#first time drawing price Lord help

[cannibl-canine]

guys girl or boy 💥

I wouldn't actually hc ghost as trans I just really wanted an excuse to make this trend HEHHEHHEHEH.

[sollis-occasum]

you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning

word count: 3.8k

a/n: First of all, I must say that English is not my native language. Also this is my first x reader format fanfiction. I'm pretty sure I made some mistakes but I hope you don't mind guys. I am always open to your suggestions ♡

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of ​​you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced ​​the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

[littlest-w01f]

Flight

Azriel x Reader

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Azriel the usually confident male confesses his feelings for his closest friend

CW: Fluff, wing clipping, fluff

Azriel couldn't believe himself, not when it came to you. How could he have females swoon over just a word from him but could not put what he felt for you each time he looked at you.

The way he smiled at you when you weren't looking, the way he blushed whenever his shadows refused to listen to him and stayed in your hair. It seemed they felt for you precisely what he did, after all, they were an extension of him. He couldn't let go of the feeling of butterflies in his stomach whenever you smiled at him. He had to talk to you, to tell you about how you made him feel. You were one of his closest friends for Couldren's sake.

You stood outside in the balcony of the House of Winds, your Illyrian wings were scared, your family was cureler to their females than usual, you had your wings main membrain, having to carry their weight while the thinner membrains were ripped out, making them useless.

You smiled at the night sky, you always enjoyed being that the House of Winds, you could see the night sky clearer from the hight of the home, the stars always seemed closer like this, as if you could still fly.

"y/n?" You hear Azriel call out when you turn to look at him, his shadows rush to you, playing with your hair drawing a chuckle from you, "How are you feeling?"

You frown slightly at him, "I'm alright, why do you ask?"

"I just..." Azriel came to stand next to you, smiling as his shadows nuzzled into your cheeks. "You looked all sad and melancholy, so I... I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"I'm not sad," You smile at him, and turn to look back at the sky, "Well, not anymore atleast."

It had only been a few years since you had lost your wings, your wings were a price their inner circle had to pay after Rhysand became High Lord and gave the first command to ban clipping Illyrian females, you were kidnapped while you were in Windhaven with Cassian, a note insulting Rhysand's law in your bed, and in a day of Cassian and Azriel searching for you, they had received the thin membranes of your wings delivered to Rhysand's mother's house.

Azriel had found you soon after that, you were passed out chained up in a small cave of an Illyrian mountain, your father's and brothers's blood coating him as he had gently unchained your wrists and placed your cloak to cover you, his scared hands trembling as his tears feel to your limp body covered in tiny cuts and bruises, his shadows crazed at the thought of you hurt, trying to soothe your cuts with their cool touch.

Things were quiet, Azriel simply watched you admire the sky, he looked over your face as if memorising every inch of you, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it instantly.

The shadows he had on him whispered in his shoulder when his eyes lit up. "Do you want to go flying?"

"I can't...?" You offer a little confused, moving your wings slightly to prove it.

Azriel's eyes go a little wide and a blush forms on his cheeks, "Oh, I meant, flying with me... I can carry you."

You look at him for a second with a smile stretched across your lips, "You'd take me flying for fun?" The only time you had flown was with the help of Cassian and Rhysand to bring you up and down the House of Winds, they had quite politely put it that Azriel 'did not like passengers'.

"Yeah. I will take you if you want to," Azriel's heart was hammering, matching the speed of yours as you nodded and stepped closer to him. He stretched his wings as he took your hand, wrapping one arm around your waist, his shadows played with your cheeks, hiding in your hair, the two of you froze when Azriel wrapped his arms around you completely, a second in that closeness, a golden thread connected you to him.

Azriel smiled like a faeling with a crush, shooting up to the sky, making you chuckle and wrap your arms around his neck, you smiled wide, seeing the stars at the closeness, the familiar one as Azriel kept going higher, having you both in mid-air he spoke.

"How I wished there was a bond for us, my love." Azriel breathed out, spinning both of you around in the air, his hand joining his shadows over your cheeks, you were still dazzled at the feel of the mating bond forming, "So that there will be something to explain why I feel for you as strongly as I do."

"How I looked up at the same stars you look at and hoped that if I couldn't be bold enough to ask you to be mine, something would align in my favour." Azriel smiled at you while floating, his tone different than you had ever heard, softer, gentler.

"I like you too, Az." You whispered softly, your arms holding tight to not fall into the sidra. As you looked at him, you realised that you had never been this close to him before.

Azriel smiled, releasing a loud sigh, "I'm glad, otherwise my ten step first date I have planned for us with all of your favourite things to do might have made me look like an idiot."

"I... I would like that." You beamed up at him. Your heart beating like a hummingbird's, "To... To go on a date with you."

"And," Azriel looked a little nervous, "If you still like me by the end of it, maybe we could be something more than friends?"

You nod happily, "Yes. Yes, I'd loved that."

He pulled you in for a soft kiss, a laugh leaving you after you pulled back, "My mate," Azriel smiled after the kiss, the shadows that wrapped themselves around his hand and your face seemed to growl.

"Fine," Azriel rolled his eyes making you snort softly, "Our mate." He corrected before pulling you back in a kiss. His shadows content on your body, pushing your body close to his, enveloping you both in their enclosed darkness.

{Azriel Masterlist: @fxckmiup}

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How to Plant Snapdragons

Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Keegan & König X Female Criminal!Reader (Captain Price, because he'll be like a father to the bunch, and König and Keegan won't appear until later on in the story) SYNOPSIS: You are a criminal who is forced to join and help Task Force 141 with their mission under the order of General Shepherd.

PREFACE

Maybe being in prison wasn’t so bad. At least, some inmates there were actually kind of friendly and wouldn’t be able to kill you in an instant. Maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself get caught and thrown behind bars in the first place. Maybe you should have run away instead.

At least there wouldn’t be big men who were trained to snap bones, shoot a bullet through your head, and gut you if had stayed quiet. At least there wouldn’t be big men chasing after your head if you had been obedient.

Except, obedience wasn’t in your vocabulary.

Most of the time.

Well, having men with big biceps, thick thighs, and broad chests ordering you around wasn’t so bad in a while, yeah?

CONTENT WARNING: Strong Language WORD COUNT: 2.5k

"Have you ever heard of a mountain chicken?"

For the fourth time, since you had gotten on the road or rather, the sky since you were on a noisy as hell helicopter or chopper (whatever it was called), Laswell sighed. This was the first time someone had annoyed her this much to the point she had considered snapping your neck.

You had already told her a bunch of terrible dad jokes, dark jokes that even Satan would be proud of you, and puns you could think of, and only once did the woman laugh, and it was the most monotonous and insincere laugh you had heard in a while.

You were going insane. Laswell thought of that too.

No phone during the ride—not even a fucking radio to listen to old songs or news! You were used to listening to music while looking out of any vehicle you were on.

Like bruh, what could be more boring than having nothing to fiddle on during long-ass rides that you wouldn't know when to finally end? Especially when you could see nothing but the gray sky, snow-covered mountains, white forests, trees, and even more trees. There were some occasional odd-shaped clouds, bringing floating whites around.

You turned your face at her again, leaning a bit close to her, and whispered, "So, have you ever heard of a—shit!”

The helicopter shook a bit, making you again hold onto your chair for dear life. It wasn’t that you were afraid of heights. You’ve had your fair share of sky diving, bungee jumping, roller coasters, and stuff, but falling off in the middle of nowhere? Who would like that? You ain’t Tarzan to survive living in a fucking jungle. And the jungle Tarzan grew up in wasn’t covered in ice.

You ain’t dying until you see the ending of your favorite animes, manhwa, mangas, books, and dramas.

"Good Lord, what the fu—" You pursed your lips into a thin line the moment you saw Laswell's burning glare, ready to throw you off the flying transport and watch you break your bones when you slam on the surface of the earth, then rejoice when a pack of wolves makes you their dinner.

You simply look out to the forest and rest your head on the chair. “Maybe if you had let me at least have some papers and pen to draw or a book, I would have stayed quiet,” you mumbled and waited for a reply that never came.

Guess you’d just spend the rest of the flight, making scenarios in your head with your fictional husbands.

“Inbound in one minute,” said the guy in front of the helicopter, steering the wheel and making the vehicle tilt to the left.

You peered through the window by your side, almost planting your face against the glass to see where you guys were supposed to land. And there it was, a massive military base. Even from afar, you could see the buildings where soldiers probably lived and wide spaces where they trained or parked the vehicles they used for transport and battles.

You squinted your eyes as the helicopter flew closer and closer to the base. You passed through the gate and watchtowers, spotting some soldiers walking and some jeeps (if they do call those jeeps) driven around the land. It did not take long for the helicopter to touch down on the landing pad, and through the window, you noticed some people coming close.

Kate opened the door and both of you were greeted by the harsh, freezing wind caused by the chopper’s blades. The older women easily jumped down, but you remained inside, turning to the pilot and holding onto the headrest of his seat.

“Hey, Mister,” you said as the heavy noises around you started to die down and smiled at him when he faced you with a frown, wrinkles on his forehead and eyes becoming evident. “What’s your name?”

“. . . Nikolai,” he answered after a good couple of seconds and quickly turned his attention forward.

“Say, Nikolai, can you teach me how to drive this—hey!” An arm grabbed the back of your collar, forcefully dragging you out. You stumbled on your feet as you landed on the concrete, the snow created a crisp crunch beneath your boots and you grimaced as your hair stuck to your mouth. “Goddamnit, Laswell, I was just trying to make a conversation!” you shouted as she let you go.

“You can have those conversations later,” she claimed.

You followed her, swiping the strands of hair from your mouth. “Ah, shit, fuck.” You groaned in frustration as you felt a sting in both your eyes, making you unable to open them.

“Is this her?” asked Price, scanning you from head to toe, before eyeing Laswell.

“Yeah, she’s a real pain in the ass, I’m telling you,” the older woman answered with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what had gotten into the General’s head to have a criminal in the 141.”

You made no comment about her words, knowing it was true. Rubbing your painful eyes, you turned to the right, assuming Kate was there. “Hey, Laswell, you got some water? I got something in my eyes.” You let out a squeak when you slammed against a post, but certainly, this post didn’t feel like a post, and men in the military were trained to become brick walls.

“Who the heck would just stand in the way . . .” You tried to open an eye, which made it water, but you held it in to look up at the guy. He wore a vest over a tight-fitting shirt (who the fuck would wear a shirt in winter) and denim pants to pair it. But what got your attention was his dumb haircut that ruined his cute face and you couldn’t help but ask, “Did a rooster do your hair?”

A snort came from the other side followed by a cough.

“Really, Gaz?” Soap grumbled, motioning a hand. Though, he wasn’t really offended. He had heard people comment on his hair, but did that stop him from rocking the damn haircut? No shit.

“Sorry,” Gaz replied, amusement still evident in his voice.

At the same time, you stepped away and continued rubbing your eyes, which had gone a bit better. “Forget the water, I’m good now.”

“Told you, she’s a pain in the ass,” Laswell once again claimed, making you roll your eyes, and finally look around you. “Well, these are the men you will be working with from now on.” She nodded at the four guys standing with you two and gave your shoulder a couple of heavy pats. “Listen to them well. Otherwise, you know what Shepherd and I will do to you.”

Listen to them well, like the good dog you were trained to be. Otherwise, they would just throw you away like a useless tool you were.

Or worse, they would keep you as their trophy, to be paraded around.

Well, you could live with that as long as they give you lots of food and money. At least, you would be able to smell the shits your prisonmates took every single fucking day, get slapped every time you woke up, or get picked on every time you were out of the wards’ sight.

Some inmates were kind enough to help you, but they were in a different cell. Oh, how you wish you could say goodbye to those women.

You pursed your lips and sighed, nodding. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. I’ll leave her in your care, boys.” Kate waved them goodbye, before climbing back into the chopper.

“What, wait!” You yelled at her, which made her raise a brow. “Can I have a phone?” You flashed a big smile.

Laswell smiled back, but in the way, she looked ready to prostate you to the floor and command the 141 to shoot you until their bullets ran out. “For the last time, no.”

“Come on!” You whined, throwing your hands in the air. “You won’t let me use my phone, you won’t even let me bring books or anything to entertain myself with. This isn’t any better than being in jail where people make you eat the shit they pulled out of their assholes after dinner and make a makeshift knife with a fucking toothbrush they used to clean the toilet they sleep next to.”

You talked fast enough to make you sound like an annoying mosquito that couldn’t be killed in the middle of the night while people were sleeping. You phased back and forth as you rambled, exaggeratedly waving your hands as if that would make your points clearer.

It didn’t.

It only made some soldiers who were passing by believe that you were a mentally ill hostage the Task Force 141 recently caught.

But what would they get out of a woman with screws loose?

“She’s got no filter on,” Soap mumbled in bewilderment, leaning a bit to Ghost, who remained still. “I've had my fair share of hearing curses in different languages but a bloody detailed story of how people eat shit? Goddamn.”

“You should be more concerned about what kind of prison she came from,” Gaz responded in a low voice, shaking his head in disgust as they listened to you tell the agent about an inmate accidentally swallowing a roach.

“You two should be thinking about how to make that damn mouth shut up,” Ghost declared, shooting a glance to the side and wanting to get away as soon as he could. Had Shepherd gone mad to let this clucking woman out? Did you perhaps swallow a cricket in jail and that was why you wouldn’t stop being noisy?

Captain Price sighed and shook his head.

Laswell looked away from you as if that would make you shut up, but then she remembered the helicopter had doors. She slammed it close and breathed in relief as your voice got blocked.

What on Earth did she do to the General to make her deal with you?

She motioned a hand. “Get going, Nikolai, before she gets even more crazy than she already is.”

“Solid copy,” Nikolai replied, joy clear in his tone. He prayed to never hear a damn word from you again.

“At least let me have access to Archive of Our Own!”

The helicopter started, and the blades created an awful whirring sound as it slowly raise, bringing harsh wind to slap you in the face, to tell you Laswell wasn’t going to give you enough shit anymore.

You once threw again your hands up in the air in defeat. “Fucking hell.” Then, you turned around, remembering you had some new company with you.

“Welcome to Task Force 141,” Price said and extended a gloved hand to you, which you quickly received.

You shook it and flashed a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Captain. I hope to be . . . in use of you and the group.” You wished you could cut off your tongue as soon as those words rolled out.

You did not like being dragged out of the prison, so you could help some supposedly good guys under the command of a bald general, who fucking guilt trip you about saving you from behind bars like some kind of Asian parent. The old man even praised himself that he was your savior like a goddamn stuck-up saint with a god complex.

Oh, how you wish you could file his bald head with a cheese grater.

“I hope so, too.” Price turned and walked away, which was the cue for you to follow him.

You padded behind him like a puppy that found its new owner. Your eyes darted around in curiosity and greedily taking in the details in everything you could see at the moment, until your gaze shifted to Kyle, who walked beside you. You stared at him just as he stared down at you, and as he was about to smile, you turned away.

Cute guy, you thought, but you liked fictional men better. You gazed from left to right as you entered a building. There was nothing much to see but hallways.

Gaz’s eyebrow twitch. Did he just get ignored? Alright, he would let you get away from it for now. Got to be nice and show some hospitality towards the newcomer, even if you shouldn’t be here in the first place. But seriously, you looked like you had a jar of crack and a few gallons of Monster mixed with coffee up your ass to even walk.

Then, he pulled a face when he saw Soap’s smug look. This fucking rooster.

“Ah, right, Captain,” you began once again, after a short while of silence, “Laswell mentioned about you having something to discuss with me?”

“Yes, but I prefer to talk about it in my office.” Price turned to a corner.

“Oh, okay—I mean, copy that, sir.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the opposite hallway from where the Captain was leading you four.

It didn’t take long until Price halted before a door, prompting the rest of you to stop. He pushed it open and nodded at you. “Ladies first.”

