time Feyre had traveled to the Summer, pregnant with Nyx, Tarquin and his army had held her captive because of a misunderstanding in the information they had obtained from the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands. Rhysand almost destroyed the entire Summer Court with his bare hands if not for Cassian and Azriel, who were able to broker a deal between the two as mediators. It was a very tense time at the beginning.

Mind you, Rhysand did not leave without letting Tarquin know that it would be years before they would return to the same trade, diplomatic and friendly relations as before, if they could ever speak of forgiveness. Azriel remembered how the only person from the Night Court who could cross Tarquin's lands, for a time, was Mor. They were all warned and the meetings of the high lords were suspended, at least with respect to attendance.

For that reason, Rhysand became extremely wary of anyone connected with the Summer Court and for him, being the high lord, it was not too much work to know who wandered near his lands. They had already captured a handful of Summer Court spies in recent years and held them captive in camp with the Ilyrian soldiers.

Of course, the Night Court was much more careful with their spying, having Shadowsinger himself on their side. Azriel had visited the Summer Court a couple of times by stealth, handing Rhysand reports and any strategic breakthroughs he could decipher.

There was one, however, that they could not foresee. Someone Azriel never knew was coming out of the Summer Court. It had been a couple of years since then and it seemed the Ilyrians had been unable to break the spy's stone will.

“Are you going all the way to the mountain?” Rhysand had stopped in front of Azriel as soon as his feet touched the grassy ground, a few feet from the entrance to the camp. His eyes flicked briefly to the bustle behind his high lord, his shoulders tensing unconsciously as he took slow steps towards Rhysand with his hands in the pockets of his tunic and his wings tucked neatly behind his back. Cassian landed behind him, kicking up a layer of wet grass and mud that soiled his boots.

“Argh.”

“I think I'll be at a distance this time.”

Rhysand nodded, with no intention of convincing Azriel to accompany him to give the imprisoned spies of the Summer a death scare.

“I hope the screams are worth this mudslinging,” Cassian spoke up, moving closer to his two friends, forming a small circle. Rhysand barely gave him a glance before turning on his heels and beginning to make his way to the entrance of the camp, where some of the soldiers were clustered to see the high lord. “You're going to be in the bay?”

“Yes,” Azriel walked alongside Cassian, scowling at the entrance through which Rhysand had just crossed, the Ilyrian soldiers freezing in front of their high lord. “I'll watch from afar. Right now I don't have the stomach for anything.”

“I understand, brother,” Cassian squeezed his shoulder again amicably, sending him a tight-lipped look. Cassian was quite good with words, despite many labeling him as insensitive for being Ilyrian, but he knew Azriel well enough to know when he wanted to talk about something and when he preferred not to. “See you then.”

Cassian followed in Rhysand's footsteps, approaching in long strides, while Azriel paused watching his companions disappear into the distance.

Sighing, the knot in his chest tightened. It was so strange to have a void that could feel so many things. Azriel often wondered how it was possible that he still didn't feel the bond, when his emotions had expanded out of his head and there was no longer a feeling he didn't sense inside his bones.

Flapping his wings to take flight, Azriel set off towards the bay, close to the cliff where Rhysand planned to take the Summer Court spies. He was a few yards away, close enough to make out figures, but not too far away that he couldn't hear the screams.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, damp despite the early rising sun, his shadows began to stir around him, restless. They must've sensed his nervousness, the anxiety that ran through his chest like electric currents to his fingertips, causing him to spasm and break out in a cold sweat. Azriel could barely see them moving around him, separating from his body and stirring on the ground just a few centimeters before turning back.

At the top of the cliff he could already make out the figures of Rhysand and Cassian, walking menacingly towards the inmates, leaving them no choice but to keep walking backwards until they fell into the void, where Cassian would then land them, one by one. Azriel could hear them if he wanted to, but his mind and his shadows kept him a bit distracted.

He barely made out the first screams and the sound of Cassian's wings when his shadows began to whisper, much more restless.

Close.

Close.

Help.

Fear.

Help.

Azriel raised his head and his eyes stopped just short of Rhysand's figure in front of about three spies. At that moment, Azriel's shadows took off, moving at great speed across the grass and stones, with the Shadowsinger unable to do anything to stop them, though he tried. His confused gaze swept over the small figures on the cliff, with such speed that his head was beginning to ache, but he couldn't recognize anything.

He was about to fly in the direction his shadows had gone, when a strange, overwhelming sensation, somewhere between irrational fear and deep sadness, sent his back to the ground moving across his chest, as one of the figures slipped and fell into the void. Azriel felt all the air stolen from his lungs, opening his mouth to try to catch his breath, as those sensations coursed through his entire body and settled in his chest, taking strong root as if they belonged there. They were so overwhelming that they caused him physical pain. The ache he must've been feeling for months.

The bond.

The few remaining shadows beside him whispered endlessly.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Azriel raised his head, breathing hard. He felt his chest split open, as if with great force they were breaking his sternum to pull out his heart. It was such an overwhelming and painful sensation that, but for his strong will, he would surely have lost consciousness.

Help.

Help.

Mate.

Mate.

Azriel thought afterwards that he had never moved so fast or with such force as that moment, when he realized what was happening. The adrenaline that coursed through his body, even feeling electric currents run through him from head to toe from the precise moment he felt the bond, didn't allow him to think too much about how the air hurt his eyes because he already knew exactly where he had to go. He had spent so much time flying without direction, walking the wrong paths and searching in empty places. At that moment, when he had a reason and a direction, Azriel couldn't think of anything else. He didn't want to.

He could only look at the figure falling off the cliff from the moment he raised his head. He could only head blindly towards it. The overwhelming fear that threw him backwards was the fear she felt as under her feet she felt the void, her hands moving forward trying to hold on to something that would allow her to live.

Azriel felt like he was about to die with her.

He met Cassian halfway from afar, who seemed to be about to fly in her direction to catch her when he ran into his friend, but Azriel moved too quickly and with anticipation without losing sight of his mate. The chill that ran through his body could've paralyzed him with fear, but how could he stand by and do nothing when his mate was falling to her undisputed death.

He thought he heard Rhysand's scream. Surely it was so, but in his mind there hovered only the thought that he must reach her, he must get there in time. Her hands were outstretched and Azriel stretched out his hands, hoping that would help him move faster.

Mind blank, Azriel felt like he had just pulled his head out of the water, his chest opening in an unfamiliar thrill as his body felt the warmth of his mate's body crashing against him and his arms wrapped around her in a promise to never let go again. His wings wrapped around her immediately after his arms, impacting a few seconds later against the muddy ground.

He was too close to not catch her. The thought left him breathless.

For a moment, he only heard his and her labored breathing, with the whistling of the wind through the trees and the movement of the water of a stream a few feet away. For a moment, Azriel went completely blank. Whether he was there or dreaming, he didn't know.

His hands clamped tightly around her arms, encircling her entire back, feeling the reality of what had happened sink in on him bit by bit. Fear gripped him once more then, considering that there was a chance he hadn't been there to stop that. To prevent it.

He didn't want to move. Still adrenaline coursed through his body and he was so alert that he could clearly hear the voices of his friends in the distance. Seconds later, when he heard their wings, he finally moved.

Azriel met your eyes and with that look alone he knew you had felt the bond as well.

“I'm sorry,” was all Azriel could think of, his eyes crystallizing, voice breaking. “I'm so sorry.”

You were transfixed. Azriel felt you looking at him with fear and that motivated him to move away from your body, but you gripped his arms tightly to hold him in place.

Azriel felt a great heaviness in his chest as he examined your face and what he saw did not please him at all. Guilt swelled on his shoulders, a great weight that ascended with each passing second and he could hardly imagine all that you had had to go through in that camp. You were right under his nose and he couldn't find you. What kind of a partner was he to let all that happen?

When he heard the footsteps of his friends, his shoulders tensed. But it didn't go unnoticed the way you also became aware of their presence and let go of his arms, rushing to hug yourself as you moved to sit behind Azriel. scared. Still breathing rapidly, Azriel sent a warning look. Cassian and Rhysand stopped a short distance away, noticing the obvious hostility emanating from their friend's body, but Rhysand just stopped for a second.

“Azriel, what the fuck?”

Rhysand was so angry that he seemed to have a little red tinge over his face. Good, he was angry, maybe then Azriel wouldn't feel so bad about breaking his face.

“Rhys,” Cassian frowned, quickly picking up on the tense and hostile atmosphere around him. He grabbed the arm of his high lord, who jerked angrily and turned his gaze back to the Shadowsinger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you aware of what you just fucking did?”

“Rhysand,” Cassian stopped his high lord, raising his voice and holding his arm tightly this time.

Rhysand turned to look at him with a frown and it seemed that, through his mind, Cassian spoke to him. The next time Rhysand looked back at him, his expression was unclenching, but Azriel stood stone-faced in front of you, his hands clasped at his sides and ready to face anything.

“No way,” was all Rhysand muttered, moving to run his hands through his hair.

Azriel felt one of your hands on his back, his senses splitting in half to try and attend to you as he kept an eye on his brothers on the other side. He moved his head to look at you, your frightened expression trying to hide you from Cassian's curious eyes.

“Is this real?”

Azriel felt his heart crumple. Tears welled behind his eyes and burning hurted the back of his throat. He wanted to say so many things, apologize for a million other things, but in that moment he only responded, moving to squeeze your hand:

“It's real.”

[ameliathornromance]

Today had been a complete mess.

First, you’d dropped a whole basket of freshly caught fish, where they’d splattered all over the ground and got covered in mud from the rain fall earlier.

As you bent down to pick them up, that didn’t stop a few passing Orcs from complaining about your clumsiness.

“Great, now we have to eat dirt.”

“Who let the human carry them anyway?”

Ok, ok, alright. You’ll be eating this food too, you get where the others are coming from and you could have been a little bit more careful.

You gave them all an apologetic smile, turned and approached the Chef at the other end of the camp.

“I’m really sorry about that,” you said to him, handing off the basket. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

Chef – who seemed to have heard the other Orcs snide comments – waved a dismissive hand. “They can be as grumpy as they want, everyones’ got to eat their speck of dirt.” He comforted you with a smile.

Although the sting of the comments didn’t leave, Chef’s words certainly lessened the hurt of them. You returned the his smile, and left to go and carry on with your other duties.

But it seemed as though the world had other plans. Your next task, was to weave fishing nets. The camp was going to be approaching a river soon and salmon would be making their way upstream, so it was imperative that these nets are finished.

The only problem being, that as soon as you were done with knotting one net and prepared to move onto the next one, your freshly finished work would fray.

The other Orc who was weaving with you, examined your work.

She frowned as she examined it. “How’d you manage this?” She asked, tugging at a particularly unkempt section of your work.

And with that, all your hard work came undone, collecting in a pile of rope at the Orcs feet.

Your jaw dropped. Weaving nets was one of the many things you’d gotten good at since you arrived at the camp, it made no sense that your work would decline so suddenly.

“I don’t understand… I did everything right!” You protested.

The Orc frowned, picking up the now unusable rope and narrowed her eyes at it, running her thumb over the frays. She sighed and looked at you. “You’re just having an awful time of it, aren’t you? First it was the fish and now it’s this,” She looked back down at the rope. “We bought this rope from a different merchant, so it might just be shoddy material.” She handed you her unfinished net. “Here, finish this and I’ll make a note of it.”

You set to work again. This time, you made sure your knots for the net were tied twice, pulled extra tight and revisited them to make sure that they hadn’t fallen apart while you were working at the rest of it.

When the Orc came back, you showed her the work you’d done. She scrutinised your work once again and took the net from you.

Only for all the knots you’d double-triple checked to unravel. You stared, dumbfounded at the net.

The Orc sighed, closing her eyes and trying to hide her irritation. “Do you just want to take a minute?” She asked you. “Maybe go and do something else for a little while.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

You made yourself scarce and found yourself standing alone in the middle of camp. What was going on with you?

Mentally, you ran through your morning: you’d woken up at a regular time, you’d had breakfast like normal, kissed your boyfriend goodbye when he left to go hunting and gotten to work on helping the camp out.

Nothing seemed to be out of order about your morning. Maybe the Weaver was right, perhaps you just needed a break; it’s important to have a healthy work-life balance after all.

So, you returned to your tent. When you stepped into the tent, you frowned at the mess inside it. You were a clean person… your Orc Boyfriend however, was a completely different story.

He always left his clothes strewn about, sharp bladed weapons lying on the ground or propped up against your bed frame. He always told you it wasn’t dangerous to sleep with the pointed tip of a blade beside your pillow; But you found it hard to believe when your Boyfriend had nearly poked his eye out on numerous occasions.

Well, putting things away isn’t a difficult task, is it? And your tent needs to be cleaned before you can relax anyway.

Scooping up any dirty clothes on the ground, you threw them into a basket in the corner, picked up weapons, books lying around, as a strange thing your partner had been building on the table in the corner of your tent.

He wouldn’t tell you what it was, all he said was that it was held together with glue and that it needed time to dry. So, you’d left it alone mostly.

However, you did wish he could be more neat about how he stored all his equipment.

After putting away all the books and putting the weapons away in a safer place, you started to rearrange the small parts of wood and other materials your partner had been using.

The project itself seemed to be a jumble of sticks all pointing out in different directions, completely unidentifiable.

It was all going so well. It was, blissfully fine… until you turned too fast and sent your boyfriends project crashing to the floor.

Everything had gone slow as you fumbled to reach it. You watched in horror as you missed it, and the wooden craft smashed on the ground. All the hard work your boyfriend had put in to it, gone in under a minute.

And to add icing on the cake, your Orc boyfriend opened the tent flaps and saw you, hunched over his work.

The two of you locked eyes, stared at each other in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Your boyfriend let out a disappointed sigh. “I told you not to touch it, didn’t I?”

At his tone, your eyes began to water, and you burst into tears.

Your boyfriends disappointment vanished and he rushed over to you, “hey, don’t cry love, I wasn’t trying to make you-”

“It’s been like this all day.” You spoke over him, tears running down your cheeks. “Everything I seemed to do, just fell apart or went wrong. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your Orc placed his hand on your shoulder as he listened to your wracked sobs. His hand rubbed up and down your back, “it’s okay, you’re okay, alright? It was a mistake, you didn’t mean to do it.”

After a few minutes, your sobs quieted, only leaving you sniffling. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” You mumbled.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Your boyfriend pulled you into his lap and squeezed you tightly. “It’s just a bad day, okay? Life is just like this sometimes, yeah?”

He planted a kiss on your forehead and gave you a tight squeeze. “Look, why don’t you take the rest of the day off, and I’ll go and do whatever you’re supposed to do, okay?”

You nodded. The two of you stood as your boyfriend picked up the broken project he was working on.

“I’m really sorry.” You said, again.

“Love, it’s fine really. I wasn’t even enjoying it that much anymore.” He gave you a smile, “I felt like I was in too deep to stop it now, so you actually did me a favour.”

You didn’t think he was telling the truth, but you still returned his smile, thankful that he was trying to make you feel better.

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[vigilante-3073]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Coriolanus Snow x Female Plinth Reader

Summary: Strabo Plinth offers Coriolanus Snow his daughter's hand in marriage to thank him for looking after Sejanus.

TW: Arranged marriage, toxic relationships, lying, manipulation, possessiveness.

Coriolanus Snow was sent away from the Capitol, forced to spend the rest of his days as a Peacekeeper in the Districts.

He was foolish and he paid for his actions.

