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crappymixtape · 1 year ago

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because of you • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 2.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T O N E 🎶 good girls ( john carpenter remix ), chvrches

“Why is she even here?”

“Steve!”

A loud smack cut the air in two as Robin slapped a hand against Steve’s shoulder, rendering the rest of group there in Max’s trailer silent.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, cheeks burning under his gaze, lips twisted into a scowl and trying hard to hold back the daggers you wanted so badly to throw at him.

“She doesn’t know what the hell we’re up against! How’s she supposed to–“

“Steve, none of us knew either, cut her a break.”

“Cut her a break and then what? We all get eaten by a fucking melted people monster?”

“That’s not fair–“

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Nancy,” you cut the girl off, standing quickly from your spot on the couch.

They’d been talking like this since you showed up. Like you weren’t right there in the room with them and honestly you kind of wished you weren’t anymore.

“I need some air,” you grumbled before giving Steve a pointed glare and shouldering open the front door.

The air outside was crisp as you sat down on the front stoop. Not a cloud in the sky and sunlight washing everything in soft golden light, but it all still felt so dark. Like it was harboring thick shadows. Long, spindly, and pitch black. Waiting to wrap their twisted fingers around you.

Waiting to dig into you and squeeze tight.

Waiting to lift you twenty feet into the air and snap your bones like twigs.

Waiting to leave you for dead.

And here was Steve fucking Harrington asking what right you had to be there. Asking what purpose were you gonna serve amongst this “holier than thou” joke of an army. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Eddie had already gotten their asses handed to them by what they’d called demobats, Steve arguably needing serious medical attention, and they wanted to go back? It took everything you had to not leave right there on the spot.

Hell, maybe you should, you thought for a minute. You didn’t owe them anything, especially Steve, but you did owe it to your best friend. The one who basically had a hit out on him. The one who wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly, but all of Hawkins had already decided he was guilty and you weren't about to leave him.

Eddie.

❝ SO SAVE YOUR BREATH, GIVE A LITTLE OF WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT – DO THEY KNOW SOMETHING I DON’T? ❞

You met him two years ago under the bleachers at the Homecoming football game. It seemed like the perfect place to smoke the joint you’d messily rolled in the car right before you’d come into the stadium and apparently you’d been right, but someone else had already laid claim to it...

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this is kind of my spot.”

He’d been all black leather and denim. Dark curls and clove. Silver rings and chains and heavy boots and maybe you should’ve been more intimidated, but the smile lines at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

“Don’t see a sign anywhere,” you’d shot back, no hesitation. Looked over at him all skeptics and attitude and took a long drag from your joint. Blew the smoke off in his direction and it made him grin like an idiot.

“Been sellin’ weed down here for like…the last three years so–actually, yeah. What the fuck, man. Someone owes me a sign.”

...And that was it, you were a goner. Laughing mid-toke and coughing so hard you cried and it made him feel so bad he gave you a baggy for free. Eddie "the freak" Munson and you – best friends.

Skipped all the stupid dances and football games with you. Paraded around the lunch room like an idiot with you. Threw fries back at the jocks for you when they called you a loser and sat on the floor in the bathroom with you when you cried.

So fuck “King Steve” Harrington.

You had every right to be there, probably even more than he did and you were gonna tell him to his face, but—

“Can I sit?”

The sudden sound of someone else made you jump.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and sat down next to you. Gave you a sidelong glance and a small lopsided smile. “He’s really not so bad–”

“You’re joking. Right? Tell me you’re joking.”

The boy hummed, dropped his gaze down to the rings wrapped around his fingers and twisted the one on his thumb.

“He doesn’t want me here. None of them do,” you grumbled, frustration fed further by his non-answer and it pulled his eyes back up to you.

“Hey now, that’s not true–”

“Yes it is! Even Nancy looks at me like a kicked puppy.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Made him scoot closer to you and bump his shoulder into yours. “Listen, sweetheart,” the nickname made you soften, but you tried to keep your scowl in place, “We’re all in over our fuckin’ heads, hm? And Stevie boy…he’s seen some shit. He’s just trying to–”

“Just trying to what? Be a complete dickhead about it? Mission accomplished.”

Eddie sighed and roughed a hand over his face. Rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He knew what you felt because he’d felt it too. Knew what it was like to get laughed at and mocked in the lunch room. Knew how it was supposed to be between him and the other boy. Hell, he nearly cut Harrington’s face off with a broken bottle a few days ago, but one thing was clear.

Change was possible and Steve Harrington was proof, he just wasn’t great at showing it.

“Alright. He could be less of a dick,” he conceded, propping his chin in his hand and looking at you with his big brown eyes. How could you be mad at that?

You mumbled under your breath about that not being the only thing, but fine, okay, only for you, Eds.

Reaching over he flicked at your fingers and looked at you from under his curls with a stern pinch between his brows. “He’s helping me, sweetheart. They all are. Shit, without them I’d probably be in jail already. Or in Carver’s trunk,” he tried a laugh, but it fell short at the end with the weight of his words and it made you grab at his hand and squeeze it.

“Shut up,” you chided softly, no heat behind it. The anger that had been swelling in your chest all but extinguished.

Silence settled between the two of you then, heavy and tinged at the edges with worry. With everything that was at risk and it started to gnaw at the pit of your stomach. What if you couldn’t fix it? And even if you could, this Vecna asshole was about to end the world anyway so what the hell did it matter?

How were a bunch of kids going to do anything about it?

“Ahem,” the door knocked into your back and jolted you back to earth. Pulled a gasp from you and when you looked up over your shoulder you felt your anger return ten fold. “We’re leaving, geniuses,” Steve announced, pushing at you with the door.

“Least you know you’re an idiot,” you mumbled under your breath, standing up from your spot to glare at him at eye level.

“Real cute,” Steve shouldered past you on the stoop, took the last two steps in one go and turned to face you both as he landed on the grass. “For you, Munson,” he said, throwing a mask at Eddie, “Courtesy of Mayfield.”

“What’s that for?” you couldn’t help asking as Max appeared at your side and pointed so casually – too casually – at the mask.

“Gonna steal a Winnebago. Get that on, dingus. Let’s go.”

“Nice,” Eddie grinned up at the red-headed girl and yanked the mask on over his head, “Thanks, Red.”

“Let’s go,” Steve urged, waving his hands at everyone to get out of the house and you felt your heart racing.

“Steal a Winnebago? Eddie. Fuck that–”

“Honey, I’m already a wanted man–” Eddie cut you off and readjusted the ridiculous looking mask a bit. “–c’mon,” he said, tugging at your belt loop to get with it.

“I–that doesn’t mean you can just steal–”

“We’re way past that,” Dustin chimed in, shoving past you just like everyone else, “Besides, if the world’s gonna end anyway, what’s it matter?”

Shit. The kid had a point. It was probably fine. It was just a trailer. Maybe you could give it back afterward? You needed it more than they did. Right?

“Dammit,” you grumbled under your breath, now the only one still standing around. “Wait for me!”

❝ THEY TELL ME I’M HELL-BENT ON REVENGE, I CUT MY TEETH ON WEAKER MEN, I WON’T APOLOGIZE AGAIN ❞

The first time you ran into Steve Harrington was sophomore year. In the hallway before Click’s class. You were cramming everything into your bag, but struggling with your history book when you heard it coming.

Tommy Hagan’s stupid laugh.

Your stomach sank, eyes glued on your things and trying to ignore it. He was in your science class the year before along with his ditzy girlfriend Carol and they always made sure to get a spot in the back just to make out.

“Need some help?”

When you finally looked up at him he’d stopped right in front of you, the grin on his lips sharklike as Carol smirked out from under his arm. Another boy you didn’t know was standing just behind them wearing a stupid member’s only jacket, half unzipped, and had hair that sat perfectly in place. Too perfect.

“That looks heavy, hm?” Tommy said grabbing your book, voice all saccharine sweet and sharp around the edges. Flipping through the pages he pulled a face, clicked his tongue and weighed it in his hand, then made a show of dumping it on the floor. “Whoops. Sorry!” he half-laughed and your cheeks burned.

“Bite me, Hagan,” you snapped back, bending down to grab your book, and it only made his grin grow wider.

“Ooo. She’s fiesty today, Stevie. I like it.”

And then he chimed in. Stevie. The had-to-be-douchebag that everyone called 'King Steve.'

“Probably on her period,” he said scoffing a laugh, all confidence and bravado and the look on his face was so smug. Thought he was so clever and funny and when you finally turned around it was to take the two steps up to him in one.

“Really? My period? So original.”

It made him swallow hard. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he blinked back the flicker of surprise glinting in his eyes. He took a quick glance at Tommy like he didn’t want to disappoint him and then hardened his expression. Crowded down over you and nodded.

“Explains you being such a bitch.”

And it took the air from your lungs. Stuck in your sides sharp like a knife and you felt your throat tighten as Tommy and Carol snickered, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction. Not here.

“Yeah. Bet you wish you had an excuse for being such an asshole,” you cut at him and it pulled an Oh shit! out of Tommy as he doubled over laughing, Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Your feet couldn’t carry you away fast enough as you shoved your book in your bag and turned to leave, but you refused to run. Refused to let them see weakness, and as Tommy yelled down the hallway after you about tampons you raised a middle finger high in the air to punctuate just how much you hated them all.

Eddie met you in the bathroom after that, the one nobody used on the other side of school, and you told him everything. He let you have the joint he had tucked behind his ear for emergencies, listened to you and told you they weren’t worth it. Especially not Steve. Because even though Tommy started it, Steve was the one who dug in. Could have left it alone but didn’t and that was what really got you.

How obvious it was he knew how shitty they were being, but went along with it anyway because he had to maintain his status. Had to uphold how ‘cool’ he was and keep the line in the sand drawn between him and ‘the freaks’ like you.

So he wouldn’t get a second chance.

And he wasn’t worth your time.

Not then and sure as hell not now.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART ONE OF A THREE PART SERIES, PART TWO AND THREE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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myladysapphire · 4 days ago

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A doe a Deer - A name i call myself

being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.

Azriel x Archeron!OC

Word count: 2,180

CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, death? self-hate, self-doubt, sad boy Azriel, angst, Daphne goes on a jounrey of self discovery in this one. not beta read!

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

Shock resounded across the field as they took in the state of the once war-torn field. The hight lords had all left the tent where the cauldron had been broken and then re-made, where a high lord had died and been reborn. They had thought that would be the most shocking thing that would have happened. That nothing could beat the very destruction of the very object that created the universe.

And yet as they left the tent, expecting the battle to be in full swing still, they ere left with the sight of Daphne Archeron. On her knees her hands outstretched and holding what seemed to be that of a thousand suns in the palm of her hand.

They heard the screams, the begs and the cries of Hyberns men. How the army that outmatched the combined power of seven courts, was eviscerated into nothing but dust.

And then the light changed from a golden blinding ray to a soft sliver glow. The power expanding to where their soldiers stood or flew, having stooped in shocked as their weapons pointed at nothing but piles of dust. As they all turned their eyes to her.

Fear claimed there faces, only to be meet with nothing but a soothing feeling. As their wounds were healed, and their dead reborn.

Their fear morphed into more shock, then into cries of joy, of celebration and victory.

Her name became a cheer, and the name “the saviour of Prythian” quickly found purchase in Daphne Archeron.

The sky had kept a golden hue to it, as if the sun refused to leave and the moon had simply made space in the sky for it. with the sheer strength of her power lingering even hours after, with no focus or thought, as made apparent by Daphne’s blank face.

The question of how she did it still lingered in the air, though she was cauldron made it seemed she had embodied the very might of the cauldron. Even when it had been broken, her power so strong inside her that even as the universe began to shatter, she could still harness the remnants of it.

And because of it, some had even called her a god.

Though if Daphne hadn’t dissociated completely, she would have scoffed at the word. She wasn’t a god, she was just a girl given powers beyond imaginable thought and magic she didn’t need and never wanted.

Hours later, after being coaxed from the battlefield and taken to her tent, she was still sat staring at her hands shocked and confused.

She only remembered parts of what happened, but not why. She had felt the hopelessness of her new family, the defeat she felt from falling soldiers and rage had built with in her, the grief from loosing her father. And as a result, she had become a unbreakable force, wiping out a large army by herself.

She remembered the looks on everyone’s faces. The shock. The horror.

Nesta and Elain had looked at her in disbelief, almost as if they had started fearing her, despite Nesta holding the decapitated head of the king of Hybern in her hand.

It scared her. Scared her that she was capable of doing something like that and what she even could do that and what else she could possibly do.

What if she hurt someone she loved?

But what scared he the most was the fact that’s she could still feel it bubbling inside her. Surely its should all be gone. Surely, she had used every last drop of her magic and she needed to rebuild it.

But as sun danced on her fingers I her pitch-black tent she feared she would be seen as a weapon, as something to fear. And she hated it.

Feyre had told her how proud she was of her, a smile on her lips as her the inner circle all gathered, following the meetings to discuss the war and a possible new treaty.

She had said nothing. And though that was nothing new.

She made no effort to communicate, not with her eyes or facial expression. Not with her hands. Nothing.

Azriel shadows hugged themselves around her skin, oddly drawn to her light.

They traced over her skin as if to offer comfort. But she didn’t even react to them, causing a frown to tug at Azriel’s lips.

She usually lit up when his shadows surrounded her. A smile always tugging at her lips, a happy glint in her eye.

But now there was nothing.

Nothing as the inner circle cheered and celebrated.

But Daphne simply sat and watched.

Nesta had vanished. Though no one seemed to be notice, expect Cassian of course. whose eyes darted around the tent searching for her.

Later that night, she still sat in the same spot as before, her eyes focused on her hands.

Everyone had left for bed, and only daphne and azriel remained.

“daphne” he spoke, moving to sit beside her.

She didn’t look up, her gaze fixated on her hands, drops of sunlight dancing around her fingers.

“daphne” he spoke again, his voice soft but concerned. “What is it?” he asked, the bond between them thrumming in his chest.

She had cut him off, the little connection they had from their bond, a bond neither of them had yet to acknowledge to the other but both knew they over knew of it.

His hand reached for hers, his eyes drawn to the drops of sunlight that his shadows seemed to play with.

A hot seeing pain pierced his skin as his already scarred and brunt flesh was met with the heat of the sun.

She startled back as he hissed in pain.

Her eyes widening in horror.

Standing up quickly, she ran from the rent. Her eyes swelling with sorrow and the bond filling with pleas of forgiveness.

Days passed and no one had seen Daphne. Not even Azriel’s shadows had found her.

And though she wasn’t the only Archeron sister to leave after the war, at least the inner circle knew where she was, where she lived and could find her when needed.