You tilted your head. “Sir? But you’re my superior and I’m sure gender doesn’t matter in this—”

“Oh, just enter.” Soap draped his arm around your shoulder and dragged you inside the room. “He’s the Captain and that’s why you follow his orders.” He motioned his finger in front of you.

“Ah, yes . . . sir.” You shot a glance at his arm that pulled you close to him, the muscles used to do heavy work, the hand that could easily grab your neck or face to make you shut the hell up or manhandle you. Then, you look to your other side, welcomed by his—sweet Jesus, how big were those boobs? You tapped your fingers on your thigh, fighting the urge not to put your hand on them and bury your face between them.

Ah, maybe being in the military wasn’t so bad.

Would you be able to experience this more if you disobey?

“I’ll keep it simple,” Price said and leaned on the desk behind him, crossing his arms. “You are to follow our orders. You are forbidden to be out of sight of the team for more than 20 minutes, and to monitor your movements, Laswell left me something.” Price extended an object to Gaz, which the younger man whistled upon sight.

You grimaced at the ankle monitor on his hand. “Can’t I just be as obedient as you want me to be?”

Price shook his head with a soft smile. ���Sorry, young lady, that won’t do.”

Gaz dropped on one knee before you. It would have been nice, had not it to put the goddamn monitor on you, and if not Soap tightened his grip as if you’d run away. As if they couldn’t disable you in a blink.

For a moment, the thought of cutting off your foot crossed your mind, but they would only put the monitor in your other leg, and you weren’t fucking Wolverine or Deadpool.

You wiggled your left leg after Kyle was done, feeling heavier than ever before.

You were taking back what you said. This shit sucked.

And it didn’t stop you from running away the next few days.

Chapter 2 is here and the Masterlist!

You can also read the series on AO3 here.

[captainjamster]

Price x Reader - Shower Comfort

Pairing(s): Price x fat!Reader (SFW) Warnings: Non-sexual nudity and intimacy, mentions of sex, disordered eating and body image issues Wordcount: 3.1k Summary: John knows how to protect you from every knife, gun, bomb and other weapon he can think of, but he doesn't know how to protect you from the deep-rooted dislike you throw at your body. It takes him some time, but John realises that the best protection he can give you is unbreakable self-confidence, supplied by his endless love and adoration. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Realised that this was only on my AO3 so I thought I'd post it here. The world needs more fat!readers and lord knows John Price is the right man to appreciate them. As I mentioned in my AO3 upload, this is inspired by 391780 and their Soft fic!

Full fic is under the cut <3

It’s your first shower together since a long, eight-month deployment. The times you spend together under the water are few and far between, even though it seems like a given for couples living together, but John understands why. When you first hesitantly agreed to a shower together, he thought that his wishful thinking had finally become so strong that he was desperately hearing things. For a man who wakes most mornings with the ringing of screams and gunshots within his ears, the self-deception of his senses isn’t entirely abnormal. Yet when he turned from the door to see you peering bashfully out past the glass, steam curling around you in lazy tendrils as it beckoned him in, he swears that he had never undressed faster – not even during the timed, godawful recruit showers.

He frequently asks; never pushing or demanding, but allowing you an opportunity to decline the invitation. After sex, as the shower warms under his hand and he watches you lay on the bed, hair spread out angelically as you catch your breath, he always lets you shower first. Calling your name, watching you sit up and draw the covers against your body with those wide, shy eyes, as if the bruises of his fingertips and mouth don’t rest on every part of your plush body that he could reach. You hide in the draping sheet as it trails along behind you (and John has to forcefully ignore how similar it is to the long, white dresses he dreams of seeing you in), pressing a gentle, thankful kiss against his cheek before playfully ushering him out the slowly steaming room. His reminders are playful each time – “just give us a shout if y’need any professional help with your hair, love – I mean, just look at these chops” - and he adores the roll of your eyes, the giggles, scoffs and huffs, maybe a poked-out tongue and a scrunched-up face he glimpses before you disappear behind the door.

Sometimes - to the displeasure of his guilt - he feels grateful for, even thanks your disposition to shyness. It keeps you docile, so sweet and nervous amidst the company of others, shying from the light and attention. If another man – another woman, anyone – found the side of you that he has, he would be beyond lost. He has no clue how he would stop them falling in love as fast and deeply as he did. John supposes, though he would never admit it to you, that he’s fond of the introversion you hold yourself with; certainly not fond of why you’re so withdrawn, feeling himself bristle at the reasons you’ve shared with him each time, furious at the way it manifests into your low self-confidence and insecurity. But he can’t help but love that you trust him enough to give him growing glimpses into the person that you keep reserved inside your mind, wrestling with a fierce possessiveness that wants to keep it only for himself.

For these reasons, John immediately notices that you’re much more shy than usual when he comes home. There’s no less enthusiasm in his greeting, your arms wrapping around him tightly as he stands in the doorway. This is his favourite part of coming home – being hit with the smell of you, breathing in whatever meal you’re welcoming him home with, the warmth and tenderness that permeates his worn, tired body as you pull his exhausted soul from its hollow depths and nurture it with all the love you’ve been holding onto in his absence.

He drops his bags, arms coming up to envelope you in a crushing hug, noticing no change in heft as he picks you up – despite your squeals – and swings you carefully, playfully. He does notice the way you pull down your sweater as he puts you down, tugging at the material to distance it from clinging onto your figure. If you asked John, he would honestly answer that you look beautiful in everything. Yet he knows that the clothing you wear can give him little insights into your mind – in the few years you’ve been together, John has learnt that sometimes your actions speak more than you do, and he recognises the loose fabric concealing your silhouette in a swathe of fabric. His concern remains poised, not hasty or assumptive, but ready to strike at the confirmation of your wavering self-confidence.

Your round cheeks flush red as you beam at him, and you look so happy to be reunited in his arms that he tempers his worry to a simmer, on the back burner until it flares again. The optimist in him hopes it’s just a bad day, compared to a loss of progress in his determination to build your self-love, that he can’t help but resent his dedication to the military for causing. However, that chance wilts as the evening drags on, catching the trails of something bigger brewing within the fortitude of your mind.

Your portion is smaller than his, just incrementally, to the point that someone who cared less wouldn’t notice – but John pays close attention to these things. You eat less than you talk as you’re curled up on the couch, hands busy with the glass of water as he quietly rumbles about his deployment. Your flesh melds into his, limbs twisted and tangled together on the soft couch. The fork you occasionally pick up off the plate dances around its rim, pushing the food mindlessly until you finally spear a less than reasonable amount to chew on.

John can work out that nothing else is overtly wrong, and he makes it his duty to soak up everything he’s missed in his absence. His knowledge is supplemented by the weekly calls he salvages in the midst of chaos, whether staring at the blank tent walls nestled in his bunk, or crouched in a vacant street as he listens to the sound of distance bombs and gunfire as your fuzzy voice informs him of your going-ons. You clue him into the normalities now he’s home, updating him about the new neighbours and gossip your dear old neighbour shares when you bring her bins in. He’s proud of you for the small talk, watching you glow with a pleased embarrassment when he tells you so. As the conversation stays lighter with no give-way to any reason for the changes he’s sensing in you, John becomes surer that the body issues you attempt to hide from him are creeping back into the shaky foundations of self-compassion and respect that he tries to instil within you. Though he can’t work out what’s caused it, he knows that there’s not always a reason why, and he’s not going to force it out of you unless he suspects it’s important. That doesn’t stop him from wondering though, mind busy as he cleans up the kitchen, listening to you giggle at the movie playing softly.

In his list of priorities to you, his highest, most valued one is acceptance – perhaps the easiest to keep, considering how sharply your life contrasted with his. John almost thinks it’s ironic; every reassurance he utters to you feels warped, and he wonders how the roles aren’t reversed, how he isn’t on his knees begging for your acceptance. Whenever he comforts you in the depths of your struggles, renewing every vow of love and adoration he’s ever had for you, he can’t help wondering how such a filthy and broken man like him can truly show you what it feels to be cherished.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, pressing his wet hands into his jeans as you thank him for washing the dishes. Always thanking him for doing such menial tasks, so grateful for the smallest thing. He smiles at another predictable ‘thank you’ falling from your mouth as he moves to the bathroom to turn on the shower.

You let him disappear for months at a time, and you worry that he would find anyone else to come back to. He would never tell you that he holds his breath with every return, searching pessimistically for signs of life, a goodbye note on the door, divorce papers on the doormat. Any indication that you’d finally realised what a depraved, moral-less machine his career had turned him into, or recognised that stretched nights apart with nothing but the company of longing and fuzzy, broken-up phone calls are the most he can offer until he retires – if he gets to retire.

He takes a moment to examine the bathroom as he waits for the shower to warm, where he knows that your troubles rage on the most. The scales are peaking out, shadowed by the cabinet they hide under. With a nudge, he scoots them back under, considering the idea of replacing the batteries with dead ones – maybe not. Something to think about later. The mirror is covered by a towel that drapes across it, obscuring the most of its reflection. He’s staring at it as you enter the room, enough towels for the two of you that are placed on the counter. Your entrance distracts his postulations, drawing his gaze as you cross the room. You turn to the shower, opening the door to stick a hand under the stream, and John knows this his natural cue to go. Though his brain sends the conscious thought, imagining his arm extending for the knob and walking out the door, his feet stay in place. Instead, he does something that he’s never done before, pushing boundaries for the both of you. The fat of your bicep is soft, warm as he reaches for your upper arm, holding you back. Surprise colours your face, an inquisitive look at his grip, and he musters back an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. Would… Would y’mind makin’ space for one more in there today?”

He can see the instantaneous dilemma that his question puts you under, torn between your comfort and fulfilment of his request. When you open your mouth, he expects an apologetic but firm no, and he can’t stifle the way his lips turn up in delight as you resign with a small yes. Turning and pretending to be occupied with getting his razor ready at the sink, he gives you a moment to slip out of your clothes, tossing them into the hamper and stepping into the shower. He relishes the sight of your backside as you disappear, stirring a desire he wills down for a more appropriate time.

After giving you a moment to settle, he spins back around to pull off his own clothes, discarding them in the same hamper. As he opens the mottled glass door, the blurriness of your figure dissipates, and John feels the urge to wrap his arms around you and clutch you tightly itch through his limbs. Stepping in, the water is the same blistering heat you like. You always grumble that it’s really a mild temperature, and John’s just accustomed to his cold showers, but John loves arguing back that it wouldn’t be as cold with a lovely partner such as yourself with him.

John is not an oblivious man, and he cannot ignore the signs. He notices the way you face the showerhead, shielding the softest, most vulnerable side of your body from his view. Like his little sunflower, always drawn back to the source of warmth flooding your figures. But John is not a cruel man, either, and he won’t force you to do anything. He nestles himself into the crux of your shoulder, pressing gentle, loving kisses as his arms wrap around your plush figure, feeling the way the fat tenses and sucks in under his pressure, and his heart squeezes in a similar way. You don’t pull away, however, and he takes it as a sign of consent.

“D’you wanna talk, lovey?” He mumbles gently, no petulant expectation or leading to an answer he wants to hear. The question is genuine, to be rejected or accepted, without judgment or consequence. He feels you deflate within his grip, your fortitude crumbling as he probes at things you were hoping to keep hidden for at least another day.

“That obvious, huh?” You huff, a hand coming up to run through his damp hair. The hum of his affirming response vibrates against your neck, and he can smell the fading perfume from when you applied it this morning. “I’m an attentive man, what can I say.”

He can’t help the smile that he presses into your neck as your shoulders shake, pleased to bring small moments of happiness to your day as you respond. “It’s stupid. Gained some weight that just… Fuck, I just can’t shake it.” Your fingers mindlessly run against his, tracing the wrinkles of his knuckles. “Just a few pounds, but it feels like the end of the world.”

John hums apologetically, rubbing his thumb up and down against a patch of your skin. “Why’s it the end of the world, my little dove?”

There’s a quiet hesitance before you confess. “Everyone… All the people you work with must be so fit. Strong, toned, athletic. I don’t know how you spend so much time with such attractive bodies, but feel happy coming home to mine.”

The problem solidifies within his mind, and there’s a relief in understanding what you’re thinking more clearly. “Hear me out, sweetheart,” he asks softly, waiting until you indulge him with a nod. “You could be the smallest or biggest person I’ve seen, and I’d love you no matter what. The fuckers I work with? Their bodies are built for the conditions they’re forced to survive in, ‘course they’re fit darl. Bein’ fit is kind of in the requirements.”

You snort at that, humming with a disgruntled amusement as John continues on. “They want us like that for deployment. Sendin’ us to war-torn countries, usually because of wars we cause, and seein’ the citizens there…” He trails off, taking a breath against your neck as he reminisces. “Kids so skinny that they don’t look real, babies so dehydrated they don’t even cry anymore. Parents going hungry to have their kids eat scraps for just one more day.”

Your silence knocks him into realisation as he ponders, your breathing faster as he notices the way your nails dig into the pad of your skin, and he realises how patronising he sounds without the context of his thoughts.

“I’m not sharing this to make you feel guilty, dove, m’sorry. Not my intention in the slightest.” Apologetic kisses brush up and down your neck, peace offerings to soothe the unintentional lecture as he clarifies his thoughts. “You – your body - reminds me what I’m fightin’ for, love.” He breaks himself off with a long, appreciative kiss on the point of your shoulder. “You are plump, round, well-fed because we have access to food. Because we have a stable house, we don’t walk for miles in need of shelter or a place to sleep. Because we have safe transport, and you can get where you need without walking until your feet bleed. It's somethin' everyone should have, but they don't.”

You turn in his grip, the water streaming down your body as it hits your head. Your eyes look red and a little puffy, and the shower provides a very convenient cover for any tears that might be slipping from your waterline, gazing up at him while he speaks.

“S’isn’t some ‘appreciate your conditions’ speech, sweetheart. I’m tellin’ you, your body is a beautiful reminder for me. Seeing you like this… It reminds me you’re warm, safe, fed - unexposed to the cruelty of my career 'n the havoc that we follow.” A hand comes up to cup your cheek, running a thumb along the skin affectionately. Yours comes up to rest against it, soaking in the warmth of his contact.

He can see your brain processing the information, and he knows that some part of you is looking for doubt, scrutiny at his declarations, that he pokes at teasingly. “Ey, before that little mind of yours runs off – even if your body changes, it stays the same. You lose weight? I’m happy you can do it voluntarily. Y’gain weight? I’m glad you’re eatin’ well, and you know I’ll always work with you if you want to lose it; but you’re not changin’ your body for me, only with me.” He knows the words ring true, looking at a flush of shame in being caught that lights your cheeks at his words, a sheepish, watery smile tugging at your lips as you prepare a defence.

He soldiers on, cutting off whatever argument you’re mustering up. “I know how y’feel about yourself won’t change with some words, darl. I’ll remind you any time, until you believe me. 'Til then, I’ll love you enough for both of us."

There’s a pause as you stare wordlessly, mouth slightly agape as you try to find a response. John’s confused as your hand leaves his, coming up to rest against his own cheek as your expression becomes a determined adoration. Questions are on the tip of his tongue, but you shove them back down his throat as your lips meet, and it’s John’s turn to find himself wordless. He’s captured by your act of affection, feeling the wetness of your cheeks as your nose bumps with his. Despite that you pull the slightest bit back, John doesn’t let you shy away from your stomach and chest pressing against his, running his hands along the dips of your back and holding you close.

It's only the need for air that has him pulling back to breathe, seeing your nose scrunch as the hairs of his beard tickle your face. A rush of affection floods through him so fiercely it almost sweeps him off his feet, squeezing at your hips. “I was doin’ so badly you had to shut me up, huh?” He jokes, underhandedly checking whether he had really helped. Satisfaction fills him as you roll your eyes, grinning as your head comes to rest against his chest, diverting the rivulets dribbling through his chest hair. “Always the pessimist. Maybe it was a reward for doing so well, John.”