When Sejanus found him on the train to District 12, Coriolanus felt himself descend even further into his own personal hell. Sejanus seemed determined to get them both killed, immediately associating with the rebels of the District.

Snow managed to record one of their conversations via Jabberjay and send it along to Doctor Gaul in the Capitol. There was a miniscule part of him that regretted his decision, but Sejanus had forced his hand.

While they were out at the Hob, Coriolanus caught Sejanus talking with Mayfair, Spruce and Billy Taupe about fleeing from District 12 and heading north. A pile of stolen guns were laid out on the table and it was obvious that Sejanus had absolutely no idea what he had gotten himself into.

Coriolanus was forced to kill Mayfair when she threatened to tell her father about their plans and Spruce killed Billy Taupe when he tried to attack Snow. Coriolanus told Spruce to get rid of the guns and sent Lucy Gray back to the stage to preform.

Damage control was a necessity.

It wasn't long before Spruce was arrested and sentenced to hang. When Sejanus was dragged through the crowd to the hanging tree Coriolanus felt like he could vomit.

The recording of their conversation was played for the crowd and Sejanus cried out for his mother as he was hanged alongside Spruce. Coriolanus kept his focus on the crowd ahead of himself, listening to the birds mimic Sejanus' final cries.

After Sejanus' death, Coriolanus agreed to leave District 12 with Lucy Gray. He wanted to have a life with her, he had given up everything to keep her safe and he had nothing left. Lucy Gray became suspicious of Coriolanus, suddenly hypervigilant after he slipped up and admitted to taking three lives.

Bobbin. Mayfair. Sejanus.

He lied to cover his tracks, but Lucy didn't believe him. He could feel her scrutinizing his every move, becoming distrustful as they arrived at the cabin by the lake.

When he found the guns Spruce had stashed under the floorboards, the air in the room shifted and the tension between them was palpable.

Coriolanus held the rifle in his hand, the key to his freedom was right in front of him. He just had to get rid of the guns and he would be free, no more loose ends.

Lucy Gray plastered a fake smile on her face and slipped out of the cabin to get some katniss. Snow went after her, locating his mother's shawl on the damp ground with a snake coiled underneath it.

The snake bit him and he panicked, chasing after Lucy Gray and calling out for her desperately. Coriolanus searched for her, rage overwhelming him as he fired shots through the trees. He was blind with fury, chasing after the one person who knew about everything he'd done.

The woman who could end his life.

He saw a flash of her clothing as she ran through the trees, he lined up his rifle and fired the shot. When Coriolanus went to find her body, he only found one of Lucy Gray's earrings in the mud.

Lucy Gray was gone.

Coriolanus disposed of the guns and returned to his post, he was to being sent to District 2 for training. After he had completed training, he could work his way up to the Capitol. The place where he was meant to be, the life he was intended for.

...

Coriolanus stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance as he thought about everything he had done to get to this point.

Coriolanus had returned to the Capitol after leaving District 12. It felt strange to be back, wearing his Peacekeeper uniform as he stood in front of Doctor Gaul. She commended him for his callous betrayal of Sejanus. Doctor Gaul almost seemed excited about the depth of his depravity, treating him like he was just another one of her morbid creations. Maybe he was.

Coriolanus was a snake in the grass, striking with precision and leaving a trail of bodies behind him.

The Plinth family were blissfully unaware of his actions, welcoming him back to the Capitol with open arms. The Plinth family had moved into the apartment below him. They paid for the Snow family's penthouse and allowed them to move back in.

Strabo had even insisted on paying for Coriolanus to attend university, setting him back on track for what his life should have been.

That was how he ended up here, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit and attending one of the finest universities that Panem had to offer.

The Plinth family were devastated when they received news of Sejanus' treason and hanging. It left a hole in their life that Coriolanus just happened to fit perfectly into.

He wasn't proud of his decision to take advantage of their kindness, acting as a replacement for their son despite being the one who sent him to the hangman's noose. Coriolanus chose to keep his mouth shut, he had bailed out Sejanus in the past and should be owed for his kindness.

Sejanus' mother and sister stepped in to help with Grandma'am while Coriolanus attended his classes. Tigris had taken up fashion design and was establishing a career for herself, throwing herself into her work.

Y/N spent most of her time with Grandma'am, entertaining, cooking and cleaning despite never being asked. Coriolanus found himself watching her, she was quiet, respectful and passive.

It almost seemed like she was the complete opposite of her brother, bowing her head and taking direction gracefully, which had never been Sejanus' strong suit.

Strabo pulled Coriolanus aside when his graduation was a few weeks away. He had been at the top of his class in every year and was expected to become wildly successful in his field.

"I have something I'd like to discuss with you, Coriolanus... The world of politics can be a difficult one and men need to exemplify family values in order to win the popular vote. I'd like to offer you my daughter's hand in marriage. A betrothal of convenience to help you along," Strabo proposed.

Coriolanus debated his response, Strabo was right and there were certainly worse people he could be stuck with. Y/N was a beautiful, young, intelligent and docile woman. They would have beautiful children when the time came for Coriolanus to continue his family line.

Y/N would also be the sole heir to the Plinth fortune, which would ensure their wealth for years to come.

"I think that would be a wise decision," Coriolanus responded.

"I'm glad you think so... I know that you were a trusted friend to Sejanus and I doubt he would agree with her hand being offered to anyone else," Strabo said.

Coriolanus smiled softly, "He was a good friend," He stated. His response left a rancid taste in his mouth, but he kept the smile on his face easily.

Strabo stood up from his seat, "I'll go get her and you two can officially meet," He said.

Coriolanus nodded, watching Strabo make his way out of the office. They bought his apartment, they paid for his education and now they were offering him a bride.

Everything was falling into place and he barely had to lift a finger.

Strabo returned to his office with Y/N following closely behind him. Coriolanus stood from his seat as Strabo paused, resting his hand on his daughter's back.

"Coriolanus Snow, I'd like you to formally meet my daughter, Y/N," Strabo said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Plinth," Coriolanus greeted, holding out his hand.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Snow," She said softly, settling her dainty hand in his.

Coriolanus smiled, closing his hand around her's and brushing his thumb across her knuckles. He tucked his other arm behind his back as he leaned down, lifting her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to her skin.

He straightened up, "The pleasure is all mine," Coriolanus said.

...

It had been almost a year since Y/N and Coriolanus were married. He was establishing himself as a politician and Y/N was settling into her role as a homemaker.

Y/N made things easier, she looked after Grandma'am and took care of the house while Coriolanus was working. She attended important events at his side, supportive and charming as she helped him to solidify new relationships.

Y/N knew her place and contributed to the conversation when necessary. He was almost shocked to see how she deferred to him, speaking with candor when he gave her the opportunity to do so.

Y/N was the ideal wife and Coriolanus found himself struggling to keep her at arm's length. Y/N was a beautiful young woman and she was beginning to wear him down over time. Y/N was kind, endlessly so, and she wanted to get to know him.

Originally, he had offered one word answers and clipped responses before he began brushing her questions off entirely. He could see her disappointment but chose to ignore it. Coriolanus was thrown off when she eventually stopped asking questions or speaking to him unless he spoke to her first. They were living separate lives in the same house, minimizing interaction to the point of complete avoidance.

When he questioned her about the sudden change, she simply apologized for bothering him like she'd been doing something wrong.

Coriolanus became frustrated, torn between wanting her to speak up and accepting the face that he had full control over his docile little wife. He wanted to be with someone who challenged him and that's when he made the decision to get to know a bit about her.

Coriolanus returned from work, setting his briefcase down and taking off his coat. Y/N was sitting in one of the armchairs with a book in her lap.

Coriolanus took a steadying breath before he made his way over to her. She looked up from her book, "Is everything alright, Coriolanus?" Y/N asked softly.

"Have you eaten yet?" He asked.

"No," She replied.

"I'd like you to join me for dinner," Coriolanus said.

Y/N nodded, "Of course... I'll let the kitchen know," She replied.

Coriolanus had been eating in his office since they were married. The idea of him choosing to join his wife for dinner was unheard of before that night.

The atmosphere was tense as they sat across the table from one another. It was like Coriolanus didn't belong there, intruding on a moment that had always belonged to Y/N. She did her best to act like everything was normal, but without her pushing him to converse, the air between them was eerily silent.

Y/N looked up from her plate as Coriolanus set down his fork, "What have you been up to lately?" He asked.

The question caught Y/N by surprise, "I've been reading," She answered.

Of course, polite words delivered in a curt reply. A taste of his own medicine.

"What book?" Coriolanus questioned.

Y/N set her fork down, resting her hands in her lap as she looked up at him, "What are we doing here, Coriolanus?" She asked softly.

Coriolanus hesitated, what was he doing? And why now?

"I'm just asking questions about my wife," He stated simply.

"We've been married for almost a year, Coriolanus. I know that there aren't many things you do without a reason," Y/N said.

"I want to get to know you," Coriolanus stated.

"Do you really mean that?" She asked.

"I do," He replied.

The silence settled over them again for a moment before Y/N replied, "The book I'm currently reading is a romance," She said.

"Do you like that genre?" Coriolanus questioned.

"I do... I think everyone needs some love in their life, even if they can only find it in written word," She said.

"And what if someone could have that kind of love in their day to day life?" Coriolanus asked.

Y/N looked down, hiding a soft smile, "Did I say something funny?" He asked.

"If that kind of love does exist, I've never seen it," Y/N replied.

Coriolanus found himself at a loss for words, watching her pick up her fork and resume eating silently. This time instead of him shutting the door on her, their roles were reversed.

Y/N was no longer the open book that she had been when they were first married and it made him angry. He thought he knew everything about her and now he had been proven wrong. Y/N was a simple woman, relatively smart and pleasing to the eye, but she wasn't anything special.

Why did he want to know her so badly? Why did he want her to love him? Why did he care?

Coriolanus made a decision in that moment, he would make Y/N fall in love with him. He wasn't sure if he viewed it as his own personal challenge or just morbid curiosity.

Could he pull her strings and make her dance? Did he just need an ego boost? Or was he just infuriated that he was receiving the same treatment that he had given?

For now, his main focus was making Y/N understand that she belonged to him.

Body and soul.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [v]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: After finally getting justice, Tara decides to take a step further into your friendship.

word count: 4407

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight angst (insecurity, self doubt), (don’t worry bc it’s all fluff now 😈)

a/n: happy new year everyone! may 2025 bring you endless joy, success, and cherished moments with loved ones :)

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iii] | part [iv]

Tara stands in a familiar room, the air heavy with the heavy scent of Ambers scent. She was at her old house, the one she left weeks ago, but it feels different now. Smaller. Claustraphobic. The walls seem to inch closer, the ceiling pressing downward, as if the entire space is collapsing in slow motion.

“Did you really think you could leave me?” Her voice cuts through the air like shattered glass. She spins around, but she’s not there. Only a shadow flickers on the wall, impossibly tall, stretching toward her.

Tara’s breath quickens. She tries to move, but her legs won’t respond. Her feet are rooted to the ground, the floor beneath her growing colder, wetter. She looks down and sees the carpet turning into dark, sticky mud, sucking her in. She struggles, her hands clawing at the air, but the more she fights, the deeper she sinks.

“You’ll never be free,” her voice echoes again, closer this time, hot breath grazing the back of Tara’s neck. She whirls around, and now she’s there—her face too close, her eyes dark pits that swallow the light. She smiles, the kind of smile Tara remembers, the one that came before the worst nights.

Her voice catches in her throat as she tries to scream. Nothing comes out. She reaches for something, anything, and her hand closes around a broken shard of glass lying on the floor. She raises it, her arm trembling, but before she can strike, Amber’s hand clamps around her wrist like a vice.

“You can’t fight me,” she hisses, her grip tightening until pain shoots through her arm.

Then, suddenly, the walls give way. The room is gone, replaced by endless black. She’s falling, weightless, spinning through the void, her laughter echoing all around her. Her eyes snap open, and she bolts upright in bed, gasping for air. Her chest heaves as she clutches the blanket to her chest, her skin damp with sweat. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reassures her that she was at your house—her safe place. But her heart doesn’t slow. Her voice still lingers in her ears, a ghost she can’t quite silence.

She decided to take refuge in the kitchen, grabbing a cup before filling it with running water from the tap. She gulped down her drink within seconds, seeking to refill it to repeat her steps before she heard a noise coming from the stairs.

Tara would be lying if she said her skin didn’t crawl out of the body. That was until she realized that she was safe; you were there, and she was currently staying over your house for 6 weeks since the incident at her home. She heard the soft pat of footsteps getting closer, grounding her in the moment. Her eyes burned slightly as you flicked on the kitchen light, illuminating the room with bright lights that contrasted the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. She hadn’t even realized she had been standing there in the dark the whole time, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like a shield. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt—the one you lent her that had quickly become her armor

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the haze like a lifeline.

Tara’s heart skipped at the sight of you, a mix of relief and something else she couldn’t quite name. Your messy hair stuck out at odd angles, and the sweatshirt you’d thrown on hung loosely, bunched up just enough to reveal a sliver of your toned abdomen. She forced herself to look away, her cheeks warming as she realized she might’ve been staring too long.

You yawned, your hand covering your mouth as you shuffled closer, the soft scuff of your socks on the floor breaking the silence. It was obvious you’d just woken up, probably stirred by the noise she’d made earlier when she’d stumbled on the stairs in the dark.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, her voice tinged with guilt. You shook your head, brushing off her concern with a small wave. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, your tone gentle but still heavy with sleep. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Tara blinked, shaking her head as if to clear the fog. “Yeah,” she lied, her voice quieter than she intended. “I was just... thirsty.” She gestured vaguely toward the counter, though the glass of water she’d poured sat untouched beside her.

You stepped closer, your movements careful, deliberate—like you didn’t want to startle her. “Do you want to talk about it?” you offered, your hand hovering near hers without touching.

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the floor. The truth felt heavy, like a stone in her chest. But the quiet warmth in your voice coaxed something loose. “I had another one,” she admitted, her voice breaking on the last word. “The same nightmare. It’s like I can’t get away, even here.”

Your brow furrowed, and you nodded, understanding without pushing. “You’re not there anymore,” you said gently. “And you’re not alone.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, cracking something inside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. When she opened them again, your hand was still there, hovering, offering quiet reassurance. For the first time in what felt like forever, she reached out and took it.

-

Tara had recently started seeing you in a different light, her gaze lingering just a moment longer, her heart betraying her with a subtle flutter whenever you laughed or offered her on of your quiet, reassuring smiles. It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something warmer, softer, the kind of feeling that crept up on her slowly, like the first rays of dawn chasing away the night.

But with that warmth came a pang of guilt that tightened in her chest every time she let herself linger on the thought of you. It felt wrong—dangerous, even—to have these feelings so soon after everything she’d been through. She’d barely begun to patch herself together, the cracks of her past relationship still too fresh, too jagged. It didn’t matter that she knew you for as long as she can remember; you deserved someone whole, someone who didn’t flinch at shadows or wake up gasping for air in the middle of the night. Not someone who carried the weight of emotional baggage too heavy to unload, let alone share. Tara didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to burden you with the mess she felt she still was.

And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way her heart betrayed her, beating a little faster when you walked into the room, or how her defenses softened in the safety of your presence. She told herself it wasn’t fair—not to you, not to her. You had already done so much, offering her a refuge when she had nowhere else to turn. Falling for you felt selfish, and Tara wasn’t sure she deserved to be selfish right now. Not after everything.