But Daphne? She was simply gone.

Her room in the townhouse was locked, a barrier in place that know one could breach. And yet Azriel knew she wasn’t in there.

He had tugged and tugged on the bond, but found no purchase, but at least it was there, and she was alive, that was enough, right?

It wasn’t for Daphne, not as she had returned to the sight of the war. The place she became a monster.

At least that was the name she had given herself.

She had ignored the praise, the songs that were sung in her honour. And named herself a monster. It was how she saw herself, because she was. She had heart Azriel without even thinking, had reduced thousands to nothing.

She ignored the good she had done, the healing and allowing solders to return home to their families.

Ignored the long feeling she felt every second of every day, the urge to respond to Azriel’s incessant tugs.

And had simple sat and started to think.

In the dust filled field, the remnants of swords, and arrows. Shields and helmets all left and abandoned; she had reflected on herself.

The burden she had been her how life, the illness that had nearly taken her. And how she was gifted with immortality and an ability to irradicate armies.

She had become everything she ever wanted, in truth.

Her whole life she had wished to be okay, to not be plagued with a constant illness. To not hear the tolls of death every winter season. To be able to speak with out fear or her body rebelling. To not be a burden, to be useful. And she had been. She had ended a war and saved the lives of the entire world. And yet, though she no longer felt as if she was a disappointment, she felt as if she was a monster.

She had abandoned her family, the people who had been nothing but proud, to wallow in self-pity, when she had gotten everything, she had ever wanted, or almost.

She had wanted to be loved and seen, and the whole of Prythian had seen her that day. Had started to worship her even.

Love though? She had received bounds of it from her sisters, even if it was veiled behind their poverty, and their struggles. They had showered her in it as she had them, even if not openly she had always felt it.

And now she felt it more so than ever, it was thrumming in her chest, pulling her to where the mountains meet the stars.

But she feared what she would do, she couldn’t control it, she had hurt him. She had hurt him.

The words played on repeat in her mind.

After everything he had told her, of his story, his youth. She had done the very thing; his half-brothers had done to him.

Though she had done it without malice, without thought. It was an accident, and Azriel didn’t hate her for it.

But she hated herself.

And hated that she couldn’t rely on his, on her family’s love, in order to love herself.

If there was one thing Daphen remembered about herself before her family was poor, was the desire to travel the world.

Her mother had long told her of her tales of traveling the continent, of even visiting fae courts. How she had danced with a fae prince who had won her hurt but had forced her to leave shortly after.

It was all she thought of when she was younger. Of what the world looked like, what it would show her, and the love she might find within it.

Of course, for a small child of four or five, this was very little. The world to her was an unimaginable thing. She had never seen the see or what the world outside their family’s estate looked like. And even when she grew up, she rarely saw outside of their small village.

She had still never seen the see, felt the brush of waves against her ankles, or the annoying caw of seagulls circling her as she feasted on her food.

She had never seen the courts her mother spoke of the cities of the mortal realm.

But now she decided she would. Even if she would spend a day doing each, she wanted to travel, to something for herself.

She felt as if her whole life, she had only ever acted to please. To do things that made her sister happy, whether it was find seeds for elain, sewing her sisters clothes, helping Feyre make her traps, or skin her kills. She had always helped, doing whatever they asked when she could, just to hear them say thank you. Just to feel less of a burden.

She had done it so much that she had started to burden them even more. Working herself to the core, getting sicker every year until it killed you, literally.

And though a part of her still whished to return, a part of her nagged at her that her family must be worried, and she so desperately didn’t wish for them to be, that she had to force herself to think of only herself.

And so, she found herself traveling to Gallia. The mortal kingdom her mother hailed from.

It was strange to her that she knew so much about her mother, when her sisters did not. That she only had happy memories of her and they only negative.

And yet she found herself not caring as she walked to the beaches along the shores of the continent.

She had travelled across the entirety of the mortal realms, seen cities and libraries and experienced human life for the first time, even though she was now fae.

But she had savoured the beach till last. Until she felt ready to go back to Velaris and to make it her home.

Peace settled upon her, as the see kissed at her ankles, and sand covered her feet.

She felt peace here, with the sun on her back. Her magic flared within her, and though she still feared it, the calm of the beach and soft sounds of waves crashing into rocks soothed the magic that bubbled with in her.

The sun had never stopped dancing around her fingers or lingering in the dark. The sun always seemed brighter wherever she went, and a warm always filled her chest.

It was comforting, though she dared not admit it. as the fear of what she could still do lingered with in her.

But for once she allowed herself not to think about the future, simply focused on the want to leave and find home.

So for the first time in a year, she found herself responding to the bond.

she just hoped to much hadn’t changed since she left.

to be added to taglist

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#acotar #acotar angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #acotar x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel smut #azriel x oc #sacha writes ✍️#a doe a deer

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writtenbymoonflower · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, author-san! How are you? Could I please request some angst for the poly!marauders, where R is someone full of tattoos or piercings but is smart, a sweetheart, golden retriever coded, and Lily is their friend. Lily knows about their infatuation with the boys. Being a great friend, Lily wants to set them up, but they're a bit uncertain about R because of their tattoos. Then one night, R overhears them talking in the common room with Lily and voices out their opinions regarding R, causing R to become insecure and try to hide it. You can continue however you like! Angst with a happy ending if it's okay! 🥺

Thank you, author-san!

💀🌻

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! Sorry it took so long, hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders, pre-relationship

cw: prejudice associated with tattoos and piercings, swearing, angst to happy ending

1.8k words (oopsie)

It was like you could hear their words on repeat as you raced up the stairs. What hurt the most is that you knew that some people would judge, but you hadn’t expected it from them.

“I just don’t know about 'em, Lils.” James winced. “Like they seem nice, but you know about people who choose to look at that…” He trailed off.

“I’m sure they’re not all bad.” Sirius cut in, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “But Prongs does have a point.”

“It’s just the impulsivity of it all.” Remus reasoned. “Like if you’re making rash choices like that, what else would you do.”

That was when you left your hiding spot in the stairs and ran back to your dorm. You could hear Lily’s ‘I’m so fucking done with you being stupid’ voice as you trailed away, making you smile at the knowledge that you had such a good friend.

But you had heard enough. They had clearly made their minds up about you. Besides, you knew your appearance was an… acquired taste, to say the least, and you couldn’t expect them to be with someone they weren’t attracted to. You didn’t think you looked that odd, but maybe your perception was skewed. No matter whose perception was more accurate, they clearly didn’t particularly like you, and it was probably best to keep your distance for now, at least until they really got to know you.

You knew that your appearance didn’t really match your personality. People often assumed you were rude, a slacker, confrontational, or even hateful. But the opposite was true in fact. You always made good marks, you were friends with loads of people, always trying to be as open as possible. And yeah, some people were intimidated at first, but they usually warmed up very quickly.

Apparently those three, the three you wanted the approval of the most, had not been as warm about you as you thought.

You crawled into bed and curled into yourself, trying to get a few hours of sleep before breakfast.

James yawned loudly, blinking his eyes rapidly to get rid of the sleepy, fuzzy film coating them. Him and his boyfriends had been up all night, getting lectured literally until the sun came up.

He had to admit, it was for the best. All three boys had gone to bed, feeling thoroughly corrected. Even slipping into shame.

“What the hell is wrong with you three?” Lily whisper-yelled. “James, you are the LAST person to say anything about appearances. Remember when I had to go around convincing people you hadn’t become mean after your growth spurt in fourth year? Just because you were big and scary and you hadn’t realized how you were coming across?” She scolded, before turning her head to the mouse-haired boy sitting by the fire. “And you,” She seethed. “You have no clue if her choices were ‘rash’ or not. I’ve heard plenty of rumors about your appearance, people saying similar things about you. About your ‘aggression’ just because they don’t know what’s going on with you.” She snapped her head over to Sirius, her fiery hair flipping around from the movement. “And Sirius, you’re just overcompensating because you’re jealous! You’re not fooling anyone, you would look like that in an instant if you could. You’re just too scared to do it.”

Sirius played with his thumbs, not able to dispute the accusations. None of the boys could actually. Lily could tell, she was satisfied with her work.

“I love you three buggers,” She pressed a friendly kiss to each of their cheeks as she stormed upstairs. “You just need to stop being such idiots.”

Sirius didn’t think anyone could change personalities that fast, but it seemed all three boys had woken up different people. That morning they had all just nodded to each other, acknowledging that their opinions were very different than they had been 24 hours ago and all walked shamefacedly down to breakfast. Sirius kept pushing his eggs around his plate, too busy staring at you to take a bite. You looked a lot different today. Your hair was ruffled in front of your face, hiding the metal glinting on your nose and eyebrow. You also had long sleeves and pants on, covering the ink detailing your skin. You still hadn’t waved at them, or even acknowledged the boys’ existence. Usually, you would be bouncing over to them, talking about the weather or whatever was on your mind at the moment. Sirius missed it if he was honest with himself. He was disappointed, he had been excited to show you his outfit. He crafted it with you in mind, teasing his hair up extra and being a bit more outlandish with his top, even stealing Marlene’s varnish to paint his nails.

Remus missed your interest in the latest book he had read. You always had so many interesting questions and you listened so intently. He missed how you played with the hoop in your septum as you nodded along to his plot summaries. You were always so patient and careful, it made his heart crack.

James was equally distraught. He had always prided himself on being open and friends with everyone, and he had considered you his friend, which just made him feel worse. He knew that stereotyping people never led to anything good, especially when someone's personality was completely ignored and replaced with caricature. Yes, you did look intimidating, but he actually liked it. It accentuated how soft your personality actually was. You were like a big dog that everyone was terrified of, but in reality was scared of butterflies and just wanted to love everyone. He laughed sadly, catching the other two boys' attention as he stared longingly at you. All he wanted to do was go over there, but you were completely ignoring them, so he figured it was best to just not bother you and continue on with his breakfast.

You were being equally as forlorn, continually sneaking glances over at the boys. They looked quiet and tired, but no less handsome. You felt sick, moving to leave your breakfast and all but run to the library. You needed to study anyway, you had become so infatuated that you were ignoring your classes. You had barely made it down the corridor before you heard three sets of panicked footsteps, quickly catching up to you. You tried to walk faster, but unfortunately Remus had very long legs and he briskly made it in front of you, trapping you in. He was looking flushed, amber eyes focusing on you way too much for comfort.

“Y/N,” He sounded out of breath. You fixed your face down and back, away from their gaze. You stopping had allowed the other two the opportunity to catch up, and soon you were face-to-face with all three of the people who apparently disliked you, but to your dismay, you were still completely attached to.

“You guys okay?” You asked, as kindly as ever but far quieter than they were used to.

“We’re fine, lovely.” James said, confused. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” You muttered, shifting your feet.

“Babe,” Sirius scoffed. Your heart jumped at the honorific, but you quickly scolded yourself. Sirius just called everyone that. You had heard what he, what all three of them had said last night. “You ran from there like bat outta’ hell.” He said like you were being ridiculous.

“And you haven’t spoken to us all day.” Remus cut in before you could respond.

“It’s only seven.” You mumbled.

“Still odd.” James quipped, moving ever so slightly closer to you. “You’re not okay.” He said, with enough finality that you gave up the act all together. They really weren’t going to make this easy on you. They said all those things last night, but they were still going to put you through the misery of having to listen to them say all those things directly to you.

You sighed dejectedly, starting to pick your nails. “Look okay,” You tore the words from the back of your throat. “I know that you don’t like me or don’t think I’m nice or whatever. You don’t have to talk to me, it’s okay.” You did your best to give them a reassuring smile, even managing for water to stay out of your eyes, but their expressions didn’t make it easy. Sirius cursed and pinched the bridge of his nose, James looked like a kicked puppy, and Remus was hiding his eyes from you. You started to walk away, but you were blocked in.

“Shit, you heard last night?” Sirius winced. You nodded painfully, looking back down at your shoes. The silent tension was so thick you felt it suffocating you. James was the first to do anything, wordlessly striding over to pull you into a bone-crushing hug. You stumbled from the shock, easing into him accidentally, but you made no moves to tense away. You limply wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I’m so sorry, angel.” He said, panicked. “I was so stupid, I- I never should’ve said it I don’t know what I was even thinking.” He pulled you tighter to him, enough that you were worried of your feet leaving the ground.

“I’m sorry too.” Sirius said, much more morosely than usual. “Never should’ve said those things, and you never should've heard it either.”

“We’re all sorry.” Remus said firmly. “We all know better, we should’ve known not to think that way. It’s awfully closed-minded. You’re our friend, we should’ve acted like it.”

“It’s okay.” You squeezed out.

“No.” Sirius said sharply. “It’s not okay. I don’t know if you heard what Lily said back, but she pointed out a lot of things, and I can promise that we don’t think that way anymore.”

“Please, please forgive us, baby. We were so wrong. You’re so kind and smart and funny and gorgeous an-” James was rambling on and on.

“Jamie, it’s okay. I know you’re sorry.” You giggled at his panicked tone. “Can you uh- you’re kinda crushing me.”

“Shit! Sorry.” He released you quickly, but not before slicking your hair out of your face. You just laughed, feeling ten times lighter.

“We’re okay.” You reassured. “I forgive you all, it hurt, but it seems like you are all beating yourselves up enough.”

“Jus’ feel bad.” Remus grabbed you unexpectedly, tugging you into his arms. He wasn’t squeezing you like James, but rather greedily absorbing your touch. This felt like a big deal, you almost never saw Remus hold anyone.

“Don’t feel bad.” You pleaded. “Everything’s fine now.” You rubbed his back in a way you hoped was soothing. You felt him relax in your arms.

“Okay stop hogging them.” Sirius tugged Remus out of the way, making him grunt in dissatisfaction. (You pretended to not notice the sneaky kiss Sirius pressed to the taller boy’s knuckles.) “It’s my turn.” He grabbed you with loving aggression.

“I wasn’t hogging.” Remus quipped.

“Yeah, you were.” Sirius sassed. “Besides, I was the biggest idiot. I need to give the biggest cwtch.” His reasoning was flawed, but you settled into him nonetheless.

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 9 months ago

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Imagine Zuko when you’re paralysed with fear at the sight of Azula…

It had been a peaceful morning just like the previous two days - until the ground quaked violently. Eyes flew open at the imminent danger and Aang was quick enough to deflect an incoming fireball as the rest of the group scrambled to their feet.

Zuko’s eyes widened when he realised their attacker. “It’s Azula.”

You had just thrown a bag into Appa’s saddle when you heard him and ice trickled through your body. Stumbling back, you accidentally stepped on Momo’s tail to which he screeched and then nursed in his little paws.