He can feel his own chest rumble with a surprised laugh, steadying your head from jumping with each chuckle using a gentle hand. “You’d love me if I came home half a person, sweet thing. I don’t need a reward; I’ll love you no matter how much fat is on you.” His hand is slick as it runs down your hair, petting you gently. The shower is a warm blanket that cascades over your entangled figure, and as he feels you relax further into his body, John can’t help but hope that just maybe, you’d let him shower with you more frequently.

[world-of-aus]

More than Business

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Authors Note: I was not expecting the first part to get as much love as it has but  I can’t thank you all for the excitement you showed on that first piece. Hoping you all enjoy this second part as much as the first, there will be a third and hopefully final piece to this installment. As always happy reading buns!

Warnings: Pinch of angst, fluff

You’re stifling back another yawn as you go to open the wooden case that holds your pastries. “You alright there sugar, you look about ready to drop and it’s only 8 a.m.” You shake your head, pulling on a smile as you will the sleep from your eyes, “just a long morning,” you answer as you reach for the baked treat with the tongs you had in hand, “wanted to display the newest pastries out front this morning – spent most of the morning moving the other pastries around because of it.”

The elder lady is laughing softly from behind you, soft hand meeting your back as she rubs it comfortingly, “well it looks lovely, and it’ll have business booming for you with the way you chose to display this newest release.” A genuine smile pulls at your lips as you place the tongs back in their place, shutting the wooden cabinet as you pass her the bag of chosen pastries. “I hope so, but if sales don’t go as planned, I’ll be sending you and Willie some as I close shop, hope you don’t mind.”

She’s mirroring your grin as you she moves the two of you to the next display, “as if Willie could ever turn down any of your pastries, you know it’s a battle to tell that man no to any baked goods from here even though he’s well aware I stop by daily.” You're laughing softly as you repeat the action of grabbing the tongs, opening the case and pulling the amount of baked goods she requests. “Well, I’m hoping he’s going to be thrilled with any extras I send your way.”

She takes the bag from your hands as you walk the two of you up to the register, “he’s gonna have a field day,” she laughs as you weigh her bag reading her the total. “You should be charging more,” she says as she dips into her coin purse, “lord knows these treats are worth more than you charge.”

Warmth floods you, as you take her change, “oh I don’t know,” you murmur, as the register opens change sliding into its place, “I sometimes I feel I overcharge.” Meredith waves a hand at you dismissing the statement, “nonsense, with the fees from the 107 and how slow business can be some days, you deserve to price according to your work and your work is worth it sweetheart.”

You pass her her bag with a warm smile on your lips, “I’ll consider it, but with the money I bring from the other shop I don’t see it in my future anytime soon.”

Meredith is laughing her hand falling over yours, “well at least consider a tip jar, it’ll help you with those ridiculous 107 fees.”

The smile falters at the mention of the 107, mind drawing a picture of the broad eyed brunette, “they’re not too bad,” you find yourself saying, “I can respect the care they have for their people even if it costs a little extra to do so.”

Something flashes in the elderly lady’s eyes, “they do care for us don’t they,” she hums, “well still sweetheart consider the tip jar, any amount helps you know, times can be tough.”

And you did know, you knew how hard it could be for some of the other business owners to gather the remaining amount as the time for the fees drew closer and closer. You decided then as you bid Meredith a farewell that you would set out a tip jar. A tip jar not for your store, but for the other stores who needed that extra hand when it came time.

After Meredith leaves to tend to her flower shop with her husband Willie the shop is at its usual business of a flow of your regulars. Each one taking their usual along with the new bake that waits for them at the front of the shop by the register.

“Goodness y/n you’re going to have me rushing over here before your bakery closes for the evening these are wonderful!” Your smile is bright as you take in the delight of your neighbor, “please stop by, I’ll have some saved for you free of charge.”

You laugh at her surprise, “now y/n, I couldn’t let you give me these free,” she argues but you wave her off, “really it’s no trouble, I’d rather these go home with someone then in a trash bin at the end of the day.” And although you can see the argument that sits on her tongue, she thanks you anyway, leaving her extra change in the tip jar before promising to see you later in the evening.

The tip jar slowly fills as regulars drop their extra change along with their warmest welcomes and promises to see you tomorrow filling not only your jar but yourself with their kindness.  The hours tick by and before you know you’re flipping your sign and your lock for lunch, the thirty minutes giving you time to relax and enjoy yourself as you decide which pastry and drink, you’d like for lunch.

Your thoughts of lunch are forgotten at the sound of a knock at your door. Your brows furrow as you turn your head, heart catching in your throat as you meet the familiar ocean greys. He offers you a small smile through the glass door, mouthing if he can come in.  

You’re twisting on your feet before you can give it a second thought. Fingers twisting the lock as your hand wraps around the knob pulling the door open. “Bucky,” you greet, “is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine sweetheart, can I come in?”

You’re unsure what to say, the 107s leader never had reason before to come in outside of coming for their money at the first of the month, you wonder what’s gone wrong, were you short? Surely Steve and Sam had double counted the amount you were sure was there.

“I promise everything’s okay,” Bucky says as if reading your worry, “just came to talk.”

You want to say that he’s never come to just talk but you bite back your tongue choosing to hold the door open instead as you offer him room to come in. “Look if this is about yesterday evening Buck,” you begin as you walk further into the shop with the brunette, “there really are no hard feelings, I should have known I just -”

He’s turning on you then closing the last foot of space between the two of you, a shake to his head as he looks down at you, “you didn’t deserve my behavior in your office yesterday and for that I’m sorry. The first time we met you welcomed us – welcomed me with a kind smile, sweet words, and an even sweeter pastry, despite knowing what we were here for, despite our name you never looked at us any differently, never cowered away from me in fear.”

“Ma said it was never polite to judge a book by its cover, everyone’s got a story and I had yet to know yours.”

In that moment Bucky can’t believe you’re real, can’t believe he gets to know you and your kind heart. “I know you say everything’s okay, but I need to make it right. I hurt you last night y/n, and you didn’t deserve that, you’ve done nothing to deserve that behavior.” You’re the one shaking your head now, hands coming up to cross over your chest, a form of comfort as you choose your next words. “But you weren’t wrong Bucky, your visits have only ever been purely business, a simple transaction; you had never given me any reason to believe there was something more there aside from what I wanted to believe, what I let myself believe.”

“Do you really believe that, that it's just been business, a transaction?”

You want to say ‘no’, that you don’t believe it's just been business, but the uncertainty, the rejection has you biting your tongue. “We’re not friends outside of the business we do every first of the month Bucky, to an onlooker they might at most call us an acquaintance if they were to see our interactions, but I don’t think they would call what we do more than business.”

Bucky knows that you don’t believe that, can catch it in the way your gaze leaves his to instead look at the wooden floorboard of your shops. “Does it really matter what others think?”

“Does it,” you throw back, “it sure seemed like it mattered to you the other night.”

Bucky deserves it, despite the non malicious way your words came out he knows he deserves it, because he hurt you and despite this you’re still so kind to him. You don’t allow him a chance to get a word in as you shake your head rubbing lightly at your eyes.

“I’m sorry, look why don’t you join me in my office and we can talk about what you came here for over a pastry and your choice of beverage, I only have,” you looked at the grandfather clock, “22 minutes before I have to flip my sign over for the afternoon and I’d really like to eat something before the rush whaddya say Barnes you willing to sit and eat something with me, forget about the other day?”

Bucky knows there’s no forgetting that pain he saw flash across your features but he’s willing to start somewhere. “You going to let me pay for my meal?”

That draws a genuine smile out of you, “no can do Buck, but you can leave a tip in the jar if you’d like,” you say pointing to the tip jar sitting on display at your register.

“Everything okay, you in some trouble?”

You’re shaking your head with a laugh, “nothing like that, it’s not for me,” you say drawing a look of confusion from the brunette, “Meredith mentioned me putting one out despite my protests that financially I was okay, business might not be slow for me but it can for the other businesses on the block – it’s my way of giving back and lending a helping hand at the first of the month.”

“No one's mentioned struggling,” he murmurs, “I’d be willing to cut rent if I knew - if I have to get cheaper supplies to keep their shops up and running, we’d find a way, is this happening with all the shops?”

“Meredith was the first to voice something like that and I mentioned to her that despite the price it was a price paid to take care of your people – despite your grumpy demeanor,” you add with a smile. You’re moving around the shop then grabbing two pastries and two beverages, “c’mon Barnes, this way,” you say leading the way into your office, his hand shutting the door behind the two of you.

The two of you take the seats in front of your desk, your hands placing the sweets and drinks down on your desk as the two of you get comfortable.  

“So, Barnes, what did you want to talk about?”

He reaches for his pastry wanting to busy his hands as he tries to find the words of the plan he had shared with Steve and Sam earlier this morning. “Our conversation last night really had me thinking,” he begins, “that can’t be good,” you tease. He shakes his head giving you a look that has you hiding your grin behind a bite of the pastry. “Like I was saying,” he continues, “our talk last night, and the moment you shared with Meredith has me thinking, I don’t want my people to fear me, it shouldn’t be me they fear, I should be the one they’re able to come to, talk to about problems they face. I should be the one they come to when something goes wrong. Who am I if they fear me just as much as the others, who am I if the people I'm meant to take care of are they very same ones that cower from me in fear?”

“I don’t think its entirely because they fear you buck, do I think you intimidate them yes, but I don’t think it’s fear.”

Bucky reaches for his beverage next, needing to clear his throat, “fear or not, I don’t want them thinking they can’t come to me, that they don’t have a friend in me.” That has you smiling, an uptick to the corner of your mouth, “so what exactly are you going to propose to change this?”

“The guys and I have been talking with the holidays rolling around we thought we’d give something back to our community.” “Oh,” you question with a brow raised, “we were thinking we could bring everyone together and host a fall carnival of sorts.”

“I think everyone would enjoy that, would the 107 be hosting?”

“We would be,” Bucky nods, “but this is where you come in, I need your help.”

“My help, how?”

“I know it’s going to take some time for everyone to warm up to the thought of us like you have, so I was hoping you could help me spread the word. I’m hoping we can get all the businesses on the block to set up a table or booth courtesy of us to help them bring in more money.”

Your smile warms the brunette, a smile of his own pulling at his lips, “I’d love to spread the word, does this mean I'm getting my own booth?” Your brow raises at the smirk that tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, “actually sweetheart, how good of a teacher are you?”

You let out a laugh, “uhm last I checked I was working in a bakery not a preschool, so I'm not sure how good of a teacher I'd be.”

“You think you’d have enough patience to show 8 bikers how to bake?”

“Is your baking as good as your driving,” you question, “my ma taught me a thing or two in the kitchen,” he answers, “well then it might not be such a lost cause,” you tease, “though the other seven, well I can’t speak for them.”

“So you’re in?”

Your smile is warm, “you can count me in Buck, I think it’ll be a nice change for all of us.”

He matches your smile, “I think so too.”

“So, you think this’ll work,” Bucky questions as he steps out onto the pathway, your sign flipping from closed to open.

“You can count on me to spread the word,” you offer with a warm smile, “but you should really try and stop in more often with the other shops, don’t let them judge your story by its cover, let them read it, let them see the you I see.”

Both your attention is pulled from one another by one of your regulars coming along, her eyes wide as she takes in the man before you. He offers her a smile, “good afternoon Alice, was just getting out of y/n’s hair, your pops still have that pasta special on Tuesday’s?”

The teenager nods not quite finding her voice at her first ever interaction with the biker, “Perfect I'll see the two of you later today if you can let your old man know I’ll be stopping by.” He’s turning to you then, “mind if I stop by later with the boys to grab some pastries from you, the ma’s will be visiting the club tomorrow, I'll even bring you a plate of pasta for the lunch today.”

“It was on the house Bucky, but I wouldn’t mind a plate of pasta from my favorite diner,” you say as you beckon Alice over, the teenager closing the distance between the two of you as she steps into the offered open door.

“Well then I'll be seeing the two of you later, you have a great shift sweetheart, Alice,” he nods in farewell.

You and Alice are seeing the man off, the loud rumble of his bike sounding through the block before he’s kicking off the curb and off onto the street. You two watch as he disappears off into the distance before you’re ushering the two of you into the quiet of your shop.

“The usual,” you say as you grab a paper bag for the girl, “I thought the others were just talking but Bucky Barnes was really here, is everything okay, did you run late on rent, I can talk to my dad, the others we can figure something out.”

You look at the girl over your shoulder a smile on your lips, “No, I gave my rent like all of you, Bucky was just here to tell me about a fall festival the 107 wants to host for the block.”

“Fall festival, the 107, are you sure we’re talking about the same biker group.”

You laugh softly as you turn back to your display grabbing the tongs from the side, “they’re not as scary as everyone makes them out to be, in fact they’re all a couple of sweethearts once you get to know them.”

“And how well do you know Bucky?”

You’re looking at the girl over your shoulder, dropping two extras of her favorites into the bag, a grin on the girl's face. “It’s not like that Alice, he’s just a -”

“Just a what,” she encourages, you’re looking down in thought before meeting her eye, “just a friend.”

The look that crosses the girls' features Is thoughtful as she asks her next question, “is that why the 107 lingers around here longer at the first of the month, because its more than just business?”

You’re turning toward the girl, handing her the bag as she moves over to the next case, “it’s still a transaction between two people but, yeah,” you nod, “it's definitely more than just business, just like when you come in.”

Alice smiles, “do you really think the 107 is going to be able to put on the fall festival you know with all the talk that surrounds them?”

“I’ve come to learn that actions speak louder than words, so yeah, I'm hopeful they will.”

“I hope so too, Mr. Barnes seems like a nice guy, under all that tough exterior,” Alice says as she follows you to the register.

He is you think, he really is.

[soapyghost]

Sparks

Firefighter Price x Fem! Reader

I honest to god did not expect this to get the love it did?? So thank you??? I’m blown away. Also this chapters kindaaa short- and its the epitome of slow burn and I am not sorry. It will get more- angsty soon ehehe. Also I did my best to try and remember everyone who wanted to be added to the tag list and I am so sorry if I forgot anyone! Let me know if you want/ed to be added!

Warnings: hinting at a super gross manager being gross - Mostly fluff. Swearing. Character developments babyyyy

Taglist: @330bpm-whiplash @blueoorchid @deadbranch @sofasoap @c0wb0yenthusiast @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @fruitymoonbeams-blog @averyyreads @lostmypopsicle @jxvipike @moonlighting87 @amatis-gray

A week had passed since the fire in your apartment complex. It had taken a couple days before you were able to go back to your apartment to search for any belongings that may have survived. Luckily your phone somehow managed to survive the inferno, lord knows you didn’t have the money to replace it.

After about 2 days of staying at the hotel, your best friend April was generous enough to let you stay on her couch until you could get enough money scraped together for a deposit on a new place. As nice as the hotel was, you felt terrible about the possibility of racking up a bill for Price. No matter how much you begged the receptionist she would not let you pay a dime for the room, stating that John had given her strict rules to not let you.

The images you managed to squirrel away in your mind of the egnima known as John Price would not stay hidden back there. You weren’t ready for a relationship- not after your ex. And yet, you still woke up every morning in his jacket, the smell of him was vaguely noticeable underneath the overpower scent of smoke.

You had just moved out of your ex boyfriends house and into your apartment, on the opposite side of the state. Well, your ex apartment now. The idea of having to start all over brought tears to your eyes. You had been here less than a month and already things were turning into a shit show.

Today was your first day back at work after the fire, your new manager, Sheppard or Shep for short, was surprisingly kind about the situation. He completely understood and let you take some time off to get your things together. You didn’t understand why the other waitstaff disliked him so much. They always whispered about how cruel, rude and dirty Shep was.

As you rushed into the restaraunt to start your first shift back you were taken aback to see none other than John Price and the entire crew. As you made your way passed his table your eyes locked- and that perfect smile crept upon his face. His smile felt like rays of sunshine. Like a breeze on a summer day.