Still, when your hand brushed hers accidentally, when your voice softened just for her, when your laughter chased away the heaviness in her chest—or when you stepped in at school, silencing harsh comments with a sharp retort or a glare that could freeze anyone in their tracks—Tara felt something stir inside her. There was a striking contrast between the protective fierceness you showed the world and the quiet vulnerability you reserved only for her. It was in the way your walls came down when it was just the two of you, the tenderness in your eyes speaking volumes you didn’t say out loud.

That contrast captivated her, making her feel like she was seeing parts of you no one else ever could. It felt special, even if she told herself it shouldn’t. No matter how much she tried to bury it, the flicker of hope continued to grow, warm and persistent, defying her attempts to smother it.

Would you like this expanded further or shifted in tone?

On the other hand, you were doing everything in your power to suppress your own feelings, burying them beneath layers of logic and self-control. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time, that Tara needed support, not another complication in her life. You reminded yourself that she was still healing, still piecing herself back together after everything she had been through.

And yet, every time she smiled at you, her walls cracking just enough to let a bit of light through, your resolve wavered. Every small moment—her laughter when you managed to make her forget the weight she carried, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, or how she unconsciously sought your presence whenever the world felt too heavy—made it harder to pretend you didn’t feel anything.

You tried to keep your distance emotionally, to draw the line between being her safe place and letting your own heart get involved. But deep down, you knew the truth: Tara wasn’t just someone you wanted to protect—she was someone who made you feel seen, someone who awakened parts of yourself you hadn’t realized were dormant. And no matter how much you tried to push those feelings away, they lingered, stubborn and unyielding.

-

That same afternoon, Tara received a phone call from the police regarding the ongoing investigation into Amber’s abuse. Relief flooded her chest as she listened to the officer explain the progress being made—finally, Amber’s actions were being brought to light. But her relief was mixed with a jolt of surprise when she learned that Serena, along with several other victims, had found the courage to come forward and share their experiences too.

Tara’s hand tightened around the phone as a wave of emotions swept over her. She was proud of Serena—proud of all of them—for speaking up, but the news also dredged up memories she’d been trying to suppress. The details of her own ordeal flickered through her mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Still, there was something empowering in knowing she wasn’t alone, that others were finally breaking their silence. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of the end for Amber’s reign of cruelty. Tara hung up the phone and sat quietly for a moment, staring at the sunlight streaming through the window. A weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying lifted slightly, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of hope.

A month later, that hope turned into reality. Tara sat in the living room, the news playing softly in the background. Her heart raced as Amber’s face flashed across the screen, the headline scrolling beneath it in bold letters: Local Woman Sentenced for Multiple Counts of Abuse.

Amber had been convicted in court, her manipulative web unraveling under the weight of evidence and testimonies from Tara, Serena, and other victims. The judge’s sentence was clear: five years in prison, along with mandatory therapy for her abusive behavior.

Tara leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Justice had been served, and Amber’s smug, untouchable demeanor had crumbled in the courtroom. For the first time in what felt like forever, Tara felt a sense of closure—not complete, but enough to begin moving forward.

But the consequences didn’t end there. Online forums and social media exploded with the news of Amber’s trial. Her name trended for weeks as people dissected her actions, some sharing their own stories of survival and solidarity. Amber’s once pristine facade was shattered, her reputation irrevocably ruined.

Tara stayed off social media as much as she could, but every now and then, she’d catch a glimpse of the posts and comments. Part of her still felt conflicted—justice was never as clean and satisfying as people made it seem—but the other part of her, the one that had endured so much, knew Amber deserved every consequence she faced.

Sitting in the quiet comfort of your home, Tara turned to you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s finally over,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of relief and exhaustion. You nodded, meeting her gaze with a warmth that steadied her. “It’s the start of something new,” you replied, your words gentle but firm.

And for the first time in a long time, Tara believed that might actually be true.

-

After finding justice against her abuser and knowing she wouldn’t be seeing Amber anytime soon, Tara finally felt a sense of safety she hadn’t known in months. The weight that had clung to her since the abuse began was lighter now, replaced by a cautious but growing confidence.

With your unwavering support over the past three months, she found the courage to take the next step: moving back into her own home. It wasn’t an easy decision—her house still carried echoes of the past, shadows of memories she’d rather forget—but it was time to reclaim her space and her life.

Still, she couldn’t help but miss the little intimate moments you shared—the lingering stares that spoke volumes, the quiet whispers exchanged in the stillness of the night. Both of you seemed to hover on the edge of something more, a silent understanding that neither dared to voice. She knew you both wanted to take that next step, but the unspoken weight of your circumstances kept you from crossing the line.

As the days passed in her reclaimed home, Tara found herself replaying those quiet moments with you—the lingering stares, the warmth of your whispered reassurances, the way your presence had become her anchor during the hardest time of her life. She realized how much those moments had meant to her, how much you had come to mean to her.

But with that realization came another: she couldn’t keep living in limbo. The fear of her past and the weight of uncertainty about the future had kept her frozen for too long. If she wanted to truly start over, she needed to let go of the chains that held her back—her doubts, her fears, and most of all, the idea that she didn’t deserve happiness.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted her living room in hues of orange and gold, Tara made a decision. She wasn’t going to let her past define her any longer. She wasn’t going to let the possibility of rejection stop her from moving forward.

The next day, she called you. Her hands trembled as she held the phone to her ear, but the sound of your voice steadied her. “Hey,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “Can we meet? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course. When and where?”

When you arrived at her house later that evening, you found Tara waiting on the porch, the soft glow of string lights framing her silhouette. She looked nervous but determined, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of her sweater.

“Tara?” you asked, concern flickering in your eyes. “Everything okay?”

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage she’d been building all day. “I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice wavering slightly before she steadied it. “About us. About how much you’ve done for me and how much you mean to me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you stayed silent, letting her continue.

“I know I’ve been through a lot, and I know I’m still figuring things out,” she said, meeting your gaze. “But I also know that I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t feel something for you. I don’t know where this could go, or if it’s even the right time, but… I want to try. If you’re willing.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, but the look in your eyes spoke louder than any words. Then, a small, reassuring smile curved your lips as you reached out, your hand gently brushing hers. “Tara,” you said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Relief flooded her chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself smile—a real, unguarded smile. This wasn’t just the start of something new; it was the start of a life she was choosing for herself, free from the shadows of her past.

-

From that moment on, things between you and Tara unfolded naturally, like a river flowing back to its course. Neither of you rushed into anything; instead, you let the connection grow in its own time, giving Tara the space she needed while steadily building on the trust you already shared.

Your first outing wasn’t anything grand—just a quiet evening walk at a nearby park, where the golden hour bathed everything in a warm glow. You talked about anything and everything, from random childhood stories to dreams for the future, and Tara found herself laughing more than she had in months. It felt effortless, like being with you was the safest and most natural thing in the world.

Each hangout felt like a small but significant step forward. Movie nights turned into impromptu dinners; casual walks turned into long conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. You were patient with her, never pushing for more than she was ready to give, and that patience only made Tara’s feelings for you deepen.

Before either of you realized it, those moments of closeness had transformed into something neither of you could ignore. One evening, while sitting together on her couch after yet another movie marathon, you turned to her, your expression more serious than usual.

“I don’t want to assume anything,” you said softly, your voice steady but unsure. “But these past few months have been… everything to me. I just need to know—what are we?”

Tara felt her heart skip, her stomach fluttering nervously. But instead of fear, she felt a quiet certainty settle over her. “I think,” she began, a small smile forming on her lips, “that we’re something worth holding on to.”

You smiled, relief and happiness evident on your face, and without thinking, you reached for her hand. This time, there was no hesitation—only warmth and a mutual understanding that this was the start of something real.

From that night on, you were no longer just two people finding solace in each other. You were something more, a partnership built on trust, shared laughter, and the unspoken promise that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

-

Tara could feel herself melt like a puddle with how well you treated her—both before and after you officially started dating. It wasn’t just the big gestures, like showing up at her door with her favorite takeout on a tough day, or surprising her with a late-night drive to watch the stars. It was the little things that truly got to her: the way you always opened the door for her without making a big deal of it, how you remembered the exact way she liked her coffee, or how you would kiss her temple and whisper sweet nothings every time you both cuddle; even if you thought that she was sleeping, and the way your eyes softened whenever she spoke.

Before you were together, those moments had been her lifeline, a reminder that someone cared, even when she doubted she deserved it. Now, as your partner, those gestures took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t just care—it was love, expressed in the quiet, unassuming ways that made her heart flutter every single time.

She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to deserve someone like you. But whenever she voiced that thought, you’d simply shake your head and pull her close, your words as steady as your presence: “You deserve everything good, Tara. Don’t forget that.”

And in those moments, she believed you.

Even though things were going so well between you two, there were moments when Tara couldn’t help but doubt herself. She would catch herself wondering, Why would you date someone like me? The thought lingered in her mind more often than she cared to admit. She wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness, with respect and patience, without the underlying tension of manipulation.

There were nights when the quiet would settle in, and she’d look at you, unsure of what to do with the warmth in her chest. What if I mess this up? What if I’m not enough? It was a thought that tugged at her constantly, a remnant of the insecurities Amber had instilled in her. She had spent so long believing she wasn’t worthy of love, and now, with you, she was learning to undo that belief, but it didn’t come easily.

And sometimes, that uncertainty bubbled to the surface. Tara would snap at you over the smallest things—little miscommunications or harmless comments that she would blow out of proportion. Her heart would race, her pulse quickening with the old familiar fear that she was doing something wrong, that she might push you away. She’d feel guilty for arguing, but the sting of past hurts would seep through, making it hard to just… relax.

“I’m sorry,” she’d whisper one evening after a heated argument, her eyes downcast, voice barely audible. “I don’t mean to be like this… I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be in a healthy relationship. I’m not used to it.”

You would always sigh softly, your touch gentle as you cupped her face in your hands, lifting her chin to meet your gaze. “Tara, you don’t have to apologize for being human. We all have our moments. But don’t ever think that you’re not enough. You are more than enough, just the way you are.”

It wasn’t always easy for Tara to believe you, but in those moments, your words grounded her. Slowly, she began to understand that healthy relationships were built on patience, understanding, and forgiveness—not on fear or constant conflict. Your love for her wasn’t conditional, and that was something she was still learning to accept.

“My issue isn't you, it's the problem we're having. My love for you hasn't diminished in the slightest." is what you would say every time Tara doubted herself.

But with every apology, every tear shed, and every moment where she saw the love in your eyes, Tara began to shed the weight of her past. You never gave up on her, and bit by bit, she started to believe that she could let go of the fear, the doubts, and the walls she had built around her heart.

Eventually, the arguments became fewer, the self-doubt quieter. And when Tara realized that she could trust the stability and love you offered without second-guessing herself, she allowed herself to truly lean into the warmth of this healthy relationship you had together.

-

“I had no idea you did that during your finals, that’s wild!” Tara laughed, cuddling by your side, her leg hooked onto your torso while her arms were wrapped around you, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she listened to your story about the soccer finals against Blackmore.

“Yeah, and Mindy’s been boasting non-stop about scoring the winning goal. She’d been riding that high for at least month,” you chuckled, shaking your head, still a little in awe of her determination. “But, honestly, I’m so proud of her for leading the team and getting that goal. She earned it.”

Tara grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s Mindy for you. She knows how to make sure everyone knows when she’s the hero.”

“You know… I’m glad you did that to Amber… But you shouldn’t have, you ruined your own career,” Tara added, leaning in closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper, the words softening as they barely escaped her lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Honestly, I don’t care about the career right now. What happened, happened, and I’ll deal with the consequences. But as long as you’re here, that’s all that matters to me.”

Tara blinked, surprised by your response. “You’re serious?”

You met her gaze, your voice steady but soft. “Yeah. In the end, careers come and go, but I’ve got your back, no matter what. You’re more important to me than any of this.”

Tara smiled, her eyes softening as she leaned in for a quick hug. “You’re insane, but I’m glad to have you by my side.”

You placed a hand gently on Tara’s waist, your voice unwavering. “I love you, Tara. There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for you.”

Tara’s eyes softened as she looked at you, the weight of your words sinking in. Without another word, she pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you as if she never wanted to let go. You held her just as tightly, a quiet moment passing between you both.

Then, she pulled back slightly, her gaze meeting yours, before she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead then a peck on your lips. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Tara felt a quiet certainty deep within her—that no matter how hard the world threw at her, no matter how much she had to endure, she could face it all as long as you were there beside her. With you by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t overcome.

————————

a/n: hehehe thanks for tuning in for this fic! lmk your thoughts & feelings🤔

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Cursed Warlords Au - Chapter 7 - Burns

Fire. Just fire.

Huddling the two cubs closer to your chest you were able to realize that they had actually fallen asleep.You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your throat even though you also felt a pang of guilt in your chest. Had they been running around all night? Poor babies!

“So- Where did you get this?” Spirit spoke up catching your attention so you were looking at her. In her hand she held the torch you managed to buy with your old switchblade.

“Oh that? I got it from one of the villagers… they said it wards off monsters and guess what he wasn’t lying,” You managed to give a goofy grin even though Spirit shot you with a harsh glare.

She let out a low growl letting you know how unhappy she was. Maybe it was stupid to blindly trust the man but you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Nothing but pain would come of you doing absolutely nothing so you did what you had to do to protect everyone. Glancing back down at the cubs you didn’t notice the three sets of deep orange eyes that watched the two of you leave.

“Hmm… maybe she will be of use-.” The first muttered lowly.

“We need to tell the master-.” The second whispered excitedly.

“…” The third stared at the small switchblade in his hand flipping it open and closed as if he had thousands of times before.

As you walked your feet left footprints in the wet mud. Looking down you noticed that there was mud covering both of the cubs in your arms. You would have to do something about that, once you returned to the inn and found a way to clean them of course. You couldn’t really do anything about it right now, it was more important to get them warm and dry. You could clean the dirt from them later.

Glancing back at Spirit you wanted to snicker, she had a pout covering her face. She looked like a small child with the look on her face and her short stature. The torch in her hand made her appear even shorter due to the size of it compared to her.

“Hey Spirit?” You spoke up as a question came to mind.

The girl looked up at you and tilted her head, “Yeah?”

“How did you manage to get me to the inn? It must have been awkward to carry me,” You asked curiously and laugh when Spirit’s face blazed in anger.

“DID YOU JUST CALL ME SHORT!?” She yelled her teeth gritting together as she stomped her feet hard against the ground.

For a second you wanted to apologize but you couldn’t help but laugh. She just looked so cute as she stomped up next to you. She let out exasperated huffs as she stomped along but didn’t do much other than that causing you to once again laugh. She was absolutely adorable like this!

“Sorry is that a touchy topic?” You laughed with a grin.

“Oh hush up,” Spirit snaps back with very little actual bite to her words.

Looking at her you smile, she is a lot calmer now. “But seriously how did you carry me so far?”

“I simply used magic to grow to your height. I can’t grow very much but it was enough to carry you. I did it unconsciously, I didn’t actually mean to,” She muttered back her ears still tinted red.

You found it odd. You thought that her magic was far more… different? You weren’t really sure but you guessed you couldn’t really say much about it. With a soft sigh you looked down at the shirt in your arms and scanned the two little monkeys for injuries. Neither of them seemed hurt and both were sleeping happily little purrs leaving them as they snuggled into the warmth the shirt provided with your own body heat.

“These two are adorable,” You changed the topic.

“But they are still annoying as all hell,” Spirit scoffed as she sent a glare their way. They are the ones who put you into danger after all.