You would have apologised. You would have done anything but you stood frozen with fear clawing at your throat seizing all breath.

There was a series of calls for you but it was fuzzy to your ears - all but one. Golden eyes found themselves in your line of vision until it was all you could see. A warm hand against your waist, another on your cheek giving off a natural heat that thawed you for a few moments to focus.

“Look at me. You need to get on the saddle, okay? I’ll handle this.” Zuko said.

You took in a small breath, apparently you were still alive and breathing. Unable to find the words, you blinked and it was enough for the Prince.

He gently but quickly urged you towards the sky bison where Sokka had a hand extended. When he had yours gripped firmly, Zuko let you go and ran for the ledge to face his sister.

What happened in the moments after were a blur, there was yelling and the smell of fire and earth in the air. Appa was speeding through the valleys in order to escape and you held the side of the saddle to keep from flying off.

Just as he levelled out, you heard a voice in the air. That conceited, cold, relentless one that spent days and nights in your prison chamber. Then you heard her laugh - the very same one that echoed when spikes of lightning shot into your shackled, defenceless body until your screams forced blood.

Scrunching your eyes, you let go of the saddle and covered your ears. You didn’t care if you flew off. You just wanted to be away from her. Curling into yourself, you laid on the leather base and tried to drown out the sound.

There were shouts from somewhere above. A hand gently pressed against your arm as Appa changed flight and dipped low hard. The hot rush of air reminded you too much of the prison cell and memories began to flash. You started to drown in them, missing the additional thud of a body in the saddle.

Appa levelled out once more, still maintaining speed but the loud voices outside had reduced to softer tones - unlike the ones in your head.

Your nails dug into your scalp as your mind drowned you in the very worst trauma. And you begged for it to stop. You’d do anything for it to stop.

Something familiar moved closer, warm hands finding purchase over yours. They were steady and safe, carefully prying the tight hold away. A muffled voice made its way through your head and worked a soothing balm across the chaos.

Finally, you could feel a line between the past and reality. And you fought hard to stay in the land of the latter.

The air around you had cooled. Your cheeks felt wet and your hands were holding onto a soft fabric that smelled of home.

It was enough to finally pull you out of the haze and understand where you were.

Zuko was laying with you. His arms wrapped protectively, body flush against yours. His head nuzzled by your neck while his mouth whispered to you alone.

He was telling you a story about a prince who promised to give his life to protect the love of his life.

“You’re the love of mine.” He said with a gentle squeeze. “You will always be and I will never let you hurt like that again. I promise.”

~ More imagines here ~ (for more ATLA)

A/n: 2.5 hours sleep works wonders sometimes…

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender x reader #avatar x reader #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar imagine #atla x reader #atla imagine

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utterlyotterlyx · 9 months ago

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

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azrielbrainrot · 8 months ago

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 7

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: The time to restore your memories has finally come.

Warnings: Violence, Death (well not really)

Word Count: 4600

Notes: This is the moment of truth, our girl finally gets some answers. Hope you enjoy!

Part 6 ○ Part 8

It hasn't even been a full day since you killed Norris in that dark cell, but you've never felt better. The moment his heart stopped beating, you started breathing easier. It felt like the weight of the world fell off your shoulders, and knowing you will never have to kill or hurt someone at his orders brought you an amount of relief you never thought you would be able to feel. The days of stretching yourself thin to do his and the guild's bidding at the cost of your conscience were finally gone, you truly couldn't believe it.

You weren't so naive to think the guild would allow you to walk away so easily after not only deserting and sharing classified information about the organization, but also killing one of their best members. They would surely send out assassins to find and kill you, to silence you lest you tell the courts of Prythian too much about them - this is precisely how the guild has managed to survive in the shadows for so long after all, by disposing of any possible threat to the organization. But, with the backing of the Night Court and Azriel's endless support, you didn't feel so threatened, especially after witnessing their power and resilience while helping you with this whole situation. Rhysand has also already gotten more than enough information from Norris' mind to give you enough of an edge. Most of all, you weren't alone for the first time in your life.

The only thing that was still missing were your memories, the main part of the plan and the exact reason you were currently sitting in this foreign room while the High Lord prepared himself to enter your mind and destroy the spell keeping them locked out of your reach. You've been told this was the room you and Azriel had shared in the townhouse before you passed. An interesting choice made by the High Lady for such a somber spell to occur in, though you understand the sentiment behind her decision. With some luck, this place could act as a jumpstart to the process if needed. It would also be good for you in case regaining your memories somehow erases the recent ones.

If it were up to you, this would have happened right after Norris was killed, it could have been in that same damp and bloody cell for all you cared, but Azriel and the others insisted on waiting, letting you and Rhysand rest your bodies and minds before attempting such a delicate procedure.

Azriel also had to go and find the witch's tool Norris used, although that had taken him less than an hour since Rhysand had stolen that information directly from Norris' mind, and he had been back before you even had the chance to finish bathing. Apparently your theory that the tool had to be close to him was correct, and so your handler had hidden it not far from where your meeting had occurred. After he died, the glamour placed on it fell apart, and Azriel's shadows easily found it in the exact place Rhysand had told him it would be in.

The tool was nothing more than a simple amulet. It was easy to overlook the small ruby hanging from a delicate golden chain if it weren't for the strange, dark aura that clung to it, even Azriel's shadows seemed to recoil from it. It was hard to believe such a small object could cause so much destruction and hurt so many people.

Using the tool shouldn't prove to be too complicated for Rhysand either since he has seen Norris' memories of using it - you asked him to share these with you, but he refused, not wanting you to see that cruel male ruin your life and the state your body was in when Norris found you lying in a pool of your own blood in the forest, somehow still alive despite the wound and how long it had been, you decided to wait for your memories to come back before asking him again, the old you had to know how to convince him better - and, after dismissing the wards around your memories with its help, the rest should fall under standard daemati capabilities, which he already excelled at. Even keeping the amulet inactive and safe would be easy enough. Amren seemed to already have made preparations to keep it safe in the court, and a wicked glint in her eyes at the prospect of having such a tool in their arsenal - you really were glad they were on your side now.

The only standing problem and the reason the atmosphere in the room was so tense, was the lack of knowledge on the spell itself, and, more importantly, how dispelling it would affect you. The wards were placed in your mind a century ago, and had been active without pause for that long. Even Norris didn't seem to know the spell's full power or what ramifications could linger after it's gone from what Rhysand was able to learn in his mind. It's safe to assume that there's a big chance of your mind not being able to assimilate back, or even survive it.

You could almost feel Azriel's anxiety and fear as if they were your own, and, even if he would never ask that of you, you knew he didn't want you to go through with this. It was painfully obvious on his face - the spymaster was a lot easier to read then you would have guessed before meeting him. Azriel would rather have you like this than not at all, and you can't blame him for that as you don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love, let alone being on the verge of it happening for the second time, but that's precisely why you need to do this.

From what he has told you, you lived a full life before Norris had found you, and it doesn't feel right trying to fit back into place when you can't recall any of it, when you don't feel the same as you once did, when you don't know if you're still the same person. It would be impossible to even attempt to live a normal life with the constant reminder that a full century of your life, almost everything that you knew about yourself, had been a lie.

His hazel eyes meet yours as you shift on the mattress, impatiently waiting for Rhysand to finish his preparations. In truth, you don't think he has looked away from you for a second ever since you walked into this room, walked back into his life even.

You give him a small smile, hopefully quelling some of his nerves. He tries to return it, but you don't need your memories or the decades of knowing him to see right through it. It didn't reach his eyes, the concern so visible there it made a lump form in your throat, and his shadows were clinging to him almost desperately, trying to soothe their singer as best as they could, to no avail. You wished you knew how to comfort him, and how to let him comfort you properly in turn - yet another reason to go through with this.

“Are you ready?” Rhysand's voice makes you jump slightly and break eye contact with your husband, not even realizing you'd gotten lost in the warm hazel of his eyes once again.

“Yes,” you nod, straightening your back and placing your palms firmly on the mattress, risking one last look at Azriel before focusing on the High Lord.

“We can start then.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit nervous, scared even - your life was on the line after all, but this was your only chance of getting rid of that aching empty well inside of you, and if Azriel was convinced Rhysand was capable of doing so, then you believed him.

The High Lord was also worried though, if it wasn't obvious by the way his mate kept touching his arm and squeezing his hand, the lack of his usual obnoxious confidence would have given it away. If he failed he would not only lose his friend again, but also break his brother's heart beyond repair. You even think he'd end up blaming himself, though it didn't seem to fit in with the image you initially had of him. It's not an exaggeration to say your life is in his hands.

Feyre helps him wrap the amulet around his wrist as if it were a bracelet, squeezing his hand one more time before joining Azriel a few steps away, a conflicted look falling over her face as she watches her friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Even Amren, who stood by the door with crossed arms, looked concerned. If you weren't already more than curious enough to risk your life to regain your memories, the fact that such a creature would look worried about you would definitely make you want to remember everything just to find out exactly how that came to happen.

Rhysand walks to you then, stopping right in front of your legs dangling off the bed, close enough that your feet almost touch his shins, and lets out a soft but weary breath, looking into your eyes as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he seems to be content with what he finds in them, he reaches over and holds your head between his hands softly.

“It might help me keep grounded in your mind. Every little trick is worth a try,” he explains when he sees your confused expression, the smile he throws at you not quite reaching his purple eyes either, before closing his eyes, his magic coming to life around you.

In the next moment, you feel black talons scraping at your mental walls, prompting you to close your eyes as well and fight against every one of your instincts to allow the High Lord passage into your mind. You try to keep your thoughts as blank as possible so Rhysand can find what he's looking for more easily, like he said, every trick is worth a try.

You don't exactly know what you were expecting, but definitely not for it to happen so fast. Just as you felt a knock at what you now could distinguish as the wards keeping your memories from surfacing, they came tumbling down, an acute pain at the base of your skull making you fist the sheets under your hands, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise or moving too much. You didn't want to break Rhysand's concentration, or worry Azriel and the others more than necessary, you could handle it.

The pain goes as suddenly as it started, and you could feel Rhysand's presence everywhere as he searched through your mind. It was a foreign feeling, to know someone could read into your every thought. Even if he dove into a different corner of your mind, one you hadn’t agreed to, there was no way for you to stop him now, no way for you to stop him from seeing all the awful things you've done at the guild's orders, no way to stop him from showing them to Azriel if he so wished. In the midst of your spiraling thoughts, a soft caress reaches you through your mind, a reassurance - you almost forgot he could hear your fears as well.

A few moments later, you feel him come to a sudden stop, the lull barely giving you a chance to breathe before memories start rushing into your brain at an alarming speed, so much so that your head physically hurts, a lot worse than before. It's like you can feel the memories forming into your brain and pushing away the ones constructed by the spell. Some of them you were vaguely aware of as they seemed to haunt you when you slept, like dreams overwriting reality but, with every second that passes and every moment shown to you, you realize they had never been dreams to begin with.

Your mind struggles to hold onto everything, your past memories eating away at what you had believed was your life mere minutes ago. You faintly feel Rhysand's, now achingly familiar, presence leave your mind, his hands lingering a second longer, thumb caressing your cheek comfortingly before following, letting you have some privacy to assimilate the onslaught of information on your own, and then the world goes dark, senses completely overwhelmed, barely registering the feeling of your body falling back into the mattress and scarred hands holding onto you, as your mind struggles to catch up to everything.

Your feelings seem to reach you before the memories even have a chance to sink into your mind, or for you to go through them and remember everything properly. The strongest ones are easily your love for Azriel, flowing over you in suffocating waves, and the subsequent anger at yourself that follows, for abandoning him and then hurting him so much. It's like some little voice inside you that had been screaming at you, and trying to claw its way out from under your skin, trying to stop you from hurting him, was finally able to be heard.

As you rake through the memories, remembering all the happy moments you and Azriel have spent together, - every little date, every kiss, every night and morning spent together, - and even the saddest ones, - the fights spent yelling at each other in the rain and the make up sex right up against your front door - the guilt only gets heavier in your chest, tying itself around your heart and almost making you unable to breathe.

You stabbed your husband, the love of your life, the male you had vowed to protect and love to the end of your days. Even if you had been controlled by whatever dark magic was in your brain, you can still feel the weight of Truth Teller in your hand, could feel the faint resistance of his skin against the decisive force of your movement, could feel his blood on your hands, could feel so much blood on your hands. Gods, what have you become?

It almost feels like there's two people inside you for a few moments, trying to make sense of each other as the world collapses and re-forms itself around them. As one part of you lives through memories in the night court, the other balks at all you've done at the guild, mourns an innocence you will never be able to get back. You don't know where you begin and the assassin ends, where Azriel's wife even fits in the equation.

Trying to stay on track, and desperately hold onto something in the incessant waves of memories, real and fake, and the feelings attached to them, you try to calm yourself enough to try to remember what happened the night you died. You knew your throat had been cut with a faebane laced weapon, the scar would always be etched into your skin, but you never knew how it happened. For some reason, you never even thought of asking anyone in the guild about it, like you didn't consider it pertinent information - no doubt, a consequence of the spell Norris used on you. If you started asking questions you might have found out something you weren't supposed to.

That particular night is still somewhat hazy in your mind, likely a consequence of the trauma you experienced. There are broken memories of you talking about the mission with Azriel and the rest of the Inner Circle. You recall not feeling the least bit nervous about it as they were simple bandits that somehow had gotten lucky and managed to evade Azriel's shadows for a little while before getting caught. You remember getting a few leads on them, and splitting up to try and find something. The feeling of Azriel's lips on yours as he quickly kissed you goodbye before disappearing into his shadows is still vivid in your mind.

After that things start getting muddled. You found the bandits at some point, and, even if there were more of them than what you expected, they didn't seem particularly strong so you were holding up your own in the fight that broke out as soon as they saw you. The next thing you knew though, someone had struck you from behind, hitting the back of your head hard enough that it brought you to your knees, the same person grabbing your hair and slicing your throat the next moment, not giving you a chance to avoid it. There's a break in your memories then.

All you can remember at first is your body feeling heavy, not being able to get your limbs to obey your commands as you struggled to flip yourself over so you weren't laying face down on the mud, the cold rain falling on your skin uninterrupted. Trying to take a breath into your lungs only to find it almost impossible and extremely painful. You remember the coppery taste in your mouth distinctly, not being able to swallow or make any sound through your destroyed throat. The thought that the knife had to have been laced with something was swimming around your mind, a simple cut like that wouldn't have been hard for your fae healing to handle.

You were vaguely aware of the voices around you but couldn't make any sense of what they were saying, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears and panic was starting to set in. The only thing you were sure of at that moment was that you were going to die on that muddy floor at the hands of petty thieves, this possibility not allowing you to even try to make out what they were saying, not caring about them anymore.