“Well if it isn’t Y/N” Price bellows, drawing the attention of the whole restaraunt to you. Soap looked at you and waved, “glad to see you alive lass!” You smiled weakly back at him before glancing over to the paramedic who wrapped your hand. “Hows that hand looking” he asked, nodding at your right hand which was now bandage free.

“It’s much better. Thanks” you say, holding it up breifly. You’re positive your face is about as red as the tomatoes on the omelet Soap had infront of him. Your blood runs a cold as your eyes glance over the party and see the man in the balaclava- except this time it has a skull on it.

Who the hell wears that out in public! A shiver runs through you and Price seems to notice. “So Y/N what brings you here” he says, taking your attention away from his terrifying counterpart. “Oh uhm well. I work here” you reply, ”and if I don’t get back to clock in I might not have one much longer. But I’ll be back out!” “Good. Because you haven’t been properly introduced to the 141 house” he beams, gesturing at the men at the table with him.

With that you slip through the kitchen door and back towards the lockers. You press your forehead onto them to help cool your face down so maybe it won’t give away your embarassment. Why is he here? Does he know you still have his jacket? Oh fuck.

“You alright Y/N?” Sheps voice booms, pulling you from your daze. He drops a hand on your shoulder and looks down at you with concern in his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Sorry. I just.” You sigh, trying to collect your thoughts. Did you really want to trauma dump on your boss? His hand raises to cup your cheek, causing you to flinch.

“That crew was the one who saved me from the fire” you say, turning your face away from his hand. Something flickers in his eyes, just for a second, anger? Jealousy? Rage? You’re not sure what it is but before you can place it his eyes change back to concern. “Oh. Well. What a coincidence!” He forces a chuckle and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see you out on the floor in 5” he states, before turning curtly and walking out.

You blink a bit, startled by his sudden change, the rumors about him being a piece of shit seemed a lot more plausible now. Shaking your head, you open your locker and stuff your purse in it before throwing up your hair into a ponytail and heading back out to the front.

Lucky for you, the 141 were not in your section today. But that didn’t stop you from stealing glances over at their table in between taking care of your own guests. When you had finally taken care of your section, you decided to venture over to be introduced to the whole “squad”.

“Hey yall didn’t have to wait for me guys” you say, noticing the empty plates.

You sauntered over, catching the Captians eye before flashing a small smile, “sorry for making you wait boys” you say, noticing they had long since finished their breakfast. “Oh luv’, you ain’t gotta apologize to these muppets” Price replies, his accent thick. “Hey who you callin’ a muppet, Cap?” Gaz questions, his eyebrows furrowed in mock anger.

Price laughs and you swear that must be what heaven sounds like. “But I wanted to introduce you to everyone. That as you already know, is Gaz. Best paramedic this side o’ the town” he says, voice full of pride. “That shaggy man is Soap. Don’t ask” he quips, before you could even open your mouth. “Strange name for a strange guy” you giggle. Soap brings his hand up to his chest feigning pain, Price let’s put a small chuckle at that. “Those two are Alejandro and Rudy. They keep us well fed at the house and are pretty decent at their jobs” John says, gesturing to the two men at the other side of the table from him. Both men wave and flash you big smiles. “And this,” he says, gesturing to the terrifying man in the skull balaclava, “this is Ghost.”

Ghost simply grunts, “can we go now captian. We have shit to do” and begins to stand. “Ghost. You need to learn to relax once ‘n a while.” Price reprimands him. Before you have a chance to say anything or greet the team, Sheppard voice booms, “Y/N what are you doing? Get back to your section”. You whip your head around to see the face of your extremely angry boss.

“Shep, cut her some slack eh?” Price retorts, his face contorting into anger. What happened between the two of them? “No no he’s right” you smile weakly, trying to alleviate the obvious tension in the room. “Go Y/N” Shep says, before coming up behind you and putting his hand on your lower back and pivoting you away from the table.

“Sheppard. You don’t need to move her” Johns voice rises slightly, “she was going”. The temperature in the room was rising. “Boys it’s fine. Really. I’ll see you around yeah?” You say, voice quaking. “Of course luv” Prices says, relaxing slightly, “Cmon boys. We have shit to do back at the house.”

At this, the 141 house gathers their stuff and begins heading towards the door. Price and Sheppard exchange a death stare from across the room, causing goosebumps to form all over you. Now you had to know what happened between them.

You smile, feeling your heart slam in your chest at the thought of them leaving. Would you ever see them again? This is stupid. Just because John Price saved you from a burning building doesn’t mean he wants anything else to do with you. It’s his job. Just like it’s your job to serve them food. “Alright boys, you have a good rest of your day alright?” You say sweetly. Desperately trying to cover up how nervous you are.

The boys all give you a wave goodbye as they head out the door. John flashing you a smile before saying “it was good to see ya again, Y/N”. Now your heart feels like it’s about to smash through your ribs, he’s glad? To see you? You nearly melt as you whisper “you too John”. His eyes crinkle as his smile widens ever so slightly before heading out the door.

Seeing the boys climb into the fire truck and head out of the parking lot you felt a bit giddy. It wouldn't be the last you would see of John Price, if he knew your manager it had to mean he frequented your restaurant. A small smile crept on your face at the thought, but it was quickly wiped away by the shouting of Sheppard telling you to stop standing around.

You return to their table to help your coworker clean it up when you see it. Written on the back of the receipt in probably the worst handwriting you’ve ever seen, was a phone number and a simple message:

"Incase you ever want to return that jacket- John Price"

[waiting4inspiration]

Valyrian Blood II: Heart (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: After an unfortunate incident at the brothel, a knight comes to save you and take you to the palace where Aemond is waiting for you, offering you the life he promised he would give you. All you have to say is yes.

Warnings: +18 content, strong language, mentions of sex work, use of the word whore, violence against women, smut, oral sex (f receiving), first time writing smut in a long time

Word Count: +4k

Valyrian Blood Masterlist II House of the Dragon Masterlist

You know that when you wake in the mornings alone after a night in Aemond’s presence that he had to leave early to get back to the Keep before sunrise. You know that you should not miss him because he will be back and that all you can do while you wait is what you do best; please men. 

But as you wake in the morning, one side of your bed empty, the smell of blue sage and slight hints of dragon now gone from the sheets and air, you reach out to touch the space and wish silently to yourself for his quick return after days of his absence. His words to you that night a few nights ago have changed something inside you. You were not supposed to form any attraction or connection to your visitors. But Aemond Targaryen has scorned your heart with a yearning for no one but him now and the life he so passionately offered to you. 

All you have to do is accept his offer. 

It’s stupid to think that things could change for you, you think to yourself as you push yourself out of bed to get ready for the day. You couldn’t pass for a lady of the court. And even if you could, people would think you are Targaryen and they would quickly see past your lies and find out that you are not of the House of the Dragon. The Targaryen’s are all connected to each other, they would quickly find out that you do not belong and it does not bode well for either you are Aemond. 

But a life away from all of this seems like a dream to you. Perhaps it is because you long for something different, for meaning in your life other than pleasing men and playing into their fantasies so they can go back to their wives and families and act as the decent lord they portray themselves to be. 

You imagine Aemond fighting for your dignity if someone dared lay a hand on you. If you were a lady instead of a whore, you wouldn’t need to warm beds if you didn’t want to. And those that try to force you would suffer at the hands of your lover.

A hand touches your wrist, breaking you out of your daydreams as you stare out the window of the Pleasure House to the Red Keep. Your head snaps to the side and up to the man that now holds your wrist. “A pretty thing you are. Could be a Targaryen,” he says, slurring his words and indicating his drunkenness. 

Normally, you would take drunk men up to your room because they are easy money. You don’t have to do much to make them cum and they don’t last long. But today, you only long for the company of one man. You shouldn’t have come down from your room today. 

You pry his hand off your wrist as you stand from your seat. “Find another girl to fuck. I’m not interested,” you say.

As you start to walk off, he grabs your arm to pull you back, making your heart leap into your throat. “I paid for you, whore. So you will do as I say,” he sneers, pulling you towards him as you fight back. 

“I said no,” you say loudly, drawing the attention of other patrons and prostitutes, hoping that they will help you. 

But before anyone can move or say a word, the lord raises his hand and a slap echoes around the room. 

Of course, there is a price to pay for raising a hand to a whore in the common area of the Pleasure House. If a lord were to slap you in private there would be no consequences. But because it happened in public, the Master of the house steps forward to stop things, especially since you are valuable to the Prince. No one but the Master knows this and since Aemond pays a good prince to have you for an entire night, the Master doesn’t want anything to happen to you that would upset the rider of the largest dragon.  

As the Master tries to calm the drunken lord, you manage to sneak out of the situation and back to the comfort of the room. You hold your cheek in your hand, still feeling the sting in the flesh as you bite back the tears forming in your eyes. Even though you wished to see Aemond tonight, you don’t think it would be the best idea because of the mark you feel forming on your cheek. You do not wish for him to see you like this. 

A gasp falls from your lips when you enter your room to see a cloaked figure standing in the middle. You think it’s Aemond for a second, your heart hoping it is so you can confide in his safety. But he does not come here while the sun is still high in the sky. 

Unless something is wrong…

The man turns around, revealing an unfamiliar face to you. You step back, cautiously staring at him as your hand drops from your still-aching cheek. Your confusion grows to see the man holding another cloak in his hands. 

“The Prince has requested your presence,” the man says in a whisper. “I am to lead you safely to the castle.”

The way he speaks and the way he stands tells you that he is a knight. Knights are never seen in a Pleasure House as it would go against their vows. Which is probably why the man in front of you wears common clothing now. 

“Who are you?” you ask, keeping your voice low just as he does. 

He simply gives you a smile. A friendly smile. A kind of smile you have not received from a man in a long time. As he gently steps forward, silently asking you if he can place the cloak on your shoulders, you can tell that he is not here with bad intentions. “A friend.”

“Whose?” 

The knight’s eyes snap over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps approaching and he quickly turns you around so that he stands in front of you, blocking you as well as his face from the door. But as he moves, his hold on you is gentle, as if he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to touch you. “Hopefully yours in time,” he whispers, lifting the hood of the cloak over your head as the footsteps fade in the distance. 

You have never felt so safe in a man’s presence within the first few seconds of meeting him. With Aemond, it took a while for you to feel like he wouldn’t kill you if you said something or did something wrong. Now you know he won’t, but that’s because you’ve gotten to know him over time. However, this knight in front of you doesn’t even know his name and yet you feel as if you could trust him with your life. Perhaps it is because of the fact that he is a knight, maybe it’s the prospect that Aemond has sent him. Or perhaps it’s the way he gently starts to lead you out of the brothel, ensuring you are not seen by anyone, while his hand barely touches your back.

You’ve walked the Street of Silk a hundred times before to stretch your legs and get out of the Pleasure House. Every time you do, you pull the stares of people passing by. You know that is how you got Aemond interested in you in the first place. Now, it feels different to be ignored as you walk through the people crowding the street. It’s almost a relief to look up and not meet the stares of people taking in your Targaryen-like appearance. It’s enough to put a smile on your face at the feeling of being almost invisible. 

The Red Keep gets closer and closer as you walk, the knight staying close by your side as he leads you to the destination. You wonder how he plans on getting in, what lie he is going to tell the guards at the gates, or if he’s going to tell them the truth. 

You’ve never been inside the keep, unlike some of the other girls that have gone to entertain the lords inside, namely Prince Aegon. Your heart pounds in excitement at the prospect that you will finally see the inside of the majestic capital building, the home of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. 

But the knight does not lead you to the front gates. Instead, he leads you around the back, to an unguarded door that he struggles to open. It seems to be a secret passageway from the darkness spilling out and a single torch on the wall to be used to navigate through the darkness. He takes the torch and holds the door open for you to enter. 

You follow him in silence, even though so many questions start popping up in your mind. If he is of the Kingsguard, why is he doing this for the Prince? What was promised to him to keep this a secret and why must he sneak you in? What if the prince that sent him is actually Prince Aegon who has found out about you? 

You wish to ask these questions, but you fear that breaking the silence will ruin things. It’s so quiet in the passageway that you fear that speaking will awaken something lurking in the shadows. 

Coming to another door pressed into the wall, the knight stops for a moment, pressing his ear against the stone as if to listen for voices on the other side. Then, he places the torch in the holder on the wall and presses against the door to open it, allowing you to enter the room first even though you don’t know what is waiting for you inside. 

But seeing Aemond waiting by the window of the room makes your heart leap with joy. You almost run to him, but stop yourself at the sound of the knight closing the hidden door behind him, drawing Aemond’s attention to the both of you. 

He pushes himself upright, briskly walking toward you and the knight, but never looking at you. Not yet. “I trust you were not seen by anyone,” he says, your eyes never leaving his face as you marvel at the authority in his face and voice. 

“No one saw us, your highness,” the knight says, earning a pleased nod from Aemond. 

He hands the knight a bag that you know from the clattering inside if filled with gold coins. “And I trust you will not tell anyone about this.”

The knight takes the bag and shakes his head. “Not a soul.”

With a nod from the prince, the knight turns to leave. And you realize who the knight now is when he leaves through the main doors. He must be Aemond’s kingsguard, therefore making him a confidant. 

As the doors close, Aemond looks over at you with a smile on his face and he walks closer to you. “I’m happy you came,” he says, his hands reaching up to remove the cloak around your shoulders.

When he removes it, his eyes snap down to your cheek and his smile fades at the sight of the darkened mark on your skin. His fingers softly touch your bruised cheek, making your head drop in shame as you step closer to him. “What happened?”

You shake your head, your hands resting on his chest as you breathe out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter-”

“Who did this to you?” he harshly questions, and your stomach wrenches when you see the murderous look in his eye that you’ve heard people talk about. Yet, it warms your heart to think that it is directed at the man who had hit you. 

And the thought of what happened brings tears to your eyes again along with the feeling that you are in Aemond’s arms again which is what you wanted since waking up. Your heart gleams in happiness that only makes your tears well up faster. And you break in front of him. 

Aemond has never seen you cry. He has never even thought of it. In all the days he’s known you, seen you be so strong and act as if nothing bothered you, he has never thought that he would see you break down in front of him, in his arms. He doesn’t know how to respond. 

“I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it anymore,” you cry, covering your face in your hands as you wipe the tears away. “All I want to do with my days is spend them with you. I can’t take another man and fuck him because all I want is you.” 

The words leave your mouth without you thinking about them. You speak from the heart, knowing that it is true and that you can’t hide it anymore. It will ruin you if you try to push the feelings down more. And as you say those words, you realize exactly what they mean. 

“You make me feel like I’m more than just a whore.”

Aemond takes your face in his hands, holding you close to him as he leans in closer, pressing his lips to yours. Your shoulders come up to your ears, his kiss telling you that he understands. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the passion in his kiss almost making your hands tremble. It is as if you haven’t been a prostitute your entire life. 

The kiss ends, allowing you both to take a breath but your lips never go far from each other. “Say you’ll stay then,” he whispers, pecking your lips as he starts to walk you backward. “Not just for the night. But forever. It is all sorted. All you have to do is say yes.” He kisses you again. “Say yes.”

You can feel the desperation in his kiss, in his words. It reminds you of the first time you showed him what real pleasure feels like. After that, he was so eager and so desperate to recreate those feelings. 

But this goes deeper. This is stronger. In his kiss, you can feel that he wants nothing but you, just as you want nothing but him. He could buy your freedom and allow you to go anywhere you wish but you would still choose to stay with him. He could spend a fortune on lavish silk dresses and jewels for you, but you won’t care about that. You would rather be naked with him by your side than dress like the queen. 

And Aemond would kill everyone in the world to be with you. He would burn cities and armies down if he must, just as long as you are there for him to claim as his own. You can feel that as his hands rest on the lacing of your dress, waiting for you to give yourself to him, just as you do every time.

But he’s not waiting for your approval to undress you. He’s waiting for your agreement to become his lady, not his whore. 

“Issa, ñuha jorrāelagon.”

Yes, my love. 