You chuckle again and roll your eyes at her annoyance. It had become clear that she was simply not very good with children or rather cubs. Some people just weren’t so you didn’t really want to push it. Instead you followed her back towards the village as the two of you settled into silence.

It really was a miracle that the man actually traded the knife for the fire. It was also a miracle that the fire actually worked in the first place. The flames were beautiful and almost hypnotic. Calling out to you. Within the flames you could see what looked like a stone connected to the wood and seemed to be producing the fire.

“Reader, hey Reader,” Spirit snapped her fingers in front of your face to get your attention.

“H-Huh?” You were able to snap out of it to look at your friend who had a look of worry covering her face.

Confusion covered your face for a moment before you let out a laugh, what were you thinking? You must have been going crazy at this point, weren’t you. Looking down at the two in your arms again you noticed them cuddling close to each other. You needed to get them safe, warm and clean.

Spirit had stopped for only a moment before she continued on seemingly worried but more focused on getting you two back to the village safely. You were were in danger as long as. You remained in the forest, there were many dangerous and powerful creatures around.

As you both walked your eyes continued to flicker towards the fire. The stone was what caught your attention most, it continued to glow with a beautiful spiral pattern embedded in it. It pulsed and with each pulse the flames flickered around it as it the flames came from the stone itself. Absolutely breathtaking-

“READER!!” Spirit suddenly shouted.

In an instant you noticed that your hand was in the flame and the stone in your hand. You screamed and you ripped your hand away, smoke searing off of the stone from where you touched it. Panting heavily you backed away as the entire torch fell to the ground, the fire almost immediately went out.

“Reader your hand!!” She yelled when she saw how your hand was turning red from a burn.

One arm was still wrapped around the monkeys and it only held tighter as you fell to your knees. Your breaths came in short as you tried to calm your racing heart. Staring down at your hand you held back another cry of pain, your hand developed a nice burn that wouldn’t stop growing darker.

“FUCK!” You yelled as you attempted once again to calm down.

Below your shirt you could feel the monkeys shuffling around before poking their heads out of the shirt. Several chirps filled the air but you couldn’t understand any of it. Suddenly Spirit jumped next to you and leaned her mouth close to the burn before letting out a breath of shockingly cool air. It was by no means frozen, but her breath was slowly calming down the viscous burn that was scarring your hand.

With each breath she breathed you shuddered in pain, even though the air was slowing down the burn it still hurt. Finally you could tell that it was calmed down enough that it wasn’t completely searing. You hissed through your teeth as the pain finally faded at least for the most part, it still hurt, it hurt a LOT. But it wasn’t actively getting worse.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” Spirit hissed at you as she looked over your injury.

“I… I don’t know. That stone it-,” you froze as you turned to look at the stone.

There were no longer flames wrapped around it and instead in its place was a simple looking stone. A single small silver colored stone with red cracks spread across it still glowing from the heat. Smoke was coming off of it in small wisps and the cracks shifted between red, orange and even gold like a smoldering coal.

You and Spirit sat there for a long moment but both froze when the sound of a long wolf-like howl echoed through the air. Peaches and Plums let out several chirps as you jumped up with Spirit. Immediately the both of you started running back towards the village. You wouldn’t be able to get the still smoking stone.

You weren’t sure if anything was chasing you, but what you did know was that you were out of the main defense you had. You didn’t know what to do, other than run. Around trees, over roots, below low handing branches all while holding the two monkeys to your chest.

The town soon came into view just as something snipped at your ankle. You let out a scream as you dove into a crevice inside a tree just barely too small for the wolf to get through. Spirit shouted your name, and through the crack of the wood you saw her up in the treetops where the wolves couldn’t reach.

You could barely feel grateful that she was okay as you panted in fear. Your eyes blown wide as you held the two cubs to your chest. Both of them let out chitters and chirps that you couldn’t understand, your ears were ringing as you heard the wood around you creak. Snarls echoed through the small hole and you couldn’t barely breath. Your eyes watering as you pushed yourself as far into the corner as possible.

‘The fire will protect you,’ the words echoed through your head, an unknown voice speaking directly into your brain. The fire? The fire that you just destroyed!? That can’t-

Your eyes snapped to the side where you saw the stone once again laying at your side. The pain still very well burning your hand. It still hurt, fear bubbled in your chest at the sight of the small stone in front of you. It would burn, it would hurt-

‘So would the teeth of a wolf, at least this way you’d survive,’ The voice echoed through your head again. But still you didn't- you couldn’t no!

Snap!!

“AAHHH!!”

“Spirit!” You shouted, and in a flash you were on your feet. You couldn’t feel the burn at all. Smoke danced from the edge of the stone as you pulled in front of you and the beast before you. In an instant searing hot heat blasted from the stone, a fresh dangerous, deadly blaze dancing before your eyes.

Sorry for not posting the past few weeks. I did not mean for it to take this long to make this chapter!

Thank you for all the love and support though. Comments and likes are appreciated.

Part 8 - Safe

[54625]

thinking about the phycological torture qFit is going to be put through for the next few weeks, like

He's in a rough state already, head ringing and legs probably shattered from his fall. He's bleeding and barely conscious. He drags himself along the ground, a flesh hand already grazed and a metal hand already dented. He reaches a ledge. Peers over. In the dark he can just about make out the shapes, but the smell and the twisting in his gut is undeniable. Rot. The rotting of bodies. The rotting of years old corpses, mangled, crumpled, starved, crushed, emaciated. He thinks of the creature's words. I had friends once, they're still here on this island. Do you want to see them?

Against his own will, he pictures Ramón lying at the bottom of the cave; sniffer teddy discarded a foot away and covered in mud, comforting the corpse. He pictures Pac; all rib bones and hollow cheeks, in the new once clean clothes he loved to show off. He pictures Sunny. He pictures Tubbo. He pictures Phil. He pictures Mike. He pictures Bagi. He shuts his eyes and moves to leave, but his body is broken. He can't escape this place, and he won't be saved. They won't think to look for you here.

[dracowars]

Could I please request an Anakin X reader where reader gets overwhelmed in a mission and Anakin gets her out?

overwhelmed | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 1,1k

summary: where y/n gets overwhelmed on a mission

a/n: i missed writing so much, especially for anakin so i really hope that you enjoy it <3 feedback and reblogging is always appreciated!

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of blood

universe: star wars

"What's happening down there?!", Anakin screams at the hologram map in front of him, demanding to know what is going on on the planet beneath the Resolute. His eyes frantically roam over the map, trying to find the source that caused the small transporter and the protective shields around it to be blown to bits. "General Y/L/N, do you copy?"

It was supposed to be an easy mission with no complications. The plan was simple: deliver the required weapons and care packages to the surface of Ryloth to support the troops and then leave again without a trace, not alarming the Separatists while giving your men an advantage. But instead of doing that, you walked right into a trap.

Pressing your body, which is still shaking from the bomb's hard impact, against a shattered part of the transporter, you try to control your breath, squinting your eyes to see through the dust. Inhaling it, you cough several times, waving your hand in front of your face to make the smoke slowly disappear. You hardly see anything around you, at most silhouettes of soldiers lying on the ground, injured or worse. And very close by, you hear the loud mechnical noise of spider droids coming your way.

Ignoring the panic rising within your veins, you close your eyes and try to think about your next move, trying to find a way out of this. Only then do you notice your com and the voice coming from it, instantly grounding you.

"I copy. We ran into an ambush, I don't know how many of my men survived", you answer into the comlink, forcing your voice to sound as steady as possible. But Anakin notices. He always does.

"You need to get out of there. Right now!", Anakin says with pressure, not paying attention to the fact that he has never felt so relieved to hear you voice, that, as far as he can tell, you are safe and sound. And he does not care what his men around him think, why he is so keen on getting you out of there in one piece.

When the explosions happened, Anakin felt his heart stop, his world stopped spinning. But hearing your voice right now makes it a lot more bearable because you are still there, you are still with him. He should have been down there with you and he is beating himself up for not insisting on coming with you.

"Sir, I don't think that is possible", another voice clarifies through the comlink as Bly, your commander, approaches your side, kneeling in front of you as he speaks to Anakin. His armor is covered in dust and mud, but he appears to have survived the attack without any major damages.

"Why not?", both Anakin and you ask at the same time.

"General, you are injured", Bly points out, motioning to your lower body, which is, indeed, covered in blood. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, your eyes widen and you press your hand on the bleeding wound where a piece of metal must have hit you. Only then do you notice the excruciating pain running through your body, previously hidden by the adrenaline that was still rushing through your veins mere seconds ago.

"How bad is it?", Anakin wants to know immediately, his knuckles turning white from grabbing the table with the hologram map forcefully as it is making fun of him for not being down there with you, only showing him what happened without him being able to intervene.

"I don't think any important organs are damaged, but I can't be sure, Sir. And the Separatists are approaching our current location quickly", Bly explains, offering you an encouraging smile, but all you can feel is bile rising up your throat and panic lacing your laboured breathing. "They knew we would come."

"And they were only waiting to strike", Anakin concludes, lowering his head while searching for answers. But with his heart painfully beating against his chest and your ragged breathing over the com, he can't concentrate. He needs to get you out of there.

"Prepare a shuttle", he orders one of the clones around him, his voice harsh and demanding while you are down there, possibly fighting for your life right now.

"Sir, we are not equipped for such a rescue", you hear from afar, the unbearable pain blocking everything out.

"I can do it, Anakin. It's f-fine", you try to convince him, your hands trembling and your voice only a whisper. Every breath hurts, it gets worse every second and you know that you reached your limit.

You know you won't make it. Even with Bly by your side, the chances of leaving this planet alive are falling close to zero. This realization hits you hard and a single tear slips down your cheek, leaving a wet streak on your dirty face.

"A-Anakin?", you call out to him in pain, the beeping in your ears getting louder and louder. But he does not answer.

Looking up at the sky, in the direction where your transporter came from, where Anakin is located right now, you force a smile on your lips. Black stars cloud your vision as you desperately reach for the Force, calling him.

"General, what are you-", is the last static sound you hear before your body slips into complete darkness.

════════════

Anakin is not the type to stand there doing nothing when the love of his life is on the verge of leaving this galaxy, no matter the cost. And he certainly does not care about being equipped for the rescue. Because if someone is going to get you out of there safely, then it is Anakin Skywalker.

And that is exactly what he is planning on doing the moment he leaves the bridge, when he jumps into the Twilight and lands on the rough surface of Ryloth. When he takes down every single droid with his own hands, leaving behind a trail of destruction. When he finally reaches you, unconscious frame held up by your loyal commander.

Immediately, he takes you onto his arms, carrying you to his ship with the remaining soldiers following and flanking you. The determination in Anakin's eyes is eerie, he speaks no word, only making sure to get you off this planet in no time.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he reaches out to you with the Force, just like you did before leaving into unconsciousness, telling him to leave you behind and complete the mission. The moment he does, he feels your warmth, your joy emanating through his body and your eyes flutter. Softly, your hand touches his, your lips parting ever so slightly as you croak: "I knew you would come."

"I always will", Anakin answers, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead, squeezing your hand in his gently. "I will always come for you, my angel."

[paracosm-draw]