Azriel always told you that you needed to work on your openings so things like this didn't happen, so you didn't get caught off guard. He was right, he usually was, not that you would have ever admitted it to his face. The thought of your husband brings tears to your unfocused eyes. You wished you could have had more time with him. He has brought you an amount of love and happiness you didn't even think possible, and all you'll give him in return is pain. You promised him you would stay by his side to the end of your days, assured him you would never leave him multiple times when his nightmares became too much to bear and old insecurities made themselves known.

You made one last prayer to the Mother. Begging for your life wasn't worth it anymore, but you still asked that Azriel could survive this, that he would forget about you and move on. You had always wanted to give him the best, had vowed to make him as happy as possible but were failing miserably like this. The news of your death would break him, you didn't even want to imagine how he would feel when he found out. Fuck, you hoped he wouldn't be the one to find your body at least.

What a cruel fate. Making him go through so much hardship and pain in his life and still take one of the few blessings he had found for himself. You've only been married for a little over a decade, such an insignificant amount of time compared to the years he had behind him, and hopefully still ahead of him. You'd never forgive the Mother for making him suffer so much.

As your thoughts quiet, you notice the lack of voices around you. Apparently the killers had just left you there, bleeding out on the cold ground, not even bothering to finish the job properly. They didn't have to, you didn't need to be a healer to know your injuries would kill you in not even another minute. Your senses were getting duller with every painful beat of your heart, you couldn't even hear the sounds of the birds coming from the forest behind you anymore, couldn't focus on your thoughts, could barely see the light of the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. It feels fitting for you to die at night, it was as close to Azriel as you could get now, watching the same moon shining under him, the same one you had fallen in love under.

As you gaze upon the brilliant light of the moon, wishing you would have had the chance to say goodbye, a tightness settles in your chest, somehow making it pump faster, lessening the ache ever so slightly. The feeling is unlike any other, you mistakenly think it to be your body dying off before a breath is once again allowed into your lungs, easier than before. You blink a few times then, trying to search your surroundings for anyone with the limited control you had over your body, only to come up short. If anyone was healing you, there would be no reason for them to keep hiding. You've also had to be healed after an injury plenty of times, enough to know what it feels like and how effective it can be. This felt different somehow, and it didn't seem to be fully healing you as you could still feel your wound bleeding, your throat still as painful as it had been.

Azriel's familiar scent reaches you and mixes with your own. Your chest grows tight once more, body temperature somehow rising despite the cold rain and lack of blood, before an overwhelming feeling washes over you, traveling to every inch of your being as things suddenly click into place.

This was a mating bond.

Your sobs return at the realization, even more inconsolable than before, fingers digging into the bloody mud under you at the unfairness of it all. You could feel Azriel as if he was under your skin for a moment, smell him like he was standing over you, when in reality he was nowhere to be found, when you wouldn't be able to see him ever again.

Mating bonds are extremely rare and precious, most fae yearn for one chance of a love as powerful as a bond like this can bring. So why would the Mother waste it on you? Why not bind Azriel to someone who can stand by his side? Why not show it to you sooner, so you could have at least enjoyed it for a while? You've never heard of a bond forming as one person is about to die, when the other isn't even close - usually all it takes is a simple glance, the right exchange or words, rarely happening years after knowing someone.

What was the purpose of this? Why must life be so cruel? You almost want to hope it was a mistake, but the visceral reaction your body has at the thought, even in this state, doesn't allow you to. Azriel was yours, even if only for this laughable amount of time. You had a mate, one you would be able to tell your parents about when death came for you and took you to them.

Those were the thoughts swirling around your mind as you let out what would have been your last breath. Crying every tear left in your body, looking up at the moon and praying for the Mother to take the bond away, or not allow Azriel to feel it because, as much as it hurt you, you knew it would kill him to not only lose you but also lose a mate.

You had found it strange when Rhysand had told you Norris had found you alone in the forest, your body already cold, only a drop of blood still allowing you to cling onto life, but this explains it. The bond had somehow kept you alive long enough for Norris to find you, and take you to a healer at the guild like Rhysand saw. You had been long unconscious when he did, and so you didn't have any memory of any of it. You were also pretty sure the thieves might have been working for him, which explains how they had evaded Azriel's shadows for so long.

The answers regarding your death, the ones you had been aching to learn, now paled in comparison to what you had just unknowingly stumbled upon. You had a mate. You almost couldn't believe it, but the bond made itself known now that it was free from the wards' confines, shining bright deep inside you, linking you to someone through a strong but neglected bridge, still holding on after a century, and you know just where that bridge leads, shadows lurking over the other side.

You come to slowly, your mind aware of your consciousness before your body can follow. It's like you've never been this deeply asleep, the feeling of deja vu hitting you immediately. Perhaps that's why it takes you longer to realize you weren't lying down on a bed, not directly at least. There was a body under you, holding you close to him, enough so that you could hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest. You know it's Azriel right away, his touch and scent so unmistakable to you now, you don't know how it had been possible to ever forget it.

And the bond. You can feel it now, can feel something connecting the two of you, etched so deep into your soul that it almost feels impossible that you've been blind to it for so many years. Maybe because you've left it abandoned all this time, but you can literally feel it purr in satisfaction now, making it hard to focus on anything else.

You don't know how long you had been out for, the sun had set in the sky and everyone seemed to have left you two alone, the faint, lingering smell of Rhys' expensive cologne mixed with one scent you've only discovered recently, the only thing left behind. Gods, you can't believe both Cassian and Rhys had mates too.

Azriel had moved to lean against the headboard, sitting you across his lap, holding you close to him and resting your head against his chest as he rubbed slow circles up and down your arm soothingly. You didn't have to see him to know he had called his shadows over the both of you, keeping you safe in his arms as he waited for you to wake up, just like he always did.

Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, not being able to restrain yourself from looking at your mate for another second. He must have been distracted or falling asleep himself because he tenses softly when you stir and rise up from his chest, hand moving up to hold your cheek adoringly the moment your eyes meet his wide, hazel ones.

You can see the questions swirling in his gaze, can almost taste the anxiety, but relief conquers every other emotion. As much as he wanted to know you were back, he was glad you had at least survived. Keeping him in suspense would be cruel of you, especially after making him wait a hundred years, you don't think you could bear another second either.

“Hello, Az,” you whisper softly, emotion tightening your throat. He lets out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his soul and brings tears to his eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away as a tear rolls down your cheek unattended.

“Welcome back, my love.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel angst #my writing

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 25 days ago

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Happy New Year! (Yandere!Fortune Teller x GN!Reader)

A delighted squeal sharply cut through the quiet chatter of the line for the fortune teller. It was a small little illegal shop that popped up overnight and was all over (Reader's) feed. Their best friend, and the reason why they were outside in the cold so early, tugged on their coat sleeve.

"They must have gotten a good one." She smiled playfully, and still a little drunk.

The fortune teller was apparently incredibly accurate. Even skeptics had been posting all morning about how this guy was able to tell them full names of people in their lives and dates of events that already happened he shouldn't have been able to guess on the first try.

"Missy, it's cold as hell.." (Reader) whined, their head also hurting a tad bit from the amount their friend had them drink a few hours earlier to welcome the new year. ".. and I just want a burrito."

Missy clicked her long acrylics in front of (Reader's) face. "And I want a girlfriend. C'mon, just a few more minutes! Please! You don't even have to get your fortune done, just stay with me, emotional support!" She huffed and stamped her boots while dramatically letting her arms fall to her sides heavy enough to make a loud whump against her coat.

They knew their friend wasn't actually a brat, but it was a fun little "act" ; she enjoyed putting on, especially when she was all dolled up (as she called it). So, as what usually happens, (Reader) rolled their eyes theatrically in a show of pretending to give in. The woman with the pink and blonde fashion wig smiled wide and squeezed (Reader's) arm lovingly.

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At first, (Reader) thought that the man was a mannequin. A beautiful body propped up at a table, with a veil over the top of his head and silk clothes, but other than the fact that he was beautiful, there was something too basic about his features and too perfect about his skin to be human. Like a mall mannequin: with a dusty pale skin tone with zero blemishes or imperfections, his eyebrows looked so fine that they were maybe painted on, and the blonde hair under the veil was so light in color, (Reader) thought he was bald and that the lightly golden coloring was more silk.

Yes, he was beautiful, but looking at him was uncomfortable, like people describing the uncanny valley of robots.

He opened his eyes, revealing dull grey irises, that helped humanized him (at least, in (Reader's) opinion).

"Welcome, Miranda and (Reader)." His voice was also weirdly perfect, making (Reader's) skin crawl, but looking over at Missy they saw she didn't feel anything other than awe.

"Ohmygawd, how did you know our names?!"

He smiled very softly. "It's my job." A thin hand with long, delicate fingers motioned for the two friends to sit before him.

As the cards were laid out (Reader) allowed their mind to wander. Not only did the guy in front of them weird them out, but they believed that fortune tellers were scam artists. They knew it could be fun to just see what your future might look like, and wanted to be respectful for people who actually believed in tarot and stuff like that, but people setting up businesses promising to read your future and then just reading some generic script then charging you a hundred bucks is how you get vulnerable people to fork over their life savings. (Reader) only agreed to go because to make sure the "fortune teller" didn't try and change the price on Missy or sell her a bunch of unnecessary shit.

The man clapped loudly, startling (Reader) back into focus. "You will meet a woman this year.

You will meet her in two months, at the book store across from your job. The two of you will be searching for the same book, and it will feel like fate. Don't be afraid to ask her out for coffee, because she'd love to discuss the series with you."

Long nails scratch the back of (Reader's) hand as Missy impulsively grabs it. "Are you.. sure she's.. y'know..." she raised her eyebrows.

The man looked puzzled for a second before responding with, "The ending you always wanted for NaNa."

Missy nearly cracked her neck turning to (Reader) as quickly as she did, whining happily "Oh my god...." before burying her face in their chest. Then (Reader) felt the tears, and realized Missy was more drunk and exhausted than they realized.

"Uh, thanks, did she already pay, or?"

"Would you like your fortune read now?"

He seemed unfazed by Missy's minor meltdown.

"Ah, no thanks."

"I'll give it to you free. Call it a two for one deal."

Alarm bells were ringing in their head. "Why?"

He was silent for a second, like he was listening to something, just as he was when he told Missy she was going to be living out her headcannon fantasy. "Something's just telling me I should give you a fortune reading."

Missy wiped snot across (Reader's) chest before raising her head. "Oh, are you getting read too?"

"What? N-"

"Can we get burritos after this?"

They looked down at their best friend in the entire world, and sighed. "Yeah, if it's completely free."

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Even compelling completely scrunched up in concentration, there was a concerning lack of wrinkles, leading (Reader) to the conclusion that if this man was in fact human, he most certainly had botox.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open wide. He looked up at (Reader), staring deep into them without blinking.

"What?"

He didn't answer. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. But his face began to change into an odd shade of pink.

The wig wearing woman loudly gasped "IS THEY DYING?!" while clutching (Reader's) arm in mock horror.

"I'm not dying!" (Reader) shoved their friend off, feeling overwhelmed by their current situation.

The fortune teller reached across the table, and without asking, grabbed one of (Reader's) hands, observing their palm intensely. But he could only do so for a second before they yanked their arm back and stood up.

"Missy, let's go, I told you this guy was a fucking scammer."

Like a switch had been flipped, Missy held up her middle finger and called the man a creep, apologetic for not trusting her best friend. "Why did he grab you like that? So gross!"

The two left. They would later get burritos and watch half a movie before passing out. This moment was creepy, but ultimately, nothing to them.

He had always been gifted.

But when they left the gifted medium on the floor, images of what he had just been shown were still fresh in his mind.

The tarot cards were a gimmick, just there because that's something people associate with being able to see the past, present, and future. Was he a scam artist? Maybe, to some. He never gave people the fortunes they didn't want to hear, and only reminded them of memories they liked. You don't get tipped if you tell someone their child is going to die. And we all need money.

Then (Reader) came into his pop up shop, another skeptic, and he figured if gave them a reading for free and made it really good they would be the type of person to tip him out of guilt. But for their future all he saw was... him.

Him?

He had never thought about himself. He was creepy and disgusting. His presence made people uncomfortable. If he focuses hard enough he can speak to the dead. No one wants to be friends with that. No one wants to love that.

No future is set in stone. There are hundreds of thousands of possibilities, and he can see them all. And while (Reader) sat in front of him, staring at him with their beautifully tired eyes, he searched through every single one.

It was.. exciting, he had to admit, seeing himself with someone. He didn't know this person at all, but it wasn't hard to feel some kind of affection for them seeing a future where they felt affection for Him.

He couldn't even remember the last time someone willing held his hand. Maybe when he had to cross the street with his mother? No, she required him to wear gloves.

While staring at his client, he couldn't help but watch their entire life. He was supposed to look through their memories briefly to get a sense of the "past", but like time didn't exist, he watched their entire life play out. They made him feel things.

Even when (Reader) called him a scammer, he still loved them. After all, he did kind of lie by omission to their best friend: Missy's new relationship would only last five months.

But it was okay if they thought he was creepy or a scam artist. Because he already saw the future.

And he knew every single correct step to take to make sure they were smiling at him like they were in that vision.

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Happy New Year everyone!!!!!!

Let's hope that this upcoming year is better than the last!

I'm a really pessimistic person, so I'm trying to be hopeful. I'm also trying to find ways to reduce stress since I can't afford to take care of my mental health (haha). I'm getting white hairs. White. Ain't that crazy? It's stressful trying to not stress out lol

Does anyone else play future telling games on New Year? As a kid my family would all play MASH to see what our future is going to be like hahaha and a lot of my younger coworkers this year were talking about eating grapes under tables? Very cute <3

I hope you all had a great new year, and didn't get too drunk, stay hydrated, and if you have and future telling game memories for me years tell me about it!

Let's make 2025 better than 2024!

#happy new year #not proofread #yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #thank you for interacting with me #fortune telling #fortune teller

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cxlamarisalxmi · 2 years ago

Text

Being Miguel’s daughter and hosting Venom

[Platonic One-Shot]

c/w: major spoilers, angst, gender neutral terms and pronouns (they/them), suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, no gendered terms used to describe reader, canon ignorance and inaccuracies, if you read the drabble you’ll know you originally just hosted Venom but this time I’m writing you as Spider-Venom

—

[Unedited]

The sun kissed the Western horizon as it slowly sunk beneath the surface. The gorgeous colors of the settling dusk bathing your New York in the luminous sheen of the golden glow that settles upon the city like a blanket.