The moment your words leave your lips, his fingers pull on the laces of your sheer dress, undoing them and making the dress go loose on your body. He keeps walking you backward until your legs hit a bed, making you realize that the knight has brought you to Aemond’s room. 

It’s quieter here than in the brothel. For one, you can’t hear moans like you would in the Pleasure House or the drunken shouting of men from outside. The quietness allows you to remain in the moment with Aemond, to be aware of everything, and not get distracted by other thoughts. 

Your fingers work on removing his tunic, knowing what it feels like to have his skin pressed up against yours and wishing to feel it now. As he pushes the dress off your shoulders, his hands run down the side of your body, and he draws in a deep breath through his nose when he feels your body reacting to his touch. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, the desire burning in his veins as he lays you down on the bed.

“You’ll be a handmaid for my sister, Helaena,” Aemond whispers as he quickly discards his top. “You’ll live here, in the Keep, so that you may be there to help her whenever she needs you. I’ve arranged for it all,” he adds, kneeling between your legs so he can hover above you with his hands beside your head. 

“And how did you manage to do that?” you ask, your hands running over his shoulders as his lips find home on your collarbone. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his hand coming between your legs and lightly touching the inside of your thighs. 

You breathe out a pleased sigh as his hand travels up, remembering how you taught him how to please a woman with his hands and not his cock. To think that all he knows about sex is because of you…

“And where do you intend for me to sleep each night?”

That question makes his hand snap up to grab your hips roughly, his body moving quickly so his face hovers inches away from yours, his leather-clad hips pressing against yours as he stares deeply into your eyes. “You sleep here and nowhere else. Unless you prefer to go back to that whore house. Do you understand?” he asks, speaking in Valyrian to emphasize his seriousness. 

You smile up at him, wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer as you press your lips against his. “Perfectly, my prince,” you whisper against his lips. 

He kisses you deeply, pushing your head into the bed as his hand returns to the space between your legs. “Iksā ñuhon,” he growls against your lips as his fingers dip into your folds. “Se ñuhon mērī.”

There’s something about when he speaks in his mother tongue that riles you up more. Perhaps it is because you feel more comfortable speaking Valyrian than the common tongue, it being the first language you learned to speak. Perhaps it makes it feels like you two were meant to find each other because of the Valyrian blood you both possess. 

All you know is that when he whispers to you in Valyrian, telling you that you are his and his only, it teases the fire growing inside you, making it roar louder and fiercer than before. 

You moan against his lips as his fingers sink into you, his thumb finding that spot that he knows makes your body tremble, and his tongue claiming your mouth as your hands run down his back. You try to work on getting his pants off, but his hand pushes yours away as he pulls away from you. “You are not in control here,” he says, slipping off the bed to kneel on the ground at the edge of the bed. “I am your Prince.”

His hands pull your hips closer to the edge of the bed and move your legs to drape over his shoulders. He kisses and nips the inside of your thighs, but his gaze never leaves yours as his lips move closer to your aching core. 

A breath catches in your chest as he dips his tongue into you, your head lulling back, and a cuss leaves your lips as your hands grip the sheets beneath you. What amuses Aemond is that whenever he fucks you, you always revert to Valyrian when cursing in pleasure. He wonders if the same thing happens when other men fuck you. Used to fuck you. Now, he’s going to be the only one to make these Valyrian words leave your tongue. 

His fingers sink into you as he laps up your sweetness, his tongue finding your clit making your hips lift off the bed and a moan tossed into the air. “Aemond, please,” you beg, wanting him to stop teasing and just ravish you. 

He knows this. He can feel the want burning off your body. He can smell it. Little did you know that when you were teaching him how to please a woman, you were teaching him about your body and what breaks you. 

“Soon,” he growls against your thigh, sending a vibration through your entire body as you moan out again. 

His fingers curl inside you as he kisses and sucks at your clit, stimulating both sensitive spots he knows all too well. He’ll make you come at least once with his tongue and fingers so that you can enjoy this one before he fucks you till you’re mindless, drunk on his cock, only able to say his name.

His free hand grabs the meat of your outer thigh as he shifts closer, almost burying his face into you as he licks up the slick dripping from your cunt. He keeps his eye on your face, watching your face unravel in pleasure as he moves his fingers in and out of you, finding his own pleasure in the sound of your wetness. 

He swirls his tongue around your clit, adding another finger and burying them knuckle-deep in you when he feels your walls tightening around them. Your chest heaves your hand moving to try and find something of him you can touch. His hand catches yours and he presses it against the bed again, a silent order to keep your hands at bay and that you will get your chance to touch him soon. 

“Please,” you beg, but Aemond can barely hear it as another moan leaves your lips. You raise your leg, your foot coming to rest on his shoulder as you raise your hips to press against his face. You can feel your release building, your mind floating at the euphoric pressure building up inside you. 

His thumb replaces his tongue as he moves up to capture your lips before you shout out his name as you cum. He doesn’t want the castle to know of you just yet. And as he rolls his thumb on your clit, his fingers fucking in deep inside of you, you clench around him as cum around his digits as you moan against his lips that taste like you. Your arms wrap around his neck as your hips buckle against his hand, your body trembling as his thumb continues to assault your clit, his fingers still moving inside you, fucking you through your climax. 

As he allows you to catch your breath between his kisses, he removes his pants, his cock hard from hearing you moan his name. He feels the ache to be buried inside of you, to feel your wall squeezing around his cock rather than his finger. The desire burns in him like dragon fire. It makes his hands grab onto your hips roughly, his teeth nipping on the skin of your neck as he moves you into the position he wants you to be in. 

He wraps your legs around his hips, and slides a hand under your hips to lift them off the bed as he leers over your body. “Ñuha gevie Valyrīha dārilaros,” he mutters, leaning down to attach his lips to your body. “My beautiful Valyrian Princess.”

Your hands find their way to his hair, minding the strap of his eye patch so as to not accidentally push it off. Still, you pull his head up so his lips can kiss yours inside of other parts of your body. It’s also a way of telling him to fuck you already and stop teasing you with the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

He smiles to himself, thinking that you don’t really know what you’re asking of him. And without a warning, he thrusts his cock into you, latching his lips over yours to catch your moan again. Whenever you moan in his mouth, it spurs him on. But the feeling of your walls around him makes him moan in return, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He could cum right there, but that would make him feel like he did the first time you fucked him. And he’s not the man he was back then. He has plans for you now. And none of them end with him finishing first. 

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[isa-beenme]

Hi! this is my first time asking but maybe you could do a co-workers and a one night stand for the Acotar bingo with azzy?? like they are both spies for rhys and something happens on a mission orrrr…. idk fluff please :))))

feel free to ignore - i love ur work btw <33

Oh my dear I definitely can

Thanks so much for the reassurance, I'm a people pleaser KEEP COMMENTING COMMENTS THEY ARE MY BIGGEST FUEELLLLLL

Me writing a normal fanfic: 😃

Me 5 seconds after I start creating a whole trauma, past story and a lot of facts that are not exactly necessary to the story: 🥰😍🤩😚💕💖💟💞🤗✨️

When I was writing this I thought: Omg maybe I'm finally ready to write smut (I'm not, the need completely disappeared from me the moment I opened the document)

Pillowtalk

As you and Azriel prepare for yet another mission together to watch the suspect camplords in the Illyrian mountains, you go over your plans meticulously, ensuring you are ready for whatever challenges lie ahead. You and Azriel have created a unique bond over the years, having worked together on numerous missions for the High Lord. Both of you knew how to work together and where your boundaries were laid. It was precisely that that made working with him so easy, no matter the amount of time you spent together, he never ever asked you to take off the mask that usually covered your face.

The journey to the Illyrian mountains is always filled with tension since you know how much Azriel hates his old home. You know you must be discreet to avoid detection. You and Azriel move silently, utilizing your stealth and his powers to blend into the shadows. You keep your senses sharp, alert to any potential danger.

However, even the most carefully laid plans can go awry. During your surveillance, you encounter an unexpected group of hostile Illyrian males who happened to be patrolling in that area. Azriel fights valiantly, but he is fighting against five of the seven that attacked you, and even if he defeats three of them, the other two remaining aim for his wings and cause a serious injury during the wings' leather, leaving him vulnerable and unable to defend himself adequately.

In a split second, you take your decision, and you know you must act swiftly to protect your partner. Without hesitation, you remove your mask, it helps you to maintain silence and prevents the enemies from hearing your breathing. But right now it is only making it difficult for vision to be clear, the fighting usually being Azriel's work.

As you take off the mask it reveals the burn mark that runs from your neck to a portion of your face. It serves as a reminder of a past event that you try to keep hidden from prying eyes. Also, it would work as an easy way for your enemies to recognize you anywhere you went. Even if they didn't remember your face, they would remember the scars, this being the only reason to keep your face a mystery during your missions.

Despite your reservations, you know very well that your identity is a small price to pay to save Azriel. Drawing upon all your strength, you fiercely fight off your remaining attackers, using your skills to ensure you both survive the ordeal.

After the dust settles and the danger has passed, Azriel looks at you with a mixture of awe and concern. He finally sees the face that you had kept concealed for so long. His gaze lingers on the burn mark, but he doesn't pry or ask questions. He knows that you have your reasons for keeping your identity a secret, and he respects your privacy in everything.

You quickly winnow yourself and him to a nearby cabin, paying an offensive amount of gold to the keeper for her to remain silent about your state there. She only nods once and takes you to the main room, running to take medical supplies for your partner.

-Do you need help? - She asks softly, but you can see her nervousness as she looks at the blood.

-No, I can take it from here. Thank you for everything - You dismiss her and she happily gets out of the room and closes the door behind her, leaving you to take care of Azriel's wings, which are already closing their wounds.

As Azriel recovers from his injuries, you stay by his side, tending to his wounds with care and cleaning them at one time or another. As you spend time together during his recuperation, he senses there is more to your burn mark than meets the eye. You can sense his eyes floating to your neck sometimes, but you let him be fully healed before saying anything.

-You know you can just ask, right? - You say as Azriel sits beside you as you look out the window.

-I hope I'm not prying or making you uncomfortable, but I couldn't help but notice your burn mark. It must have been a difficult experience - You take a deep breath, your fingers tracing the edge of the scar absentmindedly - You don't have to share if you don't want to-

-Yes, it was - You replied, your voice carrying a mix of pain and vulnerability - My parents... they weren't the kindest people. They made it clear that they didn't want me and that I was a burden to them - You notice Azriel tracing his own scars, you didn't even notice the moment he took off his gloves.

-I'm so sorry you had to go through that - He says sincerely, a mixture of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

-When I was young, I believed that if I stayed close to them or if I tried harder, they might change their minds, and start loving me or something. But one day... One day, I was talking to my mother while she was cooking. I didn't realize I was annoying her until she got angry. The next thing I knew, the hot oil spilled on me, and she didn't even try to help, not her, not my father. I was left with this scar after that - You took a deep breath as you felt Azriel's gentle touch tracing the contours of the burn in your neck, a silent gesture of support as he listened intently - I was probably six, maybe seven. It didn't take me long to run away until I found a mercenary. He took me in and trained me. I was supposed to be a mercenary too if Rhysand didn't find me. He hired me after some time and gave my tutor a place to live in Velaris. That's my sad story - You said with a dry laugh, trying to keep the tears that threatened to escape from your eyes. Azriel's heart aches for the pain you endured, and he reaches out to gently touch your face, mirroring the care you showed him during his recovery.

-You are incredibly strong - He says sincerely - To survive such a difficult past and become the person you are now, it takes immense courage.

-And what about yours? We are basically burn buddies - He laughs at that, supporting his back on the window, looking deeply at you as you take his hand from your face and start to trace them - You don't have to tell me if you're not ready, too.

-No, I want to tell you - He replies, his voice steady - You've shared your pain with me, and it's only fair that I do the same. I was the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. For eleven years, I lived with my father, stepmother, and two older half-brothers. They were cruel and treated me like an outcast. They kept me in a cell with no windows or light, letting me out only for an hour a day to see my mother. I was forbidden to train or fly, even though my Illyrian instincts urged me to do so.

You bring your hand up to his arm, bringing him closer to your body as you circle him in a hug, feeling the tension disappearing from his body as he is visibly relaxed in your arms, embracing the warmth and comfort.

-One day, my half-brothers thought it would be fun to see what would happen if they mixed an Illyrian's quick healing gifts with fire. They poured oil on my hands and lit them on fire - Your eyes widened in surprise, not in a million years you would have imagined his story to be like this - The warriors heard my screams and rescued me, but it was too late to save my hands. I was left with these scars, a constant reminder of the cruelty I endured.

-I hope they are all dead - You said suddenly, your voice mixed with a tone you reserve for the ones you torture in the prison.

-One of them. And no, I won't tell you who they are just for you to kill them - He laughs when you ruff in annoyance - If so you would have to tell me who are your parents, so we can have a tie.

-Really? I would gladly do so - He laughs once again, the sound making your heart flutter in happiness. He takes a moment to compose himself before speaking again.

-At eleven, I was dumped in the Illyrian training camp, Windhaven, where I wasn't exactly well received due to my shadowsinging gifts. That's where I met Rhysand and Cassian. Rhysand's mother took me in, just as she did for Cassian. And when Rhysand became the High Lord of the Night Court, I became his spymaster, part of the Inner Circle.

-I'm so sorry for what you went through. But know that you are not defined by your past, it was a lesson it took me some time to understand. You are strong, compassionate, and resilient, a testament to the person you've become. And your scars, just like mine, tell a story of resilience and survival. We should be proud of the people we've become despite our pasts.

-Yes, we should. And I couldn't be prouder of what we've become - He gets out of your embrace, taking your hand in his, reveling in the feel.

-You're right. We make a great team, burn buddies, if so - You hear a chuckle and let your own laugh fill the room - I'm grateful for every mission we've shared, you know.

-I'm grateful too, more than words can say. You've shown me kindness, trust, and loyalty. You've helped me heal in ways I didn't think were possible - Azriel's other hand moved from his side to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

-And you've done the same for me. Your strength and understanding have been my anchor through it all - At that moment, you felt an unspoken connection that went beyond your shared experiences as spies. It was a bond forged through trust, support, and compassion.

As you trace gentle patterns on Azriel's hand, he gazes at you with affection and admiration. He can't help but be captivated by your strength and resilience, your ability to face your past head-on and still maintain a kind and caring heart. Something he couldn't do. His past hunted him as a monster, the shame he felt on his hands growing every time he looked at them. But you?

-You're incredible - He whispers, his voice barely above a breath. You looked up at him, shocked by his sudden words, but your eyes were shimmering with gratitude.

-And you're just as incredible - You reply with a smile playing on your lips - I always admired you. It was nice knowing you always chose me to go with you, it's also nice spending time with you.

-I always chose you because we make a great duo - You murmur "burn buddies" again, but he doesn't laugh this time, his eyes still admiring you. He turns his hand and entangles it with your - You're beautiful. You always told me that, and now I can say it back.

At that moment, the air around you feels charged with an undeniable attraction. You both sense it, the magnetic pull that draws you closer. Without another word, Azriel leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your lips move together in a dance of longing and desire, your emotions pouring into the embrace. The weight of your shared experiences, the understanding of each other's pain, and the warmth of your feelings culminate in this moment.

The kiss deepens, and you lose yourselves in each other, forgetting the world outside as you explore the depths of your needs. Azriel's hand gently cradles your face, his thumb caressing your scarred cheek, while your fingers find their way into his hair, pulling him closer.

Your bodies move closer in the window seat, the space between you disappearing as you seek comfort and intimacy in each other's arms. The tension that had been building between you for years finds its release, and you become lost in the sensation of being with someone who understands you on a level you never thought possible.

As you pull away, your breaths mingling, you meet each other's eyes, the intensity of the moment shining brightly. Without words, you share an unspoken understanding as he starts undoing the stripes and buttons of your armor and you start to take off the layers of his. Your lips connect again as he pulls you to his lap and walks you towards the bed, taking off the rest of your clothes as well as his.