Promptober Day 9 - Warmth ☄️

Tags : medical terms, injured Anakin, naked bodies, no smut

~~~

They were in the middle of the battlefield, rain pouring from the sky and making the ground muddy and slippery. All around, the fast bolt of the blasters pierced through the downpour, illuminating briefly the masks and faces of the Republic army.

Obi-Wan was on the front line, fending off shot after shot with his lightsaber to allow his men to progress. He was almost blinded by the rain dripping on his face and pooling on his eyebrows, hair stuck to his temples and neck, his damped clothes rubbing unpleasantly against his cold skin with each movement.

He was pushing away another battle droid when the Force shifted suddenly, twisting and straining the bond he shared with Anakin with such strength he fell on his knees, gasping for air as his chest clenched violently. The Force howled in agony around him, tossing him around as if he were a blade of grass in the midst of a hurricane of emotions, images and sensations flashing through his mind so fast he couldn't tell if they belonged to him or not.

Fear. Anger. Pain. Regrets. Pain. Pain. Pain. Solitude.

It lasted for what seemed to be an eternity, pulling at Obi-Wan’s intangible energy from all sides and so hard he was sure he was going to break. Then, as suddenly as it started, everything withdrew, every feeling, every sound, every image and he was left breathless and disoriented in the middle of the chaos. For a terrible, gut wrenching second he thought that the steady and familiar thread uniting their soul had been severed, teared apart and his heart stopped beating at the implication.

No.

“Anakin…” He breathed at the same time a strong pair of hands lifted him from the ground and put him back on his feet.

“Are you okay, General ?” Cody’s concerned voice asked from behind his helmet.

“Anakin.” He said again, still shaken to the core by what he just experienced. “Where is Anakin ?”

The clone frowned behind his mask, noticing the Jedi’s blemish face and wide eyes. He was too well trained to ask useless questions, especially as they were right in the middle of the fight and totally exposed, so his brain moved on to the next sensible thing to do now : take cover.

“He was just next to the cliff last time I saw him.” He answered, pulling Obi-Wan by the arm and shielding him with his own body until they were safe behind a large rock. “Do you want me to comm him ?”

“I don't know.” Obi-Wan swallowed, unable to think clearly. “I-”

“General.” Cody put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, the gesture grounding Obi-Wan a little bit. “What happened ?”

“I can’t feel him anymore.” The Jedi whispered. “I think something happened to him”

Cody stayed silent for a while, letting the sounds of the blaster shots, the explosions and the screams fill the space between them as he calculated a change of plan.

“Alright.” He said eventually, typing something on his commlink. “I’m coming with you.”

Obi-Wan knew that removing two men from their forces, let alone a Jedi, was not a strategic choice at all. But the visceral terror that gnawed at his guts right now prevented him from feeling guilty about it. All that mattered was Anakin.

Reaching the cliff took more time than Obi-Wan had anticipated. They still had to fight their way until there and the whole time the Jedi was projecting his life Force around to try to find Anakin’s signature somewhere, anywhere. But he remained untraceable.

They searched all along the cliff’s edge, screaming for his name in the chaos of the battle, asking everyone on their way. Cody even checked the bodies lying in the mud, aware that Obi-Wan would refuse to even think about that eventually.

“General.” He called after several minutes of vain research. “He could have fallen down the cliff.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and walked to the edge, looking down at the river rushing a dozen of meters below.

“General…” Cody approached carefully. “If he fell… You have to consider the possibility that he didn't-”

“No.” Obi-Wan interrupted him. “He’s alive. He has to be.”

“There’s a lot of rocks.” The clone replied quietly but not unkindly. “Such a fall would severely injure anyone. If they’re lucky.”

“Anakin is not anyone.” Obi-Wan replied stubbornly. “I’m going to find him. You don’t have to come with me.”

Cody shook his head and put his blaster back in the holster strapped around his waist.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

They find Anakin a mile away down the river, his body laying on a flat rock, face down. Obi-Wan runs to him, panic wrapping around his throat and suffocating him as he notices blood all around him, mixing with the rain.

“Anakin !” He chokes, letting himself fall by his side and wincing when his knees hit the hard ground for the second time today.

Gently, he grabs him by the shoulders to turn him on his back, dreading what he’s about to discover.

Anakin’s face is stained with blood that still drips from his forehead, sticking to his curls and damping the collar of his tunic. He probably hit his nose hard enough to make it bleed too, as well one of his lips and he has small contusions on his cheeks and jaw. He’s pale, so frighteningly pale.

Obi-Wan presses his fingers against his pulse point while Cody kneels on his other side, doing the same thing on his wrist. It takes a few excruciating seconds for them to feel something, a weak fluttering pulse that makes Obi-Wan’s eyes sting with pure relief.

“He’s alive.” He breathes shakily.

“I’m calling for a ship.” Cody says immediately, getting up again to comm one of the pilots.

Obi-Wan quickly checks Anakin’s body for other obvious injuries in the meantime. He doesn’t seem to have any open wounds but he doesn’t dare move him in case he risks making things worse. What if his spine is damaged or he suffers from internal bleeding ?

The only thing he allows himself is to place his hand on his cheek, pushed by the imperial need to feel him, to make sure he’s alive and breathing. His heart sinks when he notices how cold his skin is. Without thinking, he removes his own robes to lay it on Anakin’s body. It’s a useless gesture but he can’t stand the idea of his golden, always warm boy being frozen to the bones.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, gently pushing Anakin’s drenched curls from his still face. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me.”

When the ship arrives, Anakin is picked up on a stretcher and taken away to the tiny medical unit it carries. Obi-Wan silently blesses Cody for having the presence of mind to ask for a medic, gaining precious time for Anakin’s life. They don’t have a lot of equipment but they have enough to stabilize him until they’re back to the base.

The doctor asks them to help remove Anakin’s clothes while he puts an oxygen mask on his mouth and nose. He checks his vitals again, not satisfied about the results.

“He's unresponsive.” He says with a frown. “He might be in shock. He’s also hypothermic and injured, so we will have to act according to an order of priority.”

Obi-Wan nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m going to put him on warm fluids to help his body fight the shock and hopefully help him heat up a little bit.” The man explains quietly. “Then I'm going to take a blood sample to see if something's happening inside. If everything is fine, we’ll have to find a way to get his temperature back to normal, or at least, decent.”

“How ?” Obi-Wan asks.

As far as he knows they only have a limited stock of blankets and no heating pads.

“With the most wonderful and efficient source of heat I know.” The doctor answers. “Human’s heat.”

“Oh.”

Obi-Wan blushes slightly without knowing why. His gaze falls back on Anakin, so pale and so cold under his thin cover.

“Um, okay. I can- I can help with that.” He says with his steadier voice. “Just tell me what to do.”

“For now, wait until he’s stable.” The man replies, focused on putting a catheter on the inside of Anakin’s arm. “Then undress and hold him tight.”

Obi-Wan can’t help but blush fully at the blunt, clinical way the doctor states the whole thing. As if it’s a usual life-saving procedure. Maybe it is. Obi-Wan is no doctor after all.

He watches quietly as the man fusses around Anakin, branching him to a little bag of fluids and to a little machine monitoring his heart and respiratory rates as well as his temperature and level of oxygen. When he’s done, he looks over to Obi-Wan and gives him a nod.

“It's your moment.”

“Okay…” Obi-Wan approaches the bed hesitantly.

“I’m giving you some privacy.” The man says, gathering Anakin’s wet clothes to go make them dry somewhere. “I’m coming back in half an hour to check on him. Call me if something goes wrong in the meantime.”

“Understood.” Obi-Wan nods. “Thank you.”

When he's finally alone in the tiny medical room, the unit separated from the main room of the ship by a thin curtain only, he starts peeling off his soaked layers, realizing how cold he felt too now that a part of the adrenaline had worn off.

Anakin is still immobile on the small bed, just as pale as the sheets. Obi-Wan hesitates to keep his underwear but the fabric is as drenched as the rest of his clothes so he decides against it. His modesty is no match against Anakin’s life.

Taking two more blankets on his way, he slips by his side into the bed, shuddering when his cold skin presses against Anakin’s even colder one. After putting the extra blankets mostly on Anakin’s side, he wraps his arms and legs around his still, freezing body and holds him tight as the doctor asked.

At first it’s very unpleasant, Obi-Wan shivering in their shared wet coldness and thinking they were never going to warm up ever again. But after a while, the blankets start to do their job, preventing whatever warmth Obi-Wan is producing from escaping and progressively raising the temperature in the tight confines of the bed.

Later, Obi-Wan feels warm enough to stop shivering, and exhaustion starts numbing his mind and body, making him close his eyes without noticing.

When the doctor comes to check on Anakin, he finds them both asleep, Obi-Wan carefully but tightly wrapped against the younger Jedi in a protective, life-saving embrace.

Even later, when the sun starts to fall on the system, Obi-Wan is awakened by light movements against him. Emerging with difficulty from the deep slumber he fell in, he lifts an eyelid and he’s faced with Anakin's confused face and fluttering eyes.

“What happened ?” He murmurs.

“You fell from the cliff.” Obi-Wan replies in the same tone. “You almost died. But I found you.”

Anakin frowns and manages to pout.

“Didn't fall. Been pushed.” He mumbles.

“You managed to reach the shore.” Obi-Wan says. “Do you remember ?”

Anakin shakes his head.

“I only remember the cold. I was so cold. Never been that cold in my entire life.”

He frowns again then, slightly raising his head to take a look around, then at Obi-Wan, then under the covers.

“Why am I naked ?” He squints. “Why are you naked ?”

Obi-Wan fails pathetically against his own body when he tries not to blush.

“The doctor said you were in hypothermia. Someone had to keep you warm.”

“It was a life or death situation.” He adds for good measure.

“I see.” Anakin smirks, making the blush on Obi-Wan’s face spread to his chest. “Thank you for saving my life, then.”

“You’re welcome.” Obi-Wan mumbles, trying to hide a part of his face in the pillow.

“I’m still a bit cold, though.” Anakin grins. “I could probably still die.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, the heat coming from his face probably enough to keep Anakin warm for the century to come.

“Come here.” He grumbles, opening his arms wider, and Anakin loses no time snuggling against his chest, almost ripping the wires monitoring his health. “Careful, you’re still in a bad state.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The younger Jedi whispers against his neck, closing his eyes again.

Obi-Wan can't help but smile, slipping his fingers in the mass of golden hair curling on his head.

“How are you feeling ?” He asks.

He can feel Anakin smile against his skin, his fingers tightening around his waist. His heart is beating peacefully against his own. Beating, pumping life into his body. Obi-Wan has never heard a more beautiful sound.

“Warm.” Anakin answers.

[anticidic]

A Tail Lost in Time

Kitsune!Dazai AU ficlet with a dash of soft wound care provided by Chuuya. 1,037 words. Tiny mentions of blood.

 “It’s a good thing I found you while I was out before something happened to you.”

Chuuya laid out the supplies beside him and sat on his knees, patting his lap a few times to try and grab the fox’s attention.

No response.

Ears atop the head twitched and big eyes stared back at him, wary. Big brown eyes that seemed to know more than they let on but dwelling on that proved both foolish and unimportant. It was just an animal viewing Chuuya through the lenses of something cornered and so frightened that it looked ready to bolt at any given moment. It had an awkward gait, shifting all of its weight to its right side with its front left paw lifted slightly in the air. Blotches of red covered the length of its leg, dirtying the soft underside of its whitish fur. Clumps of mud stuck between its toes, shaking loose each time it stretched and flexed its claws.

And leaving behind a trail that traced back to Chuuya’s living room. But he’d worry about that later.

If he had to guess, the fox must’ve either run into trouble with another wild animal or had hurt itself. Each time he held a hand out, slow, to try and coax it into warming up to him, it leaned away and dodged his touch. The corners of its muzzle twitched and a small sound, as if a distressed whimper, left its mouth.

He also did not miss the tremors in the legs and the way the small animal shivered.

With the understanding that this was a wild animal possibly in fear for its life still, Chuuya sighed and reached for a blanket, unraveling it and setting it out on the floor in front of him.

“How about that? Maybe the blanket will feel nicer than the hard floor.”

The fox inched closer, curiosity getting the best of it as its head dipped low and it ran its nose along the fringe of the blanket. It placed a paw on top, then a second. A third. Until it sat down in front of Chuuya, continuing to keep its injured paw hovering above ground.

Subtle smile lighting up his face because it was a win—a tiny one, but still one he would take regardless—Chuuya grabbed a cotton ball, dipped it in antiseptic, and held his other hand out.

“Will you let me see that little cut you got there? I promise it’ll be quick.”

Silence. Though those big eyes blinked back at him and ears twitched again. Its bushy tail coiled around its hind legs for comfort. Maybe it understood what he said, but communicating was out of the question. Chuuya knew this, but he also knew himself to be a fool for trying to coax the fox into trusting him enough to help it.

It watched him curiously, carefully, awaiting the moment to flee or fight back in response—too many unpredictabilities Chuuya needed to take into consideration as he leaned in with a softened gaze and dabbed the cotton ball along the fox’s leg.

The whistle of a hiss through a clenched jaw made him stop. The fox clenched its teeth, face scrunched in distress, but it did not pull away. It looked away. At nothing.

“Sorry, little guy. I know it hurts,” Chuuya said in a low voice, continuing to clean the cut with measured dabs and light pressure enough to disinfect but not enough to cause any more unnecessary pain.

After a few moments, he grabbed a roll of bandages and gently layered it several times around the fox’s leg, securing it.

"There we go, all better." Chuuya put the supplies away and gazed down at the fox again. He couldn’t help but to smile with the way it looked back at him—eyes full of an unspoken trust and a relaxed posture compared to how still and on edge it had been before. “Now it can heal, and you won’t get a nasty infection.

Still no response. But it mattered not to him. If anything, he accepted the fox’s form of appreciation in how it went from sitting to lying down, cheek pressed to the blanket, nuzzling it. Its tail swished in the air as it continued to gaze up at Chuuya. There was a profound longing in that gaze. Something Chuuya couldn't quite make out, but their communicating had been doomed from the start.

He ran a hand through his hair and heaved another sigh. “Jeez, what're you looking at me like that, for?" Reminding himself that this was a wild animal and not a dog he could just pet and scratch behind the ears, he kept his distance and watched for any signs of distress.

Of which he found none, judging by how the fox’s eyelids drooped, and it let out a long yawn.

Chuuya grabbed the supplies and got up, taking one last look at the fox as a hand hovered over the light switch. “Goodnight, little guy.”

***

The morning light hurt his eyes. Hazy. A mist hung over the city, stretching inland from the bay. On the horizon, war-torn buildings. Chuuya got out of bed and stretched his arms above his head before heading into the living to check on the fox.

He flinched in surprise at the man draped across his couch, fast asleep. A peaceful expression. Messy hair and curled ends sticking to a forehead and framing an angular face. Even a soft, quiet snore. A human snore, no doubt. Chuuya paused, heart thumping and blood rushing in his ears, but the human sounds were undeniable.

The second thing he noticed: bandages wrapped around one of the man’s arms.

And not one, but two bushy tails hanging off the side of the couch—white as fresh snow, tips dipped in blue.

The puzzle pieces slotted together in his mind. He didn't understand well, anything, but somehow with the way the fox chose him and looked at him with a watchful eye that surpassed the simple curiosity of a wild animal having its first encounter with a human it all made sense.

Chuuya returned with a second blanket and draped it over the man's curled form.

[cakerybakery]

Back on the desktop so I'm able to post this outside of the Pregnant Adam Cult community.

I got inspired by the Omiltemi cottontail rabbit spotting in the news and wrote Breeding Meat - Task Failed. This is the slightly edited and cleaned up version that I posted on AO3

-

Rare and cornered, Naga Lucifer was ready to devour Adam, only to smell that Adam was pregnant.

Why eat one rabbit when he can keep Adam and eat the babies in a couple of weeks? He’s a rare dish after all.

So he takes Adam back to his den. He feeds the rabbit to keep him nice and plump. Adam is fastidious, though. Cleaning the underground den of bones, shed skin, and rot. Even if he’s trapped and Lucifer is going to eat him and his babies, he’s not giving birth in a disgusting mess.

Adam basically takes over as he starts to nest. Nipping at Lucifer if he disturbs Adam's bedding. Yelling at him when he dumps the bones he doesn’t digest from his meals on the floor. He came in covered in mud once, and Adam hissed at him until he took a bath. Lucifer was tempted to just eat Adam anyway. One big meal now that Adam was too big to do much.

His meal was getting antsy, though. Muttering to himself as he stopped eating.

“They’re late.”

“Who?” Lucifer asked from his warm spot in the sun by the window.

“The babies. They should have been born by now.” Adam paced in his nest. Moving the soft grasses and leaves around, rearranging flowers yet again.

“In a hurry for me to eat them?” Lucifer chuckled.

Adam shot him a dirty look and made the same promise: “I’ll die before I let you harm a hair on their bodies’.”

“You’ll die either way.” Lucifer got up anyway. Adam’s pacing was annoying. “Is there anything that will hurry them along?”