You were just finishing up for the day, swinging from a tall skyscraper to tether a web to the very top of a clock tower. Pulling yourself up all the way to the top to perch on one of the very many gargoyle statues jutting out of the tower’s roof lip.

“Hungry.”

“That’s what the sandwiches are for bud.”

Venom settled inside when you tore the wrapping off the sandwich and took a big bite out of the end. Plenty of meat packed into the sandwich but also enough vegetables to sustain you too. Nutrients were vital in your symbiotic relationship with the alien and regardless of where they came from you both needed hundreds of them to keep yourselves alive and healthy.

“I hate the vegetables.”

“Well I like them. They taste better than people do.”

“You’ve never had another person before! You don’t let me eat people!”

“I’m not a cannibal.”

“Hmph.”

You rolled your eyes at the symbiote’s childish behavior, you’ve grown used to it but that didn’t mean you’d grown to like their attitude.

But you had grown to like them, ever since they had attached themself to you on your fourteenth birthday. The same day you very nearly took your own life.

Your life was far from perfect, as a matter of fact you can’t remember a time in your twenty long years of being alive that you’d actually been happy. Really, well and truly happy.

Your mother died when you were five and your father had abandoned you not too long after. About a year and half to be precise, and in his care and his care alone you’d learned that he was the furthest thing from what a proper father should be.

The first five years in which he parented you alongside your beloved mother he seemed guarded. Closed off, angry at the world and everyone surrounding him. And his own personal turmoil seemed to transcend into raising you— as he didn’t put an ounce of love or affection into bringing you up.

At the time, you hadn’t understood. What did you do wrong? Did you make him angry? Why wouldn’t he love you unconditionally? Your mother did.. was it so hard for him to treat you as his own? As if he loved you?

Apparently it was too hard for him, because he didn’t want to do it alone. And when your mother had died of cancer he had attempted to raise you in her honor but failed miserably and gave up within two years.

You were seven when you experienced your first heartbreak, in the years prior under his ‘care’ you had plenty share of devastation and let-downs from him. But none compared to this, no other feeling you had ever experienced before compared to this.

A searing ache in your chest born of self doubt, lack of self worth and value. Because you had believed it was entirely your fault that he was incapable of loving you fully and to the extent of his heart. And it festered in your years spent under different families, the issues regarding how you viewed yourself only darkening as you were let down over and over again.

Given up on— over and over again. And the ache continued to linger, growing in secret places— dark and hateful in your tired heart.

And slowly but surely it had given up on you too, shatter to pieces and cast to the wind to leave you broken and hurt. Vulnerable and fragile to the cold and bitter winds of this cruel and brutal life.

Eventually your mind followed suit, wishing for anything to escape this pain. Anything to leave it behind.

Your luck had a turn for the worst when you were bitten by a spider at twelve and gifted cursed with abilities and skills inhuman and otherworldly.

Enhanced senses, heightened sensitivities and awareness and phenomenal intelligence and strength.

Superhuman.

And for two years you lived with it, not utilizing the powers for any kind of purpose. The heightened healing property of your curse made it hard to give up on this life as you had so desperately wished to.

You tried and tried again— and each time you failed.

When you were fourteen is when you met Venom, you had tested buildings before but never the Golden Gate Brigde. And as you clambered over the rail to stand at the very edge of the bridge’s structure— it happened.

You remember the feel of their texture sliding across your skin, then the pressure you felt as they sunk beneath your skin to meld with your body—

“It wasn’t that bad. You’re overexaggerating.”

“I thought we agreed you’d stay out of my head.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“Venom,” you scolded lightly. Not reprimanding in a way that spat disappointment over ownership. But in a way that spoke volumes of the relationship you shared with the alien. Equals.

“I hate it when you think about that bastard.”

“I know, I’m sorry.. my thoughts get away from me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He made his choice, you are what he made you. And you’re more than worth it. You deserve love just as everybody else.”

They went silent after that and you didn’t bother trying to get them to keep up the conversation. Just smiled softly at their nature— overprotective and fond.

Venom had saved your life when you were at your lowest, the abilities you gained from your spider bite coupled well with their own. And upon latching themself to you they had promised they would make you see the value in life. And you had.. in them.

They were what kept you alive, and you couldn’t be more grateful for them coming to your aid when you needed it the most.

“You’re sweet, you like to act like you’re big and bad but on the inside you’re just a big softie.”

“I regret everything I said.”

“Oh come on, I was thanking you for what you said.”

“Funny how you didn’t actually say the words ‘thank you’ at all.”

You just laughed as they grumbled in your head, but you were swift to straighten and turn serious when your senses tingled. Like a cold rippled shucking down your back to warn you of incoming danger or threats.

Venom growled lowly alongside the tingle and you jumped up, spinning around to face the danger that caused your senses to ripple. And a glowing orange portal suddenly erupted to life just a few feet in front of you. Sliding your mask back on you separated your feet and steadied yourself, prepared and strong in stance.

Your senses tingled again— sharper this time and you stood there on tense silence and a brief moment of absolute stillness. A moment later something was shooting from the portal, something turned out to be someone and you recognized the green suit and grinning goblin mask as Green Goblin tackled you off the building.

You freed yourself from his grasp and shot a web to the corner of the building to your left before pulling yourself free from his grip and onto the side of the skyscraper.

Your jaw ticked as a flicker of annoyance sparked to life in your chest. The very last thing you wanted to deal with after a long day was an anomaly. You were honestly tempted to just call up Peter B. Parker and have him come here and take care of this himself.

Or maybe he could convince the leader he follows to come do it, not that you know his name or anything f about him but from what Peter says apparently he’s pretty damn good at his job.

“Seriously another one? Our dimension can’t be that exciting can it?”

“Right there with ya buddy, why did he have to come here after we already finished up our day too?”

“Honestly, like— a little fucking class wouldn’t hurt.”

You chuckled at their remark before your senses tingling had you swinging away from the spot you occupied previously just as a gas bomb erupted against the brick.

An irritated sigh left your lips behind the fabric of your mask as you perched yourself on a lamp post, the Goblin’s eerie hysterical laughter echoing loud and prominent in the desolate streets surrounding you. Everyone having long since turned in for the night leaving the area free of any civilians which made your job —and in turn Venom’s— easier at least.

The fight that had begun two minutes after Goblin had tried to surprise you with his fucking chemical bombs wasn’t all you had thought it would be. This Goblin was a whole lot weaker than your Goblin, not only that but the guy kept glitching every few minutes.

And you and Venom capitalized on the very golden opportunities that event opened up to you every time it occurred.

And finally taking him down without any damage to the buildings or street was just the icing on the cake, the fact that the whole fight didn’t endanger any innocent people was a plus too.

Things only went to shit when you went back to that portal with Goblin slung over your shoulder and found two different spider variants walking out of it.

“Well what the fuck took them so damn long? Sure, sure no worries we’ll protect our own universe and keep others out too. No fucking problem on our end.”

Again, you found yourself chuckling humorously at Venom’s attitude. Their clear lack of patience and respect for those in charge of keeping the multiverse under control amusing you. Sure, you both liked Peter enough to admire what it was he and the guy he followed did.. along with the other spider variants he works with. But still.. if you’re going to make this your entire career and you’re going to dedicate yourself to the security of the multiverse— at least be good at it.

“Think this asshole got lost, poor wee lamb.” You quipped as you landed on the rooftop the other were standing on. You carelessly threw Goblin off your shoulder and he grunted as he hit the concrete on his back. The sound of pain coming from him almost humanizing him a bit, and you curled your lip derisively as he broke out into a mad grin seconds later.

Whilst you were distracted staring at Norman, Miguel withheld his sudden and intense urge to upheave all the contents in his stomach. His heard felt like lead as it plummeted to his toes, knots in his stomach winding themselves up tightly at the sound of your voice.

“[Y/Name]?”

You looked up when the man of the two variants spoke, and there was a flicker of recognition in your stomach at the voice. Recognition that swiftly turned to course and fiery hot rage that flowed through your blood like magma.

“How dare he?!”

The man pulled his mask off his face and there he was, your father, Miguel O’hara.

“How dare he return here?!”

You took an instinctive step back from him when he revealed his face. And you flinched internally when you saw it, he looked miserable.. eyes bloodshot and brows downturned to put a deep and painful scowl on his face.

He looked broken.. hurt.

And the twisted and vengeful feelings inside you felt good at the prospect of him hurting. You liked that look on his face.. because he more than deserved whatever put it there.

Miguel watched as you stepped back, you didn’t remove your mask as he did. Just stood there frozen as you stared at him. Then the eyes of your mask narrowed and he could abruptly feel the heat of your glare searing into his skin. Angry and painful.

“Parker— that fucking bastard, we’ll kill him.”

“We?” The woman spoke and you looked from your father to her. She had darker skin and a styled afro, her mask was more or less goggles on her face and Venom snickered inside your head at the mental insult you made.

You decided to ignore her question, the passive aggressive tone she took not inclining you to be cooperative with her at all.

“As far as we know Osborne was the only one who got into this universe,” you informed choosing to look back to Miguel to address him instead of the woman. “So gather him and go home.”

“[Y/Name] wait!—”

“Don’t. You’re just here for him right?” You queried gesturing to Norman when you referred to him. Then you were facing Miguel again. “Take him and get out. We’re finished here.” You weren’t granted the chance to see his reaction— immediately doing what you thought was best for you and getting out of the uncomfortable spot his return had put you in.

And you swung away as you ignored the calls of your name he roared into the night. You didn’t want anything to do with him, and there was nothing you owed to that bastard. Not a damn thing.

And as you swung away from that rooftop you felt angry at the fact that you could feel your guarded heart hurt in deep and stinging agony once again— because of him.

And you felt a twitch of disgust in yourself twist itself into a knot within your chest, born at the expense you felt you were dishonoring Venom by being hurt you saw your father again.

After all, it was them that had healed you six years ago when they had first bonded with you. And it was them and them alone that had healed that ache in your heart.

“Kid.”

“Please Venom, not now.”

They went silent after that, and you stayed quiet too as you swung through the city. You just wanted to be at home, safe and comfortable in the warmth of your own space. Just so you could calm the roaring of your blood and thunderous heart in the security and peace that your home brought you.

You knew that now that he knows you’re still alive he’ll come back, and you’re not sure how the next time will go.. this time you just wanted out. The way your heart had picked up and the way your blood quickened had made you just want to be isolated and safe.

You’re not so sure which feeling will take more presence next time— but you could promise this; the rage you had briefly felt, that died behind the feeling of ache and hurt but still lingered, was strong. If it took province over every other feeling next time you could promise it wouldn’t end well.

Not for Miguel.

Not for you.

And not for the multiverse.. the same multiverse he had been so keen on protecting—

The multiverse he had chosen over you.

—

a/n: I did this during a tattoo on my ribs— and the wipe down continues to be my least favorite part of adding tattoos to my body, cause how can I sit through a tattoo just fine then get weak on the wipe down? 🥲🤌🏽

#across the spider verse #spiderverse #miguel o’hara #jessica drew #peter b parker #miguel o’hara x reader #venom x reader #spiderverse x reader #venom x platonic!reader #miguel o’hara x daughter!reader #platonic reader

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underoossss · 1 year ago

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can I request a hurt/comfort with steve, where maybe the reader gets hurt in the upside-down and he is taking care of her? you are one of my favorite steve blogs!

I love a good old hurt comfort!!! And this time though r is hurt Steve is getting comfort cause that boy sure blames himself for no apparent reason. You’re so sweet thank you! It means the world to me you like the stories I write for y’all💖 I hope you like this! 1k.

••••

“I can’t lose her!”

Steve’s scream still echoes at the back of your mind, fuzzy and distant but it’s still there. The panic, the pain, the anger, they’re all there burned in your brain. You were in a dizzy state, half present and half gone after your last trip to the upside down had left you with a pierced leg and a bleeding wound. Vecna was gone which is all that mattered, yet instead of celebrating Steve hovered over you making a makeshift tourniquet for your leg with his belt – Nancy and Robin trying their best to calm him down. That's when he snapped, voice raw and cracking with emotion; it was clear he didn't mean to, but if you were in his shoes you're sure you'd have done the same. You wanted to reassure him, tell him you were fine, but things were hazy after that.

Steve's quiet now, lying down on his bed next to you.

His torso is bandaged just like your leg; his wounds clean and treated, yours got ten stitches covered with two layers of gauze and clear medical tape. He's done nothing but look after you since you got back, making sure you had everything you needed, driving you to his place and helping you get upstairs. He even washed your hair, gentle and caring and careful, pretending he's alright when you know he isn't. His hands still shake no matter how much you hold onto them, you can tell he's holding back tears from the way he clears his throat before speaking. Yet he only wants to take care of you.

"You should try to get some rest." Steve says, one hand gentle on your cheek as his thumb rubs softly at your skin. "It's late."

You glance sideways at him, his face is golden in the glow of the nightstand lamp. Hair almost dry from his shower earlier, eyes red-rimmed, a soft grin that's holding everything back. You know this boy the same way he knows you. "I can't sleep lying on my back." You whisper over a frown.

"We can figure it out." Steve's smile is a fraction more genuine this time, always happy to help you. "Here, let me sit up."

It takes some minutes but Steve rearranges the pillows and helps you sit up, mindful of your injured leg. He lies back against the headboard with you slumped sideways against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and patched up leg extended in front of you. It's not the most comfortable position but it's better than before, especially now that you have your arms around Steve.

"I'm not hurting you?" You ask quietly, closing your eyes at Steve's touch rubbing up and down your arm.

"No," You feel Steve shake his head. "I like this better."

You snuggle closer to him, wanting to be as much as possible as someone who thought would lose the other only hours ago. Steve hums and kisses your temple which makes you look up at him. When you see the tears he's holding back, you break.

"I'm so sorry Stevie." You mumble through an aching throat. "I didn't mean to get hurt and scare you like that."

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't have to say sorry."

"I wanted to tell you I would be okay, reassure you that I would be." Your words are rushed through your tears, lips pulling downwards with sorrow. "It all happened so fast."

Steve's arms go around you and pull you closer, his shoulder shaking as he cries into your hair. You'd squeeze him tight in return if he wasn't injured, so you settle for kissing the middle of his chest as you cry with him. The idea of the roles being reversed makes your blood freeze with panic. "I thought I was going to lose you." Steve confesses, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"You'll never lose me." You pull pack to look at him in the eyes, red and full of tears just like yours. "I will always fight to stay by your side, Steve. I can't even imagine being without you; if I can keep you from going through that, you know I will. Just like I know you'd fight too."

Steve closes his eyes and nods, "Every time."

You grab his face in both your hands. "I love you, so much."