Your heated make-out session evolves into a night filled with passion while you share your bodies, as you find the solace and belonging you've been searching for, a love that heals your wounds and ignites a fire within your hearts. When he looked at the rest of your scars, that went down until your shoulder and took a bit of your collarbone his eyes became feral with lust. From the moment he bent down and kissed each piece of skin that was covered with burn wounds, you knew that you are completely fucked.

After your initial heated encounter, you and Azriel decide that your night together was a product of vulnerability and a need for comfort in the moment. You both acknowledge the dangers of getting involved romantically, especially as spies working in a world filled with secrets and risks.

-We can't afford distractions - Azriel had once said, his voice tinged with concern - Our focus needs to be on the missions and keeping each other safe.

-You're right. We can't let our emotions get in the way of what we do - In that moment you had nodded in agreement, understanding the practicality of his words.

Both of you agree to keep your relationship strictly professional, even though your hearts yearn for more. However, as the days pass, you find it increasingly challenging to resist the pull you feel toward each other. Your missions become more dangerous, and the stakes are higher than ever. During chaos and uncertainty, you find comfort and solace in each other's arms.

It starts with small moments, a touch on the arm here, a lingering glance there. You become each other's safe haven, the one constant in a world filled with unpredictability. And despite your resolve, once you go back to your normal life in Velaris, you find yourselves in each other's bed again, seeking solace in the connection you share. The passion and intimacy between you intensifies with each encounter, and you start to realize that they can't deny the love that has grown between you.

As the days turn into weeks, you find yourselves entangled in each other more times than you could count, each encounter pulling you closer together. You've become inseparable in your free time, if it's you in his studio while he practices his painting, or if it's him in your house while you practice dancing, your lives become intertwined both on and off the field.

The morning sun gently filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room as Azriel stirs awake. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he finds himself lying beside you in your room once again, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He traces his fingers gently along the curves of your body, admiring the lines that define your form. The faint light reveals the outline of your burn mark, a testament to your strength and resilience. Azriel's heart swells with affection for you, knowing the hardships you have endured and the courage you carry within.

As his fingers gently explore, you stir from your slumber, your eyes slowly opening to meet his gaze. You see the adoration in his eyes and the reverence with which he touches you. A blush tinges on your cheeks, but you don't look away, instead, you pull him closer, wanting to feel his touch even more.

-You're awake - You murmur, your voice soft but still rough from the slumber. Azriel leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead before he meets your eyes again.

-Yes, I am. And I can't help but marvel at the sight before me - Your heart flutters at his words, and you intertwine your fingers with him, pulling his hand to your lips to leave a tender kiss.

-You have a way with words, Shadowsinger. But actions speak louder - With a soft chuckle, Azriel leans in, capturing your lips in a deep and loving kiss. Your mouths move in perfect harmony, conveying all the unspoken emotions between you. When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest gently against each other's, your breaths mingling.

-I never expected this - You admit, your voice tinged with wonder - But I'm grateful for every moment we shared.

-As am I. You've brought light into my life, and I can't imagine a future without you - You stay entwined, basking in each other's presence, knowing that you've found something rare and precious.

-What if we sleep in today? I don't think we need to get out of bed - He laughs and leans closer to you, the skin contact makes you shiver - I don't know, it's cold today, maybe we can help each other and warm ourselves up.

-I don't think Rhysand will appreciate it if his two best spies disappeared from his view - But he doesn't make a movement to get out of bed, instead, he starts kissing the back of your neck, slowly going under the covers. That way you know you win the discussion, the same way you did many times before.

Every time you find yourself in Azriel's arms, you feel like you can face the world, one day at a time, knowing that you have his heart to hold onto and a love that burns brighter than any shadow you've ever known. Years of shared missions, trust, and understanding have led you to this moment of realization. You are not just good together as partners, but you have discovered a deeper connection, a love born from empathy and shared experiences.

-Thank you - He comes up suddenly, interrupting his path to your legs - For being here, for understanding - With a soft smile, Azriel brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his voice tender as he speaks - I think we've found something extraordinary in each other.

-I believe you're right, shadow boy - You reply, before the smile completely disappears from your face - But this is not time to be sentimental. First, you eat your snack, and then we can talk about how much we love each other - You push his head under the covers again, hearing his laugh before his mouth finds its way to you.

That stupid promise of a one-time thing was nothing more than a futile attempt to deny the love that had grown between you. You couldn't fight it any longer, your hearts made the decision for yourselves a long time ago. You were partners - mates - in every sense of the word, bound not just by the missions, but by a love that has proven to be stronger than any obstacle in your path.

[nrdmssgs]

A heart full of pity (part 1)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (final)

Masterlist Angst, hurt/comfort Pairing: Nik x unnamed afab OC

Summary: He is a fixer, but there are some things, he can never fix. Things like past traumas. He wishes, he could make it better, take her pain away, but he can't. And can't leave her be either, as for now he is her fixer.

TW: Description of physical injury (burns). Inaccurate description of medical operations and military operations, swearing.

Authors note: This is deeply personal. I do not urge anyone to love Russian culture, and I understand how traumatic any mention of it can be in the current realities. I also do not urge anyone to have a positive attitude towards the FSB. Nikolai is a unique character, he does not represent any realities of life in Russia or work in the FSB. I don't romanticize Russia or FSB in real life. This is just fiction. I don't intend to harm anyone with it.

Thanks: I would like to thank a million times absolutely beautiful soul @homicidal-slvt for opening this character from a new perspective for me. I would also love to thank dear @sofasoap for creating absolutely beautiful Lastochka series, that took my mind on this journey.

“Then, oh Lord, wipe us off the face of the earth and create anew more perfect ... or even better, leave us and let us go our own way.”  “My heart is full of pity,” Rumata said slowly. “I can not do it.” ‘Hard to Be a God’ by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

“Captain, are you absolutely sure, there is no one else, whom you could send with me?” With each next word, her voice became lower and more muffled - a sure sign that she was growing furious. “I mean, I`ll need someone, who can easily blend in, someone discreet, fast thinking, but most important: someone trustworthy.”

“In other words, you need a fixer. And Nikolai is the best one.” Price remained unrelenting. Her persuasion, bargaining and even threats had no effect on him. “Now how about you quit trying to burn a hole in me with your gaze and start working on the plan?”

Price proceeds to explain her goal and timeframes for every part of the mission, but she is too deep in her thoughts. Her hands clutch in fists and slam against the table. “You can't trust that man with a critical mission. You know his origins!” For the first time in her life, she raises her voice at Price, but he completely ignores it, only adding a subtle remark “I trust him with my own life” before going on with a briefing. And that's when she makes her final attempt to make her point to her captain. “The man works for the FSB. And before you tell me once again, he quitted - they never quit! I know it better than all you here!”

Price raises his gaze to her, but doesn't respond. Instead she hears a familiar voice from behind her back. “Hochesh chto-nibud` skazat` - skazhi eto mne v litzo…*”

She could call Nikolai anything but narrow-minded. Even his insults were constructed so carefully, only them two could actually read into it. Her own origin was no secret here and others thought, it would only make it easier for her to connect with Nik, but in reality it turned out quite the opposite. His background was now his experience, hers - burning, aching open wound. Coming from the same place, each of them brought different baggage to their present life. So earlier she acted like Nik was never around: they barely talked, she never touched him, not even shook his hand, never mentioned him on conversations. As if he hasn't existed. 

But that was until he was assigned to help her with the mission. As much as she didn't like it - Nikolai was the only option she got and that meant, they must talk, learn, how to work together. So later that week, sitting next to Nik on the night train, she finally pulls herself together and finds the courage to apologize for what she said earlier in Prices` office. “Captain is right: that was… unprofessional of me to judge,” she talks quietly to not draw unwanted attention, so Nikolai has to lean down to hear what she has to say. Despite her hesitant voice, she sounds genuinely sorry. “That's ok, little one. I know, you don't hate me for real. Not personally.” He smiles softly, as if just a few days ago they weren't ready to start a real fight. “Hey, I know, it's not my business, so feel free to ignore this one. But you seem to have a reason for all that rage. Care to tell?” She doesn't say much, just names a year. There is no need to elaborate: it was on the news everywhere. And it was ugly. By that time Nik already lived his another, new life far from the Motherland, but of course he and the whole world witnessed, how quickly things escalated, and all hell broke loose. Nikolai slowly nods and calmly asks. “Who?” 

She sighs, looking deep in his eyes, as if searching for something. Maybe for the slightest reason to not trust him right now. "My older brother. Then my mother went to look for him on the streets ..." Nikolai curses under his breath and looks away to calm his nerves down. He doesn't need to hear the context - he knows, how bad it was. When he first saw it on the news, he thought “that's how they'll get a new angry generation, hungry for blood, growing up in shuddered families, witnessing silent disappearances of their loved ones.” So now, he sat in a hand-reach of one of those outcomes. 

“What, you're going to say, you weren't there? Or maybe that you're sorry? I'll save you time: don't bother, I don't need anything from you,” she was tense, angry once again. But this time it felt different: she was actually scared, she slipped too much personal information out.

“My heart is full of pity.” He looks at his reflection in a train window. And just before she snaps back at him, Nikolai turns back to her and adds: “‘Hard to be a God’? Read it?” She doesn't answer, but it's obvious, how she recalls the quote and her rage gradually fades away. 

***

If anyone asked her, where did they take the wrong turn - she wouldn't be able to answer. Her plan was solid and Nik was doing his part incredibly efficient. She got anything she needed even before she asked for it. Nikolai seemed to go full mind-reader mode on. He learned every step of the operation by heart and provided her with the most detailed plans of every location of their future mission. He did nothing wrong… And yet there she was, distracting the enemies, who rounded him up. It wasn't easy, but Nik and her made a pretty good team. What really bothered her was the timing: with that unexpected skirmish, they were now running late. And in her line of work, every second could be critical. So when they were finally done with an ‘obstacle’ - she rushed to her next point. 

Nikolai was still somewhere behind, when she passed a group of teenagers, who seemed to be absolutely unbothered by the sounds of gunshots coming from the empty building from which she had just taken off at full speed. She heard the click of a lighter and a drawn-out whistle from somewhere on the side. She slowed down, but didn't even have time to turn around at the sound when she was thrown forward and engulfed in heat so strong that she couldn't even breathe in, let alone scream. And then the world around her descended to fire.

Nikolai was running behind her, when it all happened. He registered every single second of it, and that only made the whole experience more painful. He saw a bottle with a brownish cloth sticking out of the neck, saw how they set fire to the wick, swung and launched the bottle in her direction. It seemed, he even saw the smallest fragments of glass flying off to the sides when the bottle collapsed on the ground at her feet. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, as Nik saw every single detail of her agony. At first she ducked and fallen to the ground in attempt to roll over and put the fire, that caught on her, out. But the formula, that kids had in their bottle seemed to be more nasty, that an average Molotov. So the fire grew. And what was even worse: by the time Nik reached her - the flames were already clearly pale-blueish - a solid sign of some cheap synthetic being burned. The whole scene was quiet to the point, where it was unsettling: she was frantically rolling around, beating herself against the ground, yet not a single scream left her lips - she was only desperately gasping for an air. With one swift motion Nikolai unzipped his jacket, took it off and covered her back, beating lightly the spots, where the flames still appeared. For a few painful moments as he helped her fight the flames, they were both enveloped in thick smoke and the repulsive smell of burnt flesh, textile and hair. Her flushed face was smeared with dust and blood. She tried to cover her eyes with her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Sh-h-h-h, sh-h, sh-h, I got you, I got you, you're ok!” Nikolai heard his own voice and realized how pathetic his lie sounded. She was anything but ok: shuddering and convulsing limbs, swollen eyelids, sporadic breaths and muffled whines. But he kept calming her down, holding her so that she did not touch the ground with her wounded, burned back. “C'mon, little one, breathe in. Look at me and take a deep breath. Just like that, good job!” Nik looked around: it wasn't safe to stay there any longer and no matter how hard she tried to stay quiet, every her next whimper was more potent as the pain shock washed out. 

***

In other circumstances, Nikolai would be proud of himself. Never has he ever before found a ride, a safe place to hide in and a medic, who won't ask any questions that quickly. 

He had taken all the lamps he found in the apartment into the living room and was now wiping down the old dining table with a rag soaked in alcohol. “Nik, please… I need to report on my status back to the base.” Her voice was weak, raspy and shaky. “It is done already. They're waiting for an update on an operation.” Nikolai pours a glass of water and brings it her. “Here, you need to drink, little one.” He returns to wiping the table when a glass flies past his ear and smashes against the wall. “Tvoyu mat`! Kakaya naher operatziya, ya yeyo provalila!*” Nik doesn't even flinch, he calmly walks up to the opposite wall, bends down and picks up the pieces of the broken glass. The sharp edges gleam predatory in the light of the lamps placed around the table. She usually avoided speaking her native language, no matter how hard he tried to initiate the talk. But right now, she must have been too furious and upset to choose her language. "They're waiting for your status update. Our operation... is not as important as the one you are about to have." Her eyes widen. “Who said that? For fuck's sake, Nik, I'm ok!”

She tries so lift her body off the couch, but fails, cold compresses slide down her skin and her face contorts in pain. “Doctor Nikolai said…” He comes closer, leans down and replaces compresses with new ones, trying to not look at what was beneath them for too long. It is no longer human skin - it is a dark crimson field of terror and concentrated pain. “Now lay still, little one, save energy.”

In a few hours, she doesn't feel anything but pain. Shame was gone first. When two men carried her to the table as a lifeless puppet, when the cold blade of the scissors barely touched her skin, when the cheap textile that had partially molded with her skin was cut at the seams and the lamps illuminated her vulnerable body - she had already ceased to be ashamed of her weakness, to worry about the fact that her sight could bring them disgust. Then the fear disappeared. The caustic "medical" smell of alcohol, the basin that Nikolai for some reason placed on the floor under her head, the doctor's remarks in a language that she could not make out - all this no longer worried her.

Pain is the only thing left, it consumes her, draws out screams, beats her like a hammer. Nikolai holds her face, brushes thumbs against tear trails, keeps talking to distract her. “Nu-nu, moya horoshaya, nu poterpi eshe, eshe chut`- chut`, umnitza moya.*” He looks tired, disturbed, and so deeply worried. She understands, that something is wrong, it's written all over his face. “Ne mogu dok je ne smiriš! Mora dublje disati!*” - snaps the doctor from behind her back.

Nikolai quickly nods at him, looks back in her eyes and makes the least expected  suggestion. “Ok, my dear, let's sing a bit together.” And before she can figure out what Nick just asked her for, he starts humming softly into her face. “Pust` begut neuklyzhe peshehodi po luzham, a voda po asfal`tu rekoi…*” She looks at him in disbelief for a second. A freaking soviet children song about a ‘Birthday, that comes only once in a year’? Now? Here?! But then she feels a tremendously intense pain, as the medic begins removing a particularly huge fragment of smelted synthetic textile from one of her wounds. So she opens her mouth and start half hissing, half moaning the next line of the song. And it works: even though it doesn't sooth the pain - the measured rhythm of the song makes her breathe more evenly in time to sing the next line. “U-umnichka moya, molodetz kakaya!*” - cooes Nik and keeps singing along. 

The scene is absolutely bizarre to every single person taking part in it. The flickering light of floor lamps directed at the table, the heavy smell of alcohol, blood, sweat and singed flesh, swearing in Croatian, English, Russian, a children's song, barely audible in the sobs.

When it all ends, the medic is escorted outside the flat. "Nikad nisi bio ovdje.*" Nikolai pairs it with a nice stack of banknotes and a gaze of a man, who isn't joking around. 