Snorting, Adam continued to fuss. Kneeling in the grasses and pushing it around. “Sex helps. But I’m not going to lure some other rabbit in here for you to eat.”

Sex helped? Lucifer could do that. He didn’t usually fuck his meals, but Adam’s pussy was inviting.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been watching the rabbit the past few weeks. The way his tail twitched, the fluff on his backend framing that bare cunt when Adam bent over, how he smelled, and his pussy always looked so wet.

More than once, Lucifer had to hold himself back from tasting the juices between Adam’s thighs. From grabbing fistfuls of Adam’s engorged tits and tasting the mammal’s milk.

Lucifer slithered up behind Adam, took Adam’s hips in his hands, and pulled back against Lucifer’s unsheathed double pricks. Adam moaned as the twin cocks rubbed against his cunt, searching for a way inside of him.

“Lucifer?” Adam panted, his belly large with his litter dragged against the ground as he was thrust against.

“Sex helps, right? It doesn’t have to be a rabbit.” The tips of Lucifer’s cocks nudged each other as they teased Adam’s opening, pushing in enough to make Adam push back to get more in, only for Lucifer to pull back.

He teased the rabbit until Adam begged; only then did Lucifer bury himself into Adam's tight heat.

Adam cried out in pleasure. “By the trees, you’re so big.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Lucifer rocked in and out. He’d never been in a cunt so warm before. Were all mammals this great feeling? So fucking warm. His dicks had never been this hard before. It gave him lots of energy to pick up his pace.

“Lucifer!” Adam moaned, and Lucifer could feel Adam’s cunt spasm around him. He reached around and played with the small cock he found there. Stroking him in time with Lucifer’s thrusts. Lucifer wrapped his tail around Adam and prodded the tip into Adam’s mouth.

Adam opened wide, and Lucifer shoved the tip into Adam’s hot, wet mouth. Moaning as his face was fucked, Adam sucked on the tip of Lucifer’s tail like a cock.

Lucifer pulled out, and Adam whined with need until Lucifer stuck his fingers into Adam’s pussy to coat them, then he worked on opening Adam’s ass.

Looked back over his shoulder, Adam looked unsure.

“It’s okay, my little breeder; your master will take good care of you.”

Adam’s eyes rolled back with pleasure as Lucifer lined himself back up and filled both wet holes of Adam’s.

Lucifer played with the tip of Adam’s cock, wishing he was big enough to wrap himself around and suck on Adam’s prick. He wanted to be a breeding ball of just the two of them. But Adam’s pregnant belly got in the way.

Once Adam had the babies, Lucifer was going to do this again. He was going to breed his little rabbit. Every night he was going to fill Adam’s every hole and pump cum into his pussy. Month after month he’d impregnate his mate. Rabbits grew fast; nagas were self-sufficient the moment they hatched.

He was going to keep Adam fat and pregnant. Their babies wouldn’t need their mother for long, and then Lucifer could impregnate Adam again.

Adam came from his cock and cunt. He was starting to go limp, moaning as Lucifer’s tail kept his mouth spread and drooling. His eyes were half-closed, and Lucifer knew he’d fucked his mate to exhaustion.

Lucifer filled Adam’s ass and cunt with cum and pulled out. He helped Adam onto his side to rest and encircled Adam to cuddle.

The sun had set when Lucifer was jolted awake by Adam’s claws digging into his hands. “Babies.” Adam moaned. “Babies are coming.”

Lucifer realized the wet mess between them wasn’t their cum but birth water. Before Lucifer could get out of the way, Adam bore down, and there was a small screaming infant in his lap.

He panicked and pulled his hands from Adam's now-loose grip. Lucifer picked the baby up, sliced through the cord, and gave him to Adam to nurse and keep warm.

Unsure what else to do, Lucifer used the grasses to try and clean up the mess from them. He didn’t get far before Adam was clawing at the ground again, and another wet baby was deposited into the soft grass.

Moving that one up to Adam as well to feed first, Lucifer grabbed clean bedding and laid it down. To his panicked mind, he seemed to be constantly moving babies from between Adam’s legs to his chest.

Exhaustion made Lucifer shake, and he counted five babies full of milk and asleep beside their tired mother.

“Are you going to eat us now?” Adam groaned. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head.

“No.” Lucifer gathered even more grasses that Adam had made Lucifer fetch for him as he built his nest.

The idea of eating his mate's litter made him a little sick, seeing them being born even more so. Maybe he could become a herbivore? Or at least only eat things that came from eggs from now on. He never wanted to look at another mammal as a meal again, not now that he was intimately aware of how they were birthed.

Fish. Yeah. He was going to learn to eat fish. They were supposed to be wet.

“After that, I don’t think I can eat another mammal.”

Adam eyed him up. “Does that mean we’re free to go?” 

“If…” Lucifer didn’t like the idea of his mate leaving. He still wanted to impregnate his mate over and over. Fill the forest with their hybrid babies. “If you want. I won’t force you to stay any longer.” He’d keep his meal captive, but not his mate. “If you don’t wish to be my mate. Then you’re free to go.”

He left the nest to curl up in a corner of the den. Leaving the entrance open, instead of barred shut like normal. Lucifer lay in the cold and went to sleep.

The warm sun woke him, and he could smell even before he opened his eyes that Adam was gone.

All Lucifer could smell as he flicked his tongue was the dirty grasses, the stink of mammal birth, and—he sniffed the air and slithered to the nest. Under the grasses were five bare and blind kits. One was a bit more uncovered than the rest, and it mewled and shivered.

Lucifer recovered it with clean grass and tried to shush the baby. Warm again, the baby went back to sleep, and Lucifer was left to ponder where Adam had gone.

He poked his head out of the den and caught sight of Adam returning with clean nest materials and munching on a bushel of flowers and grasses.

“Adam?” Lucifer rushed from the den to Adam’s side. “You didn’t leave.”

Shrugging, Adam finished his nibbling. “If you’re not going to eat us, then there’s no safer place to raise babies.” He shifted the bundle in his hands. “Besides, I want to be stuffed again, like you did the night before, my mate.”

Lucifer paused in his slithering at that. Adam called him his mate. 

Getting ahead, Adam’s tail twitched enticingly. “The babies will be getting hungry soon. You make a mating nest as I feed our children, and after they’ve gone back to sleep, you’re going to mate me again.”

There was no room for questioning Adam’s orders, and Lucifer didn’t want to. Whatever his fluffy mate wanted, Lucifer would give him. He couldn’t wait to fill Adam’s belly with another litter.

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - The Devil is a Part-Timer - Headcanon

Carmilla gets trapped on Earth with her daughters and Rosie and Velvette, and they need to pretend to be family so as not to attract any attention among the humans as them being demons until they can return to Hell...

The last thing Carmilla could remember was her arguing with Velvette and Rosie knocking on the door

The Overlord-Meeting had just been over, an exhausting meeting and the main topic had been that weird hotel of Lucifer's disillusioned daughter and the probability of the end of the annual exterminations as a result of Adam's death

With the help of her daughters, Carmilla had been packing up her things, Velvette still sitting in her seat with her feet on the table, engaged in a very heated discussion with Carmilla while she tried to get home as soon as possible

Velvette was convinced that they had to fight back and bring down Heaven now while they still had the chance

Suddenly there had been a knock on the door and Rosie was standing in front of her

When Carmilla opened her eyes, she was lying on her back, damp green grass beneath her and the silhouettes of trees and shadows of skyscrapers above her, the red horizon of Hell had been replaced by a dark blue sky, planes and helicopters imitating shooting stars

The noise of the city was terrible, the volume unbearable, shrill sirens and car horns, she had to cover her ears and when she sat up, she realized that she was sitting on the ground in the middle of a park in a big city

Carmilla was not alone

Less than a meter away from their mother, her daughters lay unconscious in the grass, Rosie found herself on her side under a tree and a good distance away, in the mud on the edge of a small lake, they saw Velvette

"W-What happened?" Slowly Rosie came awake, shaking, her balance faltering, and Carmilla needed to help to her feet before the worried mother could go and check on her daughters

"Where are we?" Rosie also seemed completely overwhelmed by the volume, the bright lights and the sheer size of the city; she and Carmilla had never experienced such centralization and automation in their lifetimes

"We're on Earth..." Velvette tried desperately to rub the mud from her clothes, more concerned about her appearance than the fact that they had somehow escaped Hell and were now trapped on Earth

"Why are we on Earth? We have to go back to Hell!"

"What do we do now?" Velvette asks in confusion as they leave the park and stop in front of a large shop window, all of their images appearing strangely human in the reflection

"We'll blend in," Carmilla concludes. "We look like humans, so we act like humans..."

She has a plan and explains to the group that they need to be as inconspicuous as possible, they need to blend into the everyday life of a normal person as much as possible, they shouldn't attract any attention until they have found a way back to Hell and their first step in implementing their plan is to find a place to stay and food to eat

At the city library, Odette forges the right faked documents for them on a computer while the rest of the group searches for ads for cheap housing in newspapers spread everywhere

Odette chooses the obviously simplest option and makes their group into a family that has just moved here from abroad, Carmilla and Rosie playing married parents and Clara, Odette and Velvette becoming sisters on paper

"I'd also need your name for the records, Miss..." requested their landlady.

"Rosie!"

"Your full name with your surname, please, Miss..." replied their landlady, shaking her head.

"Oh... Please excuse me, my full name is Rosie Carmine! We're married!" Rosie pointed to Carmilla with a proud grin, while Carmilla quickly averted her eyes, desperately trying to hide the blush that was now creeping inevitably into her cheeks. Although Odette had already warned her mother that Rosie would be playing her wife, saying it out loud was another matter that inevitably made Carmilla's heart skip a beat. How was she supposed to get used to sleeping in the same bed with Rosie any time soon?

"You really do have three wonderful daughters!" their landlady enthused as she showed them their tiny apartment, which was a one-bedroom unit with an open kitchen and an adjoining bathroom with a shower.

"Don't get the wrong impression, I'm just adopted!" Velvette interjected.

"We still love her just as much as our other two daughters..." Carmilla pressed through gritted teeth as she pulled Velvette into a halfhearted hug. "Play along..." she hissed lowly as Velvette struggled unsuccessfully in her arms.

Carmilla gets a job at a fast food restaurant to make the money for rent and food. In addition, she enrolls her daughters and Velvette in school to maintain their cover. Rosie stays home most of the time, taking care of the household and her family, while she spends her free time researching on the internet and in the surrounding museums and libraries to find out more about their situation and a possible way to get back to Hell.

Velvette is very less than thrilled that she has to live under the same roof as Carmilla, play their daughter and go back to school.

Even though their cover is indeed very convincing, their every move is watched by agents in black suits and black SUV's, which park in the street and near their apartment more and more frequently as the plot progresses. Carmilla is followed on her way to work, Rosie can't go to the supermarket alone once without agents following her through the aisles and Clara, Odette and Velvette are being tailed at school. Who are these people and what do they want from them? Are they well aware that they are from Hell?

I'm still working on this idea, it's in my WIP's and I'd love to write a full fic about it soon. It's more or less a slow burn Blooming Gun fic playing on Earth, with a lot of pure domestic bliss and fluff and some action (involving some secret demon hunting agents from the government), and Carmilla and Rosie secretly crushing on each other.

Carmilla thinks that Rosie is merely playing her role as her wife very convincingly and doesn't dare to explore her feelings much further, while Rosie desperately tries to give Carmilla the hint without actually having to say the words.

Clara and Odette have long since accepted Rosie as their other parent and are enjoying their second chance to live a semi-normal life outside of Hell with their mothers, more or less accepting Velvette as their sister.

After some time, several conflicts and some heartfelt conversations, Carmilla actually adopts Velvette as her daughter. The turning point in their relationship is a situation at school in which Carmilla takes Velvette's side as her mother and defends her as her daughter.

What do you think of this idea for a fic so far?

Do you have any suggestions or any wishes for scenes or content that I definitely need to include?

Masterpost:

Chapter 01:

[ghostlychief]

tomorrow will be kinder

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

WC: 1900+

Warnings: brief mention of deaths; hurt/comfort; some fluff

Summary: When overly stressed by the calamity of your job, you find yourself pulling away from your teammates and even sometimes, your closest friends. Luckily for you, they don’t go anywhere, and patiently wait for your return. Although one person in particular, never lets you fester alone.

A/N: Hello!!! Feels like I haven't posted in awhile, so here we are. I hope if you stumble across it, you enjoy <3

-*-*-

You look down at the ground, while smoke billows around you, slightly clouding your vision. All you see are bodies caked in mud, lying motionless on the dirt path and you wonder to yourself how many dead bodies you have seen throughout your career.

How many? You couldn’t even count, there’s no point, not when it’s been this many. Maybe this was the tipping point for you. When the cold bodies that once held lives don’t bother you anymore. You no longer feel sonder creeping through your bones, making sure it covers you completely when you witness death. No, you just carry on like nothing happened. Day after day, your capacity to care and feel anything slowly drained out, and now you’re left empty and dry, wishing for relief from the arid cracks forming within you.

It's like you’re on autopilot, and have been for awhile now. After your last mission, you vaguely remember writing up your section of the report and handing it off to Price. You might have gone back to your quarters and spent the remainder of the day in bed. You cannot recall.

The days since then have gone by slowly, not much action going on. You don’t mind the quiet because sooner or later it’s going to get louder and louder until you’re back where you started: with destruction and death surrounding you, once again tipping you over.

You know you have been acting different. This has happened before, and your teammates understand why. They’re not too pushy about it, even though it seems like they ask you out to drinks or dinner more often than usual. You know they’re just worried and want you to feel included and that you are not on your own for this. You appreciate them, you really do. But they eventually get the hint that you just need some time by yourself, and the invitations stop coming. You don’t mind though, now you can finally rest without any external cacophonous noise. You only have to deal with the noise up in your head.

Going back to your quarters, you shut the blinds and lock your door, finally ready to take a fucking nap. You shut your eyes and sleep overcomes you.

-*-*-

When you finally come to, you realize you’ve woken up due to someone knocking (quite loudly) on your door. You briefly glance at the window, and there is no longer sunshine peeking through, so it must be past dinner time. You look at your watch and see that it’s almost 8p.m. You slept for a few good hours.

You rustle your way out of bed, not really caring what you look like. Unlocking your door, you mentally curse at whoever decided to come wake you, and you swing the door open more aggressively than you meant to.

When you glance up, you notice your teammate, Ghost, standing tall in your door frame, his toned arms crossed over his chest. He, for once, isn’t wearing any kind of mask over his face, which allows your eyes to dance across the scars that cover him. He has one in the hollow of his left cheek, a couple on his temple, and finally, one jagged mark near his upper lip, which has come to be your favorite scar of his. You were with him when he got it, after all.  

You don’t miss the skip in your heartbeat as you admire the man in front of you, having to crane your neck in the slightest to do so.

You manage to say, “What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds a bit rough and groggy since you just woke up. You’re also pretty sure your hair is a mess too, and of course your t-shirt and shorts are ruffled in that “after nap” look. So basically, you are the spitting image of beauty.

“C’mon now, Dumpling. We both know why I’m here.” He once again makes your heart skip a beat, and you mentally curse him for it. Who is he to come here and make you feel these things? You were once annoyed by the nickname he gave you, but now, you mentally blush whenever he calls you that.

You still remember the day he designated the name for you. It was one of the first times he came to your room. He was fascinated by all of the small trinkets you had, looking around your desk and the shelves on your wall. When he came across your dumpling light, he started laughing. It’s one of the few times you’ve heard him laugh at all.

He turns towards you, a small smile on his lips, “Does that actually provide any light for your room? It’s so tiny.”

You restrain the urge to scowl at your new found friend from work, and say, “Actually, he does light up my room quite well. It’s for the ambiance.” Your tone quirked up at when you said ‘ambiance,’ which had Simon laughing again, but this time at you.

“Here, look.” You walk over and turn off most of your lights, only leaving on the string of lights and a couple other small lights. Low and behold, the dumpling light stood out amongst his companions, illuminating the shelf he was sitting on, casting a warm glow on you and Simon.

He looks so soft in the luminosity, looks so different than the rigid man you see in the field every day. You refrain the urge to trace his scars with the pads of your fingertips, so desperately wanting to trace his lips. You really need to snap out of it.

Simon acquiesced raising his hands up, “Alright, alright. I misspoke.”

You bump your shoulder against his, arms crossed, “Damn right. Never insult my dumpling light again. He’s good at his job.”

Simon turns his head towards you, “This dumpling means a lot to you, huh?”