He looks calmer when he opens his eyes, still shaken but better than before. "I love you too."

"Tell me what you need?" You ask in a whisper, wiping the last of his tears away and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please, if I can make it better I'd like to."

"I just need you." Steve brings you towards his chest again with his arms around your waist. "This is all I need."

You look up at him and smile when you see some of that previous fear melt away from his face. Your beautiful boy slowly becoming himself again. "I can give you a kiss too. I don't think we've ever gone this long without kissing you know."

"Tell me about it." Steve's smile appears then, before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

masterlist

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x fem!reader

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emilys-bangs · 6 months ago

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Hiii can I please request an Emily fic where Emily takes care of reader during a bad mental health day? Something that’s lots of comfort/ fluff and just Emily being a really sweet and understanding gf :) thank you, love your writing! 🫶🏻

bad day | e.p

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, use of petnames, no use of yn, reader has a bad day

Word count: 1.6k

Hi tysm🫶🏼🫶🏼 and thank you for requesting!

You wake to an empty bed. And the moment you do, you feel the familiar weight on your chest, like a thousand pounds had been dumped on your lungs, crushing them, compressing them. When you move to rub your eye, a heavy sluggishness resides in your limbs. It’s like cement runs through your veins instead of blood, making the simple act of lifting your arm unbearably heavy.

Giving up, you drop your hand and close your eyes, sinking back into darkness—as much darkness as could be found in the bright room; apparently Emily had taken the liberty of pushing open the curtains after she’d gotten up.

It’s rare that she gets up before you. Emily loves to sleep, loves soaking in lazy hours of the morning in bed with you, her nose buried in your hair, her leg thrown over yours. On the days you don’t have to work, tearing her out of bed is an insurmountable struggle. It’s where she feels most at home; between your arms, nestled in soft, warm sheets, laughs and kisses passed from her lips to yours.

Maybe that should’ve been your first sign—that you’d been asleep heavily enough that you hadn’t noticed her slip out of bed, your body subconsciously readying itself for the day ahead.

The day you never know how to deal with.

“Morning, babe.” Emily chirps, achingly beautiful with her hair tucked behind her ears, the sunlight painting her golden as she pads across the room and to your side of the bed, her tiny shorts barely visible beneath her baggy Yale tee. She holds a plate of French toast in one hand and a mug of perfectly prepared coffee in the other.

It almost hurts, how much you love her. In many ways she feels like your salvation, with her soft hands and lips, her gentle brown eyes, the warm comfort of her arms and the soothing cadence of her voice. But some days, like today, even her presence can’t ease the tightness in your chest, the weary heaviness in your bones.

“Morning,” you mumble back, decidedly less enthusiastic.

She doesn’t linger on your tone, probably chalking it up to the early hour. “I made your favorite,” she singsongs, her eyes shining bright as she sets down the plate and coffee on your nightstand.

Your stomach already roils with something heavy, uncomfortable. A strange weight settles in your gut like cement and there’s a lump in your throat, your tongue numb.

“I don’t want it.” Your voice is low, similar to that of a petulant child’s. It’s flat and distant, and your girlfriend tilts her head in question.

She frowns, a small scrunch between her perfect brows. “Why not, honey? You usually love my French toast.” Her lips tilt up into a smile, but her eyes are searching on yours, digging, cataloging—profiling.

That makes you turn away. “Not hungry,” you speak into her pillow, a strange throbbing behind your eyes making your vision blur. The smell of her French toast is the same as it always is—buttery and drenched in sweet syrup—but it makes your empty stomach lurch, for what reason you don’t know.

There’s usually no warning that precedes these days. No alarm bells going off, no trigger that sends you into a spiral of tears and racing thoughts. Vaguely, you know that these are classified as bad days, even when no life changing, earth shattering crisis occurs.

Sometimes it’s all just in your head.

The mattress dips as Emily places her knee next to your hip, hovering over you as her hand softly falls to your forehead.

“Hey,” she murmurs, swiping your hair away from your cheek, “you okay?”

Tears form hot in your eyes. You shake your head and they fall onto the pillow, staining it, soaking the fabric.

Emily inhales sharply when she sees them. Her touch is feather light but somehow still impossibly sturdy as she wipes away the warm tears and hooks her finger under your chin, forcing your gaze on hers. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She breathes.

It’s one pet name she almost never uses with you, except for the achingly soft—rare—vulnerable moments between you and her. In the pale, pale, morning light, your hand warm between her thighs, your touch sending her into a spiral, her lashes fluttering and her panting breaths skipping across your skin as she pulls you in for a kiss. In the midnight blue of the living room, when you’re drowsy and tripping over your feet, barely awake as she supports you with a gentle hand around your waist, guiding you to bed. When one of you is hurt, blood streaked on your skin, bruises marring your bodies and tears making your eyes go glassy, either from being injured or watching your love go through the pain.

So when she says that to you, the floodgates open in earnest.

You’re a sobbing mess as she takes you into her arms, the food and coffee forgotten, nothing existing in time except for you and her and your tears, your unexplainable grief, her warm hands, her soothing voice. She whispers nonsense into your ears and strokes your hair, her short nails hitching against your scalp every so often.

The pressure in your lungs mounts and you collapse into her, wanting to feel something familiar amongst all the wrongness in your body, your mind.

“I don’t feel…right.” You hiccup, tightly clenching her shirt in your fists. Her hand is warm on the back of your neck and you bury your face under her jaw, breathing in the faint hints of the lotion she lathers on before bed, intertwined with the scent of sugar and syrup.

“In what way, mon ange?” She asks, as breathless as you are, her voice overflowing with concern as she holds you tighter. A kiss is pressed to your hair and you tremble, a sob getting trapped in your throat.

“Every way. Bad day.” You choke out through the tears.

Emily doesn’t say anything else. She holds you, lets you cry your eyes out and soak her shirt with tears, soothing murmurs in French and Italian falling to your ears as she rocks you back and forth. You don’t know how long it takes before the tears slow and your breathing evens, your throat going dry as Emily continues kissing your forehead and rubbing your back.

When you quieten down completely she leans back to look at you. “I’m somewhat of an expert on bad days,” she whispers, giving you a tiny smile as she wipes the hair away from your wet cheeks. “Baths help,” she tells you softly, rubbing between your shoulder blades, “wanna try with me?”

It’s hard to think a bath could help ease the jumbled mess you feel like you are right now. But you trust her implicitly, so you nod.

Emily’s responding smile is gentle. She tenderly wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead before helping you up off the bed, into the bathroom. Her arm is warm around your waist as she makes you sit on the lid of the toilet and turns to draw the bath.

You watch her with heavy eyelids, sniffling quietly as she checks the temperature of the water, making sure it’s hot before it fills the tub. When it’s full she walks over to you, holding her hands out.

Taking them shakily, you let her help you out of your pajamas and into the warm water. She sinks to her knees on the edge of the tub and gives you a small smile, her concerned eyes locking with yours. You tug at her hand, your fingers tightly linked with hers.

“Em,” you rasp, pulling her toward you, and she nods.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She’s shedding her clothes and settling in behind you without you having to say much else. Her hands gently bring you back into her chest and she kisses the back of your head. “Just close your eyes,” she murmurs, “it might help.”

You hear her scoop up water in her hands, then feel the warmth of it as it soaks your scalp. Slowly, methodically, she washes your hair and works the shampoo into your scalp until it lathers, the refreshing scent of eucalyptus permeating through the steam. Just as gently, she washes it off, then starts to work on your body.

In that moment, you feel so fit to burst with love that silent tears run down your cheeks, dripping into the bubbly bath water. Emily kisses the tears off—the ones she can catch before they outrace her—and murmurs I love you’s into your skin until the water grows cold.

After the bath she dresses you in her warm satin pajamas, her lips pressing kisses on your skin as she tucks you back into bed, despite the brightly shining sun outside.

“I’m not tired,” you protest despite the sluggishness in your bones. Emily slides the curtains closed and climbs back into bed with you.

“It won’t hurt to close your eyes, mon ange.” She kisses your forehead and gathers your wet hair in her hands, splitting it into three sections. She starts braiding without combing through the tangles, probably sensing your dishonesty. “Are you hungry?”

Closing your eyes, you shake your head. Emily hums and finishes off the braid, draping it over your pillow so it doesn’t dampen your clothes.

You turn to her, the lump in your throat lessened somewhat. “Thank you.” Your voice trembles.

Emily tsks lightly as she cups your cheek and kisses your temple. “There’s nothing to thank me for.” She whispers. Gently laying your head back down on the pillow, she lies down next to you, on top of the covers.

A small smile tugs at her lips, tinged with worry. Before you can return it, your eyes shutter closed, exhaustion from crying your heart dry making you too tired to keep them open any longer.

“Stay with me?” You slur as you fall fast into the dark comfort of sleep.

Her hand engulfs yours. “Always.”

Please let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments mean the world! If you have any Emily prompts, drop them in my inbox <3

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #emily prentiss blurb #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss imagine #fic #divider by saradika

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lisbeth-kk · 1 month ago

Text

Sherlock fandom. TW: suicide thoughts.

John’s War

When it begins, it’s subtle. A flutter in his stomach, which later turns into an ache in his heart. He knows it’s wrong, and he desperately tries to fight it. It’s like a war, and he is the only participant.

John’s been in love many times. Audrey was the first, Bethany the last. And it’s been fine. Normal. Girls seem to like him. He’s got quite the reputation by the time he’s reached sixteen.

***

It all started to crumble when his sister, Harry, came out as a lesbian at fourteen. Their parents had been livid, but Harry came prepared and was totally unfazed. She’d even arranged to stay at her girlfriend’s family, fully aware that her own mum and dad would kick her out if she didn’t retract and started to act normal.

***

Lance was half American, half British. He and his mother had recently moved back to London after almost twenty years in America. The moment John laid his eyes on Lance, the fluttering began. Lance looked like a film star. Golden, curly hair, green eyes, androgyne features, a slender body, strong hands, long fingers. He was everything John wasn’t. Gay, for starters. And he wanted John of all people.

Words John’s father used on such people, played on repeat in his mind:

Faggot. Queer. Degenerate.

John tried to tell Lance, he was straight, but there was no denying how much John wanted Lance to kiss and touch him. His penis reminded him repeatedly and inconveniently every so often of that particular fact.

“John. Stop this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lance whispered softly and kissed John’s neck. “Haven’t you heard of bisexuality?”

***

Running away to Afghanistan was the only way forward for John when he couldn’t rescue Lance after his overdose. He felt the need to atone for his lack of observation.

How had he not seen the self-destructing path Lance was heading down? He was a bloody doctor, for Christ’s sake! Had he been in denial about that too? Didn’t he want to believe that such a talented man Lance turned out to be, could choose to destroy himself just because he failed the interview for the main role in a West End play?

“I’m sorry, darling, but there’ll be other roles. New chances. No one gets them on the first try, surely,” John had tried to reassure his lover, but to no avail.

So, there he was. In Afghanistan where danger lurked around every corner. John was quite startled that he enjoyed the danger so much. He felt alive, thrilled, his broken heart notwithstanding.

And then, another man invaded his thoughts, and eventually his bed. Major James Sholto.

***

Mike Stamford had never seen a more broken man in his life than John Watson, as he limped past the bench, where he was sitting thinking about Sherlock's words from earlier:

“Who would want me for a flatmate? I’m a difficult man at best. People hate being around me. Can you imagine someone actually living with me? Who is alive themselves. No, Mike. There exists no such human, I assure you.”

“John! John Watson!” he called out.

When John just gave him a blank stare, Mike sighed and introduced himself. The response was insulting to say the least. No “oh, nice to see you again, mate,” or “what have you been up to?” There was…nothing.

“Who has left you heartbroken, John?” Mike didn’t say and let John walk away without having said a word.

***

After his meeting with Mike, John finds himself outside Barts hospital. He’s got fond memories from his practise here. With Mike. He winces when he reminisces how rude he was to the jovial man. But it couldn’t be helped. John’s a broken man in so many ways, and he just wants to be left alone. He looks up. Wonders how it would feel to stand on the edge of that roof. Would he dare to jump off it if the opportunity arose? He’s never been afraid of heights. And he longs for the pain to subside. The emotional pain. The pain that scars his heart.

Time eludes him. Why are his knees hurting? He opens his eyes. Is he kneeling on the pavement? Apparently. When did that happen? How long? His thoughts stop abruptly when a warm hand is placed on his good shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

A deep baritone. John perceives a posh accent. The warmth from the man’s hand travel down his spine like lava.

Radiant. Alluring. Dangerous.

He lifts his head. At first glance, the man could be Lance’s twin. But then, John realises that it’s only the curly hair and height they have in common. This man’s hair is almost black with tinges of auburn. His eyes are blue, but also green and blue green. The colours are constantly shifting. They’re mesmerising. John wants to drown himself in them.

John stands. He still hasn’t said a word. The man hands him his cane and speaks again.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

For the first time in years John’s first response isn’t to flee. Instead, he straightens his back, lifts his chin and asks:

“How? Tell me.”

The flicker of surprise, quickly followed by insecurity on the man’s face, makes John realise that this can be, if he lets it, a new beginning.

“Go on,” John prompts.

When the man speaks again, John is lost. An ease sets within him, and his heart stops cracking.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF285 #how it begins #thanks for reblogging!

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itsgrimeytime · 10 months ago

Text

I Told You Now (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD) × gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

Part 1

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: I've Told You Now by Sam Smith or "But what the hell, why do you think I come 'round here on my free will? Wasting all my precious time... Oh, the truth spills out and oh I...I've told you now."

Summary: You were in love with Rick, not that he knew. You weren't sure you were ever going to tell him. What could you say, you loved the kids and didn't want to lose them too. It was too risky. But finding out he was chasing after some married woman was just the last straw.

TWs: avoidance, a little bit of crying, not really unrequited love, and a teeny-tiny bit of angst (with a happy ending).

[[A/N: The song hits, totally worth this little two-parter. A happy ending!!! Finally. Enjoy :)) ]]

You were avoiding him, as long as you physically could.

Which was apparently a long time. A month, maybe. You weren't keeping count.

You aren't sure how it spread, but suddenly, everyone was a buffer. Maggie had started it, offering to take Judith to you from Rick, and it had just spiraled. He couldn't get a foot in front of your house, someone was always in the way -even Daryl had leaned up against your porch once, shaking his head. Rick had been particularly disheartened that time.

You saw him throughout Alexandria, sometimes watching him out of your window -even as he tried to come talk to you.

Since then, he seemed to be rougher around the edges. Blue eyes heavy with hair messy and hardly wearing his uniform anymore. Sometimes, if you paid enough attention, you could see the bags under his eyes get heavier. You wondered if he had been sleeping, and had asked Maggie. She didn't know, but the two of you could gather the truth.