***

She falls into a feverish dream, when all medical sedatives finally kick in. She doesn't know, how long she lies on a table, and how she ends in a bed. She doesn't hear her own screams, when she accidentally turns on her back while sleeping, but wakes up, when she feels his fingers brushing over her face. Maybe it's just another part of her dream, where she mumbles him something in their mother tongue, and he answers, a low voice reverberating in his chest, to which she is pressed in order to not roll back again. She is yet to realize, what exactly happened and what challenge is she now facing. But what she is certain of - there is an ally right next to her. Not a faceless sum of his past deeds, not the embodiment of everything she hated since childhood, having fled her country. No, there was a friend next to her now. “Nikolai? Why didn't you let Price simply extract us? Just call it my failure. I mean, since I've treated you like shit previously - I deserve to learn my lesson…” “Go to sleep, little one… My heart is full of pity.”

*Hochesh chto-nibud` skazat` - skazhi eto mne v litzo… (Russian) - You have anything to say - say it to my face…

*Tvoyu mat`! Kakaya naher operatziya, ya yeyo provalila! (Russian) - Fuck! What bloody operation are you talking about? I've just failed it!

Nu-nu, moya horoshaya, nu poterpi eshe, eshe chut`- chut`, umnitza moya. (Russian) - There-there, my dear, hold on just a little bit longer, my darling.

*Ne mogu dok je ne smiriš! Mora dublje disati! (Croatian) - I can't do it, till you steady her! She needs to breathe deeper!

*Pust` begut neuklyzhe peshehodi po luzham, a voda po asfal`tu rekoi… (Russian) - first line of a famous soviet song from a cartoon. Full version with English subtitles here.

*U-umnichka moya, molodetz kakaya! (Russian) - My darling, well done!

*Nikad nisi bio ovdje (Croatian) - You have never been here.

[beevean]

Ah yes, it's Draactor time :)

~

“It seems that you held him dear to heart. Is that right?”

“Ah, Count Dracula? Yes, in a sense. And I thought he held me to heart as well.”

“Really?”

“He was quite proud of me. He had nothing but praise for my work. At first, I only lived for those kind words. But at some point, his admiration began to feel like a chain around my neck.”

Hector didn’t know what to think.

It was clear as day that Lord Dracula held him in high regard. Isaac, who by that point could barely keep himself upright, was always a hair’s breadth from reaching their Lord’s expectations. He was strict, cutting in his criticism, knowing and expressing that Isaac could always do better. The student has surpassed his teacher, he had commented idly one time, and for a few days, Hector was careful to not walk too loudly by Isaac’s locked door, and not listen too closely to the sounds coming from behind it.

The Lord’s admiration was reserved for Hector and Hector only.

His sincere smiles and hands lingering on shoulders were all for who was now called the Lord’s protégé.

The vampire’s fangs had long left a collar of scars around his throat; no matter how quickly he healed them, they pulled each time he turned his head, faint to the eye but always felt on his skin. Isaac’s marks no longer looked like an impressive badge of honor.

Hector was different. He was special, one of a kind, the most satisfying student, the purest expression of Hell’s power in a human.

And Hector should have been in seventh heaven. What he could only pray for as a child, he was being showered with at long last. It was the sole reason he would still find the strength to get out of his bed and squeeze himself dry for every last drop of life: the earnest, earned approval from the one being who took him under his wing.

He should have been – but Isaac would drag him back on the ground, and keep him there under the burden of his envy.

Lord Dracula’s compliments had acquired a bittersweet taste. Hector couldn’t help but tense every time, muscles ready in anticipation, because the more appreciation the Lord openly showed for Hector’s work, the more resentment he’d brew in Isaac’s heart, as if the vampire amused himself by pitting his Devil Forgemasters against each other. Then he’d swat away those horrible thoughts, because their Lord only wanted the best for them, and as Generals they had a standard to meet. It just so happened that Hector had become the standard.

Was that really enough reason for Isaac to grow cold towards his friend, as if they no longer shared a past?

He understood very quickly that when Isaac was hurting, Hector had to bear the brunt of his pain, whether he was willing or not: it was his fault that Dracula deemed him disappointing, it was his fault that he dared to humiliate him, and he had to do something about it, since he was so talented.

But if he was, then how could Isaac make him feel so powerless?

They settled into yet another uncomfortable, comforting routine. Isaac started to demand more and more of him, to make things fair. And Hector, out of options, gave him the only thing he had: himself.

He laid there, body and mind full of Isaac, knowing that being used was the fair price for being loved, and wondered if he’d ever see his friend smile for him again. The castle looked dimmer without it. The cheerful boy he once knew was hiding behind the acrimonious man whose frigid gaze tore through him, like the sun covered by stormy clouds: Hector only needed to draw him out, show him that there was still place for him.

However, the most stubborn part of him – the part that in his mind looked like his child self, thin and dirty and with skin covered in a different kind of bruises and always peering from behind doors – dug his feet in, and insisted that he had the right to hoard Lord Dracula’s affection for himself, because he had earned it.

Hector was able to withstand his Lord’s insisting touch, that slid off him like cold grease poured down his back, for the chance of hearing his words that tasted like salvation for all the sins he had committed, and clutching them to his chest, filling the void Isaac left behind.

He was precious to at least one person in the castle.

It nearly made the sickness inside him worth it.

Even though, a few times, Hector had thought that Lord Dracula could spare some mercy for Isaac’s best efforts, he was sure that the Lord would have no reason to repeat him those things if he didn’t mean them.

Those convictions dissipated like smoke in the wind.

[angelsandarsenic]

An ever after high oc?? In this economy??

Guys im having so much trouble with outfits. I have a ton I could show but idk if they're good/eah enough

It is so hard to find Scottish female voices I was about to bite the bullet and make it Kelly macdonald  anywayyyyy there's a short version of their story under the cut i'm not gonna write out a whole long thing so pardon the straightforwardness

Voice claims: Lachlan—Jamie Fraser, outlander  Saoirse—Laoghaire McKenzie—outlander

This story goes…a little differently. 

After the events of Brave, Clan Dunbroch continued to prosper, now in closer link than ever with the other clans. Princess Merida ascended to the throne, but she never did take a lover or have children. Hamish, Hubert and Harris, all grown up, went on to find their own partners and lead their own lives. Their eldest children—Shaun of Macguffin, Ailsa and Alec Macintosh, and Lachlan of Dingwall—are now all eligible for the Dunbroch throne

Now let’s turn back time a little bit.

The ancient kingdom is crumbling. The first prince has gone on a rampage and Isla has just watched her husband turn into a massive bear. 

She flees. 

It takes her two days to find the witch’s cottage. By then the spell had been set in stone, and the witch can tell the woman is with child. She’s not heartless, she wants to help, but all magic comes with a price. So she does the only other thing she knows how and shepherds them through the magic circle to the realm of the faeries, where no one will ever find them. 

~~~

Lachlan is certain he can win the competition for the throne. He wants it. His grandfather definitely wants it. He’s strong, skilled and fast and not afraid to knock his cousins out of the way, however close they may have been as children. Besides, he’s the Queen’s favorite—how could he lose?

The four clans have all gathered for three weeks of festivities and friendly competition before the actual games. After one too many ruthless victories, Lachlan gets in a fight with his cousins. After being scolded by his father for his behavior as well, the young prince has had enough and takes off into the woods to cool down. 

He brings back a girl.

An odd girl, to be sure; her thick braids make two strange piles on her head and she won’t ever tell him where she’s from, but there are no kingdoms or settlements around here, so a girl lost in the forest needs help! She introduces herself as Saoirse before the Queen and quickly gets welcomed to stay. 

Lachlan likes her at first. She’s fiery and mischievous and actually manages to beat him in combat. It’s just a sparring match, he tells himself, it doesn’t actually matter. Except it does matter. Because Saoirse is getting way too close to the Queen and she’s too good at everything for her- her existence to be natural. Lachlan's cousins loved her, meanwhile Lachlan himself was only growing more irritable and distant. Was she replacing him? What was more, there were rumors that the Queen wanted to let Saoirse, an outsider, compete for the throne! Too bad no one believed Lachlan when he tried to tell them. They all think he’s simply jealous. 

And then one night there’s a bear in the castle.

Understandably, Lachlan panics and draws his sword. He’s heard the stories. What happened to his father, his brothers and the late Queen Elinor. Heard about the demon bear Mor’du. If he doesn’t slay the beast then-

But just before Lachlan calls for help, the bear disappears and a wide eyed Saoirse is standing in its place. Her hair fell loose down her shoulders, revealing furry ears atop her head. 

“W-wait! It’s not- Lachlan listen-“

“Monster!”

“No!”

He had won. He had proof, right there under her hair! If he brought her before the Queen and lords, they’d probably kill her, but so what?

In a desperate flight for life, Saoirse ran through the palace as a bear to escape. The clans awoke with much clamor and the hunt was on, but the beast had disappeared into the night. 

The very next morning, the clans set out again, splitting into groups to canvas the forest more thoroughly. Lachlan set off on his own--he knew just where to go. 

He didn’t find the bear at the stone circle like before. He did find a wisp. A will-o-the wisp! Here to lead him to his fate, undoubtedly. 

Lachlan followed the little spirits eagerly, ignoring the way the trees grew thick and dark, and stone jutted further from the ground. At first, he thought the stone archway was a cave. Inside lay the bear, curled up by a pile of rubble, asleep.

“Wake up.” Lachlan kicked it. He had more honor than to kill a sleeping enemy. 

She transformed back as she startled awake. That was fine, a human was easier to drag back anyway. She was clutching a bow, a sword lay on the stone steps behind her. 

“Did you steal these from the castle?!”

“No, I made them you brute!”

Lachlan scoffed. “You made them?” 

“Yes. Did you think your weapons just popped out of thin air, your highness?”

“I- w- no. But you’re a beast, what the devil do you need weapons for?”

“I'm a human,” she hissed. It was then that Lachlan noticed. Stairs?? And were those carvings? 

“Is this the ancient kingdom? Do you live here?”

“No. I just…come here sometimes.”

“Why?”

The look on her face made him think she might snap at him, but she kept herself in check. Instead, she said, “becoming the kingdom hero won’t make you loved, you know.”

“What? I’m loved, what are you talking about?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you don’t act like it. Are we sure I’m the monster here?”

“Yes!”

The girl huffed. “Well, I hope you figure yourself out soon, before it’s too late. You’re really lucky you know. You have so many people who care about you. Four whole clans at your fingertips.” Her own fingers traced a withered carving on cracked stone. She muttered something about “mum told me not to come back here” and stood. Lachlan readied his weapon again, not realizing he had ever lowered it. She didn’t attack him. She simply hefted another massive rock over to her spot from the other side of the cave and laid back down. “Do it then. Go on, I’m ready.”

…

“What?” 

Saoirse actually managed to look annoyed. “You’re planning to kill me right? For ‘attacking your castle’?” Her voice ridiculed him, yet she seemed completely serious. “Go on then.”

Lachlan actually dropped his weapon then. “What is wrong with you?” What was so important about the stone then that she wanted it close? “Don’t you- I mean okay, I understand being suicidal, but don’t you have someone who would miss you?”

“Nope.”

Lachlan’s heart fell. He dropped down beside her. Surely she couldn’t be serious. “Where do you live?”

A mournful frown pushed her bottom lip out like she was about to cry. “Right here. I was supposed to live here. Ages ago. But it- it got destroyed.” As if an afterthought, she added, “I was never going to hurt you, you know.”

Lachlan finally took a look at the carvings she had rolled over to lean against. The four brothers, he could recognize easily enough. He had heard the story more than enough times for a lifetime from his father and aunt. There were people with them. The king, he assumed, was one, standing in the middle with the crown. The others were three women—the fourth brother didn’t have one, but he held a little boy in front of him. All of the brothers had a family, Lachlan realized. Even the eldest, though he didn’t seem to have a child yet. 

“We never learned about them,” the prince murmured.

“No, you wouldn’t have. They all died.”

“But- but this is all ancient.” She must be crazy. “You can’t live here.”

“Time moves a lot slower in the realm of the faeries.”

Now Lachlan looked at Saoirse like she was in fact crazy. Then it clicked. “The circle…”

Well, that's...kind of sad... “You’re another victim of the witch,” he surmised. He hadn’t thought they could turn into humans again but maybe she had gotten a different spell?

Saoirse snorted. “No, the witch is married to my mum now. She’s lovely, really. I’m-“

“A victim of Mor’du then? Did he kill your family?” 

Saoirse cut him off with a roll of her eyes. “Mor’du was my family ya gommy nyaff.”

…

“Oh.”

~~~

All in all, they returned to the castle. Lachlan apologized and made up with his family. Saoirse, with some trials of trust, was welcomed back as well. Eventually, Lachlan does take the throne. Except there were never any competitive games. Or rather, the lead up was the competition, in a sense. The Queen wanted to test the heirs' genuine traits and familial bonds. With the ability to admit he was wrong and put family above himself, Lachlan passed with flying colors.

[xiii-error]

・(RP) No-Canon Lore BG3 ; OCs / Raphael

⤷ First of all, thank you once again, chuwsh! Please go check out her work and these commissions are open. (These prices are low, even very low; Please tip her ! She deserves them so much ! Show her that her drawings are worth MUCH more than her price.) Carrd : chuwsh ‎♡‧₊˚

⤷ Please be kind to me, I'm French, and I've only just started to actually write long texts in English. If there are any poorly spelled sentences, I'll take any advice! I would like to get better at it.

The smell of sulfur. A scent that always made their noses sting.

From the heat emanating from the room, they guessed that they were in the Hell. When the orange and reddish particles disappeared, their eyes could contemplate the boudoir of the House of Hope. It wasn't the first time they set foot here. During their adventure with Tav, they had already penetrated to the lair of the demon and its incubus. “Aaah… My little mouse’s cheese, here you are finally.” When they heard the voice, they took a deep breath. Raphael basked in his healing spring, a chalice in his hand. He dipped his lips in this red beverage, which must surely be wine. He examined them from top to bottom, like this, he judged their potential. They were as expressionless as ever, waiting to see what the cambion wanted. “Still as silent as I see.” Noticing that he wasn't going to be able to get a single word out of their mouth, he placed his cup on the edge of his bath, before standing up. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, little cheese.” Carrying his steps out of the source, it was with a snap of his fingers that his wet and naked figure became dry and clothed. Perhaps it was one of the few things they envied about this demon. Even if for many, Raphael had a perfect body, a face that highlighted the self-esteem he had in him. For their part, it was his Ascendant form that they loved. This sublime being, which reflected the power of hell. If they had had the opportunity to touch even a little of its crests with their fragile hands, they would have been won over. However, they shook their faces to stop thinking about it.

“I have something to offer you.” Without even looking at them, Raphael motioned to follow him. Their walks took them to the Archives. Without waiting, he summoned a scroll. At this sudden appearance, they wrinkled their noses. What did this demon want to do again? They never thought they'd see that piece of paper a second time, considering what Tav had done. Raphael couldn't help but laugh mockingly.

"Well ! That's a perfect reaction! Small, but it means everything.” They retorted ; “What do you want, demon?!” His smile was much more diabolical. “Just a contract. Your soul is nothing for me, but I told myself that... You were surely tired of being my little mouse's cheese, weren't you? And, of all the children of Lord Astarion.” They gulped down their saliva. They ran their thin fingers over the bite scars. A way out? This is what Raphael offered them. They pursed their lips, while deep in thought. Considering the pros and cons.

There, in Lord Astarion's palace, they had food, shelter and clean clothes. But they weren't free. No, far from it. They were like a bird in a cage. The only view they had was through their window. Miserable as they were, their only purpose was to feed the vampires.

Their brown irises crossed those of Raphael. "All right." It was so simple and quick that Raphael raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't have thought they would have the courage to accept the contract. With a movement of his hand, he moved the parchment and the quill that came with it. “You know how to do it, right?” He couldn't wait to see how it played out. Illiterate, they couldn't read the conditions, but it didn't matter, they signed anyway. It’s in a childish and trembling way, as if it was their first time writing.

The contract was concluded. “Your soul is mine now. Astarion is no longer your master.” They felt something disappear inside them. They felt cold, before everything returned to the way it was before.