You know he’s just teasing and you shrug, “I guess. I mean I’ve had him for years, and look how cute he is!” Your nose scrunches up as you smiled at the stupid light, and you didn’t even notice how Simon was looking at you. But if you did notice, you would have seen his smile drop to a warm grin, eyes sparking in the tender light of your room, looking at you with endearment.

When you finally turn back to him, he ruffles your hair and asks, “So, what shall we do on our night off, Dumpling?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your voice cracks, “’Dumpling’?”

Simon leaned toward you, dipping his head down to yours so his lips were at your ear, “That’s your new nickname.”

“Oh hell no. Nope, not happening.”

“I don’t know, seems pretty fitting.” You were going to kill him.

Simon starts walking to your door, with you trailing behind him, arguing with him about his new moniker for you. Unfortunately for you, the name sticks.

You bring yourself back to the present and quip back, “To bug me?”

Ghost huffs, and decides to just bulldoze into your room without even asking. Rude. Although, he makes sure not to bump shoulders with you. Also, it’s not like he doesn’t do it often, so you let it slide and close the door behind you. You plop down on the bed beside him, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Your room on the base isn’t spacious by any means, but it does its job while you’re on call.

You managed to get a full-size bed, which is tucked away in the corner of your room, furthest from the door. Pictures, paintings, and drawings cover the corner, making it into a cozy place for you to hide away in. String lights line your left wall, which gives the room a soft warm glow that shines in Simon’s eyes whenever he’s here. You also have little knickknacks scattered around, each one showing your personality bit by bit, almost like a trail to your soul.

You find solace within the four walls of your room, but you can’t solely give credit to it, you have to save some for the quiet, yet brooding man, sitting beside you. Your best friend.

Your shoulder rests against his sturdy one, and you can feel him breathing. You always seem to gravitate towards him, like planets orbiting a star.

The room is still quiet, and you bring your leg up on the bed and fold it, so you are slightly turned towards Simon. You bring up your other leg so it’s resting over the top of his knee. He’s wearing his favorite black joggers, and there’s a stark contrast between your white socks and his dark pants.  

You trace your fingers along his forearm, trailing up and down the length of his arm. Something you don’t even realize you started doing until Simon takes that arm and wraps it around you, pulling you into him.

His voice ruffles your hair as he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug, and mumble, “I don’t know.” You bury your face into his chest. Once again trying to avoid confronting your problems, and instead wanting to hide away.

“Speak up, Dumpling.” There’s a teasing undertone in his request, and it almost makes you crack a grin. Almost.

He tries again, “It’s just me, you know. You can tell me anything.” His hand rests comfortably on your shoulder and his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your arm.

You let out another sigh, “I’m just tired. And overworked, and I think I need a break.” Simon waits a beat to make sure you’re done talking before he offers his opinion on the matter.

“You know, that’s completely normal for the kind of job we have, Y/N. It’s alright to want to get away from all the violence and sadness we see every day. That’s just the human in you.”

“I just feel so disconnected from everything right now, and don’t know how to fix it.” You bring your hand up to Simon’s resting on your shoulder, and intertwine your fingers with his.

Both your hands are calloused and rough, but his hands have always felt perfect in yours, his large fingers encapsulating yours easily.

“We don’t have to do anything right now to fix it. We can just be, okay?”

You manage to murmur out an “Okay.”

Simon pulls you down with him, so now you’re both laying comfortably on your bed. He momentarily sits up to tug the blanket that rests at the foot of your bed, over the you both, then wraps himself around you. You can hear his steady heartbeat in his chest, and it pulls you down like gravity, anchoring you to stay in the orbit of his warm embrace. You can feel his lips on your temple, and he places a delicate kiss there before saying, “Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure of it.” You lay like that for the remainder of the night in the company of Simon.

Simon, who never fails to assuage you, make you feel lighter and like your old self again. Make you feel human. He seemed so sure of himself that you will overcome this, so you finally believe him, that yes, tomorrow will be kinder.

-*-*-

[wallydrling]

a billion trillion kisses (for you)

pairing: wally darling/reader

rating: g

author's note: gender neutral reader to the best of my ability, probably some discrepancies having to do with the lore, i made wally taller lol

ao3 (it's formatted so much better on there. i hate u tumblr!)

You’d moved to Home last Spring, on one of the rainiest days the little town had ever seen.

Looking back now, it’s a fond memory. But at the time, rain pouring down from the sky, soaking your hair and your clothes and all your cardboard boxes, it’d been miserable. You remember just wanting to crawl beneath a canopy tree and cry. Your boxes of books had all fallen apart, landing on the wet pavement outside of your house. Your favorite shoes were ruined, covered up to the laces in mud. It felt like a sign. Something sent from the universe, urging you to turn around and leave. To go back to where you came from.

Only, you couldn’t remember where that was. You still can’t.

And right as you’d given up, settling on your front porch with your face buried in your hands, the clouds parted. Metaphorically, of course. The sky continued to cry. But, a set of footsteps headed towards you, sloshing in the puddles that had formed, and you’d peeked between your fingers to see–him. All lean legs, and a deep, blue cardigan with hair to match, covered up in a red raincoat. He’d been wearing loafers, then. Something you’d come to familiarize yourself with, something you’d later recognize as his signature. He walked towards you with all the confidence in the world, and a bright smile on his face.

“Hi there, new neighbor!” He called out, loud enough to be heard over the rain. “I’m Wally. I live just over that way,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I couldn’t help but notice all of these books lying on the ground, and then I saw you and thought, ‘Oh, looks like they need help!’ So, here I am.”

His very presence had seemed so outlandish back then; so unreal. His will to lend a helping hand had felt a little bit degrading. Someone as bright as him, bursting with color and cheer, coming to stand in front of you on such a horrendous day. You’d wanted to be mad, to snap at him to go away. You remember that you hadn’t really felt like socializing, then.

But before you could get a single word out, Wally knelt to the ground, and began gathering your books in his arms. They were covered in mud, and dripping rainwater. They dirtied his cardigan as he held them to his chest, but he didn’t seem to mind. Once he had his arms full of them, he stepped around you, and walked straight into your house. Like he lived there, too. Like it would’ve been silly of him to wait for an invitation.

Shocked at his boldness, you sprung to your feet, hot on his heels. You watched with big, wide eyes as he set your books down on the floor. The carpet was covered in muck and water, and Wally even more so; the mud on his cardigan would likely stain, and his rainbow pants were patchy with water. His hair, still half-styled in a pompadour despite the heavy rain, dripped rain down his yellow cheeks. He wiped his hands off on his pants, and flashed a bright smile at you.

“Do you need some help getting the other boxes in here?” He’d asked.

You blinked at him, once. Twice. Had no idea what to make of him. And then, subtly, you nodded. “Yeah. That’d…that’d be appreciated.”

So, that’s how you met your best friend.

Only, now, that terminology is beginning to feel incorrect. Because Wally is a friend, yes, and he is best in the sense that he is your favorite in all of Home (Julie would positively lose it if you said that aloud), but it's been a year of living in this town; of seeing his bright smile, and hearing his awkward, warm laughter nearly every day. It's been easy to hold Frank, Eddie, and even Howdy at a distance–two of the three are already a pair, and you don't see them nearly as often as you do Wally. Even Julie only shows up knocking at your door a couple of times a week.

You and Wally have become near-inseparable. If you aren't taking walks, stopping to cloud gaze every so often, then you're painting together. If you aren't painting together, you're ransacking the bodega, or arranging weekend picnics in the park for all of the residents. And if you aren't doing any of those things, then the both of you are curled up on your sofa, flipping through magazines, or reading poetry together. It isn't even a conscious thought anymore; not on your end, at least. It's become so normal to wake up, go about your morning routine, and then meet up with Wally come noon.

The other residents are getting suspicious, to say the least. Julie hounds you about it each time you have a sleepover (at least twice a week), Eddie has started wiggling his eyebrows in your general direction each time he sees you together, and even Howdy in all of his obliviousness gives you a picnic basket of food randomly one weekend for, "your date with Wally. On the house!"

You're not sure if the others are teasing Wally as much as they're teasing you, or if he'd even notice, but you know it's only a matter of time before someone makes an implication that you can't come back from. You're essentially bracing yourself for the question, the one everyone has yet to ask–what are you guys?

Julie is hosting a 'color-by-numbers' event at her house this evening, and nearly everyone will be in attendance. And if they asked you the question, you wouldn't have an answer. Not a clear one, anyway. You and Wally are friends; you can say that with confidence. You're each other's confidants. Wally has told you things he's never told anyone else. How Barnaby has spent a lot of time teaching him how to recognize his emotions, and how he gets lonely, sometimes. Was almost always lonely before you moved to Home. How he is so scared to lose you and the others, the anxiety of the thought alone renders him paralyzed if he thinks about it for too long. He trusts you, and you trust him, and you love him, even more so. You don't really know what to make of that.

So, there isn't one answer to the question of what are you guys? There are a dozen, jumbled and criss-crossed and tangled, and you can't pull them apart alone. You'd need Wally's help, and that would mean confessing, and you're not willing to do that. It could ruin everything.

When late afternoon rolls around, you're ready to go. You're wearing your favorite outfit, and your hair is styled to perfection. You've even put perfume on; the kind Howdy made for you from fresh berries, and you don't know why that matters or if Wally can even smell, but–

You're getting ahead of yourself. Getting nervous. Now isn't the time for a freak-out. You take one last look in the mirror, steel your shoulders, and set off for Julie's house.

"Yay, you're here!" Julie throws open the door, tugging you inside before you even get the chance to knock. "You're the last guest to arrive. Now we can really get the party started!"

You wave at the others as you step into the living room. Sally is here, serenading Barnaby with a ballad you've never heard before while he closes his eyes, nodding along with her voice. Eddie and Frank are bickering about something, but Eddie is borderline giggling, so you know it isn't serious. Howdy is getting his paints all lined up in a row, face pinched in concentration. And Wally is sitting in front of the couch, back propped up against it. Your eyes meet his, and he smiles at you softly, stealing the breath from your throat. You stare at him for longer than is appropriate, and you know this because Julie clears her throat quietly, and pulls you to sit down on the floor next to her.

"Everyone got their color-by-number sheets, paints, and brushes?" Julie asks just as she places a sheet of paper in front of you. "Let's begin, then!"

It's fun. It always is, with this group. Barnaby is teasing Julie for painting outside of the lines, and Sally and Howdy have turned it into a competition to see who can finish their painting the fastest. You're happy, laughing along and trying not to spill paint water as you bump elbows with those around you. No one is as good an artist as Wally, but they certainly try, and he's all too happy to help Barnaby get the tiny bits with a detail brush, or help Eddie select the best shade of red. He makes polite conversation, and tells these silly little jokes that aren't really that funny but everyone laughs anyway, and even offers to clean the brushes once the paintings are finished, but–something isn't right. You can tell by looking at him that he's got something on his mind. His eyes are foggy, and his smile doesn't quite stretch his face the way it usually does.

He heads into the kitchen with a cup of dirty paintbrushes, and you quietly murmur to Julie, "I'm going to go help him. Be right back."

You don't give her time to react before you're on your feet, hurrying after him. You sidle up to him, silently watching as he runs each brush under the water, using his fingers to clear the paint away. He doesn't turn to look at you, and so you duck your head forward to try and catch his gaze. He positively avoids eye contact.

Okay. So, something is upsetting him, then.

"Wally?" You try, keeping your voice even. "Are you alright?

He's silent for a moment, hands stilling beneath the faucet. And then, "No. Not really."

He is never usually this upfront about his emotions. New to acknowledging them, he typically spends a lot of time deciphering what he's even feeling before discussing it with you. You'd just seen him yesterday. He was fine and happy and sweet as he dropped you off at your home, and waved goodbye. This–the coolness to his voice, and the stilted look on his face– is a recent development.

"You're mad at me," you say, slowly. The words don't feel right on your tongue. The two of you never fight. You've never even seen him angry. "Aren't you?"

He drops the paint brushes into the sink and sighs. Actually sighs. "No. Not mad at you."

"Mad at something I did, then?" You ask.

He turns to look at you, finally. He is nearly the same height as you, just a tiny bit shorter, but he's able to look directly into your eyes. His mouth is stiff and straight, and you hadn't noticed from far away, but his eyes look dull up close. Lifeless.

"Barnaby said something to me, earlier today," he tells you. "I've been thinking about it."

"Okay," you nod, unsure of where this is going.

"He said, 'if they haven't returned your feelings by now, it's probably because they don't feel the same way, pal,'" Wally does his best Barnaby impression, but it's too slow and a little flat. "And then you came inside, and you sat next to Julie and Howdy! So, I think it must be true. And I am very, very not happy about that. Very…sad. Yes, that's it. I'm sad."

Your heart does this weird thing in your chest, and your stomach tightens. His feelings? What exactly are they specifically? You've upset him, somehow, without even meaning to. You've made him sad without getting a say-so. If he'd just talk to you, you could explain. You could clear things up.

You reach out to take his hand. Physical affection is still new to him, and you know that. You try to be careful; try not to push him. He is learning more and more every single day, and you know that he's grown to love hand-holding. You tangle your fingers with his, and his cheeks go a little pink. You can't stop staring at them.

"Wally," you begin, trying to keep your voice level despite the butterflies in your belly fluttering around because of his touch. "Remember a few months ago, when we talked about how you have to tell me when you're feeling lonely, because I can't just know all on my own?"

He nods. "I remember."

You flash him a small, gentle smile. "Good. Okay, so–all emotions are like that. You have to tell someone what you're feeling. They can't see into your mind."

"But," he starts in a huff, foot tapping against the tiled floor, "Barnaby said-"

"I know what he said," you carefully cut in, giving his hand a little squeeze. "But, this is just like when you're lonely. I can't understand how to help, or make you feel better until you tell me about it. Okay?" He nods. "Alright, so…why don't you try and explain what feelings I supposedly haven't returned."

"It's hard," he says. He lets go of your hand, and leans back against the countertop. "It's different from sadness, or loneliness. I know what they feel like. And I know happiness, too, and even anger. But this is–I don't know what to call it."

You hum, mulling over his words. "Well, can you tell me what it feels like? Physically, I mean. Like when you're sad and your eyes burn, or when you're lonely and your chest hurts."

"It's like," he closes his eyes for a moment. "Hot. My cheeks feel warm, like when I help Poppy take her cookies out of the oven, and the air hits my face."

"Okay," you say. "Good. Keep going."

"And sometimes my stomach, just–I don't know. It feels like there are tiny worms inside, wriggling around," he says.

You think you understand what he's trying to explain. What feeling he's attempting to map. You know it all too well; have been beating it back with a stick to keep it at bay in his presence for weeks and weeks. Still, you don't want to project anything onto him. So, you wave a hand and urge him to continue.

"Sometimes, when you hug Julie, I just get so mad," he murmurs. He is looking at you now, all wide eyes and clenched fists down by his sides. "And when you and Sally go on walks, and she holds your hand, I can't-" He cuts himself off, and takes a deep breath. "Barnaby says it isn't fair to feel like that. He says it's selfish, but I just–I can't help it."

Your lungs seem to stop working within your body, air stuck in your throat. You can't open your mouth; can't unhinge your jaw. You have no way to expel it.

"When you hold my hand, it tingles," he takes a step towards you. "I made Barnaby teach me how to hug because I wanted to do it with you."

You remember that whole debacle. When you first moved to Home, about a month into your friendship, you'd tried to give Wally a hug. He had totally gone limp in your arms, unaware of how to even hug back. And then, suddenly, a couple of weeks later, he'd gotten better. Was able to slide one arm around your waist. It progressed further with more experience, and now, he is perhaps the best hug-giver in all of Home.

You blink at him. Manage to wheeze out, "You learned how to hug…for me?"

"Yes," he nods. He takes another step towards you, the toes of your shoes touching, and the look in his eyes cannot be described as anything but hopeful. He raises both hands up, up, and cups your cheeks. "I've been watching Frank and Eddie a lot. Barnaby says they have a special kind of love. That they–they're partners, and they've promised themselves to each other."

Your ears are practically on fire, your entire face so hot you know Wally must be able to feel its warmth.

His thumb swipes along the apple of your cheek. "I know that their touches are special. Different from how Barnaby and I touch, or Julie and Sally do. I want–I've been watching them, and I want to have what they have, with you."