Never with Jessie. You'd never seen him with Jessie. Not since that day, you weren't sure exactly why.

Was he afraid that it'd hurt your feelings? He'd already done that, why be afraid to now?

You weren't even sure what he wanted to say to you. Sorry? That was too much work just to apologize. He'd been trying since about a week after your confession, every day since then. Had he truly just wanted to apologize?

If not that, then what?

You really had no idea.

"Are you ready?" Maggie asked, poking her head through your front door.

You pursed your lips, straightening your shirt in the mirror ever-so-slightly, "Why is she doing this again?"

She being Deanna. She'd been trying to throw dinners where the whole community came for... togetherness, or something. This had been the first time everyone agreed to it. The divide was exhausting, and everyone wanted to try something new.

You weren't exactly pumped, to say the least.

Rick was going to be there, and while you had been adjusting to his absence, you weren't handling it well. You still loved him as much as you did a month ago, it hadn't stopped. You thought it would've stopped by now-

Then again, something lasting years wasn't just going to vanish in a month, was it?

"You know why," Maggie replied, watching you shift a few things about your appearance, "-she's been drillin' it into our heads for months."

That she had.

"Yeah, yeah," you agreed, making your way to her side, "-let's just get this over with."

That led you to here, as you sipped on a drink and leaned against a wall. It was a little like you were in college and had come to a party without any of your friends. Except you were surrounded by friends.

Carol had even come up to you a few minutes ago, holding your shoulders and looking at you the way she always did now (something a little like pity), "You alright?"

You had shooed her away, telling her to enjoy the dinner, that you were fine-

And you were. Kinda.

You kept feeling his eyes on you, just watching you -maybe waiting for you to make a move. Or maybe he was just looking to look. Maybe, your mind treacherously thought, he missed you.

You swallowed the rest of your drink at that thought. Silencing your mind, that's enough.

Placing your glass on the table just to your left, you peered along the crowd. Everyone was mingling, groups pinched off and chattering. You weren't sure what about, maybe just their experiences within the apocalypse? It was surely depressing though, so-

Maggie had initially told you to stick by her side, but she and Glenn were too much; cute, really, but not helpful to your situation. You had the spare thought to join Daryl, he was in his own little corner, but you thought it best to leave him be. Everybody needed their alone time, especially him.

So, with that thought, you left your glass on the table and decided to head home. You debated telling Maggie that you were, but the crowd that separated the two of you was not worth it. You thought you saw Deanna in the mix somewhere, and you really did not want to deal with her right now.

You slipped out of the door in silence.

You hadn't really thought that he would see you duck out, that he might be inclined to follow you. You should have.

The night was chilly, sunsetting, eerily quiet, and you suddenly had the thought you were the first to leave. You wouldn't be surprised, to be fair; you were there for about an hour after the actual dinner. Socializing was the main point of it all, why would anyone leave early?

Whatever, there was always the next one.

You slowly made your way down the stairs, feet padding along the wood and then down onto the road; you weren't in a rush. In fact, the street was kind of peaceful when silent, and the sunset really was beautiful. Made you feel a little like you weren't in the apocalypse, despite the low groans you could hear outside the fence. You stopped for a second to see it, the pinks and oranges dusting along the sky.

Then, there was a creak like the wood of a porch step under someone's feet.

You let out a heavy breath, of course.

You weren't scared then, somehow. It made your chest hurt, yeah, but you'd expected it eventually. You couldn't avoid him forever.

"Hey, Rick," you spoke into the chilly air, not moving or turning to face him.

It seemed to startle him -you heard the footsteps stop in their place for a moment. You crossed your legs then, sitting on the street -watching the sunset with a renewed focus.

You knew your clothes were getting dirty, but somehow, you had laundry. And you were kind of used to dirty clothes, it made you feel a little less alien here. It had been a while since you got here, but you still felt... odd. Out of place.

Now, though, as you sat and watched the sky, you felt at home. Human.

You heard his footsteps start up again -his slow gait ringing familiar in your head, all the way up until he was right beside you. Wordlessly, he sat down.

His woodsy smell was the first thing you noted, seeping into your nose -there was something in you that felt like you could never forget it. And then you just felt his presence, he sat close enough that you could feel his body heat -your elbows would bump if your hands weren't sat in your lap. Finally, you felt his eyes bore into your side -flicking back and forth from you to the sky.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

Rick seemed to think about it for a second, and you felt like his eyes were still on you, "Yeah, it is."

"Makes me feel human again," you responded, honestly, "-I used to wait to watch the sunrise some nights. Makes me feel like I'm there again."

His eyes moved to the sky then, and out of the corner of your eye, you looked at him. He was wearing a white button-up, the first few undone and his hair wasn't as messy. You mindlessly wondered if he'd made an effort for the dinner, or maybe he'd just... gotten over it all.

A string of your heart snapped at the thought, stinging your chest.

"When I was a kid," he suddenly started, words low and mumbly (but maybe it was just the accent), "-used to go out on my roof when I couldn't sleep, watch the sunrise. Momma 'ated me for it."

You laughed a little, and almost immediately his eyes were back on you -scattering along the side of your face. It felt like your heart was in your throat, and if you hadn't confessed already, you felt like you might've done it then.

"What do you want to say?" you asked, heavy, and curious. It felt right to say it.

"What?" he questioned, "-To you?"

"Yeah," you inhaled a breath, turning to him -you'd forgotten what it had felt like to hold his eye contact, "-you keep coming back. That... That can't be as simple as an apology."

Rick hummed, seemingly taking you in a moment.

"Unless," you recanted -a little overwhelmed at the attention, "-it was. I guess I don't know."

He took your words in stride, eyes glazing back over onto the sky. Yours followed them, tracing over the wispy clouds -the colors were fading to darkness, and it wouldn't be long until it was over.

"'S been a shitty month," he finally said.

You laughed a little, and you could see his lips quirked up out of the corner of your eye. You had missed him, a lot. Why couldn't you be friends again?

"God, Rick, I'm in fucking love with you!"

Right. Your heart twisted in your chest -you mindlessly put a hand over it like you were protecting it somehow. You felt Rick's eyes follow the motion.

"Ya mind if we talk inside? 'Think we got some company."

Your eyes trailed back to the house, Deanna's, and sure enough, Daryl sat outside -leaning against the wall. Maggie was looking out the window, unabashedly; you had the thought that she had sent Daryl to check it out.

Daryl looked at you then, offering.

You shook your head, mouthing silently, 'I'm okay'.

He didn't wait a moment, turning back into the house -nursing a drink close to his chest. Rick watched the movement just as you did, Maggie's green eyes still blinking at you -intently, a little like she was trying to read you.

You turned back to the sky, Daryl would tell her.

"Yeah," you answered, finally -taking a long, deep breath, "-we can do that."

You'd decided your house, it was closer than his and he seemed to want you to be comfortable. You weren't sure you could be around him, not now, but the thought was nice. As soon as you slipped into the door, you pulled your shoes off -placing them by the door.

"Shoes off," you insisted.

Rick mindlessly followed the instruction, laughing a little as he slipped off his boots, "'S a little bossy, ain't it?"

You rolled your eyes, a smile biting at your lips, "You mop my floor and then we'll talk, Grimes."

Leisurely walking through your house, you made your way to the living room -a bit routinely. You'd liked having a house, but it was kind of empty. Lonely. All the houses had two floors, extra bedrooms, and it was just... you. The Grimes's household felt much nicer, rooms filled and smiling faces.

You liked being there. You missed it.

Without hesitating, you threw yourself onto the couch -landing in your typical spot. None of the other seats were really used, it made something in your chest twist.

Rick followed, sitting beside you, but leaving enough room for you to turn sideways -leaning against the arm. The pillow was even in the right spot, you guessed he could tell it was your favorite spot. Anyone could really.

Even still, he was smiling at you (practically lying down) in a way you'd never seen before. Something new. Your curiosity bit your tongue, but you refused to ask; he had enough to say, you figured a look, a smile, didn't matter.

"Ya comfortable?" He chuckled -a little teasingly.

"This is my own home," you replied -playfully, "-I'll sit however I want, Grimes."

He threw his hands up into a mock surrender, pushing himself to lay the same way -he sat up enough to still look at you.

It kinda warmed your heart to see someone else, Rick especially, on the other side of the couch. He mirrored your own stance, and something in you believed that to be special, very special.

He was still smiling at you in that same way, it made you almost furrow your eyebrows. You couldn't read it, and that was something you really weren't used to. You could usually tell by the twitch of his nose if he was upset, you'd just... known him. But this, you'd never seen this before.

You opened your mouth to ask, but Rick beat you to it.

"'S really comfortable," he mumbled, "-I'll give it to ya."

"Thank you," you cheered with a smile of your own.

You could almost imagine that it was before, and your confession hadn't happened. Just you and Rick. This moment would have been a quiet one, maybe after Judith went down for a nap. That was usually when you and Rick spent the most time together, tiny little moments in his home. But, it wasn't one of those and you knew that.

You were looking up at the ceiling -eyes smoothing across the blank space, distracting yourself, "Rick?"

He hummed in response.

"Why are you here?"

There was a silence then, and you felt him shift. You peeked over at him and saw him fully sat up -facing you, and closer than before. Something in you said to follow the movement so you did. You were sure if you hadn't, he would've asked you to.

Something about this was very serious. Or at least he thought so.

He sighed, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with them. You'd seen the habit a few times, rarely though, and you wondered why exactly he was doing it now.

"'S been a really shitty month," he repeated, a little with a laugh -something in you said it wasn't a joke.

You paused, debating your words -looking at him, and deciding on a little whisper, "Yeah, I know."

He looked up at that, blue eyes matching yours. A little like he hadn't expected it. Like maybe he thought you were doing well, healing. He couldn't have been more wrong, and something in you wanted to tell him that. That you had missed him like a limb, that you still loved him so much, that you were probably never going to get over him. No matter how hard you tried.

Your lips stayed sealed shut.

"'Ve had a lotta time to think," he murmured, eyes back onto his hands, "-ever since your... ever since ya told me."

Your eyes remained on him, patiently. Something in you itched to stop his fidgeting -pull his hands apart (maybe intertwine them), you resisted it.

"It... It started wit' an apology," he explained, now looking at you -eyes scanning along your face, "-it really did. I felt like shit for doin' 'at to you. An' I still do. I just..."

Your eyes darted between his -his eyes intense and focused like he wanted you to listen. So, you did.

"I thought I could talk to ya, when I dropped off Judith, tell ya then-" he ran a hand through his hair, "-but Maggie came to get 'er. And I thought maybe ya just needed a lil' time."

You nearly apologized because of the look in his eyes -the desperation. How long had he felt like that? Guilt twisted in your stomach.

"I gave ya a week," he continued, "-'Thought I could try now, maybe you'd wanna listen. But then..."

He looked at you.

"Well, ya already know."

You did. It spilled out before you could stop it.

"I'm sorry," you blurted, "-about all of them. I never... They just started doing it, and I... I didn't stop them-"

Your words fell short, as his hand went to hold yours -a small little embrace of comfort.

"Ya don't 'ave to do 'at," he breathed, something settling in his eyes (they kept darting to your held hands), "-you were hurtin'. I get it, really."

He seemed a little guilty, maybe about your feelings. He didn't have to be, it wasn't his fault. You were in love with him, how could he control that? You almost told him that, but he started talking again before you could.

"The longer I went without ya," he swallowed, eyes hesitant on yours, "-the more... the more I was thinkin'. Feelin'."

You wanted to soothe him, guilt creeping up your skin but it wasn't the time.

"I was tryna to understand it. Maybe, see where I had somehow missed that you... See the signs, I guess. Instead, I-" he bit his lip, "-I started just missin' ya."

His eyes were dusted with tears now, and your heart felt heavy in your chest. You still loved him, and you didn't want him to cry-

"I didn't kno' the extent, until," he looked down, wiping at his eyes, "-until time kept passin' by. I kept not seein' ya, and it just kept gettin' worse-"

You squeezed his hand once, solidly. He seemed to falter at that, like he'd forgotten; his thumb thoughtfully rubbed against your skin.

"You gotta believe me when I say-" he looked at you -straight in the eyes, "-it felt like a piece of me was gone. I felt like... like somethin' in me was missin'."

Your eyes were starting to get blurry.

"I didn't realize how much I was... used to ya," he swallowed, sniffling, "-and it just felt like this big, empty space. I kept lookin' at the couch, where you sat, and it just... it wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be empty."

"Rick," you whispered out -he didn't listen.

"And the more I thought about it, the more I..." he let out a breath, tears rolling down his cheeks, "-the more I realized I wanted ya there."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to cry, but you could feel the spill of tears from your eyes. Slow little trickle down your cheek.

"Y/N, I-" he started, a little desperately, "-I realized somethin' in 'at month."

You almost asked what, but he cut you off.

"I love you," he echoed out -a little like he didn't expect a response, "-I can't... I can't tell ya when it started or why I didn't realize it, but I-"

You felt a sob rack through your throat, something new lighting up your chest -you knew what that look was now. God, you knew what that look was now.

"-When I was sittin' there, by myself. I just kept thinkin' 'bout you. When I met ya, when you met Carl, when you met Judith, seein' you with 'em, you in my house like ya belonged there, you do is the thing, you do."

"Rick," it bubbled up your throat, as you tried to wipe at your eyes.

Instead, he used his free hand, thumb rubbing back and forth -holding your face like you were something so precious. Were you? Precious to him?

He was looking at you that way again, "I'm just a fuckin' dumbass, and didn't realize it then."

You laughed a little then, it was a little weepy but Rick didn't seem to mind. He smiled big and bright at the noise like it was all he ever wanted to hear.

He paused for a moment, before getting more serious, "I kno' it's been a month, an' you've been tryin' to get over me. But I..."

You watched him for a moment, waiting.

"I hope you 'aven't," he finished, "-I really hope ya 'aven't because now 'at I've realized it. There's nothing more I want in my life-"

You couldn't help it then, moving your hands to cup his face -slight stubble making your palms tingle, "I haven't, I haven't. I tried, but it just... It wouldn't go away, no matter how hard I tried-"

He didn't let you finish your thought, practically leaping forward to connect his lips to yours. You were stunned for a second, before pushing forward -pressing your fingertips into his skin. It was a little salty, and a little desperate, but it was right. Everything felt right.

Something in your chest mended, healed, right then and there. As he kissed you like he needed it, like he'd been waiting forever, you felt a piece of yourself slot back into place.

You pulled back, taking a deep breath through your lungs (that kinda sounded a little like a sob), and smiling. You felt like you'd never smiled as big as you had then.