“Before you leave.” Raphael gave them a tarot card and a simple dagger. “Let’s say it’s a gift from me and one from Loviatar. With this dagger, you could then make blood sacrifices. She will offer you her blessing. A good thing when you have to bleed yourself, no? Still with his big smile, he continued; “And this card, well, you’re going to have to figure out how to use it.”

Then, without warning, with a snap of their fingers, they found themselves in that cold room that they knew so well. They didn't feel any change in them. Anxious and lost, before one of the bloodsuckers arrived, they hid the tarot card and the dagger under their mattresses. Should they wait? But wait, what? What if Astarion found out?

So many questions without answers.

⬅ ✦

[starpirateee]

What you desire the most

@lautski-week day 5 - moon

Warnings: gun mentions / read on AO3 here

--

"We just want what you cherish the most..." 

Steph got over herself, and glanced at the beings for just long enough to notice that one of them had gravitated towards Pete. It reached a hand out, slowly. Almost tentatively. She was close enough to be able to feel the violent chill that rushed down Pete's spine as it ran a pale hand through his hair, sweeping a strand away from his face. It looped the end of the strand around it's fingertip, and Steph swore she saw a crackle of green energy cast itself out from the being. 

Pete backed off as much as possible, angling his body so that he was facing Steph rather than keeping his back to her. She no longer felt protected. She felt alone, and the space he had occupied had turned cold. She looked into his eyes. They were filled with fear. 

"There he is!" The being taunted, leaning closer to Pete again and making him draw in a shaky breath. 

Steph clocked on immediately. Tearing her eyes from the way that the bottom of Pete's hair appeared to be tinged in green, she whirled around and turned to face the thing behind them. "No! No! There has to be something else!"

"I have made my decision. Pay the price, or don't, it makes little difference to me!"

One of the other things cackled as if this was the most hilarious outcome in the world. "C'mon, Stephie! We all know how special he is..."

"And you do want rid of Jagerman, don't you?" The low voice with the mask mused, a smirk residing on his otherwise dark face. "We can give you what you want."

"You just have to give us a little something first!" The green one grinned. The way they bounced off each other was terrifying, and she felt herself shiver this time. She had been the one to demand a bargain, and now she was going to have to pay the price. 

As soon as the gym fell back into the uncomfortable darkness, Steph swore she heard Pete, at her side, trying to stifle a sob. He clapped a hand to his mouth and forced a breath, but even Grace could tell how scared he was.

"You two should take a moment... Maybe you could figure this out!" She said, all too hopefully. The lords had echoed their own desires enough that they were reverberating through the walls of Steph's mind. She couldn't imagine what Grace or Pete were thinking at this moment in time.

"Figure it out, what the hell do you mean?" She snapped, then immediately retracted. "Sorry-"

"I mean, maybe there's a way around it! A way that means you don't have to-" Grace stopped suddenly, hesitant. Both of the others understood, though, why she was so reluctant to finish that sentence. 

Steph helped Pete to his feet, and the two of them made their way out of the back doors and towards the football field. She was holding onto him like he could slip through her fingertips if she let him go, and he had hold of her hand like a looser grip would cause the world to fall apart. The floodlights weren't on, there was no reason for them to be, so the only light that either of them had was the supporting glow of the moon. 

Pete's eyes darted towards it, as if it would offer him any form of comfort for what was about to happen. It didn't. He pressed his lips into a tight line, and tried to avoid the way his entire body was racked with chills. "They were serious, weren't they?" He muttered, his voice thick. 

Steph nodded, but she didn't want to admit it either. "I- I don't think-" She stopped, breathed, and turned to look Pete in the eye. "I don't want to do this, Pete..."

"If you don't, they won't take Max... Either way, this doesn't end well for me." The laugh that followed was bitter, blocked by the threat of tears. He lifted his head and cast his gaze out over the field. "He's out there somewhere. It's only a matter of time before he comes. Please, Steph, just- just get it over with."

"No!" She didn't mean to yell that, and by the way Pete startled, clearly he wasn't expecting it either. Forcing her tone down a little, she swallowed, a pit of dread building in her chest. "Shit, I can't. That thing was right, you're... You're what I cherish the most, and now I have to kill you?!"

It had said "one of you." 

Maybe this didn't have to end with Pete dying. 

"Wait... Wait, no. I refuse. You must have desires too, right? Why don't you do it? Give up what you want the most, and then you don't have to die! It could work! You could-"

"It's you."

Steph's face paled. He'd said that as if she was supposed to have known all along. Had she? The way they fought in the coffee shop, she was about convinced that the feelings she had for him were nowhere near reciprocated! Knowing that he loved her as well- that hurt. It hurt, and it felt amazing, and she wished her heart wasn't beating so fast right now, because otherwise she'd be able to identify how it felt.

"No..."

But, he'd said she was the thing he cherished the most. Her, and the little time they'd spent together. She was what he wanted most in this world.

"The thing I want most, I can't have. I want things to be normal, I wanna live a life where my closest friends since second grade aren't fucking dead, or where I don't have to worry about my brother turning up missing... I can't have that. But... Just for a moment, I thought that things would work between the two of us, that you could be the one constant I have. That's... That's what I really want."

All she could do to an admittance like that was stare. He braved it and took her other hand, so the two of them were fully facing each other. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Steph. And I needed you to know that before something happened, but I haven't had the chance to tell you, and-"

Impulse took over. Steph stood up taller, squeezing both of Pete's hands, and brought him into a kiss. It was broken and full of promises that neither of them could keep, but it was nice. It was Pete. For once, something felt in her control.

Pete's eyes widened at first, but he didn't hesitate in returning the kiss. The moon watched on, bathing the two of them in a cool light that they could barely see in. Under any other circumstance, that would be the height of romance, especially since his feelings for Steph had practically been written out in concrete. He knew how he felt, and she did too. The rest of the world melted away for a moment.

And then, as his mind began to wander, he remembered the gun sitting in her back pocket, waiting to be used. Waiting to be used... On him.

That pretty much broke the moment completely. 

Both of them pulled away far closer to tears than they had been only moments ago. Pete broke the connection, and ran one of his hands over his face. 

"I love you," he whispered, hearing his voice crack as it emerged. "Stephanie- Steph. I love you, and I know that means I have to let you go... I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologise, Pete. It should be me... You still have something to live for! You have a future!"

"I wouldn't be anything without you!"

He stepped back. In the glint of light, Steph could see that the strand of hair the lord had ran a hand through was tinted green. The lights in the gym weren't mistaken... That thing had crept up on him, and actually made an impact. Something she could see. Maybe that would be the last she saw of him...

"Look, Steph, I don't care what anyone says... You're smarter than they think. You- you know what you have to do."

The green looked like a marker now. A pointer, telling the world that he was the obvious choice. His life needed to be the one that ended. 

"I can't. Pete, I don't know what happened, but something did, and now I have you! And you're everything I never even knew I wanted in life. We could do this back and forth until Max comes and finishes us both, so please... take this gun, finish the job." She dug the weapon from her pocket, and held it out. Pete just stared at it.  "I love you, Pete..."

"I know. That's why you have to do it."

He sunk to his knees on the grass, feeling the cool blades beneath his trousers. His hair fell in a messy curtain in front of his face, and just before he could lift a hand to sweep it away, he caught sight of it too. The green streak. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over. Some of them caught on the frames of his glasses, and some of them slipped down his cheeks. He felt his shoulders shake, and he doubled over, sobbing into the ground. After a moment that felt way longer than it probably was, he straightened up, wiped his eyes, and shot a final glance over his shoulder. 

"You know it's there... That thing wants me dead. Go on. I won't blame you."

He closed his eyes, turning his head. Breath held in anticipation, he heard Steph sob, curse loudly towards the sky, and take the safety off the pistol. The moonlight danced, she lined up her shot, Pete managed a single thought.

I hope your future is better than anything I could've given you

And then, Steph pulled the trigger.

[niuttuc]

New “budget” Commander cards: Lord of the Rings: Colorless and lands

We've reached the end of the colors! Now off to generic cards, and then we can take a look at the multicolor options. They are numerous so I might group them in batches or make multiple posts just for multicolor options. Tell me what you think I should do for those in the notes!

You know these by now, we'll go color by color, mixing main set and commander set. Reprints can be included if they brought the price down under our bar. All the cards presented here are under $2 at time of writing. Cards will be evaluated as part of the 99, even legendary creatures.

This card isn't very good, but it ensures everyone at the table gets to at least play the game. With most games proceeding clockwise, it'll be painfully slow to get around the table if the player needing help is on your left though. Still, an easy include if you want to make some friends or are running the likes of Zedruu or Blim. Oh, also much better after an Aeon Engine, not that it makes either of them good cards, it's just a fun thought.

Ignore the first strike ability, this equipment gives you FIVE untaps of whatever you put it on per turn cycle and haste. If your commander (or enough of your deck) has an instant speed tap ability, this is a new staple, one of the best sources of untaps out there.

This one is quite the mana investment to get going, though doubling a board of tokens every turn is fun at the very least. Given the token created on ETB, this is a decent option for human and tokeny decks, just be aware that it takes a while, a lot of mana and a lot of board wipes dodged to start doing stupid things.

This is NOT a new design idea by any stretch, but cheap graveyard-hate artifacts you can crack have been a healthy part of decks since Tormod's Crypt in The Dark. This new one is quite good, not quite as broad or efficient as some other options, Soul-Guide Lantern is still the gold standard. With that said, it has its upsides too, not only dealing with graveyards but also passively stopping all opposing death triggers, including from tokens, which against some aristocraty decks is a back-breaking ability for a 1 drop with extra upside. It's a one drop so you can also get it with Urza's saga, and it never affects you like a Relic of Progenitus would.

Most decks probably would benefit from having at least one or two of these cycling graveyard hate artifacts, but it's never the most fun include. Be a responsible player, eat your veggies, and pack some graveyard hate, and no, Bojuka Bog and Scavenger Grounds aren't enough by themselves.

We've seen a lot of "attack with two creatures, draw a card" lately, particularly in mono-white with Chivalric Alliance and Glimmer Lens in back to back sets, both at two mana. This is another option that can go in any color, does that, can draw more than one card a turn if you attack different players with 2+ creatures each (though I don't think that'll happen often). It offers additional card selection but only ever draws creatures, but if you're running this you should have enough that that's an upside. It's a powerful and cheap tools for aggressive (particularly go wide) decks to avoid running out of gas.

These two lands tell you what they want, they're solid and cheap fixing additions for legendary-focused decks. Neither of them is quite a new Plaza of Heroes, but also they're a dirt cheap common and uncommon. Not much more to say here.

A new three mana mana rock with upside! It's alright, most decks probably don't want it. It's one of the best cards in a handful of decks that can abuse it, Evra and Eruth come to mind, but most of the time, it's just a Manalith that'll very rarely draw you a card. If you can make that happen more often though, either because you're chugging through your entire hand often or because you're wheeling* and dealing, it might be worth a slot. I know I might try it in Jaxis because I often rummage through my last card and draw two or three more cards at end of turn, and getting extras would be pretty neat. Not sure if it won't end up cut in a month, but I'll try. The lifegain mode is basically irrelevant unless you have some serious shenanigans, like Evra who was mentioned earlier.

*Important rules note: Cards are always drawn one at a time. This WILL work with wheels, but it will only double a single card draw and not all of them. A Wheel of Fortune with this out will discard your hand and draw you eight cards, not fourteen. It might still be worth including in wheel deck, but it's something to be aware of.

Finally, Basalt Monolith is back in a commander precon for the first time in nearly a decade, and is now back to being pretty cheap. If you want to combo with it, now's the time to grab copies at a fraction of the usual $5 price.

[deathbind]

THE GUARDIAN OF ETERNITY.

We speak now of Refhremmit, the Great Spirit, the Guardian of Eternity, the Grand Embalmer. They who are in the embalming house, who prepare the houses of eternity, who keep the cities of eternity, who stand at the threshold. They, bearing the cradle of stars, who were weaned on Eruti's blood, who wash the burial shroud in the shining waters. All souls would be lost without them; may their vigil never be broken.

REFHREMMIT WAS FIRST THE SPIRIT of a lakeside fishing village in western Meket. Though the people's lives were humble, their needs were met. They respected the land, respected its spirit, and always gave back a portion of what they'd earned. In return, Refhremmit kept their nets full and their gardens flourishing. Why the kheprer chose that place to appear, not even Refhremmit can say.

Some theorize the lake is a pool of Eruti's blood, spilled when the One Above cast them down, and it is from that blood the kheprer were born. Others say it was the site of a great killing in the most ancient of times, and the kheprer were the souls of the dead rising to claim vengeance. Whatever the case, the kheprer devoured all fish in the lake, drank all life from the land, and spread east into the rest of the country. This panicked their neighbors who were certain the village must have transgressed Heaven to be so punished. They burned the village in hopes of preventing the kheprer's spread. They succeeded only in ensuring there were no survivors. Refhremmit, grieving the people they had loved well, wove a shroud of preservation over the village. Houses did not rot; bodies did not decay. They sat a mourner's vigil for over a decade.

None dared entered that forsaken place — until Serot. He had found a way to control the kheprer. He was limited in how many he could command and for how long. What's more, he had nowhere to keep them that would not do further harm. Thus he sought their very source, believing he would find there a permanent solution. He was not so focused on his goal, however, that he forgot all compassion. He uncovered every body he could. Heard the final words of the dead, accepted their last requests, gave them the rites they had so long been denied. Even those who had no information of use — it did not matter. He gave them what peace he could and laid them to rest.

Refhremmit was moved by this. They had been wary at first. Perhaps this was some foul looter or defiler of dead. But, he showed more decency in a month than anyone else had shown in years. Refhremmit guided with signs in the world at first. Led him to the dead, helped him fulfill what last requests could be fulfilled there. Then they spoke to him on the winds, came to him in dreams. Finally, they came in flesh to Serot's fire. He, without surprise, as if greeting one who belonged there, offered them food and drink. That was the first of many nights they'd share.

As they worked together enough trust was built for them to bind their souls that Serot might have the power to command the kheprer and Refhremmit might have the power to keep them. It required the further cooperation of every ghul lord Refhremmit could muster, but it was done. Their partnership continued in the founding of the Anactaci and the building of the City of Eternity, from which all cities of eternity derive their name, over the village where the kheprer were kept. A magical bond was not all that kept them together but genuine love and companionship. They were as two ends of the scale.

Which is why it pained Refhremmit more than any other to watch Serot deteriorate. All who draw from the Plane of Death pay a price, and Serot drew more deeply from that well than any other. This, combined with the griefs of life, wore him down early. By his early-forties, his health was so poor that he looked cadaverous. Even the Manthu, drawing directly from the Plane of Life, could not counter it. Refhremmit could not watch him wither away — certainly could not bear his soul to be consumed. They proposed that their bond might offer an alternative. If Serot came willingly, they might embrace each other so closely that they become one and the same. There would be eternal rest in each other's arms, and Serot's arms would be Refhremmit's, and Refhremmit's arms would be Serot's, and there would be no difference between them. They would keep eternal vigil over the souls of the dead.

Serot came willingly. They were bound in a rite mimicking both marital and funerary rites — but the result was not as they'd expected. They did not merge, but they were wound inextricably about one another. Serot has reincarnated continuously through the centuries, and Refhremmit has greeted each new life. Refhremmit has taken them all into their arms as they passed death's door, and walked hand-in-hand with them down the deathless paths to a new incarnation. Never has there been a more constant lover or friend.

But, Serot is not the only soul under their purview. Refhremmit became steward of the greatest House of Eternity which was Serot's tomb and the guardian of the City of Eternity, which was the necropolis that held it. Each house and each city properly hallowed comes under their aegis. Thus their influence is felt throughout all Meket. The Anactaci know them as patron and protector. They are in every embalmer's house and at every tomb's threshold. The sanctity of these places is in their hands. Any who transgress that, transgress against them.