"Sometimes, they say 'I love you' to each other, and I know they mean that in a special way, too," He smiles now, soft. Rose-petal delicate around the edges. "I want-"

"Wally," you squeeze your eyes shut so tight you see pops of color behind the lids. Your heart feels as though it is clambering for an escape, trying to make its way up your throat. "Stop, please. I can't–you don't even understand what you're saying right now. You don't know what love is. You don't know what it means."

"That's not fair," he whispers. He brings your face closer to his. "You asked me to explain, so I did. And it isn't–it's not fair for you to decide what I do or don't understand. I'm trying my best."

"I know," you say on an exhale.

"I told you how I feel," he goes on.

"I know," you echo.

"And I know what it means to want to hold someone," he murmurs. "I know, now. I didn't before."

"Before what?" You ask, despite your better judgement.

His eyes sparkle, just a little. Just enough. "Before you."

"Love is a heavy thing, Wally," you tell him. Your knees feel weak, and this is so hard to take in, so hard to conceptualize because you've never let yourself entertain the thought before. But you're trying to get the words out, for him. He deserves your honesty. "When you promise yourself to someone, it's difficult to take it back."

"I wouldn't want to take it back," he rushes out. One of his hands moves around to press against the base of your neck. "Why would I want to take it back?"

"Well," you begin, slow, "you could become unsure-"

"I won't," he interrupts, impatient and jittery.

"You could decide that you didn't mean it."

"Never," he says, almost startled. "If this feeling in my belly and my head and my chest is love, I don't–I'll do everything I can to make sure that it never goes away."

"There are lots of ways to love somebody," you argue, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Futile. You are fighting a losing battle, and you know it.

"Stop," he pleads, resting his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes. "Just tell me. Was Barnaby right? Do you really not feel the…the same way about me?"

You laugh at this, wet and sticky in the back of your throat. "Has Barnaby ever been right about anything?" You tease.

"Rarely," Wally says with a grin.

"I love you," you tell him. "Like, the same way that Frank and Eddie love each other. I love you like a promise."

"Like a promise," he repeats. He moves back, far enough that you can see how big his smile stretches his face, but he's still got one palm on your cheek, and the other on your neck. "Like-"

He leans forward and presses a closed-mouth kiss to your lips, pulling away with a little smack, and a triumphant, "Muah!"

Your eyes go so wide you fear they might roll out of your head, and your face is so hot it might as well be spewing flames. Wally is standing there, looking pleased with himself and the tiniest bit smug, and a laugh startles its way up your throat like bubbles. You playfully shove at his shoulder, and fall into him as you laugh harder.

"I saw Frank and Eddie do that, too," he tells you, one arm wrapping around your waist.

"Of course you did," you mumble into his neck, grin splitting your face. "That's not–it wasn't quite right, but the effort was there."

"I'll get better with practice," he says.

Scandalized, you pull away to look at him, mouth agape. "Wally Darling! Are you flirting with me right now?"

"Yes," he says, blunt. He smiles bright and pretty, and boops your nose with his finger. "I've read two of Julie's romance books. I'm a very fast learner."

You return his smile, and press a hand to your chest, right over your heart. You feel positively full to bursting, and you know that, whatever comes next, things won't be smooth sailing always. Wally has a lot of growing to do, and you're going to have to learn to support him along the way. Love is not clear-cut; isn't written in permanent ink on notebook paper. It ebbs and flows like watercolor paint, and can wash away as quickly as it came.

But–Wally looks at you, skin yellow-orange beneath the dull, overhead lights, and he grins wide and infectious and so, so pretty. He leans forward to press another kiss to your cheek, smacking a second, "muah!" into your ear, and it isn't everything. It isn't an answer, or the end-all be-all. But it is good, and right. And it is enough.

[iusedtohavesixtoes]

Happy birthday, Byleth!

Here’s a mini story under the cut I wrote to celebrate. Forgive any spelling errors.

Seteth had overslept.

He had planned this whole thing out in his mind, waking early, getting the gift wrapped neatly, finding the Professor with her father in the Captain’s office like she usually was in the early mornings before training.

Instead, he had gasped awake from a nightmare of his daughter lying bloodless on the floor, ran to check on Flayn, caught her trying to manage her curls in her nightdress, was kicked out of her room, and left in the hall with mind, and heart, racing.

The Professor would have already moved on to train. He rubbed his eyes, ran fingers through his own hair and noted he too needed to brush.

Seteth got himself ready, tucking his gift gently against his chest and set out to the grounds.

Only to be stopped by not one, but two, students who wished to transfer to the Professor’s class. “Just before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” he asked, exasperated.

Linhardt nodded. “Hanneman wants me on the front lines and that’s a no from me.”

“I saw how good she can fight, and I know she’ll make me even stronger!” Caspar added, pumping a fist in the air.

“Right now?” With enthusiastic nods, he sighed. “Follow me to my office.”

With things signed and students moved, he finally was able to get to the training grounds. He opened the doors to see no one there.

And as he turned, knowing she could not have gotten far to the bathhouses to freshen up, he realized he had left the gift on his desk.

With the morning scrapped, he went to grab breakfast.

“Oh, brother!” Flayn greeted him, hair brushed through and no more sleepy ire in her tone. “How did she like it?”

“I haven’t had a moment to give it to her.” Seteth sat with a frown. “I have forgotten it in my office.”

His daughter giggled and he could only shake his head.

.

The morning rushed by in a flurry of meetings and guidance before he realized he hadn’t found the Professor yet. With his gift in hand, he knew the students and teachers would be let out for lunch soon, and it would be the best time to give it to her.

Of course, it was also the best time for a wyvern to become suddenly hostile. “I apologize, Seteth!” The stablemaster said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always handle them so easily.”

“Better to calm him down than to have anyone’s arm bitten off.” With another weary sigh he held the gift against him as he quickly followed the man out to the stables.

Lunch time ended and classes began again by the time Seteth was done.

And he was covered in mud. There was no easy fix, he would need to go bathe before he met with the Eastern Church representative from Leicester Alliance. The stablemaster thanked him again, Seteth would never dare to show his frustration at something not under their control, so he accepted the gratitude then moved back to his apartments.

Freshened up, meeting done, and it was time for tea with Rhea. “How are the wyverns?” she asked with a small bit of amusement in her voice he didn’t appreciate.

“Just fine,” he sniffed, then took a slow sip of tea.

.

Dinner rolled around quicker than he expected. Flayn was eating with her new class, so Seteth decided it was best for him to not interrupt and take his meal in his office.

Just as he sat at his desk, he remembered he had left his gift in the stables. With a gasp, he nearly spilled his water as he stood up to go retrieve it.

Seteth swung open the door to see the Professor. “Oh!” He blinked, she raised a brow. “Professor!”

“Byleth.”

“Yes, ah, my apologies but I have forgotten—”

“This?” Seteth sighed as she held up the neatly wrapped present. He accepted it as she added, “I bumped into the stablemaster and he wanted me to give it to you.”

They stared at the gift Seteth wondering when exactly this day went wrong. “I thank you. Um.” He awkwardly held it out to her. “It’s actually for you.”

Byleth looked down. “Oh.”

“Yes, ah. It’s your birthday.” Seteth could feel his cheeks burn at his fumbled message. “I mean to say, it is your birthday.”

Byleth’s mouth quirked up as he took a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddess—Happy birthday, Byleth.”

“Thank you.” And somehow he didn’t melt when her fingers lingered on his as she took the gift back from him. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no, um, problem. After everything you have done for me this month. I…well, I hope you find it useful.” Seteth placed his hands behind his back, willing himself not to mess up this next sentence. “Have you eaten dinner? I can share.”

“I have.” For a strange reason he felt himself deflate, but then nearly blushed when Byleth smiled up at him again. “But would you like some company?”

“I would.” Seteth stepped aside and let her walk into his office.

And when the months grew frigid and the wind had everyone bundling up, Seteth saw Byleth wearing the white scarf in the distance and hid his smile in his own.

[darth-mortem]

Here is the second chapter of fic I write for PriceGhostWeek2024

chapter 1

The disgusting squeaking in Price’s ears gradually subsided. He moved and, realizing that he was lying face down in the mud that had been eroded by the rainstorm, slowly got up, propping himself up on his elbows. Riley was next to him. He seemed to be cursing, clutching the radio in his hand, but the captain thought his voice was coming from somewhere far away. This effect wore off only when the lieutenant angrily threw the radio to the ground and turned to Price.

“Sir.” He said hoarsely, but completely calmly, as if he hadn't just scolded someone on the other end of the channel. “We didn't make it. The heli took off and won't return until the storm subsides. But the pilot spotted a building a click and a half away. Maybe we can find shelter there.”

“Ghost.” Price struggled to stand upright and sit down on the storm-swept ground. “Are you broken?”

“Negative.” The lieutenant shook his head, picked up his radio, got to his feet, and held out his hand to Price. “Come on, Captain, we have to go.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

Price remembered how they got to the building in fragments. At first, he shifted his feet, holding on to Ghost. Trees, hills, and huge rocks passed by; a storm threw rain in their faces, and their feet sank into the soggy clay soil. The captain thought he was walking, but then his vision was obscured by darkness, and he felt his head bobbing in time with the lieutenant's footsteps: Price saw Riley's boots, heard his raspy breathing, and felt the firm grip of his steel fingers. Ghost was carrying him again, holding his forearm and his uninjured leg. The captain wanted to say that he could walk on his own, but he slipped back into the darkness of oblivion.

The next awakening seemed pleasant to Price, considering everything that had happened earlier. The dull pain in his leg bothered him, but he was warm, and it was almost quiet around him. Opening his eyes, the captain realized that Riley had dragged him to the building the pilot had pointed out. It seemed to be a small hunting or forestry hut, with walls of darkened timber, boarded-up windows, and a cast iron stove with a crackling fire, near which the lieutenant was doing something. He hung wet gear and clothes around him, apparently only Price's, because he remained clothed and masked. When Riley looked back, the captain saw that he had cleaned his skull mask of blood.

“Welcome back, sir.” Ghost said.

“What do we have here?” Price asked hoarsely, lifting his heavy head.

He was lying on a bench made of boards, covered with some old, tattered, but warm blankets that the lieutenant had probably found in the house. In addition, the outline of a table and a pair of stools could be seen in the darkness against the opposite wall. A rusty bucket stood by the door, and on the small stovetop, Riley was stirring something in a dented aluminum pot.

“I sewed and bandaged your wound.” The lieutenant began to report. “There was nothing useful in this hut except blankets, a stove, and dry firewood. We have rainwater, but no food except for a few of our MREs. I managed to contact the base, and they said the storm should pass in a few days.”

“Well, it could be worse.” Price slowly sat up, wrapping himself in the blankets, and felt dizzy, but it quickly receded.

“Yeah.” Ghost agreed and took the pot off the stove. “You need to eat, sir. Here, take a spoon, but be careful; it's hot.”

The pot ended up on the bench next to the captain. The lieutenant took a folding spoon from the pocket of his tactical vest hanging near the stove and handed it to the captain. Price noticed that his clothes were still damp and frowned slightly.

“You need to eat too.” He said. “And dry off.”

“I'm fine.” Ghost replied, pulled up a stool, and sat down next to the bench Price was sitting on.

The captain did not argue, but after eating half the contents of the pot, he left the spoon inside and looked at the silent and motionless Ghost.

“Eat.” He repeated firmly and added. “That's an order.”

Riley stared at him for a few seconds, then took the pot, which was already cool enough to hold, and turned his back on the captain, lifting the edge of his mask to the bridge of his nose. Price realized that he had never seen the lieutenant eat or drink before, remembered the lack of photos in his file, and wondered why there was such a high level of classification. He remained silent while Riley ate, while he went outside to rinse the pot under the streams of rain, poured water into it from a bucket, and put it on the stove. The captain spoke only when the lieutenant took metal cups from their backpacks and began to search for something in his tactical vest.

“Ghost.” Price called out softly, and Riley gave him a quick glance as he pulled an opaque polyethylene ziplocked bag from one of his pockets. “Why did you come back for me? That was completely untactical. We both could have been killed.”

“I'm already dead, sir.” The lieutenant replied and opened the ziplock.

Inside were several cigarettes and tea bags. Seeing this, Price smiled involuntarily, appreciating the lieutenant's level of forethought. It was supposed to be a short mission, and yet this Briton did not rule out the possibility of having a cup of tea.

“You're not dead.” The captain shook his head, watching Riley count the bags and hide all but one. “It doesn't matter what your file says. You breathe, you eat, you drink, and I'm sure that if you get hurt, you'll bleed and feel pain. Leave those stories for the rookies.”

Ghost sighed heavily as he poured boiling water into the cups. Holding a teabag in the one belonging to the captain, he transferred it to his own, realizing that they had to save everything they have.

“Sometimes I doubt it.” He said very quietly, handing Price his tea and one of his cigarettes.

The captain was struck by the desperation in Ghost's voice. It was the first time the lieutenant had ever been betrayed by his usual equanimity and demonstrated his true feelings.

“I came back for you because you're the only one who doesn't hate me.” Riley continued to speak quietly, clutching his cup in his hands. “I know you don't like me, but you've always been good to me, and... I like you, sir.”

Price was waiting for Ghost to add something like 'like you as a commander', but he didn't. The lieutenant sat there with his head down, then put his cup down and started rummaging through the pockets of his tactical vest again, looking for a lighter. He seemed embarrassed by what he had said.

The captain suddenly felt very sorry for him. He realized that Riley didn’t become this way from a good life. One could only guess how much pain and horror he had experienced in captivity in Mexico and how much it had changed him, turning him into the terrifying Ghost, who never took off his mask.

“Simon.” Price spoke, taking a drag on his cigarette, and Riley jerked as if he'd been hit. “Show me your face.”

“Is that an order?” The lieutenant asked in an icy tone.

“Negative.” The captain smiled softly. “It's a request. Please, Simon, show me your face. I want to know what the man who saved my life looks like.”

Ghost exhaled a hoarse, convulsive breath, almost sobbing. His hands trembled, and some of the tea he hadn't even tasted spilled onto the floor. Price gently took the cup from him, placing it on the bench next to his own, and was about to tell Riley not to worry and that he didn't have to do what he asked if he didn't want to when the lieutenant pulled off his mask with a jerky motion and dropped it to the floor, hiding his face in his hands.

“There you go, lad.” Price reached forward and touched Ghost's arm lightly. “It's okay. It's okay.”

Slowly and gently, he took the lieutenant's wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. Riley didn't resist, just started shivering and almost moaned when he felt the captain take his chin, urging him to lift his head.

“You did good, lad.” Price continued to say, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

It seemed to help. Ghost closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing, and the captain silently looked at his face, covered with terrible and still very fresh scars.

There were scars on his forehead, on his temple, on the bridge of his nose, on his chin, and on his throat. One, vertical, crossed the lieutenant's thin lips, and the other two, the largest, uneven and bulging, bisected his cheeks, drawing a terrible Glasgow smile on his face. Price had seen all sorts of sick shit during his years in the military, but this... One can only imagine how much suffering Riley had endured and how many scars like this or even worse covered his body. Now the captain understood why the lieutenant never took off his mask in front of others. Even he, an experienced soldier, was shocked by what he saw; what to say about the rookies, the base staff, or civilians?

“Your tea is getting cold.” Nevertheless, Price spoke calmly and gently, handing Riley his cup.

The lieutenant silently took it and made a couple of sips, looking uncertainly at the captain: he did not look frightened, there was no disgust on his face, and on the contrary, he smiled warmly, looking in Riley's eyes.

“Want a drag?” The captain continued and held out a cigarette. “Go ahead and finish it. We have to save them too, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Finally, Riley spoke, inhaled the bitter smoke, and exhaled slowly, throwing his head back. “Captain?”

“What, Simon?”

“Thank you.” The lieutenant looked in his eyes.

Price smiled, then reached out and stroked Riley's cheek, lightly at first, then more firmly when he saw that he didn't mind. Ghost bowed his head, rubbing against the rough but gentle palm, and the captain involuntarily thought about how long it had been since this man had felt even such a simple and uncomplicated caress.

“It’s I who thank you, Simon.” He said. “I owe you one now.”

Price patted the bench next to him, and the lieutenant sat down humbly, letting the captain’s arm around his shoulders, then Ghost putting his face under the caress again. However, Price didn't last long—his leg started to hurt again, and weakness spread through his body. Riley helped him to lie down and then began to walk back and forth, washing cups, turning clothes to dry, putting wood in the stove... Before Price finally drifted off to sleep, he realized that Riley had not put his mask back on.