"I love you too," you expressed, fingertips still holding him, cradling him.

Rick only grinned brighter, letting out a sigh of relief -you felt your heart quicken in your chest, "Thank god."

You laughed fully then, eyes not leaving his -a twinkle shined in his, something new, something happy. You wanted to learn them all now, know him totally and completely.

You kissed a few more times before Rick seemed to be happy with it -quick presses of the lips. It made you giggle, and that would make him kiss you again. It felt neverending but you didn't mind.

He pulled back though, your hands falling from his face -instead, he placed his palm against your cheek, and you leaned into it. Smiling, he just looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And you thought for a spare moment maybe you were.

Pretty quickly, you settled into his side -arm coming to wrap around you. His fingertips danced along your upper arm, as you nestled your head into his shoulder -as close as possible. You had a hand laid on his chest, and you could feel the thrum of his heartbeat under his skin; it made your head a little woozy.

"Wanna know somethin'?" He hummed, and you could feel the timber in his chest.

"Hmm?" You responded, eyes heavy from just being near him, being so warm.

"Carl said he was gonna kick my ass if I didn't tell ya soon," he revealed -a telling smile in his tone.

You laughed, a little in disbelief, "Really?"

"Yeah," he ran his fingers leisurely along your back, "-kid knew before I did. 'Just think, Dad.' And everyday 'at went by he kept lookin' at me like a disappointed momma. I could actually see a lil' of her in 'im-"

You laughed even louder, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt (not enough to get them undone).

"Threatened to tell ya 'imself if I didn't," he mumbled out, a little low in tone like he didn't want to break the feeling of this moment.

"Oh," you yawned, "-I believe him. You raised one hell of a kid, Grimes."

You could feel him look down at you, so you looked up at him -a breath away. You had the initial urge to kiss him, but you'd gotten enough of that, already.

He looked at you so fondly, with a tiny smile on his lips, "Ya tired, sweetheart?"

Something in you fluttered at the name, but you expected plenty more to come. You supposed you'd get used to it.

"How could you tell?" you quipped -wiping at your eyes.

He slid a hand down the side of your face -smoothing along your skin carefully as if you were delicate. Maybe a little like a flower, and he was marveling at the beauty.

"You wanna sleep at mine?"

You blinked, slowly -a bit in shock, "Really?"

"Yeah," he smiled, something soft in his tone, "-I'd actually prefer it, so... Don't make me beg ya."

"I don't know," you teased, "-That's pretty tempting."

He didn't say anything back for a moment. Eyes languidly smoothing over your face, like he was thinking. Like he had something else to say, or maybe he was coming up with one.

It came out in a gust of words.

"What if ya just stayed?"

"Where?" you asked, tilting your head slightly to look at him better.

"Wit' me," he answered, a little casually, "-wit' the kids. In the house."

You laughed, a little in shock, "Rick... be serious."

"I am," he confirmed, his hand suddenly stopping on your back, "-I want ya there. You belong there. And I think, if ya don't-"

You waited.

"-I might 'ave to beg."

You laughed again, playfully tapping your chin, "That might be a sight to see, Grimes."

"You gonna make me beg?" he asked with a quirk of a smile, moving suddenly, "-'Cause I'll do it-"

"Rick-" you laughed again, watching him helplessly, as he made his way to the ground.

Before you could blink, he was on his knees infront of you -hands clasped together and his elbows resting on your knees.

"Rick, you don't have to-"

"Please, move in wit' me," he interrupted, eyes set solidly on yours -he was very much serious, "-I ain't gonna waste any more time, I want ya wit' me."

"You really don't have to beg," you grinned.

"Well, I am," he chuckled a little, "-so what are you sayin'?"

"Rick," you looked at him, solidly settling your eyes on his, "-it's not even a question. But yes, I'll move in with you."

He grinned brighter then, eyes sparkling in that special way you'd gotten used to by now.

"Good," he finally said, "-'cause I was gonna drag ya outta the house myself, if ya sa-"

"I'd like to see you try," you teased, and there was a little glint in his eye -mischievous.

And if he carried you through the streets of Alexandria in the middle of the night -both laughing like you couldn't stop... that was between the two of you.

Well, and Daryl who stood out on his porch -watching the two of you scamper into the night.

"Fuckin' finally."

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #i told you now #rick grimes fanfiction #twd rick

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sarahghetti · 10 months ago

Text

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

#moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #at time of posting i feel like dogshit ✌️#pls enjoy i am going to bed now goodnight #mk bingo 2024

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vomitspit2 · 2 months ago

Text

IN BLOOM. jade leech

He had not expected to see you at all during the duration of his birthday party. This, he was fine with. You are recovering after all and should remain in bed. Though, Jade supposes his act is not subtle by the way his twin keeps eyeing like watching a dog off a leash, making sure he won't run off.

tags: mild hurt/comfort, birthday bloom event, drinking & talking, established relationship, pre-canon to Got You.

word count: 2060

He is not being subtle, is he?

Too many physical clues have given his twin insight that he is not doing mentally well. He can pass off the fidgeting with the wooden shaft of his broom to nerves over flying. His dual-colored eyes flickering over to the lounge’s clock might just be him wanting to be out of the spotlight. All those little quirks can be shrouded by a false truth, but Floyd won’t believe a single one.

Jade preserves despite this inner schism between his twin and himself. The dialogue that Shrimpy’s a big girl and she doesn’t need ya coddlin’ her, Seven, you’re latchin’ on like some parasite, get a grip. Which would be fiercely combated by the dialogue that I’m her boyfriend which should put an end to discussion but probably wouldn’t.

So, neither of them discuss it because why fight on our birthday?

He gets through the interview and the broom-flying without a hitch. Even when he teethers himself a bit closer to the safety of the ground, he manages to do it all efficiently and effectively. Though all the stomach-knotting worry, it is an impossible task to stop the smile that cracks off his pursed lips when his twin tries to snatch his Birthday Bloom hat.

For the majority of this evening’s party, Jade has been biting his tongue to hold back excuses to leave. If he took a bathroom break, it would give him ample time to – at the very least – poke his head in his dorm room. Then, he thinks about how much that is a dog owner excusing themselves early from the party to let the mutt out; then, he thinks about those stout, pearly gray parasites from home; then, he thinks himself out of his idea.

He is fiddling – that is one of his more apparently anxious habits, always grasping at the nearest thing to twist or rub between his fingertips – with the white roses sitting elegantly in his broom’s bouquet when he sees what he was not expecting to see. Birthday gifts and surprises truly don’t stop coming until midnight? Because at the entrance, there you stand.

Kalim’s proclivity towards partying has never benefited or inconvenienced Jade much before. It might have caused a few stand-alone memories to pop, but nothing other than that. Right now however, there is a slight relief coursing through him due to Kalim leaving the party early to attend another.

Your attention will not be spread so thin. Because after you are done scanning the glittering decorations, your tired eyes fall upon him first with the crushing weight of acknowledgment and scrutiny.

You smile. It is tiny and disappears right when it flickered alive. Expression quietly somber, the uncharacteristic of it is quite jarring. None of the guests are even noticing you enter beyond himself and Floyd – who for the first time all night, finally turns away and stops watching him like he is a dog off a leash, about to sprint at the next opportunity.

When you land, you sit pressed leg to leg against one another. Despite how thick the robes are, indigo cotton like a shield, he feels the weight of you leaning against him like a fallen building most. Pressure under the Coral Sea is suffocating; the crude mimic of the sensation done by you is comforting.

“I’m not crashing the party, am I,” you ask into the pattern of golden swirling keys and crows on your boyfriend’s cloak. “Thought you guys would be done by now.”

“So did I. Truthfully, there is not much left to be done.” Which is why it has been frustrating that Floyd was not letting him escape.

“Whaaa,” you whisper softly, “no, you gotta party till you drop. There’s no other way to celebrate a birthday.”

“I see,” Jade tuts. He looks down at the crown of your hair resting by the corner where his magestone sits on his birthday uniform. “You don’t particularly look ready to get up and dance with me. How unfortunate.”

Like a feline, you rub your cheek deep into the dreamlike scene embodied on his outfit. The entire wardrobe line does look like these birthday boys were plucked from dark night skies. It would not be surreal to imagine you collapsing into him and falling asleep, like a meteor fizzling out on earth.

Instead, you murmur, “I just woke up from a nap. Give me a second.” Your hand reaches out and grabs Jade’s milkshake glass that is full of Boozy Blue. He watches through what isn’t blocked by your hair as you take the miniature umbrella he left on the edge and begin to twirl it in your fingertips. “You won’t be able to keep up.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. Just a promise.” A cough splits apart the end of your sentence.

Deliberate, Jade points his focal attention towards the lounge. Only a few stragglers are left in the almost concluded birthday celebration. Even Azul has already retired so really this should close up soon. Gazing, Jade finds that Ortho Shroud is among the stragglers and he happens to be impolitely staring at the both of you.

A twitch passes over Jade’s upper lip. He surmised that he knows exactly what those traffic-yellow eyes are taking in, calculating the diameter and shape of the bruises left on your neck.

He goes to reach down, pet along the side of your face, and cover your neck from any peering audience when something hits his fingers. Your heartbeat … it’s pounding. Like a drum. So powerfully loud that it almost seems to disrupt the air around you. Is it not uncomfortable to sit upright like that when your heart is seizing up in premature cardiac arrest? He should rest you down further on the couch so you may relax until your heart stops trying to break out your ribcage.

Had you just woken up from a nightmare? Jade’s hand lands on your shoulder, sailing past the spot he was seeking to conceal. If he touches there, there is a rising probability that you might seize up.

He flexes his grip on your bicep and you lean deeper into his uniform, both of you trying to fuse into each other’s warm touch. Running his tongue over needle-pointed teeth, Jade asks after a quiet minute of cuddling, “May I ask that you fulfill a promise to me on my birthday?”

“Of course.” You stir to look up at him with witchcraft eyes. A jovial smile pulls your lips, ready to please, as you twist the little umbrella, guaranteeing, “Anything for the birthday boy.”

“Never. Never go into Ramshackle without me.”

Your lips fall flat. That thunderous heartbeat — that Jade can almost graze as it lies thin and delicate across every plain of your skin — skips a beat. “Jade —.”

“Please,” he tries to keep despair out of his voice but knows by how you flinch that it was inadequate. “Please, never go into Ramshackle again.” It feels selfish to ask a person with your disposition to be shackled or forbidden from a certain place, but it would ease his own pounding heart to never find you in such a state again.

After a moment of silence, you pull away from Jade and place down the umbrella. Your furrow brow makes him think you are going to leave, walk straight out of the party. Instead, you reach into your pajama pants pocket. “I promise, I won’t ever go into Ramshackle again. But, I had to go in there yesterday because I had to retrieve this.”

Between the gate of your index and middle finger, slightly obscured by your howlite ring, you hold up something slim and shiny. One could almost mistake it for a sturgeon scale and when Jade was younger than eighteen, he probably would have made that mistake. Now older, freshly turned twenty today, he knows that you are holding your lucky guitar pick in your hand — one of the three original possessions you have from your alien world.

“Why didn’t you —?”

“I didn’t think it would be right to ask you for your help. It’s my pick. It’s my problem. And I didn’t want —.”

“Nonsense.” Jade grasps the wrist holding your treasure and says firmly, “It would not have been a strife to go with you, I promise.”

You go huff with a closed lip smile. So it goes. Your head falls delicately and looping hair covers up the skin-deep necklace of plum and black that you wear. An insidious accessory.

The first thing you eat after waking up from your nap is a plum that has gone bad. Everyone has left the birthday longue, even Floyd who had ruffled your hair and told you that ya still owed him a birthday gift. You had smiled; now you are frowning while the feeling of wet, rotten curdles lying in your mouth upsets your taste buds.

You find a napkin and spit into it. The pattern of it matches the birthday outfits with their golden crows and golden keys and golden swirls. In the ribcage of your napkin sits a squishy heart of discolored yellow, half-chewed plum. The color reminds you of those science videos wheeled out of a rickety table, showing off pale yellow cholesterol in the veins and pale yellow puss seeping out infected eyes. A snail-trail of old salvia falls from the heart and glides over your palm.

Comatose, you stare at the bruised fruit cradled in the night-sky napkin before Jade pulls you out of your melancholy by setting down the tea you asked for.

Unsure why you were staring so vividly and tracing each rutting mound of half-chewed fruit, you fold the napkin over your rejected bite and inform your boyfriend, “The fruits gone bad. Did Azul forget to get rid of old stock?” You doubt he did but you are simply asking to fill up conversation space.

His eyes flicker curiously over to what you hold out to him: inners that are rotting in a slimy brownish, pale yellow. “Perhaps he did.”

Before you can get up to do it, Jade takes the plum from your hand and disposes of it in the nearby trash. He leaves you with your napkin; perhaps because he did not see you spit up instead of swallow your bite. You hold it in your hand, over the top of your knee, as wetness seeps through the thin cover of night.

“This should wash the taste out of your mouth,” Jade says, sitting down and pushing the tea he prepared towards you. He has already made sure it has cooled to the perfect temperature.

Meticulous, you think as you lift up the fragile chinaware. It washes through the bruises that have been left in the inner-workings of your throat like a heated river. “Thank you, baby.”

“It is no trouble.”

You squeeze the fruit-heart in your hand, just once for good luck. Truthfully, you don’t know if you will be able to sing again. Too terrified to try, you have been avoiding even humming to fill up silence, worried the tone might be off. Sacrificing your health had seemed natural when you went back into Ramshackle to gather the last belonging that you left behind.

Bowing your head, you sigh. The atmosphere, now that everyone is gone, is so serious. You loathe serious atmospheres and always hope the future has no more in store for you. Always, your hopes are dashed.

So, you try to switch the conversation, “Your flowers are pretty.” You’re curious if he picked them himself or something like the ‘Magical Pendulum’ or another inane sorting device chose them.

Jade glances at them just as you say. “You’re in bloom. Twenty is the cusp of adulthood.”

He smiles handsomely. “Such a notion makes it sound like my previous years had little significance.”

“Well, not like that. But you got internships coming up. Everything has to … turn serious, you know.”

“You must be loathing your next birthday.”

“Hey! I’m staying nineteen forever. I don’t know about you but I’m not ever coming out of my teens.” A chuckling rumble spread across your arm as Jade laughs at your quick nudge. His witch’s hat tilts with his mirth.

Both of you think — unbeknownst to the other half — things should stay like this. Immortal flowers that will never rot. Always in bloom.

#bro how the fuck do u do an intertwined series on tumblr.com #linking shit is ANNOYING #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #i crapped this out on break this is not me breaking hiatus

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